#it's literally one of the first things that was thought up between my editor and I
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Like Real People Do
Pairing: Gyuvin x Reader
Summary: You find yourself falling for the cute boy whose writing assignments you proofread, and discover that your lives have been intertwined for longer than you thought.
Tropes: tutor!reader, basketball player!gyuvin, writers, soulmates, college AU, fluff
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: literally none it’s so cute
A/N: This is a formal apology for my Beomgyu angst <3
“And isn't it just so pretty to think
All along there was some
Invisible string
Tying you to me?”
—Invisible String, Taylor Swift
Gyuvin certainly doesn’t need any help with English, but it gives him a good excuse to spend time in between classes and basketball practice staring at you.
If anything, your talents would be better suited to helping one of his classmates understand all the old poems or crazy novels that they get assigned, but he’s the one who lucked out when your former professor suggested you read her most promising student’s work.
From the first draft, you were hooked, and had somehow started a writer’s circle where just the two of you meet weekly to share your works in progress.
In no time, you’ve helped Gyuvin become one of the top students in Writing 101, and he’s worried you’ll notice that he’d be just fine if you stopped helping him. Still, the A’s keep rolling in and you keep meeting up with him anyway.
When Gyuvin’s latest short story gets nominated for a departmental prize, you’re over the moon for him.
“You are so amazing,” you smile up at him. “We should celebrate! That’s a really big deal. I was nominated last year, but didn’t come close to winning.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he points out, looking down at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck. “Really, Y/N. If I win, it would be just as much your prize as it would be mine.”
“Don’t be silly,” you say, packing up the rest of your lunch. You usually only see him in the library at your designated meeting time, but today, he sought you out in the courtyard to make sure you were the first person he told. “I’m just the editor. All of the ideas came from you. Plus, I’m only good at English because I grew up speaking it. It’s much more impressive for you to have learned it recently and write at the level that you do.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/N,” he replies, helping you up off your picnic blanket. Before you can do it yourself, he’s already reaching down to fold it, his long arms handling the fabric with ease. “You’d write circles around me any day.”
“I don’t want to get into another compliment war,” you giggle, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. Recently, it’s been filled with way too many books, and your classes are so jam-packed that you never have time to run back to your room in between them.
“Here, Y/N, let me,” he says, taking your backpack from you. He’s already got his own on, but he wears yours over his front, barely even flinching at the extra weight. “Where are you headed next? I’m done with my classes for the day, so I can walk you.”
He’s always been desperate to ask you to hang out outside of your brainstorming sessions, but every time he thinks he’s worked up the courage, you’ll laugh or smile or even just glance at him and his brain short circuits.
“I have a music class across campus in thirty minutes,” you reply. “Don’t you live the other way, though? You really don’t have to walk me. It’s pretty far.”
“I want to,” Gyuvin reassures you. He offers his hand. “Here. I walk pretty fast, so let’s make sure I don’t leave you behind.”
You hesitate for a moment before taking it. You’ve had a crush on Gyuvin ever since the two of you first crossed paths—he’s the literal embodiment of sunshine trapped inside a cute boy—but things have only ever been friendly between the two of you.
His hand is big, wrapping itself around yours almost entirely. The walk is silent, although you swear you can hear your heart about to beat out of your chest as you pull him along your usual route. Gyuvin makes sure to always let you lead.
“You know,” you start, still not looking back at him. “We’re kind of like Orpheus and Eurydice right now.”
Gyuvin lights up at the reference, with mythology being one of the first things you two really bonded over. “If you looked back at me, the only thing I’d probably die of is how cute you are, Y/N.”
You’re glad you’re turned away so he can’t see the bright blush that’s spread across your cheeks. His words get you so flustered that you don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking.
“Did I say something wrong?” Gyuvin asks, his voice laced with concern. He moves to face you, your height difference causing him to crane his neck down. Meanwhile, your gaze is locked on your shoes.
“Gyuvin,” you say, still refusing to meet his eye. You pull him over to a nearby bench. “Remember when I said I liked the love story you wrote the other day?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he confirms. “You complimented me on how realistic it was and I told you it was only because I based it off of real life.”
“Was it…” your words catch in your throat, unable to face the embarrassment of if you’re wrong. “Was it about us?”
“Yes,” he admits almost immediately. You finally turn to face him, greeted by a nervous look. “Listen, Y/N. I only wrote it because I knew you’d read it, and I thought maybe if you saw how good characters that were a lot like us could be together, you’d give me a chance in real life. But you didn’t really notice, or maybe you just wanted to ignore it, so I kind of abandoned all hope of us ever being together.”
You blink back at him. How could you be so oblivious? Your entire major was based on analyzing words, and you couldn’t even see that he wanted to be with you so badly that he had to write it into existence.
Words always come easy to you, except at this very moment.
“You abandoned all hope?” is all you can manage to get out. You try to pull your hand away, but he only grips it tighter.
“I tried,” Gyuvin says, his voice soft. “But you’re all I ever think about. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be capable of writing someone who even comes close to how wonderful I think you are, Y/N. There just aren’t words to describe all the ways in which you’re special to me.”
You laugh, his words making tears well up in your eyes. “You know, I used to go to basketball games a lot before we even met, just so I wouldn’t have to feel so lonely all the time. And I remember liking your smile and the way you always encouraged your teammates. I would go home and wish I had someone like you in my life.”
“You’re kidding,” he says, taking out his wallet. You knit your brows in confusion, watching as he pulls out a small piece of paper and unfolds it. “Here.”
He hands it to you and your eyes widen at the words printed out. It’s the poem that you had published in the school’s literary magazine last spring about wanting to romanticize your life. Talking about your feelings makes you anxious, but nobody reads those publications. Except for Gyuvin, apparently.
“I liked you before we even met, too,” Gyuvin confesses. “Your poem is actually the reason I got into writing in the first place. I used to read it before all of my games, but I know all the words by heart now, so I just keep it in my wallet for good luck.”
This all feels too good to be true, but his touch keeps you grounded in reality.
“Maybe I should start coming to basketball games again, then,” you think out loud. “I stopped going because I felt awkward not knowing anybody.”
“Well, now you’d know me, and I’ll make sure the whole team gets to know you, too, okay?” The way he smiles at you, his eyes so full of light, takes your breath away.
“Really?” you ask, looking at him in disbelief. The thought of meeting so many new people at the same time scares you, but if Gyuvin likes them, you’re sure you will too.
“On one condition,” he says, closing the gap between the two of you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand settling on your cheek. “I get to introduce you as my girlfriend.”
“Deal,” you grin, inching closer until your lips are pressed against his. You’re nervous that he’ll somehow figure out that you’ve only ever read about kissing in books, but the way he melts into you tells you that he doesn’t mind.
“You’re going to be late for class,” Gyuvin reminds you, pulling away. He desperately wants to keep going, but not at the expense of your grades.
“Class can wait,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. Your fingers lace themselves through his soft, messy hair. “I said we’d celebrate your nomination, so let’s celebrate.”
#zb1#zerobaseone#zerobaseone imagines#zerobaseone reactions#zerobaseone drabbles#zerobaseone scenarios#zb1 imagines#zb1 reactions#zb1 drabbles#zb1 scenarios#kim gyuvin#gyuvin imagines#zerobaseone x reader#zb1 x reader#gyuvin x reader#gyuvin fluff#gyuvin angst#gyuvin smut#zb1 gyuvin#zerobaseone gyuvin
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Hey so I was watching some old Winter Power streams on YT and when you said the thing about Sun Wukong finding rabbits cute...
This was before I knew about bunny Tang.
Now I know
And I think I'm worse off for it, but at the same time, you're a god.
Keep making shit!/pos
I genuinely have to thank you for this ask. I have not enjoyed reading a line as much as "And I think I'm worse off for it, but at the same time, you're a god" in so long. It brought me genuine joy. I'm not sure about the god part, but I will accept "creative entrepreneur". And I will certainly keep making shit!
But also, this gives me the opportunity to SHILL MY BUNNY TANG FIC. Cotton Tails and Borrowed Time chapter 10 is through the final draft, fully edited, and I am just formatting it for posting in 1-2 business days.
So everyone who likes the fic, please look forward to that!
#and yes#the fic does have a moment of Sun Wukong gushing over how cute Tang is as a bunny demon#because I had to#it's literally one of the first things that was thought up between my editor and I
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WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY
male reader x jeon heejin
part 1 of journalistic integrity
16k words
It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.
It isn’t planned or anything.
Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.
And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.
The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.
“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”
She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”
“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”
“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”
“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”
“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”
“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”
Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”
“Ah.”
Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.
She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”
“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”
“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”
“Isn’t there always.”
“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”
“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”
“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”
Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.
That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.
-
So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.
There’s this story.
Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.
Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.
"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.
So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.
Now, honest to god–
(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)
–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.
Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.
"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.
Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.
"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.
After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.
You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.
"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."
Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.
It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."
A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."
"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."
"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"
Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.
"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."
“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.
“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”
“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”
“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."
Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.
"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"
"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."
When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.
"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."
You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"
"It’s a question."
Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:
What kind of journalism career is this?
You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.
"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"
"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."
“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.
Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”
“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.
See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–
“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”
“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”
There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.
It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”
Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”
“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”
“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”
When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.
Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.
You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.
"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"
"You’re flirting with me."
Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.
You tilt your head, quizzical.
Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"
It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”
Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:
“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”
Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.
Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.
“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”
You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.
-
If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.
(Albeit woefully precarious.)
Here’s what you learn:
Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.
Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).
So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.
Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.
You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.
You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.
And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.
Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.
Monday, you decide.
She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.
You tap your pen against your desk.
Monday.
-
5:00 p.m. rolls around.
You call.
The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.
“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”
“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”
There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.
“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.
“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”
“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”
“At the office?”
“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”
“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”
“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”
There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”
“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”
“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”
“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”
-
Oh, it’s a terrible date.
Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.
Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.
So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.
“You know we could just… get out of here.”
It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.
-
Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.
“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”
“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”
She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.”
“A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”
“And it was?”
You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.
“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”
-
Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.
You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.
Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.
“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”
You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”
“Yeah. Guess I am.”
Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.
Maybe ever.
Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.
“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”
And you do.
-
Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.
Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.
Heejin shakes her head.
“How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.
She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”
While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.
And you think maybe you’ve found it.
The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.
You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.
“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”
“What would?” you ask, confused.
“If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”
There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.
You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.
Holding her, you kiss her again.
Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.
"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."
With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.
Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.
Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.
Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”
“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”
It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.
It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.
This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”
“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”
“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”
“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”
“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”
“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”
The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.
“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:
“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”
Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.
Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.
It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.
Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”
It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.
“I do?”
“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”
Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”
“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”
“Oh.”
“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”
“I would stop though.”
“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”
“I see.”
“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”
“But you have.”
“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”
Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.
“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.
There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.
“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”
“And that’s what you want to do with me.”
Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”
“This is what you want to do right now?”
“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”
It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.
“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.
You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.
“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.
Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.
-
The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.
Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.
You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.
So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.
You kiss her forehead.
In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.
“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”
“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”
“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”
“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.
“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”
“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”
“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”
“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.
Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”
While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.
“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”
Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”
“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”
It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.
“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”
She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.
Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.
“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.
If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.
If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.
Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.
But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”
“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.
Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.
“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”
Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.
There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.
A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.
“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.
And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.
“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”
Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.
“I am?”
You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.
When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”
You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.
“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”
“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”
“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”
“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.
“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.
Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”
Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.
This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.
Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.
“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.
Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.
“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.
All bets are off.
The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.
“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”
Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.
You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.
“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”
She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.
Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.
“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.
“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.
When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.
“Mmph.”
“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.
“Mmmmph.”
Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.
Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.
“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.
She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.
Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.
“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”
-
The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.
But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.
She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.
“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”
She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.
“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.
“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”
“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”
Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.
“Fuck.”
This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”
-
To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.
Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.
There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.
It’d be pretty difficult to miss.
Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.
It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.
“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”
Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.
Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.
Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.
“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”
She nods again.
“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”
Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:
“Daddy, please.”
It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.
Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.
“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”
(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)
-
It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.
So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.
From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.
She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.
Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.
Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.
“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.
Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”
“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.
Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.
“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”
“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”
She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.
“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”
A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.
“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”
“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.
“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”
“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”
“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”
“The vibrator.”
“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”
“Of course.”
“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”
“You always say that?”
“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”
“I mean, in a way.”
“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”
“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”
“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”
By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.
“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”
“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”
“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”
“Do you?”
Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”
“The vibrator.”
“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”
“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”
“Better than just now?”
“Different.”
“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”
“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”
-
“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.
Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”
“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”
“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.
-
“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.
“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.
Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.
“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”
“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”
Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”
Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.
That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.
And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.
(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)
There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”
“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.
“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”
“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”
“You sound pretty confident about that.”
“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.
She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”
The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”
Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”
“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.
“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”
“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.
Heejin smiles.
“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”
The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.
“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.
“One time,” you concede.
“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”
It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.
“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”
She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.
Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.
“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”
(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)
So yeah, you cum.
It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.
“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.
“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.
“Um. Don’t worry about it.”
-
Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.
“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.
Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.
-
Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).
There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.
She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.
“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.
“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”
You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.”
“That seems extreme.”
“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”
She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”
“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”
“Like what?”
“Like rabbits.”
“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.
“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”
-
When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:
“Wanna take a shower?”
You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.
Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.
And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–
“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”
-
There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.
Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.
Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.
“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”
You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”
“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”
“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.
“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”
Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.
It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.
You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”
“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”
You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.
She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.
It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.
When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–
“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”
She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:
“On my face.”
It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.
It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.
“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”
Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”
-
“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.
She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.
“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”
“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about it?”
“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”
Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”
You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”
She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”
“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”
“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.
She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.
“It’s a promising start. Who else?”
“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.
“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”
“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”
“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”
“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?
You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”
Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:
“I just fucking love your cum.”
-
“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”
You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.
“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”
Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.
Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.
Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.
When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.
“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”
“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”
“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”
“Of course you were.”
-
You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.
Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”
“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.
“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”
You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”
“I could always wait in the bushes.”
You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”
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idk if this it too specific but maybe reader gives the band friendship bracelets? i have them all up my arms so maybe some hcs ab that? idk but i seriously love ur writing ur carrying the fandom!
(Hello! Sure I can and I'm glad you like my stuff! Lmao, I don't think I'm carrying the fandom, I fully believe editors are because damn)
So Make The Friendship Bracelets
Bill Kaulitz
He is so happy you even thought of him
Especially when you gave up time and effort to make him a bracelet
He didn't have a lot of friends or a good school experience to make any
So he almost cried out of honor and happiness when you gave him it
You told him it's because he's one of the best friends you've ever had, and that makes him stop for a moment
He's just looking down at the bracelet in his hand
Expect a hug, and a kiss on the cheek
Before the band and before he met you, Gustav and Georg he didn't think he would ever actually find friends
So to have literal evidence of your care and love for him in his hand makes him a wee bit emotional
Your his best friend man
Tom Kaulitz
He is surprised you give him one on the first place
He would've thought you were giving it to someone else
You guys are best friends but he didn't think he was worth giving a bracelet too
Much less making one on your own for him
He's asking over and over
"For me?"
He's happy inside, but he's joking and teasing you on the outside
If you try and take it back he's fighting you
He cherishes it
Wears it on his wrist or keeps it in his pocket
Isn't ashamed of it
Especially since it's for your friendship
When someone asks where he got it he proudly goes
"My best friend, (Name)."
Georg Listing
He thought you made it as a joke at first
Or that it was just a little thing you were testing out to give him to see what he thought of it
You had to explain it's like a little symbol for your friendship
He doesn't have much of a reaction but a small little nod as he holds the bracelet
"Oh. Okay."
He may not look it but inside he's fighting with himself on how he made such a good ass friend that gives him bracelets
He may fake that he doesn't care but we all know that's a lie
You'll catch him wearing it attached to the belt loop on his jeans
He never loses it somehow
He is always asking you if you're gonna make more
"For me? Nah, I just wanted to know. No, I don't want another! Why do you have one?"
After you gave it to him and walked away he has to take a minute before smiling to himself and just putting it on his jeans not to lose it
Gustav Schäfer
He is happy sm
When you gave it to him he was like
"Oh, what's this for?"
Also had to take a minute as you told him it was a friendship bracelet
He was looking between you and the bracelet so confused for a moment before it clicked
You meant him, him as in Gustav
He was asking over and over again if you were being serious before he finally accepted it
Does not take that bracelet off for his life
Always wearing it on stage, in interviews
If it ever broke he would be devastated and go to you to fix it
When people ask where he got it he is very open about it
Doesn't care if it's deemed girly and is just so happy
You're his best friend and he legit loves every single bead and string on that bracelet
He's asking for more for sure
#tokio hotel#tokio hotel x reader#tokio hotel imagine#bill kaulitz#bill kaulitz imagines#bill kaulitz x reader#tom kaulitz#georg#georg listing x reader#georg listing#tokio hotel georg#gustav tokio hotel#gustav schäfer x reader#gustav schafer#gustav schäfer#tom kaulitz imagines#tom kaulitz x reader#bill
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Do you have any thoughts on the Azor Ahai prophecy?
sorry this took a while, I haven't really written much about this in the past so I don't have the relevant shit to hand in the same way. but my thoughts under the cut; conscious this is a contentious issue, so whilst I'm happy to chat about it, pls be normal if engaging.
I think it’s Jon. That doesn’t really get me excited or make me feel anything tbh, I guess because Jon is my least favourite major POV and the Azor Ahai prophecy isn’t one that interests me a whole lot. But I think the only real candidates for Azor Ahai are Jon and Dany, and based on both narrative structure and evidence within the story, I feel fairly confident it’s Jon.
Ofc, the argument for Dany being AA is strong and I think that’s the point. She ticks all the boxes, indeed more than Jon currently does, and the birth of her dragons is pretty much the most fantastic event in the story. She’ll surely have a huge role in ending the Long Night too, so Dany really does fit the bill.
But imo the structure of the story, and of their own personal arcs, favours Jon. I’ll quickly go through why I don’t think it favours Dany.
First off, rules of three: I think it was GRRM’s editor who told us that he likes rules of three in his writing. He makes you think one thing is true, then appears to provide the true solution, before the real answer emerges later on and completely throws you. There are lots of examples of GRRM using this technique in ASOIAF, but let’s go for another example that directly concerns Jon himself: the question of who his mother is.
The first answer we get is a basic one: Ned got Jon on a sex worker, and that’s that. We already know that’s near certainly not the case, because consciously or subconsciously we know that’s not how stories work. Second answer, Jon was born of an affair between Ned and Ashara. This idea is more interesting, has more supporting evidence, and we come across other characters who claim it’s true, like Edric. But still, I think a lot of people (even if they didn’t know R+L=J) would think that still doesn’t feel like the end of it. The closure has come too soon, and it doesn’t have the surprise factor that we know it’s supposed to have. It’s just clean.
Then of course the true answer is one that we still haven’t learnt yet: Ned isn’t even Jon’s father, and his mother is Lyanna, and Jon is the ‘true heir to the 7K’ etc etc etc. I think we’re all extremely used to this information now, but apart from the overwhelming evidence, we accept it because narratively it makes sense. This is the secret third thing, where everything clicks into place in a surprising way and has massive implications for the rest of the story. Rule of three.
I think the same applies to Azor Ahai. First, we’re told it’s Stannis. He ticks most of the boxes, albeit in a really haphazard way, but we know it’s not Stannis because we know how stories work. Then we’re presented with Dany as the answer. This seems to add up really well: she ticks the boxes far more literally - smoke, salt, bleeding star - and characters like Aemon are convinced it’s Dany.
But I think we run into the same problem here as we do with Ashara. The closure’s come too soon, everything fits too neatly, and honestly it lacks the surprise factor. Dany may be a surprise Azor Ahai to the rest of her world, but she isn’t to the reader: we’ve seen what she’s capable of, and if we were told that Dany is going to save the world, most good faith readers would be like ‘well yeah if anyone’s gonna do it’. And so ironically, that’s how you start to get the feeling it isn’t Dany. It sounds painfully self-contradictory, yeah, but it’s the same as it works with Ashara. Consciously or subconsciously, we know how stories work.
So Jon is the third answer. Jon is intended as the surprise, where he didn’t even seem like a contender, is really just some guy. Except he isn’t. To make sense of this, you really have to forget how obvious R+L=J seems to all of us now, bc time and again GRRM has said he didn’t intend it as obvious, and actually seems a bit frustrated how many people had worked it out - even before the show got to make the reveal.
Pasting at this juncture the key details of the prophecy:
When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. DAVOS III, ASOS
So Jon is descended from Jaehaerys II and Shaera, as the Ghost of High Heart said TPTWP would be. He is indeed a prince, even if he doesn’t know it. When Melisandre looked for Stannis as TPTWP in the flames, she saw ‘snow’. Jon’s story is the one that most directly concerns the fight against TLN; Dany currently has the potential for the most impact, yes, but at the moment she has absolutely no idea what’s going on beyond the wall, and it’s Jon trying to unite the 7K against the Others. This makes him the strongest thematic fit for the hero who will ultimately end TLN.
Then we have the fact that there are two major things about Jon’s story that have to mean something. 1: Jon is the ‘true heir’ to the 7K, the one no one saw coming, that everyone thought was a nobody. Jon was born of the union between Rhaegar and Lyanna that only a dead man and Howland fucking Reed (likely a man with his own knowledge about the TLN, the Children and the Others) know about. Jon was the child Rhaegar somehow knew he had to have (the ethics of that aside…), that made him realise the prophecy wasn’t about him but someone else. Within the story of ASOIAF, this is seismic. It’s no good to say that Jon’s true heritage is nothing more than a political subplot, that’s not how stories work and it’s certainly not how GRRM writes.
And 2: Jon is going to be fucking resurrected. No, he’s not the first character to come back - Beric and Catelyn both got there before him. But if there’s one thing we can be sure of, Jon is coming back for a reason. We saw how ridiculous it is in the show for Jon to just come back to life and get on with everything like normal. Everyone was asking well why the fuck did he need to die in the first place then. To give him an excuse to leave the Night’s Watch? lol. Nah Jon is going to be reborn for a specific reason. Cannot emphasise enough that it is not GRRM’s style to kill Jon for nothing more than dramatic effect.
And who is going to rebirth him? Melisandre. What is the significance of Melisandre? Fucking everything. Melisandre has not been placed at the Wall to get the prophecy wrong AGAIN. She has been placed at the Wall because that is where the answer is. If Jon is the POV most focused on the TLN and the Others, Melisandre is the POV most focused on the AA prophecy. She is the one trying desperately to solve it, and whose revelation we are awaiting because once again, that’s how stories work: we know that Melisandre is wrong right now, so we anticipate the moment she will be right.
So Melisandre seeing ‘snow’ in her flames means something. Melisandre’s weird connection to Jon means something. Melisandre being the one who, seemingly without knowing it, has been preparing Jon for rebirth since about halfway through ADWD - means something also. R’hllorism and its weird connection to the AA prophecy means something. Melisandre and Ghost both having red eyes, with all the rest in mind, also seems to mean something.
Her eyes were two red stars, shining in the dark. At her throat, her ruby gleamed, a third eye glowing brighter than the others. Jon had seen Ghost's eyes blazing red the same way, when they caught the light just right. JON VI, ADWD
And right there’s the fact that Melisandre is the ‘red star of the prophecy’. Everyone thinks it’s the red comet, which we see identified in the ACOK prologue as the ‘bleeding star’ named in the AA prophecy. You know who’s also introduced in that chapter. Fuckin Melisandre. Melisandre and the ruby she wears are alternately described as ‘red’ and ‘star’ - sometimes both together:
Melisandre's ruby glowed like a red star at her throat. DAVOS VI, ASOS
So here’s Melisandre, red as hell, explaining the prophecy. Notice how much she herself seems to embody the imagery of the prophecy - red, flames, blood, burning, etc.
Melisandre was robed all in scarlet satin and blood velvet, her eyes as red as the great ruby that glistened at her throat as if it too were afire. "In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." DAVOS I, ACOK
So we come to the ‘bleeding/red star’ aspect of the prophecy. Smoke and salt are easy enough to come by, but a star is a more specific requirement. As is a birth (or rebirth). Dany seemed to tick these boxes with the smoke of the pyre, the great salt sea, the birth of her dragons/her figurative rebirth, and the red comet.
But I think the bleeding/red star is more likely Melisandre and/or her rubies. How either end up bleeding I can’t say, but it’s not hard to imagine. Does Melisandre destroy her ruby to revive Jon, or use her own blood? Maybe she has to die to do it, leaving Jon none the fucking wiser when he awakens what her reason for reviving him even was. That would be fitting: I think Jon won't understand his own significance for some time yet.
Either way, we have our star: Melisandre has been looking everywhere for one, never knowing it was she herself. This is actually a great beat for Mel’s story - for all the times she’s appeared all knowing, she was missing the woods for the trees, and her own significance in it all. It’s tragic, too, because that revelation is perhaps also one of her own demise.
(sidenote: I also think it's more fitting [and more likely] that the decision to burn Shireen and indeed the idea to do it is Stannis' own. in desperation, he attempts to fulfil what he recalls of Melisandre's methods, but butchers everything in doing so.)
Next we need smoke and salt, and as mentioned, those are straightforward. We’ve been told the Wall has plenty of salt lol, and light a few candles and you’ve got smoke - not to mention Melisandre loves a bit of fire, so figures there will be smoke involved in Jon’s rebirth either way. So salt and smoke both sound like pretty standard ingredients for a resurrection, I don’t think it’s much worth elaborating.
Then what’s left? ‘A birth/rebirth a day after a long summer’, check, we’re told again and again through ADWD that we’re on the brink of winter. ‘When the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world’, check again - Jon is right there on the scene.
The flaming sword comes after the rebirth, but it’s a given that Jon will wield one - it’s right there in his dreams:
Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. ADWD, JON XII
(another sidenote: look, a song of ice and fire. I’m aware that GRRM has previously stated that Dany’s fire and the battle against the others are the titular ice and fire, because he’s sure not going to say ‘by the way it’s also Jon’ when he hasn’t revealed anything about Jon yet. But we know that Rhaegar anticipates a child who embodies ‘the song of ice and fire’, and you cannot associate Dany with ice. Dany IS fire.)
I think Jon probably already has Lightbringer, and it’s Longclaw - we see that Ghost is tied in with the red of it all, and who is atop the sword but Ghost. Valyrian steel obviously also has some fantastical role still to play, and it’s notable that Jaime envisions he and Brienne also wielding flaming Valyrian swords (their flames are blue, of course, and Jaime doesn’t know in the dream that the blades are Valyrian, but the point stands that there’s some connection between flaming swords and Valyrian steel going on, and that that all ties to TLN).
So all that’s really left is to wake dragons from stone. This is one where I can’t really guess what it’ll mean - my best guess is that Jon will find dragonsteel at Dragonstone, because even if he did somehow hatch further dragons they’d be damn babies for the duration of the Long Night, but really this part could point to something we can’t yet guess at, so whatever.
And finally, there’s Jon’s heritage. The Targaryens are tied to the wielding of fire, to Valyrian steel, and to dragons. The Starks are tied to winter, to the Wall, to the old gods and the North. Jon’s heritage is representative of the two forces that need to unite to overcome the Others.
I don’t want to get into how exactly Jon ties into the mythos of the Night King and what undead Jon might look like, because whilst there’s plenty in there that no doubt ALSO supports the prophecy, I freely admit I just haven’t looked into it all that much bc it’s not a passion point for me, so I'm not going to seriously try. But we do have this part from Benerro's prophecy:
death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her [referring to Dany as TPTWP] cause shall be reborn... ADWD, TYRION VI
You can make this really figurative to get it to work for Dany, but it would make a lot more sense for Jon. He'll rise from the dead (death itself will bend the knee) and 'all those who die fighting in [TPTWP's] cause shall be reborn' - hey just like the Others are. Is Jon somehow going to have his own army of the undead? Possibly.
So, cumulatively:
Jon will unite ice and fire, armoured in ice and wielding a flaming sword
Jon’s Stark and Targaryen heritage are figuratively significant
Rhaegar foresaw the significance of Jon. Rhaegar has been wrong in a lot in all senses of the word, but I think he’s going to be right on this point - on ONE fucking point
Jon will be reborn a day after winter comes
Jon will be reborn beneath a bleeding red star
Plenty of scope for salt and smoke to be involved
Jon will wield a flaming red sword
Jon will be on the ground as darkness approaches and lead the charge against it
Jon will make death bend the knee
Jon may lead an army of the 'reborn'
Melisandre is the POV with the greatest fixation on the Azor Ahai prophecy, and Melisandre is beginning to realise the significance of Jon + will be responsible for bringing him back
Jon is the Secret Third Thing
etc etc
And finally, bc I’ve seen many, many heated arguments over this, I want to establish some things myself before signing off:
I am engaging in good faith here. I have come to these conclusions through reading the books and considering all sides, and think this is a very legitimate reading of the text
This resolution to the prophecy is not something I am invested in. Jon hardly makes my top 20 characters in ASOIAF, and Azor Ahai is not a prophecy I crave an answer for. I’m a lot more interested the southern storylines (in case you couldn't tell)
Dany, meanwhile, is a character I like about five times as much as I like Jon. I’ve not reached the conclusion I have because I think she’s not capable of being AA (currently, I think she’s a whole lot more capable than Jon). I’m only judging based on where I think the story and evidence gestures
I agree that there’s potentially problematic subtext in introducing Dany, a young girl who subverts the typical ‘chosen boy’ narrative by fighting every adversity to be a hero for the ages, [edit - forgot the other half of the sentence orz] only to say actually nah it was special boy Jon all along. It’s difficult to say exactly how egregious I’m going to find it when that comes to be because I don’t have the material to judge, but I fully understand why people find the idea of Jon Snow as AA such a deeply frustrating idea, and I may well share in that frustration when it comes to it
Again: I’m engaging in good faith, so if you want to discuss, please afford me the same. We are discussing a fantasy series
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Was gonna gather my thoughts and write a post tmr on the general mood in the ofts space after the finale bc I feel like a whole bunch of people overthink the amount of editing that was supposedly the result of "promo couple fans complaining too much" but I literally cannot sleep before I get this off my chest so here goes nothing:
Do you guys not understand how tv show productions work....
The script was written, reworked, and then finalized before they even began filming. Yes they might have changed some stuff between the initial scrips draft they had before the mock trailer and the true beginning of production this year but considering that they booked two at the time new but well received promo couples (remember that this show was already in planning at a time when Enchené and The Eclipse were still very very fresh), TopMew and SandRay were always gonna be endgame. It's especially obvious now that the full series is out bc if you go back and watch the mock trailer, all the same storybeats are there. This is how the story was supposed to go from the beginning. They most likely cast two promo couples on purpose because of the added bonus of pre-established compatibility and chemistry needed for endgame couples in such a messy series.
Then they filmed stuff. They finished filming I believe the day that episode 3 aired, so they could not have changed any of the ending based on audience reactions (as I have seen multiple people suggest), since we were barely a few epiaodes into the story. The book based on the series was also already finished and in the last stages of preparing to be released. The only thing they actually did was edit out parts of scenes or full scenes that they found did not add anything at this point in the story (like the sandray garage scene) or would actively harm what we, the audience, are supposed to be understanding and feeling right now (like the Mew smashing shit scene and Top attempting to sleep with someone else, which both were explained to have been cut because audiences were reacting strongly negative to Top even a few episodes into his redemption arc, when we were clearly supposed to start being on his side). They might also have moved some scenes around to aid the story flow but I am unsure of that one (I suspect the scene where Ray and Mew finally solve their shit out was supposed to be directly before the SandRay donut scene bc of obvious clothing reasons, bc they either fucked up hardcore with clothing continuity or moved the first SandRay rehab discussion to after the RayMew talk because it made more sense that way when seeing it played out on screen. If that was the case I am glad for it bc it would have felt a bit weird the other way around idk...).
All of this is however not new. It happens all the time in film and broadcasting production (also in book publishing....this is why editors and alpha/beta readers exist. I mean Brandon Sanderson's books famously go through four (?) stages of feedback before they get published...). Some scenes just get dropped in editing because when you see it on screen it feels redundant or not quite right, so it gets taken out before it changes what they want the audience to take away from other scenes. Movies and tv shows that have months between filming and airing dates usually solve this issue with test screening audiences and several runs of editing. There have been instances of Movies having test screenings at cinemas and then having their release date scrapped because they have to be re-edited completely as a result of unexpected audience feedback. GmmTV series being on smaller budgets and timeframes results in this time window falling away and relying on observing audience reactions to already aired episodes closely and then editing the next episode close to its release is one strategy to still ensure that you bring across what you wanted to (Kdramas also do this very frequently). It might not be ideal but it's not unusual and it certainly does not mean that anything substantial from the story was changed. All the storybeats as well as the character and relationship development remained the same because they already had everything filmed. They did not do reshoots or we'd know it. The story was planned this way. It was in the script. If you did not like it, then you did not like it. But don't accuse the directors of "bending to the will of fans" bc that's just plain wrong.
I too have my issues with some of the writing and some of the characterizations. But let's keep the criticism where it is actually deserved ok?
Edit: I have also seen quite a few people over here and also on Twitter say how disappointed they are in the "editing based on audience reaction" and that they should release a "directors cut" with all the scenes but like....this IS the directors cut. THEY decided how to edit this because the original intent is not always what arrives in the brains of the audience. Storytelling is a two-way street and if a massive chunk of your audience interprets a part of your story so differently to how you intended it to be understood, edits are necessary. Because that means that your intent is not communicated well enough.
#only friends#ofts#only friends the series#I said pretty much the same things a few weeks back added onto someone else's post a few weeks back#back when that interview with jojo and ninew came out where they first said they look at audience reaction before they edit the next ep#I thought we got past that but apparently not#apparently people need to justify their own frustrations towards the writing and the storyline in weird ways#blame it on 'couple fans'#completely ignoring that realistically most people who got interested in this show found it through the mock trailer release#way back when the eclipse had barely finished airing and enchenté was also only a few months out#heck I hadn't even watched those two shows when the mock trailer came out and I went insane#haven't watched any other forcebook show to this day and while I liked the eclipse I certainly wouldn't have called myself a firstkhao stan#and still it was obvious to me from the mock trailer way back when and then the proper trailer a few months ago who would end up with who#I just feel like a lot of y'all were anticipating a different show than what it was advertising itself as...
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***TBB SPOILERS**
Realized I never wrote up my thoughts on "Into the Breach," which was the first episode I've liked since "Extraction"!!! Probably because all I could think about was Echo for 72 hours afterward.
This episode gave me such Rebels vibes, and that's truly the highest compliment I could pay any Star Wars media. I present my case:
There's an objective laid out from the start that is a small but crucial piece of the larger plot. The beginning of the episode presents this problem, and by the end of the episode, that specific problem solved.
Everyone is competent, and every character gets to do something vital to the mission. Whether it's a small thing doesn't matter; it's the fact that if that character wasn't there to do that small thing, the mission might be screwed that matters.
The action is meaningful—it conveys something about the characters while also driving the plot forward—and there's suspense that ratchets up the tension. And then to diffuse it, there's humor, and each joke is funny, but it's not overdone.
Infiltration episodes are such a Star Wars staple, and it's a real shame that TBB hasn't had more of them. They tried to make up for it by putting THREE infiltrations into this episode lmao. The fact that they show one long-term infiltration, one short-term infiltration, and one super short-term infiltration is very clever and makes the writing feel cohesive and dynamic, something this show hasn't always been able to achieve.
Also important, they do both a space/flight mission and a ground mission (two of each, technically), which is something that always helps make an episode feel like it's set in the GFFA and not just, you know *cough* Space!Louisiana. Or Tatooine scene #700.
There's also some nice storytelling going on with the environment—they go from being outside on the cloud city (free) to inside a space station (trapped with enemies), and for Omega, inside a cell (in which she actually enters another cell, visually—her bunk). The wide outdoor shots make the close, indoor shots feel much more claustrophobic, which is exactly the atmosphere these particular indoor settings should be giving off.
Other thoughts and meta:
Daytime Tantiss is a good sign! Forecast: Not death?
Prison Break Omega is just such a good vibe, and this would just be so fucking cool...except we've literally already seen her escape once this season??? And it was already really well done??? This is like the flip side of my complaint that Omega was too helpless in the first season, and it was annoying how she constantly needed to be rescued. Now she's too competent and is always escaping lol. It just really, really cheapens the dramatic effect either escape could've had.
Needless to say, the Batch's driving purpose once again being that they're struggling to rescue Omega is just. I'm tired. If there are going to be two major captures and two major escapes this season, at least one of them needs to be a narrative flip!!! The Batch rescuing her at the front end of the season and Omega escaping herself at the end, or vice versa, would've made it much less repetitive (and stopped cutting the Batch off at the knees in order to show Omega's competency). Omega even gets captured in the same fucking way—she gives herself up in "Plan 99" and "Point of No Return"! Ughhhhh
Okay I swear I actually like this episode lmao, I just. Editor instincts.
Thinking about how Omega left Lula on Pabu and has essentially left Straw!Lula to Eva, and how it shows that she's shed her need for comfort and is now ready to provide that comfort to other children, which is very lovely. But I'm also worried about Lula and Tech's goggles being on Pabu, because there are only three thematic options here: Everyone returns to them (sanctuary), everyone leaves them behind (leaving the past behind), or Omega returns to leave more items, say a bandana or a Firepuncher (memorial). The link between Lula and the goggles is actually not that natural (unless you're a Techwrecker shipper like me :D), so I've been pondering this choice a lot.
The symbolism of everything inside Tantiss being in the shape of the Empire cog and every character within its walls being a cog of the Empire is so heavy handed...and I am here for every moment of it!!!
Truly did not expect Rampart to stick around for so long. He's going to be a main character in the finale at this point?? I like how he's like a Kallus foil here—despite being scapegoated by the literal emperor he's still loyal to the regime and takes such pride in it. A very Jennifer Corbett & Brad Rau–esque character.
The way that when Echo came down the ramp I literally said, "Oh, thank god."
Hunter and Echo doing the clone hand clasp (and not wrist clasp, you'll note) isn't as emotional given that we already know how strong their bond is at this point, but it's still nice to see this visual callback to the Batch respecting Cody so much despite him being a reg that Hunter would use this hand clasp to greet him. It's a great shorthand (ha) for Hunter's feelings, since he is particularly suspicious of outsiders, and Echo is now fully "one of his."
I really love the mirror of the scene when the Batch is in the cell on Kamino and they escape by breaking into the wall—Omega effectively does the same thing here. These are the satisfying kinds of repetition, rather than entire arcs!
Every time I think about the Tech-is-the-mustachioed-doctor theory I giggle. It would just be. So anticlimactic?? But absolutely hilarious.
The costume change is so unnecessary, buuut I'll be first in line to buy the variant figures! Also it's nice to see some canon clone armor painting after writing and reading so many fics about it!!
I really like Hunter sensing Rampart plotting and how it brings his powers even closer to Jedi precognition.
Not too much Crosshunt in this ep, but I like how in both shuttle scenes, Crosshair stands in a position that blocks Rampart from getting to Hunter in the cockpit (while Wrecker blocks Rampart from getting to the exit).
Not particularly significant, but I like the visual detail of Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair bracketing Rampart in a triangle and it looking like they're his bodyguards but them actually forming that position because he's their prisoner.
The way I screamed when Rampart tries to get Echo to say "sir" and he just says, "I don't think so." Echo did not go through everything he's gone through up to this point to take anyone's shit!!! And the way Rampart just takes it and looks down all ashamed is peak comedy to me. Even he sensed that he was treading on dangerous ground there. (Just for a second think about Fives on Umbara and how he refused to take Krell's shit from the very start...)
The commandos being on this space station (that's orbiting Coruscant??) makes me very sad because it kind of foreshadows a dark ending for the Tantiss arc by showing that the commandos are spread all over the galaxy. So even if they rescue all the commandos from Tantiss, it still wouldn't save all the others. In which case, writing wise, it feels way more unlikely for them to save the commandos on Tantiss at all.
Wrecker tapping his foot while scrolling through the comments on his AO3 account is very cute. Also in the last episode the mining foreman was on his datapad like a phone and I thought it was supposed to convey that he was lazy lol but maybe this sort of thing is just going to show up in SW a lot more now haha
The lieutenant demanding to know where the captain is is kind of silly because wasn't he the one to let him go inside?? Why would he be back at his ship? But I love me the Rebels-esque gag of knocking him out on the ship.
Everyone is screaming about Crosshair having faith in Echo getting them through, but I would also like to contribute the fact that Crosshair says, "You can't go alone." A very poetic line of dialogue because being alone in the Techno Union is what the Batch saved Echo from being, and it's what Crosshair chose to be for two and a half seasons of this show. Not wanting to be alone again was also what made him turn against the Empire! We also see this anxiety in the previous episode, where he (in that very ridiculous reveal) admits he doesn't want to go back to Tantiss (and be alone again).
ECHOOOOOO!!!! About fucking time they gave him another action feature!!! I rewatch that opening sequence in "Tipping Point" constantly. And not only that, it's a very character-driven action feature for once!!! We see him showcase what it means to be an ARC trooper and also what it means that he's "part-droid." A test I like to consider when I gauge the quality of action-ensemble media is, Could any other character have done that? In this case, the text is very loudly telling us absolutely not! Also the way he exudes confidence about it ("But I can") is also just. Super hot, 10/10
Tbh the Echo feature felt so out of place for this show that at this point I was suddenly filled with terror that he was about to die. Thank god he did not, but he's still separated from the others by the end, so it's not out of the question for something terrible to happen in hyperspace, and I do not want it!!! But altogether that was a badass third act and a very good episode!
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Then I guess you're a better person than me, Gojo!!
Because I hate Gege Akutami and I'm *very* angry on your behalf 😃 I’m (sort of) kidding but damn... thoughts on 236 below the cut!!
I held off posting earlier because I felt like going scorched earth on everything jjk. I took some time to clear up some of the translations I wasn't sure about and let the reality sink in, and now I'm ready to talk about this chapter rationally lol.
Firstly, I wanna say that my issue with this chapter isn’t Gojo dying or even the way that he died. I always knew that Gojo dying was likely, but here?? Now???? I've spent all day turning it over in my mind and trying to make it work, but it just won't.
I think Gojo's 'delusion' (daydream? afterlife?) is really beautiful in isolation. Some of the dialogue is really touching and I think it'll benefit from the emotional impact delivered by the full translations. The problem is what follows.
After 235, people were nervous that Gojo hadn't actually won yet. I waited to see what some trusted translators thought of the editor's comment before deciding it was a conclusive win for Gojo, and what I read reassured me that the win would remain intact even if he died at some point over the course of December 24.
In the past couple of chapters, we were told that Sukuna was 'nervous' for the first time in 1000 years and he thought Hollow Purple at close range would be fatal. At the end of 235, Sukuna is looking pretty terrible while Gojo looks fresh as a daisy after fighting in inspiring, inventive ways throughout.
So to find out that, actually, he *hasn't* won and he's been killed by getting cut in half offscreen feels like shock value for the sake of shock value. There have been a few 'shock factor' moments during this fight and they've always bothered me a little, but I could excuse them for the sake of hype building in a weekly manga. However, I never anticipated anything on this level and I'm genuinely so disappointed.
I think this long-awaited fight ending this way cheapens Gojo's character *and* Sukuna's character (and Kashimo's character for that matter!), and ultimately makes the entire thing feel meaningless. 'Meaning' is the thread that has run through Gojo's entire arc, tying him back to Suguru as he sought to build a better world. I always felt certain that Gojo's life and death would have meaning, even if it ended tragically, but I just can't find the meaning in this. I think I understand what Gege was trying to do, but he really didn't sell it for me.
There’s nothing worse than when a story makes you feel stupid for getting invested, and that’s how I’m feeling right now. I find myself wondering, what was the point in bringing Gojo back at all??? Keep him in the box and very little changes in the story, unless it transpires that Gojo 'weakening' Sukuna for the students was his grand purpose after all which... really??
Even worse, I *always* said if it was between Gojo and the students, I wanted Gojo to die. Since 212, getting Megumi back has been my number one priority, but 236 has achieved what I previously thought impossible. I literally don't even want Megumi to come back anymore, because I just can't imagine how he could live with himself after 'killing' Tsumiki and Gojo. It seems kinder for him to die with Sukuna and I *never* thought I would say that.
I'm feeling like a real clown for the meta I posted after 235. I want to take it down because I was so certain that Gojo had won, but I won't because I don't believe my reading of Gojo's character was wrong. I just think my expectations were too high, even though I tried hard to temper them. Even so, telling Megumi about Toji being left to Shoko? Gojo losing and leaving his students to clean up the mess again?? Gojo not even *mentioning* his students in his dying daydream???
It all just feels wrong. Gojo has been turned into nothing more than a plot device at the absolute last second, and maybe it's on me for ever expecting that he would be anything more than that in a series where he isn't the main character, but why bother writing Hidden Inventory then? Why bother getting us invested in this man's story at all?
Right now, I'm feeling like I don't even want to watch tomorrow's episode, but I am interested to see whether Gege can pull this arc off in the long term. I've seen people talking about resurrection theories because of the enlightenment hints and, while I do see the vision, I think Gojo's acceptance of his death and letting go of his regrets can also be read as enlightenment as he escapes the mortal coil once and for all.
Gojo's dying bloody smile shows he's at least happy in his final moments, so my feeling is that Gojo is truly dead and gone. I really want to trust that Gege will make this work, but damn. This is a tragedy.
(Although, if Gojo actually is at peace in death, maybe that's the reason Gege will bring him back. He'll *never* let that man be happy, I swear.)
To end on a positive note, the SatoSugu crumbs were beautiful and teenage Gojo's facial expressions were wonderful. I'm crying again just thinking about the contrast of that last adorable smile with his blank expression on the next page.
I'm dropping all my canonverse WIPs and working exclusively on AU fics for the foreseeable future 😤 I'm gonna give Gojo all the happy endings he deserves!!!
(fuck. poor poor shoko.)
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk 236#jjk leaks#呪術廻戦#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen leaks#jjk manga leaks#jjk spoilers#jjk manga spoilers#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#fushiguro megumi#geto suguru#satosugu
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0-4 is here, never fear.
I figured it out. Saiki keeps repeating himself so that the time loop reveal is more impactful. Or something. He is mentally preparing us for the neverending comedy shenanigans to get serious. Let’s pretend that’s Asou sensei’s intent.
This chapter is entitled “Chapter four: Precognition,” so I look forward to seeing how it addresses this very interesting power of his.
I have always liked that Saiki’s precognition is only totally random snippets without context (and comes along with a headache.) That’s a good limitation to put on a power like that, and it makes a good hole in which to plug Aiura further down the line (if you’ll excuse the strange wording.) Saiki then says “It would be the best power if only I could see exactly where I wanted to in the future…” So he thinks Aiura’s power is the best power…
I do like how this manga gets kind of meta in terms of: there’s the repeating format of “I am a psychic, but my abilities suck and here’s why…” but with a different ability each time, and a totally different character as well. It does give these first chapters a bit of a time loop feel. I wonder if a fan or an editor made some kind of comment in this vein to Asou sensei and he decided to run with it. I mean, he probably just thought of it as a convenient format to use, taking into consideration that a lot of people would be starting off by reading chapter two, or three or even four instead of chapter one of his first manga, since it was brand new at the time. And since the releases were pretty spaced out. Anyways.
I love how much fate just literally hands him very distinctive people. Even when Saiki isn’t accidentally doing things to attract them or being way too kind, he still ends up in all these scenarios where nothing but fate could make him collide with all of these people. Makes me think of the episode where Saiki is watching TV and it’s just one person that he knows after another.
XD Nendou conquered the slit…
I can’t decide if this is sarcasm or if Saiki likes human body part shaped objects. Judging from all of his earlier rants about muscles being gross, I’m going with sarcasm.
The fact that Saiki went out of his way just to do that for Nendou is touching. And very extra. I know it was because he thought Nendou would die otherwise, but still. He didn’t have to follow up with a text. That part was just to spare Nendou’s feelings.
He swapped her cell phone and the bowling ball… I guess those two items cost the same amount, a flip phone and a bowling ball… hmm.
Also I like Nendou having more emotional intelligence than Saiki. All of his friends have something that he doesn’t have; maybe that’s the common thread between them (aside from them all being a little strange.)
Alrighty! That’s the end of 0-4. See you all tomorrow for 0-5. 💫
#yet another post in which I try to demonstrate that a picture if worth a thousand words merits a few dozen at the very least#i hope u all are enjoying my mostly pointless commentary#I for one am having a ball#that’s what’s important right?#also this way I can go back through my archive of posts whenever needed to refer back to notable parts of the manga chronologically#read-saiki#read-saiki 0-4
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i think the main problem with the "is putting constructive criticism in the ao3 comment box Good or Bad" discourse is that most people don't actually know how to give constructive criticism
i have gotten quite a few comments on my work from people who probably thought they were being helpful and assisting me in becoming a better writer, but every single one of them amounted to "i didn't like the way you wrote this story, and it should be a different way instead." that is not helpful and in fact the exact opposite of what constructive criticism is supposed to be.
the reason why being an editor is such a specialized job is not only because you have to read other people's work and give criticism on it literally anyone can do that, as we've seen. an editor's actual job is to help the writer more efficiently and effectively tell their own story. even if an editor or beta reader or a member of your writer's group or whatever would have taken the story in a completely different direction, their job is not to tell you to correct course. their job is to help the writer smooth out the asphalt, maybe plant a few trees on the side of the road, fill in potholes, and get to their intended destination in a better way. even if you would never go there! even if you would drive in the opposite direction! it doesn't matter. you're helping the writer with THEIR story, not trying to impose the one you made up in your head onto it.
that's the problem. a lot of people treat "i didn't like this thing in this fic" the same way as "there's something structurally flawed in this story" because they don't know the difference between criticism that helps and "criticism" that's just their own opinion. some of the above-mentioned comments i've gotten have stated that the story would be better if i changed it completely and ruined the point of it, because they would like it better that way. which is not helpful if your goal is to help a writer better understand their story and how to improve at their craft.
all this to say: if you're going to leave constructive criticism on a fic, no one can stop you. but at least make sure you actually know what constructive criticism is first.
#annika talks#long post#im not putting this in any tags. its not worth it sjfhdj#what a thing to write at 8am amirite
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I really enjoyed Crying Wolf (after about one page of being a bit scared cause the words "prison" and "romance" used together can be really...not good in the hands of other people lol) so i'll be buying any book you were to publish. :D
Okay.
Story time.
Perhaps also rant time.
I don't know. We'll see where this takes us.
For those that don't know, Crying Wolf is a novel I wrote that was published in 2021. It's about twin brothers who get sent to prison for a crime only one of them committed. They're also werewolves.
You can buy it here if you're interested.
Now for the drama.
Crying Wolf is not a romance. At least, I never intended it to be a romance when I wrote it. It was inspired by the Australian TV show Wentworth (which is a prison drama) and me wanting to explore werewolves in a world where their existence is not secret.
But, peeling back another layer, it was really about me missing my sibling who I'd previously been very close to who suddenly moved to the other side of the planet, and processing some feelings I had about being in intimidating environments.
Ali's romance with Morgan was not nearly as explicit or important to the story in the first draft, and Amir's relationship with Ben was much more queer platonic.
But, I was told very unambiguously by several people, that I needed to increase the romantic elements. A lot of early readers felt the drama between the brothers wasn't enough to hold their interest.
Which is fair enough. I made the romances a bigger part of the story, but they still aren't the story. The story is still the brothers surviving a very dangerous environment while learning to let each other go.
It was, even then, still not a romance.
I never once tried to sell it to publishers as a romance. I always said it was a family drama. I distinctly remember making a point about this because I didn't want publishers to be disappointed.
But family dramas set in prisons which also happen to be full of werewolves isn't really a marketable category. Gay paranormal prison romance is.
I think this is was even more true back in 2018 when I signed Crying Wolf's publishing contract.
I noticed during the editing process that my editors really wanted to increase the romantic elements of the story even more, but that didn't really bother me. I don't think I 100% realised they intended to market it as a romance until later.
And I don't hate that. I guess I can see why they did it. And, with the edits, there is very much a romantic feel to it now. But, I still don't think it fits well within the category.
The literal climax of the story is about the brothers calling out to each other and giving each other strength from a distance, even if they can't be together in person. It's not about the kissing.
I don't know how readers feel, but that's how I feel. Especially considering how dark prison romances can be, I just don't think it fits the label.
Ultimately, Crying Wolf did not sell very well. Sure, there are a few hundred copies floating around out there, but it doesn't pay any bills. A part of that, I think, is it came out at a weird time in a weird market. COVID changed a lot of things. However, I also think some people picked it up thinking it was a dark romance and were disappointed... while others who may have liked it didn't buy it because they thought it was a dark romance.
Or maybe it just isn't the sort of thing a ton of people would be interested in. I dunno.
I still really like it. I think I did a good job writing it and reread parts of it from time to time. But, personally, for me, it isn't a romance.
It's about twin werewolf brothers being bad at emotions in a very fucked up situation.
Anyway, I'm really glad you enjoyed it, and would buy other things I publish. I hope you'll get that opportunity and I hope this sort of cleared up the marketing weirdness with Crying Wolf. 💙
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I don't know how to thank you. This feels like the end of an era. I can't believe it's been 4yrs since you started posting hiuh and I was instantly hooked. It literally got me through the pandemic. I learned so much from the story and felt I had Neo as a therapist(the best in the world). You must be flooded with asks now but I am really curious how the story formed in your head. It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter. Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they? It really is a master piece - much much better than many published books I read and I hope you will publish someday, if that's what you want.
I'd also offer you my first born to have an epilogue. hopefully lamen with their child(ren) playing on the beach and Nicaise being the doting big brother. they all grew so much and deserve all the happiness. oh and Kastor and Jo and Galen for big family gathering. I'm so proud of all of them.
thank you thank you thank you for all your patience and genius and mostly, generosity.
hello!!!! i'm so happy that my story resonated with you and got you through some tough times. it did the same for me!
It's hard to believe how consistent the story is as you posted chapter by chapter.
thank you!! it will never be as good as it was in my head or as good as I know I could have made it if I had spent more time on it, but for me the most important thing is that it is completed and at least 70% of what I wanted it to be. a win is a win!!!
Did you outline the whole story when you started? did you stick to all the original ideas? if you changed your mind what were they?
i got the idea for a modern au break up fic in 2020 while I was writing and posting wtsioa. i started the story as a 20k one shot and then realized 5k into it or less that it was not going to fit into that word count. the reason was very simple: i did not want a break up fic centered around "miscommunication" in a naive, fluffy way. i did not want to write a fic where the main issue was that one loved the other too much or that they thought the other was cheating when it wasn't true, etc. i wanted to write a break up that felt honest to me, and this meant giving them both issues that felt real, that i saw in myself and in the people around me irl. which meant that it would take them both considerably more than 5k to get over them (if they ever did).
i outlined the fic very roughly. my first drafts . . . they are not it, girl. like, anyone that has read wtsioa knows that. I'm a much better editor than I am a writer, so for hiuh i outlined the main beats (nicaise calls damen after months, damen goes to therapy, nicaise is out of control and some incidents happen, laurent is dating maxime, they get back together). then, i wrote the entire thing in . . . a year? maybe less? then, i made a mistake and got cocky: i edited the first three chapters and started posting on ao3. that's why the fic took so long to post. i had to edit each chapter a lot after the first three were released.
i edited out too many things to count. things you wouldn't believe if I told you now because they make no sense when looking at the finished version. idalia was a pretty big character, and so was jokaste. in the og outline, I debated between claude/heavy drugs for nicaise. i almost named dog NIKANDROS!!!! damen actually punched aktis at the party when he talks shit about laurent . . . which led to him also punching nik. laurent slapping nicaise once. aimeric and damen baking together. then, there were things I wanted to write but couldn't because they didn't feel very real to me, despite being the best self indulgent daydream scenarios ever: damen hunting claude down (yeah, ruth wanted this to happen), dog getting sick, aimeric's EVERYTHING lol, nik and nicaise talking, etc.
thank you for sending this ask and reading the story through all the ups and downs and... lack of updates on my end!!! it has been the best experience ever, knowing that someone out there is reading and cares about what I made. thank you!!!!!!!!
#anon#hiuh#about the epilogue: i feel you#someone asked me what lamen telling nicaise would look like#but I WANNA KNOW WHAT THE PEOPLE WANT OKAY#bc i already know what happens inside my head#some people were pissed about the cut off ending but i think it just gives the story such a hopeful note
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The Wish
Once again, only 18+ bc the rest of the series is!
As always, a huge thank you to my beta readers/editors @stickyarbiterwombat and @yaoibrainworms!!!! I literally couldn't do this without y'all <3
This fic is actually the first in the DWU series! Hope you enjoy!!!!!
Simon drummed his fingers anxiously on the bar. He asked Finn to meet him there to discuss something, a major life change, for lack of better words.
“Hey Simon, what’s up?” Finn’s voice shook the older man from his thoughts.
He jumped.
“Oh, hey Finn, I didn’t even hear you come in,” Simon turned to face the boy, no man. It had been a lifetime ago that Finn was a boy.
“Yeah, I’ve been working on sneaking, I think I’m getting pretty good at it!” He punctuated the thought with a booming laugh.
Simon smiled to himself.
“So, what’s on your mind, you seemed pretty nervous on the phone,” Finn sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Well, I’m looking at moving,” Simon started, trying to find a way to explain what was going on in his head, “but I don’t think I’d be able to see you again.”
Finn laughed again.
“Good on you! I know you haven’t felt at home in the human city for a long time,” he congratulated before continuing, “But I don’t think there’s a place in Ooo you could move to where I wouldn’t be able to visit you!”
“Finn, I won’t be in Ooo anymore.”
The younger man raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out where he could be going that wasn’t in Ooo.
“You know I can find a way to Mars, right?”
“Finn, you know there’s an entire multiverse, with all these different possibilities…” he began to trail off, looking to Finn’s face for a reaction of any kind, “Well, I found one that I really felt at home in.”
“I’m guessing Betty is there?” Finn nodded sagely.
“No, there’s no Betty.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
Simon cleared his throat, attempting to find a way to explain what all happened on his adventures with Fionna and Cake.
“I met someone, he and I have so much but also nothing in common and..and..and,” he found himself almost growing frantic, repeating his words, “I need to go back for him and make things right.”
Finn rested a hand on Simon’s shoulder.
“You know, sometimes I remember my wife and kids and think I should try to go and check on them, but I think I actually died in that world, so I probably shouldn’t go back.”
Simon stared at him.
“Your what?”
“Oh yeah, I fell into a pillow world, met wonderful girl and settled down.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, I was probably thirteen or so, spent a whole afternoon there!” Finn smiled fondly, remembering the days of his youth.
They sat like that for a minute, both simultaneously completely understanding the other and not understanding at all.
“Have you talked to Marceline about any of this?” Finn said, finally breaking the comfortable silence between them.
“I don’t know if I can, I’ve already abandoned her before…” Simon’s chest hurt every time he thought about telling her.
“I think you’d regret not talking to her.” Finn’s voice was careful, not worried of overstepping, but not wanting to push any buttons.
Simon pressed his hands to his temples and dragged them down his face before bringing them back up and rubbing his eyes.
He didn’t think much as he pulled out his phone and clicked her contact.
She answered on the first ring.
“Hey Simon!” She answered cheerfully.
Simon’s voice caught in his throat and he looked over to Finn, who gave him a thumbs up.
“Hey Marcy, what’re you up to?”
“Oh, nothing much, Peebs just went home so I’m chillin.” Marceline sounded bored, not disinterested, just bored.
“Marceline…” Simon started, unsure of what to say.
Marcy sat up straight. He rarely used her full name.
“Simon, is everything okay?”
“Um..yeah. Everything is okay…” he trailed off again, “I really need to talk to you about something. Something important.”
She worried now.
“Marcy, I’m leaving. Forever, I think.”
Simon didn’t have time to continue his thoughts before Marceline stormed into the bar.
“What do you mean forever?!” She yelled into the phone and his face.
The feedback from his phone made him cringe. He hung up the phone and looked at the girl he took care of for so long.
“Hi Marcy!” Finn waved, happy to see his longtime friend.
Marceline turned to him and nodded before turning her attention back to Simon.
“Simon, what do you mean forever; I just got you back and now you’re leaving again?” She had to hold herself back from shoving him out of frustration.
“It’s really complicated,” he started again.
“Then uncomplicate it!” She raised her voice.
“Well, I met someone. In a distant land. He…died. And I need to leave and make things right and I can’t do that if I’m here.”
Simon’s words hung in the air. Finn and Marceline shared a look before turning their attention back to him.
“Simon…” Finn spoke first, “why are you going backif he’s dead?”
Simon put his head in his hands.
“Listen, if what I’m going to do doesn’t work, I’ll be back here before you guys even realize I’m gone.”
“But if it does…” Marceline started.
“I won’t ever be back,” Simon confirmed.
She was conflicted. She didn’t want to lose the man who had been her father but she also understood wanting to fix things. She wanted to tell him to not go, to not leave her again; but she knew if he stayed, he’d wind up regretting it.
“You should do it.” She said firmly, before hugging Simon, “But you better call me from wherever you’re going.”
“Are you sure?”
Marceline sniffled and let out a small laugh.
“No, but I don’t want you to spend your life wondering what could have happened,” another sniffle, “so don’t ask me if I’m sure again, I’ll change my mind.”
Simon stood and hugged her back, squeezing her tight. Finn let them have their moment before embracing both of them.
“I’m going to miss this,” Simon mumbled, his voice muffled from the hug.
“We’re going to miss you too old man,” Marceline was crying now, they all were.
Simon left the bar and walked home alone, taking his time. He tried to enjoy what would hopefully be his last walk through the city.
His plan was simple enough.
He was just going to get Prismo’s attention and then make a wish.
Once home, he found getting Prismo’s attention much harder than he had anticipated. He didn’t have the time to find the enchiridion or get the jewel from every princess’s crown. He tried all types of chants, he tried writing notes addressed to the being. Nothing seemed to work.
He looked to his clock and saw that he had been working at this for hours.
Simon threw his arms up in frustration and began kicking his wall, screaming the whole time.
“Prismo!” He yelled, “I know you can hear me, now help me!” he began cussing until it fell into indecipherable rambling.
Prismo finally beamed him into the time room.
“Simon, my main man, what is up?” He sounded almost groggy.
He spun around to face the being on the wall.
“I know damn well you weren’t sleeping, why weren’t you answering me?” Simon pointed aggressively, glaring at Prismo.
“I was busy watching Fionna’s world, she’s doing some really cool stuff. Wanna see?” Prismo began to change the channel back to the other version of Ooo.
Simon began to protest, before turning around to see Fionna in her apartment, watching Cheers.
“Prismo, how long has she been doing this?”
“The last seven hours. Incredible, right?”
They watched for a minute before Simon turned back around.
“Prismo, I need to make a wish.”
Prismo muted the screen.
“You know I can’t bring Betty back, we’ve talked about this.” He had told Simon that countless times, but it never got easier.
“I know, there are limits to your powers,” Simon waved him off, “but are you able to bring people back that didn’t turn into Gods of chaos?”
Prismo thought about it for a moment.
“I mean, yeah, I guess I could, but you’d have to be mega specific dude,”
“How specific?” The gears in Simon’s head were turning.
“Like uber mega specific.” Prismo gestured with each word, making sure he got the point across.
Simon sat down next to Prismo, his back against the wall. He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and a pencil from behind his ear.
He began writing.
He knew he knew he wanted to bring the Winter King back, that was the easy part; but he also wanted Princess Bubblegum, or the Candy Queen in that world, to be okay, to keep her sanity. He wanted to make sure the other Simon had no memory of dying and coming back, that he’d only remember the curse of madness brought with the crown was broken, not the powers.
He kept writing furiously as Prismo sat and watched.
“So…” Prismo said, drawing out the word, “You almost done there?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, do you mind if I turn Fionna and Cake back on?”
“Yes I mind, I’m trying to focus.” Simon huffed.
“You’ve been writing for like 15 minutes dude, I think you’ve got it by now” Prismo rolled his eyes and sighed, bored out of his infinite mind.
Simon put his pencil down and looked at the Wishmaster.
“I didn’t think I had a time limit.”
“I mean, you don’t…but you’re acting like I’m like a genie or something.” Prismo was borderline offended, even though he knew he had the ability to give people the worst version of their wish imaginable.
Simon turned his attention back to the paper, trying to figure out if he had missed anything.
“I’m actually ready..I think” He couldn’t help but feel nervous that he had missed something.
“Hell yeah dude, hit me!” Prismo cheered.
“Okay,” Simon took a breath, staring at his paper, “I wish for the Winter King to be brought back to life, as he was,” he paused again.
“Can do!” Prismo said with a grin.
“But I want the curse of madness that comes with the crown to still be gone so that Princess Bubblegum can stay in her true form. And I don’t want either of them to remember the king dying, I only want for them to remember the curse being broken by Fionna’s kiss or touch or whatever.” Simon was speaking quickly, saying it all in one breath.
Prismo thought about it then nodded.
“Yeah, I can do that too.”
“And I want to be taken to their world.”
Prismo stared at Simon.
“Simon, my guy, are you sure about that?” Prismo rubbed his chin, “If I send you there, you can’t ever go back to your Ooo. Like…Ever.”
Simon nodded a single time.
“I’ve thought about it, talked to Finn and Marcy, and they gave me their blessing.” His voice was soft, knowing what he’d be giving up if he left, with no guarantee of what he was leaving them for.
“Well, then I can’t stop you. Good luck with everything!” Prismo snapped and Simon was beamed away.
Prismo sat there in the silence for a moment, thankful he had sent Scarab to go clean the pickle room.
He turned back to the screen to see Fionna was still watching Cheers.
“She really doesn’t do much, huh?” He mused to himself.
Prismo looked at the remote and changed the channel.
“I think this is going to be my new favorite show.”
#teddy talks#theo's thoughts#simon x winter king#the winter king#winter king x simon#winterking#winterkov#simon petrikov#simoncest#simonpetrikov#dwu
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cw: SFW, FLUFF
BOKUAKA. BOKKUN AND MSBY <3 I made this in 20 mins, idk shit about motorcycles and streets in english so don't come at me pls (ducati bike looks good) and yes this is the elaboration for my biker bokuto koutarou thought ᕙ( • ‿ • )ᕗ
MSBY BJ at their prime locker talks but they're flexing their rides. Someone has a Ferrari, someone a Porsche, someone a Lamborghini and the list goes on, until a very intrigued Bokuto chimes in with a smirk, talking over.
"oh, you guys have cars? that's cool! I don't have one, 'cause I ride a motorcycle. :D"
The team immediately whips their head in disbelief to look at Bokuto, who's currently topless and confused at the stares.
"You... you have a motorcycle?" Sakusa asks with uncertainty, pointing a finger at him.
"Seriously, Bokkun? I don't believe ya one bit. You, out of everyone? No way," Atsumu laughs, pulling over a t-shirt on top of him.
"Woah, seriously Bokuto-san? You have a motorcycle? How come? We've never seen it, and we haven't seen you on it!" Hinata questions, and the whole team agrees.
In the span of a moment, from his overly big and messy gym bag, he pulls out a car— no, a key. A black, motorcycle key. with a smidge of red shaped like a shield at the top, silver borders with a strike in between, and the word DUCATI written neatly.
And as much as the men don't want to believe it, they're now suddenly faced to.
"Tadaa! Isn't she just gorgeous?" Bokuto exclaims proudly.
"Isn't... Akaashi-san a boy though?" Hinata asks confusedly.
Practice is over and they're all in front of the gym, seeing how Akaashi parks the bike in front of them, dusting his coat off and fixing his glasses as he makes his way towards him. He politely bows to them.
"Akaashi Keiji, editor in shonen manga magazines in a major publishing company. Bokuto-san had asked me to bring his bike over, so here it is." Akaashi greets calmly, glancing at everyone's faces, smiling a little at seeing Hinata.
"I-I meant the bike. Not Akaashi, but even though it's still true! both things. they're both gorgeous." Bokuto exclaims, hiding his embarrassment and stuttering, his cheeks warming up. He gently pecks Akaashi on the cheek, quite literally shocking the whole team (he forgot to tell them he's dating keiji) and asks once again.
"So, who wants a ride first !!?"
——————
"w-woah!! Bokuto-san, so fast!!!" Shoyo yells, clutching onto Bokuto even tighter. Bokuto leans front, increasing speed, fully focused on the road, not a single sound coming out of him. Shoyo's eyes sparkle at his energetic, loud and owl-like senpai, currently very quiet, serious and very cool looking.
After a quick round around a nearby highway, they're back again In front of the gym, the volleyball team surprised at seeing Shoyo in one piece. (bokuto obliged them to wait, akaashi kept them entertained.)
Shoyo gets off the bike, taking off the helmet, wobbly making his way to the men staring at him, arms dangling off his shoulders, almost able to puke. His hair is a mess after wearing the helmet, while Bokkun's hair looks even spikier. He grips on Atsumu's sleeve and almost collapses, clearing his throat and looking up at him— big shiny stars in his eyes.
"that was super cool!! You have to get on, Bokuto-san is an amazing driver!!! You might not believe me, but he was insanely quiet, he looked so cool and serious too!! I really, really didn't expect him to drive like that!!" Shoyo exclaims, looking over at the other men staring at him in disbelief.
Atsumu's eyes widen and he scoffs, taking Shoyo's hands off his sleeve, making his way towards owl head. "No way, Shoyo can't be serious? You? Quiet? Yeahhhhhhh... Can't believe 'at. Give me a ride and we'll see, yeah?"
the whole of MSBY rode Bokuto's bike that evening, and, never underestimated or didn't believe him ever again.
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu drabbles#bokuto koutaro#akaashi keiji#msby#msby jackals#msby black jackal#hinata shoyo#atsumu miya#bokuto koutarou#haikyuu#hq
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youtube
Episode 6- March 6th, 2021- Day three of Chuckle Lore- Poll to choose Saturday and Sunday’s episodes are open rn :)
Lore- None today but it turns out core is the official cs fetish so take what you will with that (23:55)
Thoughts- Swagger Souls was a great first guess for the podcast and his episode holds up pretty well after three years. Episodes with guest are kinda hit or miss with me but the chemistry between the four didn’t feel forced.
There was a good chunk of time that was just porn talk and ngl that was the part I laughed the hardest (which is embarrassing because I literally just talked about how the sex jokes were getting old) but in my defense, none of the guys felt as horny compared to newer episodes.
My favorite part was easily the show and tell bit, Swagger’s painting was absolutely gorgeous and Charlie looked so proud of his own painting. Also, were any of y’all going to tell me that Ted skateboards??? There was so much stuff packed into this one episode, the COVID talk kinda threw me off guard and it’s insane how it took me only three years to forget how crazy lockdown was. Overall I enjoyed this episode and my only real complaint is that Schlatt didn’t talk for like a third of it. 7.8/10, a successful guest episode.
Things I noted-
I accidentally had this episode on 2x speed and it was absolutely hilarious
Ted and Charlie have an higher education (L)
The editors notes were so wholesome <3
Ted is a skater boy????
“Look at the little dork standing there”- My mom when Ted was waiting to do his little trick
Hearing how Charlie would beat up children is absolutely delightful
(Original notes + Comment under the cut)
#ep. 6#loreless episode#chuckle sandwich#chuckle sammy#ted nivison#jschlatt#schlatt#guest episode#ft. swagger souls
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alright! knew soemone took out the corkboard for this one. I totally agree though with all the stuff about the rebranding. I would suggest they are trying to rebrand themselves and make themselves better because on WW+ they do talk about how watcher wasn't exactly how they thought it would be and the pandemic really was rough for their company. And I would agree with the streamings service bc it is literally called www.watchertv.com but it is true that they are a suggested smaller company and have a relatively smaller audiance then their buzzfeed days. One thing on their part I wish they would have done differently when watcher first started was promoting watcher more on buzzfeed. They did a few times and at the very end but no one reads the discription and or the last little bits of the crdits. if they did promote it more, then maybe more of the audiance from unsolved would have come over to their company and have given them a bigger start. but with that comes its own problems of not having enough content or better content yada yada yada. One thing I did think of when I say the announcement was maybe it was a slouth of new shows were already ready to watch like a series. I quickly shot that down. Bc when would they have time to shoot 2-3+ shows? Between editing and keeping their current shows alive I doubt they had time (this is all speculation I have no fucking clue). Anyway I do think it might be stuff like maybe a new show announcements like maybe one with Sara and Joyce. As well as the somewhat annocued one with Steven and his crew. aybe a new tour and merch? Merch store has been pretty dry (minus the new patches) and we haven't had a tour since november which isn't long but idk what they do in HQ. Truly excited tho. I have my alarms set and everything. Anyway lol that's for reading my ramble too. Your theories were great, didn't mean to kind of debunk them though.
I believe you and I are on same the page and here are some of my responses to this.
With the whole BuzzFeed promoting: I don't think they had much of a say on what and how much they could promote Watcher over on BuzzFeed. If I remember correctly, BuzzFeed is very stingy on their employees/shows promoting other outside sources that could be seen as competition. Henceforth many BuzzFeed employees on contract could not appear in other YouTubers videos do to conflict of interest. In the end, it was really generous for the amount of promoting allowed of Shane and Ryan to put into the last seasons of BuzzFeed Unsolved.
The possibility of new shows: Yes, filming a lot of shows to add in this new slate would seem like a lot, but not in possible. It would seem more likely than touring as touring takes the boys away from the office and takes up a considerable amount of time and obstacles for filming schedules. Also I said how there are new names showing up in the credits of new editors and production crew, meaning they are hiring on new folks. Bigger team, more flexibility to work on new projects. Also if these new shows are less of Shane and Ryan, and more of other individuals like Steven and friends of the company it would actually mean a more balance flow of shooting. Letting Shane and Ryan have a break from constantly filming and to work on other projects within their own lives or through the company. Actually, Ronnie who was an intern for Watcher back in 2021 or 2022 I believe posted this on their instagram story:
They actually left the company sometime in 2022 possibly after the internship was up. Then when to work for GMM though that internship has come to close. Basically what I am saying is they are continue to grow their employment and with more people on the team means more flexibly in expansion of shows.
Merch???: I feel like merch could be a possible in this announcement if it's a relaunch of sorts. Especially if it's like a rebrand, selling merch to fit the new rebrand? Perfect idea to generate some revenue as for long time fans it would be a refreshing site to their merch line... and who doesn't love fresh new merch?
Don't worry guy I am also so excited! I noticed I actually don't work on Friday so I can be fully present for the announcement day! Imma be on the internet as a menace all day watch me.
#watcher#watcher entertainment#ryan bergara#shane madej#steven lim#wtf is going on at watcher hq?!#inbox thingys#my april 19th theory
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