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capslocked · 2 years

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DEPARTURE

male reader x hwang yeji

13k words

So far as you can tell, Yeji never loved you. A wish beyond your reach.

April, and you were barely seventeen. It was spring, but the weather hadn’t gotten wind of that just yet. So—cool, rainy, just like every April before it.

Yeji’s voice stuck a perfect landing in your ears. "You know what’s crazy?"

"No?" you responded cautiously.

"Apparently this stuff starts out as a wheat, or a rye. You believe that?"

You paused. "What the hell is rye?"

"It’s… well, it’s like a wheat."

The wood crackled again, embers sent flying into the chill night air. Now that the fire had already begun burning out in front of you, you pulled your jacket tight around your shoulders.

"Okay. Ready? On three."

"Wait a second." You raised a finger in the air. "One, two, three?—or, one, two, three go?"

"Who on earth does one, two, three, go?"

"I dunno."

Yeji twisted an eyebrow without saying anything and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. The coals and dying gasps of the bonfire between you illuminated the sharp, perfected features of her face, casting a set of even sharper shadows.

"I mean some people do," you added.

"Do I look like some people?"

That mischievous smirk again pulled at the corner of her lip. It was dark and hard to see, but you could feel it.

"You look like you’re trying to get me sick," you said.

"Don’t be such a baby about it. Just do it with me."

"On go?"

"On three." She curled her lip, dissatisfied with you yet again. "One. Two. Three."

Eyes closed, you tilted the cup back against your lips. A dark, dreadful liquor pooled in your cheeks. And against your better judgment, it finally seared its way down your throat. For a moment, it sat woefully in your stomach, like a question mark. Your eyes watered, your chest heaved, coughing and choking.

It took a beat, but eventually you would make peace with it, the beverage equivalent of a kick to the head. You were just thankful it had not elected to leave the same way it came.

"Ugh," you sputtered, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. "I swear it’s like someone wondered what would happen if you tried to drink dirt." Your eyes drew over the bonfire—or at least what was left of it—to find a face beaming with the smuggest grin you’d ever seen, the drink in her hands entirely untouched.

"Gotcha," she lilted.

"Oh of course, you ass."

Yeji’s hand covered a laugh, the corners of her mouth sneaking out from behind it. The sound of it alone made nearly puking worth it. She stood. And in one uninterested motion, tossed the contents of her cup—a kind of alcohol you’d only learn later in life could probably be used to start a car—right out into the grass. Twisting the insides of her jacket pockets, she sauntered around the pit, briefly lit in the spits and licks of the dying fire.

"Think there’s any room on that tree stump for one more?"

Her eyes, sharp and magnetic, always pulled you deeply into her. She held you in them for a moment, a long couple of moments, and the flickers of the fire painted bright streaks of gold in those whirlpools of deep, earthen brown. When she smiled, the corners of her eyes creased, snapping at your attention.

"You deaf?"

"Dunno. Depends," you said, still clutching your chest and clearing your throat. "Who’s asking?"

Hwang Yeji. Your first kiss. Your first a lot of things actually. However for the sake of this story, your first kiss. It was somewhat crude how she’d stolen it off you too. Though still that was your fault mostly. It’s only fair that you got what was coming to you for the way you had dragged your feet.

A playful slap landed on your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You think about it less and less now, and as a result, the actual details of it have begun to elude you. Obviously you remember kissing her—or rather her kissing you—but that’s just about all you remember. There’s the way it started; her fingers under your chin, dragging your eyes away from the pile of embers that glowed in the fire pit. And of course how it ended; a wide smile dimpling her cheeks as her lips pulled away from yours. But everything in between? Years after the fact? God, your guess is as good as anyone’s.

Still, in spite of their incompleteness, Yeji shows up in a lot of your memories, the good ones anyway. You tease them through your head time and time again just to make sure they’re still there, intact.

She’d been around for a lot of the growing up you had to do in school, persistently dissatisfied you wouldn’t do it any faster. Never before had you gotten that close to anyone, let alone someone as vibrantly charismatic and beautiful as her. Allowing yourself to think back on it, there was a lot of downtime, time where nothing in particular was happening at all—the walks home after classes and clubs, Saturday afternoons just spent hanging out on your parent’s couch, not to mention all those late night runs on the local Pelicana for more chicken wings than anyone should ever eat—it all seemed like such a big deal at the time (though arguably, Pelicana is still a big deal).

To be clear, no, the two of you never dated. It was far too difficult to describe it like that. When one of you would turn eyes to the other for comfort, for compassion, for a sincerity absent in those everyday flirtations, you’d always find her—or she’d find you—with eyes pointed away, thoughts elsewhere. Though that didn’t mean you wouldn’t get teased about it, relentlessly you might add. Your friends would see the Friday evenings and Sunday mornings you’d spend together on what must’ve looked like nothing other than what they were: dates.

But the truth was more complicated than you ever cared to explain. So—you let them think what they wanted. You’d always return back to them and field twenty questions about what the two of you got up to, if she was good at kissing, what position she liked, how she was down there, whatever the color was of the underwear she wore that day. You’d make up your own answers, the ones they wanted to hear. It always did shut them up.

So, officially, you were friends. And you were the first person she came to when she got the news.

"In Seoul, huh?" You shoved your hands in your pockets.

"Yep."

"For how long?"

"No one knows." She twisted at the collar of her shirt, pulling and turning it into a tight knot. "For some people it’s a year and then they know it's not really gonna work out. For others it’s a whole lot longer."

"Well, it’ll get pretty quiet around here then won’t it."

Yeji smiled. "You’ll survive. I know you will."

A brief silence hung between you, different from any of the other lulls in conversation or times just spent quietly in your thoughts. Dry leaves crunched and mashed as you walked, and you could hear the wind shake old tree branches of whatever was still left on them.

"I bet you’d be good at it."

"What’s with that?" A muted laugh and Yeji’s eyes were again pointed up to the sky, as if she were counting stars. Always she was looking at the sky like that. You knew it. Maybe she knew it too. She didn’t belong here.

You let out a short sigh and shrugged your shoulders. "Just a hunch."

Five years had passed now, and you still remember vividly the conversation that had become your last. A fresh blanket of snow over the street hadn’t yet been disturbed by the morning traffic. Yeji’s hands were balled into two tiny fists, hidden in the long sleeves of the overcoat of her school uniform, a hand-me-down from her older sister ostensibly. Her hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, a pair of white earmuffs sitting atop it, and for the first time you’d ever known, she searched and searched for that bright smile—only she came up empty.

She told you she was leaving. She told you she wasn’t coming back. And then without skipping a beat, tears welling in her eyes, she told you not to wait for her.

See, our memories are a rather peculiar thing. In the backyard of that party neither of you belonged at, when the two of you were kissing beside those dying embers, you thought it’d be the memory you always play back in your head, clutching it tightly to your breast like your life depended on it. But truth be told, you can’t even tell at this point what’s fact and what you’ve since fabricated to fill the gaps.

As fate would have it, it’s that scene—in the middle of your driveway at four-fifteen in the morning—you remember it perfectly. While it played out, you made no special notice of it. You’d never stopped to think what a lasting impression it would make on you, how five years after the fact you’d manage to recall it in excruciating detail.

You had paid no attention to all that scenery around you either, the stars disappearing to make way for the sun, the sound of snow crunching beneath your feet, the gentle hum of the electric generator heating your home, or the white puffs of air that leaked off your chest. No, you were paying attention to yourself, the things you felt. You were paying attention to that unfairly beautiful girl standing arm’s length in front of you. Your thoughts wandered about the two of you together, and then again, retired solemnly back to yourself.

To make matters worse, you were in love. A troublesome, frustrating, complicated love.

With very little to say, you said very little. She said she’d call. She didn’t. You understood. Time passed. And then some. Later, you’d hammer out a drunken text message on New Year’s Eve the next year. A final albeit clumsy effort to hold your world together. Sent, but never opened.

And that was it. There was little else to do about it. You figured it was time to move on. Not that you had even an inkling of an idea how. Playing it back again in your head only ever filled your teary eyes with an almost unbearable sorrow. Realizing you’d never know if Yeji loved you.

It’s October and you’ll soon be twenty-four. The seat belt sign above you lights up. The cabin shakes and struggles. And your ears ring as the aircraft begins its descent onto a runway at Heathrow Airport. You typically enjoyed the window seat to get a good picture of where it was you were arriving—even if it wasn’t new—the layouts of highways, parks, train stations, large construction projects, all the things that made a city unique. But by the time the aircraft breaks through dark cloud cover, the only thing you can see beyond the ground crew in rain jackets and the chain linked fences around the tarmac, beyond the cold autumn rain beating down upon it, is that unyielding, gloomy sky. Again—London.

Buckles unlatch and passengers stand, gathering their belongings from the overhead bins. You remain stuck in your seat, chin resting on your hand, gazing at the backpack of the woman across the aisle—the contents that peek out of it blindsiding you: a copy of Vogue magazine with five unbelievably gorgeous faces on it, Yeji’s most noticeably staring back at you.

You’d groan out loud if you weren’t surrounded by people. It was becoming untenable.

Most of the reason you’d taken your job abroad was to keep from seeing her at every turn. There were the advertisements, the billboards, the promotional material you’d find on buses, subways, anywhere with decent foot traffic really, and that’s just what you could see. Her voice was always in your ear, and her name on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

And now it seems that even all the way out here, on a short flight from Zurich to London, that plan to escape her is already now showing delicate cracks in its optimistic veneer.

Perhaps it was the way your lips twist, or how your eyebrows furrow—you’ll never know—but a stewardess feels it within reason to check up on you, to see how you’re doing. She asks first in German, and then in French, and then finally in English that you can understand.

"I’m okay—just a little lightheaded."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m fine, thanks," you say, pulling your gatherings together from beneath your seat.

You’re not crazy, no more than anyone else. So it logically follows that you don’t believe in ghosts. At least certainly not in the colloquial sense. And the queue for immigration and customs at London Heathrow Airport has to be about the last place on earth anyone would choose to loiter about for eternity. But those ones you create for yourself? The ones that haunt you?

"I told you! I packed them in a little gray bag! The one you threw across the room at me!"

Those are real.

"Why the hell would you pack them away—when it’s the first thing you’re going to need to get off the plane?"

"Maybe I packed them away safely because we’d need them first thing."

Yeji waves her hand flippantly at the girl beside whose hair was dyed a garish blonde. She rolls her eyes with enough disdain that it drags her face over her shoulder. You watch her do a double, a triple take and your eyes lock with hers. Be it accident, be it fate, it doesn’t matter—it makes it hard to breathe. You shake your head, blink your eyes, but the two of you are stuck in each other’s gaze like it were a finger trap, unable to look away.

Nevertheless there’s some part of you still that refuses to believe in what is now a few feet in front of you. The same scene, playing out back home—assuredly there would be no end to the camera flashes and people chasing and begging for autographs. If anything, the only interest it gathers here, halfway around the world, is impatience from the scowls of grumpy travelers who’d rather be anywhere else.

"Yeji?" The girl beside her, whom you now absolutely recognize—god, you wish it was a mystery to you, what all Yeji had been up to since she walked right out of your life—she asks again, frustrated, "are you even listening to me?"

"Hang on. Give me a second."

She walks with purpose, an insatiable curiosity gnawing at her thoughts. Those heeled boots that tucked in the bottom of her jeans tap loudly against the concrete beneath your feet. And her hair bounces in place against the shoulder of a beige knit sweater on each step. The baggy garment’s sleeves are long, just as she always liked them, hiding her hands in their cuffs as she marches toward you.

Each step leads into the next with such grace and poise it leaves you frozen. Yeji had always been easy on the eyes. And of course you’d seen her everywhere, seen the beautiful woman she’d grown into, taking mental note of it more times than you could count. But even your most particular memories—no matter how bold you chose to remember her—they never could’ve imagined this confidence, the way she carried herself with such raw assurance and certainty.

She sweeps the hair out of her face, looking up at you, confirming exactly what it was she thought she saw. Glistening, her eyes widen, and she holds you in them for the first time in years. You can feel your chest tighten and your stomach twist—she’s so unbelievably pretty it hurts. It’s something like the way you experience a master painting, a Rembrandt or a Hals, by not only letting it steal your breath from far away, but also up close, where you might appreciate the brush strokes.

Shaking her head, laughing quietly to herself in disbelief, she leaps headlong into the silence. "What are you doing here?"

See, this had been a scenario you’d puzzled over a million times in your head already. She’d find you, or perhaps you’d find her, and the two of you would smile, before saying something cute, something that would instantly return you to where you left things five years ago. But even in the pages of your most speculative efforts, it would never quite look like this. You struggle to remember any of those quippy one-offs you thought you’d say. In fact, the breath you draw in, swirling knots of air in your chest, it simply finds no words to speak at all. Upon realizing its uselessness, it falls off your tongue, silent.

After all, you hadn’t talked to her in years. What reason do you have that makes you think you’d start now?

"Yeji, I—" Even her name is a cursed utterance at this point, the way it makes you strain and choke. It takes you a moment, but a dry laugh leads your response upon realizing the absurdity of the question. "Yeji, I live here."

"You live here?" Her eyes open further in shock. "What? Why?"

"Work." It wasn’t a lie, but the simplest answer conveniently hid the fact you’d picked up your entire life and settled thousands of kilometers to get away from her.

She furrows her brow and tilts her head inquisitively. "You’re pulling my leg."

"Well, I’m certainly not on vacation."

She crosses her arms, thinking for a moment before blurting out the first thing that came to her head as she was so often wont to do. Raking her fingers through her hair, gathering stares of everyone around you, she finally responds, "I’m just—I’m having a hard time—I really had no idea."

Accusative, "I mean… Yeji. Does that surprise you?"

Her lips narrow and tuck against her teeth. She twists the collar of her sweater between two perfectly manicured fingernails, painted dark with meticulous white detailing. Further and further, she knots it beneath the pale skin of her neck. It’s the same anxious tic she’d always indulge.

Her voice, tender and choked up, reaches out to you "I’m sorry."

You hadn’t much to respond to it. Your thoughts were tied and shackled to the fact that you were now suddenly eighteen again, staring down the barrel of the girl who broke your heart. Again, tongue-twisted, you search the look on Yeji’s face—eyebrows knit together, and the corner of her lip pulled back into an unsure smile. It defies logic—and reasonably so—it’s beyond the grave, the relationship you thought you’d buried years ago.

"And so when we got off the plane, we were still missing the better half of our passports." Yeji pulls her shoulders up into a hopeless shrug, her hands still in her pockets. "I guess they’re just going to sit and wait in customs until someone can do something about it."

"Bleak."

"Tell me about it."

"You’re just gonna leave them there?"

Yeji laughs to herself. "Trust me, I need a break from those girls. And now you’re here? Talk about a silver lining."

The two of you had made a loop around the terminal concourse god knows how many times now. You could feel the strain of walking the circuit start to make your knees ache and your muscles sting, but you weren’t about to complain.

Things felt different, but also not so far off from the way they always were. Both of you were older, more mature, found more interesting things to talk about. Your words carried a certain edge to them, a cleverness that might not have been so present back then, but still—Yeji talked, and you listened. That’s how it always was. And Yeji could talk for hours.

She stops short, finding a railing to lean herself against. And she asks, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Well believe it or not, I passed the national service exam—" You pause with your mouth agape, remembering just how badly you wished you could’ve told her while holding a shredded letter in one hand and the results in the other. "And now I’m here."

"Like in an embassy or something?"

"Yep."

Her eyes light up. "Really?"

"It’s half as cool as it sounds," you say, running your fingers through your hair, "I stamp visas for a living."

"Ugh." Yeji punches playfully at your shoulder. "I could’ve used you about two hours ago."

That’s not how any of it worked of course, but you weren’t about to correct her.

She quickly shoves in front of you a more interesting question, "so you’ve gotta live pretty close to here I imagine."

"I dunno. How close is forty minutes?"

"Close enough." Nearly jumping, she stands herself up onto her feet. "C’mon. I’m not going to forgive you if you don’t show me your place."

You study her face for a clue, a hint, a tell—surely she was joking. Though you realize it soon enough: those arching brows above her eyes remain resolute, cheeks refuse to dimple, and her long, dark eyelashes don’t even dare to flutter. Nothing moves an inch.

You swallow hard. "You don’t have anywhere to be?"

"Manager told me to go straight to the room and read a book or something."

"Then shouldn’t you go to your room and read a book or—"

"Uhh-uh. No way." A smirk and her eyes sharpen. "I’ve got the rest of my life to follow the rules."

So, now—there you are, your jacket drawn over both your heads, a poor excuse of an umbrella. Holding open the door to the backseat of a cab for the most spectacularly gorgeous woman you’d ever known, the girl who shattered your heart into a million pieces and then some. In your pocket, a text message on your phone, curious about your flight home—the girl you’d been casually seeing for the past couple weeks—waits for a response.

Though truthfully, you haven’t a clue what you’re doing.

The ride to your apartment is mostly quiet, listening close to the sounds of rain against the windows and the occasional turn signal from the driver’s seat. And for the first time you’ve ever recognized, the silence between you makes you feel uneasy. You had a thousand questions burning a hole in the pocket of your heart and you didn’t even know where to begin. Those questions, they weren’t interested in her schedules, the places she’d been, the things she’d seen, her life in the limelight, how she’d eventually introduce herself to all the heroes and idols you’d known as a kid. In fact, it’s the same way a map that has too much information is effectively useless at helping you navigate. You needed to ask her where you were. Where you stood. Where you were going.

It’s been ages since you’d both had a girl in your apartment and the two of you weren’t immediately en route to your bedroom. You struggle to call back to how your parents might host a guest in your home.

"Yeji," you yell from in front of your refrigerator, "can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"It’s a little late for caffeine don’t you think?" The cushions of your couch groan as Yeji collapses into them. "A beer would hit the spot if you have one though. Especially after today."

You scan the contents of a mostly empty fridge and find it, raising your eyebrows at the six pack on the shelf in front of you, one beer already missing from its cardboard holder. It was mostly the thing you were hoping to avoid.

"It’s nice," she says, grabbing the beer out of your hand and taking in the view of your apartment. "Cleaner than I expected too."

"That’s not really a compliment now is it?"

Her shoulders shrug as she pops the tab of the drink and lifts it to her lips. A refreshed ‘ah’ precedes her. "It does feel a little like I’m sitting in an IKEA showroom though."

"Yeah. Well, guilty as charged I guess."

She laughs, head on a swivel, taking note of—silently judging—your furnishings. "I mean you are probably the only person I know—" She stands, wandering through your apartment to the wall between your living room and your kitchen. "With a calendar that has no pictures, words, or anything." She rifles its pages with her thumb. "It’s just a damn calendar. You don’t even mark it or anything."

"It’s functional."

"It’s weird."

Rain continues to pelt down on your windows, permeating the brief silences between your conversations, but soon you can barely notice it. It becomes so natural the way you wrap yourself up in her stories, and hers in yours. And if the hour hand moving quickly about the face on your clock above the mantle was at all an indicator, neither of you had any deficiency of things to share.

Though still, there remained something noticeably off. You’d spent a lifetime listening to Yeji, and it was always so effortless the way she commanded your attention. But the nature of her speaking, it was although she were a machine struggling with a loose bolt or a stripped screw. See, it was the space between the stories that had your curiosity piqued. She’d start to tell you about subject A and move quickly into subject B and then before you knew it you were in subject C with no real rhyme or reason. You recognized the incongruity immediately, but it took a few beers and hours of listening to pinpoint the cause.

She’d start. Her voice soothing and relaxing. You’d both reminisce. And the moment the story began to find itself concerned with you, with the two of you, she’d swerve around it. Like a car trying to avoid a squirrel that foolishly darts across the highway.

It’s what makes it all the more surprising when she asks a simple question, "So—are you seeing anyone right now?"

You have to clear your throat before you can answer. "Kinda. On and off. You?"

"Yeah; kinda. On and off." She sinks her gaze into her lap. "She nice?"

"She’s fine."

"Good." Her eyes, glistening up at you from under her lashes, find you again. "You deserve a nice girl."

It had been one of those questions aching to leap off your heart and onto your tongue. And now that it had been asked—and so succinctly answered—you felt robbed of everything it was supposed to give you. A deafening silence fills the room. The clock ticks mercilessly and you listen again to the rain coming down on your windows.

You can feel it. You’d be shocked if she couldn’t feel it. That unceasing tension. Yeji stands, pulling the hem of her sweater around her thighs, selfishly hiding the curves of her hips along with it. "It’s late. I should probably get going."

And then with hardly any flash or fanfare, she hugs you. Her arms refuse to linger and the purposeful gap between your chests remains obstinate and unmovable. You show her the door and she takes a long step through it. She smiles, her eyes creasing, but her mouth barely moves.

"Till next time," you say, wondering when that might ever be.

"Till next time—good night."

You wave. She waves back. And the door closes—the evening along with it.

That was it. Again. Sifting like sand through your fingers. So consistently she could just walk away from you and be done with it. Every time you’d imagined this miracle meeting in your head, it would start like it did. But then ultimately the two of you would always tear each other’s clothes off in frustration. So that two broken souls might ever become whole again.

But you know it now. Yeji was never broken. For as long as you’d ever known her, she was like a rocket, launching onto a journey to the furthest stars in the night sky. Face pointed away. Thoughts elsewhere. She never really looked at you. And because of that you often wept.

So far as you can tell, Yeji never loved you. A wish beyond your reach.

Your head hangs against the wall beside the door and you gaze at your feet, maybe hoping to find some comfort hidden away in the striped pattern on your socks. You consider for a moment simply just standing outside on the balcony, letting the rain soak you completely in your clothes.

A knock at your door holds you accountable for at least a moment longer.

You sigh. It’s unfair really. Cruel even. She stands in front of you again. Only this time her hair slightly damp, raindrop stains on the shoulders of her sweater. You feel the stitch on your heart—a delicate, haphazard patchwork of time—its last suture coming undone. And boy, does that hurt.

"Hey, sorry. I realized I have no idea how to call a taxi. Can you lend me a—"

It can’t be instantaneous. But you don’t quite know how it happens either. Something pushed you to drag her through that opening and your hands held Yeji’s face, backing her against the door, now shut. Her eyes become stuck on you and her lips part. If she says anything, it’s far too hard to hear beyond that dull drum of blood, beating loudly between your ears. A shared breath, slow and purposeful, fills your lungs and hers.

Boldly, without reservation, you leap. Thousands of kilometers apart, reduced to a distance known now only by breaths hot across your cheeks, you find her again.

It’s soft the way you kiss her, as though you hadn’t done it hundreds of times, more of a question than it could ever be an answer. Her lips are soft, cool and wet, unbelievably perfect. A breeze through your hair on a hot summer day. In fact, they’re everything you remember, even competing midst those memories you’d embellished. Your fingers run through the smooth locks of Yeji’s hair that bundle in your hands, cold to the touch. It quickly becomes a handle, a grip, tilting her head up toward you as you pull her tight into your chest.

Her lower lip quivers gently against yours, and in a single shuddering breath, gathers itself enough to kiss you back. Hands grabbing tight around your shoulders, she lets a soft cry sink into your mouth.

You could listen to her talk for hours. And you did. But you needed to hear her say it—the way her lips capture yours, the way she tells you she missed you. It’s not some grand romantic gesture. There is no sunset, or gentle call of the ocean waves, no extraordinary vista, no candlelit room to bathe you in its soft glow. There is only Yeji, and that alone makes it perfect.

Her voice falters against you; the sound it makes whenever she’d need to hold back a tear or two. "Thank god the dumb taxis are so confusing…"

You kiss her again. That's all you know. The only way to possibly make right of this strange world.

It’s wild. Pressed firmly against your face is hers—the one you couldn’t stop seeing; the one that demanded so selfishly the attention of cameras and eyes around the world; only it had managed to seize your heart so very long ago. The roundness in her cheeks spreads around you and her nose struggles against yours. You hold her lips tight, the ever persistent worry they might disappear from you again forever biting at your thoughts.

Even though it’s not within your means to fall for her any harder than you have, you do. You always do.

"Mnph…" A quiet smack arrives on your lips. Another one. She starts to find an old rhythm, the way she used to kiss you when she was angry, when she was overwhelmed, or whenever she was just plain wound up. You grab a fistful of a sweater and turn her away from the door, stepping slowly into the foyer of your apartment.

The only thing more desperate than the lips pressed against yours becomes Yeji’s fingers, clutching tightly against the fabric of your shirt. Hums and moans pour from her throat to meet yours. She sways and sinks, leaning against the closet door you’d left open in the middle of the hallway. Her mouth tightens and you recognize the shy smile that fills across it.

Her cheeks, rosy now, burn bright against you and her voice rasps. "Don’t you dare go anywhere."

You had nowhere to be. Hell, you were already home. It’s confusing when you think about it. So you choose not to as best you can. Instead, you tease gently at the backs of her thighs, the roughness of denim meeting your fingertips. It’s Pavlovian perhaps, the way she jumps into your arms at your touch—never forgetting those secret traditions shared between you.

Her arms around your neck and her thighs over your elbows, you grip as timidly as might ever be possible onto the two handfuls of Yeji’s ass filling out between your fingers. Though you realize quick that whatever worries you harbor still are unnecessary, that strange boundary between clearly crossed. A soft moan, and her tongue begins to invade your mouth, marking and claiming the space she determined might just as well belong to her.

There’s this instant familiarity your hands find on Yeji’s body. Her svelte frame beneath that baggy sweater is the same perfect shape you’d held onto god knows how many times. The way she kisses you, pulling and massaging at the swell of your lip, it’s as though you’d never missed a beat, as though it had been Yeji’s kisses alone you found comfort in for the last five years. Though now, the flavor of her lipstick is noticeably different. It’s far more muted than the cheap fruity stuff she used to buy, but you recognize that taste of need and want off her lips still all the same.

Your fingers squeeze at the soft, pliable flesh that stretches all along Yeji’s thighs and rear, still protected by that sturdy pair of jeans—an obstacle now to be overcome. Feet and legs swing behind you as you step your haphazard union down the hallway. With any luck, she won’t knock any of the pictures or posters off your walls.

A light bite at your lip sends a surge of fiery pain down your neck. At that, you push Yeji’s back to the wall, another door behind her rattling in its frame and a soft moan escaping her chest.

She whispers against your cheek, "This your bedroom?"

"No. Not quite. Laundry."

"Ah. Well, as nice as that sounds; I’ve already got a washer at home—isn’t there some place that’s better for—ya know—the two of us?"

Thoughts stuck on the idea of Yeji sitting atop yours, hers, any washing machine and getting herself off makes your pants tighten. You groan softly, repositioning her weight in your hands and pulling her away from the door. "Bed or sofa?’

"You tell me."

You consider it for just a moment, unable to remember the state you’d left your room in before your trip. Is your bed made? Are your clothes put away? No idea. So you don’t tell her. You show her. Holding her tight, you navigate a brief waddle into your living room and your hands release her from their grips, sending her into the cushions of the couch beneath you.

"Really? On the leather—"

"Don’t care," you stop the complaint before it has time to marinate in your head. You knew she was right.

Her voice rattles at a faux concern, "what would IKEA think?"

"They’d be wondering who the two good-looking people on their couch are. Or how they got a free promotion out of you—who knows."

She stifles a laugh and motions her hands to your shoulders. "Come here, you."

She fits underneath your weight—your arms around her shoulders, and her legs entwined amidst yours—with such incredible ease. You sink into a kiss against the pale, tender skin that you find beneath her jaw. It’s delicate, easy to bruise, and it begs for a roughness only your lips could ever hope to provide. The more-than-welcome touch coaxes a moan, breathy and sudden, from her chest—a sound you’d only heard in your thoughts for so long.

Her fingers tease at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up along your chest and off over your head. "I missed you."

"You have no idea."

"Well—maybe some idea," she says, a hand quietly brushing against the hardness she finds at the front of your pants.

You trail up along her neck, the ridge of her jaw, until again you find your way back to the swell of Yeji’s soft, plump, ever-so-kissable lips. Your knee between her thighs, pushing her legs around you, legs that wrap and hook onto the backs of yours, knocks on the rise of her jeans. She lets out a quiet whimper, the sound reverberating through your chest.

There’s this thing about the way Yeji kisses you. Her hands run along your scalp, burying themselves in your hair. And she steals kisses off your lips with such an immediate urgency, with a hunger of someone who’d been starved for so long. You’d have chalked it up to the lapse of time you spent apart, years spent finding, failing love in different places, but she has always been like this—needy.

"Ugh," she sighs, amusing her hands on the shape of your chest, your back, your neck. She’s careful not to let the pointed tips of her fingernails scratch deeply at your skin, lightly caressing her way down to where your pants sit on your waist. Though you admire the thought, you had no intention of letting this woman undress you first.

Defiant, you lift your lips off hers. And a suspicious expression fills in the sharp features of her face. You can feel the skepticism building in those eyes that look you over.

"What’s the matter?" she asks, quietly trying to pull your shoulders back down to where she wanted you.

"I, uh—" You give your throat a good, solid clearing. "I’m going to take your clothes off. Right now."

Yeji raises an eyebrow, scooting up and resting on an elbow. "Talk about forward."

"No real use pussyfooting around it now."

Yeji twists her lip between her teeth and then slowly, she draws a line with her finger from your belly button, along your stomach and up your sternum until it holds your chin, making you look down your nose at her. "Someone teach you how to finally be direct with your words while I was gone?"

Maybe. Maybe not. You’d spent a good deal of time now practically inoculated to the fear of rejection from other girls—considering you’d already seen the worst of it. "Something like that."

"Then tell me Mr. Straight-shooter. What do you want to take off first?"

"First?" you say, letting a smirk drag at your mouth. "Well—no shoes on the sofa. House rule."

One thud, and then another as Yeji kicks off her boots onto the floor behind her. She keeps the intensity in her eyes locked on you—smoldering. "What else?"

"The sweater has gotta go."

"Only if you promise to keep me warm—"

"Easy—deal."

Yeji squirms out from underneath you while the sound of rain continues beating the side of your apartment. Your hands offer what is probably unnecessary help, grabbing onto the hem of her sweatshirt, scrunching it up along the toned muscles of her stomach. And after a short struggle, off over the top of her head, you reveal her slender, gorgeous figure.

She refuses to lose you in her cat-like eyes still for even a second. Even while she airs the garment out between her hands, neatly folds it, and gently sets it down onto your coffee table.

It ought to be criminal to be as charming and beautiful as Yeji is. She’s got these delicate collarbones, shoulders that round off the tops of her arms and run the distance to the skin on her neck you yourself couldn’t get enough of—there’s a tiny freckle here and there, none of them as prominent as the one that proudly sits on the bridge of her nose—though there’s nothing she has that no one else doesn’t, it’s the way everything manages to come together, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle, lightly fitting itself in place—it’s simply perfect.

"You’re staring."

You blink yourself out of that momentary trance before letting yourself laugh about it. Clearing your throat, you smile and return the jeer, "Yeji—absolutely I am."

Standing herself from the couch, she smiles at you with her eyes. Her fingers tease under the waistband of her jeans—the biggest challenge of what all was left—and she asks, "I’m guessing you want these too?"

"I mean look—you know how it is. House rules and all."

"Those pesky rules again, huh." She laughs quietly to herself. "Whoever it is that came up with them—I’d like to give them a piece of my mind."

You simply shrug. That nothing I can do about it message clear enough as she begins to unbutton the top of her pants.

The fact that she has to wiggle her hips to peel the tight denim from her waist and down her thighs is a show in of itself. Inch by inch, slowly, meticulously, she reveals her legs to you—long and unending, toned and sculpted now in that manner that only the physical regimen of someone like her might yield. A pair of high cut athletic underwear—gray and pilling at its edges—hardly matches the navy nylon bra cupping Yeji’s soft breasts against her chest. But it’s not like you were going to complain about it. After all, she’d been traveling. Not to mind the fact you’d have to be insane to find anything worth complaining over in the visage standing in front of you.

She saunters over to where you now sit on the sofa, each step every bit as deliberate as the last. You can’t help but bring your face against her stomach as Yeji arrives in front of you. With your lips you can feel the goosebumps that rise atop the smooth skin across her abs, your kisses running the edge of her bottom-most ribs.

Her fingers stroke through your hair, and she lets her voice reach down to your ears. "Hey, I’m cold."

Those soft, ephemeral hairs that stand on end along her stomach, her back and the skin along her thighs corroborated the statement. However between her legs, where the darkened gray fabric hugged tightly against her entrance, where you could make out the shape of her lips imprinted into it, she was anything but cold.

Kissing her stomach again with lips that drag against the taut, velvety skin they find all over it, you place your fingers against that warmth. It’s instant—the quick spasm her diaphragm makes, knocking on your forehead, and Yeji gasps for air.

You follow the long, endless curves of her leg until it arrives on a perfect handful of ass that spills through the gaps in your fingers—fingers that tuck and dive into the back of her underwear, the thin fabric easy to twist and manipulate. Delighted, you listen close to how Yeji pulls fast breaths through her chest as you start to tease her body.

Your voice nearly chokes as you tell her what both of you already so clearly understood.

"Do you have any idea how bad I want you?"

Yeji’s eyes lock with yours, her chin tucked against her chest. "Show me."

Now, it’s important to mention again that this girl had left you absolutely devastated. In the years since she’d left, you wouldn’t have described yourself as particularly loose or rakish, but you weren’t ever one to turn down an opportunity at finding a momentary comfort in the embrace of another either. And the first chances came fast. Home for winter break along with everyone else, suffocating in nostalgia—a handful of girls you’d gone to school with would only see Yeji’s sudden disappearance as something to celebrate, a long awaited opportunity. It was shocking how fast they pounced on you.

It always felt good—for a second. And it’d wear off fast as they spent more time than you ever cared for snuggling up to you as if the sex was anything to write home about. The worst was when all you wanted to do was turn over in the cheap hotel sheets and they’d start to ask you a million questions: How was university going? Are your grades good? Do you have a girlfriend? What’s your blood type? Do you have a career in mind? How much money do you think you’ll make? Do you think my boobs are too small? Should we get breakfast in the morning? When will I see you again?—it was endless.

You put up with it for the most part. It helped you forget if at least for a moment what a shitty hand of cards you’d been dealt. There was a predictable formula too—you’d meet up for drinks, and before the waiter could take orders for seconds, you and her were making out on the curb, waiting for a cab. The hotel room lights would flip on (or stay off, depending on how horny and desperate you were). And you’d begin that necessary formality of going down on her—so that she might let you use her as you pleased. Always mechanical, robotic, transactional.

But Yeji’s legs resting on your shoulders, your face inches away from the damp fabric covering her hole, you wanted nothing other than to take your time.

It’s not too unlike the way you’d pluck at keys on the piano. Some touches quiet and pleasing to the ear, some loud and heavy and boisterous—you tease your fingers around the ‘V’ of cloth between her thighs, some notes playing soft subtle whimpers and others a lilting moan.

"Mmmph…" Yeji raises her hips gently, the backs of her knees rubbing at your shoulders. Impatient—rightfully so—she lifts the edge of her underwear, pulling it aside and offering you her glistening entrance. She’s wet, sopping and needy, and she’s begging for you.

Your kisses continue along the inside of a thigh, lingering longer and longer against the creamy skin that leads you to her heat. That addictive smell of sweat, lust and excitement fills your nose alongside the long breath you draw through your chest.

The way your palm brushes against her swollen clit makes Yeji shudder and jolt her hips—your finger diving down between the cleft of her bare lips to where she was really just utterly soaked. You trade your mouth across the gap to the other thigh you’d neglected, but Yeji can only reward you with her frustration—"please."

Maybe it’s because she’s always had this intense look about her—like she could take on the world with one hand behind her back and win—and it’s not like you haven’t noticed the way her company plays it up either. The girl you knew who was always fierce, plucky—lionhearted—the face looking at you now, eyes down her nose over the top of two navy clad breasts, it’s so soft. Even those sharp eyes, so often beguiling, had become tender—filling fast with lust and want and need and desire—like she’s pleading for you to save her, to rescue her, in the ways only your mouth and fingers might ever know how.

"Please—I need it," she rasps.

"Yeji," you weave into the sounds of her whines. "Trust—I’m gonna take good care of you."

Your mouth hovers against her. And just above where your fingers play and tease at her folds, your lips part. It’s not on purpose, and it’d be a little cruel if it were, but a hot, wet breath spills lax from lungs, off your tongue and out of your mouth. It crashes and collides, rolling and tumbling about the aching skin around her hole. It’s not possible to touch someone less if you tried—and it brings Yeji to wit’s end.

She sucks a sudden, whistling bout of air past her teeth. Her fingers thread themselves through your hair and pull you into her. Your nose meets her hip, tickled by the soft patch of neatly trimmed hair she saves for you, and you watch her head roll back on her shoulders. A reveal of the raw, tender skin you’d all but bruised along her neck and her whole body sighs, her body saying, without speaking, finally.

Yeji hums in delight as you take care of her. There’s your tongue, brushing up and down the hoods and folds of delicious skin that struggle to contain the scorching heat that burns fast between them—your hands, one teasing the narrow depths at the tightness just beyond her entrance, the other holding her hip, firm, to keep it from evading you—your unapologetic lips, grasping and sucking around her clit—your tongue again tapping and caressing it.

"Fuck," she hisses.

A word that is so usually rough and abhorrent and grizzled, and it’s never sounded so elegant. You can only imagine how bottled a profanity like it must be—there’s such oppressive decorum to follow when you’re on television, soundbites repeating like a million broken records across the internet, a voice that speaks for all to hear. And that goes doubly so for someone like her.

You dive into her, hard, and she rewards you with the airy, sing-song moans that fill your apartment, meshing themselves against the unyielding pitter-patter of rain.

"Oh my god—you’ve got some real talent." A thick, strained laughter leaves her throat and Yeji collapses back into the cushions of the sofa, brown leather now dark and staining with her wetness, a problem for tomorrow. Perhaps unfixable; worst case scenario, you could always get a new couch.

Rain hits hard against your home. It mixes a delightful track to your onslaught and a finger brings Yeji to her knees.

"Please, please, please—keep doing that."

It doesn’t have to search far, the soft pad of your fingertip finding that familiar stretch of dangerously sensitive skin. You curl at the knuckle—and Yeji becomes an extension of your will—her hips quake, relaxing only when you do. Your finger flexes. You tap, rub and tease. Each time a reaction, more wild and unrestrained than the last.

"F-Fuck. Just right—there," she squeals.

Her thighs wrap tight against your ears, all those sounds of your apartment quickly mute and muffled. The fruits of your labor pool, run wet, beading into droplets at the bottom of your chin.

"Please do—not—stop," she begs, breathing fast and heavy. Her eyes find you again, lip twisted mercilessly between those perfect teeth. And at a quiver that shakes and pulls her muscles taut—she closes her eyes and she growls through gritted teeth, "you’re gonna make me fucking cum."

There were a lot of memories you struggle now to piece together. Like having dropped a stack of papers or a pile of laundry, each time you bend down to pick something up, you’ve lost another in its stead. It’s become its own awful tragedy in a sense. But if there’s anything imprinted so permanently into the deep inner workings of your thoughts—you remember when Yeji cums, she cums hard.

Entirely overwhelmed, Yeji pushes your tongue away from her overstimulated bud. Her fingers grip tight at your hair, and she locks and clenches her body around your fingers. That twisted, unrestrained expression, eyes clenching and lips curling into a beautiful ‘O,’ she finds the release she so desperately needs.

All kinds of sounds, full of watery, anguished breaths, and whimpered moans leak through the seal her thighs make around your ears. You recognize a few words, a lot of them curses and profane mewling—nonsense mostly—but just as readily, your name gets thrown haphazardly into that lustful mix. Perhaps for good measure.

It’s only once she’s let those waves of pleasure dissipate through her entire body, squeezing and gripping you in the vice her legs make around you, that she lets herself relax and releases you to speak.

"Well that was something," you tease, wiping your mouth and chin with the back of a wrist, "been a while?"

"Oh—come—on," she says, heavy breaths still laboring to catch up to her, "don’t be cute. It’s not my fault if you’ve been practicing."

You smirk, lifting yourself up and finally freeing your legs of those stiff pants that were struggling impossibly to keep your cock calm and demure. "So? What now?"

Yeji returns herself to a halfway decent posture, the sweat on her back sticking to the leather as she does so. "What do you think?"

"Hmm." Shuffling your pants free from your thighs you tap at your chin, playful. "How many guesses are you giving me?"

"Zero. Get those things off. I’m gonna ride the fuck out of you."

"Yeah?" A bout of laughter forces your smile. "I can’t help but wonder what people might think if they heard ITZY’s fearless leader talking like that."

Standing, she slides that pair of soaked underwear down off her legs, and in a quick practiced motion, hooks an ankle behind yours. A push and you’re sent tumbling into the couch.

"What? You don’t think they’d be cranking one out to it?"

"The girls or the boys?"

She smirks. "Both. Though I imagine it would be all together kinda frustrating, huh?" She puzzles, straddling your legs. "Never being able to actually fuck me."

It’s unclear to you if she always preferred being on top because she forced it out of you, or if it's because you let her—but that’s how it goes. Your cock is already at full attention, standing proud like it wanted Yeji to know it needed her. It twitches noticeably as she rubs her pussy against it.

"What’s the matter? Been a while?"

"Yeah, because it’s so easy to get off on a business trip."

"Mnh-nh. I don’t want to hear excuses." She teases the head of your cock between the soaking lips of her pussy, kissing your tip with her heat.

Her lips purse, her eyes shut and she blows a purposeful breath of cool air out of her chest, out the narrow hole her mouth makes—an enticing shape you’ll have trouble getting out of your head—as she begins to take you into her, adjusting to the shape of your cock.

You both groan, two wildly different noises, but the same heavenly feeling communicated. She holds the base of your shaft steady with her fingers as you’re pushed past the muscles clamping around you. It’s warm and it’s wet and it’s fucking unbelievably tight. It’s enough to make you feel dizzy, stars appearing in your eyelids.

"Phew." Yeji drags her knees toward, sitting back on your cock. "That always feels so fucking good. Don’t worry I’ll go slow."

"Yeah, sure—but it has been a while, right?"

Leaning forward, she smiles against your cheek. "If that’s what you want me to say, then yeah—sure, it’s been a long while."

"I’m ignoring that." You reach your hands up onto her waist, the soft curve of her hips making for two perfect handles. "I’m ignoring you."

She laughs, the melodic sound again filling your head. "That’s fine—but I’m not going to let you ignore this."

There’s this moment, her ass suspended high above your hips, the tip of your cock barely held in place by her pussy’s grip. You’ve felt it before on roller coasters mostly, at the peak of the tallest drop—the car hanging in suspense, the strangest knot twisting in your stomach. Of course, the moment doesn’t last long. No, not when Yeji slides herself down along your length in the quickest of motions, the base of your cock kissing those wet lips again.

A sound, not particularly describable or even repeatable punches through your throat, and your eyes widen.

And then she does it again.

Quick, your voices melt into one another, the pleasure that rips through your thoughts—from the entire length of your cock buried deeper into her cunt than either of you can pretend to not notice. It’s immaculate.

But it’s fucking dangerous.

You’d noticed them before—those legs that she’d worked on for years, built and perfected by hours in the gym. See, she lifts herself up on your length again, some crude combination of cum, spit and sweat leaving a sticky trail between your thighs. A soft moan announces the end of the motion and then without remorse or hesitation, she finds herself flush against your hips again. It’s tiring no doubt, but you find Yeji relentless.

She brushes her hair out of her face. And those eyes–smoldering with lust–study the indecent expressions you make as she impales herself repeatedly on your cock. Her hands find a home on the muscles above your breast. And the reasonably flat support gives her everything she needs to lift and roll her hips against you with little resistance.

It’s not the angle, the depth, the tightness, or the technique—and god, does she know exactly what she’s doing—it’s the damn speed. Even when you were both eighteen, cutting classes at the end of your schedules, a pair of horny teenagers aptly described as rabbits, she had never fucked you like this.

"Fucking christ, Yeji." You grit your teeth and squeeze hard on her hips, bracing for impact on each downward thrust. "So much for slow—you trying to kill me?"

"Well I was thinking about it. And I changed my mind." Bouncing away still, eagerly taking your length in and out of her tight hole, she sits herself up and reaches her hands behind her back, unclasping the navy bra across her chest. "It might be better if you just cum now, since you’re so pent up—you might actually be able to enjoy yourself on the next one."

The straps come down over her shoulders and the bra lands somewhere in your room. It sounded like the floor. You don’t really care though, not while Yeji is lifting your hands from her hips and placing them on those two beautifully soft mounds that hang shyly off chest.

Frustrated perhaps with the shyness in your touch, she palms her hands over yours, squeezing and massaging at her own breasts until you find the touch she craves all on your own.

You groan again, loudly enough to make a smug smile stretch across Yeji’s cheeks. "Then tell me—is it a bad time of the month? Where do you want me to cum?"

She leans forward, breath hot against your ear. "Anywhere you want."

At that, you reach a hand around her, palming the back of her neck and holding her tight against you. The suddenness of it makes her yelp and squirm, but you hold her firm, and she realizes exactly what it is you need as you slide yourself lower on the sofa, a new angle with an entirely unrealized potential waiting for you there.

"That’s it—" she gasps, struggling in the strength of your grip, "make this pussy yours—use me."

Her body flush against yours, you hear every little gasp, every sultry moan that leaks off her lips. It drives you faster, more wild and feckless on each thrust, burying yourself hard into the heat of her cunt. Your throbbing shaft inside of her—it feels as though she was made with your cock in mind, made for you, designed—a perfect fit, the way she wraps and grasps around you. Without hesitation, you settle your hips into a rhythm that you know beyond a shadow of doubt will send you hurdling into those irreversible triggers of your orgasm.

"Mph…"" Your thighs slap against hers, that sound of wet skin on wet skin filling your apartment and drowning out the rain. Your cock disappears so neatly between her legs, and your hips move immediately to bury it there again, desperate for her warmth, her tightness. Beads of sweat pool at your back, and every time you should shift your weight, you become stuck to the leather sofa beneath you.

Yeji’s words continue to pour into your ear, though they too seem to be growing disjointed and bewildered at the motion between your hips. Her shoulders collapse against you and her face buries into the cushion aside yours.

"Yeji—I cant," you sigh, and your chest shudders in anticipation. "I’m going to fucking—cum in this—"

"No!" her voice cries, muffled into the leather of the couch beside you, "It feels—so deep—I’m close!"

"Yeji," you groan, "please."

Don’t you fucking dare," she husks, a voice desperate for you, "don’t—You can’t cum, you can’t—fuck!" Writhing again, she lifts herself on her elbows, observing how your face twists and contorts beneath her as if her own wasn’t every bit as wrought and agitated. "Babe! Your cock feels too—fucking amazing!"

She grabs your cheeks with her hand, pulling your attention away from her breasts shaking wildly, jostled about by your thrusts. Those eyes—they hold you deeply, begging you to hold on.

"You’re asking for a fucking lot here, Yeji I swear—"

"No—fuck," she gasps. Eyebrows twist. Her eyes shut tight. And her lips mouth the words that might release you, I’m cumming again.

It’s always like this.

She leads, you follow.

And it’s far and away too much for you to handle—the gorgeous woman on top of you, straining an expression only meant for you to see—it’s just too much. Plundering the depths of her pussy for pleasure you didn’t even know could wrack you like it does, you follow her into that unthinkable bliss. Her mouth hangs open, her muscles lock again and she quivers and quakes around you.

Your hands slap down hard onto her ass cheeks, searching desperately for a brief reprieve of something other than the warm, tight cunt that’s been rocking your thoughts senseless. You press your fingers into her creamy skin, hard enough that it’s sure to leave a mark, and in a thundering moment of pure, unbridled lust, you let it all out. Honestly, your thoughts are all so crudely whiplashed by everything that you make little notice of how much hot cum your thrusts pump up into the deepest reaches of Yeji’s pussy. It’s already something spectacular as it arrives, erupting unabashedly from your throbbing cock, but then it just keeps going. It fills around you, an unthinkable lubricant against the way her walls clamp and squeeze around you. And then you feel it, dripping and leaking out of her hole and onto your thighs.

A gasp bellows from your chest and your voice, raw and hoarse, punctuates the heavy panting between your crumpled, tired bodies. "Fuck. Me. Yeji."

Prudence would’ve been closing the curtains, turning into your pillow and catching whatever was left of the night to rest before you’d wake for work tomorrow. So, a simple fade to black. But you’d spent years searching and seeking for what is now between your hands—if there was any mistake you’d made, it was that you hadn’t kissed her sooner.

You remember it now, the way your family would host guests: there of course was that initial cup of tea, or whatever could be cooked up quickly in the kettle, but a tour of the house had always followed close in its wake.

And so a tour you two ventured. The rest of living room (though you worry about how thin the walls are you share with your neighbor), the kitchen, the bathroom, the laundry room. Any place with a surface you could either bend her over or sit her on really—until finally you two might enter your bedroom and fuck like a pair of functioning adults.

You lean back, grasping the bed sheets between your fingers. A heavy sigh pulls at your shoulders while Yeji runs her tongue up along the side of your cock. She’s got this wicked touch, her fingers wrapping ever so perfectly around your shaft, knowing just what firmness will send you reeling.

"Shit," you hiss, watching Yeji’s tongue swirl the head of your cock before her lips swallow it whole.

She’s methodical. Her tongue slips and darts beneath the sensitive skin under your shaft as she takes you in her mouth further and further. And in excruciating increments she nuzzles her nose against your waist, eyes just beginning to water. She’ll hold it—hold you, cock filling the lovely sleeve that is her throat—and then release. Just like that.

"Yeah—I don’t care what you say." You run your hand along the side of her head, her makeshift ponytail of smooth, silky hair now a perfect grip for your fingers. "You didn’t learn how to do that from those women’s magazines."

She pulls herself off your shaft, cock popping out of her mouth. Hands stacked, one on top of the other, she abuses you with that slobbery layer of saliva in between her fingers. Her eyes poke out, smiling over the top of it all. "I’m new to this—I promise."

"Uh-huh."

"So." Belly against the mattress, she pulls her knees forward, swaying her ass behind her head where you could see it. It’s a whole spectacle with this girl. She taps and teases at the tip of your cock, amused at the precum that sticks to the pad of her thumb, before again finding you with her eyes.

"So," you repeat back.

"How do you want to cum?"

You lean your head back on your shoulders, eyes up at the ceiling—a break. "If you’re not careful, it’s going to be down your throat."

"Well that’d be a waste."

"Oh yeah? How you figure?"

"When you could do it inside my cunt?" She narrows her eyes and raises an eyebrow, hands gingerly pumping at your shaft. "Yeah. A waste."

Yeji’s tongue and fingers work and tease in perfect union along your length. And you blow a steady breath through your lungs to rally your thoughts. "Let me think."

"You’re good, take a breather. I’ve got a nice, beautiful cock here to keep me entertained." And like that, she simply swallows you again.

Her drool continues to spill unapologetic down your shaft, catching itself between Yeji’s fingers and spreading out everywhere along your sensitive skin. A hand twisting, pumping—she has you so effortlessly figured out.

You help her head along as you puzzle about the many possibilities in front of you. Holding her hair, guiding her slack jaw and perfect lips up and down your throbbing cock feels—and you’re a little ashamed to say it—feels like using a toy. A toy that’s hot and hums and vibrates as you fuck it. And that’s exactly what you want to do.

"Yeah, I think—I want this mouth Yeji."

Before she can protest, you guide her again down your shaft, the perfect seal of her lips parting around your tip and swallowing your length. She glides and slips up and down you, the tiniest sounds of her throat struggling to accommodate you reaching your ears.

With her hand pulling yours away, Yeji pushes herself off you, your cock again leaving her lips with a pop.

"Well aren’t you selfish." She pushes gently at your chest with her fingers, "Let me at least take care of you."

You’d been catching yourself staring at her lips all evening, the way they curve and pull themselves up into that irresistible bowing figure—you’d had them running through your thoughts long before today—and now they’re all over your cock. She kisses you, caresses you, exploring every inch of vulnerable skin she can find all along your shaft.

The brief moment exists each time she swallows you, just the second before her lips part and seal around you. A hot, wet breath, spiraling and barely in control, wraps itself around you as her mouth hovers just over the tip of your aching cock—a blanket of warmth surrounding it. She takes you, all of you—again.

If it’s not the tightness of her throat or the doubled effort of ten slender fingers all fighting over one another to try and to send you to the edge, it’s that wet, smooth tongue. With it, Yeji brings your hips forward, bucking into the air above your sheets. A simple lick and you groan. Flattening it and adding it to the friction you find at the back of her throat? You’ve become putty in her hands.

"Fuck… Yeji, that feels incredible."

She hums a self-satisfied note, buzzing it all down your shaft, before pulling herself off your cock and finding you with her eyes once more.

"Tell me what you want," she says, holding your skin taut with her fingers and pumping a tight, squelching fist at the top of your cock.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Yeji—"

"No—tell me."

It’s the heart beating in your throat, it’s the sloppy noise her fingers make as she tries to pull every last ounce of cum out of your cock, it’s the sound of the god damn fucking rain hitting your windows—you whisper beneath it all, "I want to fucking cum in your mouth Yeji."

She lifts an eyebrow, cruelly pulling her hands away from your cock. "And then?"

"And then you’re gonna swallow it."

It all happens so fast. She takes you again into her mouth, fucking you with her throat and tongue—your hands are in her hair, finding the exact contact and warmth you need—and you struggle to do anything beyond holding your breath and closing your eyes tight.

"Mnph."

Your voice spits, "Fuck—"

"Mnmnph."

While you cum inside Yeji’s mouth, into the wonderful shape of her throat, she coughs and sputters, struggling to hold you in her grip, fingers splayed wide against your hips. You can see a good amount of your orgasm almost immediately leak from her lips, spilling down her chin and staining the sheets of your bed—again, tomorrow’s problem.

You grab her Kleenex, water, and anything she might really now need (a good hug more than anything).

Nighttime routines, finding her a pair of pajamas—ones that fit loosely on your body already mind you—a trip to the bathroom, and you’re both brushing your teeth, staring at each other's naked reflection when it really hits you—and together, you just start laughing. Those contagious giggles and bouts of laughter that make you remember just how much you missed the girl who’d forever been your best friend, the girl you loved.

The two of you are quick to find the blankets on your bed, the comfort beneath them. Arms untangle from each other, a quick kiss and a reach for the night stand, Yeji allows a complete darkness into your room.

"Till next time," she whispers into your ear.

The rain had finally stopped, but that doesn’t mean the sun harbored any intention of coming out. It was always kind of stubborn like that.

Rolling out of bed, you’re exhausted, mentally and physically. But you’re not sixteen anymore; you couldn’t fake a cough and tell your mom you were running a fever, take an indulgent day off. So—work it was.

Slacks come on, a dress shirt stuffed hastily into them, and you look over your shoulder to see Yeji’s more or less unidentifiable shape bundled beneath the blankets she’d spent all night stealing from your side of the bed.

"Yeji," you call out.

A soft groan marks the extent of her response as you watch her hand stretch into the air before falling defeated back against your mattress.

"I don’t know where, but—I’m sure you have somewhere to be." You draw the curtains open wide to your room, particularly dissatisfied by just how little light it earns you.

You fish from your suitcase a tie and the top half of your suit before finding your way to the bathroom. When you’re brushing your teeth, you again watch Yeji’s reflection stumble across the mirror, rubbing at her eyes. It took her little time to cop one of your sweatshirts. And you begin to wonder how many of yours you’ve seen taken up like this—now only to be never seen again.

"Good morning," she says, blinking at you.

Even in her least put together state, hair tousled and eyes sleepy, she possesses a certain charm that you struggle to put into any words beyond the obvious ones—she’s cute.

"Man." She looks at your reflection in the mirror–the marks along your neck. "I really roughed you up good, huh."

Usually the tie around your neck was enough to cover up those lip-shaped bruises on your Adam’s apple. You pull at the knot, the silky fabric sliding through your fingers. It’s probably optimistic to think another attempt at tying it might yield better results, but you haven’t all that much choice.

"Nope." Yeji hides her grin with a closed fist, her other hand hanging off your shoulder. "You can still definitely see them."

"Well, shit." A heavy sigh leaves your chest as your hands find your hips. "How bad is it?"

You turn from the mirror, searching for any reassurance in those soft, dark eyes. But the muted laugh, that painfully smug smile, those mischievous hands sneaking around your waist—it’s bad.

"Yeji. I can’t—" You grab onto her hips, trying to stem the flow of laughter that pours from her chest. "Yeji."

Grinning, "gotcha."

You roll your eyes back to your reflection. "I can’t go to work like this."

Yeji takes a second to think through her response, which makes the solution that ends up coming off her tongue even less impressive. "Then don’t."

"Hah. I bet you think you’re clever."

"I do." She runs her fingers through her hair, head tilting and eyes looking up at you. You wish she was just a little less dangerous. "What all is a day off going to do to you? You stamp visas for a living. Remember?"

And so for about a week, the two of you would run through a variation of this same conversation every morning. If it were a test in temperance, you failed it every time. It was sex, it was sleeping, it was cheap take out, it was more sex, but it was also just a lot of time to sit and talk. Like you used to.

Yeji wipes the sweat off her brow and lifts herself off your hips, her nude body cuddling up alongside you, her head resting on your chest. That soft voice of hers again lands perfectly in your ears, "You know what’s crazy?"

"That whiskey is made from wheat or rye?"

"Well, no—" Her chin turns on your chest to look you in the eyes. "What?"

You chuckle. "It’s nothing."

She takes a beat to regather her thoughts. "I was going to say I felt awful for years about it." A soft sigh moves her whole body, the cool breath landing on your chin. "But I never doubted for a second—I knew I’d find you."

You puzzle it through your thoughts. "How’d you figure?"

"Well—because I love you."

Easy, effortless, straightforward—the words spill from her mouth. You wonder for a second if perhaps you were mid-sip a cup of nostalgia instead, burying yourself in memories that never existed. But the soft touch of her hair against your chest, the way her face rises and falls as your chest draws breath, the sweat still lingering and stuck between your bodies—it’s all too real.

Your voice, watery and choked, manages to push a breath through your throat, "I know I can be a cynic—but that’s not really a whole lot to put faith in."

"Maybe. But you said it too."

Your eyes widen and your brow furrows. "When?"

"Couple years ago now. By text—because you’re an asshole."

The memory of it, sorrowful for as long you can remember, comes crashing back to you. "You—you never even opened it."

"I didn’t need to—not a whole lot else getting said in a text message at three in the morning. On New Year’s no less."

You sit in a brief silence, confounded by the old wound. The feeling of her fingertips caressing the skin atop your chest provokes a question, "But then why not respond?"

"You think reading it would’ve made it any easier on me?" She reaches again for the night stand, flipping out the lights from your room with the switch. "What was I supposed to tell you? Suffer in silence and wait for me?"

"Yeji. I’d have done it."

There’s a brief quiet as she moves back into the bed, only the sounds of her shuffling about reaching your ears. You feel her face press against yours in the dark, hot tears streaming down her cheek. "But would you do it still?"

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #itzy smut #itzy yeji #yeji smut

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fandomhcs · 2 months

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dating harley quinn would include:

constant laughter. jokes that make no sense, have no punchline, yet still leave you both delirious from giggling so much. your sides hurt with her all the time.

harley is a roller coaster of the most beautiful variety. she’s beautiful and sweet, playful and brilliant. she brightens up every room she enters and you never let her forget it.

behind all the color, laughter, and smoke bombs hides a lot of insecurity and pain. the two of you don’t really talk about it, about him, but you know enough. instead of focusing on that, you can tell that she just wants to charge forward in life and leave it all behind her. while that may not be the healthiest of ways to cope, you can’t really fault her for it. nor can you complain about being dragged along with her on her wacky adventure.

greasy diner food, roller skates, and speeding along the highway blasting music to drown out the assholes that honk at you. there’s never a dull moment.

even in the safety of your own apartment harley brings a certain sense of vibrancy. curled up on your couch, unable to tell whose limbs are whose, she’ll babble on about anything and everything. you’ve learned all the dirty details of gotham’s underbelly thanks to her rambling. she even let it spill that harvey dent’s got a secret tattoo that the tabloids would just die to find out.

speaking of gotham’s underbelly, harley isn’t one to keep you out of it. she trusts you to handle your own. you’re dating her, aren’t ya? got to be some sort of bad ass to do that. even if you’re a civilian, there’s nowhere else she’d want you to be than with her. though that might mean having to teach you some tips and tricks to keep outta too much trouble.

who would’ve known that picking a lock was so hard? or that hot wiring your car while your girlfriend shoots glitter grenades at gotham pd would be so thrilling.

but for all the thrills and chills, harley also loves a romantic, chill night in. she loves to cuddle you, almost never letting your out of her arms even in public. she’ll kiss you, hug you, smack your ass, and she doesn’t give a damn who sees her do it!

anybody with a complaint about your relationship mysteriously ends up covered in pink paint and chicken feathers. or worse, if they keep pushing her. anyone who trash talks her baby is gonna get a face full of harley fuckin’ quinn, that’s for sure.

expect to be friends with lots of people you really never imagined being friends with. one day poison ivy will show up at your house with a small potted plant and warn you that if anything happens to it you die, the next black frickin’ canary shows up to ask if harley has stolen her tights again. harley collects people, her heart too big and vibrant for her not to be buddies with half of gotham (despite half of gotham wanting to shoot her, of course). some of these people, over time, become your people too. and it isn’t that uncommon for cassandra cain to be found snoring on your couch, for catwoman’s heels to be tossed in the corner of your kitchen while she digs through your fridge, or for the little old lady down the street to knock on your door with a freshly baked quiche.

bruce loves you, and i mean abso-frickin’-lutely adores you. the precious pup curls up around you every night when you head to bed, begs for treats every time you go to the kitchen, and never leaves your side when you leave the house without harley. heck, sometimes you cuddle the sweet boy more than you cuddle your own girlfriend. and she doesn’t even have the heart to be mad about it. (she’ll pout, though. you know she’ll pout.)

at the end of the day, treat harley quinn with kindness and respect and she’s gonna love you.

kiss her in the rain, bring her breakfast in bed, dance around in your underwear to the hairspray musical. understand that life is a blast and you gotta make the best out of it. kiss her pretty face all over, swing her around in your arms, blow raspberries on her skin. make her laugh, make her smile, and she’s yours.

she’s weird and makes no sense sometimes, and some of her antics raise your blood pressure to alarming levels. but there is no one else who’ll rock your world the way she can.

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #harley quinn headcanons #dc #dc reader insert #hcs #dwi

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gilverrwrites · 19 days

Text

Time of the Month

AN: I'm suffering, so here's some of my faves reacting to their so having a rough time of the month.

He really doesn’t “get it”. 100% thinks you’re probably over reacting, however, you’re his sweetheart and he would do anything for you, so he’ll “play along” so long as he doesn’t need you for something else.

Won’t take time out of his busy schedule for you but he will:

Text you constantly through out the day.

Thinking of you doll x Are you sleeping? x You better be sleeping cause theres no other reason not to text back. HELLO??? ???? Sorry for loosing my temper baby, I love you. Just ordered those shoes you liked x

Will bring home/order dinner. He knows what you want, don’t worry babe, you don’t have to ask.

Still try to seduce you any way possible, he doesn’t care how messy it is.

Selina does not let her period slow her down, and so she’s hopeful that she can rub some of that off on you.

Has a yoga routine specifically catered to that time of the month that she’s happy to teach you. Has a diet plan that’s full of iron heavy and unsaturated fatty foods - leafy greens, dark chocolate, the good stuff.

Of course she understands her lifestyle isn’t for everyone, and what kind of cat themed thief would she be if she didn’t have a giant heated blanket she’s happy for you to stretch out on and spend your time lounging in true luxury.

Move over, she’s getting into bed with you. She’s stolen all of Brucie Wayne’s streaming service log ins, and she’s brought 50 different snacks that will make your bloating worse, but will feel and taste good in the moment.

Get ready for a week of binge watching whatever films make you feel good, eating way too much sugar, and sleeping whenever feels right.

Did you know orgasms can help relieve period pains, migraines, and generally relieve stress?

Did you know if you ask Waylon, he will eat you out until you can’t take anymore and/or are feeling any amount of respite?

If that’s really not your thing, be willing to also do basically anything you ask of him. Bring you snacks? Rub your back? Just hold you? Anything you want.

Will find the time look after you. Any excuse for some lazy time with his favourite birdie.

He runs hot, so it’s like having your own personal heat pad. Will find it endearing if you lay stomach down of his stomach, legs, whatever part so you can press his heat directly to the area that needs it.

Foodie and a snacker, so if you’re craving something, he’s got you covered, and he’ll eat it with you, no questions asked.

Knows a lot of ecologically friendly herbal remedies that are almost certain to work. Just sit back, chill out, and drink this tea.

In the very unlikely chance that those don’t work, and you’re down for it; Ivy is happy to fuck the cramps away, whatever your preferred method of orgasm may be.

The Riddler: Understands how periods work, but doesn’t care. You can’t let your body control you, or interfere with the mind. (yes he IS the worst kind of person when he’s sick.)

He does however have bunch of tips and tricks for helping overcome/cope with cramps and other symptoms.

Has a bucket load of ibuprofen handy at all times.

“Did you take the pills I gave you? Good. You know, coffee will help get that into your bloodstream faster, and might give you more energy. Since you’re making coffee, I’ll have one too, thanks, you’re the best. Well, I’m the best, but you’re good too.”

Request Info || Prompts || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

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angstyaches · 1 year

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Payton Gets Spiked

Loosely inspired by reading this post.

If you want more of an introduction to Dani, read this first.

CW: gender stuff, dysphoria, misgendering, brief mention of gendered bathroom dilemma, intense social anxiety, people with varying shitty opinions, spiking with alcohol, references to past binge drinking/alcohol dependency, low self esteem, emeto, crying, panicking, insecure/awkward caretaker.

Word Count: almost 8,000 - oops. If you finish this to the end, you're a real one.

___

“Alright, Dani! I’m just heading out back... to...”

It was fifteen minutes after the coffee shop had closed, night had settled in on the streets outside, and Payton had just finished closing the till. It should have been the most glorious moment of their day, the moment just before their time became their own again and they could bask in the knowledge that they’d done a great day’s work, but that reward was stolen by the swooping sensation in their stomach. Their day wasn’t over just yet.

They’d been in the middle of calling out to Dani, who had been assigned the closing shift alongside them, to tell her that they were heading out back to get changed.

But they stopped themself.

Dani was engrossed with sweeping the floors to the beat of whatever she was listening to on her headphones. Payton decided to leave her to it. She didn’t like being interrupted in the middle of a task, as Payton had quickly learned during her first few weeks here.

And besides, it wasn’t as though Payton was in a hurry to get to the pub, where, if the group chat was anything to go by, the others had already convened. The longer Payton could delay being wedged into a dimly-lit nook surrounded by the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke from the 80s, the better.

Guilt gnawed at them now, along with the nerves. They shouldn’t be dreading Jake’s birthday; they liked Jake. He deserved to have people coming to his birthday drinks who were excited to be there.

Payton went out back and stood in front of their locker.

They closed their eyes, allowing their mind to wind down after their shift. They stretched their arms out to the side and breathed in, slowly and deeply letting their lungs press out against their ribs. They didn’t feel particularly compressed, but they’d gotten into the habit of doing breathing exercises regularly while binding – in no small part to keep Autumn from worrying about them.

They undid their apron and pulled their polo shirt off over their head. They opened up their locker to grab the cropped purple hoodie they’d brought to change into for the evening. Payton didn’t usually partake in the loungewear look unless they were grocery shopping or travelling or chilling out at home, but Jake had requested that nobody ‘dress up nice’ tonight.

Before picking up the hoodie, Payton glanced down at themself, their sides bare above their waistband. Now that they thought about it, they wished they had worn dungarees instead of cargo pants today. Not for any reason they could put their finger on, which was frustrating. They just had the vague, hollow feeling in the pit of their stomach that they would have felt fifty times better about themself if they’d been wearing dungarees.

They sucked in another deep breath, this time to try to soothe the flare of anxiety.

Their phone screen lit up with a message, and they snatched it up from the shelf in their locker.

A: Finished work yet? X

Payton grinned. The simplest check-ins from Autumn always made their heart flutter.

P: Finished!!! x

A: You've got someone to walk over to the bar with you, right? X

P: Yep, Dani and I are sticking together, don’t worry! <3 x

A: Awesome! Have fun tonight, baby x

Payton kind of wished they’d insisted that Autumn come along tonight, but as far as they knew, nobody else was bringing their partner, so they would have felt a little awkward making themself the exception. Besides, it was good for Payton to get out there and be independent every so often.

And it made Autumn worry less.

P: I will x

A: Message me when you get home x

They glanced over their shoulder as Dani came into the changing room.

She didn’t have her headphones on anymore, but she was humming to herself as she walked. Not in a gleeful kind of way; she hummed intensely, as though her sanity depended on whether or not she hit each individual note. She went straight over to her locker, disappearing from Payton’s line of sight, but Payton didn’t hear her open it.

They put their phone in their pocket and reached into their locker for their hoodie.

“Does that hurt?”

Payton looked over their shoulder again – Dani was looking at them – and then down at their torso. They were still standing there in just their black cargo pants and their binder. It hadn’t really occurred to them that they were topless, but they supposed they were.

“Sorry,” Dani said bluntly, mistaking their embarrassment for offence. “Was that rude?”

“It’s fine,” Payton smiled. “And no, as long as I don’t wear it for too long, it doesn’t hurt.”

Dani blinked. For a second, Payton considered that she might have been working up to asking a follow-up question.

“Okay,” she said instead, turning to open her locker.

The two of them finished getting ready without talking any more. Dani didn’t actually change her clothes; she just swapped her apron for a baggy grey zip-up hoodie that she didn’t zip up. She had already been wearing dark blue jeans and a graphic tee, even though the dress code for staff members was black trousers and block-coloured tops. Dani would never have paraded that outfit in front of Annie or Jake; she must have kept in mind, while getting dressed that morning, that Payton was supervising today.

They weren’t sure how this realisation made them feel. Was it a sign of disrespect that she only challenged the rules on their watch? Or was a good thing that she felt comfortable being herself with them?

Anxiety spiked in Payton’s stomach again. The last thing they wanted was for the newer staff members to dread the sight of them, or watch how they acted around them, but it was also in their nature to be a pushover, and they hated to think they were falling into old habits.

They smiled as they gestured for Dani to step out of the shop before them. Not because they were being a pushover, but so that they could set the alarm, lock up, and then check twice to make sure that the door was actually locked.

It soothed them a little as they stood outside and peered through the glass into the dark shop, sure in the knowledge that nothing was left out of place. Annie was on the opening shift tomorrow, and Payton would rather not get any passive aggressive text messages about crumbs on the floor or lights left on before 9am.

They turned away from the shop. Dani was rocking back and forth with the balls of her feet on the edge of the path as she waited for them.

Payton’s stomach dropped all over again as they observed her in the streetlight. Had the two of them ever even interacted outside of the shop before?

Despite their promise to Autumn, Payton realised they had kind of hoped that Dani would start walking by herself while they locked up, getting enough of a head start so that they wouldn’t have to make conversation. They liked Dani as a person but they didn’t have a friendly banter like Payton did with Paul, and Dani didn’t talk the ear off anyone who would listen like Rachel did.

“You’re opening with Annie tomorrow, right?” Payton asked as they both started walking. They immediately cringed. Defaulting to talking about work had to have been the laziest, most cowardly option.

“Yeah,” Dani said. Her tone might have indicated that she’d rather have all of her wisdom teeth pulled at once. It also might have indicated that opening the shop with Annie was her favourite activity of all time. Payton had no idea which was closer to the truth.

“I... like your t-shirt, by the way.” It’d taken them several glances throughout the day, since the print was faded in parts, but they’d deduced that it was from some horror movie or another.

“It’s vintage.”

“Oh, really?” Payton thought that maybe they’d be treated to the story of how it’d come to be in her possession.

Dani tugged at the headphones that were still sitting around her neck. “I’m putting my headphones back on. For the traffic noise.”

“Oh, okay,” Payton smiled. Since they’d come outside, only about six cars had passed them by, but they weren’t about to point that out. If Dani didn’t want to talk, that was fine. They were still walking together. That was one promise to Autumn locked in.

Now for the second one, which filled them with a little more dread; to have a fun night.

___

The group was still lingering by the bar when Payton and Dani arrived.

The store owner and manager, Annie, stood with one arm across her chest and what looked like a gin and tonic in her hand. She was chatting – probably about one of her husband’s recent business ventures – to Jake, whose cheeks were bright red and whose pint of cider had almost run out.

Rachel was perched on a bar stool, swinging herself gently from side to side as she nursed a Coke-based drink. Paul seemed to be in the middle of telling her a story; judging by the bittersweet smile that played on his lips, and the way Rachel seemed to be completely tuning him out, Payton guessed Paul was talking about Mei, the girl who’d recently broken up with him.

I know way too much about these people, Payton thought with a wry smile to themself.

It was Paul who spotted them first, which brought his story to a halt.

“Hey, boss!” he cheered, shuffling towards Payton and scooping them into a quick but tight hug. They forced a smile despite their surprise, hugging him back. They’d last seen him at the coffee shop yesterday, but he was acting as though it’d been months.

“Welcome! And Dani!” Paul grinned at her as she stood to Payton’s left. “Oh – don’t worry, I’m not going to try to hug you. Learned my lesson on that one. Come on, come over here! What are you guys drinking?”

“I’ve got it, Paul, don’t worry,” Payton assured him. He was drunk enough that he’d probably buy a round for everyone and forget he’d done it, which Payton would rather save him from. They reckoned they should buy Jake’s next drink, seeing as it was his birthday. And Dani seemed tense – either from the walk outside, or from the Paul hug she'd been temporarily threatened by – so they decided to offer to get her first one, too.

“Dani?” Payton tilted their head when Dani didn’t look at them; she still had her headphones on. They waved their hand gently to get her attention.

She dragged her gaze around to look at them, and they gestured bringing a glass to their mouth. Drink?

“Bulmers,” she announced loudly.

Payton nodded and turned, waving to get Jake’s attention this time. He beamed when he saw them, and Payton pointed towards the near-empty glass in his hand.

“Bulmers!” he called over the din, winking his thanks behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

Payton smiled at the bartender and ordered the two pints of Bulmers, plus a Coke for themself. The others started making their way towards a booth. Dani stayed near the bar, not talking to or looking directly at Payton. She was making them think of an anxious stray cat who didn’t trust any of the humans present, but had decided that Payton was the least untrustworthy of them all.

Guilt churned their stomach at that silly assumption. She was clearly just waiting politely for her drink, so Payton wouldn’t be left with three glasses to carry.

She thanked them for her drink as it came out. Payton smiled at her and took their own glass, plus Jake’s pint, over to the table.

Annie and Jake had slid into the booth first, on opposite sides of the table, followed by Paul on Jake’s side and Rachel on Annie’s side. Payton would have preferred – just slightly – to sit beside Paul rather than Rachel, but Dani had already slid into the booth next to Paul by the time they’d decided this.

“Here you go, Jake,” Payton said, handing the Bulmers across the table. They were momentarily relieved to be free of the heavy, sickly smell of it, but as soon as they sat down, they were hit by the equally pungent scent of vodka wafting from Rachel’s glass. First, it made their head swim, and then their stomach lurched. Just the smell of it made them feel like their thought process was being scrambled.

They were seated for a few seconds before realising that all six of them were leaving wet rings on the tabletop.

“Oh! Coasters,” Payton said, relieved for the excuse to get away from the vodka smell for another few seconds. They stood up again.

Rachel squinted up at them, shaking her head. “Genuine question, Payton; do you ever switch out of work mode?”

Payton gave her a smile, wondering how many more they’d have to force before they became relaxed enough for a genuine one. “Yes. Sometimes.”

They started back towards the bar. The smile slid from their face and their stomach took a dive towards the floor as they heard Annie’s voice from behind them.

“Where’s Payton going, Rachel?” she asked.

Except...

She didn’t say Payton’s name, and she didn’t say ‘they’ either.

They pressed a hand to their chest and breathed in slowly through their nose. Misgendering didn’t always get to them like this, but hearing it from someone they spent so much time around felt like a punch to the gut after already enduring so, so many. They tried to force down the throbbing sensation, which was like a scream that was rising to their heart instead of their throat.

They were probably the first trans person Annie had ever met, and they’d always known they’d have to be patient with her. It was either that, or lose their mind, and in this economy, one couldn’t afford to lose their mind at work every other day.

But breaking their chronic people-pleasing habits was hard when this was a constant issue. Correcting people didn’t come naturally to Payton, and on the few occasions where they did correct someone, the weight of the guilt they felt afterwards was almost just as bad.

And guilt wasn’t a compatible companion for self-love.

___

“Oh... getting coasters or something,” Rachel had responded to Annie’s question.

Dani blinked, baffled by what she'd just heard. Had she missed something? Who the hell were they talking about? Payton had just left to get coasters; they had announced that, right before Rachel’s snide remark about how they always seemed to be working. Had Rachel misunderstood Annie’s question, then? Was there some conversation happening that Dani hadn’t –?

Oh.

White noise swelled in Dani’s ears for a couple of seconds. She squeezed one of the beads on her bracelet and focused on keeping her breathing steady.

Say it, she screamed in her head, tugging at her bracelet, They. Where did they go? They went to get coasters. Just freaking say it!

But judging by the murmurs of continued conversations, Dani the moment had passed for her to say anything to fix Annie’s mistake. She found herself equally frustrated with Rachel, who could also have corrected Annie, or at least used Payton’s pronouns in her response.

Through the fog of irritation, Dani became aware of Paul, who was sitting to Dani’s right, handing something to Rachel, who was sitting at the other side of the table. Rachel took whatever it was and whispered harshly in Paul’s direction.

Dani gripped her bracelet harder, resisting the urge to yank her headphones up. She fucking hated the sound of whispers, but she knew if she put her headphones on now, she’d have to deal with eye rolls at best, and verbal lecturing at worst.

A dull clink brought her back into the moment, and she looked up to see Rachel running her finger through a streak of clear liquid that had been spilled on the table in front of her. Rachel put that finger in her mouth – yikes, gross – and grinned as she handed something back to Paul.

A naggin of vodka, Dani realised. In blatant disregard for the no outside food or beverages request that was posted at several points around the pub, Paul had brought shop-bought alcohol into the establishment, and now Rachel was availing of it, too. This night was shaping up to be even more overwhelming than she’d expected.

And they hadn’t even gotten around to singing ‘Happy Birthday’ yet.

___

The bartender looked up from where they had not-so-subtly been checking their phone behind the counter. Payton flashed them a smile of apology and gestured towards the case of paper coasters. They counted out six and wandered back over to the table, sucking in a deep breath before they were once again submerged in the smell of vodka, cider, and the risk of being misgendered.

“Are we going to sing Happy Birthday?” Payton wasn’t sure when Dani had taken off her headphones, but before she’d even taken a sip of her drink, she seemed to have shed her inhibitions. She was speaking now, at least. “Because if we are, you should all know that I am going to have to stick my fingers in my ears.”

Rachel sighed, Paul took a pointed swig of his drink, and Jake half-chuckled as though he was unsure if Dani was joking or not. Payton had the feeling she was not.

Rachel begrudgingly slid a coaster under her drink as Payton passed them around, but not before using it to mop up a long smear of clear liquid from the table. Payton didn’t remember noticing it, but maybe there had been a dribble of water there when they’d sat down.

“And also –” Oh – Dani wasn’t finished apparently. Payton tried to cast her their most sympathetic look, but her eyes were focused on the tabletop, not on any person in particular. “If there’s going to be a billion rounds of for he’s a jolly good fellow afterwards, can you all just please tell me now? I’m not, like, opposed to it or anything, but I would like to know in advance.”

“Oh, god. Can I ask that we… not do any of that?” A nervous grin spread across Jake’s face. “I hate Happy Birthday and all that stuff, honestly. Especially in public places.”

“Ah, come on, it’s a bit of fun,” Rachel muttered, clicking her tongue.

Payton caught Jake’s eye and smiled to reassure him. “How about a toast instead, then, Jake? Just a short one.”

Jake met their gaze and matched their smile. “That, I can endure, P.”

“Oh! Me. Me, I’ll do it. Can I do it, boss?” Paul exclaimed, as though it was Payton’s job to delegate the task. He hoisted his beer into the air, glanced around at the others, and cleared his throat dramatically. “Aheh-hem!��

“Remember, Paul. Short and sweet now, for the love of god,” Jake grinned.

“Happy birthday... to the best senior assistant manager, and, of course, the owner of the best beard in town – Jake. You might be ginger...”

Jake feigned a scoff and put a hand to his hair and beard.

“But we bloody love you, you legend!” Paul waved his glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” everyone agreed.

“Slainte,” Annie tossed in.

After taking a drink from their glass, Payton gasped forcefully, and took another. They were far thirstier than they’d realised, and ending up gulping down half their Coke before making themself stop. They'd had a glass of water at lunchtime today, but barely anything to drink since then. No wonder there was a funny taste in their mouth. Possible dehydration might explain why they felt especially on edge this evening, too.

They grimaced, holding a hand against their sternum and suppressing a burp. That was a lot of carbonation to force down all at once, but they weren’t about to relieve the pressure in front of all of their coworkers.

“Here.” Annie was flapping her fingers in the direction of Jake’s phone, which sat next to his elbow. “Give me your phone, Jake. I’ll get a picture of you, Paul, and the girls.”

Nausea and Coke residue fizzled in the back of Payton’s throat. They parted their lips, hands trembling on either side of their glass as they prepared to correct Annie, but the fear that curdled their stomach also put a clamp on their tongue. What did they even want to her to say? Paul and Payton and the girls? Paul and the others? Just the others?

Anything that didn’t lump them into a group they didn’t belong to would have been nice.

They shivered at the familiar sensation of the moment passing, of another wound officially taking up residence in their body. Autumn would be so disappointed if she could see them right now.

“And Payton.”

Payton’s ears practically pricked up like those of a cartoon dog. They looked across the table to see that Dani was looking vaguely in Annie’s direction, her hands fidgeting with something underneath the table. Her lips were mashed together, her eyebrows tense, and she definitely the one who had just mumbled those words under their breath.

A little bit of the sick feeling in Payton’s stomach dissipated. Annie hadn’t heard, but... just knowing that someone else at the table had clocked the mistake made them feel infinitely less lonely at this table.

Annie stood up, wielding Jake’s phone, and Payton felt a resurgence of queasiness.

“Alright,” Annie declared, “lean in, everyone, lean in. Dani, lean in, please! Thank you. Alright, good…”

In the last few seconds, Payton pulled the clear plastic clip out of their hair, letting their bangs fall loose over one side of their face. They held up a hand in a peace sign to partially obscure their jawline on the other side. They almost retched as they followed Annie’s instructions and leaned in; there was a stronger smell wafting from Rachel’s drink than before, if that was even possible.

Payton could almost imagine they could taste it, it was so thick in the air. God, they really didn’t feel well...

“Say cheese!”

“Cheese!!”

Payton sighed softly in relief when Annie sat back down, satisfied with just the one picture. Payton didn’t hate a lot of things, but they really didn’t like spontaneous photos taken on other peoples’ phones. Jake wasn’t a big social media guy, so maybe that one would never see the light of day anyway.

They took another mouthful of their Coke, hoping to wash away some of the bad taste in their mouth, but it only seemed to make it... worse? They brought the rim of the glass to their nose and sniffed, and then recoiled so fast that they almost fell out of the booth. The glass skidded a few centimetres across the table but, miraculously, didn’t tip over.

Dani jumped in her seat and made the closest thing to eye contact that she’d made with Payton since they’d left work. “What? What? Is it a spider?”

The whole room felt like it was tipping on its side. Payton wasn't just imagining they could taste the alcohol because of the strong smell; they were actually tasting it in their mouth. There was alcohol in their drink, and they had gulped down more than half of it... As they sat there, struggling to wrap their head around how this could have happened, it was inside of them, sloshing in their stomach, swirling into their capillaries, messing with their brain –

Sweat beaded on the back of Payton’s neck.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening –

“Payton,” Dani said loudly. “What. Is. Wrong?”

“N-no...” they whimpered, not caring that no didn’t make sense on its own. The only thing they could feel was the feeling of no, and with it came the heady weight of memories that weren’t supposed to be a part of them anymore.

They felt all alone again, like they were being slowly sucked into a pit of darkness.

“Th-they messed up my – m-my drink.” Sharp gasps littered Payton’s speech, and they couldn’t get a good sense of how loudly they were talking. They... couldn’t even feel angry. Not yet. Maybe they never would; messing up drinks was an inevitability for any establishment. Payton had once served full-fat milk to a lady who’d requested skimmed, and by the time they had realised their mistake, she’d already left with her latte. They still had nightmares about her coming back, months later, to complain.

But this was different, right? This was…

Dani wrinkled up her nose and leaned towards Payton’s glass to sniff it.

“I think there – there’s vod... vodka in it... N-no,” Payton said again, the word bursting on their lips like a giant blister. This was how it always used to start. With a ‘no’. No, no, not this, this can’t be real, this isn’t real.

When had it gotten so hot in here?

Dani put her whole hand around Payton’s glass, eyeing the bar. “You want me to go yell at someone?”

“No, no, no, don’t,” Rachel hissed, leaning conspiratorially towards the centre of the table. It seemed that she only wanted Payton, Dani, and Paul to be able to hear her. Her urgency made Payton stiffen. “Will you relax, for Christ’s sake, Dani? Payton, I took a few mouthfuls of your drink and topped it up with Paul’s vodka. I didn’t know you were such a lightweight!”

Payton’s head swam as they looked at Rachel’s face, searching in her green eyes for any indication that she joking. Her face was bronzed and freckled from all the field hockey she played, and they seemed to shift about nauseatingly in front of Payton’s eyes. She... she had to have been joking, right? Nobody would admit to something like that. Besides, they’d been with their drink since they’d bought it; when would she have had the time to –?

Coasters.

Payton had put their drink on the table and then gone back to the bar for the coasters. She must have done it then. Their body stiffened as they remembered the clear liquid spill on the table.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you drunk, boss,” Paul half-laughed. The fact that Paul was seemingly in on this too, or was in support of it, at least, only piled onto Payton’s horror, but they’d have to process that later.

“Th-that’s because I...” Payton’s voice was trembling. “I-I’m... I’m sober.”

The grin started to slip from Paul’s face, but Rachel didn’t seem to grasp what Payton meant.

She shrugged. “But it’s not like you’re driving home. And you’re off tomorrow, aren’t you? So, what harm?”

“No, I mean I haven’t… I haven’t h-had any alcohol in…” Payton’s lucidity spiked briefly, long enough for them to experience the stab of grief that hit their gut. “About two and... a half years.”

“Oh, on purpose?” Paul asked weakly.

“Yeah.”

Paul half-chuckled, his energy levels dropping noticeably. Next to him, Dani looked like she was witnessing a train crash in slow motion but couldn’t bring herself to move. Payton couldn’t bear to look at Rachel.

“But it’s not, like… that serious or anything, is it?” Paul pressed.

“Is it Alcoholics Anonymous serious?” Dani questioned, as though that were the qualifying factor. “Like in the movies, with the chairs, and the free coffee, and the…?”

She trailed off, gleaning her answer from Payton’s expression.

“It was Rachel’s idea!” Paul complained. “She did it!”

“What’s going on?” Annie demanded suddenly, only tuning into the conversation now that Paul had started raising his voice.

Rachel half-stood up in the booth and pointed at Paul. “You agreed with me, dickhead!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know...”

“Neither did I!”

Their voices faded into an echoing clamour. Payton felt so detached from their body that they wondered if they were having an attack of some kind. They’d had barely a few mouthfuls of vodka and Coke. Why did it feel like their stomach was on fire, forcing its way up their throat? Why did their whole body feel like jelly? Back in the day, it had taken so... so much more.

Had they gone so long without alcohol that they’d developed an allergy? Were they dying? After all of their work, were their last thoughts going to be swamped in dread and despair and drunkenness?

They didn’t know if it was wooziness or generalised terror that made their knees buckle as they tried to get out of the booth, but either way, Payton crashed to the floor, just about keeping a shaky grip on the edge of the table above. They weren’t sure where they were trying to go. They couldn’t even remember deciding to get up.

A hollow, desperate sob racked their ribs. Their stomach was lurching like an injured, frantic rabbit in a trap.

No...

Lucidity came in flashes again. Were they really hyperventilating on the floor, in front of their co-workers and their employer? Were they really making a scene at Jake’s birthday party? Were... were those Dani’s stockinged feet, resting on the floor next to her chunky Doc Marten boots?

Payton shook their head. They had to get away from here. That seemed fairly rational, no matter which they looked at it.

They started clambering upright. The sight of Dani reaching out to give them a hand up made them snap out of their panicked daze just slightly. They straightened their back and mumbled something to reassure her they were fine, they were good, they didn’t need any help –

They heard Rachel ask them something, and they ignored her. They ignored her on purpose – it felt terrible, but they couldn’t bring themself to react any other way – and raced for the bathrooms with tears streaming down their face.

___

Dani was only vaguely ashamed of her first thought after watching Payton bolting towards the back of the pub.

If someone at a small party has a breakdown, is that it? Can the party officially be declared ruined? Is it fair game for me to just... slip out? There were enough hours left in the night that she could probably squeeze in a few hours of Overwatch before going to sleep.

She flinched. Voices were being raised at the table again, which only made her want to leave even faster. No one was yelling at her, but her cells reacted as though they were. Her nerves felt like they were being twisted, twisted, twisted, until –

“You agreed with me!” Rachel hissed at Paul, much to Annie’s apparent dismay. “You said it’d be good for her!”

... Snap.

“It’s ‘they’!” A wave of dizziness hit Dani right in the face. Rachel and Paul and Annie and Jake all stared at her, and Dani’s stomach wobbled. Oh, stars. How loudly had she spoken?

Rachel groaned. “What?”

“They.” Dani felt out of breath as she reached for a bead on her bracelet and squeezed it between her fingertips. “Payton’s pronouns are they/them.”

“Payton’s... not even here, Dani,” Paul said softly.

“It doesn’t matter! You can’t call them anything else.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Annie interrupted, though she didn’t sound sorry in the least. It was the kind of ‘sorry’ that really meant I have the right to speak and I shall continue to do so, even if I don’t have any idea what I’m speaking about.

Dani hated people who said ‘sorry’ like that, even more than she hated whisperers.

“But ’can’t’?” Annie went on, cocking an eyebrow at Dani. “It’s not very tolerant to go around telling people what they can and can’t say, Danielle.”

Danielle?! White noise clogged Dani’s ears again.

“I swear,” Annie said, shaking her head. “It’s always a morality contest with your generation. It is just –”

“Dani,” Dani grunted. “My name is Dani!”

“Do not speak over me.”

“You spoke over me first!” Dani’s voice turned into a squawk towards the end. Shit, shit, shit. “And I was talking to Rachel before, not to you. Do you even know what she di–?”

“You’re going to have to lower your voice.” Rachel laughed without mirth as she glanced around the pub. It was as if she herself hadn’t just been practically shouting at Paul across the table. “People are starting to look at us now.”

Dani’s head burned. She slammed a hand on the table. “I don’t care.”

Paul put out a hand, as though he was going to put it on her shoulder to calm her down. She flinched, jerking away from him in her seat, and he seemed to think better of it.

“Dani,” Jake said, tilting his head to see her from the other side of Paul. Jake was one of the more reasonable people left at the table, and his round face and thick beard gave him a soothing, teddy bear-like appearance, but Dani still didn’t trust that he wasn’t just talking down to her. Like she was a child having a tantrum. “Let’s talk this out, okay? What did Rachel do?”

“She… she…” Dani stopped pinching her beads and pointed across the table – not at Rachel, but at Annie. What Rachel did was significant, yes, but several things were screeching at Dani from inside her head, and Rachel’s thing wasn’t screeching the loudest right now.

“She said our generation is having a morality contest,” Dani said. “You’re upset about it, Annie, so that must mean... mean that you think you’re losing, and if that’s what you think –” She was getting out of breath. Too many words, too few seconds. “Then – then you must see that I’m being more moral than you, so you know there’s something wrong with what you're saying.”

Annie didn’t say anything in response.

Victory flashed briefly and hotly through Dani’s veins.

So... why did she feel like she was seconds away from crying? She wasn’t a child; she wasn’t about to be reprimanded by a parent or a teacher for speaking her mind. She was an adult. She could make her own choices, and –

Oh, right. She’d just pointed at and then yelled at her boss. She’d probably just thrown away the only day job she’d ever found bearable, as well as the only co-worker she’d ever genuinely liked.

Ah, crabs. Payton. How had it taken her so long so get around to worrying about Payton?

“Oh,” Dani announced, sliding out of the booth. She realised too late that she had taken her boots off, but it didn’t seem dignified to sit down again to put them back on. She looked Rachel square in the eye – for about half a second. Then, she lowered her gaze towards Payton’s glass. “Rachel put alcohol in Payton’s drink without them knowing.”

“You sat there,” Rachel choked out softly, “and said nothing, Dani!” There were tears in her eyes now, her face pale with terror.

Throat tight, hands trembling, and shoeless, Dani got up and went looking for Payton.

___

Payton had thought they’d need to force a finger or two down their throat to start emptying their stomach of the unexpected poison, but it turned out that their tolerance was low enough – or their panic high enough – for their body to begin rejecting it all by itself.

The force of the first heave had their ribs pitching inwards, their belly muscles folding in on themselves. A strangled cry came rolling out of their throat along with a mouthful of frothy vomit, and it took everything in their power not to let the crying continue.

No...

They... they had cried so much back then. They had cursed and screamed and roared like they were trying to invoke some god to come and release them from the pain that they didn’t have the words to describe. No words except no. They had always told themself that they didn’t know why they cried and shouted so much when they were intoxicated, but deep down, they realised that had always been a lie.

It was because they didn’t think it mattered. Whether they were stone-cold sober and coherent, or black-out drunk with vomit and snot dripping down their face, nobody listened to them or took them seriously. At least when they were drunk, they could make noise and act like an ass and convince themself that it was okay, that it was only to be expected, that they were free of the consequences.

All of it a lie.

No.

The tingling in their limbs felt like phantom tentacles reaching up from a dark pit, pulling and sucking them under –

Payton’s belly curdled and they spewed harshly into the toilet. They let out a dry sob that nearly ripped their lungs loose. All those years, all that work, all those miles between their past haunts and their current life... and they were back here. A different pub in a different city, but still the same old them. Hours of therapy; long, honest conversations with Autumn about their past; all those times Autumn had taken their face in her hands, tears in her eyes, and told them she was proud of them.

All of it was washed away in less than fifteen minutes.

Because it was pointless, wasn’t it? The thing they had once drank to escape – the helpless knowledge that nobody was listening to them – was still very much real. It lived inside them, keeping them small, keeping them polite, keeping them trapped as the pathetic, useless teenager who was never good enough...

No...

Annie’s constant criticism of the little things Payton did differently at the shop; the way Dani bent the uniform rules, only during Payton’s shifts; Donnacha... Donnacha’s outright refusal to listen to Payton’s side of the story when it came to their relationship with Autumn –

“No,” Payton whimpered, gripping the sides of the toilet with both hands. The thought of Autumn finding out about this made their soul feel like it was withering. Something slipped up their throat – a belch, a sob, a hiccup?

Even though their stomach had been completely vacated, the lingering smell and taste of the vodka kept their insides twisting and writhing. They wanted to hug their aching belly, but they had no hands left to do it. They were shaking, wilting against the toilet bowl like a dying flower; they’d surely headbutt the porcelain if they let go.

Frantic heartbeats assaulted their eardrums. They could barely see, barely breathe, barely... barely believe this was happening.

No.

___

Dani was glaring at two stick figures – one with their legs spread, the other with their feet together under a knee-length dress – and having a crisis.

Why were gendered bathrooms even a thing? Cubicle stalls existed for privacy. Lesbians and gay men existed, who used the bathrooms of the biological sex they were attracted to. Besides that, people who were inclined to trespass would and could do so, regardless of whatever little plaque was stuck outside of it. She found it hard to believe that anybody woke up one morning, decided to go out to a public bathroom and be a perv, and then end up being discouraged when they found a little plaque on the door that did or didn’t depict a human in a skirt.

Why had it taken her so long to question this? And why was she questioning it now, of all times!?

Right. Because back at the cafe, there were gender-neutral toilets and gender-neutral changing rooms for the employees. If that hadn’t been the case, maybe Dani would have had some idea of which way Payton would choose to go if they were forced to.

She flashed back to the moment she’d walked into the changing room earlier, and seen Payton’s binder for the first time. Right, right... Did that mean they saw themself as more masculine than feminine?

She pushed open the door to the men’s bathroom, leaning as far into the room as she could while keeping her feet outside and clutching the side of the door. A middle-aged dude was finishing up at a urinal, and he jumped when he saw her.

“Wrong place, love,” he half-smiled.

“Oh, gee, thanks, love,” Dani said, employing her Hollywood starlet voice in order to stop herself from retorting with something unsavoury. And then she yelled out, making the man jump on his way to the sinks; “Payton?!”

After waiting for a few seconds, Dani huffed, noting that none of the cubicles were locked anyway, and no feet were visible under any of them.

She retracted her torso from the bathroom and ducked into the one next door.

“Payton?” she called out again.

Two women were by the sink, one of them washing their hands, the other touching up their lipstick with a bit of a sheepish expression.

“Maybe in there?” the one with wet hands said softly, nodding towards the only cubicle that had been locked. Sure enough, Dani noted the presence of feet near the bottom gap in the door. “Is she okay?”

“They.” The correction sprang out of Dani’s throat, already locked and loaded this time. “And... I dunno. Maybe. Payton? You okay?”

Dani’s heart felt like it’d just been dragged down into her stomach when the reply came.

“No! No, no, no.”

___

Payton’s lungs fluttered with the effort of breathing. A mixture of a smile and a grimace sliced their face as they heard Dani talking to the other bathroom occupants. The novelty of Dani gendering them correctly had worn off so quickly that Payton struggled to remember what that rush of serotonin and acceptance had even felt like.

Their teeth were chattering, their fingers still tingled with the knowledge that their internal chemistry had been altered, and their stomach lining was still painfully irritated –

They were powerless against the no blisters that burst on their lips, over and over again.

“Payton, open the door!” Dani screamed, and even though they were the one yelling no continuously, Payton thought screaming was a little over-the-top.

They weren’t dying. They knew that now. They just felt like they were dying.

“NO!” Payton sobbed lucidly amidst the rolling cries of despair. No, I won’t open the door. What on earth might they would unleash on her if they let her in? They had a reputation as the cool, easy-going supervisor; how could they ever face her at work if they were revealed as the fraud they were?

“I’m so sorry,” Dani’s voice said from the other side of the door. “I wasn’t in on it, but I also wasn’t – I wasn’t paying attention to what they were doing. And I should’ve been.”

Payton squeezed their eyes shut. As badly as they wanted to stay quiet, hoping she would go away, they couldn’t leave her hanging. That was what they did. They soothed people.

“It’s... okay,” they croaked, their voice reverberating in the porcelain bowl. They recoiled. Ew. Was that how they sounded right now?

“No?” Dani retorted. “It’s not. It’s awful.”

Payton coughed, feeling the last of their fighting energy drain out of them. She was right. This was awful. It would be very nice if this could, somehow, not be happening.

Panic flooded their lungs again like liquid, and this time they were struck through with fear, because they didn’t feel they had it in them to continue panicking, and they definitely didn’t want to wind up unconscious next to a toilet –

“Come on, get out of there,” Dani was begging. Her voice sounded strange. Maybe Payton was imagining things again, like they’d imagined her without her boots on earlier.

The door of the next cubicle down creaked. A toilet lid slapped down. There was a muffled thump...

Goosebumps pricked the back of Payton’s neck. They tilted their head back, all the way, so that they were facing towards the ceiling.

The sight of a head hovering above the cubicle divider was unexpected and unsettling enough to make Payton’s breath catch, and once it did, it was like a cycle had been broken. They blinked, once, twice, three times, and suddenly became hyper-aware of their surroundings.

“I... Hi?” they croaked pathetically.

“Hi, boss,” Dani muttered. Payton wondered if that was her version of being playful.

Payton scrambled to flush the toilet, their face burning at the thought of Dani getting an ariel view of their neon yellow vomit.

“Get... get d-down,” Payton stammered. “Y-you’re gonna fall–”

“Open the door and I’ll get down.”

They reached up for the latch and then sank back down, still catching their breath. The tears on their face were starting to solidify. They couldn’t bear to look Dani in the eye when she circled the cubicles to stand in front of theirs, so they kept their gaze low.

A dry laugh popped out of them, like it’d been lodged in their throat and then squeezed.

Dani’s socks were black and covered in tiny green alien heads. She was standing on the tiles in her socks.

“You... actually took your shoes off.”

“Yeah, so?” Dani growled.

“Nothing, I just – I thought I was hallucinating earlier.”

“I find it more comfortable.”

Payton nodded, sniffling as they felt their nose run. They felt as though they were already in the throes of a mini hangover – the hollow pangs of nausea in their stomach, the ringing in their head, the burning agony in their throat.

But worst of all was the shame. The storybook of images of themself – ariel view, as though they’d been up on that toilet alongside Dani, watching their own pathetic display from above – flipped its pages over in their mind.

“So, did – did you have, like, a board somewhere at home that said ‘something-hundred and something days since last drink’, or...?”

Payton almost choked at the image. Why had they never thought of that? They’d only ever kept track of their sobriety on the calendar in their head, but even that would have to be reset to zero now. “No.”

“Mmm. Sorry.” Dani shuffled her stockinged feet. “I never know what to say in... Well, any situation. Ever.”

“You’re fine,” Payton sighed. A part of them noted how exhausting it was, to still be the one to comfort everybody else when something bad had just happened to them. They tried to squash that part. Dani was here, trying to help them.

Besides, they felt most like themself when they were making others feel at ease. Maybe they didn’t need to be so ashamed of that.

“Do you... need something?” Dani asked the question stiffly and awkwardly; was this how she took down orders from customers at the coffee shop?

Payton wanted the exact same thing they’d wanted about an hour ago.

“I want to go home,” they whispered.

“Samesies.” Dani’s feet rearranged themselves again. “Do you need me to help you up?”

The reluctance in her voice made Payton want to say no. But they were dizzy and weak, and tired of saying no. The thought of just a little bit of help brought tears of relief to their eyes.

Payton looked up from the floor. Dani’s appearance hadn’t changed at all from the moment she’d turned up for her shift that afternoon, but Payton got the feeling that they were looking at a whole different version of her.

“I... I mean, would that be okay, Dani?”

“Yes. Of... course.” Dani had clenched her fists by her side, and was looking at Payton as though they were a cliff that she was supposed to step off the side of. “Just don’t grab onto my waist, shoulders, back, or sides.”

#Lucyverse Payton #Lucyverse Dani #Lucyverse #OC sickfic #sickfic #emeto sickfic #emeto #emeto fic #alcohol #alcohol mention #angst fic #spiking mention #misgendering mention #gender dysphoria mention #emetophilia #whump fic

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cornerofhell · 1 year

Text

Regrets

Blood.

All over the walls, the floors, even specks of it upon the ceiling. Thanks to her lovely husband.

Tiffany watched as the stitched doll brought the hammer down onto the man's head a seventh time, her plastic lips wide with a smile. She loved it when he chose the more violent kills. It always gave her the chills.

Chucky looked up from his work towards her, his own face splattered with blood from the corpse below him. "He's out. What about yours?"

Tiffany casually lifted a steak knife, the serated kind to saw through tough meat. It was coated with its own form of fresh blood, as was the head that she'd used the knife to separate from its body.

The bridal doll felt a twinge of pride as her husband gave her a little smirk of admiration, which she returned with one of her own, before walking over towards him and planting a passionate kiss on his soft plastic lips.

"I fucking love date night."

The two returned to their home, a house that looked abandoned on the outside but within it was a quaint little alternative place. Stolen furniture and tools, painted walls, enough rooms for everyone, it was perfect.

The doors had multiple locks on them to protect the family, and right now they'd been used to protect two in particular.

24 year olds and dolls Glen and Glenda lay sound asleep on the couch, a phone placed right beside them to constantly check in. Upon the flat screened TV was the Lion King, the annoying words of 'Hakuna Matata' being heard by both parents.

Tiffany turned the TV off with the click of a remote before turning to her children who slept like the dead beneath a large comforter that Tiffany and Chucky recognized from Glenda's bedroom.

The two had waited for a little bit before falling asleep, and the realization gave Tiffany a smile. Her sweethearts.

They were grown but they were still their babies.

Chucky seemed to agree because he himself smiled a little bit. "You wanna wake 'em up and move 'em to their rooms? That can't be fucking comfortable."

Tiffany shook her head. "They look pretty comfy to me. And I've had my fair share of couch sleep."

The doll bride was right. Glenda was face down into their pillow, arm hanging off the couch as the peacefully snoozed. Glen snuggled Billy the bear as they slept, their long hair almost covering their sleepy face.

Her children were peacefully asleep, and they were fine.

Chucky watched the children for a second before nodding, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist. He seemed to have something on his mind, but he didn't say it.

Tiffany admired her children once again before she noticed her husband's face, and her own formed confusion.

"Chucky what's wrong? Are you tired or-"

His face- she hardly ever saw it like this. It looked like a mixture of the most depressed and the most furious face ever seen.

Chucky didn't answer her, but his eyes flicked over to her, and she didn't know how but his expression got worse. His eyes bore into the soul of the doll she stood in.

"No. I'm just thinking." Tiffany hesitated for a couple seconds, her stomach feeling almost sick. Something was wrong. Something was so wrong right now.

Her mouth felt dry as she finally moved her mouth to form words. "About... What?" That glare... It was almost inhuman.

"You really chose being a movie star over this, didn't you?"

And as Chucky suddenly yanked her close, yanking out his red knife that she'd gotten him and slicing her throat, Tiffany woke up with a scream.

She was awake now, back in her room- Jennifer's room.

She was alone, tears rushing down her face, her breathing labored by fear and little broken sobs.

It had been so real... She had been so happy.

But the original Chucky was gone, Nica hardly reacted to anything, her children- her now seventeen year old children were at school, and her doll was now possessed by the woman whose life she took over.

And as Tiffany Valentine-Ray sat in the designer bed, staring up at herself at the ceiling mirror, she realized how much she truly hated it.

#horror #slashers #child's play #childs play #chucky #horror movies #bride of chucky #seed of chucky #tiffany valentine #tiffany ray #charles lee ray #chucky ray #glen ray #glen and glenda #glenda ray #fanfic

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eerna · 1 year

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i read The Stolen Heir in one afternoon and there's so many things making me go insane. madoc offering suren a small kindness when she was still leashed and bridled (i continue to love how madoc is such a paradox of a character, as warm and paternal as he is ruthless and self-serving). how even at her most Slay Girlboss™, suren still offers her companions the chance to leave of their own free will (even as she cages oak). OAK BEING THE SHIP THAT ROCKS BREAK AGAINST MADE ME SOB,,, BABY....

Holy shit it killed me. In QON there's the bit where Oak sees Suren for the first time and "looks to Madoc as if searching for an explanation" and I was like yeah!!! Madoc is supposed to be sensitive about heirs because of the entire fire debacle!!! So why is he so chill with his allies abusing their only daughter???? And then in TSH we see that he WAS paying attention and he WAS kind to Suren and I'm like. Uhghghgh even when being the absolute worst he can't help himself and has to be a dad, even for a moment. God. What a horrible dude. I'm obsessed. Suren entering her Girlboss Era but not all the way because she can't scheme and can't plan a long game because she is too impulsive and kind is truly insane. If she kept everyone with her, there would be no one to let Jude know what happened and she could have gotten everything she wanted, but NO she had to BE NICE. Oak's self destructive protectiveness lives in my mind rent free and I wanna hug him and tell him to stop being stupid. Just. What a spinoff huh

#eernask #eernanon #eernask talk tfota #tsh spoilers

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e350tb · 9 months

Text

Gravity Falls - The Matchmabel - Chapter II

Chapter II: The Plan

Mabel burst into the attic, sprinting for her bed. Sliding to a stop next to it, she just about did a combat roll to get to the floor, reaching under her bed for an old, dusty scrapbook.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to get this baby out!” she exclaimed.

She blew on the cover, revealing the title of the scrapbook, written in sparkly silver marker - ‘THE ULTIMATE FIRST DATE GUIDE.’

“This worked perfectly for Waddles and Gompers,” she said, opening it up, “so it should work pretty well for humans, probably. I don’t think I wrote down a ‘ghost-hunting’ date plan…”

“Hey Dip.”

Mabel perked up, turning her head towards the window.

Dipper and Wendy were standing in the parking lot next to Ford’s car - Ford was busy piling something into the trunk. Mabel narrowed her eyes as she watched them talk.

“Hey Wendy,” said Dipper. “So, picking mushrooms, huh?”

“Guess so.”

Mabel frantically flipped through the guide to ‘romantic activities,’ running her finger down the page. She gasped as her finger reached ‘picking mushrooms.’”

“Are you swinging, Dipper?” she whispered, scandalised.

“I saw Pacifica Northwest go in there,” said Wendy, slightly distastefully. “What’s she want?”

“I dunno, I’m supposed to go over there and make sure her house isn’t haunted this weekend,” Dipper shrugged.

“That one? Yeah, her dad got my dad to build it over the winter.” Wendy shrugged. “Pretty sure he got shortchanged, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Mr. Northwest.”

“Alright.” Ford closed the trunk and slapped his hands together. “Ready to go? We need to make the most of the daylight if we’re gonna get a good haul of Strangeshrooms!”

“Wait, if Dip’s swinging, why’s Ford there?” Mabel asked herself. “Unless he’s… chaperoning!”

She watched the trio climb into the car.

“Wait, no, this is silly,” she said. “They’re probably just helping Ford out with some kind of science thing! Dipper’s definitely not…”

She trailed off as she looked over to Dipper’s bed.

“...oh no.”

She darted over to the bed, looking down with wide eyes at the Wendy Box.

“You were meant to cast this into the fire, Dipper!” she exclaimed. “You were meant to destroy it!”

She sat down on his bed, her head in her hands.

“Oh, Dipper,” she groaned. “I see it now. You’re trapped between your past and your future. Your heart yearns for Pacifica, but you’re held back by your memories of Wendy!”

She stood up, pounding her fist into her palm.

“Well, don’t you worry, Dipper,” she declared. “Because Mabel is here to help. I’m gonna set you and Paz up on the ultimate date!”

-----

Deep in the forest, the gnomes Jeff and Steve were tugging a bag full of stolen bottles of Pitt Cola back to their glade, when a sudden chill came over them.

“What was that?” asked Steve, glancing left and right.

Jeff narrowed his eyes.

“Evil is coming,” he replied.

There was a long silence.

“So, should we do anything about it?”

“What? No! No, it’s none of our business, come on.”

-----

Stan and Soos sat, looking and feeling a little confused, at the dining room table as Mabel paced in front of them.

“I’m sure you gentlemen know why I called here tonight,” she said, her eyes narrowed.

“Uh, actually it’s 10.30 in the morning,” said Soos.

“Was it to pick up this?” asked Stan, holding up the envelope. “Pacifica dropped it off this morning, but you never came downstairs so she went home.”

“We have a crisis!” Mabel slammed her hands on the table. “A romantic crisis!”

Stan and Soos exchanged looks.

“I heard Dipper talking to Paz this morning,” she continued. “I heard the d-word! I heard him say it!”

“Dude, I think that’s a private…”

“Date!” exclaimed Mabel. “D-A-T-E! And yet, I just saw him go off into the woods with Wendy to pick mushrooms! And look what I found on his bed!”

She picked the Wendy Box up from the chair and slammed it on the table.

“Oh no!” Soos recoiled. “The box!”

“The box!” exclaimed Mabel.

“The box!”

“THE BOX!”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad!” protested Stan. “I still have old pictures of Carla McCorckle! Not to mention Marilyn… ah, Marilyn, what a forty-eight hours that was…”

“Exactly! The last thing we want is for Dipper to grow up to be Stan!” exclaimed Mabel. “He needs to be content and well-adjusted in his love life, like Soos!”

“Are you seriously telling me that Soos has his life together more than I do?” demanded Stan.

“Yes,” said Mabel flatly.

Stan blinked.

“Fine, point taken,” he sighed. “But the way I see it, none of this is our business. If Dipper wants to date Pacifica, that’s his business, we can’t get involved in…”

“Oops!” said Mabel, sliding a note onto the table, “I drop $20!”

The note slowly drifted over to Stan. There was a long silence.

“I’ve put a lot of thought into this,” said Stan, “and I’ve decided I’m going to help with your zany scheme.”

“Aw yeah, dude, I love zany schemes!” said Soos. “What’s the plan, hambone?”

“Dipper’s clearly thinking of dating Pacifica, otherwise he wouldn’t use the d-word,” said Mabel. “All he needs is for someone to make it official. That someone is gonna be us. So when Dipper comes back from mushroom picking or whatever tomorrow, we’re gonna put him into the biggest, bestest date the world has ever seen.”

She turned to Stan.

“I need you to get us free reign at Lazy Susan’s tomorrow evening,” she said. “Nobody but them, you understand?”

“Sure, but Lazy Susan’s hardly a gourmet chef,” said Stan.

“That’s why we’ll bring in the best chef I know,” declared Mabel. “Soos’ Grandma!”

She turned to Soos.

“Candy and Grenda will help Stan set up an atmosphere,” she continued, “But Soos and I are gonna have the most important job of all - damage control.”

“Damage control?” Soos tilted his head.

“We have to cut Dipper off from his misspent youth!” said Mabel.

“So we have to force him to shower?” asked Soos.

“Or lock Ford out of the house?” asked Stan.

“No!” exclaimed Mabel. “Although we probably should make him shower. But no, I’m talking about… the box!”

“The box!” exclaimed Soos.

“The box!”

“Alright, I get it, you hate the box!” said Stan, massaging his temples.

“As long as Dipper is shackled with his Wendy obsession, he can’t move onto his bright future with Pacifica,” explained Mabel. “The only way we can help him is to free him ourselves! Which means only one thing…”

“I don’t like where this is going,” grunted Stan.

Mabel’s eyes narrowed.“...we have to destroy the box.”

#gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #wendy corduroy #ford pines #grunkle stan #soos ramirez #dipcifica #OR IS IT?#writing

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waltwhitmansbeard · 1 year

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go on, claim my heart: chapter twenty-one

see my masterpost for what came before this.

Cassandra has not moved since Lady Briarwood gave chase to the bat that escaped into the hall. She has no idea what to make of the chaos; as far as Cassandra is aware, the bat was just a bat, but Lady Briarwood seemed instantly convinced that something more nefarious was afoot, and she learned long ago never to argue with her.

The baby is still crying behind her, but Cassandra does not move to help her. What can she do? The child's misery is perfectly logical. She has been stolen from gods know where by people who wish to kill her in some terrifying arcane ritual. Cassandra would be wailing too, if not for the bone-chilling fear.

The Night of Ascension is two days away, and Cassandra must imagine that the castle is crawling with guards and—she resists a shudder at the thought—a myriad of Lady Briarwood's undead servants. How is she meant to smuggle a screaming baby out of here at a time like this?

(If she were stronger, braver, she could show the child mercy. Better to die swiftly here, now, than in whatever macabre circumstance the Briarwoods have concocted for her. They would punish Cassandra with her life, but it would be worth it, to deny them their grand mission, to spare this infant that most acute horror. But she won't, because she is a scared child herself, and she'd rather take a blade to her own throat than this helpless baby's.)

She jolts when Lady Briarwood reappears in the door to the nursery, her face a mask of fury. A moment later, and she is right there, curling her fingers around Cassandra's throat. "Who was that?" she snarls as Cassandra gasps for air.

"I—don't—a bat?" Cassandra squeaks, clutching at Lady Briarwood's hand. "Just—bat!"

Her sneer hovers inches from Cassandra's face. "That was no mere bat, you fool! That was a mage of some kind! I could smell the magic on them!"

Cassandra whimpers, black dots appearing before her vision. Before she passes out, a familiar voice sounds from behind Lady Briarwood's shoulder. "Delilah, dear, leave her be, lest you want to be the one responsible for the infant's care."

The fingers tighten for a moment before releasing, and Cassandra collapses to the ground, gasping and clutching her throat. Lady Briarwood whirls on her husband. "We are under attack, Sylas. And I cannot believe she does not know anything!"

Lord Briarwood hums, then steps into the room to crouch before Cassandra, who instinctively shrinks in on herself. "Let us find out." His large hand extends toward her, and one finger gently raises her chin so that she meets his gaze. "Tell me, sweet girl..." And she can feel it, that strange, mystical influence, the one that makes her want to please him so very badly. "...did you know your brother yet lives?"

Cassandra's jaw drops at the same moment Lady Briarwood hisses, "What?"

Your brother yet lives. She knows immediately to which brother he refers, having seen the bodies of the other three for herself ages ago, the images of it burned into her mind like a brand. Percy is alive. She tries to remember, tries to conjure an image of what he looked like when they were running terrified for their lives—but it doesn't matter that she can't, because that was so many years ago, and he must look like a stranger now.

Lord Briarwood must be satisfied by the intensity of her shock, because he drops her chin and stands. "She knows nothing, Delilah. She was unaware that the de Rolo child we believed to have died in the Parchwood somehow made it out alive, and in the very company of this squalling child's father, no less."

Lady Briarwood reaches out to grab her husband's arm. "Tell me you are joking, Sylas. Tell me that the Champion of the Raven Queen is not here. Not when he is meant to be dead."

"My love." He reaches out to stroke her check with a few knuckles. "You need not worry. Their little band of heroes cannot impede what we have in motion. We'll increase the guard around the castle, and we'll have these pests eradicated long before our big day."

She sighs and leans into his touch. As monstrous as they are, Cassandra cannot deny their devotion to each other. "If you say so, dear." She turns to glare down at Cassandra. "Do not believe for a moment that they are coming for you. They want that baby, and they'll die before they get her. Make sure you don't give us a reason to dispatch of you, too."

Cassandra nods, and she doesn't breathe again until the two of them have swept out of the room. She waits until the sounds of their footfalls have disappeared to stand, her limbs shaking. She goes to the bassinet and scoops the baby, who seems to have cried herself out, into her arms. "He's coming," she breathes, the first smile she's smiled in ages curling at the corners of her mouth. "Percy is coming for us."

Percy creeps through the tree line, one eye on the castle, one eye on the path ahead. Vax has taken to the front of their trio, marking the path for he and Vex to follow on the way back to the others. Vex has been positioned into the middle, neither man willing to let her be snatched away again so easily.

Percy slips out of his coat and drapes it over Vex's shoulders. She startles, her hands coming up to instinctively pull it closer. "What...?"

"You look cold," he says, embarrassed by the heat that comes to his neck and face.

She smiles indulgently at him. "Thank you, Percival."

"Are you in any pain? My water skein is cold, you could press it to the wound."

Her hand reaches back for his. "I'm alright, Percy, truly. You do not need to fuss over me."

"I..." He slows his pace, pulling her a bit farther back from her brother. "I am so sorry for what happened. He never should have been able to put his hands on you."

"It's good to know how quick and strong he is. I'd rather us learn this lesson now as opposed to later."

"I'd rather not learn that lesson by his taking and biting you!" He worries his lip between his teeth. He has to ask, has to know, but the words are getting caught in his throat.

She must sense his hesitation, because she asks, "What is it?"

"What..." He reaches a finger up to briefly brush against the fresh wounds behind her ear. "What did he say to you?"

He watches her eyes carefully, and he watches a dozen different choices being made all at once. He is in agony waiting for the answer; could Briarwood have whispered to her the same words that Oliver heard right before he died?

Finally, Vex comes to a complete stop, tugging him with her. She lifts herself onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Nothing true," she murmurs, and then she resumes her quiet pursuit of her brother. Percy stands there, dumbfounded for a few moments before scrambling to catch up.

They press on as silently as they can for a few more minutes before Vex murmurs, "You know, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, Percy."

"Oh?" He sees her fingers twisting nervously around her bow.

"Percy, I..."

Before she can find the words, Vax hisses over his shoulder, "We're here!" Percy looks toward him to watch him bolting between the trees toward where the rest of their party is tucked out of sight of the castle. As soon as the three of them are in view, Pike darts forward to wrap her arms around Vex's legs. "You're okay!"

Vex laughs low. "I'm alright, Pike, though I could use a bit of your magic touch."

"Alright, you minx," Pike quips as Vex kneels down to allow Pike to heal her.

Percy keeps pressing on, and he sees Vax sitting on the ground with Keyleth, who has thrown her arms around his neck and is sobbing into his shoulder. He skitters forward to crouch in front of her. "What happened? Were you hurt?"

Vax shakes his head. "She saw Vilya."

Ice splashes down Percy's spine. "Keyleth..."

"They're going to kill her," Keyleth gasps, clutching onto Vax's armor as if it is the only thing tethering her to the earth. "They're going to kill her, and I left her there."

Percy reaches out to squeeze her knee. Something about his touch jolts her, because she rips herself away from Vax to clutch at his hands. "Cassandra!"

His eyes blow wide. "You saw her?"

She nods furiously. "She has been charged with Vilya's care. She's...deeply out of her element, but she seems to be trying her best. From what I heard, the Briarwoods have no desire to harm her, at least not in the immediate future, not like..."

She doesn't need to finish the thought. "We'll get them both out," Percy vows to her, "but first we must get ourselves out of here. Our presence is known, and we're not going to get this solved tonight."

Vax nods and stands, pulling Keyleth with him. "He's right. We need to regroup." He pulls his trembling wife away from the castle, and before Percy moves to follow, he casts a final glance toward his family's home, toward where his sister is waiting for him.

#critcal role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #vox machina #vox machina fic #vox machina au #tlovm #tlovm fic #my fair lady #go on claim my heart #my fic

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shadysadie · 1 year

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3, 10, 11 and 13 for the TOH ask game :)

Thank You for the Ask!

3. Favorite Episode of Season 3

Watching and Dreaming

Oh man, I am still not over this episode! I still have chills over it. I firmly believe this will go down as one of the best finale episode in children’s media right up there along with Sozin’s Comet. It knew exactly when to make me laugh, when to make me cry, when to fill my heart with indescribable joy. So much love was put into this episode and it showed. It knew exactly which questions needed to be answered and which ones could be left to fan speculation. And the weirdos stuck together.

10. Favorite line from season 2?

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“You’re wearing a stolen uniform.”

Really whole show is full of great lines, but I love the absolute resignation and judgement in Raine’s voice when they realize that no matter how hard they try, Eda is going to get involved no matter what.

11. Favorite Line from season 3

“She’s way too stubborn to let any of this get her down”

The line itself is kind of generic, but I am 100% convinced Camila knows Luz is dead at this point, and she is literally saying Luz is too stubborn to let death stop her.

Honorable meantion, “Sound’s like big bro got a hot witch girlfriend and little bro got jeolous.”

13 Favorite familiar relationship.

AHHHHHH THERE IS SO MANY!

I love the whole Noceda family, but I love how Camila throughly adopts Vee. Like she gasps once in shock when she realizes a demon impersonated her daughter then immediately switched to, “this traumatized child is my precious baby now.” I also love her relationship with Hunter too and 100% believe that he lived with her for a while, but just how affectionate Camila is with Vee.

#Toh spoilers #owl house #ask me anything #thank you #the owl house

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crimeloyalty-arch · 2 years

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harley and waylon for the ship meme

ship meme.

harley’s a force of nature & is always pulling waylon around unless they’re in danger ( and she doesn’t want to deal with it ) or they’re in the bedroom ⸻ in that regard, especially, waylon’s more dominant. they both like to snuggle, but harley’s love language is physical touch, so harley’s definitely the cuddler ( she’s never not climbing into his lap. ) she’ll big spoon for five minutes before she gets tired of it and climbs over him to be little spoon for the rest of the night.

outside of the bedroom, they spend a lot of time just doing normal couple things -- the stuff they’ve been robbed of because of what’s happened to them. long walks ( where it’s safe ), dinners out ( . . . where it’s safe ), even little things like cooking together or binging netflix shows. normal, boring couple stuff. harley takes ridiculously long showers, so she always uses all the hot water, but she also will always invite waylon to join her, so . . . even longer showers?

the most trivial thing they fight over is probably . . . i dunno. i’m having a hard time imagining them fighting over stuff that isn’t big. joker, the suicide squad . . . those are such big issues i don’t know that they’d want to spend much time fighting other than that. maybe they bicker a little when harley’s being annoying and insisting that she wants to top / be big spoon / etc when way knowwws she’ll change her mind in three minutes but that’s more of a ‘ you sure? you sure harls? ’ playful thing than anything else. maybe also over harls . . . changing the channel every thirty seconds.

harley certainly doesn’t clean, but she will hire someone to do it, once she lives in a place worth cleaning, so there’s not really a need for waylon to do it, either. she’s never made her bed in her life & she only eats takeout so . . . no dishes. waylon picks what they watch because harley , uh , will pay attention to the first five minutes of a movie/show and then her attention will turn elsewhere. she forgets about the netflix part of ‘netflix and chill.’ if the heat’s not working, no one will call the landlord ⸻ mostly because waylon doesn’t have one and harley doesn’t exactly want hers to know how much she’s modified her apartment. diy, baby! they’ll fix the heat themselves.

harley’s stuff is everywhere . . . she doesn’t have a drawer so much as she’s just decided that she lives in way’s place now. she doesn’t even have a drawer at her own apartment. messy. she’s the one that grocery shops most of the time, but she refuses to go with a list, so unless way writes her one, she will just buy whatever catches her eye. this is often sugary cereal and she never remembers to get normal milk to go with it -- just chocolate, or, in march, that weird green mint flavored kind.

she’s so big on anniversaries that waylon doesn’t have the option of forgetting. she will remind him every single day for a month. it means so much to her that it would be very very hard for him to forget. she calls him way a lot, waylon when she’s mad or worried, croc when they’re with the squad, just because she’s worried that waller will find some way to use her against him. in terms of nicknames for her, harleen is kind of the most intimate thing he can call her ; harley reminds her too much of the joker.

harley pays for dinners pretty much exclusively with money she’s stolen from joker, and, when she finally gets a job as a doctor, with actual, real money that she’s earned. it’s a point of pride for her & it really makes her happy, so while she’ll let him pay sometimes, she much prefers to do it herself. she’d be a cover thief if she didn’t sleep on top of him, but she does ( she’s so clingy ), so there’s not really an opportunity for her to steal all the blankets.

it should be no surprise that harley kissed waylon first ⸻ she’s so much more impulsive than he is, plus she was . . . probably crying over joker at the time, which would’ve made it very hard for him to initiate. she also definitely is the one who was very forward about them taking things further than that and that probably happened very quickly after their first kiss, because her sex drive’s just . . yeah. that being said, waylon is the one who would have to have brought up the relationship talk, because she will not, not so soon after being dumped by joker. she’s very sensitive and sad and insecure. harley’s the dirty talker, not that way can’t be, but it takes next to nothing to get this girl going. they could be in the middle of a mission and she’ll just lean over and whisper the most filthy thing imaginable in his ear . . . and somehow she never runs out of inspiration.

harley remembers a lot of things, but because of the acid, there are definitely holes in her memories. the longer they’re together, the more she relies on him to fill in those gaps -- can convey with just a look that she’s lost and have him guide her back. after they started dating, harley definitely did a lot of research into his biology ( that wasn’t an innuendo i swear ) to be able to effectively treat him if he gets sick/hurt. if she’s the one that’s hurt, he’ll do everything he can to get her to safety.

and in terms of a random headcanon ✨ waylon’s places in the sewers are the first place harley ever feels at home. she’d be happy to stay down there with him for a very long time.

#ataviisms #⸻ rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife — ataviisms.

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vegetas-bitch · 5 months

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hello again everyone!! here’s the trauma for Sephite that i promised! it starts in Ace’s POV and then switches to Sephite. enjoy!

i’m nearly jumping when i transmat into the

H. E. L. M. i’m still shocked that Phi asked me to accompany her to a reported Legendary Lost Sector in the Dreaming City, but i’m more ecstatic that i can protect her this time.

i stop halfway down the stairs and lean against the wall at the thought.

“you alright guardian?”

i turn at the familiar voice. “you still look emo as fuck Crow.”

he grins and shakes his head, “answer the question Ace.”

i look away from the Awoken Prince and into the glittering black pool i know that she’s in. “just… thinking a lot about Junei today.”

he nods in response and puts a hand on my shoulder. “look man, i know you aren’t always willing to, but if you both really need help, i’m only a call away.”

i shrug him off, “we won’t need your help. i promised to protect her and that’s exactly what i’m going to do,” i snap before walking through the portal to the Athenaeum.

i shake off the chills left from the travel and quietly head up the stairs, scouting out my Deck of Whispers among all the floating cards and smile pridefully at my large collection.

my breath suddenly leaves my chest. i almost think it’s Junei sitting between the Lectern and Ritual Table. hey bore hair pulled back into a messy bun, cloth hair band holding her pink baby hairs at bay, legs hanging off the ledge, coffee mug in hand and staring off into the abyss of Savathun’s throne world.

if it weren’t for her dyed hair i would’ve called out to her as i knew her. they’re so similar, yet so different… but i know the new Junei… Sephite… i wish i had waited, gotten to know who Sephite is before telling her about Junei… still, it didn’t change her.

Sephite is more to herself than Junei was, but still willing to meet new people. she’s more willing to go out and discover, plays devils advocate instead of blindly following orders, tries to find new ways to protect the Traveler besides endless fighting…

Junei was beautiful because she was kind but naive; Sephite’s beauty comes from her mind. i feared she’d try to be Junei, but she’s even more herself.

a soft smile returns to my face as i approach her. “good morning my lost love,” i say softly as i take my place next to her.

Dear Traveler, that smile is going to be my downfall one day.

“mornin Ace, would you like some coffee?”

i smirk at her. “i’d love some sweetheart.”

an adorable blush spreads across her cheeks. she stands up and walks over to the Lectern where her coffee maker displays her favorite constellation, the Scorpio.

“maybe don’t tell Eris i’m making coffee in the Lectern? she’ll kill me.” she laughs nervously.

“just don’t spill it then,” i tease.

i wrap my arms around her waist as she picks up the cord of the maker. “this okay?” i whisper.

Sephite only nods and i smirk as the blush runs down her neck.

she breathes deeply before her palm crackles with Arc energy and my coffee starts to brew.

“you’re magnificent, you know that Phi?” i tell her before gently kissing her bare shoulder.

“qu-quit that!” she yelps. “you’re gonna make me fry my coffee maker.”i chicle against her skin.

“sugar?” she whispers.

“however you like it little lost love,” i purr.

she starts humming a song i distantly recognize.

“whatcha singin in that head of yours, hm?”

“Mara told me it’s a song of Ancient Awoken. i started humming it around her one day and she knew exactly what it was. amazing what the soul can remember. apparently it’s a lullaby about stolen love, send fitting don’t you think?”

she smiles and hands me a coffee mug.

“i think so,” i say as i run my thumb across her cheek before taking a sip from my mug.

“so, you ready for today?” she freezes and slowly puts away the coffee maker.

“i… i think so… i’m definitely anxious about it, in a good and bad way, but i have to get over the fear. i can’t just keep backing out of missions when an Unstoppable is rumored to be there.” she says softly.

i smile at her. “well then go get ready. i’ll finish this coffee, and then we’ll go conquer that fear of yours.” i set my cup on the Lectern and pull her into a tight hug. “i’m gonna protect you this time Sephite. i’m not going to let you out of my sight.”

she hugs me back and lays her head on my chest. “i know… that’s the only reason i’m going.”

i kiss the top of her head and slowly let her go. “go on Phi.”

i watch her as she descends the stairs to the bottom of a large tree. she grapples up the tree into a hole i know to be her little home.

the coffee is sweet, and the air around me is calm. i feel at home. more at home than i do with my wife. i scowl at the thought.

if only i had waited. that bitch wouldn’t have had the chance to be adulterous if i’d just waited for Sephite.

but there’s no way i could’ve known… i was stuck looking for the love Junei gave me and shacked up with the first person who showed a semblance of it.

“i’m ready.” Sephite’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. She truly takes my breath away. especially the crown atop her head, the stars of the face plate mesmerizing.

i knock back the rest of my coffee. “let’s get going then.”we land in the Divalian Mists and i grab her hand.

“how does it feel to be home?” i ask her gently.

“it feels… foreign… like i wasn’t ever here before…” she says distantly.

“hey guys!” a New Light shouts as he jumps over to us.

i click my teeth. “you working with us?” i ask.

“sure am! my name is Jaques, nice to meet ya,” he sticks out his hand and i scowl at him.

Phi takes his hand and shakes it. “i’m Sephite, this is Ace, is lovely to meet you.”

he pulls out his ghost. “boy am i glad to i was paired with the both of you! your ranks are so high!”

i pull out my own ghost and my scowl deepens, “yeah well don’t just sit there and leave Scorn just to mooch off loot,” i growl.

“ain’t gotta worry bout me boss,” he says and pulls out his gun, pretending to shoot enemies.

Sephite giggles and leans over to me. “New Lights are adorable aren’t they? like children gifted a new toy.”

her smile soothes my heart. “yeah, this will be easy, he doesn’t look too bad.”

“let’s go shall we?”

she sounds kind, genuine even, but i hear a slight wave in her voice. she’s terrified.

“come here a second Phi,” i lead her away from the New Light and whisper down to her. “we don’t have to do this today sweetie,” i rub her arms as she shakes, “we can wait for the next one.”

“no, no,” she says firmly, “we have to do this now, i mean look at him,” she gestures to the New Light, “he looks so excited to do this, we’re not only doing this for me.”

i smile down at her. she sounds just like my June Bug… “okay sweet girl. OI!” i shout over to the New Light. “we’re goin, cmon!”i summon my sparrow and climb on. i hold my hand out. “Sephite?”

she smirks. “and let you try to maneuver the fog? please, i can see through it better.” she summons her own sparrow and throws her leg over. “ready Jaques?”

the New Light is practically jumping on his bike. “born ready.”

i roll my eyes and Phi laughs. “follow me closely. where you see mist and deep fog, i see nothing.”

Sephite takes off, followed by me and the New Light. she slows once we break through the mists and leads us slowly underneath the mountain. we weave through cracks and over hills until we come across Scorn.

she bounds off her bike and takes flight, unholstering her gun and quickly taking out the Abomination and Raiders.

“RISK RUNNER BABY!” she shouts, slowly descending to the ground.

i laugh and hold out my hand to her, which she takes.

“where are we?” the New Light asks.

“did you not do your research dumbass? we’re in Rheasilvia,” i growl.

“be nice, Ace,” Phi scolds. she walks over to the edge of the cliff. “down we go,” she says as she floats down.

i follow after her, but the New Light pauses at the top.

“come on Jaques! we won’t let you fall!” she calls up to him.

he slowly scales the cliffside and stumbles when he lands. i cock my tongue and Phi heads into a crack in the mountain.

“welcome to the Chamber of Starlight.” i say, my voice echoing off the walls.

“neat,” the boy says.

i roll my eyes and leads us through the tunnel. i hop off a small ledge and grab Phi’s waist as she heads after me. “don’t leave my sight,” i say firmly.

“i won’t,” a waver filling her voice again.

we make our way further into the cave. “where the he’ll are we?”

“someone didn’t do their research,” Phi teases as she strides ahead of me. “we’re underneath the castle.”

“where is everything?” the New Light asks.

“why did you have to say that?” i look over to him.

Sephite laughs nervously. “that, is a great question.”

we slowly move into an open area and hide behind a large rock. i pop out the side quickly and scan the area before pulling back.

“alright, it’s all Scorn, i didn’t see the Unstoppable, but that’s okay,” Sephite sucks in a breath and slowly nods, “remember, it’s okay to use your subclasses. there’s absolutely no shame.”

they both nod and i take a deep breath. “alright, let’s go.”

Sephite climbs the top of the rock and takes to the air, the New Light charges with a sword, and i grin as i load my Monte Carlo.

i spring into action once i hear Sephite’s machine gun go off. headshot after headshot and my grin grows until its a malevolent smile. a laugh escapes my throat once all the Scorn lay at my feet.

Sephite lands herself next to me shaking.

“Ace?”

“hm?”

“where the fuck is the Unstoppable?”

i turn to her and take her trembling hands.

“hey, hey, shh it’s okay, maybe someone already defeated it, let’s check.”

she checks over my shoulder as i thumb through my ghost.

“look, Chamber of Starlight, status of Unstoppable Champion-“ i stop. ‘Undefeated’ glows across the projection.

Sephite yelps as the ground starts shaking, the New Light frozen in place. we both turn quickly.

Phi gasps. “Taken,” she squeaks.

“JUMP!” i yell as the monster powers up its weapon.

“JAQUES!” Sephite shouts, but it’s too late for him. he turns into pink mist as the blast hits him and his ghost flies away to hide.

Sephite lands in front of the Champion and screams as Stormtrance erupts from her fingertips.

the Taken charges her, “SEPHITE NO!” but i’m too late. the monster lashes at her and throws her through a portal.

i roar as my wings sprout from my shoulders. i slam my frozen fists into the ground before taking flight and throwing my Sentinel Shield at its head.

a flaming maul flies past me. i start shaking with anger as i finish off the monster with my chain gun.

“Jaques,” i growl.

“where’s Sephite? did she go through that portal?” he asks frantically.

“JAQUES,” i roar.

“WHAT?” he yelps.

i turn my head over my shoulder. “go to the

H. E. L. M. contact Crow, Zavala, Ikora, Eris, anyone you can get ahold of, tell them to go to the Ascendant Realm, we just lost our Hive Princess.”

i hear his transmat signal open and i walk through the portal.

i groan as i open my eyes. i move to stand and cry out, grabbing my side.

a shard of stone in my side. great.

i scream as i rip it out. i remove my robe’s belt and tie it tightly across my rib cage.

“ACE!” my voice echos throughout the void.

i suck in a breath as i stand and stumble down the hill.

“ACE!” i shout as i glide over a ridge.

“please have followed me here,” i sob. “i don’t wanna lose myself, please Traveler please,” i fall to my knees, “i don’t wanna die again.”

i hear a roar as i startle awake. how long have i been laying here? i look frantically at my body. i have a sigh. no sign i’m being overtaken by Blight and my boding has slowed.

another frustrated yell echos through the void. “SEPHITE!”

i dart up. “ACE!” i call back.

“PHI!”

i sprint towards the voice despite my pain.

after what felt like hours of jumping, scaling, grappling, and running i finally find him. never did i think id be so relieved to see his one tell of his overwhelming anger.

“Ace?”

i gasp as he slowly turn towards me. Blight has overtaken him from head to toe.

he clicks and twitches in my direction before lunging at me.

i yelp and throw my suspension strand and it catches his fist long enough for me to jump out of the way.

Ace clicks around as i take off my boots silently. i throw one of them next to a stone pillar surrounding us and he lunges for it, quickly ripping it to shreds.

i step backwards onto shards of metal. i look below me and cover my mouth, holding back a sob. it’s his ghost laying in shards.

i look back to Ace to see him charging back at me.

i drop my second boot and try to jump away, but he grabs my leg and pulls me to the ground. he straddles my hips, pinning me to the ground and wraps his hands around my neck. i struggle against his hold and try to pry his hands from my throat to no avail.

who am i kidding? i couldn’t successfully spar against Ace when he was only a guardian, forget trying to overpower him now.

black begins to invade the corners of my sight and i shoot three suspensions in sequence, pull him off my body. i gasp and pull myself away from him.

“please Ace,” i choke, “ i don’t wanna hurt you.”

he pulls himself free from his binds and charges at me with a roar.

i throw three more suspension bindings and a gravitational void orb for good measure before taking a deep breath and lunging at him myself. i wrap my legs tightly around his waist and claw at the opening of his Ahamkhara helmet. he frees his arms and wraps them around my ribs, crushing me. i cry out and my fingers find purchase, but the helmet only flakes revealing a glowing teal iris.

i roar in pain as i desperately tear away his helmet.

“ACE PLEASE!”

i know it’s futile when he slams me against a stone pillar, knocking the wind out of me. regardless i throw my helmet to the ground and cup his face, gulping in air.

his lips curl into a snarl and he clicks.

throwing caution to the wind, i use my remaining strength to push myself forward and crash my lips against his.

his grip loosens and his hands gently cup my cheeks, tenderly deepening the kiss.

he pulls away and his eyes still to a glowing honey color. he reaches up and weakly pulls away the headband concealing my eye and smiles softly.

“A-Ace?” i stutter.

“i just had to see all of you before… i’m… gone…” he collapses.

i fall to my knees next to him and shake him gently.

“Ace? ACE!”

“Sephite!”

my head snaps up to see all of the friends i made on my journey.

“help him,” i sob.

Eris kneels next to me and places her hand over his heart. she shakes her head.

“he’s gone Sephite.”

“no,” i choke out. “nonononono NO! save him! HELP HIM!” i wail. “ACE PLEASE!”

Eris touches my shoulder and everything goes black.

“you should be resting Sephite.”

“leave me alone Osiris.”

i stare at the headstone i had placed in front of my home.

“staring at him won’t bring him back, Seph.”

“DAMMIT DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT!” i snap. “i… i’m sorry.”

“no need,” he says calmly. “i couldn’t imagine losing Saint that way.”

we stand in silence for a few moments before Osiris clears his throat.

“i have a gift for you.”

i flinch as he brushes away the hair concealing my bruised neck. he wraps thread around my shoulders and secures it at the nape of my neck.

“you have always been like a daughter to me Sephite, this is the absolute least i could do.”

i look down at the charm and tears well in my eyes. a shard of Ace’s ghost.

i turn to my father figure and breakdown in his arms, my body finally giving way to exhaustion.

i hope you all enjoyed!!

#monketalks #destiny guardians #destiny the game #destiny oc #destiny 2 #ikora rey #zavala #osiris #ocs #oc #original character

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thatonespriteobsessedbitch · 6 months

Text

1989 Taylor's Version Thoughts!!!

longggggg post lmao

Welcome To New York (Taylor's Version):

The intro sounds so clean

tho the synths sound really different

the vocals omg

is it just me or does her voice seem really far back???

it's kinda hard to hear her tbh

the bridge <3

damn, I always forget how short this song is

altogether sounds a little off???

Blank Space TV:

she sounds so different and it's so awesome

the way she says "I can make the bad guys good for a weekend"??????? flawless

the chorus feels less loud? if that makes sense

the anger in her voice in the second verse is *chef's kiss*

love that she kept the "oooh" in the second chorus, idk why I was worried she wouldn't

the bridge is still as awesome as always ofc

Style TV:

I don't think I'm ready for this lol

I think the reason they all sounds so different to me is that this is the stolen version I'm most familiar with

this album was my childhood and got me through a lot of really hard things

the "mmm yeah" after "taking off his coat", dear lord

dude I think this beats the rep tour version for me

which is like crazy high praise

Out of The Woods TV:

The distant piano (?) in the beginning is so fucking good

the amount of times I screamed this song at like 8 lmaooooo

I genuinely don't have words this is so good omg

All You Had To Do Was Stay TV:

my first track 5 🥹

I haven't listened to this one really in a while and I've since had a really rough friendship breakup with my bsf

it's hitting a lot harder rn

no but fr it's outing my abandonment issues rn

(I was like sobbing and aggressively lip-syncing while listening to this song lol)

Shake It Off TV:

my first Taylor song!

ngl I literally dansed for 3:39 minutes straight lmaooo

I Wish You Would TV:

it sounds so different but so similar at the same tine

tbh sometimes I forget how good some of these songs are

the "I wish I wish I"s are still as fun as they used to be

Bad Blood TV:

omg it's 3rd grade Sprite's jam!

the bass and drums hit so much harder holy shit

this goes so fucking hard

the echo on "ghosts"???? hello???

Wildest Dreams TV:

I've had this on repeat for 2 years

I just vibed for 4 minutes lmaoooo

How You Get The Girl TV:

honestly such a bop even nearly a decade later

how was she holding out on us with this chorus for so long???? it hits so much harder now

with the synths in the chorus, I'm surprised jack didn't produce this lol

This Love TV:

such a vibe

god I love this song

I kinda want this kind of love

I Know Places TV:

This is the one I'm most excited and most worried for

it's probably my favorite 1989 song

maybe even my favorite Taylor song

the way she says "and we run" has soothed my fears lmao

<- 2nd pre gave me chills holy fuck

Clean TV:

yk I'm actually starting to feel "clean" from my SA and this song is probably gonna make me cry because of it lol

to think that I was listening to the stolen version in the months following it and now I'm here about to celebrate 9yrs since I was last assaulted????

listening to some of these songs are crazy to me

Wonderland TV:

this and I Know Places are tied for my favourite 1989 song so I'm ridiculously excited lol

the prechorus has somehow managed to go harder

one of my favourite parts of the stolen version was always how pissed she sounds during the "oooh"s in the prechorus and I'm so glad she kept that in

I'm nearly to the vault songs and it still doesn't feel real that 1989TV is out

You Are In Love TV:

this is in my top 5 on 1989

I love this song so much

nevermind I want this kind of love

which is weird because I genuinely can't imagine myself having this kind of love but whatever lol

New Romantics TV:

last rerecording before the vault songs!

CAUSE BABY I COULD BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICK THEY THREW AT ME

"Slut!" (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault):

I claimed this vault song so I'm like so fucking excited right now

omg it sounds so fun

the tempo of the lyrics feels weird ngl

the chorus is fun but the verses are (hopefully) gonna grow on me

(it's my least favorite vault song, message in a bottle has officially been pushed out of its place 😭)

Say Don't Go TV FTV:

this is a fucking guy punch holy shit

my phone was dying during this one so I was trying to fix it for the most of it

musically, this was more what I was expecting from slut

Now That We Don't Talk TV FTV:

this fucking hurt so ow

it's cruel his shirt this song is

Suburban Legends TV FTV:

it's giving mastermind

no thoughts just wow

Is It Over Now TV FTV:

wtf it that intro?!?!

"only rumours bout my hips and thighs/and my whispered sighs" I fucking love how this is said

I love her your honour

#1989 tv #1989 (taylor's version)#sorry its late i procrastinated lmao #sprites taylor's version thoughts #taylor swift

0 notes

the-archxr · 2 years

Text

The Stars, The Moons

din djarin x reader

summary: It’s the night before the awaited confrontation with the Syndicate. Your anxiety is up and you find yourself unable to sleep. But you aren’t the only one.

a/n: oh wow look, faith is writing something different? Hm don’t know her. Anyway I’m kinda late to the din djarin train but I’m here now, hopefully this doesn’t suck??? Also this does contain minor TBOBF spoilers.

warnings: not much?? Some mentioning of violence, descriptions of borderline panic attacks? Major angst, lotta crying, painful fluff at the end

song rec: The Archer - Taylor Swift

•••••

You hated Tatooine.

You hated the sand; the long stretches of desert no matter where you looked; the drastic shift in temperature as it went from painstakingly hot, to the kind of cold you imagined Hoth was like the second the twin suns fell…

You hated it all.

But right now, sitting in the cold sand with your knees tucked under your chin and only a light jacket protecting you from the bitter chill, you feel comforted. Even if it’s only slightly.

After all, the grainy texture of the sand proved to be better than the itchy material of the pillows that had stolen your sleep. (As if it was just the pillow keeping you up.)

After dinner a couple hours earlier, Boba and Fennec went over the plan with you and Mando, catching you both up on what was going to happen and how they were going to regroup with the others tomorrow. You didn’t listen in on the details though. It was harsh, but, you didn’t…care. There really was no other way to put it. Unfortunately, it’s not like that notion really made you feel any better—the realization that you kept purposefully zoning out anytime Boba opened his mouth. It felt even worse when it dawned on you later that evening that you wouldn’t even be fighting, you were just a non-qualified medic. Someone there to oversee cuts and bruises as the others took the brunt of it all.

So why were you even there?

In a way, you almost felt pathetic. Useless. Merely, an old “friend” of Fennec’s who took care of her once in a Dorumaa moon and gave her lodging in Naboo whenever she had a bounty. And so, you therefore knew enough not to ask questions about the many bounty hunters they had rounded up (including themselves).

In all honesty though, you didn’t even think she considered the two of you to be that close of friends. Nothing but acquaintances…two people who got along enough, but not to the extent of a typical friendship. It seemed though that she must’ve thought you were at least decent to be around as she did one day randomly alert you of her well-being after supposedly “dying” and being “revived” by Boba Fett (a name you were vaguely familiar with). She had then explained that she needed your help and wanted someone with “medical training” (even though you told her time and time again what you knew was nowhere enough to be considered as official training), to accompany her and Boba to “meet up” with a stranger.

You hadn’t pressed the issue, but you did go along with it as you grew fond of your murderous friend and did in fact miss the company. Turns out it wasn’t really a meet up with a stranger, but more so an opportunity for Boba to get his armour back from a Mandalorian. Din as you grew to know him (through others, not by talking to him because you’re convinced he finds you mildly irritating). A bounty hunter clad in silver beskar with an extreme attachment to a small green baby. “His child,” Fennec explained to you after you witnessed a heartbreaking goodbye between two strangers and a Jedi, making the situation possibly the most awkward you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

Regardless, you were able to go home afterward, and forego any knowledge of this group of people you’d never met before, and never planned on reconvening with…

Until a few days ago.

Which lead you to here. On a planet you hate, with sand constantly in your boots and an aching feeling in your chest that threatened to rip itself in half at any moment.

That ache had kept you up all night. Regardless of where you forced your thoughts to go, they always came back to your anxieties.

Your room had become stuffy, almost as though it was filled with invisible smoke, smothering you until tears pricked the corners of your eyes and your breathing began to falter.

Maker, the last thing you wanted to do was to cry in front of ruthless bounty hunters over a little bit of violence and confrontation. You didn’t need the judgement, nor the current stress that had suddenly been placed on your shoulders.

So maybe that’s why you’re out here. Trying not to cry and hoping that the wind sweeps away every crack in your resolve before anyone can—

A flash of silver reflects out of the corner of your peripheral and immediately you already have a feeling who’s suddenly decided to join you.

“It’s rude to stare, ya know.” You say, eyes trained on the sky hoping your voice didn’t sound as choked as you thought it did. Although, let’s be honest, you really aren’t fooling anyone.

The Mandalorian stays there. Still and silent and just staring. You guess that’s what he’s used to. Stalking. Observing. Honestly, it’s kind of unnerving and you wish he would just go away and leave you alone.

…wait, why is he here?

“You’re crying.”

He steps forward, the sand shuffling with his footsteps as he comes to stand beside you.

You sniffle and wipe at your nose. “Really? Wow, what an observation. No wonder they pay you the big credits.” You expect him to shake his head and strut off. Maybe mutter something in Mando’a about how you’re impossible or whatever it is Mandalorian’s complain about when it comes to others.

He does neither. Once again, he continues to just stands there.

You look up to him, only to see that his visor is pointed at you. And just like magic, somehow, he changes.

He’s so close that you can see his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes, and soon you can even hear the faint sounds of his breathing. Something that (frighteningly and even embarrassingly) immediately calms you; puts you at such an ease your annoyance from earlier fades away in a matter of seconds. “Sorry,” is your meagre response. You go to turn your head in shame, but you catch him release a long sigh as his body visibly loosens, arms laying against his side, shoulders falling in a natural state instead of their typical stoic nature. If you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed the change in demeanour. Although truly how could you have ignored him? Especially with the way you start to take notice of the light from the three moons dance across the smooth plating of his armour.

“Can I sit?” His voice is deep, but soft. And without truly thinking you pat the sand beside you, as though you two are old friends and this is a familiar routine.

Maybe you really didn’t want to be alone.

He’s silent for a moment before he inhales deeply. “I noticed at dinner you were…different. Nervous.” His visor points to the sprawling ocean of sand in front of your feet. “Are you alright?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” It’s a dumb question. You both know it, but regardless you ask it out of defensiveness, hoping that maybe you don’t seem as powerless as you feel.

He wastes no time in his retort, however. “Well for one, it’s the middle of the night and you’re out here by yourself…” a sigh, “and I don’t know many people who leave their room to cry in the middle of the night, much less in the middle of a desert.”

You chuckle at that. “Yeah, well…let’s be honest I don’t think you know that many people anyway.”

Your words are stunted the second they leave your mouth, and you frown at how patronizing you sound. But then…he laughs softly. It catches you off guard and reverberates in your chest.

You push that feeling aside. It’s probably just your anxiety acting up again.

“Everything will be alright tomorrow, by the way. If that’s what you’re worried about. We know what we’re doing, we have the man power—“

“I’m not.” It comes out quickly, once again without thought. Your legs have fallen from their place pressed against your chest, but your arms have not let go of their grip around your body. “No offence, but…it’s not really you guys I’m worried about.”

“Oh,” is his response.

You shake your head at yourself. “I mean that, the three of you are cut out for this. You’ve…you know what to do, how to do it and when. But I…” you feel your shoulders shake, but at this point don’t care if he notices. It’s nice to actually talk to someone, regardless of who they are. “Ever since the Empire crashed, and Naboo was finally free I guess I just never let go of that nervous feeling, ya know. I’m always waiting for something to happen, even when I know it won’t. I just—“ your voice cracks, and the sound is enough to turn his helmet towards you. “I just want to go home.”

You start to cry. Freely cry. The light that reflects off his armour is equally as reflective in the tears that have built up in your lash line, and like a wave, you snap. It all comes out. Pent up stress, sadness…anything that has made you hurt in the past couple months just comes out all at once.

You’re acutely aware of how silly this sight looks. You, crying like a baby in front of a clearly confused Mandalorian warrior who you can imagine can count the amount of times he’s cried on one hand.

But then…a jarring thing happens that immediately stunts your sobs. A gloved hand ever-so-gently touches you. You follow Mando’s line of sight to your left shoulder where his fingertips lightly shake as they are graze the curve of your muscle.

Within seconds his hand has retreated back to his lap, and his body tightens and contorts into the way you suppose he’s been trained to do.

Neither of you say anything, even though you can tell the past five minutes have rendered him into a controlled awkward mess. This time it’s your turn to stare at him before you burst into hysterics.

Your loud laugh echoes and soon your tears of sadness are mixed with tears of joy as your gut twists with your bellows. You’ve fallen over, sand surely getting everywhere (but you can’t bring yourself to care) as you throw your hand over your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself.

You’ve once again gotten his attention and soon he’s standing up and shifting away from you. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You?! Make me uncomfortable?” You laugh again and push yourself up to meet him, having half the mind to wipe the sand off your legs. “No, no, I-you’re fine. I, uh,” you’re laughing turns into giggles as you try to explain yourself. “Thank you.”

You watch him tilt his head. “…thank you?”

“For making me laugh. I needed that.” He doesn’t move. You step towards him, close enough that you hope under that big bucket of metal he can see the sincerity in your eyes. “You just listened to all of my bullshit, and then comforted me. A stranger who you hardly know. It’s just—just not what I expected from a mighty Mandalorian.”

His features remain emotionless as he stares, what almost seems to be right through you. “Well…” he pauses briefly, as though he’s deep in thought. “Let’s be honest I don’t think you know that many Mandalorians anyway.”

Your jaw opens in shock, and once again you’re laughing. “Did you…just make a joke?” He stares blankly at you. The only movement coming from the man in front of you is the wind ruffling his tattered cape. “You did!” You push his shoulder playfully, too caught up in the breathless feeling erupting in your belly to care whether or not you aren’t supposed to touch him.

He doesn’t seem to mind though because soon his chest plates begin to shake and he starts to laugh along with you.

His laugh, the one that even through his modulator, is clear as day, sounds like Vashkan honey. It melts into the open air, and reminds you of the ornate gold decorations strung up in your home-city. For a man you have hardly heard talk, much less laugh, the sound of him is the biggest punch in the gut you’ve ever felt.

If anyone else was watching, they’d probably be concerned with how absurd the two of you looked. A Mandalorian and a random girl laughing with one another as though the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

You presume that even the stars are amused as they watch from above.

And maybe it doesn’t. Not now, at least. Not when you somehow have gone from a blubbering mess to fawning over the rare beautiful sound of a laughing warrior.

Once you’ve calmed down and the two of you are gasping for air you direct your attention to his face. Or rather, where his face is beneath the beskar. You smile warmly at him. “Maker, Mando, I certainly didn’t expect you to be the funny type.”

He shrugs and shifts on his feet. “I didn’t expect you to have such a hysterical reaction.”

You tilt your head with a smirk and wring your hands together. The two of you remain silent, awkwardness molding into shared comfort.

You look towards the palace with a frown as the wind chill picks up. You feel like air, but you’re not quite ready to go back.

Mando senses this.

His body turns up to the sky, the stars and the moons that glow wildly. Vast and free of obstructions, it’s easy to see the constellations stretch far past what the eye can see. “Mesh’la.”

“Excuse me?” You look up to sky as well, eyes widen at the sight before you. “What you just said…what does that mean?”

“It means beautiful.” He mutters. “The sky…it’s beautiful.”

You nod and smile lightly. “...Mesh’la...”

He then steps back and begins to walk to the palace slowly, all while still facing you. As though he’s extending an open invitation to follow him. “As beautiful as it is, it’s below average temperatures. Not weather really suited to whatever you’re wearing.”

You feel your face fall as the acknowledgment of his statement just seems to make it colder; makes the chill encase your bones that much more. You ignored it before, but you can’t now.

“If you don’t want to come back in, that’s fine. Just…don’t die? Fennec says you’re the only one with official medical training.”

“Fennec believes knowing the difference between gauze and linen is official medical training.”

His shoulders shake softly for -nth time tonight. “Regardless, we need you.”

The affirmation rattles around in your mind, and causes goosebumps to line your arms. You convince yourself that it’s just the cold.

“Goodnight, Mando.” You whisper. He nods, taking the hint.

“Goodnight…Y/N.” He nods gently at you before turning on his heel and slowly fading into the dark, leaving no trace that he was even here. Almost like he was an illusion forged by your distressed mind in an effort to comfort yourself.

A manifestation of the Force, if you will.

Although...the sudden change in your pulse you choose to ignore says otherwise.

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