Five And One

Taking care of you - Steve Murphy x Reader, Prompt - “Did you put this blanket here?” , I gave connie a wife so she’s not lonely since we’re stealing steve from her, now you may ask why didn’t just write her out and the answer is because i love her 😭 IDC IF ANYTHING IS OOC BECAUSE I JUST WANT TO HOLD HIM AND TELL HIM ITLL BE OKAY AND HES GONNA LET ME.

It was a typical group hangout, your friends, alcohol, some terrible movie you, steve and connie didn’t understand but would still laugh at. You were way too many drinks in because you all had a day off tomorrow. “Okay, we’re turning in for the night” Connie said standing and pulling Maeve up with her. “Really? You have to leave?” You said looking up at her with a pleading look. “Yes, i have a shift tomorrow, are you ready to go? or do you want one of the boys to take you home” She said picking up your hands. “I’ll stay, get home safe okay?” You said leaning up to hug her and Maeve. “We will, love you” and then she was gone.

Now with just you, javi and steve, which with javi practically passed out it was really only you and steve. “Do you want me to change this?” He said pointing to the movie you guys haven’t been watching. “I don’t know, whatever you want” You said leaning against him. “Are you tired?” He said smiling at you. “No, no, you can change it if you want” Your words slurred together. “Alright” He stood to change the movie and once he’d finally found one he turned it on and then turned back to you. Only to find you sleeping peacefully where he was just sat. He reached over to the loveseat and pulled the blanket off the back.

After laying it over you to make sure you didn’t get cold he sat there for a moment just looking at you. He bent down to make sure the blanket was properly tucked in and then he kissed your forehead and turned to walk back to his room. You woke up after hearing someone walk around in the kitchen. As you sat up a blanket pooled around your waist. Looking towards the kitchen you recognized steve standing there. He didn’t see you till he turned back around. “Oh i’m sorry, did i wake you?” He said walking towards you. “No you didn’t,” You lied not needing to add more to whatever is keeping him up. “What time is it?” You asked looking for the clock.

“It’s 3am, you should go back to sleep, or i can walk you to yours” He said sitting next to you. “Oh no, i’m fine here” You said giving him a tired smile. “Did you put this blanket on me?” You said moving closer to him. “Yeah, i didn’t want you to get cold” He said shyly. “Thank you” You said wrapping your arms around him. “It’s no problem” He said leaning into you. “Why are you up?” You said pulling away slightly. “I had a nightmare” He said quietly. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” You said pulling him back into you. “I didn’t want to wake you” He mumbled into your neck. “Steve, you can always wake me up” You said burying your face in his neck.

“Do you want to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed, i’ll take the couch” He said pulling away. “Don’t be ridiculous steve, i’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own home” You said laying back into the couch. “You’re not sleeping on the couch” Steve said pulling you up. “Well you’re not either. We can just share the bed, We’ve had to before” You smiled remembering the time you had to stay in a single at the hotel. “Are you sure?” He said following you down the hall. “Positive” You said pulling him down onto the bed with you.

Once you were both laying in the bed, you were both settled in very uncomfortable positions trying not to touch. After five minutes of not being able to sleep you gave up. “Steve?” You said turning towards him. “Yeah?” He said as he turned towards you. “Will you hold me” You asked moving toward him. He didn’t say anything just pulled you into his arms. A much more comfortable position. “Goodnight” You whispered against his chest. You assumed he was already asleep because he didn’t answer, but he was awake. He waited till you fell asleep to say it back. “Goodnight, I love you” He whispered against your head before drifting off.

facing the music

pairing: joel miller x reader (pairing from the soccer parents au, but can be read as a stand-alone)

summary: joel’s got a secret. you’re determined to figure it out. 

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating and insecurities around cheating (but no actual cheating), joel is being a little suspicious, joel in his musician era, a bit of arguing, angst, fluffy at the end, au: no apocalypse, very lightly edited

author’s note: thank you all so much for 2k followers!! i hope you enjoy this fic! comments and feedback are always appreciated :)

Lees verder

I don't need any analysis of these photos.

The conclusion is Jure is hot as fuck and gets all the bitches and I want him in ways I cannot begin to describe.

Jure the perfect slut i love him. No wonder they saved him till last

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Nightcall

Rafa Quintero x gn!reader (no particular warnings? the usual for the show, nothing explicit), 3563 words

a/n : here is a self-indulgent Rafa Pov for @narcolini and I (and all the Rafa babes out there) ❤ Nightcall is also the name of a London Grammar song and it slaps and it's underrated

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

It is dark outside when Rafa opens his eyes. He’s not sure what is pulling him out of his sleep, but the silk sheets around him are disorienting. He knows he’s home, there is no doubt in his mind, but still, the way his sweat clings to his body, sticking the sheets to his naked legs, bringing back memories of the nightmare he was having mere seconds ago, it all makes him wonder if he’s really awake. It’s the second ring that grounds him, shakes him to the core, makes his heart skip a beat. By the third ring, he’s already on his feet. His chains are cold on his chest, a harsh contrast against his heated skin.

No one ever calls him in the middle of the night, they always know better. Fix it by yourselves, pendejos, or make sure it can wait until morning. He’s not sure if he should be angry, he’s still so damn tired and his eyes hurt. His palms are digging in his eyesockets when it rings a fourth time. He picks it up, the movement so fast that the wire tenses, almost pulling the phone off the nightstand.

‘’ Rafa? ‘’

It’s you. Your voice sounds far away, a whisper almost lost in the buzzing of the line, but it’s you. He says your name back in disbelief, it's almost a question. He hates how his voice sounds, hoarse, raspy.

‘’ Rafa, dios, I- ‘’

There’s rustling on the other side as if you’re readjusting the phone between your ear and your shoulder, ‘’ I didn’t want to call you so late. Fuck, I didn’t want to call you at all, but I- ‘’

You take a deep breath and he can hear how it gets caught in your throat, shaking on the way out. He knows he should say something, but he feels lightheaded, glued to the floor, like all air has been sucked out of him. He can barely hear you against the sound of his heart echoing back to him through the plastic receiver.

‘’ Are you alright? ‘’

It’s the only words he can muster, pulled out of him before he can even process them. God, it’s you, he can’t believe it. But the carpet under his toes feels real and the breeze coming in from the window makes him shiver. He starts to believe he dreamed it all when you don’t answer him, when the line goes back to being silent. He had stopped dreaming about you after a while, back when your paths had separated, when he had told himself he didn’t need to be distracted by this, by you.

‘’ No? ‘’ It sounds like a question, but it’s hesitant like you’re waiting for him to tell you the answer. ‘’ I mean, yes, but- I- damn it. ‘’

Something clashes on the other side, plastic being cracked, being hit. He knows it’s your doing and he realizes you’re calling him from a payphone. Rafa can see it clear as day, your hand hitting the transparent window, putting your anger on something, anything.

‘’ This was a mistake. I’m sorry for waking you up. ‘’

This stirs something in him. Fear, desperation. You can’t hang up now, not after all this time.

‘’ Don’t. ‘’ He is gripping the phone so hard, he can feel the plastic wince at the strength. ‘’ Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t hang up. I can fix it. ‘’

Fix it, fix this, us. Rafa can hear you breathing on the other side, the rain hitting his window on his right, pouring out on the balcony. He tries again, ‘’ Tell me what happened. ‘’

He hears you shuffling once more and then it’s the sound of coins moving around, hair brushing the receiver.

‘’ Let me- ‘’ A car is passing by, splashing water around. You sniff, ‘’ Let me put more money in this thing, okay? ‘’

He doesn’t like how defeated your voice sounds, how tired it is. Every peso that he hears cling against the metal is torture for him. He had never been a patient man, he’s been told that a lot, he doesn’t care.

‘’ I’ve been doing business con El Golfo, yeah? ‘’

He knows, of course, he knows about you and Ábrego. He couldn’t stop himself from sending someone to sneak around, to pay good money to know your whereabouts. Rafa didn’t believe you, back then, when you had told him you were calling it quits. He had expected you to ease into the coke business as he did, coming back a week or two later, begging for him to let you in again. He would’ve, but you never came back around, not this time.

‘’ We moved around products for them tonight. I think they betrayed me, everyone’s- ‘’

He can hear you swallow. He can see you leaning forward, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your voice quivers.

‘’ Everyone’s dead. I think. Whatever they paid the police, it was good money, they didn’t even bother to arrest anyone. ‘’

His ribcage is hurting him, a weird pain going straight through his chest, he’s sweating again.

‘’ Where are you? ‘’ He croaks. His whole body is stuck in a weird loop, he can’t move, he’s shaking at the same time.

It’s your next words that finally wake him up, feet turning and burning against the carpet. Please come get me, Rafa. I can’t do this. He’s moving now, and everything is so fast and so slow. He grabs a shirt that he doesn’t button up from a chair, a pair of pants from the first drawer. You stay right there, okay? I’m on my way. I’m coming. He’s calling out as he goes down the stairs, screaming for a car to be brought around. He’s angry now. Whatever shock and insecurity were keeping him stuck to the phone vanished. He can feel the cold metal of the gun he tucks into the back of his jeans, he can hear the squeal of his leather boots as they press against the marble floor.

In the back of his mind, he knows. He knows he should call Miguel, to let him know what is going on, to hear him say he might be going into a trap, that you chose your own path, and to let you deal with the consequences.

He knows that. He doesn’t care.

He didn’t care back then either when you had left, couldn’t give a shit, he told Miguel. Clearly, you weren’t up to joining the higher leagues, he thought. Who wouldn’t want more? Sell more, make more? Spend more? It bothered him so much at first, itching in his skin to think you didn’t understand it, understand him. He couldn’t tell when you had started to drift apart, idolizing different ideas, different lives. When he met Sofia a few weeks afterward, he thought it would solve it, solve the burning hole of betrayal in his chest, and oh was he mistaken.

His hands squeeze around the wheel thinking about it. It’s pouring hard outside, wipers going back and forth. He’s not angry at you anymore, not as much.

The tires screech when he finally stops, so fast that the movement sends him forward, bracing against the wheel. He can see your silhouette in the booth, blurred from the rain. You’re on the phone, talking to someone, and for a second, Miguel is behind him in the car, telling him he’s been betrayed again, that he was stupid to fall for it again, that-

Rafa opens the door, water slipping from the roof, soaking his sleeve. He can’t stay inside with his own thoughts. He made his choice. He’s here, like he told you he would be. His hair is sticking to his forehead, water dripping down his jaw. He lets the car run, he doesn’t plan on staying in the open anyway, telling you to stay at this street corner for so long was already dangerous as it is.

He can see your head following him as he walks around the hood. Steady steps, pushing the water out in ripples. He still can’t make out your face through the fogged window and for a second he hesitates again, almost catching the sidewalk with the top of his shoe in the process. He could leave and never think about this night again, he hasn’t looked into your eyes yet, he could go home and pretend he’s dreamed all of it.

You jump when he pulls the plastic door open,

‘’ Jesus, Rafa. Fuck, you scared me. ‘’ He watches your hands open and clenches back on the receiver, ‘’ I mean, I saw you get out. I don’t know why- ‘’

You’re soaked, from head to toe, who knows how long you had been running around before you finally decided to call him. Heavy drops of water are falling from your hair unto your leather jacket, running down the front. It is almost too big for you, your hands haft hidden by the cuff of the sleeves. His eyes fall back to your face, but you’re already watching him, gripping the phone with both hands. He can hear someone calling your name on the other side. You blink once, twice, but you can’t seem to be able to look away. He knows he can’t. You wipe some water off your face, pushing the leather under your nose, using the movement to turn back to your phone call.

‘’ Alejandro, I have to go now. We’ll fix this. ‘’

And then you hang up. Metal against metal, the sound of coins bumping somewhere in the back, sliding the change at the front. He knows you won’t take it. That it will make some kids happy. Candy money. You turn to him, your lips are pale, slightly blue from the cold.

‘’ You’re here. ‘’

‘’ I told you I would. ‘’

He hopes you never doubted it the way he did. That you believed him when he said it, that no one was perched on your shoulder telling you to run away and to not look back. He feels the water that runs down his back, pressing the fabric to his skin. You sniff again, and he’s sure you’ll catch a cold,

‘’ Can you bring me home? ‘’

God, he wishes he could, but he knows you’re grasping at straws, only wishing to be home after a shit show of a night. He shakes his head.

‘’ You know I can’t do that. ‘’

You scoff, ‘’ You can’t say I didn’t try. ‘’

Rafa cracks a smile. It’s small, but it pulls at his lips, showing the long dimples on the side of his cheeks. You had missed him. Missed how easy it was to talk with him, to feel seen, understood without too many words. His brown locks are sticking to his head, curls springing back to life. He passes a hand through them,

‘’ You have somewhere else I can bring you? ‘’

You nod, and you almost have a heart attack when he raises his arm up, pushing the material of his sleeve up with his fingers to wipe some water off your face. The cotton rubs against your skin, leaving a warm feeling across your cheek that you can’t shake away.

‘’ There’s a safe house in a suburb north of here, if you can bring me there, I’ll owe you one. ‘’

Here you are, negotiating again as if he would ask anything from you in return. He knows you prefer to keep things between you calm and civilized right now. Pretend like this is just an exchange of services.

‘’ Don’t push it, now. Come on, bobo, get in the damn car. ‘’

He wishes he could tell you it’s not like that, that it has never been and never will, that you mean too much to just be treated like a distant coworker, but he doesn’t. He can’t, so he stays silent as he steps out of the way, holding the plastic door open, allowing you to brush past him.

Rafa moves towards his side of the car, leaning between the seats to unlock your door from the inside. You fall on your seat, leather jacket squeaking against the leather booth. The moment your door closes, he steps on the gas, leaving the payphone behind in a fraction of a second.

‘’ I told you Ábrego was a prick. ‘’

‘’ You always tell me lots of things, Rafa. ‘’

He’s waving his hands around the wheel and he’s bristling at the thought. Just the idea of Juan Garcia putting his hands on you-

‘’ I told you to stay with us, that we could make this work. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t listen. ‘’

He knows he is channelling his anger on the wrong person, but still, he wants you to be angry at him too. To lash out, to tell him why you left, why you thought you could find better elsewhere without them, without him.

‘’ Stop this, Rafa. This has nothing to do with Guadalajara- ’’

‘’¿A sí? Because I recall you calling us pinche sapos del gobierno or something like that? ‘’

He knew it had always bothered you when Miguel had started to play businessman, mingling around with politicians and CEOs. We are criminals, Rafa, you had told him once, we pay those guys off, we don’t try to do their jobs. You had tried telling Miguel, time and time again, but he didn’t get it, maybe he didn’t even care to.

‘’ Ay, por favor, you know I never liked how close Miguel was to those senators! We were always a politician snitching away from crumbling down! Why am I even fighting with you over this?! ‘’

You sigh, head falling between your hands. He couldn’t stop himself and he hates it, hate seeing you hurt, hate shouting at you like that. When you speak again, it’s muffled by your sleeves, barely strong enough to be heard over the engine.

‘’ If I knew you’d be shitting on me this whole ride I would have just dealt with this myself. ‘’

‘’ You’d probably be dead, is what you would be. ‘’

‘’ Fuck you, Rafa, fuck you, really. ‘’

He stays silent then, there’s nothing left to say. It’s always the same things he brings up, every time, but it never changes the outcome, no matter how much he wishes it did. He thinks back to your words earlier. If you can bring me there, I’ll owe you one. It’s the only thing he can think of to make you understand, to break the silence in the car. He turns to you,

‘’ You don’t owe me anything, you know. Ever. ‘’

You snort, fingers pushing at the vents on the dash, pushing the heat toward your feet. He can feel your eyes on him for a second, he can see the small smile on the side of your face.

‘’ Oh, because we’re friends again, now? You’re gonna stop being a pendejo or-? ‘’

He knows you’re laughing at him, trying to change the subject, to not let this moment get too emotional. His nose wrinkles, shaking his head in a failed attempt to mock you. His fingers reach for the A/C, making sure the heat is on.

‘’ You know I don’t mean it, right? ‘’ Being an asshole, he wants to say, ‘’ I’m just- ‘’

He is met with silence once again. Words stuck in his throat, blocking his airway. He kind of hoped you would finish his sentence so he wouldn’t have to say it out loud. Admit that he is wrong, that he missed you. To let you know how much your call tonight had messed up his inside in a way he hadn’t felt in so long.

‘’ I missed you too, Rafa. ‘’

It’s comforting, the way you say it, it’s soft and meaningful, he can’t stop the sigh of relief that comes out of his chest. Your hand raises up, pressing against his bicep, the fabric of his shirt pushing more water into his skin. Your thumb is moving up and down, warming him up the best you can.

‘’ But you’re still the biggest bitch ever. ‘’ Your hand is higher now, meeting the back of his head with a loud slap, ‘’ Who do you think you were, talking to me like that, tonto, mmh?! ‘’

‘’ Ouch! What are- ‘’

You swat at him again and another time for good measure, he dodges, so you pinch his cheek with two fingers instead,

‘’ I make my own choices and I learn from them. You better not ‘i-told-you-so’ me ever again. ‘’

He snickers, pushing you back into your own seat. For a second, you are kids again, meeting on the playground being the school. No responsibilities, no bounties on your heads.

‘’ It’s my job to knock some sense into you. ‘’

‘’ Maybe you should keep it for yourself, from what I’ve heard you need it. ‘’

He stops in front of a house, it’s dark and small, buried between all the other ones. He knew it was this one you meant, back at the street corner after you gave him the address, your old parent’s house. After you moved from Badiraguato for your dad’s new job it had been a miracle that you ended up finding each other again in Guadalajara.

‘’ You want me to go in with you? Make sure it’s safe? ‘’

Rafa knows that he’s staling, holding on to the last minutes before you inevitably get up and leave. You shake your head.

‘’ I’m sure it’s good. I’ll be fine. ‘’

You sigh, crossing and uncrossing your legs in your seat. He’s not sure what more to say, but you lean towards him, gently taking his hand between yours. It’s awkward, fingers intertwining with yours like you two had never done this before. You smile, it’s soft, barely there, he notices a scar that wasn’t there before.

‘’ You be careful out there, Rafa. ‘’

‘’ You know I’m the one they’re scared of now, hmm? ‘’

You scoff, squeezing his hand with yours, a warning. Listen to me. This is serious, tonto. You look up at him, and it’s sadness he can see in your eyes, regret maybe.

‘’ Don’t be a smartass, you know what I mean. ‘’

The movement is shaky and awkward again, but you bring your joined hands up, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand. It’s warm, electrifying and he can’t do anything but hope that you would just stay here with him.

You’re opening the door before he can say anything else, sliding out of your seat before he can tell you that he will be careful if you ask him. As you get out of the car, your hand slipping from his, he leans forward and tugs at your sleeve, pulling you half back in your seat.

‘’ Are you going to call again? ‘’

Rafa feels like he is shouting, anything to have your attention, to make you stay with him a second more. He hates that he can't tell what you're thinking, what's behind your eyes. They're shining from the street lights outside, slightly wet from the cold, completely unreadable to him. He’s begging, he realizes, he never does that, but he doesn’t care.

‘’ Do you want me too? ‘’ you breathe out. Your voice is small, hardly audible over the raindrops falling on the roof.

‘’ I do. ‘’ I really want you to, he is itching to say, please, it’s pulling his chest.

‘’ Then I will. ‘’

He watches your mouth move before the words finally start to make sense. Your head moves down, body leaning to meet his in-between the seats. Your lips touch the corner of his mouth, the skin of his cheek touching his teeth from the motion. You are close to him for less than a second, already moving back to the door before he realizes, but still, he can smell your perfume, taste the rain and the sweat that is mixed in it. Rafa can feel the cold of your fingers on his forearm, the heat that is spilling from your lips into his whole being.

You close the door behind you with a small wave, mouthing him a thank you through the window. It was barely a second, a second where his heart had stopped and his insides had melted. Another second pass and you are gone, inside and safe, door closed, locked. I really want you to, he was itching to say, please, it’s pulling his chest again.

Then I will. You would. Rafa had never been a patient man, he had been told that a lot, and he never cared. But tonight, tomorrow, for weeks or months, he could wait, he decided. He just has to wait for the phone to ring again.

He gotta stop doing those heart eyes

---

Steam I

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitution Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~14k | Fic Length: ~64k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: insane insane insane. i started this from a tiny little head cannon forever ago and when i started writing i anticipated maybe 20k max. but im a liar because this quickly excelled that by a landslide. i hope yall enjoy this monster of a fic as much as i did writing it. i'll be uploading each part with one day in between. p.s i used the ATLA wiki to build a believable setting for this but it really diverges from cannon and doesn't mention any of the original characters from the cartoon.

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Ranchous voices filled the warehouse, deafening as the hoard of bodies looking for a night of gruesome entertainment flooded the stands. Steam and smoke and dust clogged the air, only cleared by the occasional rush of wind the massive hole in the ceiling that showed the clear night sky above, the moon barely half full and the stars dusted across the sky.

Wonwoo watched from the catwalk criss-crossing high above the ring like always. He won’t fight until later, not until someone was dumb enough to challenge him once the adrenaline of the smaller spars bubbles to their head and they decide they would be the one to end his winning streak proudly tallied on the leaderboard. 

But for now he stood on the metal platform. Below, Jihoon launched a clay disk at his opponent with terrifying speed. With a wide swing of his arm, Chan knocked it aside before it could land, spinning off balance from the recoil.

Too easy. But no matter how many times the two fight, Chan never catches on to Jihoon’s tricks until it's too late. Jihoon hurled a second disc – cracking it into pieces with a squeeze of his fist – at Chan’s head. The airbender managed to dodge the first piece but the other two landed true, crumbling him to his knees. The crowd fell into a frenzy of starved animals, foaming at the mouth as a tally mark appeared next to Jihoon’s name on the victory board.

Wonwoo’s name sat on the next line above, so many tallies they nearly ran off the side of the sheet of repurposed metal. 

He rarely lost. Dokyeom might force a draw for fear the building would burn down if a fight dragged on; but the last time that happened was nearly two years ago when Seungcheol demanded one final fight before retiring. They both walked away with matching black eyes and limps, his friend with singed uneven hair, and Wonwoo with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder.

It was one of the few fights Wonwoo didn’t mind losing. Defeat was much sweeter when he got paid half the betting pool for it.

The next fight geared up to start; another air bender and a fire bender racing into the ring. Wonwoo rarely cared to watch their fights. Hoshi lacked finesse, relying on overwhelming his opponents, while Seungkwan’s temper historically ended the match before it could really begin. But it never stopped the audience from rushing to place their bets with Jeonghan like always.

Deciding he needed a drink for the chaos about to unfold, Wonwoo descended the stairs towards the crude bar in the corner of the upper tier of the stands. It’s nothing more than a shabby counter top, covered with colorful bottles and cracked cups.

The sting of fire whisky going down didn’t shock his system nearly as much as the woman leaning against the wall; watching him, gaze heavy on his skin even in the dim light. 

Rounding the bartop, Wonwoo didn’t look away as he approached. If you balked under his gaze, he can’t decipher a tell; only a satisfied smile pulling the corner of your lips high and your eyelids lowering until his chest brushes yours.

His arm rests above your shoulder, pinning you beneath his gaze. “You’re staring at me.”

It isn’t a question, it's an accusation. And you’re more than guilty.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You asked, chin tilting back defiantly, eyes narrowed. Wonwoo makes the mistake of looking at your mouth, hypnotized by the tantalizing pout of flesh as it slips into a smirk. He walked right into your trap before he even knew what was happening.

He dipped closer, eyes still on your lips. “What's your name?”

Just as your nose brushed his own, you melted off the wall and under his arm. Wonwoo cut a glance over his shoulder to find you stalking backwards into the crowd, eyes never leaving his until you're swallowed into the fold without a trace.

The dare was so obvious in your gaze. Paired with the teasing words, Wonwoo felt something surge inside him. That hot need to chase, to tease you back. To find out if your boldness evaporated with enough attention or if you’d use the same haughty tone to chaste him in private.

Wonwoo moved to do just that but he’s called to the ring for the next fight.

“Our reigning champion, the man of fire,” Dokyeom preened dramatically into the mic. The crowd roared in enthusiastic response. “The longest running victor in bending battle history!”

People parted as Wonwoo approached the walkway leading to the isolated platform surrounded by a steep drop off into a pool of water. Maybe he reveled in the applause and anticipatory cheers longer than necessary but if anyone’s earned it, he has.

“And our newest challenger!”

The poor idiot who signed up to fight shouldn’t last too long, Wonwoo isn’t interested in dragged out humiliation. Especially not now. Hopefully, he can end this quickly and find you again, bargain his victory for your name and maybe some time alone.

But, as swiftly as his hopes ignited, they crumbled to ash. Dokyeom continued his rambling as you flashed a smug smile across the ring.

He faltered for only a moment before continuing towards the center of the ring. Out of the dark, he failed to decipher anything that might give him advantage. You lacked the breezeness of an airbender, posture too rigid, the cocky defiance from earlier still present. Maybe an earthbender. Or better yet, a firebender.

Your eyes trickle down his form. Only one of you is at a disadvantage so far but it won’t remain that way for long. Wonwoo thrives on a challenge, and after so long without one his heart squeezed in excitement.

“Good luck.”

You remained silent, eying Wonwoo’s outstretched hand before ignoring it, turning towards your side of the platform with your nose in the air.

Gasps of shock erupted around the warehouse. The stands circling the platform were fuller than before, even the people who only came to socialize found a sudden interest in the stranger bold enough to snub the best. Wonwoo paid them no mind. You’re the most interesting opponent he’s had in a long time.

Words from earlier echoed in his ears.

What are you going to do about it?

Wonwoo followed suit and retreated to his post with a few grounding breaths. The flame inside him grew in preparation. Hungry. Vicious. It raged until there's nowhere for the fire to go but out.

The starting bell cut the air; immediately he's on the offensive, dropping into a low stance, arms drawn into his side before the shrill sound stopped. A swift punch launched a huge fireball from his fist, a swell of heat surging through his veins as it sails over the ring with terrifying speed. Then another and another, fast enough that just as one dissipates, it’s already replaced with a new explosion of flames.

Barely any smoke filled the air when they dissolved. They were nothing more than a cheap scare tactic; completely hollow shells aimed to intimidate rather than maim. The fight is just starting and there's no reason to throw his best moves just yet.

You sidestepped each blow, dipping close to the floor before rising again and twirling out of the way with catlike grace. Wonwoo lobbed the next one right in your path but you adapt without pause. Like you’re dancing around the fire. With the fire. 

Wonwoo rushed forward, taking the advantage to drive you towards the edge of the platform, refusing to grant an ounce of reprieve. Not that you needed it. Every blow is avoided even as he adds more punch to the moves, each burning hotter and brighter than the one previous.

He maintained a healthy distance, plenty of room to keep the heat away from himself as his arms sweep and a ring of fire slices at your feet, close enough to singe the edge of your boots before you can avoid it completely. But you dove through the opening and rolled back to your feet, as if you expected the blow.

Wonwoo sliced his hand through the air, a razor thin whip of flame bursting forth to lick against your chin, close enough to feel the heat but Wonwoo maintains control. You could’ve blocked the move but you retreat again, eyes furious at the smoke of burnt hair jagged from contact dangling next to your jaw.

Wonwoo can’t detect any attempt at bending. The clay disks stacked at the edge of the ring remained unmoved, the air undisturbed. There’s no pull at the flames he’s conjuring, no hint that you're manipulating his own fire against him.

After another one sided volley of hits, your refusal to fight began to wear on his nerves. He harnessed more flame with a sweep of his leg, a swift stomp sending it over your head before it exploded and knocked you to your knees. You controlled the impact and roll to a crouch, eyes blazing,

“Is that really all you’ve got?” you said, shoulders squared but lax. 

There’s no teasing in your voice, if anything it’s cold disappointment. To Wonwoo’s shame, a hot bolt of want ran through him. Images of you whispering the same words, with the same haughty tone, flashed in his mind; back in the dark corner near the bar where you started this entire game; back in one of the many unused rooms of the warehouse with just you and him and no one else to watch him earn your approval.

Your leg circled around and Wonwoo prepared himself for something of interest to finally happen but you used the momentum to raise back on your feet and brace for the next round.

Wonwoo realized you must be a waterbender. The way you moved, melting around every attack, shifting with impressive flexibility, was a dead giveaway. That or just plain stupid. If you walked into this fight with no bending then it was only a matter of time before you cut your losses and yielded. 

Only one way to find out.

A towering wall of pure flame, large enough it’d scare even him to be on the receiving end, swelled in front of Wonwoo. The crowd roared in excitement, feral for the inevitable end to the match. There was nowhere for you to evade this time. It was either into the flame or off the backend of the platform. 

A flat footed kick sent the wave barreling directly at you, consuming more oxygen and growing wider with rapid speed.

The flood of fire forced your hand. A tsunami of water rose from the grates criss-crossing the ring, geysers gushing with enough pressure to shake the floor. A sharp hiss echoes as opposing elements collided in an explosion of steam thick enough to clog the entire warehouse. So dense Wonwoo can’t see in front of his own nose.

Wonwoo stood unfazed, even as the crowd distantly murmured in confusion. Now, the game truly began.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called, listening. Waiting.

A splash behind him is the only warning of your presence. Wonwoo slashed his leg through the air, an arch of flame slicing through the fog providing a brief glimpse of visibility before it sealed back up. However, it did nothing more, you weren’t there.

“Longest running victor in battle history, and he can’t even land a hit,” you tsked.

Wonwoo jerked at the sound of your voice, so close he expected to find you right behind him but he’s only met with a faceful of powder.

A fucking snowball?

You must have been close enough to see the scowl twisting his face because you giggled before launching another.

“Can’t handle a little water?” you snorted.

Under different circumstances, ones not involving you pelting him like a child, Wonwoo might have enjoyed the sound. He might have even wanted to find out what the sound tastes like on his tongue. 

Another snowball, this one more ice than anything, collided with his chin and that desire turned into cinders. He whipped fire towards the noise but missed.

Arms raised, he feigned as if to launch another and instead harnessed his breath and forced a wider arch of flame to evaporate the fog you’ve hidden in. Wonwoo found you evading from the corner of his eye and used the moment of weakness to spring into action.

Except you crumbled with a choked scream and the sudden rush of victory tastes like ash.

Three wide strides and Wonwoo was there, hunched and ready for the next blow; ready for another one of your tricks. But your choppy breathing extinguished his competitiveness. The air reeked of burnt. The entire ring smoldered with heat.

He should’ve known better; especially with you. So clearly unprepared for the intensity of a fight like this. Dokyeom should never have let you put your name down to fight, let alone against Wonwoo.

Acrid smoke rose from the discolored collar of your tunic; too close to hope he hasn’t burnt your face but he does anyway. Wonwoo prepared for the worst as he rolled you over, already yelling for a healer.

He isn’t prepared for an icy fist straight to his nose with enough force to send him onto his back. “What the fuck?”

Another blow landed on the back of his head. Hot blood rushed forward as the next punch lands with a grotesque crunch against his nose. His skin stung with cold, eyes burning from the sudden influx of pain.

Long channels of water with blunt frozen ends sprouted from the grates like a watery forest. You stood unscathed amongst the pulsing curtains, smiling like a lunatic.

Wonwoo covered his head from the brunt of attacks. His nose was broken and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. A torrent of water collapsed over him, bearing down with the power of a waterfall. His knees buckled. The air in his lungs abandoned him.

In a last ditch attempt to save his pride, he thrusted his hand forward. The reek of ozone clouded the warehouse as electricity splintered towards you.

And as if it’s nothing, you redirected the bolt of lightning through the opening in the warehouse roof as Wonwoo watches in shock.

The warehouse went silent. Seconds grew into minutes but no one moved as you rose into a lazy stance. 

Wonwoo watched through sweat and blood, dark spots floating in his vision as the sound of your boots grew closer.

“How disappointing,” you sighed just loud enough for him to hear before striding towards the platform and out of view.

When the echo of your footsteps faded, Wonwoo sank into darkness.

In the late hour, the Middle District streets buzzed with life. Vendors shouted, hawking their wares, boasting exotic produce and clothing with incatract embroidery from the farthest reaches of the world. Taverns packed with patrons singing and hollering in drunken glee. The smell of fried dough and roasted meat wafted through the air.

Mingyu was easily distracted with every stall he passed. Why, you had no idea. Even as a guard he could get the

best quality of anything he wanted at the palace; food, clothing, drink. But he stuck his nose in the air as the scraggly old man refuses to barter over the bruised moon peaches and wanders down the aisle to another stand with the exact same selection and even more wrinkled merchant.

In the midst of his discussion on cherry nuts, you slipped away, down one of the cramped alleys choked with smoke and shouts of people enjoying the balmy night. 

No one looked in your direction twice as you meandered through crowded walkways, children squealing as they chased each other and adults shouting in annoyance when one bounces off their knees. In all the chaos, it was easier to disappear and actually explore without Mingyu hovering like an anxious mother hen. If anyone would get you two caught for sneaking out of the palace, it was him. Even in servant’s clothes, you couldn’t help but feel woefully out of place and he wasn’t helping.

The side streets were calmer; veins flowing slowly into the heart of main street. People moved in lazy sways, some appearing to only remain vertical from leaning against door frames into dark hallways. The lanterns strung above cast an oily sheen on the cobblestone. If you remembered the archive maps correctly, the Gaiety should be close.

Even through the thick clouds above, you felt the moon swelling. Only a few more days until she’d be full and with it came the unbearable restlessness. Mingyu only agreed to sneak you out of the palace after the fight weeks ago because you’d nearly taken his head off while sparring. 

A night away, somewhere new. Somewhere to take out the energy without nearly killing him. The warehouse out in the harbor was out of question after the fight weeks ago. Not with the way you made a spectacle of the cocky firebender you’d studied for weeks. Mingyu threatened to rat you out if you thought for a second to step back in there. At least it’d been worth the loss; Wonwoo’s face as you redirected his lightning like it was nothing was worth every second of Mingyu's anger.

No longer feeling like one of your grandmother’s koi, swimming in endless circles of the garden pond, you forced your shoulders to slouch, chin tipping down to obscure your face beneath the wide brim of your hat.

Most of the buildings lining the street are shabby; peeling paint, splintered windows, wooden steps on the brink of collapsing from years of rot. Most are alive with noise, men and women crowded around low tables just beyond the door, wine flowing like a river and laughter spilling from open windows.

Further down, where the lanterns are more sparse with red shades casting everything in an eerie glow, the air grows thick with smoke. The street twisted like a grotesque snake, turning at harsh angles to hide whatever waited beyond, tangled in indecipherable turns. Buildings were little more than shacks, each leaning on the one next to it for support; stacked like a house of precariously stacked cards one gust of wind away from crashing down. Plenty of alleys jutted off into darkness, shadows shifting with scantily clad women and what looked like couples making no attempt to obscure what was clearly taking place. A small crowd still mills about, some ogling but most too absorbed in their own merriment. 

Just like when that firebender hit you with lightning, hairs all over your body stood on end. This place is wrong. You need to leave. Now.

Turning to do so, you found yourself nose to nose with a man completely blocking your vision.

“What is a pretty girl like you doing all alone?” he said, clearly drunk from his haphazard slant. That, or incredibly stupid. His breath stung your nose, bile rising at the scent of liquor.

Water, or something resembling it enough to heed your command, rocketed from a nearby drain pipe. The thick haze over the area dissipated in an instant, all eyes on the man frozen to the rickety wall of a nearby building, face turning purple as he shouted indignantly. 

You stared for a moment, stunned by your own hand. And then, you ran.

People shouted as you crashed through them, feet pounding on the uneven stone road. Several sets of footsteps chase, gaining by the sound of it, all calling for you to stop. You pushed yourself to run faster, so hard your muscles burned but you pressed forward.

Lungs screaming for breath, you rounded the entrance to the main street in time for someone to snag your arm in a vice grip.

“Let me g—” Your scream is muffled by your captor forcing your face into his chest, arm slipping around your shoulders to keep you from breaking free. You fought but couldn’t break free.

“Walk, don’t look back” a deep voice rumbled. 

The hands were too warm to belong to your guard – not that you’d be lucky enough to run into Mingyu and make it back to the palace so easily – completely unfamiliar and unnecessarily rough. Between the guards still in pursuit not far behind and the man already dragging you through the crowd, you preferred the odds of whatever this new stranger had planned.

Out of the side street, your new captor maneuvered hastily. People parted on either side of your path, allowing more distance to grow between you and the mob, but their yells licked at your heels. You chanced a glance up and found the very firebender you’d humiliated weeks ago. Features schooled in a neutral expression, Wonwoo kept moving further down the street, steps so wide it was difficult to keep up. 

“Next intersection go right.” 

Your heels dug into the ground, refusing to move another step with this man. No way he took that beating weeks ago and wasn’t holding a grudge. You humiliated him in public, in front of his friends and probably a few enemies; few men would take that without protest and pass up an opportunity for revenge.

“Trust me, princess.”

The word striked frigid fear through your veins like ice. But he kept his eyes forward, constantly scanning the crowd and using the momentary pause to push you forward. You bounced off another couple as you stumbled to do as he says, face still hidden in the collar of his shirt. The street is still wet from last night’s rain and the water calls in reassurance. 

Wonwoo underestimated you, like so many others. Even though he didn’t look smug about knowing your identity he was still a threat. Perhaps he thought your victory was a fluke but you were prepared to remind him what defeat tasted like.

But first, you needed to lose your pursuers. And for now, Wonwoo served that purpose.

The street he turned you down was far calmer, but no less packed. The bodies moved in a gentle pulse unlike the crush of the central avenue. Wonwoo pressed forward but not as urgently, flowing with the ebb of foot traffic.

Your muscles tensed as distance from the main street grew, prepared for Wonwoo to strike. To pull you into one of the shadowed alleyways and challenge you to another brawl. But there were too many witnesses here for him to do much, not to mention all the buildings made of wood. Unless he was a unique type of stupid. 

But, surely this was far enough to shed him. Another busy street was not far ahead, one you recognized; farther south from the palace than you’d like but you’d make do. You just needed to find Mingyu and get back to the tunnels before Wonwoo caught back up.

Preparing yourself to run, you chanced another look to see if guards from earlier were well and truly gone. The chaos of before hadn’t followed, no shouts or discontent from the people left in your wake. But you couldn’t be sure until you—

“Don’t look.”

You huffed but faced forward once more. “I wasn’t going to!”

“Yes, you were,” Wonwoo swallowed something like a laugh. 

How dare he! If he thought he could take you captive and chastise you like a rebellious child then he had another thing coming. 

You jumped to your toes, twisting against his tight grip at your waist to peer back. Only to find one of the men from earlier already staring straight at you.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

“You looked,” Wonwoo groaned. “Run!”

Turning again, you froze the lanky man’s feet to the ground. He stumbled at the unexpected set back, crashing into passersby who seemed none too pleased but you could only assume from indigent yelling as Wonwoo dragged you away.

“In here,” Wonwoo whispered, shoving you into a dark alley, barely more than a divot between buildings before he followed suit.

His body pressed tight against yours from knee to shoulder. Like back in the warehouse. When he nearly pinned you against the wall and almost made you forget the entire reason you went at all that night. When he tempted you with a different challenge than what you planned to offer. You might have considered the proposition if Wonwoo hadn’t failed so spectacularly; let him prove his worth beyond bending. 

In the dark, you tripped over the slick paced ground and fell straight into Wonwoo’s chest. With your hands planted on his shoulders, you felt his lungs stretch around gulps of air. Under more pleasant circumstances you’d remember the impropriety of it all. Alone with a man, in a dark corner of the city; breath mingled in choppy pants, the heat of him sinking straight into your bones with his thigh between your knees. And his hands. Such rough, warm hands pinned against your sides. If anyone saw then they’d see a couple unable to wait for a more private location.

But you didn’t find yourself caring in the slightest. Not about propriety or even the fact that Wonwoo all but admitted he knowingly fought a member of the royal family and was now doing something even more scandalous. You couldn’t think when you were wedged so tightly between a wall and a man, intimate proximity you’ve never experienced before. The miraculous way his palms fit perfectly against your hips, how his breath ghosted against your forehead and the deep rumble of his voice—

“What were you doing?” he said. “Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”

If only he’d shut his mouth long enough for you to enjoy the fantasy of being like any other woman in the kingdom, free to touch and be touched. But the reprimand shattered the short lived dream.

“They wouldn’t have arrested me,” you huff indignitaly. “I had it under control! Or do you need a reminder?”

“By all means, freeze me to a wall! That went so well last time, didn’t it? Maybe this time you can just wait around for them to catch you.”

“Maybe I will!” You jabbed a finger into his chest, momentarily shocked by the firm muscles there, before ducking out of the alcove and back onto the street before doing something stupid with the new information.

But Wonwoo yanked you back into the shadows just in time for one of the men to run past. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Of course I do!” you silently scream. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because only an idiot would visit the Red Lanterns alone. Especially a woman. You clearly didn’t belong there.”

He said woman, not princess. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe it was a stupid nickname you were looking far too much into. There was no reason he should have recognized you. Your grandmother was so fiercely protective of her sole heir apparent that she hardly let you explore even the farthest corners of the palace grounds, let alone appear somewhere subjects got close enough to make out a single feature beyond your silhouette next to her. Only nobles, guardsmen, and servants would recognize you and the entire appeal of visiting the Middle District was none of them would be here. No one would know their princess was among them.

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“You’d be a lousy prostitute if you froze all your customers to a wall.”

You watched his face for any hint of dishonesty but he stared right back, eyes blazing with the same contagious annoyance. He didn’t know. His heart raced beneath your palm but didn’t stutter with dishonesty.

“Then what were you doing there?”

“I saw you earlier and thought…it doesn’t matter.” He eyed the disgust on your face before sighing. “Just tell me where you’re going and I’ll help you get there.”

“Thought what?” you gritted.

The air thickened with silence as different emotions flashed across Wonwoo’s face. He was no better than the drunk who tried to proposition you. Your thoughts might have devolved into something less than proper but you’d never act on it. If he thought he could just—

“No!” he shouted, eyes wide and bright red despite the dark. “That’s not…I wanted to challenge you to a rematch and then you went and got yourself into a fight.”

“So you were stalking me?”

“You’re in my neighborhood, waterbender. How do I know you’re not stalking me?”

You snorted at that in an attempt to ignore his muscles flexing between your thighs. He couldn’t have not noticed how compromising the position was. If he dipped his chin you could easily kiss him. Not that you would. Ladies did not kiss strange men in alleys; especially not princesses. Even if the strange man was incredibly handsome. And muscular. 

“Why would I need to stalk you for a rematch? I know where to find you if I need a confidence boost.”

Whether you liked it or not – and you most certainly didn’t – you were stuck with Wonwoo until you could shake him and the group of Middle District guards after you. Something tells you even if you did tell him you knew exactly where you needed to go, he’d follow just out of sight. That simply wouldn’t do if you wanted to keep your identity a secret; assuming he truly didn’t know.

Which meant he really did want to help; at least for now. As you peered back up, the fading bruises littering his jaw came into focus. Ugly splotches of yellow and green. Gifts you gave him freely and would happily supply more in spades but there is a twinge of guilt souring your stomach

“Did I do this?”

“Yeah,” he released a long breath through his nose, subtly leaning into your finger unconsciously tracing the marks. Someone did a good job healing him. “And you broke my nose.”

“Maybe next time you should learn to block,” you teased.

The same fire from when he approached you in the warehouse burned across his face, hot enough to scorch everywhere his body touched yours. Maybe one kiss, just to see what all the fuss was about, wouldn’t be so bad. The maids seemed to talk of nothing but which stableboys and guards they were kissing; how some were bad and others were good. Whatever that meant. How several were skilled at doing more vulgar activities with their mouths and hands. No matter how many times you asked, none of them ever answered what exactly they were so talented at but you read enough to have an idea.

For the briefest second, you wondered if Wonwoo would demonstrate just what it was that made the maids giggle so incessantly.

But as his head dipped closer to yours, the spell broke by the crush of reality. You needed to get back home. You needed to find Mingyu.

You looked back towards the street before speaking again, “I don’t know what the street is called but my friend was checking out fruit stalls when we got split.”

“Ah, yes,” Wonwoo grumbled, head tilting back against the wall behind him. “The one street with fruit merchants. Remember anything else? Cobblestones and people? Were there buildings?”

Smartass.

“Um… there was a stall with spirit carvings and a tea house.”

He scrubbed his face, or attempted to. There wasn’t enough room between your faces for the action so his hand hovered in the darkness awkwardly before collapsing back against your side. It seemed only then did he register his proximity, and whatever anger he clung to melted into stammering embarrassment. 

“Did you see the sign for the tea house?” he asked, eyes on the street.

“It was silver and had a—”

“The Silver Dragon. I know it. Come on.”

Another check that the coast was clear and Wonwoo pulled you back into the street, arm slung over your shoulders. He navigated easily enough. Each time he spotted something suspicious ahead he pulled you towards a stall, feigning interest in whatever goods were on display while watching from the corner of his eye until he deemed it safe enough to continue towards the Silver Dragon.

Slowly the buildings became more familiar; a merchant with a unique hat, the raven eagle fountain that hosted squealing children splashing in its waters. An old woman dishing out cups of frozen watermelon juice.

A silver flag embroidered with a dragon hung limply overhead. You scanned for Mingyu but to no avail, faces passed and blended the crowd into an amorphous ocean of strangers. Wonwoo kept a firm hold on your shoulders as the crowd swayed. He gripped your bare upper arm beneath the billowing sleeve of your tunic. No one besides your maids had touched you like this; so familiar and foreign at the same time. The heat of his palms like the first lick of a fire after hours in the snow. 

While Mingyu appeared to have moved on, the guards seemed to have doubled back. They wove through the thicket of people aggressively. Wonwoo froze, noticing at the same time that there was no way to turn around without garnering their suspicion. 

The street choked into a tight squeeze, locking you in place as the guards surged forward. Twenty feet, then ten. Then only a single person separated you from them and desperation fanned the flame of stupidity.

Your neck strained upward, and before Wonwoo could jump back, you fisted a hand in his hair and dragged him down to meet your mouth. He hesitated before sinking into the kiss eagerly, commanding your full attention with his teeth and the, with his tongue. With another pull, he guided you into the narrow space between merchant stalls, tripping over his own feet until all you registered was the hot press of him to your front and the chill of brick behind you. 

It’s not like the sweet chaste kisses in the plays you grew up watching. Wonwoo demanded nothing less than your complete attention with a hot suck against your bottom lip. You copied him with clumsy eagerness.

All the thinking, the responsibilities and reminders plaguing your consciousness silenced their screaming; instinct filled its place. Your hips thrashed until his thigh slotted between your legs with dizzying firmness but then there was the want of more that had you rocking against it. In the process you brushed against a lump between his own thighs, and the instinct to rub against it was too strong to ignore.

Wonwoo only groaned before diving to lap against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. He surged forward, meeting every curl of your hips with an enthusiastic arch of his own. A hand at the base of your spine, beneath your tunic, angled you just so – completely at his whim. His other hand heated the side of your throat, tipping your head back to leave you panting with another rough press of his mouth. 

Unconsciously, you traced his side, tugged at his shirt before letting go and only to crush the fabric again. Then your hands fell down his stomach until your palm pressed against that straining hardness and Wonwoo seized, teeth razing against your ear until you did the same. 

“Spirits,” he exhaled through swollen lips, grinding into your hand.

You sucked him back into another kiss, laving at the swell of his bottom lip until he knocked your hand away and spread your legs for a raw drag against your core. His head tucked into the crook of your shoulder, panting breath creeping through the fabric of your top as he did it again. The press of his mouth made your pace sloppy, mindless grinds until you both groaned.

You wanted him without the frustrating barrier of clothing obscuring the warmth of his hands, his chest; to have him do something about the aching emptiness settled in your core. The pang of needing something stoked by the bruising twists of him against you.

There’s no sound over the roaring blood in your ears. Sparks flashed in your vision but your eyes sneak open to watch Wonwoo’s face twisted in agony. You latched on to his neck – biting and licking the same way he did – until he made that noise again.

In the corner of your vision, you registered the pedestrians moving past as if nothing was happening. As if their princess wasn’t concealed only feet away, pressed against a strange man with a hand sneaking beneath the tie of his pants.

But instead of embarrassment, a hot jolt squeezed your chest. No one knew. Much like the nights you snuck from the palace to explore the city, your freedom was innocuous. A way to learn what was hidden behind the false shine councilmen presented in their reports and the poetic ramblings of tutors. 

Wonwoo could teach you about those sneaking passions that drove you mad on long nights. He already proved how much better they were when someone else wanted to resolve them.

Hours or days might have passed as you focused on coaxing out more of those delicious sounds – nail raking through his hair with every rut, rolling against him the same way waves rolled over the shore of the ocean under the full moon's pull.

Your vision blurred, unfocused on the faces walking past as Wonwoo sucked a bruise into your skin. That feeling in the pit of your gut twisted painstakingly tight like an itch you couldn’t scratch. More and more, until a familiar face passed by and reality came like an ice bath. 

Mingyu.

He couldn’t see you in the shadows, and the call of his name morphed into a throaty whine as Wonwoo snaked his hand further down your spine, down the back of your pants to squeeze the curve of your ass painfully. He continued to mouth at your shoulder, unaware. When you pushed him this time he pushed back with a hungered moan until you tugged him out of hiding.

“I have to go,” you panted, melting out of his grip. Your voice was unfamiliarly husky. Everything felt slower, hazier like the smokey streets earlier. 

His body tightened, attempting to pull you closer before letting go. Lips wet with spit, he regarded you with pure confusion. “What?”

But you were already back on the street before you could answer, underwear uncomfortably sticky. A problem for later; in the dark safety of your room. With vivid memories of a handsome firebender and the way his body felt surging against yours.

You chased Mingyu down the street, snatching his hand and taking off before temptation got the better of you and marched you back into the alley for Wonwoo to finish what started. 

“We need to leave,” you said. “Now.”

“Spirits, what did you do?” Mingyu cried.

“Just go!”

Wonwoo didn’t chase, and a part of you curdled with disappointment.

Wonwoo knew he should be in bed. Sleep or not, his body needed rest after the last few nights he spent awake plagued by the nightmare of you. He couldn’t concentrate. Blows he’d block with ease slipped by, bruises littered across his torso as proof. Forms he’d been drilled on for years and years to the point of muscle memory became sloppy enough for his commanders to notice.

And it was all your fault.

You were everywhere; the teasing lit of your voice, the heat of your eyes, the taste of your lips, those soft noises you made when Wonwoo pressed his cock into your core. 

It was bad enough after the first night you challenged him. Dokyeom spent all night healing Wonwoo and it hadn’t soothed the sting of humiliation. Then came the fact that no one knew who you were; Dokyeom hadn’t gotten your name, Jeonghan took bets under ‘death wish’. No one recognized you from anywhere in the city. You were a ghost. 

But then fate granted him a second chance, only for it to slip through his fingers. Again.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Couldn’t do the one thing he’s good at without being consumed by thoughts of you.

Moonlight dappled through the trees overhead, casting everything in a hazy filter of silver and shadows. Something scurried across the trail ahead and dipped into the bushes. Wonwoo was only fifteen minutes out from the barracks, too close to people for any of the bigger creatures to venture close. Even if something did come across his path, maybe it's what he needed; a new distraction from the one who's been terrorizing him non-stop.

Besides, Wonwoo was a soldier, body trained to remain vigilant even if his mind wanders. If something decided to attack he could handle it. But only fireflies and cicada crickets disturbed the stillness of the forest late at night.

He isn’t sure how long he walked but the moon remained heavy and full in the sky. The sun lay far way away, deep beneath the horizon. Wonwoo’s thoughts wandered farther than his feet could take him, imagining how you’d be spending a night like tonight, probably somewhere getting into more trouble. Maybe freezing another drunken pervert to a wall.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. You with your nose in the air as some man begs for mercy, leaving him to rot just because you could. 

Then, as all his thoughts of you were in the past few days, the images morphed until it was you and him. You beneath him, on top of him; him between your legs, his cock, his mouth, fingers. All of it as he tried to earn your approval. 

There it was. The uncomfortable tightness across the crotch of his pants, the sweat at the edge of his collar. Even the most innocuous thoughts of you sent his body into a helpless frenzy. He hated it all the more because no matter what he did it never stopped. It didn’t matter if he trained until his bones crumbled in on themselves, muscles wilted and spent, there was a part of him immune to exhaustion in light of you. When he took the herbs the medic recommended to help him sleep, his dreams were plagued with the most vivid visions of you; even worse than the waking ones.

It was all your fault for kissing him. 

He could have dealt with the embarrassment of being defeated swiftly in the ring. Things happened, he wasn’t immune to bad luck against a good opponent. But you kissed him, and touched him. You let Wonwoo touch you as if there wasn’t a busy street of witnesses only a few feet away. You wanted him to; purred and whimpered with each drag against his thigh. If he had slipped his hand beneath your underbindings like he wanted to there would be evidence of your arousal. He wanted to do that too – where anyone could have seen him. On his knees, with his mouth between your legs as you writhed and pulled his hair until you came.

But he didn’t know your name and was at the mercy of the spirits if he was ever to see you again.

Wonwoo followed the channel, meandering with every bend as his mind worked over and over. He just needed to clear his head enough for tomorrow. After that, he’d figure something out. Find a way to find you or hope you stumbled into his path once more. 

Splashes up stream pricked his ears. The closest waterfall was at least an hour's trek upstream from the barracks, where the mountains dropped off into a steep cliff like a spirit cleaved it in half. Wonwoo didn’t know how far or how long he walked but the trees were too dense to be that far out.

The ground was no longer soft from the rain days ago and allowed Wonwoo to sneak forward without sound. It was a shame the night was so clear, the shadows hugging close to the trees, not nearly enough to conceal himself in. But it was of little consequence. 

He saw you in profile, bathed in moonlight as you stood in the river, water parted into great walls on either side. Even at a distance, Wonwoo traced the silk binding your torso and the dark leggings clinging to your thighs as you danced among the swelling waves eager to follow your whim. If he hadn’t known better, it looked like the moon was focusing her gaze on you, illuminating you from beneath your skin.

The longer he looked the more he was convinced you were a spirit. No matter how close the waves came to your person, they never seemed to make contact; water completely bent to your will, under total control.

Wonwoo shuffled closer like a moth to a flame. Completely enamored with the sight before him, he didn't realize his mistake until a twig snapped beneath his foot. 

In an instant, the sweat and humidity clinging to his clothes froze; icy crystals stinging against bare skin.

Your chuckle was barely audible over Wonwoo’s hiss of discomfort. Heat flushed through his veins, melting your attack but the chill remained.

“You know, it's getting really hard to believe you aren’t stalking me,” you called. The rings of water floated around you even with divided concentration. Something like jealousy and awe rooted in his chest.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be out in the woods tonight?”

“I’m just saying it’s convenient that you always show up when I’m alone,” you smirked. “Don’t worry. I didn’t freeze anyone to a wall this time.”

Cover blown, Wonwoo approached the dry river bank. “Speaking of that, you never said ‘thank you’ for saving your life.”

The whip circling your figure sagged back down into the stream. Wonwoo felt a piece of him warm that he was distracting enough to crack your focus so significantly despite the full moon. As you turned, he became privy to just how much visible through the silk bindings criss crossing your chest. “You didn’t save my life but thank you. Now, do you want to fight or can I get back to my training?”

He couldn’t help but focus on the glittering drops of water cradled in your collarbone. How sweet they’d taste on his tongue if given permission. 

“I think I’ll watch for now.” He took a seat on the river bank, legs sprawled in front of him, a careful bend of his knees so the tent in his pants became less obvious.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug. The tentacles previously encasing you rose once again.

It was entirely inappropriate to ogle a woman in nothing but her underclothes. If Wonwoo was a better man he’d leave, or at least have the decency to pretend he wasn’t staring like a starved wolf. But you were spectacular, flowing through different forms with ease that even the best trained guards in his unit would envy. You bent and stretched and twisted suggestively beneath the moonlight.

If you had a weakness, it didn’t show. You bent the river to your will easily, skill that only came with years of trial and failure. Wonwoo stopped admiring the sight of bare skin and focused on your strength as you flowed into the more advanced forms. Thick branches hanging over the river snapping clean from nimble water whips, tree trunks peppered with ice daggers the size of his forearm.

He couldn’t help sending a disc of flame to cut off your next water whip, collapsing it into the grass as you stared indignantly.

Another stream met a tongue of fire from his fist, a burst of steam left in its place. This time you face him with a huff and Wonwoo simply shrugged.

Wonwoo ignored your next moves. You reached over head in a wide circle, back stretched long, all the muscles and skin obstructed by the frustrating blue fabric. It wasn’t until you froze a wall of water in place that he sent a blast of heat, melting the ice to drench you. 

“Oops,” he shrugged, stifling a laugh at your indignation.

It’s not as funny when you dump half the river on him and Wonwoo was left gasping like a fish.

When he could finally breathe again, you smiled innocently with an ‘oops’ of your own. 

Then the game was on.

Unlike the disappointing night at the warehouse, Wonwoo kept up this time.

You never sparred with someone who didn’t treat you as something fragile. Even Mingyu, try as he might to entertain your wishes, refused to attack with the full force he was capable of. Wonwoo didn’t harbor the same concern.

Neither of you kept advantage for long. Every water whip evaporated before landing, each fireball snuffed by a wave. It was invigorating. You stood shaking and sweaty after hours of trading blow for blow, the moon already dipping low in the sky. Wonwoo didn’t appear to be faring any better. The bruises on his jaw were faded but new ones stained his torso, blood trickling down his elbow from a particularly nasty ice blade. Singed holes scattered your leggings but the grass and trees claimed the brunt of damage.

It would have been so much easier to concentrate if he hadn’t shed his shirt after a whip tore a jagged hole across the front, revealing a muscular torso to the pale moonlight. It was horrible knowing what beneath his clothes looked just as good as it felt the other night. Even worse when his pants ripped just above the knee and you caught a glimpse of his thigh.

The entire reason you even snuck out tonight was because of him. His taste, the feel of him pressed against you so intimately. It haunted you day and night – in sleep, while awake, in meetings, when you were all alone. There was nowhere you could go without the memory of his body against yours; nowhere you hadn’t wondered what could have happened in that alley if Mingyu hadn’t walked by. 

You needed something to banish the feeling of his mouth on yours, to dissipate the restlessness settled deep in your muscles. While wading knee deep in the river wasn’t a smart idea, there was nothing at the palace that could help. No one wanted to spar, not to the level you could during the days leading up to a full moon. It wasn’t fair to give your all while guards curbed their skills in fear of hurting you.

So you bid an early goodnight, feigning some sort of illness and retired to your room before the sun had set. Once the moon started her venture across the sky you dug in the back of your wardrobe for the dark clothes from days prior. They were wrinkled but served their purpose. With Mingyu standing guard at your apartment entrance, you snuck out the tunnels and into the city beyond the palace walls. 

The clearing was exactly what you needed. Plenty of water and space to lose control, trees offering their service as target practice for whatever twisted move your mind conjured. It helped. Your muscles strained with a level of exhaustion unfamiliar to you, enough so that your mind couldn’t roam as easily. But then he plowed through the forest like he owned it. Of course you couldn’t have a moment of peace, the spirits wouldn’t allow you to indulge in serene silence if they could help it. They sent Wonwoo straight to you as an act of retribution for your long list of sins.

But sparring with him burned away some of the tension. If you were fighting with Wonwoo then you couldn’t think about all the other cravings; of finishing what you started against that wall. Sending ice floes at his head kept him far enough away that even if you wanted to pull him against a tree or down to the grass, you couldn’t.

“Is that really all you got?” he taunted. Wonwoo’s pain is clear on his brow, every step closer punctuated by a limp and labored breathing. 

“Oh, please,” you grunted, launching a weak ice disc at his head. The wall of fire lapping at your heels disintegrated as Wonwoo dodged. “As if you could handle more.”

Something feral flashed in his eye at the taunt. “Try me.”

Well at least this time he wasn’t so disappointingly easy to overwhelm.

You skated across the clearing. With the river to your back once again, you pressed the advantage and sent wave after wave. Wonwoo narrowly dodged them with well timed kicks, his fire dispersing them into steam. But each volley soaked clearing until he struggled to remain upright on the muddy ground as he approached the riverbank.

With your next attack, he fell on his back with a hard grunt. For a long second he didn’t move and you worried you’d seriously injured him this time. 

“Wonwoo?”

His chest rattled with each labored breath as you approached. He looked horrible; a mess of sweat and dirt, hair matted to his head. His eyes flickered with pain as he stared up at you, hesitating to take your outstretched hand before accepting.

Back on his feet, Wonwoo wasted no time tackling you into the water.

Breaking the surface, you screeched, “You jerk!”

“Come on! I got that move from you,” he laughed.

Even in the midst of dunking his head under, your blood warmed at the sound. He gripped your body tightly to his own, pinning your wrists together in one hand, effectively cutting off your bending. But you refused to go down without a fight. Fortunately he didn’t think you’d be formidable at hand to hand combat and while it was true, he was stronger, you slammed your foot against his thigh, breaking Wonwoo’s hold long enough to slip away.

He breached and sputtered before following again. “Where did you learn that?” 

You tussled on the shore, shoving handfuls of mud into each other’s hair and skin. Your legs hooked around his waist, rolling until you sat on his stomach.

Bad idea.

You’re close enough to trace the silver scar through Wonwoo’s brow. A fraction lower, his eyes light with the same fire as when you kissed him the other night. Rocks bit through the thin fabric of your pants, jagged against your knees. But Wonwoo was unaware, tilting his chin up to capture your lips. 

You bore down on him, sighing into the seductive heat of his mouth. Wonwoo groaned with a curl of his hips. It took all your focus to snatch his hands from your waist and pin them above his head but he didn’t seem to mind as you rained a series of wet kisses down the column of his neck. 

He made another desperate sound as you tugged at the water just out of reach, freezing thick cuffs from Wonwoo’s elbow up to his fingertips.

“Gotcha,” you whispered against his throat. 

He slumped into the ground, an indignant huff fanning across your forehead. “Very funny.”

“From where I’m sitting, it is.”

You’re smirk dissolved as he rolled his hips once again. The force sending you up his chest, hands bracketing his shoulders in an effort to maintain balance. To your shame, a sharp gasp squeezed from your lungs at the motion.

“What was that?”

His face – barely an inch away – was lax despite his confinement. It’s enticing. The way he’s spread out, chest displayed, muscles stretched; all of him on display, including the stains on his skin tugging at your conscience. Your hand glided down his chest, catching droplets from the stream to heal the fresher injuries. Those muscles flexed under your gentle touch before relaxing. Wonwoo’s eyes closed with a sigh of relief as cuts knitted back together and bruises faded.

“You’re really bad at this,” you said plainly, shifting focus away from the need to rut down. 

Wonwoo’s eyes widened for a moment, ears reddening before he sputtered. The realization dawned on you like the icy waters of the river. Oh. 

“Not that!” you corrected. “Fighting me. I’d thought you’d be better this time.”

“It’s a full moon,” he argued, eyes closing once again as you mended a scratch along his chin. It wasn’t even bleeding, but the compulsion to touch him was too strong to ignore.

“So? I could fight you with my hands behind my back and still win.”

“Wanna test that theory?”

With a dismissive wave the ice trapping Wonwoo melted before you answered, rising to your feet before you did something stupid. He was healed enough. “I think I’ve done enough damage to your ego.”

He barely reared back his fist for an attack when the same water froze him again. Now, with his arms and legs immobilized, he glared up at you. Predictable.

Without thinking, you pinned his chest down with a muddy foot. You couldn’t help it; something so satisfying as having him at your mercy conjured the reckless parts of your brain. “Yield.”

His eyes followed the line of your leg, up your torso, only pausing on your wet breast bindings for a moment, and then finally met your gaze. “If I don’t?”

“I can leave you here,” you shrugged, only to hide a shiver. “I’m sure you’ll thaw out by noon.”

Perhaps it'd be better to leave him shackled to the ground. You could leave him and get back to the palace before doing anything scandalous. He could still firebend as long as his mouth was uncovered, and after all the noise of the battle none of the wild life would come close before he freed himself. But Wonwoo wasn’t fond of the idea of waiting until morning to leave.

“Fine,” Wonwoo huffed. “I yield.”

The ice melted again, soaking his pants. No sooner did you turn around, Wonwoo sent a lick of flame at your ankle and, in your attempt to dodge, you sprawled next to him with a hard thud.

“You yielded,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m a sore loser.” Wonwoo rolled to his side, the weight of his gaze heavy on your face. One of his hands found the strip of skin between your bindings and your legs, tracing it with maddening pressure. How easy would it be for him to slip that same hand beneath your pants and touch you again. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“I practice a lot.”

“With who? Assassins?.”

One of your eyes opened to glare. “I watched a few of your matches. You’re…predictable.”

“I never saw you at the warehouse before.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t want to be seen.” 

Wonwoo took the opportunity to cover your body with his own, a thigh back between your legs and pressed just right against your center. His mouth found the sensitive spot beneath your jaw as he crumbled your defenses. You could afford to indulge a little bit; some kissing, more of that mind numbing friction from the market. Just to set your nerves at ease, untangle that insufferable knot in the pit of your stomach.

“And why is that?”

Before you can answer, Wonwoo kissed you again but this time you were prepared; surging up to meet him like a tidal wave.

Somehow, the weight of his body like that was even better than when he crowded you against the wall; heavy and satisfying for you to grind against, chasing warm friction. This time he touched without restraint, tugging at your bindings until they fell slack, committing the new swaths of bare skin to memory with his mouth and wandering hands. 

His tongue traced the slope of your breast, the chill in the forest pinching your nipples tight for his teeth to take one between. 

“Oh,” you moaned, fingers tangled in his hair, urging him to give more. Wonwoo offered the sting of a bite, sucking harder when you made the same depraved sound. You felt it everywhere, down to your core where he pressed against you with a kick of his hips. Far better than when you tried touching yourself after he had lit a consuming hunger in your veins. As if Wonwoo knew the spots driving you mad better than you ever would.

No one was around to hear the way you gasped his name as his hand snaked between your legs, the heel of it nothing short of mind numbing as it rocked against your clit.

“Still predictable?”

You leveled your gaze with his, furious at the confidence you found. During the spar you met him blow for blow. This would be no different, just a new stage.

“You’re hard and trying to scandalize the wildlife after I kicked your ass,” you stuttered through the last bit because Wonwoo curled his fingers against a spot you didn’t know existed. “You’re incredibly predictable.”

You touched him just as eagerly; dipping beneath the tight cling of his pants and fisting his cock with false bravado.

He stopped when you thumbed the leaking tip, huffing against your chest with a throaty groan of his own before continuing with renewed energy. Wonwoo pressed himself through your loose grip, back and forth and back and forth with that mesmerizing hardness that was soft like velvet and hotter than any fire he’d attacked you with; each cant in time with the way you rocked against him. Until he followed your lead and dipped his hand beneath your leggings, calloused fingertips sliding timidly as you writhed beneath him.

“Wonwoo, please.” You needed something, anything. He kept his teeth at your breast, sucking and licking while a finger shallowly dipped inside you. 

“Tell me what you want,” he gritted, pulling until you sat back in his lap completely bare from the waist up, the silk of your bindings left on the ground.

I don’t know! I don’t know, tell me what I need, you thought; but you'd rather die than admit inexperience. Instead, you acted on instinct. Each rock of your hips proved it was the right path, the tight press of his fingers better with the new angle as you clung to him. You sank further into it, Wonwoo encouraging you to take whatever you wanted.

It was too much and not enough. Your chest thrusted forward with every motion, and the hand cupping you gently turned into rough pinches hard enough to sting; his mouth the same. 

Maybe you could sneak out of the palace every night for this, or sneak Wonwoo in. It wouldn’t be too difficult. He could give this to whenever you needed, no one the wiser as you bared yourself between the sheets for his eyes only. 

“So fucking wet.” He punctuated the observation with another finger, palm rocking into that explosive place again and again. You’re knocked off-balance. Knees spread wide to accommodate and Wonwoo took full advantage to brush your hand away from his cock and pull you further into his lap, both hands beneath your bottoms; perfect to roll against as he leaned back to watch. “Don’t seem disappointed now.”

You swam through the beginning of something, Wonwoo’s voice grounding you back down to reality. The goading you could do without but it’s a small price to pay. As long as he maintained the wet slide of your core, he could say whatever he wanted. Your mouth dropped open, head tilted back as your thighs quaked. 

“I—” you gasped. All at once the world snapped into a million stars.

He kissed you; your chest, your throat, cheeks, lips. Anywhere Wonwoo could reach was stained with the warmth of his mouth as you shuddered with teary eyes, raking pink lines into his chest. He swallowed each wrecked sound until you kissed back with shaky breath.

 “You’re dirty.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed.

His humor exploded against your cheek, laughter tickling your ears as he dragged a finger across your collarbone. He meant the mud caked to your back, knotted in your hair. But you couldn't focus on the ridiculousness. Wonwoo was still hard, the dewy tip of his cock peeking from the band of his pants. The sight made your chest ache.

The laughter turned to a stunted moan as you gripped him once more. You shifted down his thighs to make more room, but Wonwoo kept you close, nipping at your jaw with each stroke. It’s unlike anything you felt before, the power, the thrill of undoing him, watching as he crumbled into a panting mess beneath your fingers. You pulled his hair and licked behind his teeth.

“O-oh. Fuck,” he groaned. His head fell back, the smooth skin of his throat enticing as he swallowed another sound; the pale glow of early dawn sun providing a startling contrast.

Panic flooded your veins. You looked up and found the moon sunk deeper to make room for the new day.

You were late.

“Shit. Shit. I have to go.” You scrambled away, snagging your bindings. They were disgusting but you had no time to wash them. At least the shirt you snuck out in would hide the wreckage. You tied them tight, whipping around to find the rest of your clothes.

“What?” Wonwoo blinked, as if he was waking from a dream; eyes glazed, cock dewy and pink in his lap as he stared up at you. 

You flushed, tempted to sit back down and pretend it was a mistake. The voice whispering in the back of your head wanted nothing to do with responsibilities and obligations. You wanted this. To be reckless and enjoy what Wonwoo offered, and feel the way he responded when offered the same.

But the pale morning light brought reality with it. 

“I’m sorry. I—” There was nothing else you could say. No explanation that wouldn’t leave you both with heartache. So you kissed him softly, long and slow, until Wonwoo’s fingers tickled back across your hips and you remembered you had to go. Now. “I’m sorry.”

And then you sprinted home without looking back.

After the beating Wonwoo received into the early hours of this morning, perhaps he should feel the same bruise to his ego like the weeks before when his face resembled the wrong end of a moose dragon. Even with the best healing, his body ached for days after. A constant reminder not only had he lost, but done so in front of one of the biggest crowds the warehouse ever had. 

But even though he lost again last night, he’d won enough to walk on clouds like an airbender.

You were distracting while in your element but when you came? He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Helpless to the vision of your chin tipped back, spine arched as you moaned his name. Never mind he had to finish himself after you fled, returning to the barracks to hide in the bathroom like a teenager. The memory was enough, it only took a few strokes before he found his own satisfaction; though he preferred to find it with you next time.

Not even the weary day ahead dampened his glow despite the lack of sleep. The Queen rarely visited, and the princess never. But today they planned to, and that meant everything must be in perfect order which included new uniforms starched until Wonwoo could hardly bend.

The courtyard was packed with guards of all levels, cadeats to captains. They spent the morning sparring and working through basic forms under the watchful eye of Commander Aiko, Wonwoo overseeing the training ring. Under the high noon sun, the firebenders maintained a clear advantage over anyone else but Wonwoo conserved his energy for later. Once the Queen arrived, Commander Aiko would no doubt drag him out for a demonstration for the old man to tout as his own accomplishment.

It’d be good to remind the others of his skill, how he earned his rank through nothing but sheer determination. Most of the teasing had faded in the past month but it never hurt to make sure. Just because he lost to you didn’t mean he couldn’t defeat any of them. It wasn’t a fluke, you were just better. Wonwoo admired your skill but next time he’d win.

But he banished those thoughts for now. He’d found you twice – by chance but he still found you – a third time felt inevitable. There was too much unfinished business for him to believe otherwise. When he did have you again, he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.

It wasn’t until later afternoon that the royal procession arrived, palace guards donned in stark black uniform circling a pair of women like hawk vultures. He couldn’t see the princess’s face from where he stood, only the stretch of silk across her shoulders as Commander Aiko gestured animatedly.

Rumor had it the princess was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, with soft manners. kind eyes, and a gentle soul. Not that anyone saw her outside the palace. The queen kept her under lock and key, rightfully so as her only heir. But tales of her beauty and warmth flowed freely. She was the kind of princess men went to war for. Sacrificed their lives for. 

And as such, most of the men had put extra time into preparing this morning; shaving and hogging mirrors in the bathroom to fix their hair. As if the princess would look upon one of them and find interest in a man with no title, no money, and no influence. The stuff of legends that Wonwoo had no interest in.

Wonwoo supervised the officers as they attempted to throttle one another. Apparently rumors of the princess’ presence inspired their best; it was almost pathetic if he wasn’t impressed by their creativity. 

Rone yanked the ground from beneath Pono’s feet, rushing the smaller man forward into his fist covered in rock. The force would’ve knocked Pono unconscious if he hadn’t used the momentum to leap over Rone with a gust of air and slam his knee into his chest. Rone doubled over, gasping for breath.

“That’s enough,” Wonwoo called. “Ura. Tou. You’re up. Try not killing each other this time.”

Ura shook her head. “You light a guy on fire once.”

“Six!” Tou screamed. “You’ve lit me on fire SIX TIMES!”

“Make it seven,” someone on the sidelines cheered.

Ura lunged at To with a fire whip but Wonwoo was distracted with a call of his name before he could see Tou redirect it.

“Captain Jeon, I’d like to introduce you to her Royal Majesty and her granddaughter, Princess Y/N”

Wonwoo, remembering his manners to never turn his back to the royal family, whipped around fast enough everything blurred as he rushed to bow. “Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

“Commander Aiko has told me much about you, Captain Jeon,” a voice greeted him, definitely the Queen from the rich timbre. “I hope you’ll honor us with a demonstration of your skills later.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It’d be an honor.” 

Wonwoo rose and finally got his first glance of the princess. She was even more beautiful than the stories claimed, face glowing in the sun, not a hair out of place. A dress of rich fabric, embroidered with pearls in a wave motif at the collar, hugged her figure but didn’t betray the power beneath.

While he couldn’t vouch for manners, your eyes were anything but kind. If looks could kill, Wonwoo was a dead man walking. His veins froze. Absolutely not. This was not happening. It was a dream, a sick and twisted dream where he made out with royalty in a field without knowing. 

It didn’t make sense. 

You bowed, eyes averted to your shoes with a greeting in return. The wild energy that possessed you in the field was nowhere to be found; extinguished by faux meekness and rigid posture.

“Jeon,” Aiko started, preening like a peacock. “Give Princess Y/N a tour of the grounds. She’s never seen men in action.”

Wonwoo managed to silence his snort of disbelief but couldn’t help the quip dripping from his tongue. “Oh, I doub—”

“A tour would be wonderful, Captain Jeon,” you cut him off. Your teeth gleamed like knives, gaze pointed. The wildness was still there and a bolt of fear flashed through him.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Wonwoo spun on his heel, leading you to the far side of the training ring while Ura and Tou lulled into a standoff, circling one another warily. He couldn’t help but feel you and him were doing the same.

Embarrassment, betrayal. It’s why you hadn’t told him your name, he realized. Not at the warehouse, not at the market, not even in the field. You played him for a fool again and again. And he let you

Tou knocked Ura’s left leg out from beneath her with a blazing kick. She fell to her knees but Ura rolled just in time to avoid Tou’s fist, dragging an arch of flame up with her heel and forcing Tou back.

You hovered beside Wonwoo, silently watching the fight. He refused to look at you because if he did then no doubt someone would notice his anger. And why would he be angry at the princess? Wonwoo never officially met you, this is technically the first time he’s ever seen you let alone spoken to you. 

From opposite sides of the training ring, Ura and Tou’s both thrust their palms forward to summon fire streams thick enough the air around them shimmers as they collide; blue versus red. The crowd of guards watching stepped back, tugging at their collars. Wonwoo was tempted to step forward and join the fight, work out some of the restless annoyance burning beneath his skin.

“Impressive,” you commented, features tinged golden by the flame. 

Wonwoo would have agreed if Ura’s ankle hadn’t quivered. Tou, forever soft for the willowy firebender, refused to take advantage of her weakness. He’d throw a hundred matches before using Ura’s injury against her. And Ura knew it.

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“You don’t exactly seem interested in any sort of conversation,” you shot back.

You were right. Wonwoo didn’t want to talk anymore than he wanted to pull his own teeth out. What he wanted was to wake from this horrible dream, for Hoshi to come out of the woodwork and reveal this was all an elaborate prank. 

Wonwoo winced as Ura grappled Tou down to his knees, slinging her arm around his neck and pulling him into a chokehold. Then he turned to look at you. “Pardon me for coming to terms with the fact I got into a fist fight with royalty. It’s a first for me.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t plan this.” You have the sense to look ashamed, eyes on the ground Tou wiggled out of Ura’s grip and scrambled to his feet.

“Do you know how much trouble I could get in if anyone found out I tried to fight you? I could be executed.”

“That wasn’t—” You stopped abruptly, chest expanding with a deep breath. “You said you were from the Middle District. How was I supposed to know you were a part of the Crown’s Guard?”

“I am from the Middle District.”

Your fingers bunched in the pleats of your robes. “But most of the guards are from the Noble's Quarter.”

“I’m not like most men. But I don’t expect you to understand what it means to earn something.”

“I think I earn my victories quite well,” you spat. “Perhaps you would like another demonstration, Captain Jeon.”

In the ring, Ura and Tou came to a standstill. The inky braid coiled on Ura’s head had long unraveled, tangled and lopsided as it hung down her back. Tou’s new jacket was signed at the collar, cuffs smoldering as well. They looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Wonwoo waited a long moment before speaking again. It would do no good to insult you. Already the darkest corners of his anger were brightening. “That was…unkind of me. I apologize.”

“Your insults are as deficient as your bending,” you smiled and strode away leaving Wonwoo to follow like a scorned puppy.

Ura and Tou waned but continued. 

“Why don’t either of them give up?” you asked. 

“Ura agreed to marry Tou if he could beat her in a fight.”

“I thought relations between guards were forbidden.”

“They are. It’s why Tou refuses to take advantage of her weak ankle.”

“Then why would she…”

“If you’re asking me to explain their relationship then I have no answers,” Wonwoo replied as Tou finally yielded and another pair of troops took their place. “You’re lucky most of the guards don’t go to those matches or we’d both be in serious trouble.”

“If none of the other guards go, why were you there?”

“I’ve been doing it for years. They pay well and I needed money.”

Wonwoo leaves the rest unsaid. What other reason did a Middle District kid have to fight other than money? He took his beatings in the public arena for years because coin was coin. He never planned to become skilled enough to start winning. But when he did, after years of blood, sweat, and tears, he was good enough for the Crown Guard to take notice and Seungcheol to bring him into the fold before retiring. Now, Wonwoo had a free place to sleep, albeit it was barely large enough for him and the four other men he shared it with, all on bunk beds. But it was far better than the fifty man barrack he started in years ago. There were free meals and hot showers and his patrols through the Noble's Quarter rarely were more than counting the number of steps through his route before he ended up back where he started. 

The fighting kept his skills sharp in the way training couldn’t. Commander Aiko didn’t like his cheap shots or the scrappiness Wonwoo learned in the ring. They were ‘undignified’ for one of the Royal Army, especially the Crown’s Guard. But more often than not, they were the edge he had on the other officers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never intended to put you in such a difficult position. I just—”

“You just what, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat before softening. “How am I supposed to be Queen if I’m not allowed to actually see my kingdom?”

Seeing your kingdom felt like an odd way to describe what you and Wonwoo had been doing away from wandering eyes but he didn’t dwell.

“Probably not by lying.”

“Or by freezing men to walls.”

The attempt at humor softened and soured Wonwoo’s mood all at once. Rationally, he knew he should be angry. Furious even. But it was not that simple. If he was in your shoes, what would he have done? Probably far worse than sneaking out for a night on the town. Even too many hours at the barracks had a way of making him crave for the anonymity of the city streets he grew up on. 

Wonwoo was not angry, annoyed maybe. Even as you stood, wrapped in the finest silks he’d ever seen with enough sapphires and pearls pinned in your hair for him to buy a village, it was pity he felt rather than disdain. To be forced to hide the wildness you possessed behind pretense and perform exactly what was expected of you. Could he blame you for wanting a break from it all?

Judging by the hopeful look on your face you wanted to leave the entire ordeal in the past, same as him.

“That might help you on the throne.”

You smiled and looked back at the two men sparring in the ring who were fighting with swords, the smaller one locking their hilts together and twisting until the larger man was forced to release his weapon. 

He’d be infatuated with you but that was all it was; all it could be. A funny story to remember years and years from now, when his children’s children were grown. They’d call him crazy for rambling about how he once knew the princess.

He couldn’t help his next question. “And everything else? Are you sorry for that too?”

A blight of confusion twisted your face before your eyes bulged. Years of etiquette schooled your features swiftly but Wonwoo felt pleased to see you off kilter as he felt, however brief. You should be just as uncomfortable with the looming consequences of what happened in that field as he was.

The satisfaction didn’t last long.

You turned to face him head on, leveling him with a heavy gaze. “Are you?”

Wonwoo choked.

It seems the fire from before was not completely snuffed out under pounds of finery. 

“I think I’ve seen enough of the grounds. It's quite warm and I feel myself growing faint.”

When he finally regained his senses, Wonwoo followed several steps behind, face tinged red. Hopefully everyone mistook it as a result of a day in the sun rather than a battle of wits. 

Commander Aiko and the Queen ceased their conversation as you approached them..

“What do you think of our troops, Your Highness?” Aiko asked.

“They are very impressive, Commander,” you smiled.

By some great miracle, Aiko stood fifteen feet taller with your compliments. It itches at the back of Wonwoo’s brain that a compliment could slip off your tongue so easily towards others but not towards him. 

“I’m pleased my men are up to your standards. Captain Jeon is one of my best, you’ll be completely safe in his care during next month's festivities.”

“Pardon?” you and Wonwoo asked at the same time.

Aiko frowned. “Her Majesty insisted on additional protection due to the increased presence at the palace. Surely, she informed you?”

“She did,” you nodded. “But wouldn’t Captain Jeon’s expertise be more valuable elsewhere? It’d be a shame for his skills to be wasted guarding me when we will be surrounded by allies.”

“In the event something might go wrong, is it not better to have someone as trained as he is to protect you?”

Wonwoo wanted to argue that you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But clearly your bending talents were a secret, at least to Commander Aiko. Perhaps that was for the best; the element of surprise was a powerful tool, one you wielded well. A glance at your blanked expression all but confirmed it.

Aiko continued, “You are next in line, therefore your safety is second only to the Queen herself. Captain Jeon would be honored to serve you.”

The old man leveled Wonwoo with an expectant look, giving him two options: reject the position and directly insult the crown and his commanding officer, inadvertently signing his own death warrant. Or accept, play minder for however long was required. Then he could return to his life and pretend none of this ever happened.

“It would be my honor to serve the royal family and her Highness.”

Wonwoo convinced himself that the disappointment in your eyes was wishful thinking. 

taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia @tinkerbell460 @gyuhao365 @ourkivee @bokk-minnie @cookiearmy 

@AliceFortescue @moonlightwonu @Ateez-atiny380 @LexyRaeWorld @melonacco

@lllucere @wwjagabeee @syluslittlecrows @yourbimbohope @whrryuu @wonrangwoo

@xchaenx @Nuttywastelandmentality @champagnenoona @kyeomofhearts 

fic taglist: @lllucere @blvked19 @hiraethmae @yoozuku @xoxojeongjaewoo

@thepoopdokyeomtouched @veemegatron @sahhmochi @roidagobertlvr @syluslittlecrows

@ivehypnosis @spooky-goose1003

---

Ona | Bojan Cvjetićanin

Pairing: Bojan Cvjetićanin x reader

Summary: Bojan wrote this song about you and preformed it at one of the bands concerts for the first time. Through the song he started to spill his feelings for you for the first time after your breakup and you have a few thoughts.

Warning/s: possible grammar and spelling mistakes, mention of mental breakdown, maybe one curse word, bad breakup.

Author's note: Here is one for out golden retriever beautiful boy. I hope that you enjoy this one! Feel free to send in requests if you want me to make something specific with him. Oh and, btw, here is the translation for this amazing song. Your welcome. 😉

It was so bright out there, it started to hurt your eyes a little bit. You were standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd watching the love of your love. The love of your life... that you decided to let go because you felt like you weren't good enough.

You were attending yet another Joker Out's concert, but it felt different this time. Maybe because Bojan and you weren't together anymore.

Joker Out was here, in Croatia's capital city of Zagreb. This was the next stop for their concert. This is where the two of you met. Right here in Zagreb on a hot, sunny day in a crowded city. In your hometown. In the breathing country where you were born and raised in.

So here you were. In your hometown where Joker Out was performing. The first time that you heard that they will be performing in Zagreb, it felt like someone punched you in the stomach. But then you felt something different, you felt the need to see him again. Even if he doesn't take a notice in you as you stood in the middle of the crowd that was dancing and singing along. So you decided to go.

The moment that they stepped onto the stage you felt like you would cry. You missed them all so much. You somehow found the strength deep in your soul to look at Bojan. And so you did. He was just so gorgeous. He looked even better then when he did on the day that you left him (Lana Del Rey anyone? No? Okay...). He still had long hair, he was tall and just oh, so handsome. You noticed one thing however, his playful and mesmerizing, so radiant, smile or his playful smirk wasn't pressed onto his face like it always was. It worried you, truly. You watched as they got in their possession and as Bojan took the microphone.

"So... for the first song I will be singing something that hasn't been released just yet." He spoke in Serbian (it's actually very similar to Croatian, you know?) as he watched the crowd go wild with excitement as they claped and shouted and screamed with pure joy, with pure excitement.

"This song is also very special to me." He said, his voice was deep as he looked down in what seems to be sadness.

"It's about a very special person about who, I hate to admit it, I didn't get over and I don't think that I ever will." He paused for a moment so he could take a deep breath so he could continue to speak. "I met her right here, actually. In the beautiful Zagreb a year ago and I can honestly say that I fell for her harder then I ever did for anyone." The crowd was cheering, screaming, in excitement as Bojan introduced Joker Out's unrelated song.

"This one is for her." He said as the rest of the bend slowly started to play the chords. You felt your last bit of your breath leave your lungs as you felt tears pricking in your eyes, your vision getting blurry. You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think.

But once he met your eyes deep in the crowd, where you stood, just as he started to sing, you felt like you were going to collapse.

Hodam opet njenom ulicom

Brutalno se vuče otkad nisam više s njom

Stanem ispod njenog prozora

Jedna njena senka da me spasi očaja

Bojan was walking around the dark cornered alley in the middle of the night. It must have been midnight by now. As he walked, he could see his breath in the cold of the Zagreb's winter, cold night. As he watched his breath become visible in the cold, dark night, he found himself pulling his dark coat closer to himself. It was truly a good attempt to keep himself from freezing.

Before he knew it, he found himself walking along the familiar road. The road that he walked along too many times to count, but right now, he was all alone. He looked up so he could be met face to face with the moon. It was shining so brightly in the middle of the dark night's sky. It was staring right at him, it seemed like it was mocking him. It was mocking his heartbreak and his loneliness. It was mocking him.

Suddenly, as Bojan looked down, he felt like the last breath was knocked out of his lungs. You were skipping along the frozen road, your steps quickly increasing as you went towards your apartment.

He felt like a staker, even though he wasn't one. He slowely started to go after you, something was pulling him towards you. That invisible pull was there again, just like it first appeared when he saw you for the first time.

After a while, you finally came into your apartment. You leaned against the window with a heavy sigh. Bojan could see you from the street and as he watched you he felt like he was suffocating.

Bojan loved you. You know what? Scratch that. He loves you. He longs for you. He wants you to be safe and as he watched you quitly from down below, he once again exposed his pain for the Croatian girl to the moon. To the moon, to the darkes and the cold winter in the middle of the street.

Nisam ni zaslužio da završimo uživo

Jedna poruka i via more

Snegovi u avgustu sad po meni padaju

Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore

It felt like it was a good day. Truly. Bojan and you went out to get lunch and to explore the city. You were just hanging out together and it felt so good to do it. However, all good things have to come to an end.

Bojan didn't expect it at all. It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Out of nowhere, just when you think the day is going to be beautiful, and it hit hard. Really hard. In fact, it hit so hard it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Bojan. I really don't want to do this, but I think it's for the best if we break up."

That was it. Bojan could still remember those words echoing in his mind even though you never said them out loud. You told him this through text messages and maybe that's why it hurts even more than it would if you told him that to his face.

You loved him so much. You still love him so much that it hurts. Joker Out was starting to be a big band that has so much potential, and with that came so much more fame. You just didn't want to be in the way. You felt like you weren't good enough for him. You felt like he could do, and deserves, so much better than you. You were so happy with him, in fact, you were happier than you have ever been. But you didn't want to be in the way. So you made a hard choice.

Nobody could ever know, nobody could ever describe the pain, suffering and all that misery that you felt that day. That miserable feeling you felt when you pressed that little "send" button on your phone. As you watched the message being sent, you cried so much that it felt like you were going to collapse. After that you cut all of the contacts with him.

It was for his own good, that's what you told yourself. It's what you always told yourself as you broke down in the middle of your bedroom floor.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Bojan felt like a part of his soul was ripped away from his body as he read that message over and over again. He cried so much it started to hurt. He has never felt this way before. He hated to admit it, but he has never loved anyone as much as he loves you. It was intoxicating, but most of all it was painful and infuriating.

It lasted too long. Jan didn't know what to do anymore. Bojan just kept on crying, he was crying for so long, in fact, it was already dark outside. Jan was afraid that something was going to happen to him if he doesn't do something. And quick. It looked like Bojan wasn't breathing anymore. His broken soul didn't allow him to take a break, even just so he could breathe.

So Jan panicked and before he knew it, he was calling you up. He watched Bojan from the other room as the grip on his phone tightened. He found himself silently begging you to pick up your damn phone and answer him.

And so you did. After the millionth ring and after about two hundred messages later. You picked up the phone.

Jan told you everything. You were crying before he called you and it took everything in your power to not break down while being on the phone call with Bojan's band mate and your friend. You were practically kicking yourself for your decision, but there wasn't much that you could do.

From that day on, Jan tried everything in his power to get you two to at least meet. And for the first time, in a very long time, he succeeded. He managed to convince you to come to their concert.

In the city where you met.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Ubija me

As Bojan sang the last few chords of the song, he never broke the eye contact. You felt a few tears betraying you as they ran down your cheeks. Before you knew it, you found yourself whispering the words for which you barely found the strength to say.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene." You said, practically out of breath. It felt like you were kicked in your stomach as he continued to hold your gaze. You felt more tears as you found yourself repeating the words you just said.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene..." You couldn't do this to yourself anymore. You couldn't do this to him anymore. It was too much. The pain and suffering was getting out of hand.

You had to fix this.

lee jeno x fem!reader (idol AU)

IMAGINE: you keep your relationship as private as possible

• he comes to pick you up every chance he gets when you have closing shift.

• you only do home dates, mostly at yours.

• lots of movie nights and take away dinners.

• cuddles are your night routine fr.

• "you're so warm and soft"

• during comeback season you don't hangout as much and he suffers the lack of your touch.

• "i miss you so much i think i'm gonna die" "you won't die, baby"

• shower sex is his thing. he loves it for some reason.

• "your skin is something else, i swear"

• he LOVES watching you getting ready in the morning, he knows your skin-care steps by heart.

• "you're very creepy, just there staring at me" "i'm very in love with you"

• a lot of skin-ship, he loves to touch and caress you.

• you're his comfort place.

• he doesn't speak a lot when you hangout but when he does, his deep and lazy voice never fails to turn you on.

• he's very good at using his hands and his tongue.

• when you complain about him going to the gym instead of spending time with you, he records himself doing some exercise and send you the video. you shut your mouth immediately.

• "you're the sexiest thing i ever saw in my life, istg" "(.◜◡◝)"

Behind Closed Doors

Bojan Cvjetićanin x fem!reader

masterlist

Chapter Two:

Warnings: mention of sex, drinking game, drunk texts

All of last night, your mind was all over the place. Your thoughts raced around like you were drunk. Ironic.

"You look well," Jere sarcastically said, pointing out your dark circles and the tired look in your eyes. You were getting ready backstage for rehearsals, now dressed in the same neon pink dress and orange tan along with Jere who was in his bright green bolero, both lighting up the dressing room.

"Thanks, I hadn't realised." You deadpanned while playfully smacking him, expecting to hurt him back, but instead of hitting his actual arm, you were met with his stupid inflated bolero muscle which did nothing on impact except flop a bit, earning an annoyed grunt out of you.

You were already irritated with your mind, thoughts, memories of the party or lack thereof, and not to mention the unspoken flirty tension - everything. Everything left you so confused and in need of answers.

Jere laughed at your smack but he saw the uncomfortable look in your eyes, "Hey, what's wrong? Something I said?" He raised an eyebrow and giggled momentarily but seeing the look still on your face paired with your grunt, he didn't tease you any further. He cares about you, not only because you are good friends, but because you are also his dancer and he needs everyone well enough to rehearse and perform.

He gently pressed a hand to your shoulder, hoping to lessen your uneasiness. "Y/n, is something wrong?"

You were not going crave in and spit out everything on your mind like this, not in some sort of fit of rage or anxiety, no, not that easy...so you lied...for now. "I just didn't sleep that well." (it's fine, you technically weren't lying...)

"Nervous for the first rehearsal?" Jere asked softly as his caring eyes looked at you, "I know how you feel, I am too, but we are in this together." he smiled. (Yeah, too together it seems...)

He assumed you were nervous for this reason so you decided to go with it. Again, it's not technically a lie. "Yeah," you smiled weakly at him, not wanting to worry him more or latch further onto the fact that there was more troubling you. It was time to focus on the rehearsals for the competition in less than a week. You know, for Eurovision, the whole reason you're all here! It seems you have forgotten...been too distracted.

Of course, he knew you well and definitely could tell there was something you weren't telling him but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable and push you any further, so he let it go. He knew that when you were ready you would talk to him. After all, he is your friend...

During rehearsals, you tried so hard to concentrate, truly, yet no matter how many times you practised your performance with the other dancers and Käärijä, your thoughts continued to race, only feeding into your anxiety more.

Not even your dance moves dashing you across the stage could stop your racing thoughts.

You even almost stumbled over your own feet, nearly causing to ruin the dance for everyone. Skilfully, you regained composure like the true professional you were. Now, if only you could do that when Bojan talks to you...

Speaking of Bojan, he was currently secretly watching you from afar - admiring your every move - even the few you had done wrong, which he didn't think were wrong since he knew nothing about dancing. He just thought they all looked so elegant coming from you. The way your hips swayed in the tight pink dress, the manner you strode across the stage, your glossy hair that swung with every move.

All of it.

He had told himself he was admiring you, not creepily spying. Although, if anyone caught him looking at you, they'd probably think the latter. Even worse, if it was one of the other Joker Out guys. He'd never hear the end of it so he decided to go back to the guys, remembering to be back later which is ironically when he has rehearsals, after taking a final peek at you.

****

Following a tiring morning of rehearsals, even though it was now only the afternoon, all you wanted to do was go to your hotel room, shower, get comfy, (scream into your pillow) and go to sleep. But no, oh no, the universe was still not on your side. Outside, Bojan caught up with you and Käärijä, standing before your out-of-breath selves.

Inside your body screamed because you weren't looking your best again, just like yesterday when Bojan saw you in the same orange tan and fake teeth, only this time it was worse since you were sweating and out of breath from performing. Nonetheless, on the outside, you attempted to put on a brave face. "Hey! You're still going to that bar later, right?" he asked cheerfully and explained how everyone else invited was still up for it, so you could tell he was really hoping you'd both be there.

"Yes, yes, it will be fun!" Käärijä replied happily, as to him nothing was wrong.

On the other hand, you made an effort to avoid looking Bojan in the eye because you were afraid that if you did so, he may decide to bring up another incident that may or may not have occurred at the party, like before.

Your way of having false confidence did nothing as he still gave you attention by smiling, thankfully not another reference to something at the party, although, you could still see a glint of smugness in his eyes. Luckily, you all parted ways so you could begin getting ready, but you were worried about seeing him later. You really liked him, so what happened in that sauna? All you could remember was everyone being tipsy and...a kiss, you guessed, with your blurry memory. Was this tension you've been sensing all been a joke or did you actually do...something? You needed answers and ultimately thought it was time to talk to Jere. You did finally have some time to spare anyway...

Then, you both slugged your way back from the venue, tired from the rehearsal. But you both knew it was worthwhile for the competition. The finals were any day now.

When the two of you were at the hotel and in your respective rooms your first thought was to look for your phone, considering you hadn't seen it since last night...when you watched that interview. At that very moment, your memory jogged, and you remembered you were using your phone at the party. Phone...party... That's it! The answers may very well lie in your phone! Now you just have to actually find it...

****

A bomb dropped in your room.

At least that's what it looked like because you had ripped your entire room apart trying to look for your damn phone. The stupid block of technology probably holds some very important details, including but not excluded from; highly embarrassingly drunk additions to your camera roll and messaging apps, or worse, social media. So you desperately needed it now otherwise you might start believing you've made all this tension up as well as that sauna dream - That it was really a dream after all. Truly questioning your sanity right now.

"You don't remember a single thing do you?" As if to make things worse, Bojan's words from yesterday rang through your head, taunting you as you continued wading through the mess of clothes and items scattered across your floor to search for your phone.

Although it was harder now that the bomb (you) ruined it and your unanswered questions lingered tirelessly at the front of your mind.

Much to your sanity, his words were not true as when you finally found your phone you found something on it. Your dream was correct, and so were your suspicions;

Someone had crept in as you stood letting out a frustrated groan as you faced your messy room.

"Looking for this?" Jere asked innocently while holding your phone up in front of you.

Spinning around you almost tripped on the clutter on the floor, startled by his presence. In the action, however, you noticed the phone and instantly snatched it out of his hand while giving him a suspicious look. Funnily enough, you were very clumsy for a dancer.

You still hadn't answered back to him as you proceeded to go through your phone, determined to find evidence - there it was, you saw it with your own eyes: drunken photos, most were very blurry though you could tell what it was of - the three of you drinking and partying in the sauna - hot and sweaty. Your fingers frantically swiped through more photos, it got worse: You were stripping, thankfully keeping some decency, since you had kept your underwear on.

You gasped as you swiped through even more photos as memories came flooding back. Especially at one photo that almost made you drop your phone: Bojan kissing you, on the lips. Or you kissing Bojan. You didn't know who initiated it but at this current moment, you could feel his warm lips lingering on yours, making them tingle. Your fingers brushed your lips as your wide eyes stared intensely at the photo, needing proof he hadn't followed Jere into the room and wasn't actually kissing you right now.

Overwhelmed, you threw the phone on your bed. It landed beside you as you crashed face-first into your pillow, letting out a scream. Jere stood quizzically for a beat before glancing down at your unlocked phone still displaying your photo gallery... He blinked a few times in disbelief, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, then began laughing hysterically. "I forgot you did that!" He clutched his stomach as he continued to laugh while moving closer to you who groaned at his reaction to all of this.

"Tuhma!" He teased as he playfully poked the side of your cheek instantly making you snap your head to the side and try to bite his finger. "Tuhma," he repeated under his breath as he acted faux offended, rubbing his finger on his hoodie as if it hurt while you glared at him.

"It's not funny!" You whined.

"It is..."

Glaring still, you playfully kicked him in the shin and sat upright.

"Okay, okay!" Jere put his hands up in defence.

"Careful, next time I will kick you where it hurts." You glared and glanced up at him causing him to keep his hands up in defence and take a step back in precaution.

"I doubt Bojan remembers it," He tried to reassure you but you had already sensed the tension and also the fact Bojan told you 'You don't remember anything at all, do you?'...

In a huff you ripped the phone from his hand again and shoved it in your pocket, not even wanting to look at it. At the virtually indecent photos with your best friend and his friend... You sighed and looked up at Jere in the eyes sceptically. "Did you see the last picture?..." You quietly asked, prompting his eyebrow to raise and his head to tilt in confusion.

Without a word you whipped out your phone again, showing him the kissing picture. "Oh," was all that came out of his still semi-confused self. "I thought the stripping was worse to be hon-" He started but interjected when he saw you frown again. Whichever you hated more would be what he'd try to focus on and help you with, regardless of what he thought was worse or not. In this case, it wasn't the stripping, or at least for now it wasn't, it was the fact that you and Bojan had kissed. And there was photographic evidence of this.

"Do you and Bojan remember it?" You caught him off guard with your question. "Because I barely did until now."

"I mean, kind of. Now that I see the pictures too," He shrugged and sat next to you.

"So it wasn't weird?"

"No, it is a sauna and we were drunk!" He attempted to comfort you once more, yet his next words were risky. "You do that all the time with me-"

"Jere!" you whacked him on the arm. "I- It was a sauna..." you tried to validate your actions as he did. "That's what you do..."

"What? Kiss people?" He giggled and nudged his elbow on your arm and his eyebrows wiggled teasingly.

"Remember what I said about that kick? It's still on the table. And I meant stripping!" you groaned out but your face went red as you realised what you said. "No! I mean, like, wearing little to nothing!" you covered your blushing cheeks and moaned out of embarrassment and annoyance.

"He hardly experienced the Finnish way. It's not like you were fully naked." He laughed and shrugged again, knowing that other cultures would probably be weirded out by that.

"I know that's normal but not to him, he probably thinks I'm some slut!" With another groan, you got up and hastily poured yourself a drink.

"What?" He shook his head, "No, he doesn't, you're overthinking. That kiss says otherwise-"

"I WILL KICK YOU-"

"You wouldn't," he grinned at you and laid down on the bed to watch you pour a drink, although in his vision you were now upside down, with a nice view of your a-

You turned back round.

With your drink in your hand (a cocktail of your choice with an added pink mini umbrella floating in there) you strut over to Jere and with your free hand, you playfully punch him where it hurts.

His knees raised slightly while he grunted in pain, rolling on his side, and laughed, "That was a punch, not a kick."

"I'll show you a kick!" You pulled him up off the bed and kicked him making him fall to the knees. "You asked for it," you laughed at him.

"True," he rasped.

When he recovered he grabbed a drink for himself - Glögi - which he bought tons of to drink throughout the year. "You just found out you basically have nudes with us and now you're having a cocktail. Don't you think you need something stronger?" He giggled.

"I'll show you something stronger," and before he knew it he was being playfully tackled to the ground, spilling his drink in the process. "NOT MY GLÖGI!"

All that anyone walking past the hotel room could hear was him screaming and you laughing.

Quality time.

****

"Are you going to get drunk?"

"Are you?!"

Chatter circulated amongst the bar and most of all back and forth in the group.

Staring at the glistening ceiling lights, your mind zoned out. Catching the warm comforting glow was much easier to face - compared to Bojan - since discovering the pictures. Did Bojan remember the kiss? Is he wanting more? Does he think you're being easy to get? Does--

"Y/n, are you okay?" Sat next to you, Kris kindly asked as the others continued joking about something you weren't paying attention to.

Immediately, you snapped back to reality and stared widely at him, as you did not expect him to ask you that. Quickly composing yourself, you cleared your throat and sat straight.

"Yeah, just daydreaming for a sec," An awkward laugh slipped from your mouth.

"Daydreaming?" Jan teased with his brow arched and a sly smirk, as he seemingly overheard you, pushing everyone's attention on you. "Who's the lucky guy?" He looked at you then Kris.

A tinge of red crept its way across your cheeks, only further egging onto his claim that you were daydreaming of someone. Of course, they didn't know that your daydream was not one of a favourable kind - you just wanted answers, instead of asking yourself the same questions over and over.

Speaking of questions, "How about we play a game of Never Have I Ever?!" Bojan asked and you mentally thanked him as if he saved you from whatever awkward questions would arise, although now you were regretting that too because Never Have I Ever is notorious for doing exactly that.

Nevertheless, he caused the group to erupt in excitement, agreeing. "Okay, we'll start easy," Bojan smiled and pulled his phone out to look up questions.

You decided to play along with it, maybe this could be your way to get some answers. If you were going to play you might as well play the best to your advantage.

The game began.

"Never have I ever..." - Bojan began to laugh - "fucked in a public place?"

Was he doing this on purpose?

"You said you would start easy!" Jure exclaimed, followed by laughter and agreement on the unfairness from the rest, and you simply rolled your eyes at his antics.

"It was the first one I saw! I'm sorry!" He continued to laugh as he held his free hand up defensively. "But you're wrong anyway, it would be easy if you have not done it...so, own up." He leaned on his elbows and rested his chin in his hands, smirking up at his friends.

They glanced at each other expectantly, waiting for someone to own up, but alas, no one did. "Disappointing. Anyway," Bojan took his shot glass and downed it - which meant a yes.

Collectively, the group was just as shocked as each other, before everyone started cheering him on, patting him on the back. "Oh, man, you just chose that to show off!" One of the guys said.

"As long as you used protection I guess..." You said nonchalantly, shrugging, as you still laughed a little. Play it cool, you thought.

"Of course," - Bojan held his pointer finger up as if to tell you to wait and pulled out the band's blue condom they sell on their website from his back pocket - "the only acceptable STD should be seize the day!"

"Oh my god" you muttered under your breath as your face palmed making the group laugh again.

However, one by one you all began to notice Jere's shot has been downed too followed by question upon questions from everyone.

"DAMN JERE I DID NOT KNOW YOU WERE LIKE THAT-"

"So tell us!?"

"WHEN? WHERE?!"

"UH- how did I not know of this?!" You questioned amongst the others, equally as eager to find out more, even if you were all being nosy. That's what Never Have I Ever is all about anyway.

Jere cheeks reddened quicker than he could hide them as he prepared to tell you more. "Eh, it's the forest-"

"THE FOREST OF ALL PLACES--"

"What about in the sauna?"

"Meh, Sauna is not always private."

****

It was your turn again. And you couldn't stop admiring Bojan. By now, you were all tipsy. You clicked the 'randomize question' button on the phone, read the selected question in your head, and instantly smirked as you knew precisely who would perk up again at this question.

"Never have I ever...lost a bet?" Immediately, Jere's face lit up in either embarrassment or recognition (you couldn't tell) as you laughed.

If anyone knew one thing about Jere it was that he had definitely lost more than a few bets while gambling - thus earning him the nickname Käärijä.

So, he took another shot and everyone cracked up. "Yes yes, I am Käärijä, you know!"

"Are you?!" you and Bojan spoke at the same time, making you both look at each other and giggle like little kids.

Seeing this round was getting slightly boring and you weren't finding out more about Bojan, you had a trick up your sleeve.

"Never have I ever...kissed two different guys in one night?"

Oh, he must have been doing this on purpose.

"I mean this could mean guys or girls,"

Ha. Nice save. Yet it was too late, because your leg slowly raised, your heel slightly grazing his trouser leg. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it wasn't.

He locked eyes with you. Almost a glare. Almost a smirk. Almost letting it on to the others that something happened between you two.

Seemingly not getting the juicy answers they wanted, or they already knew them, they had moved on to a different question. Something about weird dreams Jan riding a turtle. Neither of you was paying attention. Why would you when your heel was grazing his leg so tenderly yet so teasingly?

His hands rolled into fists as he tried not to act on whatever thoughts he was having. You couldn't. So you smirked, pleased that you were at least embarrassing him a little like he was with the questions.

However, that question earlier about fucking in a public place was beginning to sound like a joke.

****

A hell of a lot more drinks later and all of you were most certainly drunk...

It happened to be Jere's turn at asking again. He started at the phone momentarily before speaking. "Eh, are you?!" his words slurred slightly as he started giggling. Bojan wheeze out a laugh, jolting his body against the seat as he laughed, leaning into Jere.

You were all in that drunk state where you didn't even know what you were saying and anything and everything became funny.

A waiter came over and said the bar would be closing soon, earning a bunch of boos from the group. 'Good thing restlessness was common amongst the group now.

"Time to go back to the hotel then," Kris began but Bojan interrupted.

"Guys, we're Joker Out, we love to party, hm?!" He quirked an eyebrow, shakily raising up his glass. Everyone glanced at each other momentarily, trying to see if you all agreed.

"It's crazy, it's party!" Jere excitedly approved and as if on cue everyone became equally as excited, cheering and clinking their drinks together one final time and getting up from their seats, making their way to a nearby nightclub Jan suggested.

You trotted along behind but ultimately decided not to go. "I'm sorry I'm just really tired!" You slurred your words, much to their disapproval.

"It's not like you to decline a party," Jere urged, drunkenly slinging his arm around your shoulder, knowing you wouldn't take it seriously but take it as a result of him caring about you. Bojan locked eyes with you again, for the first time since the heel teasing earlier. But you ignored him.

Instead, you opt not to have a sauna sequel. You smile and decline again, explaining that the hotel is just down the road, and saying your goodbyes.

"She's been acting weird lately..." You heard one of them say but you kept on walking to the hotel.

****

The second you plopped down onto your bed, having not even bothered to change clothes, you fell fast asleep. The alcohol in your system clearly wore you out.

An hour later, you jolt awake. You carefully lie back down, wondering what woke you up. You keep your phone on silent so it can't be that. A knock on your door catches your attention. Maybe it was that. Though, you really would have preferred not seeing anyone right now. Maybe a mass murderer is going around knocking on innocent women's doors. And maybe Bojan would save you.

Wait. Did you just say Bojan?

You decide to check your phone. Something compels you to check it. Groggily rubbing your tired eyes the phone light flashes, burning them slightly. Through your dazed vision, you see a dozen texts from none other than Bojan. Huh.

1:05 am: Käärijä is kalsarikännit rn, but not at home. what do u even call that?

1:17 am: *4 missed Facetime calls*

TISSIT

1:20 am: send nudes

1:26 am: HELP. THAT WAS JERE.

1:32 am: HE THREW UP

1:45 am: HE FAINTED LMFAO

1:58 am: hE'S SO HEAVY

But two, in particular, caught your eye...

2:35 am: WE'RE LOCKED OUT OF THE ROOM

2:40 am: SOS

Oh, great.

****

A/N: Definitions:

Tuhma = naughty

Kalsarikännit = getting drunk in your underwear at home

Tissit = tits

I heard that Glögi was his fave drink so I had to mention it :)

Please reblog if you enjoyed reading :)

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟖

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You have a nightmare. Home feels like a layered word right now. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.3K ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

You’re in your childhood home back in Nebraska. 

Chicken shit coats your throat and nostrils thickly;  it’s been waiting for you to come home. The lights above you, strung up beside sticky fly traps and cobwebs, are buzzing. It’s cold in here. Maybe because there’s still a foot of snow on the ground--or maybe because you’re stark naked. 

The kitchen table is set with an old gingham tablecloth--one that has been constantly darned and sewn and patched in its sad life. There’s chipped china at every burlap placemat, the plates smothered with oily peas and thin gravy and chewy steak. The silverware isn’t very silver anymore and the cloth napkins are so worn that they’re translucent. 

 The table itself is an antique--older than you and your brother--and it creaks and groans with every movement, even if it’s only your brother reaching for the salt or your father cutting his steak. It’s hard and solid beneath your naked body, splintering the soft skin of your rear and the delicate flesh of your thighs.

All around you, in their usual spots, your family is eating dinner. You can hear every little human sound: chewing, sighing, sniffing, smacking, swallowing. You can’t move, though nothing is actually holding you against the table. 

They are eating their dinner, their oily peas and thin gravy and chewy steak, with their not-so-silverware as they watch you. Their eyes are glassy, far-away. No one’s face reads any obvious emotion: no one looks horrified, resentful, furious, disgusted, morose. They’re all just watching you like this happens every night.

They can see you lying here. But none of them have acknowledged your presence--and you haven’t said a word to any of them. You’re just lying here under the buzzing light, counting the flies on the flytrap.  

What is strange about all of this is that you thought that you would feel ashamed. The only time you were ever caught by your brother, when he pulled you out of the truck and got you sent to California, you felt the heat of shame for a few moments. Shame that something so private as sex had been shown to your family. But then that shame suddenly snapped and dissipated because of Dennis fucking Goldman. Now you can be naked in front of your family at dinnertime and it doesn’t matter.

“Good thing she can’t get herself in trouble,” your brother says suddenly. 

You know that he’s talking about getting pregnant. 

Your lips are paralyzed, congealed with faux sealant.  

“Doctor told us when she was fourteen,” your mama adds, sighing. She’s chewing still, her eyes untrained but lingering on your form. “Knew something was wrong earlier, of course. Hadn’t gotten her menses yet. Girls in my family always get it young. I was ten myself. Happened in church--I was wearing all white.” 

Swallowing hard, you try to drown her out. You try to just listen to the humming lightbulb. But you can’t. 

“She doesn’t ovulate,” your mama continues, shaking her head. A steady stream of gravy flows down her chin--she doesn’t move to clean it. “No eggs wanna take that chance.” 

Quit it, mama you want to hiss. You don’t move. 

“We weren’t heartbroken,” your mama continues, glancing at your daddy. “Were we?” 

“No. No we were not,” your daddy answers. He sits back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. “Apples don’t ever fall far from the tree.” 

Your brother snickers.

“She’d leave all her apples on the ground. Rotten, maggot-infested. Nasty things,” your brother says. He’s chewing with his mouth wide open--there’s mashed peas in his back molars. “God knew what he was doing.” 

“Amen,” your daddy says.

“Pass the peas, ma,” your brother says. 

You wake up suddenly. 

The waterbed is sloshing beneath your form as you sit up straight, gasping for a breath of the cool breeze floating in through your open window. Your lungs feel stunted, like you can’t fill them up all the way. And when you press your palm to your chest, all the heat of your skin makes your hand sizzle. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, blinking through the darkness.

It’s late, past three in the morning. You should be sleeping still, should be getting all the shut-eye you can get for the shoot in a few hours. 

Instead, though, you throw your covers off and plant your feet firmly on the shag carpet, blinking at the dark. Your thighs are quivering, your lip wobbling. 

Fucking Hell.   

This is the first time you’ve dreamed of home since you left it. And you hope--sincerely and truthfully--that it is the last time you ever dream about it. It’s a strange thing really, because you knew you were home: the flyraps, the big kitchen table, the chipped china, the chicken shit. But it didn’t feel like home anymore--it just felt like a place you used to live. 

In the middle of this dark almost-morning, you blink at the painting on the wall and wonder, for the first time, if there exists a home for you. It prickles the skin on your thighs to think about it--a place you exist and keep existing that feels like yours. Home. 

You don’t turn any lights on as you walk, barefoot in your nighty, across the quiet house and to the telephone in the foyer. Rooster doesn’t sleep well usually--you don’t want to disturb him, not over something as trivial as a nightmare. A part of you, one that is stunted in its growth, wants to slink into his bed and snuggle into his chest and selfishly wake him up so he can comfort you. 

Instead, you dial the number. It’s something you’ll never forget--you know that. Does anybody ever forget their home phone number? 

A part of you still feels like you’re dreaming--like everything is fuzzy and warm and confusing. Nothing quite feels real yet, especially since the sun has not risen and your eyes are still puffy with exhaustion. Even the phone against your ear, all the heavy and hard plastic that purrs as it rings the ugly rotary phone on the kitchen counter in Nebraska, feels more like a toy than anything else. 

It’s five in the morning in Nebraska, which means that your family is up. Your mama starts the coffee at four-thirty and has breakfast ready by the time your daddy walks out of the bedroom in his overalls and mucking boots at five-fifteen. Right now, your mama is probably frying bacon and dropping biscuits in a cast iron pan, her hair pulled back into a bun and her face void of any color. It’s still winter there. It always snows in March in Nebraska. 

You don’t even really know what you’re doing. What are you doing? 

The line rings and rings, your grip growing moist around the telephone. 

Home. It seems like a very far away place. And not even just in distance--but in memory. You aren’t sure what kept you there for so long--that little shitty room and your mean older brother and your quiet daddy and your unhappy mama. Why were you bringing the ax down on chickens day in and day out when you could’ve been here the entire time?

You shift all your weight to the left side of your body, holding your hand to your cheek, wondering why you haven’t hung up yet. You wonder, too, why no one has answered. You know that they’re awake. You know that your mama is only a few paces from the telephone. You know your brother is probably sipping coffee now. 

It rings for a long time. No one picks up. 

With a breath caught between your teeth, the thought of your mother’s lips stained with gravy still pressed into your frontal lobe, you let the phone fall back on the receiver. 

Rooster isn’t sleeping. He feels like he never is, even when his entire body is sore from the afternoon he spent on the beach with you yesterday. He wants to sleep--wants to sleep so badly that he’s had his eyes closed for the past two and a half hours, unwilling to interrupt what might happen. 

So, when he hears your bare feet on the tile outside of your room, he finally opens his eyes and glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand: 3:10 AM. You must not be able to sleep either. He knows you’re trying to be quiet--you always feel bad about waking him up--but you can’t exactly be quiet in such an open, cavernous house. Even your bare feet on the tile echo down the hall and into his room. 

He hears your footsteps coming closer just after 3:17. What have you been doing for seven minutes? Certainly not getting a snack--you haven’t been eating much these days, especially not in the middle of the night. 

You knock on Rooster’s door hesitantly, something resembling grief sitting thick and heavy on your tongue. Your lip is still wobbling, your breaths still stunted.

“Come in,” Rooster calls at once, sitting up on his elbows. 

The door swings open and you stand in the doorway, dressed in that little red nighty. Your hair is wonky from the pillow and your eyes are little slits, but what makes Rooster’s spine stiffen is your posture. You usually stand so straight and proud, your shoulders squared and your jaw stiff. But right now, you’re almost cowering: shoulders drooping, legs bowed, eyes downcast, lips bitten. 

“Hey, daddy,” you sigh. You still haven’t gotten off the Daddy Warbucks jokes--Rooster is beginning to think you never will. “Want some company?” 

Rooster pats the chilled sheets beside him, eyebrows knit. 

“C’mere, baby.” 

Closing the door behind you, you crawl into bed with him, glancing at the Joni Mitchell painting mounted above the bed before you climb on top of Rooster. He takes it in stride, opening the covers for you, letting you nuzzle your face into his throat and slot your legs between his. He even tucks you both in under the covers, pulling them up to your neck before he encircles you in his arms and holds you against him. 

He likes to lay with you like this, even if his legs eventually fall asleep. He can feel everything you do--breathe, swallow, sigh, speak, flex, hiccup, fidget, twitch. All those little things that keep you alive, he can feel against his skin. 

“Can’t sleep?” Rooster whispers, kissing the top of your head. 

You sigh softly, shaking your head. 

“I was asleep,” you whisper. “Then I had this gnarly nightmare. I mean, it was a nightmare and a half.” 

Rooster nods. He knows about nightmares--his mother used to have them a lot towards the end. He can still remember pressing the cool cloth against her forehead, shushing her, luring her back to a fitful sleep. 

“Oh, yeah?” He asks softly, pressing his fingers to the back of your neck. You nod against him. “What, did you dream you were living at Hangman’s pad instead of mine?” 

Pinching him softly for teasing you, you shake your head. 

“I don’t think I even wanna talk about it,” you mumble. 

And really--you don’t. What are you supposed to say, anyway? It was just a nightmare. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Okay, okay,” Rooster whispers. “What should we talk about then?” 

“Don’t you wanna sleep?” 

Rooster scoffs.

“Me? Sleep?” He asks. “C’mon, baby. Get real.” 

“Why don’t you sleep anyway? Don’t jive me.” 

Rooster swallows hard. He hasn’t been asked that in a long time. A million years ago, when Phoenix would spend the night in his bed, she tried just about everything under the sun to get him to sleep. Lavender on his bedside table, chamomile tea after dinner, even acupuncture once. But she never thought to ask why he doesn’t sleep well. The only person who had asked was his doctor a handful of years ago, who only half-listened, anyway. 

You’re waiting patiently for his response, not pushing and not pulling. You’re content in your spot on his body, just waiting for his answer as you measure your breaths in terms of calmness and softness. You know, even without really knowing, that’s what Rooster needs right now. 

“Remember how I told you about my ma? And how she was sick?” He asks you. You nod against him. He clears his throat, smoothing his palm down your spine and letting it rest at the base. “Well, I was taking care of her and filming for Dennis, you know? So, I was spread pretty fuckin’ thin. Needed to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for filming, but had to wake my ma up for her meds during the night, too. To give it to you straight, baby, I just didn’t have time to sleep. That’s how I got on speed.” 

Speed. You try to imagine it--Rooster on cocaine. But you can’t really imagine him high, can’t imagine his pupils blown and his mouth wide open. 

He feels it when your body stiffens just slightly, when you jolt with realization. 

“I didn’t know that,” you tell him. 

He swallows. 

“No one does, kid,” he tells you. “Anyway, she used to get these night terrors, too. Nasty side effect of all those pills she was on, you know? So, I guess I kinda got used to not sleeping.” 

“You adapted,” you whisper to him. “Like a survival tactic. Evolution.” 

He nods.

“I guess I did. I was strung out all the time.” 

What he doesn’t tell you, what he hasn’t told anybody in the world, is that he sleeps like a baby when you’re in his bed. You’re an impolite sleeper, throwing yourself across his body, attaching your lips to his chest, needling your limbs through his. He thought that would make sleeping worse, thought that your hot breath on his throat would keep him up. But then he woke up late in the morning, eyes crusted with sleep, muscles slack. 

You sit up slightly, just enough for you to look into his eyes. They’re big and brown, staring back into yours just as sadly as yours are looking into his. You cup his cheek, swipe your thumb along his stubble. He holds you tighter against him like it’s an instinct. 

“You’re so good,” you tell him, really meaning it. “Do you think we deserve each other?” 

His throat is entirely dry. 

“How do you mean, baby?” 

“I’ve never done anything good in my life,” you tell him. You’re not exactly upset by this--it’s just something you’re stating. “You know, I’ve never, like, lived for anyone else. It’s always been the Cherry Show. You dig?” 

He thinks for a moment, not really sure what to say. He studies you, your creased brow and your earnest eyes. You look so honest bathed in the moonlight, nothing to hide from him. 

“Who says we’re supposed to live for other people?” Rooster asks.

“The bible,” you answer. 

He chuckles lightly. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot how religious you are,” Rooster teases. “Cherry, I didn’t choose to live for my ma. There really wasn’t any other option.” 

You nod, chewing your lower lip. 

“But you did it,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I did.” 

“And you’d do it again, I bet,” you answer. 

He doesn’t even have to think about it. He just nods. 

Yeah, he’d do it again. He would.

“What do you think it means that I can’t have babies?” You ask him. 

You’ve never asked anyone else this before. Honestly, you’ve never really wondered about it. It doesn’t break your heart. It’s a reality you’ve been living with since you were fourteen-years-old. 

“Nothing,” Rooster answers without missing a beat. “Nada. Zilch.” 

Cheek returning to his chest, you nuzzle yourself against him. 

“Do you think it’s some, like, cosmic sign?” You ask him. “Like, I’m too fucked up to be someone’s ma. My apples are rotten or something.” 

Rooster shakes his head profusely, tutting. 

“You could never make something rotten,” he tells you seriously. He holds you tight against his body, tight like he’s about to shoot the both of you off into outer space and he has to keep you buckled into him. He has to keep your bodies together when gravity is gone and you’re all each other has. “You’ve done plenty of good in your life, kid. I know it. I swear it.” 

It’s quiet for a moment as you two settle into each other. You sleep together often, not bound to your room by anything other than conventionality. Your room is his room and his room is your room. More often than not, you fall asleep on the couch with your head in his lap or by the pool during a party or in his bed after fucking. 

His body is solid beneath yours, anchoring you to this waterbed, this earth. 

Your body on top of his is heavy with comfort, something he is used to now.  

“Do you think they miss me?” You whisper. 

Rooster knows that you’re talking about your family. 

He swallows. You’ve never talked about them before--not in terms of your absence. 

“Sure, I’ll bet they do,” Rooster answers. “Unless they’re dumb.” 

Maybe they are dumb. 

“You know, I called them just now. Let it ring. No one picked up. I don’t think anyone’s tried to find me,” you whisper. You don’t sound sad about this exactly--just factual, serious. “Like, I don’t know how they would. I’m not a minor, you know? And I’m not a Californian legally. But--I don’t know, I guess I thought there’d be something. Like, maybe I’d show up on a milk carton sometime. Or at least a flier.” 

“Is that what you want, kid?” Rooster whispers, tone even and fair. 

You shrug. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I don’t wanna go back. I don’t even really wanna, like, see them ever again. I feel like I’ve made my peace with that. But then sometimes I think about how I left home and never came back. And I think about what they did with all my stuff--not that I even care about it, anyway. But where is it? Did Carlton take my room?” 

You’re almost positive that you know the answers to these questions. Your stuff is probably ashes now, burned out in the east pasture when it was dry enough--that’s what your family does with trash. Carlton probably didn’t take your room, not when his has enough space for a double bed. 

Rooster just listens. 

“And--what, do they think about me? Or did I just, like, peace out and they were stoked? All the photographs of me on the wall and the art I made when I was little--where does it go now? Do they have a daughter still?” 

Both of you are quiet for a moment. 

“Cherry,” Rooster whispers. He kisses the top of your head again, letting his lips linger there as he breathes in the soap on your scalp. “Do you want them to be your parents?”

Slowly, you shake your head. No. You don’t. 

“Then they aren’t,” he tells you. “Simple as that.” 

“Says who?” You whisper. Your eyes are growing heavy. 

“Says me,” he tells you. “We can be orphans together, huh?” 

“You’re twisted,” you laugh. 

He keens at the sound of your laugh--you’re okay. You’re okay. 

“Untwist me, then,” he mumbles. 

You sigh, raking your fingers across the hair that grows on his chest. 

“Can’t,” you breathe. “I’m twisted, too. Perverted, really.” 

Rooster’s grinning now. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He kisses the top of your head again and inhales all of that Cherry that sits so thickly there. 

“No more doom and gloom tonight, baby,” he tells you. “Why don’t you go to sleep, huh? I’ll stay up and scare off any more nightmares, okay?” 

He used to tell his ma that, too, all those years ago. He’d take a few bumps, sit in a wooden chair beside her bed, and watch her face contort as she slept. He would wake her up before the nightmares would twitch her awake. 

“I love you, Roo,” you tell him. 

“I love you, Cherry-girl,” he tells you. “You’re my baby.” 

☿

The bump you took with Jake before filming sets in as you’re standing in the shitty saloon the prop team threw together in a few days, a tight bustier pushing your breasts up to an almost unnatural height. You’re backed up against the wall by Jake, who’s wearing a leather vest and no shirt with a cartoonishly large cowboy hat. 

“Well, I do declare that you are the rudest man I’ve ever encountered!” You say, clutching your faux pearls. There’s a slight Southern twang lilting your voice, one you and Jake worked on for a little bit a week ago. “I am a spoken-for woman, Mister Cowboy!” 

Jake is feverishly kissing your throat, nipping and sucking, caging you against the wall with his hands firmly planted on the wood. The camera is close to you two, zooming in on his lips against your skin. You know better by now than to look directly in its lens unless Dennis directs it. 

“Shut your trap, lady,” Jake responds. You two ran lines for an hour before shooting, then each took a bump to get your blood pumping. The two of you can recite this script forwards and backwards by now. “If you really wanted me to stop, you’d use that gun I know you’re holding!” 

The prop gun--a silly five-barrel pistol--is pressed into the cheap fabric of your skirt. You pull it out, just like you rehearsed, and press it against Jake’s taut belly. 

“Fine! You caught me. Don’t underestimate me, boy! I will shoot you dead! You’re an outlaw, afterall. Everyone will thank me!” 

Dennis is sitting in his usual chair, smoking a cigar, following along with the script. He’s pleasantly surprised at how easily you memorize scripts and how seamless your line interpretation is. 

He’s already had a couple calls from other big producers asking about you, trying to sniff out your contractual obligations. But Dennis isn’t fretting about it--you’re locked in tight with him. And with the way things are going now, your popularity rapidly on the rise, he knows you’re gonna be bringing him the big bucks. 

Jake’s pupils are blown. As you look into each other’s eyes, hearts racing, you both recognize that the other is high. Yes, the bump has definitely got your blood pumping. 

“I reckon you’re too much of a lady to shoot a gun,” Jake says, giving you his best snarl. You look up at him with big doe eyes and parted lips, your cheeks hot. “Prove me wrong, sugar. Shoot me.” 

You’ve rehearsed this bit a few times--you gritting your teeth and attempting to squeeze the trigger. Jake staring down at you with a smirk, still holding your body against the wall. Then you gasping melodramatically, letting the gun fall to the floor. 

“See,” Jake smirks. “I’ll bet I can make you do some unladylike things, sugar.” 

And at that, just like you practiced, Jake swiftly rips the bustier wide open and exposes your bare breasts. After you gasp, widening your eyes and pressing your shoulders against the wall, Jake hungrily kisses down your sternum and starts to kiss your breasts. 

“Perfect,” Dennis says from behind the camera. He takes a long drag, crossing his legs. “Make sure you’re still biting, Hangman. You’re an outlaw.” 

Something is cold in your belly, coiled up like a snake. When your eyes flutter shut as Jake sinks his teeth into your nipple, your mind hums with nothingness. You’re not really here right now, you’re somewhere else. Somewhere on your own, somewhere that your face is on every milk carton and where every lamppost has fliers covering every square inch of them. You’re somewhere wrapped up in Jake and Rooster, smushed between them, keening at their lips against your cheeks and their warm bodies against yours. 

“Cherry,” Dennis says, suddenly pulling you from that warm place. “You missed your line, babydoll.” 

Wrenching your eyes open, you blink at Jake and then at Dennis. Jake is cupping your breasts for decency purposes so you’re not entirely exposed in front of the crew. Brows furrowed, he’s staring down at you. 

“God, I’m such a space cadet today! I’m sorry, Dennis!” You say, heat spreading across your chest. “It won’t happen again! Swear it!” 

Dennis nods, lips flat. 

“We’ll pick it back up from I turn little ladies like you into whores. Alright? Let’s fuck.”

Jake nudges you with his forehead, eyes finding yours. 

“Y’good, berry?” 

You nod hurriedly. 

“Never better,” you whisper.

By the time you wrap up, it’s almost sunset. You’re sore from being fucked so harshly, which is what Dennis called for, but you’re satisfied at least. The coke is wearing off and you’re in your jumpsuit again now, sprawled out over the couch in Jake’s dressing room as he combs his mustache in the mirror. 

“Y’alright, Cherry-berry?” He asks, glancing at you. 

You’re twiddling your thumbs, blinking up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah,” you answer. “I’m groovy.”

He knows you aren’t telling the truth. You’re quiet. Usually, after filming, you’re asking for notes and telling Rooster how stellar he was and buzzing. You practically bounce off the walls after filming. Even though this is your first scene with Jake, he knows all this. He knows that something is off about the way you’ve totally thrown yourself over the couch.  

“Something’s on your mind,” Jake says softly. You won’t return his gaze, eyes trained on the ceiling as you fidget. You haven’t even bothered to take off the Western-themed makeup, so your cheeks are ridiculously pink and there’s a little beauty mark above your lip. “Lay it on me, honey.” 

The truth is that you’ve been thinking about it all day--why your parents didn’t answer the telephone. They were all in the kitchen, just a few paces away from the telephone. Your family will answer the phone during meals--even supper. They never go out of town overnight. There is no possible way they knew you were the one calling besides intuition, but even then, it seems unlikely. Why didn’t they pick up? 

Rooster made you feel better--holding you close, stroking your hair. But as soon as Jake picked you up this morning to drive to the set, that doom and gloom rolled in like a thick fog in the distance.  

“Cherry,” Jake says, drawing you from the dark corners of your brain. He’s facing you now, arms crossed over his chest. “C’mon. What’s going on?” 

Finally, you turn your cheek and look at him. His pupils are still blown, but his gaze is unwavering and earnest. 

“Had a wicked nightmare,” you tell him. You sigh, swallowing hard. “Just…thinking about that, I guess.” 

Jake studies you for a moment. You look deflated, tired. He doesn’t know it, but you slept with Rooster last night, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck all night. The nightmare disturbed you, but your parents not answering your one and only call disturbed you to the point of needing human connection. Jake doesn’t know any of this, but he knows that you need some air pumped back into you. 

“What was it?” He asks. He leans against the mirror now, still staring at you. “Trust me--I’m a dream decoder on the weekends.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Finally had to get that side-gig, huh?” You tease. “Shame that fucking didn’t work out for you, cowboy.”

Jake waits quietly for you to tell him, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“It was bogus, really,” you finally start, his silence nudging you towards the truth. You run your palms up and down your bare arms, your eyes untrained and lingering on the naked bulbs that line the mirror. “Back home in Nebraska, lying naked on the dinner table like a cadaver or something freaky like that. Family just eating dinner around me like everything’s hunky-dory. Started talking about me being all…twisted up inside. You know, like, baby-wise.” 

Jake nods. His fingers are beginning to tremble. He needs another bump, but he’s straining through the cold sweats and the dry mouth to listen to you. He cares about you--more than he expected himself to--and he cares about what you have to say about nightmares and dreams. He thinks, even, that he would listen to you talk about paint drying. He just cares. Simple as that. 

He’s trying to be good for you. He hasn’t tried to be good for anyone since Gentry.  

“What else?” He asks. 

In the warm glow of the room, you look very soft right now. In fact, for the first time since he’s met you, Jake thinks that you look young. That’s what you look like--a girl. A lost little girl. But then he blinks and you’re Cherry again, sinking your teeth into your lip and stretching your arms above your head.

He really needs a bump. 

“I guess that’s all,” you answer, sighing. “It’s kinda just given me bad vibes all day. You dig?”

You aren’t sure why you’re telling these fragmented truths. You aren’t sure why you’re telling two halves of the truth to different people, allowing integral parts of the story to stay shrouded in the dark. Rooster knows that you called. Jake knows what your dream was. Maybe if they ever talk about you with each other, maybe if they connect the dots, they’ll understand a part of you that even you don’t understand right now. 

“Here,” Jake says, fishing in the pocket of his jeans as he crosses the room to you. He sinks to his knees, the buttermints container in his hand. “I’ve got something that’ll put a little pep in your step.” 

He strokes your hair and you bite your lip again, eyes trained on the container. 

“I don’t think Rooster digs it when we get high and he doesn’t,” you tell Jake, wringing your hands together. “He kinda gets stuffy, doesn’t he?”

You’re thinking about what Rooster told you last night--how he used blow to stay up and keep staying up. You can’t imagine, really, just how spread thin he was by the end of it all.  

Rooster doesn’t outwardly try to be in a bad mood when you and Jake are high--but you know that he is. You’re hypervigilant to his moods, which is something that happened suddenly and completely one day. Every twitch of his mouth, wrinkle of his nose, nod of his head reads so clearly to you. You know when he’s losing his patience, when he’s holding in a laugh, when he wants to say more but won’t.   

Jake scoffs, cupping your cheek. His palm is clammy on your face. 

“That’s just cause he’s got a stick up his ass about sobriety,” Jake tells you. He pinches your cheek softly. “C’mon, we don’t have to go to his pad. We can go anywhere you want, Cherry-berry. The beach, The Dresden. Shit, we can go to fucking Vegas for all I care!” 

You sit up on your elbows, chewing the inside of your cheek. You want to feel better--you want that more than anything right now. You don’t want to feel bare naked anymore today unless you’re neck deep in the ocean. 

“Vegas? You really are an idiot savant, cowboy,” you tell him, grinning. You nod for him to open the container and he beams at you. 

“I ain’t just a woofin’, honey,” he tells you, making quick work of opening the container. “I’m the real deal.” 

“No phonies here,” you agree. 

He takes a bump first, a long and hard snort. And then, like he always does, he spreads the flowery stuff against your gums. You swallow, letting your eyes fall shut as the familiar feeling numbs your mouth. 

“I’ll never get over how foxy you are,” Jake tells you, shaking his head. 

He means it, too--you sucking on his finger, eyes fallen shut, blue eyeshadow caked on your eyelids--you really do something to him.

“Eat your heart out,” you tell Jake, grinning.   

He kisses you suddenly, quickly. His lips are wet and parted, his tongue pressing itself onto yours as he holds your neck gently. 

“Let’s go to the beach, huh?” You whisper against his mouth. “We can skinny dip in the ocean.” 

“Don’t be a bunny,” Jake tells you, resting his forehead against yours. “We’ve gotta eat before then, huh? Let’s purge on some burgs!”

☿

Rooster watches the sunset outside, hands on his hips and foot tapping impatiently on the concrete, in between incessantly checking his wristwatch. You left early this morning, detangling yourself from him and pressing a thousand kisses to his face before bounding out the door. He knows you must be done shooting by now--but you’re not home. 

It isn’t that he has plans for the two of you or anything. You’re not late for some big dinner, you don’t have a date, he doesn't have Cockwalk 3 for you to watch, he doesn’t necessarily have anything planned for the two of you except to sit in each other’s company. 

And he hates it, really, that it’s upsetting him so much. He expected you home by dusk, if not earlier than that. He expected to order a pizza and have a few drinks--maybe even go out and grab dinner. You’ve been talking about getting your own car now that you’ve gotten a  few paychecks--he thought you could talk about that tonight.  

He hates it that he’s worried about you not having a cardigan with you because even though you tell everyone you’re hotblooded, you get cold. And he knows that your ego is too big to admit it--which is why you always nuzzle yourself into him as the night grows darker, cooler. He hates that he knows that if you’re with Jake, he won’t recognize that you’re cold. He isn’t Rooster--he won’t shrug off his jacket and give it to you and you won’t ask.

He hates that he feels like a father waiting for his daughter to come home. He hates that he feels like someone’s old man left in the dust, worrying himself sick about you being cold or lost or hurt or upset. 

He hates that he was waiting all day for you to come home, replaying your conversation before bed, rubbing the knots out of his spine from your body weight resting on him all night. He’s been smiling today, finally well-rested. He hates that he slept so well last night, hates that he only sleeps that well when you’re in his bed.    

He doesn’t even have it in him to finish his Tom Collins. He leaves it on the tiki bar, ice melting in the highball glass, and doesn’t bother to shoo any of the bugs away when they come to collect its sugary contents. 

Just past midnight, you’re leaning against the passenger door of Jake’s car, damp hair dancing in the wind as Jake drives you home. You’re still in your jumpsuit, though it’s soaked thoroughly with ocean water now. Your shoes are tossed somewhere in the backseat, your makeup is smudged, and there’s sand all over your body--from your bellybutton to your toes to your ears. 

You’re coming down now, having taken more bumps today than you even care to remember. That ecstasy is fading as the morning grows nearer and nearer, as unavoidable as Rooster’s going to be when you get home. 

Jake is still high, taking a bump just before hopping behind the wheel, and he has the radio turned up too loud. Pretty Baby by Blondie is thumping through the speakers and vibrating your tongue. 

You feel like you can’t talk right now. You’re so full. Full of burgers, coke, cum, sand, ocean water. And even if you were clean--if you were freshly bathed and crawling into clean sheets--you would still feel too full. Too much emotion, too much regret, too much sex. You’ve been fucked five times today, all by Jake, and you’re sore all over. 

Cherry Arsan is always game--but right now, you just want to go home and sleep. Maybe that means you’re not Cherry right now. Or maybe you just don’t know her as well as you thought. You’re too tired to decide what is right and what is wrong. 

You don’t even know that you’re asleep until you’re suddenly being lifted from the front seat of Jake’s car and thrown over his shoulder.

“Oh,” you say softly, balling his shirt in your hands. It’s still wet, still sandy. “Didn’t mean to be a buzzkill, cowboy.” 

Jake shakes his head, starting for Rooster’s front door with you still slung over his shoulder. Your jumpsuit is wedged between your cheeks and you don’t have it in you to fix it. You don’t even have it in you to hold your head up--you’re just limp on his body. 

“It’s alright now, honey,” Jake tells you, perky as ever. His high hasn’t faded yet--he isn’t sure if it’s from his orgasm or the coke, but he is far from complaining. “Just chill.”

Rooster’s waiting in the foyer. He heard Jake from all the way down the street, tires screeching and radio booming. He drives too damn fast, especially when he’s high--it irks Rooster. 

 “Honey, we’re home!” Jake sings loudly as he bursts through the front door. 

Jake is surprised when he sees Rooster standing right in front of him. Rooster is still in his collared shirt and slacks, his belt and wristwatch still intact. Usually, by midnight, Rooster would be in his pajamas. And if that isn’t indication enough that something is off with Rooster, his body language is a dead giveaway. His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture is stiff, his eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is set. 

Rooster is, simply put, fucking furious. 

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Rooster hisses, crossing the foyer and pulling you off Hangman’s shoulder and onto your feet. “You can’t carry her like that!” 

Jake just rolls his eyes, bumping you with his elbow. 

“I think dad’s pissed,” he whispers to you, eyeing Rooster. 

Rooster doesn’t smile.

“You alright, kid?” Rooster asks. 

“Groovy, baby,” you tell him. Your voice is quiet--thin. “Just need to get some shut-eye.” 

Then begins his examination of you. He tilts your face from side to side, taking note of the heat in your cheeks and the sand in your hair. He notices the little bite marks scattered along your collarbones and chest and the way your jumpsuit is ruined with saltwater and sand. Your makeup is running off your face, your skin is peak-ed, and your shoulders are slumped. There’s even a dash of white powder on your top lip and he knows exactly what that is. 

Jake is whistling, kicking his shoes off and heading towards the bar to make himself a drink. 

“Did you nab any more Aperol?” Jake asks. “You’ve been out for a hot minute, brother!” 

Rooster chews on his bottom lip.

“You’re not on my good side right now, man,” Rooster tells Jake, his tone still even but deep and serious. “I think you need to just go the fuck to bed.” 

Your ears are ringing. You’re exhausted, wilting where you’re standing. 

Jake just raises his eyebrow at Rooster, still looking through his liquor collection. 

“But, dad! I’m not tired! Please let me stay up until the television signs off!” Jake teases, chuckling.    

Rage is burning hotly in his veins now, which he isn’t all that familiar with. He usually doesn’t let himself get this angry, especially not at Jake. But there’s something about the state you’re in right now that’s changing that. 

“I’m not fucking around,” Rooster tells Jake, hands on his hips. “If you wanna keep partying, fine. But you’re not doing it here.” 

Jake freezes finally, heart racing still. 

He straightens himself, beholds Rooster standing in front of you with his chest puffed out like he’s some sort of hero. 

“Yeah? How come?” Jake asks coolly. 

“I had no idea where you two were tonight,” Rooster says, narrowing his eyes at Jake. “And I was expecting Cherry home by dinnertime, man. I was worried sick.”

Jake blinks at Rooster.

“Baby’s got a bedtime, huh?” He says, glancing at you. “She didn’t tell me that.” 

“I don’t have a fucking bedtime,” you sneer quietly, reaching for the buttons of your jumpsuit, which you fumble with. “Get real.” 

“Listen,” Rooster says, holding a hand up at Jake. “You can tease and fuck with me all you want, but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is hunky-dory, alright? If you wanna fuck around, get high, and fuck on the beach then do that. But don’t drag Cherry into it!” 

Jake scoffs. 

“Yeah, she wasn’t exactly kicking and screaming, man,” Jake tells Rooster. “Don’t know if you know this, but she’s not your fucking orphan, man. She can make her own choices. Which she did--and she chose to fuck around with me tonight. Sorry that pisses you off.” 

Now Jake is pissed, anger burning the tips of his ears. 

Rooster and Jake stare at each other, both of their jaws tight with irritation. You slink out of your jumpsuit and leave it in a wet heap on the tile. You’re almost naked now except for the panties you have on, which are ripped from earlier today. 

“I find it hard to believe that she asked you to get her high,” Rooster says finally. 

When you walk out before him, fully intending to get away from the two men that are arguing over something that’s making your head pound, he suddenly reaches out and halts you with a big hand on your shoulder. 

“Really?” Rooster asks Jake, scoffing. “Had to mark her up, huh? Jesus, man. You can’t be doing that. Not in this line of work.” 

He’s talking about the love brands that cover the back of your throat and the top of your back, little purple bruises.  

 Jake holds his hands on his hips, growing hotter under the collar. 

“Oh, cause you didn’t mark her up nice and good over Valentine’s Day, huh?” Jake asks. Rooster pales a bit, but doesn’t break his gaze from Jake. “She wanted it, man. That’s why I did it!” 

It’s true--you did want to be marked up a bit. You were high when you asked him to do it and he was already taking you from behind up against the hood of his car. In that moment, as he suckled your skin and bruised it, you felt like you belonged to someone. Like actually, thoroughly belonged to someone. 

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m sure you’re all about what Cherry wants, right? And you never do anything because it’s what you want, huh?” Rooster spits. He shakes his head at Jake and scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t fucking jive me, man.” 

“What’s your problem, man?” Jake asks, truly incredulous. “Cherry isn’t yours.” 

Cherry isn’t yours. 

It echoes in the house, knocks against your skull like a brick. It sobers you, opens your eyes, stops the pounding in your ears. 

“Fuck off,” you suddenly sneer, lips twisted. Jake stumbles in place, eyebrows raised. But then you turn to Rooster and narrow your eyes at him, too. “Both of you.” 

They’re both shocked--blinking at you with their mouths agape. How you’ve managed to render them speechless--smaller, younger, and naked--is truly a power that only you possess. 

“Don’t fucking talk about me like I’m not here,” you say, stepping out of Rooster’s grip and looking at the both of them. Their shoulders are starting to wilt. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, alright? I can fuck whoever I want, I can eat whatever I want, I can snort whatever I want. Don’t fucking box me in, man.” 

“I wasn’t trying to box you in,” Rooster says, his voice even again. “I was worried about you.” 

Liquid magma is boiling in your belly. 

“Well, don’t worry about me!” You tell him, hands raised. There’s suddenly water in your eyes now, weighing down your lashes. “It’s pointless.” 

What you mean is: you can go missing and no one will look for you--not even your parents. And they won’t answer the phone, either. 

You turn to Jake, ignore Rooster’s gaze burning the back of your head. 

“Don’t call me a baby,” you tell Jake. He nods. “I’m not a baby--I’m not anyone’s fucking baby.” 

It’s quiet for a moment--the only sound is your heavy breathing. 

“Cherry,” Rooster starts, cheeks pink. “Listen, I’m--!”

“Goodnight,” you sharply interrupt, spinning on your heel and heading towards the bathroom. 

You slam the door shut. Jake and Bradley both startle at the sound, cowering in each other’s gazes. All the anger has suddenly dissipated, vanished. 

“Is it cool if I sleep in the spare?” Jake asks softly, testing the waters. 

Rooster nods. 

“Of course, man.” 

☿

Rooster isn’t sure what to do. 

He’s been waiting outside the bathroom for thirty minutes now. And before that, he was turning off all the lights and throwing your jumpsuit in the dirty laundry and changing into his pajamas. You’ve been in there for a long time--too long, really. 

He has decided that he won’t be able to even lay down if he knows you’re upset with him. He doesn’t even know where it all went wrong, really. He was just worried about you. He just wants you to be okay. And right now, he doesn’t think that you are--not with makeup all over your face and love brands all over your body. He knows he fucked up, which he doesn’t often do. And he knows that he has to make it right. 

Another ten minutes pass and he’s still standing motionless outside the bathroom. And finally, finally, he gets the courage to knock very softly a few times. 

Your response is immediate. 

“Come in.” Your voice is so little, almost lost beneath the crack of the door. 

Rooster’s response is also immediate--at once, he’s turned the handle and come into the bathroom, beholding your wilted form before the counter. You’ve showered and shrugged your robe on. Now, you’re looking at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks tear-stained and your lips swollen. 

“Baby,” Rooster whispers. He freezes when he remembers your words: don’t call me baby. I’m not anyone’s baby. But you don’t move to correct him. And your face doesn’t screw up with disgust. “I’m sorry.” 

You nod, sniffling. There’s still makeup staining your face, despite having tired to scrub it all off in the shower. 

“Me too,” you tell him. “I didn’t want to worry you. Was your night a total bummer?” 

Rooster shakes his head. He wants to reach out and hold you close to him. He wants to kiss your face. But he keeps thinking about what Jake said, what you didn’t dispute: Cherry isn’t yours. 

  “No, baby,” Rooster says quietly. “But I’m glad you’re home.” 

Home. The word feels so layered right now.

“Yeah,” you respond quietly. 

There is almost too much to unpack right now. You have a million things to say to Rooster, all of which make you cry. And Rooster has a million things to say to you, each one achingly close to a confession of some sort. But it’s too late. You’re too tired, he’s too upset, Jake is too close, you’re still coming down. You can talk about all of it when you’re sober, when you haven’t been crying. 

“Here,” Rooster says, catching your gaze in the mirror. He nods to the counter. “Hop up.” 

You do without a word, facing him with your shoulders slouched. 

He slots himself between your legs and takes the washcloth from your hand. He turns on the tap, lets it run warm as you fix your gaze on his bare belly. And then he holds your chin, tilts your face so you’re looking up at him. There’s that little hot coal sitting in both your bellies when you look at each other--all that honesty, all that love, all that respect, all that affection. It’s there, even now, after you told him to fuck off. Even after Jake said you weren’t his. 

Tenderly, very tenderly, he begins to dab at the leftover makeup on your face. The washcloth is so warm that it prickles your spine. And Rooster’s gaze is so endearing, so full of adoration for you, that your bottom lip wobbles. He’s never seen you cry before--but he knows that’s what is going to happen when you start to blink rapidly. 

But he’s good about it. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t call attention to it. Even when fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks, he just dabs at them and continues to wipe your face clean. When you sniffle, when snot begins to drip down your top lip, he doesn’t flinch: he just wipes it clean. 

You two don’t speak for a long time. For a long time, the only sound in the room is him dipping the washcloth in the water, wringing it out, then pressing it to your skin. Little sniffles and wet breaths occasionally echo off the tile, too, but you know it’s something that you can’t stop and Rooster knows it’s nothing he can stop either. So, it just happens. 

“There,” he whispers, setting the washcloth beside you and resting his palms on either side of your thighs. “All clean, baby.” 

You’re still crying. 

“Thanks a million,” you whisper to him. Your chin trembles. “I’m your baby, right?” 

Rooster’s brows knit, but he nods immediately. 

“Of course,” he tells you. “And you know what? I was about an hour away from calling the pigs and getting a search party started, baby. We’re talking every milk carton, every lamppost. Fliers plastered on department stores--the whole nine yards, baby.”

It makes you laugh, a thin and pathetic thing. And then it makes you sob. 

That’s when Rooster finally wraps his arms around you, when you finally let yourself go and cry openly into his bare shoulder. And the scent of his skin, vetiver and cigar smoke, makes something settle in your belly. 

This is home, you realize. This shoulder, this skin, this man, these arms. 

This is home. 

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: posting this here now that Tumblr has let me out of horny jail. I need all of you to know that I absolutely adore you and my time in Tumblr jail would've been miserable if not for all of you people. you're all my little chickens and I love you!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

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