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catboyieejeno · 8 months

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gameboy :: p.js — one

genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more wc: 18.257k

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The red letters that flash across your screen read ‘Defeat’, illuminating your dimly lit room with a shy, red hue. The instant the word appears on your monitor, a voice blasts through your headset, erupting in emphatic complaints and protests. You can hear the clatter of a keyboard and mouse being shoved around on the other end of the receiver, and it takes everything in you to stifle your laugh.

“We definitely could’ve won that!” the boy scoffs, “I swear, sometimes it feels like you and I are the only people with any fucking game sense.”

“Wow, thanks for the validation,” you joke, instinctively queuing up for another match. Your eyes trail up to the little icon in the corner of the screen that glows green every time he speaks.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, and you imagine he must not look all that different from the little crying cat picture he set as his discord icon. The thought makes you snort, but he ignores you, stating, “I think this is my last game,”

You nod even though you know he can’t see you, “same, I have class tomorrow,”

“First day of the semester for you, too?”

You nod again. “Unfortunately. My days of gaming until four and sleeping until noon have come to an end.”

He laughs, leaning forward in his chair as he realizes something, “You know, I never asked what you’re studying,”

“Oh,” you blink, “Well, the first class I have tomorrow is just a random credit I needed, but I’m actually majoring in-”

It takes less than a few seconds for your words to drown out into a muffled buzz, and the only thing Jisung can focus on now is the silky, smooth sound of your voice.

He would never admit it, at least not out loud, but your voice makes his heart beat just a little faster. The way each and every word rolls off your tongue makes his breath hitch, imagination running wild at the thought of what your lips look like when they mold to form each syllable and sound.

Every night like clockwork, Jisung finds himself rocking side to side in his desk chair, eyes hanging low and round lips curved up into a smile as he listens to you speak.

It’s so easy to talk to him, too. By now, you’ve lost count of how many nights the two of you rambled off in voice chats, watching shows or playing video games or simply oversharing the details of your lives. It’s only been a few months since you met in a game chat, on that night where he practically harassed you for your discord after you carried him up a rank in-game. You’re secretly grateful he did, though you wouldn’t let him know that; the two of you effortlessly became part of each other’s daily routine, and now, calls with you are his favorite way to end the night. Tonight is no exception.

Jisung begins to mindlessly swing in his chair as usual. He’s humming passively between your small pauses to encourage you to keep going as his hands automatically start caressing his torso. It’s a somewhat innocent gesture, or at least it starts out that way: his palms sliding across the ridges of his abdomen as he listens to your voice. It’s better than music to his ears, and it urges his long fingers to dance closer and closer to his waistband.

“–and I thought about changing it, but I think with an degree in Lit, I could probably get a career in–”

Lost in your voice, Jisung slips his hands into his shorts, holding his balls as he fully zones out of the conversation. He knows you’re saying words and forming actual sentences, but his social awareness has dwindled completely and he absolutely can’t seem to get past how sweet you sound, and how much sweeter you would sound under… different circumstances. He moves up to hold his dick gently and furrows his brows. Almost accidentally, his thumb brushes along the underside of his tip, teeth clamping the inside of his cheek and gnawing on it to ground himself. Just as eager as its owner, Jisung’s dick jolts in his palm, progressively swelling up until it’s flushing bright pink.

“You’re into English?” He manages to stop daydreaming and hone into the conversation for a fleeting moment, just long enough to ask you that simple question and keep your attention off of his rapidly shifting breath.

He’s blatantly playing with himself now, ever so distractedly. It’s an autonomous act: the way the pad of his middle finger trails over his slit to collect a bit of the pre-cum that has begun to dribble out in pearly beads. He hisses, then quickly snaps his mouth shut in hopes that you hadn’t heard him.

“Yeah,” he can hear your smile in your words, “I think I always have been. I used to read all the time and—I swear, if you say I’m boring, I’ll personally come over and choke you–”

As he acknowledges reality for a quick moment, his pace falters. His brows pinch, and he feels confused as he realizes he can’t stop or even moderate his actions, despite the shame slowly beginning to wash over him. The more you talk, the harder he grows. His grip is getting tighter, his strokes needier… he must be losing his mind. With a gulp, he thinks to himself, what would you do if you could see him touching himself like this to you? Would you think it’s sick and twisted or would you offer to help him out? His head begins to throb as the room spins around him, but he really can’t seem to slow his motions. By now, he’s bucking his hips up and into his hand while the other covers his mouth, silencing the whines that threaten to leave his throat. He’s breathing heavily, praying to god you don’t somehow notice his perverted actions. Despite knowing that he isn’t thinking straight, Jisung can’t help the thoughts that continue to fog his mind, rampant and obscene.

Could you hear the squelching of his hand pumping his cock, covered in his pre-release? Or the way he’s practically panting, reduced to nothing at the mere sound of your voice? He’s not sure whether or not his mic would even pick that up, but even so, the corner of his lips curl into a lazy smile as his mind continues down his twisted rabbit hole.

In spite of not knowing what you look like, there’s no denying that he wants to give you all of him. He wants to feel himself buried deep inside your throat, your pretty voice vibrating around him as you choke on his length. He feels himself twitch in his palm and he subconsciously nods, picturing it's your walls around him instead of his own inadequate hand. Jisung huffs out once, fucking his fist wildly, picturing how much he’d like to feel himself bust inside of your warm, tight pus-

“Sung? Sung!”

“Huh? W-what?” As he yanks his hand from his shorts, the waistband snaps against his skin and he yelps out at the impact, “Sorry! I promise I was listening, it-its just, I got a little caught up with–” words are tumbling out of his mouth, before he can catch up to them.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Hurry, just pick your agent before the match gets–” but the timer runs out, and the lobby screen appears once more as you sigh, “–canceled...”

Jisung glances down at his hand, separating his fingers and watching how the sticky pre-cum leaves webbed strings between each of his parted digits. His stomach is also wet, and the tent in his pants is growing increasingly painful with each passing second.

“What were you fantasizing about, huh?” Oh, fuck. The teasing edge in your words makes his nerves tingle, and he throws his head back as you hum into your mic, “Hmm. Well, I guess it was more interesting than what I was saying. Can’t blame you though, the topic of school is boring me too, and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Also, that can’t count as your last game. I literally won’t allow it.”

You queue up for another game and Jisung sighs, watching the timer on the screen tick away. The picture changes, and the two of you are prompted to start a game. A few kleenex wipes collect the mess on his hand and torso, and he settles back in his chair after tossing them, deciding his neediness will have to wait for now.

Bidding you good night is harder than usual tonight, but he knows you need to get to sleep—you mentioned you had an early class and he had his own, so his selfish urge to keep you talking until he came in his hand would, unfortunately, need to take a raincheck.

After logging off of his computer, Jisung drops his head into his hands with a sigh.

What the fuck even was that?

A mix of shame and arousal take over him as his cheeks begin glowing a deep shade of red. He lets out a small scoff, shaking his head to himself as he gets up from his chair. His dick is still as hard as a rock, and he can’t help but feel flustered at the fact that he has, quite literally, blue-balled himself.

With a towel swung over his shoulder and a clean pair of sleeping shorts clutched in his fist, Jisung walks up to the dorm’s nearest communal bathroom. He turns on the faucet, freeing himself of his clothes. The moment his boxers come down past his thighs, his length slaps against the skin below his navel, making him hiss out as he steps into the shower. The cold water, running down against his heated body, seems to be doing the trick of clearing his mind, that is, until his hands find their way to his stomach, rubbing the soap over it.

It’s so hard to expel the thoughts of you when they’re so intrusive and tempting, and Jisung lets his mind drift off once more, imagining how it would feel to be touched by you, sucked by you. All the soft noises you would make are weirdly familiar; he can practically hear them. His head falls back, lips caught between his teeth as he twitches and gives himself an experimental stroke, shuddering as his thumb glides across the slit of his sensitive tip. He clenches his eyes shut tighter, letting out a shaky sigh and letting the water continue to trickle down his body. He doesn’t know what you look like, other than your hair color which you mentioned the other day. Despite that, he still tries desperately to piece an image of you together behind his eyelids, picturing what your lips are like. And just like that, thoughts of you flood him, and he shudders at the vision of you on your knees, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, begging to taste him and take all of him. He longs to feel you swallow around him—to grab either side of your face and thrust into your needy mouth until the tears slip from your eyes and your pussy is dripping from the need to be fucked.

Getting lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realize how loud he’s becoming and how fast his fist is working his dick. Jisung's highly anticipated release is only seconds away when a loud knock startles him, lunging him right back into his body.

“Yo, man! How long are you gonna take in there?” His friend and next door neighbor, Mark, shouts from the other side of the door, knocking again and ruining Jisung’s fantasy once and for all.

The boy takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow, not trusting his voice to not crack otherwise, “Uh.. Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”

It takes everything in him to slow his hand to a stop and pry it off of his shaft, deciding that perhaps, he shouldn’t entertain his filthy thoughts any longer. He quickly finishes showering with another unnecessary interruption from Mark, then drags himself back to his room and gets into his bed, forcing his eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. The longer he lies there, however, the more restless he grows.

His dick feels sore to the touch and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. Every time he adjusts his shorts or moves his legs, his balls throb from how full they are. Knowing he has class to get to the following day, he tries to convince himself that maybe he needs a release to get to sleep. It’ll tire him out, and then finally, he’ll be able to get some rest…There’s at least a bit of logic to that theory, or that’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Against his better judgment that pleads with him to just shut his eyes and count sheep, Jisung huffs out and slips his hands into his shorts to begin touching himself for the nth time tonight. This whole time, he had been unknowingly edging himself and now he’s so, so undeniably and incredibly desperate to cum that it literally hurts.

His free hand brings his phone up and unlocks it, thumb swiping quickly in search of the discord app where your contact resides, the little green bubble next to it signifying that you’re still online. He hovers over the call button, taunting himself with the idea of making a call to you at this time. One little click, and he’d hear your voice again. Just one click and he-

sung ᨐฅ started a call. Today at 11:54 AM

Shit, shit, shit.

He rushes to hang up, but you’ve answered no more than a ring later.

“Hello?”

Jisung holds his rather unsteady breath, staring wide-eyed at his phone. His dick pulses in his palm that now rests still.

“Sung?”

As gently as possible, he lays the phone down on his puffed up chest, letting out his breath slowly so that you don’t hear him.

“I’m gonna assume you called me by accident… ” you sigh out in disappointment, growing quiet in uncertainty. For a second, Jisung is convinced you’re gonna hang up, but when you stay on the line, he peers down at the screen curiously.

Your icon lights up green and there’s some shuffling on your end, presumably from you getting comfortable in bed.

He hears you yawn and smiles fondly.

“I’m tired,” you mumble, “are you asleep? I was actually excited that you called. Maybe it’s my fucked up schedule… or, maybe I’m just dreading tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know…”

You’re speaking slower and quieter than usual, but you’re speaking, completely oblivious of the fact that he’s thinking of the dirtiest things that involve you, getting off while you think he’s sound asleep.

“It’s always easier to sleep once we’ve talked so,” you pause, then sigh out jokingly, “I guess I'll just talk your unconscious ear off until I fall asleep…You don’t mind, right?”

God, no, he thinks.

Jisung silently celebrates your decision with a pump of his hand, shuffling a bit to get comfortable as you go on about genshin and cats and other things he can barely pay mind to. It takes no more than a few strokes, shallow ones where he caresses the angry head of his dick to the velvety sound of your slurred and drowsy mumbling, for him to bring himself to come so fucking hard.

His knees lock as his cock springs up in his clutched palm, spewing streams of white cum all over his stomach, chest, and thighs. The muscles on his abdomen ache from the way they contract, eyes and jaw shutting tightly as he challenges himself to remain quiet. The sheets aren’t spared from his thick load either, his nut dripping down the sides of his tummy to make dark, round puddles on his bed. His toes curl as he tries his hardest to not gasp out when the pleasure dissolves into sensitivity, digging his head back into the pillow with a hand clasped over his lips.

A few minutes later, the blurriness in his vision is relieved, along with the ringing in his ears. You’ve stopped talking; instead, the receiver picks up your short and shallow breaths, as if you’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open. Cute.

As he assesses the aftermath of his much needed release, he wishes he could snap a picture and send it to you, so that you’d wake up knowing this pathetic mess he made was all for you, because of you.

Alas, he can’t, and he hangs up once he’s completely sure you’re resting. With his eyelids feeling much heavier than before, he manages to toss his phone onto the nightstand before he, too, drifts off to sleep.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The following morning, Jisung wakes up in a bit of a panic. The first thing that throws him for a loop is the fact that his alarm didn’t go off at all. He quickly realizes he forgot to set it amidst the activities of the night before. The second thing that strikes him is his own hand that rests on his stomach, stuck in some kind of damp, sticky liquid. In his half-conscious state, he lifts his fingers and his puffy eyes widen as he identifies the clear fluid that decorates his tummy as his drying release from the night before.

“Ugh…” He grimaces, sitting up in his bed. His phone, which is less than half full of battery since he forgot to plug it in, blinks back the numbers 8:38 at him. Jisung’s eyes widen as he remembers that his first class of the day, of the semester, is at 9.

“Fuck!” In a flash, his blanket is flung off of him and his legs are swinging over the edge of the bed. He moves to grab some tissues from his nightstand, making aggressively desperate attempts at wiping away his cum. When the Kleenex sticks to him instead, he digs around his drawers for a pack of wet wipes, snatching a pair of pants off of the floor at the same time and practically yanking them up his legs.

Despite almost falling over, he manages to get them on and clean off his torso… for the most part. A random sweatshirt is tugged on over his head and he runs his hand through his hair a few times to tidy it before passively telling his reflection, this will do.

Moments later, he’s rushing downstairs and outside of the dormitory with his unzipped backpack hung over his shoulder. He rushes to unlock his bike, cursing as he fumbles with the keys. Once he’s on, he starts pedaling to the Science building on the other side of campus, heavily dreading checking the time in fear it’ll read some absurd number and he’ll wind up being much later than he anticipates.

The breath that’s been caught in his throat all morning is only released when he steps through the door of the lecture room to see that the professor hasn’t walked in yet, and that the clock reads that he’s 6 minutes early.

Finally slowing his rushed pace, Jisung does a quick once over the room to scan the faces of his fellow students before taking his seat somewhere near the back. Thanking the heavens that his notebook and textbook didn’t go tumbling out of his bag in the midst of his previous hurry, he tugs them out, flipping them open and writing the date on the first page. His laptop, which is where he had planned to take notes on, sits in his dorm room where he left it on his desk. Everyone else has theirs out, but he’ll just have to bring his own next time.

There’s a distant click, and the door on the lowest level of the lecture hall opens. Through it walks a relatively tall and slender lady, heels echoing rhythmically as she strides over to set her dark bag down by the podium. Her hair is tied back high and tight, so much so, that all of her features look like they're blending into her hairline. She looks like she’s somewhere in her mid-to-late fifties, and from the instant she walked in, the entire class went silent.

She clearly has a presence that commands attention and undoubtedly, she fits the visual profile of a strict college professor quite well, especially when she picks up the chalk and scribbles her surname onto the green chalkboard beside the larger projector screen.

“I’m Professor Hwang. Welcome to AST1002, also known as Descriptive Astronomy. If you’re here, that means you took AST1001 with Mr. Kwon last year. He has since transferred to a different department.”

There’s no audible response, although some disappointment does flash across the faces of the students in the room, all of whom did have (and seemingly would miss) Mr. Kwon. Professor Hwang doesn’t seem to notice the lack of responses, and continues speaking as she pulls some papers out.

“Firstly, I’ll take attendance. Then, I’ll pass the syllabus around. I would like for you to note,” she pauses to place a pair of red glasses high on the bridge of her nose, “that attendance is mandatory for my class, and worth 20% of your grade. I’ll go over pop quizzes and weekly quizzes, as well as the initial class project, when each of you have a copy of the syllabus. That being said, I look forward to seeing you all here every class. Please call out when you hear your name.”

As she starts to take attendance, Jisung takes the time to sigh into his hands, both exhausted and dreading the fact that he’d have to spend three days out of the week rotting in a lecture hall to attend a class he expected to be fun, or at the very least a break from his much more difficult core classes. By the looks of it, that’s no longer the plan.

It’s easy to zone out quickly while his mind is still foggy, no doubt from the lack of sleep and the subsequent abrupt awakening that followed. He had just begun an attempt to read the syllabus when something made his ears perk.

Immediately, his head snaps up in pursuit of a soft and airy voice that just responded to Professor Hwang. It’s so quick and in passing that he almost thinks he might have imagined it in his delirious state, but the way the hair on his limbs stands on end is unmistakable. His eyes dart around the room, hitting his classmate’s heads like targets, but there’s absolutely no way to identify the individual who just spoke.

Could it be… No. No way.

Jisung is no stranger to daydreaming about you, but he isn’t completely delusional. He knows the chances of being not only in the same city, but the same university and class as you are absolutely slim to none, so he stops that train of thought dead in its tracks.

It does segway him into thinking of you, though. You’re obviously not here, so he wonders instead what class you are in at the moment. He tries to picture what you’re wearing on your first day of class, trusting you look more put together than him in his old hoodie that is slightly sticking to the dry cum on his stomach. Do you like your classmates? Your professor? He sincerely hopes you have a more tolerable one than he does.

“Park Jisung?”

With a slight cough, he spits out a weak “h-here.” and instantly grimaces, raising his shoulders autonomously as if he would get scolded for stammering so pathetically. The professor, to his relief, doesn’t even glance up from the roster. Then, he feels quite silly for even thinking he would get reproached for that to begin with. In his defense, she’s a rather intimidating woman, and his inner monologue is so loud and flooded with thoughts of you that he fears she may have heard it.

She finishes calling for attendance, resorting to striding up and down the aisles as she begins to dissect the syllabus. In an effort to pretend he’s paying attention, Jisung glances down at the size twelve font on the page, skimming over the words without really taking anything in. During one of the professor’s paces, a pen she had resting on her ear slips and falls towards the ground with a slight clatter, and it seems a student picked it up for her, because there’s a slight mumbling, followed by a sharp “thank you,” and a very, very recognizable,

“You’re welcome, Professor.”

His eyes widen at once. Alright, call him crazy, but now he thinks that it really might have been your voice. The familiar timbre, warm and delicate; a sound he’s heard for months on end and knows embarrassingly well… The thought of being in the same room as you out of sheer luck and coincidence makes his abdomen twist and his palms sweat so bad, he has to wipe them on his pants.

He hates that he can’t fully tell, in fact, he’s almost ashamed that he can’t; before today, Jisung would have sworn up and down that he knew your voice better than even his own, but you sound so far and so quiet that he can’t completely bet all of his marbles. Then, he quickly realizes calling it ‘your voice’ definitely makes him sound delusional, even in the safety of his own forgiving conscience. He decides to call it ‘the voice’ for now, at least until he’s a hundred-percent sure.

An irritatingly long hour and half later, the only sound that continues to ring around the lecture hall is Professor Hwang’s monotone one, reciting each and every itemized assignment and rule on the never-ending syllabus. There’s less than fifteen minutes until class is over, and she shows no signs of stopping her dissertation.

“As for the class project: In pairs of two, you will research a constellation extensively to create a presentation on its formation, who cataloged it, and the Greek myth that may accompany it. Please note that this is the first and last time we will talk about constellations in this class, since they are not cosmic phenomenons but instead, a mere roadmap to the objects and themes we will be focusing on. Consider this strictly as an opportunity to familiarize yourselves with another classmate and show me your interest and effort in the subject. That concludes our syllabus,” Thank God, Jisung thinks.

“Any questions?” She glances around at a hand that floats in the air, near the front of the room, “yes?”

“Will we be able to select our partners?”

“No. Partners will be assigned at the end of the week. Yes?” She calls on another hand.

“As for the constellations,” Wait, that’s it! That’s the voice—that’s your voice, he’s completely sure of it! “Will you assign those as well?”

Jisung elongates his neck to try and peek over the heads in his way. It is you, he’s positive now, but you’re turned away from him, and he can’t fully make out which ‘back of the head’ is your ‘back of the head.’ The echo in the hall makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint who just spoke which means he can’t pinpoint you. For some reason, he finds himself slightly panicking, desperate to finally see you in person.

He follows Professor Hwang's line of sight as she answers that she’ll assign the constellations on Friday too, and finally finds you, seated between a few other students. A few more questions are thrown around, but his eyes never leave you, anticipating the moment he catches a glimpse of your face.

Naturally, his first instinct is to approach you as soon as class is out, but when he sees you spin around to pick up your bag that hangs off your chair, he finds himself glued to his own flimsy seat. Feet stuck to the ground, legs not budging, and air hitched in his throat at the sight of you.

You’re so, so much prettier than he could have imagined with whatever unoriginal features he tried to piece together in his lacking mind, and that fact makes him both exhilarated and completely nauseous.

He’s barely been looking at you for a few seconds when he feels his insatiable cock growing fast in the confines of his pants, with no regard for its owner and the fact that he has to stand up within the next minute or so to exit the hall. Jisung curses under his breath, awkwardly rising to his feet when most of his classmates leave, his bag clutched tightly in front of his groin. He prays you don’t glance over, not even because he has a semi-hard on he’s failing to hide with dissimulation, but because he’s staring at you like some sort of freak and can’t seem to look away.

There’s nothing he wants more than to come up to you and say hi and confess he’s the person you’ve been gaming with for months. He’s pictured it countless times before, you’d think he’d have it down by now, but your beauty is intimidating, and he simply cannot and will not make a fool of himself in front of you by greeting you with a raging boner.

You walk out of the classroom and Jisung’s heart settles in his chest as he sits with his decision to stay anonymous for now.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

“She was obnoxious, you have no idea!”

“My teacher wasn’t much different,” he admits, a small, knowing smile toying at his lips, “she seemed like a real bitch,”

It’s later that same evening, and talking to you doesn’t really feel the same anymore. It’s much harder, because now, Jisung can vividly picture you, sitting in your chair with your hands on your keyboard and mouse. Every word you say, his imagination is right thereafter, picturing your pretty face clear as day in the forefront of his mind.

The moment he got home, he fucked his fist until he came in his hand. It took about five minutes, and then he pumped another one out in the shower, (a much needed shower, at that) where he finally washed away the remains of the night before.

After he had lunch with Mark and the other boys from his floor, they had invited him to play basketball. At the same time, however, he received a direct message from you, explaining you didn’t have any other classes for the day and asking if he could get on earlier.

It’s a little ridiculous, but now that he’s seen you, now that he knows you’re so much closer than he initially thought, he can’t wait to talk to you again. And so he quickly came up with an empty excuse related to his studies, took the berating from his friends like a champ, and rushed upstairs to log into his PC and open up your chat.

“Not only do we already have a project, but we don’t even get to pick our partners.”

I know! He thinks.

“Like,” you start, and he pictures the way your cheeks fill up with air as you let out a huff, “what if I get stuck with some weirdo?”

Instantly, Jisung stops palming himself, letting his hand climb back up to the mouse slowly.

He probably shouldn’t let that innocent statement affect him as much as it does, but he can’t help it. He has the advantage, right? Or, at least it seems that way.

When everything is laid out, he has the upperhand of knowing who you are—you haven’t seen him, yet… but what if you did see him, and he wasn’t at all what you were expecting? Or even worse, what if you got paired together for the project and you thought he was weird or the two of you didn’t get along? That option is far less likely, since there are well over fifty students in AST1002.

“I don’t know,” you start, “I’m considering switching out of the class-”

“No!” Wow. Good going, Jisung.

He catches his slip-up and quickly blurts out, “I-I mean, it might not be that bad! You should… at least give it a shot before you try to switch out, right?”

“I guess you’re right… The add and drop period at my school is until next Friday, so I'll try it out until then.”

Great! Perfect! Good save. The only problem now is: Jisung has a little over a week and a half to somehow convince you to stay in his class and at the same time, not completely butcher his introduction to you. Approaching you now seems practically impossible, but he needs you to stay in the class, even if it means he has to come up to you first. He can’t be bothered to care that his insistence is for his own selfish intentions, if it means getting to see you three times a week.

“But anyway,” he clears his throat, changing the topic as quickly as possible, “how did your other class go?”

“Much better than the first, the teacher let us out early once he covered the books we’d be analyzing this semester and attendance isn’t mandatory since most of the material is online or in the library. I think I’ll swing by there one of these days to see if I can get ahead on some of the assignments.”

“Oh, so you’re a nerd?” You gasp and smack his character in-game a few times. He laughs, calling out, “okay, okay, truce! You’re not a nerd then, just an overachiever.”

“How so?”

“We’re barely a day into the semester and you’re already trying your homework that I’m sure isn’t due for at least a few weeks,”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s right. With a bit of playful flirtation twisted into your tone, you hum out, “What can I say? I like to please.”

One of his eyebrows perks up, “is that right?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He can hear your smirk through the screen, and now, he can vividly picture it, too.

Jisung scoffs, backing away from your character so that he’s out of your sight. He cowers into a corner in game; this way, you don’t notice how he stops moving when his left hand leaves the w,a,s,d keys to cup and rub his needy bulge.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Wednesday’s class is somehow packed and entirely uneventful at the same time. The first of Professor Hwang’s dragging lectures is so loaded that Jisung actually thanks the heavens that he remembered to bring his laptop. Otherwise, his notebook would have been about halfway full already, and his hand? It would have fallen off.

On another relevant note, he’s struggling to stay focused because today, he is sitting much closer to you. Intentionally, of course. There’s still a few rows between him and you, but in this new seat, he can glance at you as often as he’d like without straining his eyes or stretching out his neck to make his gawking painfully obvious. He can clearly make out your smooth skin, along with other details he wasn’t able to notice before like your beauty marks and your dainty earrings. You’re paying unfaltering attention to the class for the first hour, but after the sixty-minute mark, you appear to have become bored. He catches the way your pencil starts doodling along the corners of your notebook and it takes everything in him not to snort when you scribble down a wonky looking cat.

He’s so distracted by you, that every couple of slides, he glances back to the projector to see that the class is now on an entirely different topic than the one he last managed to jot down. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re a much more enthralling sight than quasars and supernovas.

Halfway through the lesson, you decide to peel off your little black cardigan and hang it on the back of your chair, exposing your arms and neck and shoulders to him. Your hair is tied up neatly right after, giving him all the more to gawk at and envision. Jisung has to remind himself that he’s in a classroom just so that he doesn’t start fantasizing about how it would feel to grip your hair up in a similar fashion and fill your throat up with his dick.

With great difficulty, he directs his focus to the board instead, typing quickly into his laptop all the notes he manages to catch before the slide changes again and Professor Hwang’s narrow eyes can scan the room to see who’s paying attention.

When the class is over, you start talking with the girl next to you, aimlessly reaching back for your bag. The gesture makes your cardigan fall, and Jisung has to fully bite his tongue to keep himself from calling out your name and giving himself away. He waits to see if you’ll notice, or if someone nearby will alert you, but neither one happens. Instead, you stand up, still engrossed in your conversation, and make your way towards the door. Instantly, he jogs down the aisle and between the seats to grab it and wordlessly hand it to you, but by the time he makes a move to head in your direction, you’ve already left.

He feels disappointed at first, but the feeling quickly shifts into relief. Wordlessly hand it to you? Does he want your first impression of him to be awkward and borderline rude? No and definitely no. This problem has a simple solution—it’s a blessing in disguise; he’ll take your cardigan home and bring it to you on Friday and maybe, if his courage allows, he can introduce himself then.

“Hey! I noticed you left your sweater here last class. I brought it for you. Oh, and by the way, it’s me! I’m @sung.ie. How did I know it was you? I can recognize your voice across a huge lecture hall.”

Yeah… he’ll think more on that later.

With your cardigan clutched in his fist, Jisung sighs, making his way outside and towards his bicycle. He tucks the clothing item into his backpack and pedals back home, wondering how he’s going to manage to give it back to you since you always get to and leave class before him.

He knows some of his friends and dorm-mates have their own class today, they had exchanged schedules during lunch a few days ago, which leaves him to hope and pray you’ve decided to skip your class and get online. As he parks his bicycle downstairs and locks it, he slips his phone from his pocket and opens discord, but your bubble remains gray and cold. You’re offline.

Maybe you haven’t gotten home yet. He checks his phone again when he gets upstairs, and again when he goes inside his dorm, tossing his bag aside and crashing on his bed. He checks after losing a round of candy crush, and again after replying to a text from his mom.

By the looks of it, you were in class, or at the very least, not available for the moment. Jisung sighs, pretending he’s not actually as disappointed as he feels. It seems a bit dramatic to feel the need to kill time until he gets to talk to you again so he resorts to doing physics homework—a short baseline his teacher assigned that wouldn’t be graded—and tricking his brain into thinking the former is not what he’s actually doing.

When he pulls his bag off his desk chair to grab his laptop, your cardigan comes into view, and he pauses to look at it. He sits like this for a moment, wondering if he should fold it nicely on his dresser so he can remember to take it to you, but his hands act before his mind can catch up, reaching in and basically shoving the material toward his face.

With his nose buried in your scent, Jisung inhales deeply, sinking into his chair as his legs grow weaker. The trace of your floral softener is the first aroma he gets, and then, the smell of your perfume peeks through, soft and sweet and very fitting for you. Once more, his treacherous hands are acting for themselves and he’s suddenly undoing his belt single-handedly.

Once his dick, growing by the minute, is out and clutched in his palm, he finally retracts your sweater. With little hesitation, he wraps it around his erection and pumps once, throwing his head back in immediate relief.

It’s a fucking miracle that his room is the last one at the end of the hall, and that his next door neighbors, Renjun and Jaemin, are both in their afternoon lectures, because nothing would have been able to muffle the wanton moan that rips from his chest as he strokes himself with your scent. His hips are bucking up into the air, and in only a few minutes, he’s broken a slight sweat. His balls tighten from sheer sensitivity at the act of fucking something directly related to you.

A cry of your name, followed by a few more pumps and he’s coming inside your mangled cardigan, his white release breaching the thin material. It seeps through it like light through a veil, gathering thickly on top before spreading into a dark, wet patch. There’s a shudder that passes through his bones as he sits back, burying his cock into the fabric and keeping it there until he’s given up every last drop.

The only thing that snaps him from his post-nut bliss, is the distinct discord ring-tone that blasts through his headset. His computer monitor turns on as your icon appears and simultaneously, his heart and dick both twitch.

“Hello?” With his output device swung over his head, he presses the green ‘answer’ button and speaks into the mic, hiding his slight shortness of breath with a yawn.

“I’m so glad you answered,” you beam, and he does too, “I was worried I had called while you were in class or something,”

As he speaks, he wipes the remnants of his cum off with your cardigan and puts it aside on his desk, tucking his softening (and still very sensitive) dick away into his boxers, “No, you’re good. I had a class earlier today but now I’m free.”

“What a relief,” you sigh, “Would you want to have a little homework ‘sesh’ with me? I just found out the library doesn’t have any available labs. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate much with you but at least I'll be in good company.”

“Like an e-date?”

“We can call it that,” you grin, then he pictures your expression becoming a gloom one to match your slightly sadder tone as you admit, “Sometimes I wish we went to the same school so we could meet up and study at a coffee shop.”

He snorts, unable to help but crack a joke, “Like a real date?”

Your laugh makes his heart swell slightly. When you reply, “Maybe,” it starts flipping wildly in his chest.

God, you can’t even begin to imagine how badly he wants that.

“That would be nice,” he agrees humbly, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “What class are you gonna study for?”

There’s a pause before you speak again where you hum in thought, flipping through a few pages and shuffling through your bag. Jisung joins you, grabbing his laptop and school supplies, “I have a project for my astronomy class. It’s related to constellations and I wanna start researching them so that I can make an outline for the assignment,”

He looks through his math notes with his brows furrowed down, “I thought she was gonna assign them on Friday?”

Your icon flickers as you reply, “She is, but I want to—wait. How did you know that?” At your words and the realization of his untimely slip up, Jisung’s body goes rigid. He can only imagine the confusion on your features, and he’s quite relieved you can’t see the look on his. If his eyes were to open any wider, he’s sure they might just slip out of his head.

“Oh, um,” he clears his throat mechanically, then gulps in an effort to lubricate it and keep his voice steady, assertive, certain. “You mentioned it on Monday, remember?”

“Did I?” You didn’t, but he really hopes you think you did. “Probably,” At that, he lets out the air he’s holding, shaking his head slightly at himself for being so careless.

“But um, yeah,” he starts before you can give it any further thought, “If she’s assigning them Friday why are you working on it today?”

“Cause she’s also assigning partners on Friday, and I don’t really know anyone besides the girl who sits next to me and I doubt I’ll get paired with her. I want to make sure my grade is secured, you know? I’ve never liked group projects. I feel like all the work gets dumped on me.”

He’s still not entirely sure what you mean to do, or how you intend to create a blueprint of sorts without knowing what it was for, and so he stops flicking through his page of notes to look up at his monitor and ask, “But if you don’t know which constellation you’re gonna work on, how are you gonna make an outline?”

You ponder his question for a moment, then mumble out, “She didn’t mention a rubric or anything, so I figured that as long as I plan out the different sections and give the project a structure, half of the work is cut out, right? I can just assign parts at that point.”

“You’re that kinda person in a group project? I’m sorry to whoever gets partnered with you,” He’s not sorry, not at all. He’s rather envious, actually, despite his attempts to sound indifferent or amusing. Being granted time to spend with you at your place or his, or at the library or the local campus cafe, would be a no less than perfect ice breaker. Jisung would make sure you never felt like all the research and assembling depended solely on you—in fact, he could see himself now, spending countless hours perfecting the details of his assigned part and inquiring about other suggestions to improve the project, just to impress you or at the very least, satisfy you. The reality that someone else would get to do all of that in his place is disheartening.

You guys had rarely ever talked about school before now, since neither of you actually were enrolled in any classes when you started chatting, but now that it’s relevant, he feels like he understands a whole different side of you. You’re organized, and obviously very studious. Hell, you’ve been itching to get started on assignments that haven’t even been assigned yet. You’re responsible, dependable, funny, beautiful, and every time he thinks of you lately, he realizes that his innocent crush is slowly becoming an insatiable one.

“Hey! I’d be very nice if it was you, you know. Show you some favoritism,” the corners of his lips twitch upwards—“But I’m also glad it’s not you,”—and fall down again.

“What? Why?” He tries to not sound too offended.

“I’d end up talking your ear off, Sung.”

“I’m already used to that, don’t mind it. Kinda like it, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods curtly, even though there’s a monitor and an entire school campus between you and him and he knows you have no way of seeing his gesture. There's a moment of silence that you spend taking a brief breath as a glow tinges your cheeks.

With a stifled laugh, you open your mouth again, “I think it’s just because you like me that you tolerate my rambling,”

“No.” He’s quick to clarify, “I really do like it.” He loves it.

“And me?” your voice is much quieter, almost giving the impression that you’re shy in asking something so decisive and direct. Jisung, emboldened by your vulnerability, and the distance the screen puts between you two, answers with certainty.

“I like you, too.”

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

“The constellation project, as I mentioned during your first class, is a tool for you to acquaint yourself with your classmates. It will be due in 3 weeks, and you can check the syllabus for specifications regarding that. After today, there will be no changing partners or constellations so should you need any changes to be made, you have until class is dismissed. Listen closely as I read out the pairs for the project. I will not repeat myself.”

The sharp tone he’s growing more and more distaste for by the day drowns out as Jisung glances over at you. Today, you’re sporting a bone-colored long sleeve and corduroy pants with half of your hair held back in a shiny clip. You look ravishing. Truthfully, he can’t really tell if you’re wearing makeup or not—although he concludes it doesn’t matter. Your features are soft and pretty nonetheless, and your cheeks have turned rosy from the dropping autumn temperatures.

“Yu Karina will be partnered with Lee Heesung. Your constellation is Cassiopeia.”

When you walked into the lecture hall this morning, there was a hot coffee cup with the campus cafe’s logo on it clutched in your hands, which you sipped on while shivering. Taking your usual seat, you greeted the girl next to you, who Jisung now knew was called Yu Karina.

The dark haired girl perked up when Professor Hwang called her name and waved down the aisle at who he can only assume is Lee Heesung, her partner, then whispered something to you. You looked over at the boy and back at Karina, nodding and giggling with her.

“Jennifer Huh, partnered with Ning Yizhuo,” Professor Hwang referenced her other list, “Constellation: Cancer.”

The two girls greet each other with a look and a smile, but Jisung pays little mind. He’s listening intently—for the first time—in anticipation of hearing one of your names be called. He doesn’t exactly know your full name, only a nickname he refers to you as, the one attached to your discord handle. Otherwise, pinpointing you that first day of class would’ve been much easier.

“Park Jay and Lee Sohee, your constellation is Orion.”

Sitting there, he realizes that in all the months you’ve talked, he’s never once asked for your full first name. Is that strange? What kind of friend is he if he doesn’t even know your name? In all fairness, you never asked for his, either, so he supposes it’s okay. Would have been useful to know, though, at times like this.

After his small confession of ‘like’ on Wednesday, the two of you went on studying your respective subjects, with the occasional (and inevitable) distraction here and there. Admittedly, he thought his comment would be forgotten rather quickly. It wasn’t like he outwardly poured his heart out to you, so he figured you’d move on and just crack a joke or two about it later. There was a change, though; a strikingly obvious one to Jisung, who hangs on your every word like it’s a tether that keeps him from floating. And, even if he didn’t pay such close attention to you, there’s no way he could have missed the new flirtatious ambiance that flourished afterwards. Flirting with you is not uncommon by any means—the two of you playfully tease each other with frequency, but it’s nothing he’d allow himself to look into too much, for his own sake.

That changed in the hours following his comments. All of Wednesday evening, the two of you went back and forth, feeding each other compliments in the form of banter. Again, he thought it would end there, but on Thursday afternoon when you logged on, he asked how your progress was going with the outline, to which you texted back, “I was thinking of you all day. Didn’t get around to doing much else.”

It wasn’t the only message from you that nurtured his feelings, either. There were enough substantially flirty messages from your conversation that night, that he was able to scroll through them and reread them a few times before bed.

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 6:49PM

hi did you smile when you saw my name pop up on your phone just now

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 8:22 PM

you’re so cute

i can barely think

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 9:14 PM

i feel like my day doesn’t make sense if we don’t talk

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 10:58 PM

i should get to sleep

but i don’t wanna stop texting you

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 12:02 AM

goodnight, sung <3 miss you til’ you’re back

Now, as he eyes you with a boyish, lovesick gaze, watching you doodle your stupid little drawings as you await your assignment, he finds himself praying for the courage to come up to you after class.

Professor Hwang calls your name next, something he only realizes at the fitting similarity of your nickname and the way your pen meets the table in alert to being called on, head lifting up and eyes blinking expectantly.

“Your partner will be,”

Jisung holds his breath, chanting in his head ‘please, oh, please let it be me,’

“Lee Chan.”

Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere, then. He ignores the way his heart sinks into the pits of his stomach, unable to help but observe your curious gaze as it looks around the filled seats. For a fleeting moment, you meet his eyes, but he doesn’t react or claim to be Lee Chan who you so evidently are in search of, and so you pass him and keep studying the aisles. After a few seconds, you find no one gazing back, even after you slightly stand to peer above the nearby heads that obscure your view.

“Your constellation is-”

With a cautious raise of your hand, you interrupt Professor Hwang gently, “Excuse me, Professor, but I don’t think my partner is here.”

For a moment, her lazer-like gaze looks like it could light you on fire, a consequence of daring to interrupt her, but it softens only slightly as she realizes the truth in your statement, scanning the room herself and calling out for the missing boy. Upon receiving no call back, she thinks for a moment, then looks back down at her clipboard and crosses something out.

“I did mention attendance was mandatory, didn’t I?” This she mutters to herself, “No matter. Instead, you’ll work with,” she gives the paper another once over, then clicks her pen and speaks, “Park Jisung.”

In an awkward burst of both excitement and confusion, Jisung darts out of his chair. His knee hits his desk with a clang, and his laptop would have gone flying if it wasn’t for his quick hands that catch it before it can fall. The loud ruckus turns several heads in his direction, including Professor Hwang’s and more importantly, yours.

Feeling an awful lot like a deer caught in headlights, Jisung blinks as the two of you make eye-contact, then he takes his seat again, very quickly by the way. “Uh, that’s me,” he announces, heat spreading across his face and eyes darting around, “Sorry.”

Does he feel more sorry to his teacher and classmates for disrupting the classroom, or to himself and you for the absolute fool he has just made of himself? As much as he’d like to tear his gaze away from yours and cast it to the ground in embarrassment, it remains stuck on you, awaiting your impending reaction.

You’re rather unsure how to feel, though given, a little surprised at the commotion. You offer him a small smile through pursed lips, and Jisung nods, willing with all his might for a hole to open in the ground beneath him and swallow him.

“Thank you, Mr. Park, for your remarkably clear confirmation. Your constellation is Gemini.”

You turn in your chair to face the front again, scribbling down his name in the corner of your notebook, as well as the constellation you’d been assigned.

“He’s cute,” Karina comments to you as you look over at her, and you finally let out a small laugh you had been holding in.

“He is. Clumsy,” you snort, “but cute.”

“We both got cute partners. We should meet up at the library later and all get started on the project together,”

You nod enthusiastically, going back to your outline that sits at the ready on your laptop screen and making quick work of labeling the different sections evenly. If it wasn’t so obvious for you to spin around and steal a glance, you might have done so again. You’re certainly tempted to, thinking back to seconds ago and realizing you hadn’t really noticed him the last two classes.

Jisung watches your exchange with his dignity at serious risk. He’s entirely unable to hear or make out what you’re saying to each other, and it makes his pulse pick up and his mind race. He considers many things as he watches the two of you talk: firstly, asking to change his partner, but then realizing that would be an awful idea. Once you knew who he was, how would you ever forgive him for immediately ditching you? Absolutely not. Cowering had gotten him nowhere so far.

Then, he considers switching out of the class himself, and disappearing, never to reveal himself to you—but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Incapable of checking out of your life so quickly and denying himself the treat that is seeing you three times a week (and now, possibly more), he cans that idea, too.

As Professor Hwang finishes reading off the list of names, he begins planning what he’ll actually say to you, as that conversation is just minutes away. There’s less than a half-hour left of class, which means he has to think hard and fast.

As he busies himself with the grueling task of picking an appropriate and redeeming introduction, he doesn’t hear the new instructions from Professor Hwang, which are to find your partner and begin brainstorming, as well as exchanging schedules to set aside time outside of class to work on the presentation. A shadow falls over his desk and consumes his work space in darkness. When his curiously squinted eyes trail up to find the source, only to land on you, hovering above him with your things clutched in your arms, he grips his seat to keep from jumping out of it for the second time today.

“Is this seat taken?”

So much for having time to figure out how to approach you. His heart does a leap of surprise in his chest in place of his physical body, and he resists the urge to clutch it.

“No.” He replies shortly.

With your unfaltering, kind smile still present on your face, you laugh softly and place your things down, introducing yourself.

“You’re Ji-sun, right?”

“—Sung.” he politely corrects you. When you don’t immediately react, he wonders if you had even heard him. He doesn’t put it past himself to have imagined that he replied to you, between his sweating palms and nervous jittering, and your pretty self sitting just a foot away, he’s barely keeping it together. After a moment that feels infinitely longer than it actually is, you raise your eyebrows slightly, round lips parted to ask your question with a palpable hesitance.

“W-what?”

“Jisung,” he quickly replies, pronouncing the ‘g’ clearly and masking the way his eyes widen with a heavy blink that honestly, may not serve as any better of a guise. He pleads with himself to get his shit together but luckily, you don’t seem to notice.

“Oh, sorry… Sorry, It’s just—nevermind. Hi, Jisung.”

“Hi, Y/N.” He savors the way your name feels on his tongue but keeps his enjoyment brief.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you start, lifting the screen of your laptop to reveal the very same outline you had started working on during your last call with him, “but I already made an outline. If you wanna scrap it and start all over, we can—”

“No, It’s fine, we can use this,” when you give him an unsure look, he smiles reassuringly, “It looks brilliant.”

“Thank you.” There’s a pause that is filled only by you clearing your throat, “Ok, I have a literature class right after this one on Mondays and Wednesdays. The rest of my classes are online, so I’m free at any time, really. I usually like to study at the computer labs in the library, it’s nice and private there and I find it much easier to focus. But if you don’t want to go there, we could always go to the cafe or the square for some fresh air. Oh, and either one of our dorm rooms works fine if you’re okay-”

To experience your presence on a phone call is one thing, but to experience it in real life, with your clear voice so arresting and your silky, smooth lips within reach, is absolutely mesmerizing. He’s fighting the urge to glance down at your mouth, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to sustain eye contact, as lovely as he decides your eyes are. Another thing that is becoming exponentially harder, and more sensitive all the same, is his cock, springing to life with an eagerness to greet you.

There’s a bit of panic that flashes across his features as he senses the strain it’s causing in his pants, and only when you look down at your outline does he dare to sneak a glance down at his own groin where as expected, a noticeable imprint was beginning to develop. In a desperate gesture, he slides his notebook over his lap, suppressing a hiss, and leans forward to pretend to use his own laptop.

“Any of those work for me,”

“Okay, great,” You notice the time and turn back to him. “You can just message me when you’re free.”

“Sure.”

“And here’s my number—” you reach over, sliding the protective notebook from his lap and placing it on your desk, scribbling your number in the corner. Jisung immediately readjusts his hoodie, throwing the hem of it over his boner. Professor Hwang dismisses the class as you pass it back.

“Call me whenever you’re free.” With a spin of your heel, you wave goodbye to him and rejoin Karina, who waits for you at the door with her partner.

Jisung lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and looks down at the number you wrote. Beside the digits, written in very neat handwriting, might he add, sat perched on a wobbly branch a little black cat that he recognized from his hours of staring as one of your doodles.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The time is 4:33PM, and Jisung has drafted over a dozen messages on the iMessage app addressed to your number. None of them have exactly made it to you yet, courtesy of his thumb that keeps pressing backspace and wiping out any trace of a remotely embarrassing text. It’s the next day and no introduction or invitation to meet up seems like it’s good enough to send, though he knows that inevitably, he has to text you first. You left your number behind with the doodle that he has since stuck to the corner of his PC monitor, but you never took down his; so now, the ball is in Jisung’s court, and he knows that if he waits too long, you’d think he was avoiding you or the project altogether.

Realistically, he knows a simple “Hi, it’s Jisung,” will suffice, but he can’t bring himself to send you such an unoriginal and boring message. After pondering for a moment, he then decides the best solution would be to do some research, and then call you with his findings—this way, his interest in the project would be clear, and he knows how important that is to you.

At once, he peels your cum-stained cardigan off of his lap, though not before stealing a glance at the day’s new additions, and places it aside. He tucks his spent dick into his short and turns on his monitor, typing the name of the constellation into Google and investigating nearly every website he could find with any useful information.

In the nicest handwriting he can manage, Jisung bullets a list of all the facts and history he could find on ‘Gemini’ within the hour, including the stars that make up the constellation, the myth behind it, and other relevant statistics. It isn’t until he has filled up an entire page front and back—partially—that he picks up his phone again and makes another attempt at contacting you.

Feeling slightly more confident, he types up his message.

To: 555-111-0205

hi, it’s jisung from astronomy. i did some research and i wanted to show you what i found. let me

know if you’re free to exchange notes. Sent at 5:52 PM.

Jisung rereads over his message for any flaws, though there’s nothing he can do about it now that it’s sent, anyway. After he deems it an okay first message, he takes a breath and moves to put his phone down, but it buzzes in his hand instead.

Incoming call at 5:54 PM From: 555-111-0205

“Hi-”

“Hi! Sorry to just call unannounced but I’m walking to the library with all my stuff and I can’t really text. I was able to book us a computer lab for the next two hours so If you want, we—can you hear me?”

He sits up straighter, “Yeah! Yes, I can hear you,”

“Oh, good, so—wait, hello?” Your voice shifts in volume and proximity, as if you pulled your phone from your ear to check the call screen, then brought it back, “Oh, sorry. I-I thought I had accidentally called someone else… nevermind.” Instantly, Jisung realizes instantly that you must have recognized his voice. It makes sense, seeing as you’re used to hearing it specifically on calls. You seem to show no further suspicion as you continue speaking, though, but perhaps, he should keep talking on the phone with you to a minimum.

“Do you think you can make it? Otherwise I can go work on my own. I saw your text and instantly booked the room. Sorry for not checking in with you first,”

“I’ll meet you there,” He replies quickly, grimacing at the instinctual effort it takes to try and make his voice deeper.

“Okay! Great. I’ll see you there, then.” You hang up, and then your text message comes through with the lab room information just minutes later.

Jisung all but lunges out of his chair and rushes to face himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection. Besides his hair that looks slightly disheveled, he looks alright. He doesn’t want to make you wait long for him, so he quickly grabs his laptop and his notes, shoves them all into his bag, and flies out of his dorm room with the laces of his sneakers left untied.

In the brightly, yellow-lit hallway, Mark and Chenle are popping out of their respective rooms, a basketball clutched under the younger boy’s arm.

“We were just about to come grab you,” Chenle starts, “Let’s play some ball. Jeno’s meeting us at the court,”

“Can’t,” Jisung shakes his head, “I’m going to the library,” he tries to not get offended at the way the two boys snort loudly in disbelief, looking at each other as if they’ve both had the same thought.

“Yeah, right.” Chenle scoffs.

With a blink, Jisung replies meekly, “I’m serious.”

“Since when do you go to the library?” Mark brows pinch and he adds, “It’s the start of term. You’re already studying?”

“Since now, I guess. I have a project for a class so I’m gonna go meet up with my partner at the library, but I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Alright, alright. Oh—remember there’s a party next week at Jaehyun’s frat for syllabus week.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” His answer doesn’t seem to fully convince Mark, Chenle, or even himself, but they seem satisfied enough, because they let Jisung go without any more pestering. He flies down the flight of stairs and out the front door of the dormitory.

The cold September air is biting at this time in the evening, feeling particularly cool on the apples of his cheek, which glow from the light layer of sweat that develops during his jog over to the library. It’s a considerable distance away, which is part of the reason why he, in his two years of being a student at the university, has never seriously stepped foot inside of it. Studying in his room is much more convenient, but you seem to like the library, so the twenty-minute-walk there, or in this case, fifteen-minute-jog, will simply have to be adopted as a new way to get in some brief exercise a few times a week.

More than likely, you have already arrived, and Jisung doesn’t want to make you wait too long for him, especially since there’s a two-hour time limit on the room and he intends to spend as much time with you there as he can. He wipes his cheeks with his gray sleeves and climbs up the stairs of the building quickly, swiping his student card at the door and stepping inside.

The ceiling is massively tall, seemingly taller than when he once saw it during freshman orientation, and the endless rows of shelves are filled with books, ranging from thin, colorful novels to thick, leather-bound classics. It’s quieter than he expects it to be, even for a library, and he clearly can hear the pitter patter of his feet as he follows the sign labeled ‘Study Rooms and Computer Labs.’

The guy at the reception desk in this section seems to be a volunteer, his student ID and name tag shining on his shirt. He glances up from his book when Jisung approaches, nodding once. There’s an awkward silence that feels rather loud as Jisung fumbles with his phone, flipping it between his clammy hands as he searches for your message.

“Computer Lab 4C?”

Wordlessly, the boy nods again, then slides over a clip-board with a sign-in sheet clamped to it.

It’s surprising to see how many lab spots are filled up so early into the term, names scribbled along the lines and time-slots. Your name stands out, partly because of your familiar handwriting, but particularly because of the empty line beside it, where he signs in before handing the clip-board back.

“Down the hall, second door on your right.”

It’s Jisung’s turn to bob his head once and the boy looks back down at his book. He makes his way down the hall until he reaches the correctly labeled door. His hand reaches for the handle, but he withdraws it. Should he knock? Or maybe send you a text? Or both?

To: 555-111-0205

hey again. i’m outside :) Sent at 6:18 PM.

The door creaks open from the taps of his knuckles bumping against it, and he peeks his head in timidly, finding you sitting in one of the desk chairs, nearly hidden behind your laptop and a stack of books. You look up over the screen, eyes squinting in a smile.

“Oh, I had left the door open for you,” you stand up, holding out a cup for him, “and I got you coffee… didn’t know how you liked it so I just got you the same thing I order,”

There’s a fluttering in his stomach as he sets his bag down. There’s no chance he can manage to meet your eyes after such a gesture so he casts them to the ground instead, graciously reaching out to receive with both hands the drink you offer him, “You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, “but thank you. I’m sure your order is great,”

“I wanted to! It’s just—I mean, I did drag you out of your room in the cold and on really short notice—A hot coffee was the least I could do,” you shrug, “One of my friends works at the cafe and I was there doing some work for my literature class before I got your message and I figured I’d grab us both something before I headed over here… Sorry, I’m talking too much. Here, sit down.”

He’s not exactly sure what to say, so he takes his seat beside you in silence, but not without a small smile decorating his face. The notes he had taken down to show you are retrieved from his bag, as well as his laptop. There’s a low screech of your chair dragging across the floor, and he turns to find you’ve scooted closer and you're leaning forward with your cheek resting on your palm, eyes intently looking at his research.

“It isn’t much. I’m sure whatever you found is much more substantial, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.” Jisung explains, sliding the paper over to you. As your eyes scan the page, you make a few comments along the lines of ‘Oh, this is a good point,’ or ‘We should mention this.’

You seem to be very carefully reading his work. Meanwhile, he takes advantage of your preoccupation to let his eyes rake over your person.

The first thing he notices is that you’re wearing a different cardigan, and he suddenly remembers your black one is still on his desk, unwashed and covered in his cum. Your hair looks soft, and when you mindlessly swing it over your shoulder, he catches a whiff of your lavender scented hair wash, and it makes him gnaw the inside of his cheek. You’re not quite close enough for him to catch the perfume you’ve decided to wear tonight, though he can vividly picture the gentle florals that linger still on your cardigan. His eyes trail down, and it’s only then that he notices your skirt—or blatantly, the length of your skirt. Your smooth thighs are exposed, full and fleshy and pressed together, and he suddenly wishes they were wrapped around his head.

“Jisung? You okay?”

“I–Yeah, sorry.” It’s clear that you’ve noticed his staring, and he all but rips his eyes away in embarrassment, “I was just wondering if you were cold,” He gestures down at your legs shyly, pretending the content he’d written on the paper was more interesting the sight of your plush thighs.

For a moment he expects some harsh comment or outburst, but you laugh instead, smoothing the material down a bit, “No, not in here, at least. And the walk over was short, so,” His lips are pursed and his cheeks are burning, but you spare him from any further humiliation when you reach across him to turn the page over and quietly gasp, muttering some surprise under your breath at how extensive his work is. “This is really good. We can use pretty much all of it.”

Failing to hide his beaming at your praise, he snaps his head over to you, “You think so?”

“Yeah, I mean—,” The screen of your laptop changes over to a page of notes, “I pretty much wrote down all the same things. I’m actually so relieved, I was worried I might get paired up with someone who wasn’t gonna contribute.”

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t switch out of the class now, huh?”

Distracted in the notes and in the taste of his coffee, he misses your quick, confused glance his way. Smoothly recovering before he notices, you slowly nod and present to him the layout where you had already taken the liberty to assign him his designated parts. Not that he expected anything else; it’s endearing to see his name labeled over specific sections, color-coded in a blue, bolded font. He wastes no time in pulling up the screen of his computer, exchanging emails with you so the two of you can get to work on the shared document.

The time passes quicker than he hopes, and he realizes just how much he likes spending time with you. Talking with you online is one thing, but sitting beside you as you sip your drink and hum mindlessly, fingers typing away or flipping pages in a book? Completely different game. He’s sure that if it wasn’t because he relieved himself earlier today, he might have popped a boner from the simple act of being in your presence.

Every once in a while, you make an occasional comment regarding a point or two you thought was worth mentioning or adding, and he’d oblige, making a note of it and sharing his thoughts here and there. Occasionally, he manages to steal a look at your thighs, which he swears you’re bouncing and squeezing together on purpose, but for the most part he keeps his focus on the task at hand.

Towards the end of the night, there’s a moment where your hands brush his as you point something out on his screen, and Jisung swears he’s never felt more like a teenage boy in his life. He practically flinches at the contact, failing to mask his awkward reaction and pretending he really meant to fix his hair.

Bidding you farewell is possibly the most difficult of the tasks this evening, even more so than pretending he isn’t completely infatuated with and aroused by you for a whole two hours. When you stand from your seat and walk with him out of the study room, and subsequently, out of the library and into the cold, Jisung faces another of his many dilemmas related to you. He’s not sure if he should offer to walk you back to your dorm, or at the very least halfway there. Perhaps, offering you his jacket would be appropriate, since your skirt wasn’t doing much of a job at keeping you warm.

“You live close by?”

“Yeah! Just a 5 minute walk,” you point your index finger, “In that dorm right over there.”

Jisung nods once, then decides to indulge his impulses. “Here,” he slides his hoodie off with a little less coordination than he would’ve liked, holding it out for you to take, “so you aren’t cold.”

He can’t tell if your cheeks are red from the temperature again or from his gesture, but he hopes it’s the latter. The moment you take his sweater, pretty eyes wide in thanks, he sucks in a breath. It’s much chillier now that the sun is gone, and he fights the urge to chatter his teeth when he offers you a lopsided smile.

“T-thank you,” you tie the sleeves around your waist, covering your lap.

“I’ll see you in class?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, flashing him a final grin before you spin on your heel to head home.

The twenty-minute-walk-fifteen-minute-jog back to his room feels eternal. All of his hair is standing on end, but picking up his pace too much means that the icy wind, which has so graciously decided to blow in his direction, would just become harsher. His palms soak up the little warmth on his stomach, tucked under his t-shirt, as he alternates between speed-walking and jogging. The minutes drag on and on until finally, his building comes into view and he breaks into a run.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The following morning when he walks into his astronomy class, he follows his usual routine of checking for you in your seat and is almost distraught when he finds it to be empty. It’s not like you to miss a class, and he contemplates reaching for his phone to check-in on you. It isn't until he pans his vision over to his own chair that he spots you. You’re accompanied by Karina and her partner, Heesung, taking up the empty seats beside his own.

On your desk sit two coffee cups like the ones from last night, and he pulls his lip between his teeth to hide the grin that fights to break out.

You look up when you spot him, and Karina and Heesung look up, too.

“Hi…”

“Hi! Jisung, right?” Karina extends her hand out and he takes it, nodding to confirm, “I’m Karina and this is Heesung.” He mumbles another small hello to the boy, who acknowledges him before looking back at his computer.

“Good morning,” you greet as he sits, placing his cup on his desk. “You never told me whether you liked it or not, but I figured you’d grow to like it eventually.”

“I-thanks but,”

“I know: Didn’t have to, but I wanted to. So just say thanks, yeah?”

There’s a familiar burning on his cheeks that always seems to make an appearance when you’re around, but he doesn’t bother masking it this time.

“I wanted to ask you if you would be free to study tonight?”

Instantly, he bobs his head up and down, and you book the study room on your computer just moments before Professor Hwang strides inside the classroom, her glasses on the tip of her sharp, pointed nose.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The frat house where the seniors stay is practically next door to Jisung’s dormitory, which is why when Mark, Chenle, and Jeno come banging on his door on Saturday night, he realizes he can’t use walking so far in the cold as an excuse to stay home. He also can’t use studying as an excuse anymore, since Mark had already caught him leaving the dorm a few times throughout the week to go study with you. That, and he ran into Jeno as he was entering the library just the night before.

“You’ve been studying plenty,” they’d say, or “We told you about the party last week, no way you’re not going.”

Anyway—the point is, he’ll have to endure tonight, despite his wishes to stay close to his PC for the chance that you’d want to hop into a game. He’d prefer to spend the night talking with you, but that’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. With a somber look on his face, he shrugs on a jacket and opens the door for his friends, who practically drag him outside.

Jeno slings his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders as if to prevent him from fleeing, and the four of them climb down the stairs and onto the path toward the frat. If Jisung strains his ears, he can already pick up on the sounds of the party, even from here.

“You think Chaewon will be there?” Mark asks no one in particular, but the boys all respond simultaneously with groans of distaste.

“You dated her three semesters ago, why do you care?” Chenle starts, “isn’t she seeing Jungwoo now, anyway?”

“That’s exactly why I care,” Mark grumbles, foot kicking a rock along the pavement. “He’s one of the RAs. If he’s there—”

“He’s always there,” Chenle interjects, earning a glare.

“—then she’ll be there, too.”

“So, what happened with… what’s her name, Minjeong? Why don’t you hang out with her?”

“Nah,” He turns to Jeno, “She’s sweet and all, but I found out from Giselle that her and Chaewon are friends, so,”

There’s a chorus of understanding, albeit a bit pitiful, “aah’s” and “oh’s” as the building comes into view. A few people are gathered at and around the entrance while others litter the parking lot with phones and solo cups in their hands as they wait for friends. Among them, and Jisung has to do a double take to make sure, he spots Karina, who waves someone down from the direction of the main courtyard. For a moment, he thinks it might be you who appears from between the treeline, but it’s Heesung who jogs over to meet her and he realizes how silly his thought was in the first place.

In the months he’s known you, you’ve never once brought up a party. In retrospect, you don’t seem like the type to like partying at all. He can picture you clearly now, tearing through textbooks or novels for your literature class, or maybe even typing away to him on Discord and asking if he was online.

He isn’t and can’t be tonight, and he’s very sorry about that, for the record.

Maneuvering through the crowd of tipsy college students isn’t too difficult,and neither is their entry. The door is propped open, and Jaehyun, with his signature snapback that he wears backwards on his dark hair, calls them over from the drink bar.

“First problem I see here,” he starts, “is that none of you have a cup in your hand.”

“We’ve barely made it through the door, man,” Mark laughs, clapping up Jaehyun and moving aside so he can greet the rest of the guys.

“That’s no excuse, you should be sipping on something by now.” He waves his arm, “Take a look around, boys! This is what life is gonna look like for you guys next year—and the year after for you, Jisung.”

Jisung gives a curt, disinterested nod amidst being handed some fruity, fizzy, white claw resemblant that probably wouldn’t taste much different from an Alka-Seltzer. He cracks it open upon being prompted to by Jaehyun, who initiates a “cheers” between the friend group. The moment the alcohol touches his tongue, Jisung grimaces, taking a few long chugs in hopes that the effect will kick in quicker and make the long night that awaits him a little less long.

“Do you know if Chaewon is here?”

Wordlessly, Jaehyun fixes his cap and points a single finger toward the couch, where Chaewon sits besides Jungwoo, leaning in to hear him over the music and giggling at whatever he says in her ear. The boys look over at the couple, then quickly glance back at Mark, whose face falls despite the fact that he knew to expect this.

“Tough,” Jeno gives him a pat on the shoulder, “Hope you have better luck the rest of the night. I’ve gotta bounce,”

“Yo, what do you mean bounce?”

He gestures toward a girl standing near the beer pong table, who looks slightly familiar to Jisung, though he can’t quite put his finger on it, and smirks, “She smiled at me the moment we walked in. I’ll see you later, but I honestly hope I don’t.”

The realization that his friends, in search of their hook-ups for the night, would eventually be abandoning him one-by-one kicks in just then, inviting Jisung to down the rest of his bubbly drink in one go.

Mark rolls his eyes, “You ever notice Jeno is always the first one to get a girl?” His comment earns a few hums of agreement.

“I’m gonna go find Jaemin,” with his phone clutched in his hand, Chenle turns towards the door, “he just texted me he’s outside with Sullyoon and her friend.”

“Wait, Jaemin is—he’s setting you up and not me?” Chenle only shrugs at Mark’s question, replying with a blunt and concise “yeah.”

“I’m not a dog like Jeno though, so I’ll definitely see you guys later.”

As if noticing he was facing the same unfortunate fate as Jisung, Mark turns to the youngest boy with a fearful look in his eyes. Jisung only shakes his head and takes a quick look around, “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone here, so…” At this, the boy sighs in relief, handing Jisung another drink in solidarity. The two lean against the counter as Jaehyun looks between them, snorting.

“Mark, there’s so many girls here.”

“I know, but—”

“But Chaewon.”

Mark nods, echoing Jaehyun in a quiet, maybe even embarrassed voice, “But Chaewon…”

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he adds sympathetically, “I’m caught up on my ex, too.”

“Uh…” there’s a pause. “Which one?” This comment lands Mark a shove, playful, for the most part. He rubs his shoulder and hisses while Jaehyun, on the other hand, sloshes around the little liquid left in his cup and grabs the closest bottle of alcohol to him, along with whichever random mixer he finds first.

“The only one that really mattered.” He tilts his newly filled red cup back to drink from it, but his eyes peek over the rim and he pulls it from his lips to sigh out, “Speak of the devil and she doth come,” he raises his brows and announces, “there she is now.”

Following his line of sight, Jisung trails his vision toward the front entrance and at once, the sight makes each and every one of his limbs seize up. There’s a twisting and turning in his stomach that almost invites the seltzer he chugged to make a reappearance, and he’s pretty sure the color has drained from his face as he watches you walk inside the frat house behind Karina and Heesung.

So many things go through his mind in such a short amount of time that he fears he may have had some sort of out-of-body experience or hallucination episode; it wasn't really you he was seeing, it couldn’t be. The way your skirt clings to your hips makes him grip his cup tighter within his sweating palm, and the lacy, corset top you’ve decided to wear, which shows off a tasteful bit of cleavage, causes him to swallow down the saliva that had pooled on his tongue.

It was a more provocative outfit than he’d even seen you wear, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, he’s sure he would’ve instantly become bricked up.

“And of course she’s wearing that shirt…” Jaehyun fixes his cap for the second time tonight and straightens out his shirt, “Alright, wish me luck.”

It’s not like Jisung would have interjected anyway, he didn’t really have the grounds to, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought before Jaehyun headed in your direction with decisive confidence. Part of him hopes he was referring to someone else as his ex, perhaps even Karina, since there isn’t another girl in your immediate vicinity besides her, but his bit of hope is crushed as he spots Heesung’s hand intertwined in hers. Surely, Jaehyun wouldn’t be coming up to her if she showed up with someone to his party. It leaves him to reach his regretful conclusion just as his friend and you make eye contact, recognition flashing across your features, along with something else.

Unable to torture himself further by watching your exchange, Jisung tears his eyes away and grabs another drink to make this very, very long night ahead of him somewhat bearable. He turns to Mark, who he didn’t even realize had been talking this whole time, but the loud music and the cloudiness in his mind muffle out his speech.

“—I mean this just sucks! I guess we still have each other, maybe we can find some girls who—”

When did you even date Jaehyun? You hadn’t mentioned him once in the months he had known you. And also, why did you date Jaehyun? Not that there was anything wrong with him, other than his habit of cycling through girls every semester. Mark’s “Which one?” comment had some truth to it, but he would have never expected you to have been on Jaehyun’s roster. It takes him a second to remember that Jaehyun is still his friend, but even then, he can’t fight the bitterness that settles in his bones. What did he mean when he said that you were the only one that mattered? How significant was your relationship with him? There’s too many questions circling his mind, and it isn’t until he downs the fifth drink that they start to blur.

Currently, he’s passing the time conversing with Mark and following him around the party, but more importantly, avoiding you in fear he’ll steal a glance and you’ll be locking lips with your ex. He spots Jaehyun by the bathroom a bit into the night, but thankfully, you aren’t near him. It’s in the middle of a beer pong game with Mark when he dares to glance around in search of you.

First, he spots Karina and Heesung, making out on the couch where Chaewon and Jungwoo once sat. You aren’t near them. Then he spots Jaemin and Chenle dancing with the girls they had met up with, but you aren’t dancing, either.

He’s relieved to find you aren’t with Jaehyun when he spots him, finding instead that his friend is flirting it up with a different girl who is certainly not you. The sight completely pisses him off, and somehow makes him feel immense relief simultaneously. Right around this time, he decides he’s had more than enough of the party. You aren’t here anymore, and Jaehyun’s face is making him fucking sick. Mark is slurring his speech enough that he wouldn’t notice if Jisung just slipped, so he does just that, though he does make sure to mention to Chenle that he’s leaving on his way out so he can keep an eye on Mark.

Outside, the cold is unbearable. The previously crowded lot is empty for the most part, except for a few people puffing clouds of smoke into the air by a bench. Not even the alcohol in his system is enough to warm him up, so he can’t even imagine how a joint could be worth sitting outside for.

The only other person sitting outside is squatted down by the curb with their knees curled up to their chest. As the autumn leaves crack under Jisung’s feet, they turn their head around.

“I told you I don’t wanna—Jisung?”

Your big eyes widen in his direction, and you shoot up from the ground. Jisung’s brow lowers in concern and he notices the only thing you have to cover up is a flimsy cardigan. You and your damn, flimsy cardigans.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Sorry for snapping I—sorry,” you shiver involuntarily as a gust of wind blows through, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I thought you were someone else.”

There isn't a sliver of hesitation before Jisung shrugs off his leather jacket and begins to wrap it around you, grumbling, “Are you crazy? You must be freezing,”

“I’m fine—“

“This should help,”

“But- Jisung, how many of your jackets am I gonna take—”

“As many as you need to.” Your lack of a response makes him look back up to meet your eyes, round and much warmer than the rest of you was right now. He clears his throat, guiding your sleeves into the arms of the jacket as he jokes, “or until you bring your own.”

You smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as the warmth engulfs you, along with the smell of him and some cheap cologne only a college student would buy. He’s tugging the collar closer to cover up your exposed neck and chest, eyes flickering down at your bare skin despite being well aware that you’re looking. Where this newfound boldness came from tonight, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that his boldness is always rather short-lived when it comes to you, and tends to appear and disappear like random spurts of energy—he’ll take advantage of it this once. Especially now that he knows you’re Jaehyun’s ex and the most he might even get to do is gawk at you, he intends to make it worth it.

“You must be freezing now, though,” you start, “should we go somewhere warm?”

“How about the library?”

You laugh, looking at him in disbelief, “The library isn’t open at this time, much less on the weekend,” “Right…”

“Wanna go to mine?” Your suggestion makes his breath hitch for a second, but he manages to respond with decent clarity.

“You live by the library, though. That’s like a half-hour walk. I don’t think you’ll make it that far without turning into an icicle,”

“Well, I don’t really wanna go back inside…” he knows why, so he offers something else.

“My dorm is five minutes away. We could go there if you want, b-but if you’d rather go somewhere else—”

“Okay,” you nod eagerly, “let’s go.”

As Jisung leads the way, speed-walking to beat the chill that spreads through his newly uncovered limbs, he turns his face to you, watching as you tuck the lower half of your face into his coat.

“I don’t know if you want to work on the project or—”

“God no,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I’m not that much of a buzzkill, dude.” You jog a little to catch up to his longer strides, “Besides, I have like three shots of Pink Whitney in me,”

“Foul.”

“I know. Can’t think about a project right now,”

“I’ve had a bit to drink, too.” he admits.

“I can tell. You’re stumbling.”

He snaps his head around, down to his feet, then back to you. “What? Am I?”

There’s a small, stupid smile on your face as you shake your head. “No.”

He can’t pinpoint why this banter with you is so easy, why it feels so right. Or perhaps, he can, but regardless, his heart leaps in his chest as he scoffs, not fighting the shit-eating grin that spreads on his frosted cheeks.

"It’s that building right over there,” he points.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was close,”

The two of you climb the stairs and he opens the main door for you, watching you sigh out in bliss as you step into the warmth of the hall. You bounce around in a cute way that once more tugs at his heart-strings, still looking all puffed up and adorable in his jacket that entirely engulfs your frame. He leads you up another flight of stairs and onto the floor his room is at, and once the two of you stop in front of his door, he pats his jean pockets.

“Oh my uh- my keys are in the pocket of the jacket.”

You mimic his recent action, patting around until you find his keys, holding them out for him to take.

Somewhat awkwardly, he fumbles with them until he manages to fit it into the lock, opening the door with one hand. He gestures for you to enter his room with a small shrug, “Make yourself at home.”

As you step inside, Jisung makes it a point to quietly thank whatever higher power compelled him to make his bed this afternoon. The rest of his room wasn’t perfectly organized by any means, but at the very least, his bed, which you now sat at the foot of with your legs bouncing, was neatly made.

“You have your own room?” You mutter in surprise as you look around the small space and notice the lack of a second bed. The tall boy beside you just shrugs again, toeing off his shoes in the corner as he pulls the door closed.

“Yeah, uh… I’m one of the RAs for the sophomore class.”

“Wow,” you sigh, “I wish! I mean, I love sharing a room with Karina, but it’s nice to have space for myself sometimes.”

“That’s why you’re always at the library?”

You nod, sliding your palms across his duvet, “It’s nice and quiet,” your fingers move to grip and release the material, and he blinks harshly to erase the sight of that from his mind before it causes him to spiral. It didn’t prove to be very useful, though, because your still-exposed thighs move and press together, just as they did at the library, and his dick gives a little twitch in response.

“I’ll get you some clothes to change into, that way you’re more comfortable.” he decides, more for his sake than yours. You don’t answer, continuing to look around, taking in the details of his computer that flashes in a bunch of different colors.

“You know I gave up extra storage in my bedside table to be able to keep my PC? I let Karina take it to her side of the room so I’d have space for my setup.”

Rummaging through his drawers, he pipes up, “you game?” as if it wasn’t something he already knew about you.

“I love it. I stayed here for most of the summer just because I had my computer here.”

Jisung picks out a pair of sweats for you and one for himself, along with a t-shirt he knows he recently washed, then he turns, handing it over to you. “I’ll change in the bathroom down the hall and then wait outside. You can crack the door open when you’re done,”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

There’s a gentle sincerity in your tone that makes him wanna say “anything for you,” but he settles for pursing his lips instead, leaving to let you change before he can embarrass himself with any baseless comment you wouldn’t really get. The effect of the drinks still hadn’t completely faded, and he fears he’s capable of saying just about any of his stupid thoughts out loud right about now.

You weren’t completely sober either, not by any means. The trashy vodka your ex offered you in an attempt to reconcile was as bitter as the end of your relationship with him, and it was flowing through your veins and giving you that light-headed buzz. You stand up and slip off your boots and Jisung’s jacket, along with your skirt. Your top requires a bit more precision, the lace getting twisted and tangled in your uncoordinated fingers. There’s little huffs and puffs of frustration that leave your lips during your struggle, and you’d almost consider asking for help if it wasn’t completely inappropriate.

Finally, though, you manage to get it off and slip on the change of clothes Jisung has so graciously provided. They’re warm and they smell good, and they’re much more comfortable than your outfit which is now folded on Jisung’s gaming chair, alongside your purse.

When you look up in admiration of his impressive keyboard, which looks to be custom made, and your eyes trail up to his monitor, you notice something on the corner of the screen. The mindless doodle you had drawn beside your phone number that day in class had been very carefully cut out and stuck onto his screen with tape.

“You okay?”

His voice calls from outside, quietly as if not to disturb you even though it’s you who is occupying his room.

“Yeah, I’m almost done!”

“I thought that she was gonna assign them on Friday?”

Sung had asked you that on call, in regards to the constellation project you mentioned you wanted to start working on. Not Jisung, Sung. Sung, who is not in your astronomy class and would have had no way of knowing when or even what your professor would be assigning.

“You’re Ji-sun, right?”

“—Sung.”

The nickname sounded very right coming from his lips, from his voice. You never gave his nickname too much thought, because truly, Sung could just be a display name. And if it is his real name, it could stand for anything: Sungmin, Sungwoo, Daesung, Ilsung, Jaesung… Jisung.

And then, you recall the time you spoke on the phone—specifically, the time you had to do a double take at your screen to make sure you hadn’t actually called Sung. It was the first time you had spoken to Jisung on the phone, and it’s the only way you had even spoken to Sung… something about it seemed so, so strangely familiar.

Could it be…

“Alright, I’m done!” Your announcement comes after the realization that he’s been waiting outside for a few minutes already.

“Coming in…” He warns, eyes still cast to the ground in case you weren’t decent. They slowly make their way up, and something flashes across his features at the sight of you. You try to ignore it, still preoccupied by your growing suspicions. His computer is on… meaning…

“Let me let Karina know I left… I kinda just walked out on her.”

Jisung nods and takes a cautious seat on his bed a few feet away from you.

As you open the discord app on your phone, you scroll to the top to find his contact and type out a simple Hi, clicking send with your heart beating faster than usual. It’s an impulsive act, but you can’t help yourself. If there’s even a chance…

Instantly, his screen lights up and through his headphones you hear the familiar chime of the notification coming in.

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”

If it’s possible, Jisung’s face grows even paler than it already was naturally, and even more gloom than it appeared earlier in the night when he identified you as Jaehyun’s ex. All of his features are alert and in shock, watching as you spin around to face him.

“Sung? Right? That’s you?”

He’s struggling to read your expression, and it’s beyond obvious. The only change in his demeanor is the now tensed up shoulders and the redness that takes over the white on his cheeks.

“I—” Are you mad? Should he apologize?

“Did you know all this time? That it was me, I mean?”

He nods slowly, unable to find the appropriate words to say.

Two things happen just then. First, your hand smacks his arm, hard. “You fucking idiot!” and Second, you topple into his arms, hugging him. Initially, his hands hesitate to wrap around you, hovering above your waist as you squeeze his neck.

“You’re not mad?” He asks shyly. You shake your head against him, then lift off with your hands on his shoulders to take a real good look at his face.

“No! I’m so glad, I thought I was going crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs again, a gesture he seems to do a lot around you.

“Since when did you know it was me?”

“Since I heard you speak on the very first day in class. I recognized your voice.”

Your eyes soften at this small confession, and you look back towards his desk, “So, this is where you were this whole time while we played? This close? A twenty-minute walk away?” You shoot up from the bed and cross the small distance to the desk, swiping an index finger along the surface, then his mouse, then his keyboard, and all of his other equipment. Your eyes are beaming, looking around and familiarizing yourself with his things. All the things you wondered about him are now laid out in front of you, and it’s exhilarating.

“I was so excited when I found out,”

“You should’ve told me,” you repeat, still taking in his pictures and personal items, your profound curiosity surfacing within you.

“I was worried about making a good first impression, you’re…”

“I’m…?” you press, turning to him for a moment.

“You’re really pretty in person.”

In that moment when you turn away to hide your blush, with the words “you’re really cute in person, too” ready to spill from your tongue in a sweet and shy whisper, a small black pile on the corner of his dresser catches your eye.

“What’s that—”

“Oh nothing! It’s just—”

“Is that my cardigan?”

Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…

“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—”

As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut.

“Are these—” His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—”

“Jisung.”

“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”

“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?”

“I-”

“Were you?” You ask sternly.

He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips.

There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable:

“Show me.”

*. * ·

taglist: @heartlvrrss @albedoloser @zp00ks @simpforarmihn @toroufriteh @quokkatss @jising-jisang-jisung @camstqr @tangerinehyuck @ma-riiii @minlvrpage @hancafe

there are some users that couldn't be tagged, as tumblr did not recognize their accounts. sorry :((

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hoshikarasu · 8 months

Text

YOU STILL HAVE IT? — JJK MEN X M!READER

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀featuring : choso , nanami kento , higuruma hiromi , & getou suguru .

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀synopsis : you discover that your boyfriend is still holding onto something you gave them a long while ago ! — WC: 1.7k

❛ ⠀♡ . ˑ⠀notes : male reader. fluff. established relationship. "darling" & "love" as a nickname. not proofread.

✧ ⠀ › ⠀ CHOSO

Without a doubt, he keeps everything related to you two and your relationship in a special box. Anything you’ve ever given to him or something you two have gotten while out on a date is kept safe in this box.

Expect to see things from old letters to polaroid pictures to even movie or concert tickets. Just about anything and everything really.

He likes to preserve all these things as if he’s captured the moments and memories. Every single thing saved carries the weight of your shared love and affection for each other, and that’s something that he won’t risk losing.

This also applies with digital things such as any selfies and pictures you’ve sent him. He saves them all and has a folder dedicated to those pictures that’s named “my boyfriend ♡”.

Both you and Choso are searching through his room for a movie disc—one that Itadori swears up and down he left behind there the last time he visited. As you crouch down in hopes you’ll find this movie case and call an end to this search, your eyes land on a box that’s innocently sitting underneath the bed.

You can’t recall ever seeing this box here before. Then again, it’s not as if you’re actively rummaging around under your boyfriend’s bed.

This must be where Itadori’s movie is then. That’s the conclusion you come up with as you slide the box out. But before you can question Itadori’s choice in keeping a movie disc in such a large box, your thoughts come to a halt as you open it.

“Oh,” Blinking a couple times, the items within the box don’t change. Rather than being the movie disc you thought you finally found, there’s stacks of letters, dried flowers, some tickets, and more instead.

It wasn’t until your eyes landed on the movie tickets on the very top and noticed the movie title and the date were the exact same as the movie date you went with Choso just last weekend.

That’s when it hits you that you recognize all these items.

“You kept all this?”

Your voice guides Choso’s attention away from the drawers he was searching through. His steps are quiet as he moves over to your side, peering at what you’re looking at.

His eyes widened a slight bit once he realized what you’ve found before he crouched beside you. “Of course,” There’s a hint of a smile that reached his face as his gaze lingered on the items, “Why would I not keep all this? They hold such fond memories that I would like to keep.”

The response tugged at your heart that you can’t help but coo softly, reaching out to kiss him.

“That’s really cute.”

Neither one of you have any complaints about putting a pause on searching for Itadori’s movie in favor of going through old memories and reminiscing on those times.

✧ ⠀ › ⠀ NANAMI KENTO

All the flowers and bouquets that you give him randomly are the ones that he preserves. Of course, it’s difficult to keep flowers after they start wilting, so he goes through the process of pressing them as a way to keep them.

He cherishes each of them with all his heart. It makes him smile whenever you surprise him with them, so he likes to maintain them and they tend to last for a long time.

Depending on the flowers, he may dry them to preserve their shape and display them instead of pressing them. Either way, he will have them around as if leaving tokens of your love all over his place.

Anywhere he steps in his place and sees those dried or pressed flowers is a strong reminder of your love for him.

You’re helping him clean around the house to lessen the weight from his shoulders (even though he insists that you don’t have to, you always do since you love seeing the tension leave his body whenever he has less this stress over).

As you’re wiping down some tables, you can’t help but get distracted by the sight of some pressed flowers and petals framed. These weren’t here the last time you came over.

You stepped closer to these frames, leaning in to admire the sight of them.

“Hey Kento, where did you get these?” You ask him, voice full of curiosity. You never pictured Kento as the type of man to decorate his space with pressed flowers, but you can’t deny that they do look rather pretty.

Even if the ones you were admiring were only lined up in a row, waiting for a proper place to be set up.

You hear Kento make his way over to you. A partially questioning look on his face given your lack of specifics on what you were referring to.

Though it soon fades away once he notices the pressed flowers that you’re near. “Oh, those are from bouquets and flowers you’ve given me.”

It was a simple answer. A simple answer that had you stare up at Kento in awe.

“Huh? Like all of them?”

“Yes, all of them.”

Feeling surprised is an understatement. You never expected him to do anything with the flowers you’ve given him. Your gaze shifted back to the pressed flowers, admiring them a bit longer, and you turned back to look at him with a smile.

“Can you teach me how to do that? I want to save some of the flowers you get me too!”

“Of course, darling.”

✧ ⠀ › ⠀ HIGURUMA HIROMI

You have the habit of leaving him sticky notes with either motivational messages or silly doodles for him to find or take as he goes to work. It’s something for him to look at and be reminded that he has you cheering him on to get through the day.

It absolutely does get him through the day. There was no way he would be able to part with them once the sticky notes lost their adhesive. Especially not when he’s staring at the ones in his hands that have your handwriting mentioning how you love him.

The older notes are kept somewhere safe in a box at the bottom of a drawer. All the newer ones are those that he sets up onto his computer and desk, in places that he can easily see while he’s working.

“Hiromi, you forgot your lunch.” The sound of your voice pulls him away from the documents that Hiromi was going through. It wasn’t that often that you came to visit him at his workplace, but of all the times you did, it was mostly for the same reason. Him forgetting his lunch.

It made him grateful to have someone as caring as you, who always looked out for his well-being and made sure that he didn’t skip out on any meals.

His eyes traveled slightly down to look at the bento in your hands. He can see another one of your sticky notes right on top of it, especially as you soon hold it out to him.

Any traces of exhaustion seemed to wash away at the mere sight of you and that note.

With a soft thanks, he sets the bento down to his desk, away from his important papers, as you walk around the desk to be closer to him. You’re leaning close to press a kiss to his temple when you spot a small pile of sticky notes at the side of his desk from the corner of your eye..

At first, you thought these were some notes he made, but you soon recognize your own handwriting and doodles. Except these aren’t any of the recent ones you’ve done for him.

No, they looked older.

“I didn’t know you still had those old notes.” You commented after you finally gave Hiromi a quick kiss at his temple.

His head tilted in the direction that you’re staring at. “Ah,” He reached out for the pile, “Well, I couldn’t just get rid of them. I like looking back on them.” Hiromi admitted before he went to rest his head against your side.

He can’t help but gravitate to his lovely boyfriend with such ease. “Especially on long days.”

“That’s sweet,” You tell him with a smile growing on your face. “I’ll be sure to write you a lot more notes then.”

“I appreciate that, love.”

✧ ⠀ › ⠀ GETOU SUGURU

It’s pictures of you that he tends to keep. Anything from picture booths to polaroids to random pictures you printed out and handed to him.

He keeps them all and carries at least one picture in his wallet. Whenever he’s out with his daughters and going to pay, the employee behind the counter gets a glimpse of whatever picture he has in his wallet.

The picture is constantly being swapped around. Sometimes it’s just of you, other times it’s a picture that has the both of you in it, and there's some that have you both and his daughters there.

Nanako and Mimiko sent you both out to check out this new cafe that opened up to see if it was worth stopping by. It was a cute place; one that you’re certain that they will enjoy.

Right now, you’re in line with Suguru to order some drinks and pastries (to take back for the girls, of course). Idle conversations are made as you both move up to the front with Suguru stepping in to take care of ordering.

When he takes out his wallet to pull out his card, your eyes happen to flicker over. In there you spot a polaroid tucked safely inside of the two of you.

It’s one of the more sillier pictures that exist of you both. You remember how long it took to convince Suguru to strike the most ridiculous pose with you, and you remember the minor complaints he had afterwards once the polaroids developed.

Your copy of the polaroid is kept safe with the rest of the other polaroids of you two, but you never had any idea of what Suguru did with his.

“You still have that photo?” You asked, voice full of amusement as the memories of that night came flooding back. “I thought you said you didn’t like it because of how silly you looked.”

One end of his mouth twitched partially upwards at your words. “Hm, I did,” Suguru hummed softly while he pulled out the polaroid. “But my boyfriend looks very adorable in it, so I can look past that.”

The way that he shoots you a small grin manages to bring some color to your cheeks.

And it doesn’t help that he carries on as normal, paying for the order, and the employee also comments what a cute picture that polaroid was. His simple response of, “I know,” was more than enough to make your cheeks flush even more.

#— ✦ ˙ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 .ᐟ #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jjk choso x reader #choso x reader #choso x male reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami x reader #nanami kento x male reader #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x male reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk geto x male reader #jjk geto x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi x male reader #jjk higuruma x reader

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lunarnightt · 1 month

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𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⎯ Carl Grimes

WARNINGS! ⎯ there are none! Just pure fluff! SUMMARY ⎯ Your father, Daryl Dixon, always treated your mother like a queen before she died; now you want someone to do the same, and who better than your best friend, Carl Grimes. A/N ⎯ This is based on the song 'Like My Father' by Jax. I also want to thank everyone who LOVED my Carl Grimes x Gothic reader so much! I love you all!

For as long as you could remember; your father treated your mother like a goddess, like a queen.

Whatever she wanted, she got. whatever she asked for, she got. There were never any ifs or buts about it. Your dad worshipped the ground she walked and treasured her like any man should do a woman.

As you got older, you watched your father do everything he could for your mother. He would constantly have dinner dates with her, and take her on romantic walks in the middle of the night when they thought you were asleep. This never changed when your mom got cancer and started doing chemo.

Your father shaved his own head with her so she wouldn't be alone, held her hand during every treatment, and watched her throw up blood until her last dying breath.

Your mother died before the world went to shit so there you were, sitting at the query watching other kids play with their moms and dads, silently resenting them for having both. Your mother was dead and your dad was cold and couldn't care what you did anymore because he was still grieving the loss of his wife.

That was when that changed; a little boy walked up to you and practically forced you to play with him. You would learn that his name was Carl and he too lost his dad but of course, we all know how that went.

Eventually, you and Carl became best friends; going and growing through hell together. You both survived through so much and yet you helped him look on the brighter side of life.

Over time, as you two grew older, the two of you slowly fell in love with one another but never said a thing because one- you're either running from the dead, and two- neither one of you thought you liked each other back.

But one thing was for certain; you wanted a man who loves you like you're father loved your mom.

It was like any other day for you and Carl. You both sat in your bedroom reading comic books, the soft sound of Johnny Cash playing in the background filling your ears.

You looked over at the Grimes boy, looking over the handsome features you've grown to love over the last few years; to his long shaggy hair, his beat-up cowboy hat, and his missing eye something he was very insecure of but you thought was badass.

Before he could catch your gaze though, you looked down and the record stopped playing which made the both of you groan. "Great. Now one of us has to get up and flip it over." You whined, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the record player in your room.

Carl sighed and pushed himself off the ground, walking over to the record playing and taking the record off. "What are you doing?" You asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Carl smiled and turned to you. "Putting on Abba. I thought Dancing Queen was your favorite and you want to listen to it?" He spoke and he wasn't entirely wrong.

"I do but I thought you wanted to listen to Johnny Cash?" You spoke softly and Carl just rolled his eye and turned to face you. "Does it matter what I want?" He spoke before turning to face the record player and placing the needle on the record, the song Dancing Queen filling the room as he made his way and sat back down next to you.

That day you knew that Carl was the type you wanted, the type you knew would love you like your father did to your mom.

So, you contemplated forever, debating on telling him how you felt but when you did; you wrote him a nice simple letter and left it on the inside of his hat. It took him a while but he finally found it, looking at it with confusion while the words "read me cowboy" jumped out at him in all capital letters.

He knew it was from you because only you called him cowboy and only you would do something like leaving a letter on the inside of his hat.

So, he read it as instructed and he became over the moon because not only did you tell him how you felt but you actually liked him back.

Carl rushed out of the house to look for you, going to all the places he knew you would be. He went to Rosita, to Maggie and Glenn's place because you loved playing with Herschal Jr before finally finding you training with Jesus.

"Looks like you're boyfriend is here" Jesus joked which made you roll your eyes and flip him off as you made your way over to Carl. "Hey cowboy" You spoke with a teasing smirk but your smirk was wiped clean off your face when he held up the letter.

"Are you telling the truth?" He asked, needing reassurance like he always did when he was unsure of something. You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. "Yes. Why would I lie to you of all people?" You asked and before you could say anything else, his lips were pressed against yours.

As the two of you kissed, your hand moved to the back of his neck while his hands moved to your waist. After a minute, the two of you pulled apart and he pressed his forehead against yours.

"You don't know how long I wanted to do that" He whispered against your lips and you giggled, moving to play with the soft locks of his hair. "It's about damn time, cowboy" You spoke back and he immediately pressed his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Ever since then, he truly loved you like your father did your mom and maybe even more than he ever did.

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #carl grimes story #carl grimes imagines #chandler riggs x reader #chandler riggs imagines #chandler riggs #the walking dead #the walking dead imagines #carl grimes x dixon reader

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neonovember · 1 year

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dating carmen

a carmen berzatto headcanon for all of us feening for season 2

i must admit I was bored at the start of bear and than the next few minutes I was immediately hooked! carmen is such a unique character with so many layers I’d love to uncover as the seasons progress, but for now these are all coming from the depths of my mind :)

I’ve consumed about all the bear content tumblr has to offer so it’s only right I add to the shallow pool, even though this was pure self indulgence

carmy x reader inserts below!

we all know that Carmen has little to no experience with relationship, so the beginning of yours does not come without challenges. It’s hard for him, he barely registers his own emotions much anyone else’s, but in a way he has this subconscious itch in his mind to constantly know if your okay, to ask about your day, it becomes second nature with you.

Carmen refuses to call you by your actual name, often replacing it with honey, baby girl, sweetheart and with the way that accent glides over those words like honey you can’t bring yourself to protest

Carmen has never really thought of having kids, building a family or being tied to someone forever but sometimes, when he sees you fluttering around the apartment you both share, or giggling with richie's daughter he can’t help but imagine building something like that with you, some time. he doesn't doubt that if he did every have children, you would be the mother of his kids. he has visions of it, dreams where you have a gorgeous girl he would hold close or a mini mickey running around, he has to forget it though, he’s just not ready.

Carmen barely ever eats, despite being a chef, most of the things he consumes is easily accessible and in turn flavourless and unsatisfying. but after you come into his life, you practically force him to eat every time you see him, until carmen begins to eat whenever you're near. You can’t lie, it heals something in you

let’s also talk about the totally canon time where you were up late writing one night and carmen had just come back from the beef, tiptoeing through the corridor to not wake you up until he sees you sprawled out on the couch. there’s this tension that leaves his soldiers and he wastes no time taking his shoes off and sliding under the blankets, burying his tired body into yours, grease stained shirt and all but you don’t mind. you’d scratch and brush back his hair and he’d groan in bliss, closing his eyes before you would ask him that fateful question. carmen feels guilty every time he replies with the same 2 letter word, but every time you tell him that it’s part of being his. he couldn’t lie when he felt his jeans tighten at that sentence.

continuing onto that vision, despite your amateur cooking skills, you whip up something quick for Carmen that is actual sustenance and Carmen has to force his eyes open to watch you as you cook, completely and forever enraptured by you. and this man is crazy with his eye contact so imagine it with someone he loves. it’s inSANE

feeding carmen when he’s back from the beef and is too tired to lift a hand. he’s just murmuring ‘I love yous’ repeatedly between bites and you can’t help but giggle. he’s so delirious from lack of sleep all he can form are words that have been written into his tongue like muscle memory

as we see carmen, dealing with his anxiety and unresolved trauma is often terrorised by night terror and ptsd, and that kind of causes him to have this fear of you finding out somehow, whether that be by staying over or him falling asleep next to you, it all comes to a head one night when exactly that happens, and when carmen realise you haven’t stared at him in judgement or left with the door wide open it’s like everything changes. he’s finally found someone that accepts him fully, with all his jagged ends and sharp corners and he is gone at that moment. he is totally and completely head over heels in love with you.

after that revelation you are spending most nights over at his apartment, and whilst the nightmares are still there, as they might always be, there is a relief when he wakes up and feels the beat of your body rubbing circles gently across his back

the progression of your relationship with carmen happens a bit like falling asleep, slow at first and then all at once. it doesn’t take long for Carmen to confess his love to you, in that awkward yet charming way of his, and it takes even shorter after that for you to move in with him

speaking of, carmen probably fell in love with you the second he saw you, that glow that shone in a place that wasn’t the beefs kitchen, he just couldn’t quite actualise or express his feelings

he’s probably hear Tina or Ebra teasing you about a guy they had seen you with, which was no one but your cousin, and carmen would feel this burn across his chest that sinks his stomach, and then we would just know. you would be noticing the change in his demeanour at the mention of a guy connected to you, he’ll the whole kitchen did, especially when Tina would give you a look when he chastised everyone to ‘get back to work because this place isn’t gonna run itself’

I heard someone post about washing carmen’s hair and just- yes. he’s too exhausted to even eat so washing carmen’s hair would be a frequent thing. you’d always have to do it at night though because carmen would sneak a hand around your waist and hoist you up and then proceed to fuck you against the tile walls. You couldn’t be late, he couldn’t be late. For the 100th time.

carmen is touch starved, and that makes him so incredibly needy, you don’t mind however, because you're as touch starved as him. there are times where he comes home and just reaches for you, mumbling incoherent words before just grabbing your hips and making you straddle him on the living room coach. he’s so sensitive and blissed out then, even the slightest thrust of your closed core against his tight jeans leaves him whimpering

oh yeah carmen whimpers, I mean are you kidding? Look at that man

carmen, despite not having many relationships under his belt, is ridiculously, I mean concerningly good at eating your pussy. this man will spend hours, edging you, nibbling on your inner thighs, licking and sucking before thirsting a finger and tongue into you with no warning. he knows every single inch of your body, he’s got it memorised, he dreams about it in the office, on his smoke breaks, in the kitchen, hell especially in the kitchen. getting hard all over again when he remembers the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and how you fell apart with his name on yours.

you think carmen is needy during sex? he’s a whole other thing after, this man will keep his cock buried in you long after your highs, until it gets soft and uncomfortable, and even then he needs you close to him, holding you tight against his chest or having you rest your cheek on his collarbone

bear hugs. lots and lots of bear guys. there's something about carmen’s arms that just make you feel so soft and warm wrapped up in them

carmen really likes how you smell, its almost primal (ehm anthtony bridgerton) he loves washing his body with you scented body wash, even if cousin would tease the fuck out of him for smelling like strawberries, carmen just shakes his head and smiles at the reminder that he is completely and utterly yours.

carmen isn't that rambunctious with his displays of affection, it's subtle, like making you coffee before he leaves or getting down to tie your shoes for you, but it's genuine. it's unique to him, it’s carmen. he'd probably design a dish based on you without realising how goddamn romantic that is. i imagine him calling you to the kitchen and getting you to try something, little scribbled notes written on paper and a little notebook with written and rewritten recipes and you'd ask what it is and he'd reply with "you" and then idk he’d maybe ask you to marry him

carmy would be an absolutely emotional mess on your wedding day, it's partly because he didn't think he'd have a life that included one, and partly because couldn't wrap his head around you actually saying yes. He’s crying when you both wake up on that morning, hes crying when you both sneak away to see each other before the altar, he's crying when he sees you walking down, you've got a box of tissues attached to your dress for him

carmen is a perfectionist, he has this insatiable need to make things beyond perfect, his work is his passion and that need seeps into most of life. however, a lot of the times things in your relationship don’t go right, and it’s mostly why he has never really given his all to one, he’s scared he’ll fuck it up and once that happens you cant start again, you can’t redo the recipe with a new batch. But carmen, slowly, very slowly, learns that things don't have to be perfect, they just have to be real.

You're carmen's unofficial official taste tester. One snowed in night, you and carm just stayed up all night, designing and tweaking recipes and new dishes for the bear, with carm mostly doing the designing and you being his very scrutinising critic

carmy loved whatever you called him, i think he kind of froze the first time you called his name, but he especially loves it when you call him by his full name. everyone else kinda has the same nickname for him but he loves that you call him by something only you do, because he will always call for you

And oh my god if you call him ‘husband’ after you get married? It does something unholy to him

carmen is constantly searching for you, he gets anxious when you aren't around or when your late, you are his best friend beyond his lover and the only person he can truly feel at ease with, the crew are his family as they are yours but there is so much that he bottles that he can only express to you during those nights under light of the moon and sweat covered sheets.

you take everything carmen gives, and there is so much that he does, but it was not always that easy, loving carmen was hard, it was frustrating and overwhelming and carmen is forever trying to give you the love he could not those first few months where he closed himself off to you

sometimes, your heart aches so much with the love you have for carmen, and carmen sometimes feels like he's wading through a current when he thinks of you, he just wants to give into the rush of love and adoration that overwhelms him. its personified in every vessel of his life, he's got polaroids of you stuck to his car mirror, in his wallet, he's got your necklace around his neck and drinks from your mug, you ruined him for anyone else, and he can't imagine his life without you, your scent, your hair products and bring pink toothbrush all over it.

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solarlunarsstuff · 6 months

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hello 👀👀👀 may i request an alastor trying to woo lucifer's oldest daughter while the big boss of hell and charlie are watching 👀👀👀

thank you so much and have a wonderful day!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

YIPPEE !! A hazbin Hotel req ! I only watched around 4-5 episodes of the newest show so it might not be accurate ! Enjoy :) !

Alastor x Fem!Reader (FANFIC)

A/n: He might be a little bit obsessed with you, but don't worry, he'll make you quiet if he has to force it. (HUSKERDUST 4 LIFEEEEE)

TW: Fingering, READER IS A HOOKER !!!, semi-public, getting caught, his horn thingies grow, tongue fucking, getting eaten out, dry humping, pet names (slut, whore, baby, doll, ect), you look a little bit like Charlie, dirty talk, nipple play, messy make-outs, overestimating, and edging. Lmk if I missed anything ! 😙

Synopsis: Alastor, the 7'3 radio demon, the overlord of a lot of land in hell. Even though he's shown no sign of wanting to experience intimacy, he can change that rule...

The first daughter of the big boss of hell.

That was your title, ever since you were born. Later on though, you had gotten a little sister.

Charlie Morningstar.

She was a big ray of sunshine despite being born in this hellish place. You loved her, you really did.

The both of you nearly look the same. You did dye your hair to (F/c) so there is quite a difference. You're about 6'9, a few inches taller than her.

You also held that wicked smile from your father, typical.

Anyway, you were in the middle of cleaning your apartment when you heard a knock on your door and the sound of paper falling onto the floor.

You thought it was those stupid kids on floor 4 playing games again, but it wasn't. Turned out to be a letter, signed by... your younger sister?

Of course, having nothing else to do, you ripped it open with your nails and unfolded the neat paper.

It read,

'My dear sister, I know we don't talk much anymore, but I would love it if you paid a visit to the hotel! I also know you probably don't have a job, but dad wanted to see you too. He had just come to the hotel about an hour ago. He was basically pleading to see your pretty face again! So, please, think of this and get back to me as soon as possible.

XOXO, Charlie'

You always loved the way that she signed letters. She's been sending you letters with her sign off like that for years now.

Either way, you sat on your couch, contemplating if you should just go or not.

"Fuck it..." You thought out loud

Choosing something comfortable and not something you wore while hooking up.

Oh, right... You're a hooker. It's a job that's actually nicely paid, paid enough for food and your bills. That's it, that's what you were worried about.

What if one of your clients worked there? What of your dad and sister find out?

One client stood out to you though, what was his name? Did it start with an 'A'? Either way, he was one of those people who would choose a hooker and later on be actually interested.

You? Never, it would ruin your job reputation, not wanting to let your job go, you kindly refused, and he went on with his life.

Until you have gotten various notes from someone, some of them were wholesome? In a way, like, "I miss you" or "Just give me a chance".

Others... others were sort of... sexual... For example, "My cock aches for you" and they even sent a paper that had been covered in lipstick kisses.

But it wasn't lips. It was, uhm, you get the idea. He might have been a little bit crazy for you, but it stopped a couple of years ago.

Maybe he realized that I wasn't interested in something serious? You still thought about it as you took the taxi to the front street of the hotel.

You thanked the driver, but instead of him saying your welcome...

"How about I give you a ten? You know, for your pretty body?" He grinned

"No thanks, you don't seem like the type that I would bother with. Plus, that 10 won't even cover 20 minutes.." You snarled back

He whispered some slur under his breath but drove off anyway.

"People think they can just ask me for -" you stumbled back as you ran into something, more like someone...

Red vest, big deer ears, a staff...

'Oh shit..' You thought to yourself

Maybe he won't remember you?

"Back for round two, love?" He grinned maliciously

'God fucking dammit..' you looked up seeing that stupid radio demon overlord.

"No, I'm not, you sick fuck. I'm here to see my little sister.." You moved around him and continued to walk towards the hotel.

"Ahh, that's why I thought you looked familiar.." his voice had a hint of static to it.

You stayed silent and opened the doors, your sister turned around to see who it was.

"Alastor, I said that you -" she stopped once she saw you.

'That's what his name was...' You smiled a little at how your sister nearly knocked you over as she came and wrapped her arms around you.

"OH MY GOD, Y/N, YOU CAMEE!!!" She jumped up and down while hugging the shit out of you.

"Hah, yep, it's me!" You awkwardly hugged her back, noticing your father talking to the other workers on the lobby couches.

Lucifer turned from the sound of your voice and did the same thing as Charlie.

"MY SWEET GIRL!" He squealed

"Hey, dad." I sighed as he also hugged me

Charlie's personality was mostly taken by your father's side while you to your mother's.

Not really knowing your mom, but you knew you had almost the same personality. The little family bonding was broken by the voice of presumed 'Alastor'.

"Y/n, was it? Pleasure to meet you!~" As if... This fucker is acting as if you've never met before.

"Right..." You went along with it, about to shake his hand, but almost forgot that he is an overlord of souls.

You just smiled lightly at him, seemed like it was the safest option.

[1 hour later]

Nifty was off somewhere cleaning, Angeldust was flirting with Husk, Lucifer and Charlie were laughing at something stupid. And you, you were just sitting on the end of the couch, sipping on your (F/d).

Everything was going lovely until you heard a little bit of static start to form behind you. Everybody else didn't seem to notice, but you did. While turning around, you saw that dumb fucks face.

"Darling, tell me.. Do you like me for the money? Or for how your pretty walls wrapped around my d-" you instantly cut him off, not wanting anybody to hear.

"Shut the fuck up..." You glared at him

He smuggly smiled and sat next to you, squishing you between the armrest and him.

"Could you move-" Your voice stopped in your throat when his hand landed on your thigh.

Alastor kept his hand there, slightly rubbing his hand closer to your cunt.

He paid no mind to your silent pleas. Instead, he started talking with Husk and Angeldust. Thank the gods you were in a blindspot, or everybody would've seen Alastor touching you up.

His hand swiftly slipped into your shorts, rubbing your dampened panties from the outside.

You started to softly buck your hips into his fingers, wanting to gain friction. As if it was obvious, he stopped, grinning from you silently whining.

"Are you okay?" Your father, Lucifer, asked. He noticed how you were twitching.

"Mhm!" Was all you could muster as Alastor started to pump his fingers again.

Your arm flared out, gripping his shoulder. "A-alastor... You..." You couldn't speak for shit.

"Please let me and Miss Y/N excuse ourselves!" Alastor announced to the group.

Before you could speak up, he dragged you a few feet around the corner. "What the fuck-" he cut you off by forcing his lips onto yours.

"You're going to shut the fuck up and take me right here..." He pulled away slightly before diving back in.

A/N: I'm gonna edge yall since I want this to be done before school starts tm!! :3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor smut #smut #hazbin hotel smut

294 notes · View notes

littleroaes · 4 months

Text

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, tbz

PAIRING ⏵ ( 2nd pov, you ) fem!reader x lee hyunjae, lee juyeon, ji changmin, kim sunwoo, eric sohn

at the last two weeks before the semester; your younger brother leaked your old love letters. when you return to university, you work as a part time assistant for the hockey team. the charming crush of your youth has read your letter and makes a deal to not spread it if in return, you'll be his fake girlfriend for the upcoming house party. that night sets off an event with all five letters.

GENRE ⏵ FLUFF, college!au / university!au, setting around 2013 ( 2010s!au ), 2000s!au ( childhood ), to all the boys i’ve loved before!au, summer!au, some angst since we do only have one end game, childhood friends2lovers, hockey player!hyunjae, playboy (with a soft side)!hyunjae, short fake dating!au side plot, boy next door!eric, frat!eric, rich kid!eric, flirty but shy!sunwoo, old summer love!sunwoo, reader is an medical assistant, lots of pining, mutual pining, cats!!!, nerdy oblivious juyeon, literature major!juyeon, history major!changmin, changmins bad at sports (sorry bub), 3 different types of parties!, a pool party, a house party, a beach party (i don’t even like parties irl!)

WARNINGS ⏵ reader is good at sports ( volleyball ), hyunjae is a little mean/ manipulative at the start, reader gets drunk twice, sunwoo once ( oufff ), swearing a few times ( fuck, shit ), some jealousy, bad dancing (specially from reader), reader's zodiac sign is a capricorn (for a joke), kissing, pet names ( angel, princess ), proofread once ( i feel like ive forgotten something but hope not😭 )

WORD COUNT ⏵ 19 k

playlist i listened to while writing

this is my fic for @deoboyznet the love letter collective event ! if you specifically want to know which members will have more romantic storylines and who reader will end up with; i have written it out at the end of the post! ( if it being your bias is important for reading ex ). though all five will have cute/ flirty moments with reader! i changed to 2nd person pov for no reason😭 i hope you don’t mind here’s a 500 word teaser before commitment ( it’s in 3rd pov for now! )

like and reblog are highly encouraged !

01 . CHAPTER ONE

IMAGINE THIS; ONCE UPON A TIME, FATHER OF YOURS SAID THAT TO SCOUR THE EVIL THOUGHTS OCCUPYING YOUR YOUNG MIND, ONE ONLY HAS TO WRITE LETTERS. What a magical solution to all the finite problems of youth! That’s what you thought even as you started to come of age and the inevitable falls of love. Each time, when your innocence was consumed, little by little, by the harsh realities of romance; you spit it out on a piece of paper, enveloped it, stored it in a box (extra security measures) and sheltered underneath your bed.

And now, you’re in university. Back home for the last two weeks before the autumn semester. Laying against the bed–it reeks of school mornings of 2005–and still holds those letters beneath. The pink hues on the pillows are still there, maybe a little washed out. All butterflies stickers from magazines are plastered on furniture that shines, just slightly, when the sun goes down underneath the neighboring roofs, lucent through the open windows.

You’ve hung out with Eric, a childhood friend. Bicycled down the gravel paths fenced in lines through houses. Side by side, always trying to one up the other like you always did. Take a swim in the same lake, in the same spot those old pictures show. Like those days; the sun never falters until it all stands on the edge between diagonal roofs.

And amidst your childhood lies your younger cousin. Bare arms touch each other as you lie side by side with feet over the pillows, and noses –the paper box of letters. She told you about a longing crush she has for a boy in the parallel class. When overconsumed by nostalgia; you couldn’t refrain from dusting off the old box. And that’s how you ended up back with the letters you swore to withhold.

There are five of them.

The first one is Lee Jaehyun, a three year older popular student who you had a trivial crush on in middle school ( together with everyone else). In all honesty you didn’t know much about him; just that he was cute looking. There’s a sort of emotional torment in recalling the one sided adoration while leaned out the school window to see him play football. Even his name haunts you still in uni as your roommate had a crush on the shining hockey player the entire two semesters.

In short, everyone liked Lee Jaehyun.

Next is Eric Sohn, your childhood friend, the boy next door, even first love? He has many titles you realize. He lived in an impressive house north from here, one that hosts many parties every time his parents take the trip to their summer resort. At some point, it felt like he knew every kid in town. Luckily, you have never been the jealous type. Despite being each other’s ride or die since ten, you never confessed the secret ways you looked at him back in the sandbox.

Third is Sunwoo–just Sunwoo; you never got his last name–from summer camp who you even ( jokingly ) got married to. Your first summer at thirteen, away from parents, with kids the same age. When recalling it all back, that summer feels as if taken out of a movie, and you fell head first, three meters deep with the boy. Sunwoo always stood in the center ( bad and good…mostly bad tbh ). You got paired up for the kayak; it pissed rained and your coordination couldn’t take you ten meters. But you remember every word he said as butterfly inducing nonetheless. After that, at night you snuck out of your cabins to watch the stars. And when that summer too ended, you swore your heart shattered into million pieces.

The fourth is Lee Juyeon, a boy you had never seen before until his cat got pregnant by yours. Scuba Steve ( long story ) had been gone for some days until another family came up to their door with him. For half a year, it felt like you saw Lee Juyeon everyday. He was just as enchanted by kittens as you ( if not more ) and you two would visit each other just to cuddle with them. The teenage heart used to rush with the mere presence of him and together you named all the kittens–until they were sold off. Then they eventually stopped seeing each other. Though he still lurks around as a poet’s ghost around campus ( source Eric ).

The last one, Ji Changmin, the son of your mother’s friend. He teached you calculus for a while in high school. To be fully transparent, you didn’t learn much from him that year because all you did was leaning on the kitchen table while adoring him until the rims of his glasses slipped. He always scolded you endearingly when you didn’t listen ( which was the majority of the time ). Ji Changmin always wore cute polos with neat pants–now when thinking about it, mother might have approved if you got together. But it’s too late. He went to uni; and simply left you with a newfound thing for glasses ( still wearing cute polos in uni ).

And that’s all. You sometimes wonder if it was a mere symptom of youth that resulted in those letters. Since uni–outside a campus crush or two-–that compelling yearning for someone has never come back.

Eventually the bird’s cease to sing once the sun swallows entirely by the horizon, and cicadas can be heard through the open windows. You leave the letters as the two of you close the door. Mother asked if you and your cousin wanted to go with the rest of the adults down to the green field at the center of the neighborhood, you said yes.

When the heavy door shuts against the frame, voices from your younger brother’s room at the highest floor seeps through the windows.

( next morning )

“Mom, you haven’t seen some letters?” You stand at the stairs to look down the kitchen counter where mother and your brother turn from the pantry light.

“Three’s blue and two pink envelopes?” You ask again.

Mom shakes her head, “No, I haven’t?”

You sigh, sprint up the second floor.

“Y/n?”

Call of your name echoes through the frame into your room. To look over the bed and see your younger brother centered at the white rectangle. His fringe like curtains reluctant to open as he looks elsewhere. You come up completely.

“What?”

“The letters…”

Your ears perk up, “You’ve seen them?”

“No, I took them…” He says guilty and starts tearing off paint from the wall.

“The guys wanted to prank you yesterday, we sent them, I’m really sorry.”

He looks up again, “But I told them to not do anything more.” He reassures, but his voice trails off as you neither alienate or sigh at this confession. Eyes, lifeless as the posture in your arms hanging off your stale corpse.

“You did what?” You ask; wishing you heard incorrectly the first time and he crashed a vase instead.

“We sent your letters..” He says hesitantly with eyebrows knit.

You close your eyes. Take your hands up your face to cup it and breathe in. Autumn semester starts in exactly 13 days and you know at least half of the letter receivers attend. And definitely all five live in the city.

To breathe out, hands fall in your lap. He cocks an eyebrow at what one could guess is a meditation session before you open your eyes.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

02 . CHAPTER TWO

( tuesday afternoon )

The letters were out; an existential dread running on two bags of pure sugar surged within you. A sensation you were oblivious to existed. First week went, and you hoped the mail man had fallen over and left the letters on the highway, doomed to get run over til their unreadable. But those wishes perished the very moment Eric Sohn came chanting underneath the window. The characteristic bird chimes and mowers intertwined in green leaf rustle; his voice echoed through open glass. You told mom not to tell him you were here; that you had already taken the train to the city.

Destiny was in your favor for once, and your mother did lie when Eric came to the front door.

So far, none crossed fate with the receivers of your letters has ensued. Eric was the only established friend in your life, hence you held yourself far, far away from any business major hot spots. Though, just after achieving three days. The first afternoon at the start of your part time; rulers leave you forced to stare eye to eye with receiver number one.

“This is Y/n, she will work as your athletic trainer assistant for this semester.” The trainer lifts hands to his side to make it even clearer than it already was. It is damn cold beside the ice rink–which you thank god for since your face would be blistered red otherwise. As he presents for all tall men in thick layers of hockey protection, they stare; you’re left to make a timid jazz hand motion with a strained smile.

“I’m Y/n.” Hands fall back to your side and concentrate all might to look at the other eight people–not the one to the right.

“She will be helping me with equipment and aid; so you’ll see her around a bit.”

The players wave past you in turn; to introduce themselves in a mere identical manner. The last name pains deeply as you pretend to find shoelaces loose.

“Jaehyun.”

You can’t see his expression, not even when eyes come up. Only his back covered in blue jersey greets you as he steps off the plastic flooring and onto the ice.

Though, it is an immediate opportunity for breathing room when all players go to practice. The plastic walls become solid and you look over the formations on ice. Maybe you got yourself free from this one? Maybe Hyunjae also thought it was so damn awkward that it’s easier to ignore it. You hope deeply while taking off one glove, as sultry temperatures rise beside the rink.

Followed by the 30 minutes of relocating equipment around the center, the next time you come back into the ice hall, the trainer greets you with sweat outlining his sideburns. You knit your eyebrows before taking eyes off him and onto the player in navy; halting out the rink. Turns out Coach yelled two different instructions, followed after one another; which resulted in a collision of two players.

He tells you to take him, who limps to the clothing rooms. By immediate compliance you approach his silhouette; leaning on the plastic divide. You can’t make out the exact expression as he faces the ground, but when you ask him if he needs help walking. That horribly handsome face from your childhood looks up. Breathing heavily, but smiles through the fringe.

“Yeah.”

You purse your lips into a thin line. To force sight away from him. You look at the entrance to the ice hall while taking his arm over your shoulders. Come to the clothing room after taking off his ice skates. The two intentions of your own conscience fought while walking. Nothing would be more awkward than looking at him again, on the other hand, the concern over his weak state is true as the continuous breath sounds loudly beside your ear.

Hyunjae’s now on the bench before one side of the lockers. He watches attentively as you round the sport’s bags to take the first aid kit on the other side. The ventilation is the loudest thing in the room. At some point it becomes bothersome as you hold his clothing. You haven't made eye contact since the rink, but senses his gaze fixed over your scalp.

He talks suddenly.

“You know Y/n, I got your letter.” He says while looking down at your hand; securing the bandage around his ankle.

Fuck.

Fingers stale from suspension for a moment on the bandage edges. The material loses around his ankle and you force it towards you.

A sigh, still looking down, “Listen; it was my br–”

“It’s appreciated Angel, but it will never happen.” His lips curve higher at one opposite edge, leaving his eyes on you with pleasure like he knows something wrong.

You let go off his legs; weight from your hands fully on your knees as you observe–rolling your eyes.

“I know, okay.” You breathe in, “What I was about to say was; my little brother sent it, it was not meant to be seen by you.” Another sigh before you force yourself up from the floor; coming in greater height than Hyunjae.

“Also; I wrote it when I was like 11.” To turn to the first aid kit, “So don’t get your ego too high, Ice God.”

“Sure, if that’s what you say, Angel.” Hyunjae takes his palms on the bench surface; leaning against the locker. Arch of his lips might rewrite your life when he proceeds to stare.

“Why do you even call me that?” You return to the opposite side and cross arms; to perceive him roughly as if to build similar strain in him. But it leaves to no avail.

“Why?” He quotes, “You’re sitting here healing us, our team’s little angel.” He shrugs his shoulders.

You look away as to not blossom of rose pigment–instead start organizing the materials in the aid kit.

“Either way, Jaehyun. You can go now, it’s done.”

No length of his voice waves via the dead locker ocean. After eyes set on the sections of the green bag; you glance at his bench. And to make you uncertain, his white bandage leg is still in frame. After you pull the zipper and leave the kit in your lap; you stare at Hyunjae who, with the usual smile, stares back.

“I said you can go…” Quietly and tilt your head towards the door.

“I know.” Hyunjae voices in the same tone as before.

You side eyes him still and sits up.

“I have a deal. Would you like to hear it?” He says suddenly, causing a rupture across the room and stacked tension weighing on your shoulders.

“Okay…” There’s an uncertain principle, written like a formula over your expression, layered in your voice.

“You go with me as my girlfriend for Jeno’s party this Friday.” He says monotone.

The first aid kit frees from your hands. Eyes drifting between two points and you’re left looking eyebrow knit at him two meters away. Then, forced to turn when he smiles contempt. You swiftly bend down to take the aid kit before returning gaze. Hyunjae sees in center of two bags hanging; your lips sunder to shove down the offer. Right through the concrete to the core mit.

“--Or else I’m putting up your letter for the whole campus to see.”

You immediately shut sealed and eyelids folds half over the curvature. He smiles so hard it borders on comical. And with his arms crossed over his jersey, you only wait for them to fall and see him burst out laughing; tell you he got you. But the silence prevails your thoughts and you start to believe he’s actually serious.

“I don't believe you.” You look tired at him.

“No, I’m serious.” Hyunjae still nonchalantly crossed armed and slack raised shoulders.

As another passage of ventilation comes through, beckon time like the minute visor. You finally sigh and sit down at the bench again.

“Why even me? Can’t you just ask someone else?” Frustration over the seemingly complex idea for a deal when he could make it ten times easier for himself.

His expression falters for a second after the question. Hyunjae holds his lips sealed; unaltered high posture cause he hesitates to give away his shortcomings. But on the other hand, just a little empathy might do it.

“I’m actually in a bad position, Angel.” He leans forward, voice quieter.

“Everyone knows I’ve got a girlfriend, but she broke up with me before the semester. They want to finally see her, but I got none” He pauses and leans his chin on his hand and pouts a little, “--just you.”

The withered corners of your face perks slowly up as he ends his sentence. Hyunjae smiles harder, believing he a white winged victory, but it disappears the very second you laugh in his face. Your back comes against the support of the bench while eyelids close to the bottom of laughter.

“She dumped you?” Hands gather in your knees.

“Too bad, too bad.”

It’s Hyunjae’s turn giving stale eyes. Though, just as fast; he gathers himself back and leans onto the lockers again.

“Yeah, is it a deal or not, Angel?”

You breathe in and look at him still. Hyunjae is more foolish than his appearance gave off, you don't have faith in first impressions. He might as well scan your lost letter and create a chain mail across campus. Partying wasn’t on your list for the first weekend of the semester, but maybe you could get away with lurking against the wallpaper?

You swing your left foot and finally look back at him, “Okay, deal then.”

Hyunjae smirks.

“Just this, then we're equal. No grudge, no obligations.”

“Sure.” He nods.

You tilt your chin down, “...I don’t trust you, Jaehyun.”

He lets his hands up, “Look, I’m keeping my promise. I told you my dirt too.”

“Like not having a girlfriend is as embarrassing as a love letter written in 2002.”

( friday evening )

“Okay, should we go in then?” You take a step forward but get pulled by the shirt. Shoulders come up against him and the arm sleeve of his clothing folds against your nape.

From your first encounter until Friday; you were forced to persevere through charming–bordering on foolish–remarks. The weekend prophesied as projection on the glass entrance that Friday. And it shattered the very moment Hyunjae’s voice echoed from the changing rooms. That he’ll wait for you outside the women’s dormitory. With not a twitch in own expression, he disappeared behind the frame with a wink.

One of your two roommates was also invited to the house party. The thought of having someone else other than ice god settled some relief. But as you stood waiting in the summer heat of night; the first bus went and fifteen minutes later, you saw a familiar silhouette to the left of the stairs you sat on.

He didn’t say anything when you refused to sit up and just glared tired at him.

“What’s with the face, Angel?” He had asked laughing lightly, “We’ll miss the bus.”, you are forced to stand.

“You’re late, Ice God.” You muttered and started walking towards the bus stop. Hyunjae ran up beside.

Both talked while the streetlights behind the glass window became all the more distant. Though, it didn’t become hopelessly quiet, as it was a loud friend group behind. You cursed your half sleeve arms when Hyunjae didn’t know the way to Jeno's house from the bus stop. Forced to traverse between bushes when he pointed at mindless directions. Swore that he knew the “shortcut”. And ants might as well have climbed up your toes and into your underwear.

Now, as either stands before the three stairs and the entrance door in the midst of the front yard. You're pulled against his chest (still covered in leaves).

“Not so fast.”

Though he’s out of peripheral vision; the self satisfied tone at every articulate visualizes his smile. His hands like a thin veil across your shoulders–you take a step back from them, to face him fully.

“Okay then? What’s the plan, Ice God?” You cross arms to build some fence–to match his pride. But either only shares an instant of eye contact before you press your lips and look towards the sad flowers hidden in the corner.

Hyunjae has always enjoyed teasing people. Of course, a bit apprehensive to strangers, but nonetheless; he waits no time to poke at the first friend closest in sight. He himself has probably no thought about it, but he has a thrill for watching people’s reactions. You were no different. Like the sun; secret behind the trees, it’s always so obvious. You were flustered by his turns of nicknames and comments; so much that you feel to defend your blemished garden. There’s something endearingly professional about you, he thinks.

“You have a lip balm or something?” He cocks an eyebrow.

You look at your belongings; eyes looking as narrow threads when apprehensive. To wait for his signature laughter but instead nods his head. You roam around the bag; hands helping to widen your vision, but not enough to notice his fingers below the tender sprout against your head. You look up to see him with one of your two hair clips. Curious what he’ll do; you try no fence when he sets it on his fringe.

“Now I’m yours.” He smiles.

Hyunjae comes down to you slightly before returning; taking his eyes off and onto the entrance before brushing past your shoulder. Because of the evening shades, the red pigments on your cheeks withers out with skin as you look behind your shoulder to see Hyunjae’s figure let the deafening conversations from inside, out. He doesn’t look back towards you, and you knit eyebrows before taking double steps up the stairs and into the house.

With one step you push yourself off the wallpaper; feel shoulders brushing up against your own as the living room opens.

Hyunjae held your hand for the first half an hour. He then let go when something happened between the friends (you didn’t know). But even then you tailed after like some home cat. Though, as anxiety arose after seeing a group of Eric’s friends in the same room, you cautiously backed into the corner. Some stranger did the rest for you when they collided with the table and Jeno’s grandma fell lid first and shattered on the floor. It became a bit quiet when poor grandma(s ashes) laid there, all spread out.

After Jeno panicked and some helped clean up; the chamber of incomprehensible conversations started again.

There’s cliques scattered between the couches. You reach on high toes to see past all the height and hair to locate the frame you came in from. Soon you fall back to your heels, just as the chorus waves through the walls. The crowd suddenly opens up before you when two people walk away. You’re left still and see the open door to the hallway. Shoulders come down in height just as you breathe out. Relieved to take a step to finally leave; but your feet barely touch the wood until eyes widens and air asphyxiates in your throat.

At the end of the high walls; Eric stands half a meter from the door frame. A lamp shines from behind him, lightning up his half body. Like the sun; he becomes the very essence of the narrow square.

You turn in a desperate attempt for survival. This season heat and packed building; it all bends backwards through the grass field in all four directions.

Immediately you see diagonally behind, a staircase up to the second floor. You don't even look back to Eric before colliding with someone's back and sprint up. There’s no lighting up the wooden stairs, just Earth’s wailing moon through the pier glass.

All those voices–through speakers or chords–wanes like the full to crescent moon month.

There’s closed doors around. It burns pace from behind and you take the handle of the door left to the stairs. Without letting it open even half way; you slip past the glimpse and lock it shut.

You lean close to the door; feel the cold wood on your left cheek. The party’s over on this side. Like the melancholic memory of falling asleep to the adults in the other room.

When you expect nothing; a clear voice from behind reiterates peculiar sentences.

Not strong enough to take your chin off the door; you look past your shoulder to see someone in the bathtub with a damned annotated book.

It takes about three seconds from first contact until the bathtub guy flinches, “Ah!?”

“Oh my god!” Your eyes widen while your shoulders contract as wings.

It echoes between the tiles when his book lands on the bathtub floor. To face the sudden him, distressed; your hands come up in height with your wing like bone.

“Sorry.” You deadpan.

“No, it’s okay.” He answers, soft spoken. Eye contact stays fleeting as his fringe–like curtains–falls before the mirage window when he reaches for the book. He mends the awry strands into place; scour the wordy dimensions to where he left off.

You recall his soft silken halo. Hands come down to its sides and you lean off the door. Like a main character from an academic tale; he looks deeply dreamlike–always somewhere else. The guy feels your presence still as above the title cover; his eyes peeks.

At this point, you look at him with wide eyes horror; ready for him to either aristocratically roast your fourteen old writing, or condense into second hand embarrassment and hide under the bathtub.

Lee Juyeon sits in the damn bathtub of a house party.

As you’re deep in fourth dimensional torment; Juyeon speaks first.

“Oh, Y/n.”

He smiles, still holds the book before him.

You refuse to move, “Hi…Juyeon.”

“That was a long time.” He switches between your eyes and the next sentence.

The tension in your frame aids in turn for every second. Juyeon doesn’t mention any letters, but still, you eye him suspiciously.

“Yeah.” You agree awkwardly.

“Why are you here?” You ask.

Juyeon pauses in sentence once again to shift his fringe and look up. You had nearly forgotten the patterns of silence and speaking he so often followed. Back when they always met; they spent so many seconds simply waiting for him to talk.

“I would ask you the same thing.” He sort of tilts his head attentively.

With your lips pursed instead of answering, you look to the mirror above the sink. Water in delicate droplets dive in while he turns the next page.

“Escaping things?” He asks, still reading.

You nod.

“We all do.”

You see him through the mirror reflection. His eyes bent like a faint wave from shore; reassures her lone presence.

As he closes off himself again; you figure he doesn’t mind their shared space. There’s no sign of knowledge about your letter. Juyeon always reeked of innocence, so maybe you’re wishing.

But Eric’s still one floor below (taking the safe option).

You take a seat on the bathtub edge. Shoulder faces Juyeon who leans his back on the discolord cream white tiles. .

“Should I read something for you?” He asks soothingly.

You hesitate before letting your hands comfortably down the edge, “Okay.”

“You want some?” He reaches out the green glass bottle.

Your shoulders scoff when your mind affirms, “Thank you.”

Juyeon asks suddenly, “How’s Scuba Steve?”

Truly the only thing left that protects from not spitting out the alcohol is embarrassment. You do an expression tainted by drinks or unease, and let the bottle down your lap.

To wonder how in the passage of all years; Juyeon recalls your insignificant house cat that mated with his own (or maybe it’s not that weird when you think after).

There’s a sort of foolish–bordering on stupid–touch in your chest that he actually never forgot Scuba Steve. One could guess we live on, assuming we’re the only one that remembers.

“Oh, he’s dead.” You deadpan.

“Oh.”

The room reaches–what resembles closest to silence– in a house party. Both their lips are pressed in thin lines as they view the tiles above each other again.

“You then?” Silence starts to torture you briefly in your fingers.

“How’s…” Your face contracts in parallel to the ceiling when scattered bleached cuts from that black little cat sleeping on his floor.

“Mindy?” He says.

“Oh, Yeah.”

They both laugh.

“She’s still alive.” He lets the book down for the first time (excluding the jumpscare), “She’s with mom and dad. Though she's getting very old now, she eats less and doesn’t even go out anymore.”

As they sat there talking about cats and poetry; eventually the boundary past the toilet door ceases. You didn’t leave that end of the bathtub (aside from running down the kitchen with Juyeon for more alcohol).

Now they lie on opposite builds against the cold edge. It’s been sometime since you drank, specifically this much. You can’t talk for Juyeon, but he seems pretty damn wasted too. Your eyes dares to fall while Juyeon’s shirt climbs up his chin as he comes deeper down the tub.

“I can’t wake up here.” You mumble. Either to yourself or decked out Juyeon; you don't know. He answers something incomprehensible back as a bottle in the scattered line before the bathtub falls. While you grasp for the handle, you turn barely to Juyeon who has his eyes half open.

“Bye, Juyeon, it was epic.” You wave your free hand, “Tell Mindy I said Hi.”

“I’ll do.” He tiredly answers back.

The alcohol withers boundaries within your body. Turns it weak for the downstairs crowd, like poison inducing nausea. In line with poison; You walk as if zombie apocalypse smitten down the stairs without holding onto the railing. Somehow reaches the ground floor and passes through the living room.

Whatever mechanisms your mind built to defend its dignity from Eric; it took the place of the alcohol in its glass bottles. You’re in the hallway, three meters from the entrance. It’s overheating–worse than a sauna–in the house. Mere presence of tepid air has your hands trailing along the walls.

A warmth presence dividing the you and outside blocks. In a desperate drunk attempt you push against it and complain.

“Out the way, you’re fucking hot.”

“I am?”

It speaks back, in a tone rather mischievous than what your state calls for. With a shift of the inner lightning; you realize you have your hands on a uni jacket. The logo turns and you would accuse him of motion sickness.

From your face-low angle, his hands are tied between the blue pockets. You lean harder on the wall to force your chin where his head is tilted with a smile to the same degree.

“You’re still here.” You still complain and his face drops. Eyes fleet between your face, the opposite wall, and the entrance door to return.

“That wasn’t a compliment, right?” His fingers directed to his chest.

“No, Einstein.” Eyebrows knit when realizing you’ve drifted off the main mission. Two shoulders on opposite ends collide as you hastily drag along to the frame.

“Woah, woah.” The male student takes your wrist lightly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” You defend without knowing.

“You’re gonna fall down the stairs.”

His voice is strangely worried which you would have been touched by, if it wasn’t for the drunk state.

Mid temperatures of night may have transpired any senses as you don't answer. He takes this to come up in line with you; one decimeter away from the first stairs.

There’s two people, solitude in a hammock to the right, and prey like shadows of two around the grass. Music from inside is still too loud, and it probably hides someone puking at the other end.

“I’ll help you, okay? I’m not a weirdo.”

You turn your head to side eye him. Either promise respect or sacrificially bow down, he throws his hand up. To then gently lie it on your shoulder, lead you down.

“That’s what a weirdo would say.” You mumble without working against him.

Gravel scratches underneath their feet and the male student takes his hand off your shoulder; though still twined by the wrist.

He starts, “I need your name, I should call–”

“Sunwoo!”

It seizes pulsations from inside, and the male student takes his head from you. Features on his face and the blue jacket is immediately recognised by the one below. The student's eyes are wide and Sunwoo’s eyebrows hold a neutral position above.

“Jaehyu–”

“She’s my girlfriend!” Hyunjae takes your wrist from him.

“Why are you still standing here?” He agitates before wandering off the gates with you.

Sunwoo shoves his hands up in height with his chest once again; not risking to start fighting with the reigning hockey player while he’s half drunk, half angry.

“I don’t think I’m allowed in here.” Sounds tense.

“It’s not like you’re here to hook up.”

“They don’t know that.” Hyunjae deadpans.

After both left Sunwoo at the stone stairs, Hyunjae coursed through the shrubbery once again. You seemed confused over the interaction; he doesn’t think you even realized the hand on your own changed. He thought you would sober up during the train ride, but you still took irregular stepping patterns down the warm lighted gravel path.

While down the glass entrance to the soaring female dormitory; Hyunjae motioned you to walk in. But as fast he let go of your shoulder, you stumbled three steps back.

“What should we do then?” Hyunjae asks, frustrated.

“I don’t know, it was your idea to go the party.” You cross arms.

“And yours to get so drunk that you can’t stand.” He spits back.

The night pulls them close when they wait lonely, as if exiled. Summer cicadas swallow their venom words and when one street lamp flickers; Hyunjae sighs and takes a seat down the stairs. You follow.

Once the peaceful moon renders all its light, leaving it to its bones; your head falls to his shoulder. While you carve shapes in its craters, your arms mindlessly pull him close. The strands of your hair accumulate on his neck, and while filed under the same sky, your breath sounds like a soundtrack to him.

Like the passage from day to night; he notices his heart like it’s vastly alive. How many eyes have looked at him adoringly, but he can’t even anxiously look down your side. It’s familiar yet strange, he refuses to acknowledge it. And still you are oblivious, can’t even see his blushing face.

“Shouldn’t you go home?” You ask softly. Tired and slow in contrast to the previous sentence.

“I can’t leave you here.” He finally looks down at you.

“Then you're going to be tired tomorrow.” Guilt visually lines your sunken silhouette.

Hyunjae smiles, “You’re gonna be too.”

He speaks gently again after silence, “Sober up a bit more and you’ll walk up.”

03 . CHAPTER THREE

( saturday midday )

Not because you thought you were immortal anyway, but the next morning came crashing through the roof. While grieving your roof (it wasn’t broken), you swore the ceiling fan was up to mock you in its circles. All while last night lingers as a supercut.

Your two roommates had woken up earlier, they were supposed to go out. Where? You can’t remember; at that point you were still trying to figure out who you bickered with outside Jeno’s stairs.

Either way, the bottom line is; you didn’t throw off your clothes, and no texts from Eric.

The campus is idyllically still in late summer. Bird whistle intertwines with the wind who walks like you through the grass, under the same gravel path Hyunjae led you yesterday. Sun drenched tree crowns and your eyes yearn through the gaps.

There’s a yellow haze over the world and when you take another step; charge in gravel comes from behind. How your legs sway towards the grass border, fleeting levels with your eyes over your shoulder. A bicycle comes half a meter before; stops it with his right foot.

“Oh–Hi, Y/n.”

“Oh, Juyeon?”

He jumps off the saddle and they fall in same line.

“You look a bit tired?” Juyeon asks in a voice, perfect sync with the bird song. Once again the world falls so dream-like behind him.

“Yeah, yesterday was…stressful.” You take a palm up to your forehead.

Juyeon’s smile falters, anxiously tilts his head, “Did I do something last night?”

“No,no–something else happened…not you.” Hand between the open space which you wave reassuringly. His eyes become concerned and yours only redder. Hyunjae’s touch still lingers on that half of your body; you’re afraid Juyeon can see it.

You ask something else instead, “You then? You’re not tired?”

He laughs softly, “A bit.” “But I’m supposed to meet a family friend.”

You nod.

Leaving the last tree behind; the blue sky opens up, just in time for his revelation. Juyeon turns to you fully. Merely one can make out the contour of a light bulb above his head.

“She bought two of our kittens; Lemon and…” He knits his eyebrows, unable to see your eyes, brilliant with curiosity.

“I forgot.” He laughs, “They’re big now, I see them sometimes.”

“Really?”

Juyeon hums, “Do you want to see them?”

“Of course!..if it’s okay for your friend?”

“She’s a lady my mother knows.” Juyeon takes one leg over the bicycle saddle and tilts his head–so that his hair too–points to the rack.

“Jump on.”

To exchange his eyes with the bicycle rack; you purse your lips and walk behind. Hands immediately cling to the metal frame, but as Juyeon weighs forward, you hold onto his shirt.

Juyeon looks back and smiles as you struggle, “Hold my waist or you’ll fall off.”

At this moment, you’re so deeply relieved he hasn’t read your letter. It eases the touch in your hands as they come to his front. Shirt folded above your clasped hands lies like a veil.

That feeling, of when a perfect alignment of past and memory presents. It washes over one as soften, melancholic, whiplash. You hadn’t thought about his scent in years, but as they chase the sun yet never pass it, his shirt touches your cheek. In his home where they used to sit on knees beside each other. It flutters your heart tenderly.

At the high end peak you felt burdensome. Juyeon reassured you while weighing onto the pedals standing. He seemed to quietly persist in breathing through his nose, even when he was audible panting.

He led the bicycle to the front, beneath the shadowed roof; you cast your eyes over the asphalt end. The wind rushes through nature up here. As such the foreground, alive, before the still concrete and bricks.

Juyeon called your name to where he waited beside the door. With a half a shoulder hidden by his own, the bell goes off. A lady opens and smiles instantly as she sees Juyeon. Her wrist in rose patterns reaches out for his shoulder, comforts it gently. Since you’re a stranger; you’re left to awkwardly observe and retell like a narrator.

“Oh, you have a girl with you?” She smiles at Juyeon, which he returns. He introduces you to the lady while she weakly widens the door gap.

She still talks when three cats come to the hallway rug. Curiously they silently circle your legs, but they too can tell you’re no threat.

An orange cat, clothed in layers of orange fur, brushes its head against your calf. You immediately bend down to pet it. To figure out if this fox-like complexion existed in your past too; you tilt your head. But your cat’s were more like crows than foxes.

Apparently something must have shown because Juyeon says from beside.

“This is Belle, they had their own kittens here. Ours are probably resting on the couch.”

You look up, “Oh.”

The old lady goes to the kitchen to take out tea and biscuits. Meanwhile Juyeon guides you to the living room where three other cats lie in the cushions of a worn down brown couch. Their socks tenderly span across the clear floor, and it must have woken them up. You smile briefly when they instantly seem to recognize him; reach their heads up for touch once he sits. All weights deeper down the material once you sit beside him. Touching shoulders to see a cat lick his finger in his lap.

Like a jet black scarf in his jeans pattern; it contrasts from the faint white mark–like a moon at night–on her head.

“She’s so big now.” You say when visions from those evenings before the TV playing Sailor Moon. You called out her name–Luna–that day when you saw her cramped between her siblings.

Juyeon also named a kitten after a TV show he watched..

“Is that Mum Mew?”

Now in direction towards the floor; a larger cat, half underneath the couch, half on your feet.

Juyeon laughs, “He’s Oscar now.” He leans closer and whispers, “I don’t think I’ve ever told her that was his original name.”

They sit there until the lady comes out again.

“It’s so lovely that you got a girlfriend, Juyeon.” She puts down the plate and the two look at her, “I’ve all actually thought about you a lot. I’ve been thinking about calling your mother to set you up with someone, I started to get a bit worried.”

The lady has an attentive x on her face. The skin on her forehead hides nothing as it folds, deeply contemplated. Only with your head down and suppressed smile, can you clearly notice the plates against wooden surfaces. Juyeon scratches his nape frantically while laughing.

"Yeah, uhh–” He stammer.

“You know, by your age, I was with many guys.” She sits down on the opposite chair.

“We got together, then we broke up. I had a guy in Paris who I really liked.” She leans forward, “Back then I was so in love I wanted to stay. I thought he was perfect! Kind, handsome, sex–”

“What’s the type of cookie?” Juyeon suddenly bursts out. Leaned over the table pointing at the brown one that’s obviously chocolate. But the lady doesn’t seem to bother.

“Oh, you see!”

You press your lips, the color might have vanished. Though it was painfully awkward; Juyeon was just adorable enough to turn the situation endearing. She still describes in detail over her mother’s mother recipe; and Juyeon from the side nods his head attentively, like he always does.

After another conversation, the topic returns.

“So when did you meet?”

Turns to exchange question marks between you. His eyes don't say much and you guess yours neither.

Juyeon scratches his nape, “We’ve been friends for sometime.”

Lady nods, “Since when?”

“Like…” He looks at you for confirmation, “...fourteen or fifteen?”

“Did you confess, Juyeon? Or Y/n?” She smiles and looks at you, “Juyeon is a bit shy, I’ll be surprised if he confessed.”

He retreats back to the couch; sinks down the heavy material. You laugh lightly at how his shoulders, swallows by waves of brown textile.

“Y/n actually liked me first back then.” He points out gently.

You freeze.

“Then I confessed in university.”

The old woman does a sweet smile; hands patterned of life lie like a cover over her heart as she looks at both.

For the longer you’re in someone’s presence; one starts to adjust to the traits. But even how many conversations went on and the sun above crossed her roof; your shoulders hardened. Like irreversible death does to your physical state, you seem unable to look to Juyeon’s side. By all stars in the universe; you’re suddenly transparent. Obvious, translucent piercing glass.

You looked out the window at the old woman’s house; terrifyingly, the sky was pink. All the world disappeared at fatal speed when they bicycled back to campus. There must be a sort of brilliant snow, in a color out of our spectrum, that rains down on Earth in summer evening. It leaves the landscape quiet and calm. Cicadas sing when everyone else ceases to.

None of you felt like going to the dorms just yet, instead; you now sit in the auditorium. Though either laugh echoes throughout the wide open space, there’s a dissolving acid in your lungs, begging to drink all air.

All those characteristics of a person reveal to the open world after all these years. Because you can’t remember Juyeon being so persistent in apologizing. They came in on the “girlfriend” incident; he smiled embarrassingly, felt guilty for forcing you in on it. You told him it was okay.

After echoing silence; it soars through the auditorium. Juyeon reaches down his backpack with all its scattered papers. There’s a velvety pulse keeping the space next to you occupied while he’s elsewhere. Once Juyeon comes out of the canvas material; your eyes widen in terror, contrasting the melodic decoration of red velvet and wood.

Your conscious runs desperately from this room, but physical state is in the same seat.

Juyeon holds out a blue letter with your handwriting on it.

“I should’ve said it sooner, I’m sorry.” He says in that gentle tone he always speaks to you with. Maybe a soft arch at the end of the sentence. Nonetheless, you imaginary stabs the mind resting in your bone cradle.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You look at him once before turning to the empty seat and make an expression. One of deep second hand embarrassment that comes from the very narrow part of ‘me’ and sends like shivers.

“I understand.” Juyeon follows your movements, “You were not supposed to see that letter, they shouldn’t have been leaked.”

Worried you might have genuinely caused borderline trauma for the poor guy; you turn to him, “I’m really sorry.”

“No.” The corners of his lips turn into leaves of a red apple. His eyes clouds the color round the pupil and his height convulses barely as he leans into the seat.

Parts of us never veins, and in front of you, he’s the same boy who patted kittens and was deeply sad when they parted from their mother.

“I’m honestly very touched by it.” He admits.

He was back in his childhood home for the last week before semester. When folding the navy sheets of his old bed; his mother came up. A letter in her hand with turquoise color and bubble arch letters in pink ink. Already, it couldn’t be something written in ‘today’.

And Juyeon is truthful towards you. He read it on the train back home. Always oblivious but grateful nonetheless. Used the window like a passage to the time where you sat beside him on the bedroom floor.

“Really?” You say surprised.

He nods, “I’ve never gotten a love letter before.”

You would scoff and tell him he’s lying, but as his appreciative eyes blur with the blue envelope; you don’t.

“You know, I think you should join the writer’s club here on campus.” Juyeon smiles at you suddenly.

“What?” You lean away.

“Really.” His eyes shapes of honest o’s, “Like–of course there’s some grammar mistakes and you spelt ‘desperatly’ wrong, but you got the feeling!”

Still the same skeptical expression answers him back.

“I’m really serious Y/n.”

Own hands in your lap trail towards each other like opposite poles, “I’ll think about it.”

You watch how he timidly holds the edges and opens the envelope again. Lips shaped in pout like he wonders.

“Does it bother you if I keep it?” He asks.

Head shake, though still confused, “No, you can keep it.”

“Thank you.” He smiles endearingly and tucks it back between the papers and folders.

A revelation wasn’t as horrid as you thought. Hyunjae’s was deeply embarrassing, but there’s a brief space for contemptment in your heart where anxiety wandered before. Like a visual sight of the butterfly; you look up at the auditorium and ponder over the hidden connections.

You didn’t expect anything from Juyeon; that time has passed. But his now grown up presence seems to fulfill this daily life too.

“Did others get letters?” Juyeon breaks silence. Like always, his expression paints past the physical boundaries, and one could make out white lines of curious cat ears.

You figure he means the “they shouldn’t have been leaked”.

You nod and he tilts his head. Visual intrigue and anticipation from his seat, but you close off in rose pigment like tired flowers.

“I'd rather not tell you, it’s a bit embarrassing.” You laugh and Juyeon leans back, reassuring.

This anticipating silence doesn’t cease. It exists as a continuation, a ‘more’ before the ‘end’. One person can’t seem to leave the edge undiscovered, rather, you wait for the red thread to tie its last loop.

“You know Eric has been looking for you? He seems to miss you a lot.” Juyeon finally says. Tone serious than anything else that left his lips.

A stone grows between your throat, not acid. There’s no dissolving, just constant aching as you try to move.

Juyeon continues to talk as you’re silent, “I don’t know what it is, but he’s very understanding…”

He pauses, “...and you know, cause you know him better than I do.”

04 . CHAPTER FOUR

( tuesday, morning )

“Where’s the psychiatrist?”

“At the library.”

“No, I can’t talk to Juyeon anymore.” He groans.

To drift from the flat roofs outside the window; Eric looks at Sunwoo, further the beige walls. Sunwoo’s head is deep tucked beneath the bedding; Eric crawls over from his own bed to the end of Sunwoo’s. When the weight leans towards Sunwoo’s feet, he closes the pink envelope and lets the navy sheets hide it. The cover comes off Sunwoo’s head by Eric. His face like the moon causes an eclipse over the sun and Sunwoo stares unenchanted back at it.

“Y/n still haven't answered my messages, it’s been like three weeks!” Eric forces the pillow down.

“I wouldn’t answer you either.” Sunwoo pats bedding over his chest while Eric throws the pillow at his side.

They just became friends at the end of the last semester and decided to room for this year. As one’s social circles opens up in double doors whenever Eric comes; your name was one of the first he heard. Sunwoo immediately leaned intrigued at the name, but figured it was just a mere coincidence. He was bound to grow from youth and twine old names with new faces.

Either way, destiny doesn’t exist, and he won’t take a bait from the universe. Though, Sunwoo threaded over that principle the week before uni started. He worked at the old summer camp and a letter came during the closing week.

“To Sunwoo”, nothing else. Curiosity took the best of him and he opened the letter to see “From Y/n'' at the end of a massive paragraph.

The universe got him this time, he admits. In how many positions has he reread the letter and dreamt of the yellow filtered summer from when he was thirteen. In truth he reminiscenced about you those summer’s after. Once reaching adulthood, he realized there was no point in yearning, it’s been years. But this late season has turned into the car ride home from that camp, still with you in vision, so close but not here.

At this point ‘Y/n’ feels like a mere fragment of his imagination; therefore he wont tell. Keep your name from any seekers and contemplate.

After laughter; Eric plummets to the bed and looks up at the ceiling, feeling Sunwoo’s legs at his elbow.

“I just don’t understand why she can’t talk to me.” He murmurs.

“Did anything happen?”

Only Juyeon knows about the letter Eric received from his best friend. A confession he has longed for since he lived in his castle (big house), but never would be granted.

Eric thought their connection was stronger than this. Why did you send it if you weren't seeking answers? Why now, this place at this time?

He has traced every curve of your letters; stared at facebook and mail box. Even the refrigerator at night for answers.

Though everything the roommates did this summer; Eric can’t tell him, not yet. It’s the luminous memories coming to his ruins. Sunwoo is his presence.

Silent melancholia climbs above the horizon together with the bleeding sun at the football field. Lines of the goals, rigid and angular, separate the pink-orange growing fragments. Breeze from east colds your heated heart while waiting on the bleachers for Hyunjae.

You were forced to wake up; not following the united routine of the dormitory when he needed help for a training pass at dawn. But he’s not in sight.

Half asleep leaning on the backpack, center of your lap; waiting for something holy to run past.

World’s colors fade into abstraction behind the pupil and a small figure crosses the field. You don’t notice how it leaves the red tracks, closer to the bleachers. Same breeze that touched you passes through its shirt and by mere coincidence. He turns his head opposite from the sunrise and sees you lone illuminated.

Sunwoo recognises the person despite different clothing. There’s an unconscious underlying characteristic in posture. Sunwoo has been entranced by his own world, but he did think a lot of the pretty girl who fell drunk out of the entrance at Jeno’s party.

Slowly his feet take him further from the white lines.

“You’re okay?” His voice tears the plaster away from your vision.

To look up from the bleacher, a ruler higher than the green grass, they make eye contact. It takes a pattern of blinking but at last you speak.

“What?”

“I saw you at the party last Friday, I just wonder if you’re okay?” He repeats.

A sort of second hand deja vu like nausea, spreads from the visual, coming back. Forces the parallel expression to the feeling, down and instead scratches your head.

“Oh.” Eyes widen, “Yeah, I’m okay now, thanks.”

Solitude pushes down into the field with the next breeze. The two of them linger in the same place though the conversation seemed to have ended long ago. You who tie eyes on the far tower of the male dormitory, look back towards him. He stands with barely knit eyebrows, two meters away. It’s not an uncomfortable stare whatsoever, rather curious as the sun rising above the world.

You smile, “You’re trying to place me…”

Trying destiny runs through him but nonetheless he’s taken by the sudden realization. You see how the expression unravels and a single shooting star passes the brown coloration of his left eye.

“You’re Y/n; Y/n from summer camp?”

You don't react as quickly and are now left blaring into the past and present and the same time.

“We went kayaking together, don’t you remember?” He points at himself, “I’m Sunwoo.”

The star falls in east and transcends pink orange shine throughout the campus. For a second; you would have fallen from first row down the grass field with knees bruised of embarrassment, but just in time, you realized that the address written on the letter wasn’t his, just the camp.

“Sunwoo?” Your posture folds higher to come into view with his own. Truly there’s exciting nostalgia within.

“I didn’t know you went here.” You say slowly.

“Me neither.” Sunwoo laughs.

While in awe over the struck of fate; eyes momentarily drift to the right. Another shadow cuts through the horizon and appears closer while jogging across the field. All light still shines in your eyes while standing up. They come in equal footing and quietly watch each other. He looks over behind and sees Hyunjae. Sunwoo doesn’t quite feel like leaving yet; wished they were stored a moment longer.

His arms just barely lifts off his sides to embrace you, but the sharp sequence of Hyunjae and you strikes him at the spinal cord. Not wanting to disrupt your relationship again.

You’re left with wide eyes as Sunwoo runs off the direction he appeared from.

“Bye Y/n, see you around!”

It all just played as if at two times speed. One hand lifts to wave from your side of the world while the last strands disappear beyond the goals.

By peripheral vision, Hyunjae traces Sunwoo. Once more, there’s a torturous sensation growing between marrow bone and heart. When you look his way he feels your eyes held down on him only.

“You never take water with you, Ice God.”

While still a meter across, you throw the water bottle to him and he captures it perfectly. Hyunjae looks up with eye-framed windows like staring at the sun.

“You’re close with Sunwoo?”

Your bag falls to the ground, “We went to summer camp together, I didn’t know he studied here.”

Briefly nod while his bag too comes down the grass. You lucid leaning onto the bleachers again–until Hyunjae starts sprinting in one place. The end strands of his hair in parallel motions and his child-like smile shine between the pauses.

“Let’s run.” He says.

“I have a volleyball match later.” Back falls to the second and third row as you complain.

He laughs and takes your wrist, “Running helps with stress.”

White ribbons knitted along the green corners; they jog the red track field and do a few rounds. Each passage closest to the bleachers you see the shadows diagonally downgrade across the seats.

Despite having their lungs barely reaching air; Hyunjae persists in conversation. It presses from Earth towards your upper body as you unconsciously choose words before steps. But Hyunjae too seems incredibly out of breath for someone that trains as much as he does.

You won’t admit it just yet–if ever–that his company is actually enjoyable.

He lingers across the sport’s center until the shift has ended, and talks to you in insignificant states. In one way; your long shadow at the end of your feet feels guilty. An idea of a self serving dude with too much attention. In truth; he laughs a lot.

“When’s the game?” Hyunjae asks as their feet come out of synch.

They stand still catching breath.

“At three.” You sigh and start walking to the bleachers.

“Then, I’ll skip this lesson.” Hyunjae stands next to you.

He takes out the water bottle you gifted him. Presence from your side lingers on him as he drinks, and he raises his eyebrows at the long look.

“You don’t have to come though.” The lines above eyes cross in a slight perplexed X.

“You were at my game last time, I should come to.” Hyunjae smiles gently.

( tuesday, afternoon )

“Need to go to the toilet; nervousness makes me pee.”

‘21’ in bold font disappears behind the bended wall. You direct towards people in fitted shirts as patterns before the teal walls.

It’s not usual for you to be nervous before games; nor to be completely absorbed by else’s. Now you’re unconventionally a bit more dreamy. The halo in your eyes, up at the sky and shoulder’s slack as if moon-touched. Your teammates pointed it out too when you didn’t answer after ‘Y/n!’.

Sunwoo reentered your life this morning. The boy that had caused such a heartbreak it was unbelievable. And despite your time changes, you found yourself counting the star constellations he told you that summer.

This sort of unending chase starts again, that the letters dated to the old camp will find its way to him. Like a foolish child's secret.

You also wonder why Hyunjae was so persistent on going to your match. One could thread through the interactions and guess he’s become comfortable in your life too. But there’s a brief self reflection. You neither rejected him to come or encouraged. Maybe you want someone up on the bleachers shouting your name, even if it’s not Eric.

Wooden floor reflects the studio lights like water. Eyes wanders immediately from teammates up to the bleachers. Blue plastic seats on row, to the very windows where it barely collides with the roof. There’s a few silhouettes in groups up on the high rows. Everyone waving their hands to someone, not you.

When you see number 21 stop before the white line and bring her arm high up to one standing; you suddenly regret not messaging Eric. Though, just as fast; he maybe wouldn’t even have showed up?

One loud whistle comes from the left; your head directs off the green line tracing vertically. Sees teammates reach their hand out for you to the ring building at the side of the rectangular room. On the opposite, mirrors like theirs in green shirts, they gather.

Thin water like bubbles trace down the narrow row from your temples. All these bubbles that have accumulated beneath the shirt, down knees and threading your throat like a transparent necklace.

Once the last whistle soars across ceiling; you return to the corner of teammates. Someone touches your arm while running for water; a teammate smiles sincerely but exhausted.

When shoes are in line with the white painted diagonal; your name chants above all noise. From the floor, your eyes see Hyunjae coming down the blue seats. You aren’t able to reiterate his name before arms of his own wrap around shoulders.

The invincible spot of cologne sits beneath his shoulder blade. Evoking gently as your chin, supported by the broad shoulder. You hesitantly hug him back and try to look at his face but only reaches his ear.

Suddenly you feel a bit insecure.

“I’m really sweaty, Hyunjae.” You laugh awkwardly.

“Yeah,” His hands retrites without walking back.

Lips curve to gentle his face and the eyes like porcelain.

“, and it fits you.”

A strand falls before your eyes; tucked in by his hands like a dove’s wing.

Once the match heat flush red, another round of pigment paints your cheeks. There’s no hinder above your eyes left, but still you shake your head and cough; all while Hyunjae still smiles.

“Thank you, Jaehyun.”

His expression, more blinding than the long lights above. It’s impossible to not curl up before. You have a certain love for looking away when adoration blooms like spring season on him. Somehow you seemed to have missed when he came to the bleachers too.

It’s quiet, but Hyunjae still feels like hearing your voice.

He starts, “You did grea-”

“Y/n!”

A voice so deeply teared apart and assembled within your mind, that it exists stored in the furthest corners. There’s a certain nerve created just to react to that tone fall, you believe.

With eyes widened and fingers loosen from each other; you pierce towards the blue door. People still run past your double vision, but for a second the world stopped.

Eric stands with hands in the blue frame. The universe must’ve heard that wish you prayed before, and in some way, full of relief and exhaustion, you’re happy it did. Eric is visually as hesitant as you, bearing fear and soft in heart pulses.

“Sorry, Hyunjae, it’s something important.” You jog up to the double door determined. With one last glance to the bleachers, “See you later! …Thanks for coming!”

Confinement exists excruciating; you hoped it was just the sunbleached walls with square hole windows that trapped them. But not even the open atmosphere, heaven to the infinite universe could save them from what’s been left unsaid.

Eric asked while passing doors “I have messaged you for two weeks, why didn’t you answer?”. You could only look at him for a second before turning to the open field. His expression begs of confusion, but truly you think he knows why.

It’s silent. Wind from east campus brushes between the grass. You become the only thing stagnant along the heavy constructions weighing down on Earth as Eric walks up the bleachers. Blue faded denim pockets console his hands as he holds sight on his converse before white plastic.

“You didn’t even tell me you had a game today.” He refuses to make eye contact.

Head falls low; everythings to remind you that guilt is the heaviest matter on Earth.

Theoretically, it’s supposed to be useless feeling alone or unloved with a person like Eric. Sometimes you catch yourself staring in mirrors to search for another pair of eyes. But it’s hard to be miserable when Eric’s been a phone call away.

It was lonely without you, but I pushed you away.

“I’m sorry.” You finally say.

It’s the only thing you get out as you walk up the bleachers. Together on the second row; they watch the green grass and its maroon building boxes. A mellow sun on the edge of disappearing while the land continues flat forever. A wind of different temperature while the concrete still radiates warmth.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you Eric.” You speak again.

Their shoes in different font over the white row; you look at them before his side appears in the same position as you. They make eye contact in what feels timeless and it trips on your heart.

“I was-”

“It’s oka-”

There’s silence as they stare at each other; anticipating the other. Though the ink period of the passage becomes laughter as their shoulders collide like the southern and north pole. It ends up being Eric who speaks.

“You’re forgiven.” He smiles and Earth sighs of relief with you.

The two poles of their angular edge bind them gently. North and south diasporas sit in silence, whispers of the flat city come from all directions and it smells like grass or nothing in particular.

A closed connection where everything flows freely without hinder; you had nearly forgotten about that feeling.

Courage drapes whatever embarrassment was left in you. To breathe in before honest confession. That you love him deeply still, though any romanticized visions are of the past.

As you think of it; a part of the old self frees and runs with you back towards the grass field.

“I actually like you too, Y/n.”

It hitches in your throat.

“You don’t have to answer yet.” His smile reeks of cotton candy, and the hand on her shoulder before he leaves radiates in puddles like theme parks.

“I’ll wait for you, princess!” Eric shouts with his hand in his pockets before turning his back. The same nickname he’s called you since seven, never understanding why.

The stark contour of the real world fades as he disappears towards the dormitory until he’s just a mere dot.

It’s still warm, but summer has made one privileged. You feel like wearing a jacket as your old self now takes the empty space beside.

05 . CHAPTER FIVE

( thursday, afternoon )

Ji Changmin has never been great at sport, and that’s never with a big N. Last night the breaking news of a 2 day beach party got delivered by the infamous friend group, and of course, everyone would be playing the mandatory volleyball games.

Changmin took his backpack and ran, hoping Eric would be too busy arguing with someone else to notice the empty chair. But at last, Changmin walked up the dormitory corridor with Eric hanging from his left calf like chained. Desperately begging that it wouldn’t be the same if everyone doesn’t come.

One thing led to the other and every dorm heard a passing march of footsteps to the other end. Changmin was running after Eric whilst he screamed of absolute terror (traumatized from the year before when changmin chased him down the campus, drunk). In a last attempt of escape; Eric jumped Juyeon’s room and made a borderline olympic leep down the bedding before Juyeon processed the door had been opened.

Like the unofficial therapist he is; Juyeon told Changmin he has a friend in the volleyball team that can teach him this afternoon so as to not embarrass himself completely.

And that’s how you stand in the same hall; wide eyed and chills growing like rose stems it might strangle you. Though, you could’ve been more embarrassed as Changmin looks about the same.

With an aggressive tilt to your shoulder while eyelids reach your eyebrows; a firm stare directed at Juyeon. Quietly it signals “what the fuck didn’t you tell me it was Changmin?!”.

He doesn’t get it.

“...and he’s really bad.” Juyeon ends while smiling.

“I’m not that bad.” Changmin side eyes the taller one; also in search for some backup.

“Yes, you are silly.” His eyes crease in turn with the ends of his lips. From the right side, his hands come up to ruffle the sprout of Changmin’s head.

All three compiled the net up. You had no interest in bringing up the letter for either Changmin or Juyeon; therefore you rigid and pale served the first shot.

But thankful for Juyeon’s excitement and obliviousness (surprising) to the reunion he just set up; the tension wore off Changmin’s shoulder and your pigments returned.

All would rotate between the two sides of the net. You would purse lips to a thin line and turn the plastic of your shoes on the hard floor before running up to Changmin to show him how to serve. At first you stood a little less than a meter behind him; shoved gestures in the air to somehow manipulate his own body to do the same movements. But at last you went up to him, held his hand like gentle rain.

There was not a bruise or patterns of shades on his palms. Either he’s absolutely addicted to hand cream or those text books of his must enchant his skin while turning pages.

Changmin felt fragile like all ancient history when you showed him. He tried to be quiet, shyly only talking to Juyeon, but couldn’t help but let out shrieks every time he missed or won. It was just like board games at the dinner table when their parents whispered in the other room.

You suddenly shout, “Move!”

Juyeon’s on the opposite side of the two and forced the ball up to the roof with neck breaking power.

You see how Changmin doesn’t; instead glued to the floor with knees rigid and his hands come up in chest length as if it will save him. You desperately swing your shoulder to the right, but all actions are in vain when their foreheads collide. Force acts up on them and leads them to the ground. Swear it was visible stars circling both heads.

As the collision wears off and presence hits you as a second impact; terrified you watch Changmin between own two arms down the floor. Legs have his stomach tied to the flooring;

where in all directions you are. And when they both blushes of embarrassment; Changmin’s hands come a little higher up his chest.

“You’re supposed to chase the ball.” You stutter and hastily push up from him but miserably fails as the clothing material slips on the floor.

“I’m sorry-”

Changmin, just as terrified, apologizes while pushing himself off the floor. One way and two directions; they shut their eyes painfully as the point between their eyebrows hit each other again. One step further down his stomach.

“You didn’t even tell me we had started.” Changmin complains and holds his forehead, looking at Juyeon who climbs under the net.

You slide off him; knees supporting any weight while at the end of his calves. Great silence from the tunnel system in the high ceiling expands over the yellow walls. It scratches in their throats that you cough. It was enough to crack the tension layered like a glass dome.

“I don’t feel the same, Y/n.” Changmin sits up.

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh because you know what he means without asking. Fingers left racing the floor.

“Old story; you were not supposed to get it, I’m sorry.” Guiltily purse lips in, “Also, sorry for falling on you.”

Suddenly gentle, his legs come over in crisscross and he leans closer to your figure.

“Yeah…it’s fine.” He confirms in same tone, “Though, I appreciate it. The letter.”

He pauses.

“...I had no idea.” Changmin admits.

You laugh, “Really? I was super obvious.”

“You think so?” He skeptically smiles.

To bring your arms to an imaginable table and articulate, “I literally held my arms over the textbooks to lean over to you..”

“I just thought you were a bad listener.” Changmin smiles, bothered, like he always does.

They both laugh.

Another shine made by the sun outside draws with a ruler down the yellow wall. It has an angular cut in where it has a darker wooden frame just above the floor. Like the highlight is a window to the midsummers of one’s childhood; you dare to hold eyes open and watch.

They used to sit at the dining table where the pattern cloth folds at your knees. Because you were way too shy to invite him behind your room door. Sometimes, laughs loud enough for them to hear came from the living room where both their mom’s sat. Mostly they whispered; never understood why.

When they were younger, he was mostly intimidating. So much taller and just his glasses felt like a sign of great intelligence. But truly his personality held some sort of shine you believed was a leftover from some ancient spell along the yellow fields.

With their families having dinner sometimes; the two of them used to play board or card games late into the afternoon when the adults still sat along the dinner table. You didn’t want to invite your brother when you finally had time to talk to Changmin without it being about math, but he was way too nice to leave him out.

“Is your cat good?” Changmin asks suddenly, “Or is he dead?” He knits his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he’s dead.” Smiles and thinks of how Scuba Steve, in his orange white complexion used to jump into Changmin’s lap while he was tutoring. And when he talked to him so sweetly and petted him along the long fur; her teenage self used to dream about their future (delusion).

“It feels like he liked everyone more than me.” You admit while leaning into your palm.

“I’m sure he liked you too.” He laughs.

“Are you going to the beach party?” Changmin suddenly asks, “You’re close with Eric, right?” He knits his eyebrows, “Aren’t you together with Jaehyun too?”

“No, no, no, I’m not with Jaehyun.” You fall back to the floor and hands melt down your face.

“Don’t tell him I said that though.” You add, “But no, I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

Visions from the past weeks pass like a bad trailer and you close your eyes. Sunwoo and Eric run across the field in a sort of evangelical light and Hyunjae in the far corner.

You sort of lie, “It’s complicated. I don’t want to meet Eric.”

Changmin stands up, “I’m only going if you do.”

“Don’t do this.” You complain.

“No, whatever’s going on, we’re fixing it now.” He takes your shoulder and forces you up. You whine again and try to make the weight fall back to Earth.

“I’m fighting volleyball and you’re fighting Eric, great!” He cheers.

There was a lot more than Eric you had to fight this weekend.

The ball goes flying in their direction again. It lands on Changmin’s head and forces his glasses to the floor. They both look to the right and see Juyeon stand awkwardly upright, hands hanging like leaves as he longs for the ball.

“I missed.” He deadpan.

You take the ball and look at Changmin. He smiles knowingly before you both rush at Juyeon.

( friday, morning )

“Do you want some?”

Your head turns to the right where the sun shines through the glass brighter. It ceases through the back of his loose strands like the tree crowns from summer camp.

When you came down to the bus station, Changmin waved at you from a stack of backpacks piled like a mountain. Juyeon stood slightly behind and followed the shoerter’s movements. You asked them if they plan on moving with that; Changmin answered it was Juyeon’s and Eric’s bags. He had–while straightening his posture–just taken the necessary.

When all had arrived, you got a third row seat at the back beside Sunwoo. You had met again on campus. It turned out between all those words that both were going to the party this weekend. You mentioned how you’re mainly here as Changmin’s emotional support.

Sunwoo– a little horrified– told you he’ll have eyes in the back of his neck for this trip. Hyunjae, Eric or anyone else for that matter could come up from behind and throw hsi poor body in the water. With both in desperate situations, they jokingly built a pact to have each other’s back on this trip.

So when you sit beside Sunwoo, and look down the space created against the armrest where he reaches out a pink package. He shakes it and you smile before taking a hand off the backpack.

“You stole my pocky?”

Tearing away from that space; they look behind the red seat to see Eric leaned over the two. He pierces down at Sunwoo with a dumbfounded O of his lips and starts pointing at the roots of Sunwoo’s hair which he ducks away from.

“I didn’t steal it.” He defends.

“It’s mine, I bought it this morning.” Eric looks at you, begging for sympathy, “Now I have no snacks.”

“You said you weren’t going to eat them.” Sunwoo hides them.

“They’re mine!” Eric hangs down the seat. Immediately you take the edge of his sleeve as if he’ll fall on you.

“You’re gonna eat them now?” Sunwoo taunts, “Take the jelly grapes.” He throws out a plastic package from his bag while still chewing.

“Let’s split it.” Eric deadpans while holding out his palm.

“I’ll buy you one later.” Sunwoo repeat.

Eric laughs from above, “You literally just asked Y/n!” He points.

Sunwoo gets quiet for a second; looks up et Eric, before back at Y/n.

“Can’t you just eat the grapes?” He shakes the package up in Eric’s face.

Feet fall back to the floor, the row behind them and Eric, still dumbfounded, points at Sunwoo while stunned searches for assent in you.

“He’s shameless.” Eric sits down.

Where the dense complexes only ends when shore starts, the bus ride isn’t long. Despite constant traffic, conversations over the unconscious roaring of the bus engine; you resisted the falling weight of eyelids but at last, gave in. The last minutes when blue hues start to form between the windows and houses lined up against the sand. Head falls onto Sunwoo’s shoulder.

Changes surprises him, but just as immediately he gently falls back into his seat and your head comes between his neck like the last piece of a 100 puzzle. How could he describe the violent but gentle flutter that grows from a part in his chest and blooms into all directions. And when each stem leaves its youth and creates rosen petals at his fingertips; the playlist in his headphones changes song.

A melody of 80s slow paced rhythm and a voice soft like silk; lies over the muted woven chorals and yellow of the beach houses. Tiny flowers in perfect composition, like a trail across each street and when he sees the roof of the largest beach houses, just below the shore; Sunwoo wishes the bus would take one more round.

He dares to look down. He has seen this image before. All those movie nights in the dining room at summer camp evening. When he rushed to take the seat beside you before anyone else. And towards the end of the long hour you couldn’t keep your eyes open and leaned just like now, on his shoulder. It’s been so long but it doesn’t feel like a season has passed since that summer when he sees your hand lightly touching his own.

“You need sunscreen, Jaehyun!” You wave the blue plastic tube while slipping down the sand. Hyunjae looks over his shoulder, smirking questionably to her while you come closer.

“You’ll get skin cancer.” You squint when the blue sky shines behind him.

“You do it then.” He smiles.

Holding hands above your eyes, hoping it’ll cease all rosen blushes, “I’m not your mom.”

“Please, Y/n.” He shakes your forearms, pouting. At first your own hands come up to his chest to force him off, but retrites like touching a hot stove as he’s shirtless.

“Okay, okay.”

Overarching sand, up to the wooden porch, frees from the rest when they walk up. Hyunjae quickly takes the lead when he jumps up on fixed ground and takes a seat on the edge of the porch. How he wiggle his legs like an excited child while smiling so brightly; you didn’t know he could. You fall to knees behind him and awkwardly look over his hair.

“Can’t you just do it yourself?” Sun highlights his skin from above. The sharp points of his shoulders, down to his arms, seem soothing against the sharp sand. That specific smell of sunscreen, so deeply ingrained into summer, trace along the porch. Your palm hesitantly moves back and forth between the flexed spot of his shoulder.

“Just do it, Angel.” Hyunjae looks back at you encouragingly, but you quickly lie the cold sunscreen on his skin to divert him. In the clear summer sun spotlight, your cheeks luminates of struck pink.

“Ah, it’s cold.” Hyunjae’s shoulder rises up and you continue soothing it in one hand.

“Don’t complain.” You try to sound normal.

They got along more than you originally thought. Hesitant to calling people friends, but you guess that's what they are. Though, friends shouldn’t blush of nervousness from innocent touch, right? Especially when Hyunjae leans back further into your hand, and you wonder if it’s wrong.

At the same time; Eric peeks from the doors to the beach house. He tries to convince himself he’s longingly looking at the open shore, but it’s merely a background to Hyunjae and you.

It’s not that you’re lying, he thinks. You looked more than authentic that day, he asked if they were together and you denied. It’s not a competition, but still he feels a burn coming from another direction than the sun when your hands go to his neck and Hyunjae laughs from tickling.

“Y/n!”

You turn from Hyunjae and see Eric coming closer. All that in one motion, you forgot about the painfully obvious red of your face. It isn’t until Eric’s eyes widens and he falls in height to take your left cheek.

“You’ve burned yourself, Y/n.” Eric traces with his thumb the rose colors of your essence and to feel it coming off your skin, embarrassingly paint your soul. At this point, nervousness would leak out from your skin, but by Eric’s and Hyunjae’s wide eyes and open mouths; they’re completely oblivious to their work.

“N-” Stuttering out the beginning of a no; you stop suddenly as there’s no good excuse for the color.

“Let me help you.” Hyunjae reaches for the tube down the wood and you immediately try back from Eric’s gentle palms.

“No, no, no, it’s just heat.”

“Water.” Eric wants to get you on foot, take you to the kitchen.

“You need a cold bath.” Hyunjae says quickly after and without looking at Eric takes you in bridal style. Hand lets go of Eric’s and he’s left standing as you in panic tries to convince Hyunjae to turn away from shore. Hyunjae laughs while shouting that you’ll overheat.

It’s a dark seemingly normal, but guilty jealousy Eric watches the older one throw his best friend down the water. You’re quick on your feet again, and start chasing Hyunjae further down. Laughs come from that side while Eric tears his eyes off the new waves; clench his fist because frustration might visibly leak out his skin, and turn back to the house to take his mind off.

It was only a limited amount of sups, you shared one with Changmin. They had agreed to alt the paddle in interval, but it was you who ended up dragging them both along the surface while Chnagmin sat behind, criticizing the solo sups.

His victim was mainly Juyeon who traversed the first ocean layer for a good minute playing God until he lost balance. The entire group laughed while he tried to climb up. At the same time Sunwoo laughed so hard he was second to fall in.

Changmin did well, all things considered, when it was beach volleyball. Juyeon and you cheered on him. That brought him enough confidence to stand at the front. Which wasn’t his greatest moment as he fell head first into the net.

Sun’s, fleetly asleep above the horizon. All those hours of shine still left like a memory in the sand while four of them still play, the rest swimming, taken a seat with the group who grills or in the house. Laughter with the waves collide, creating a divide of foam. Breeze ensues their hearts.

It smells of garlic smoked marinade from behind once the ball comes over again. Though at first refusing to go, you’re still thankful for Changmin who desperately forced a game over either way.

Soon there’s food and you sit on the porch once again. Sunset like a filter over the shore and its houses, maybe the heart too.

“I have some for you.”

You look up at who you thought was Eric, with a brightly printed paper plate, gathered of the same choices since childhood. But you blink once, realize it’s Sunwoo. He takes the space beside where only vague music accompanied earlier.

“Oh, thank you, Sunwoo.” You smile and take the second plate.

“No worries.” He bends down to eat a bite of his own food.

A scenery in fleeting composition, scattered of dust passes through the peripheral.

“I remember you used to take food to me back then too.” Unconscious of the tender light you hold while tracing the oil leaking across plastic shine.

“Yeah,” He looks at his chicken, “Cause you were always busy sorting stones.”

You scoff, “Why? You’re judging my hobbies?”

“No,” He answer truthfully, “It was cute.”

“My stones?” You tilt.

“You.”

Sunwoo’s voice is monotone like it wasn’t supposed to blemish your heart like the orange and dark blue sky divide. The bones across your shoulders and hover over chest convulse in like wings of the delighting butterflies.

Sunwoo looks up from the food, “I don’t really remember how your stones looked.”

You smile and take a bite, “I guess that’s why I married you back then.”

Still confined between your own frame to prevent any sheer wings of escape; you miss how his ears perked up together with his horrible posture. Him in his sharp complexion becomes adorably curious.

“You remember that?” He says surprised.

“Of course.” She says as if it’s obvious. Sunwoo looks down at the sand as if to see the smitten reflection of his face in them.

“I actually didn’t think you’d remember.” He says quietly.

Another song on the playlist comes on and a group of people rush beside them. Jumping off the porch; their silhouettes darken in pink contrast as water evaporates on their burnt arms.

Sunwoo dares to look to your side; still eating and it further reminds him of times in circles when they sat next to each other. Something absurd with seeing you again like this. For some nameless reason you have lived all these years as a little girl in his memories, constantly visiting when summer’s approaching. Now you're here, finally at the same age.

He knows he shouldn’t advance, shouldn’t take a step closer on the porch. Since behind him just some meters further, Hyunjae sits. How adoringly he thinks of Hyunjae because he has you unconditionally by one side.

“I remember you told me about the stars.” You suddenly say.

Sunwoo looks at you then the skies, vaguely guilty that there's nothing's left to see yet.

He smiles, “Damn, I can’t see them, otherwise I would’ve told you about them again.”

You hold head tilted at his side while his eyes still squint for a light away to hit them, “You can show me later.”

You don't know what has crawled into you lately, but it’s dependent and has zero abstinence.

As if the hangover from last week wasn’t enough to convince you; you’re drunk once again (this time in the kitchen). Juyeon worriedly came over, asking if you’re always this bad with alcohol. In turn you took his shoulders dramatically and said no, shaking him.

And you weren't the only one. In the same vein, at another window by the house; Eric found Sunwoo staring dead into the reflection. When asked what he was doing, Sunwoo simply replied he’s staring at bird shit and laughing like it was the funniest thing.

Most people are still outside. Fairy lights might look like fireflies in this state as it cradles lightly from night weather. As people cross the sand it changes patterns. It lays a plastic cup further away which Eric runs to pick up. You don't know what song is playing when the high frame expands as walls in all directions, but you think it’s good.

“Can you dance?” You look at Sunwoo. He turns confusingly with bad posture from the bird shit. An awkward beat drop passage muffled by the walls takes the silence.

Suddenly you jump up to him in another rhythm than the beat. Smiles wholeheartedly while waving arms.

“I can’t.” You answer your own questions and do a spin.

Sunwoo’s hangs down its sides like towels over the branches. You reflect in highlights by his porcelain eyes. He must look extremely out of it as the pupils can’t concentrate on the shifting lights and his amused smile. But you couldn’t tell.

You force his tired arms up in an awkward rocking-back-and-forth swing. He laughs that his teeth show when you start complaining how he’s stiffer than the expensive couch behind them.

“Let’s tango.” You take his arms and they start circling around the room with either hand on their shoulders and next in each other’s clasp, straight forward. Sunwoo’s laugh overpowers the music as they nearly collide with the couch. Through the window frame they must look like a middle school couple.

And as if galactic alignment was truly divine; the next song on the playlist slows to a vintage soundtrack as if from an old romcom. They’re still laughing when the circles haste and all weight stills on the carpet lining.

They’re so drunk, Sunwoo can’t hold himself when your face comes so close.

“You know…” He starts.

“No.” You deadpan.

“Don’t speak.” Sunwoo complains and you fall one step backwards from laughing.

“You know, we’ve reached our 11th marriage anniversary.” He smiles drunkenly, “I think I deserve a kiss for surviving our long distance.”

“You haven’t even shown me the stars yet.” You whine and curl his hand in a weird way.

“I know, I know.” He screws his eyes, it looks like it hurts.

“Just give me a kiss and we’ll go outside.” He purses his lips out.

“Can you even name the constellations still?” You knit your eyes.

“Of course, there’s Little bear.” Sunwoo points at your nose. You contract your head and watch his finger tip with big eyes.

“I’m actually a Capricorn.”

Sunwoo’s lips curve harder as his head falls between the space created from their chests. You watch the root pattern of his hair before he comes up again.

“You’re really cute.” He smiles.

You can’t help clasp his hands and twine fingers even harder, “Really?”

He nods that his fringe follows.

“Am I cute too?” Sunwoo asks, leaning in.

You think, rolling your eyes slowly, “No.”

He pouts with big eyes.

“Again,” He flicks your nose lightly.

“Me or the flowers?” Sunwoo points at a vase beside the couch. You turn over your shoulder to see the arrangement of pink blemishes with white roots.

You pretend to think, “Hmm.”

There’s a anticipation like a butterfly on the last leaf, flickering its sheer patterned wings before taking off. Just like that, it pulses of thousand wings in both your hearts. All as Sunwoo lean in closer. Fingers laced through the other like silk and he pulls you closer by them. When the heat accumulated in the chests collide, with your lips merely touching his own. The tension weighs heavy, it might impend on the room.

The door from the kitchen beside them forces open.

Both Sunwoo and you loosen the lace and throw yourself onto the couch. A painful thud erupts from the back rest when Sunwoo crashes nape first. Your condition is in dangerous state, therefore you land about 10 centimeters too short and glide off the couch to the floor.

When the outer door closes and Eric passes by the frame, he sees Sunwoo decked out; arms hanging lifelessly and his mouth opened, supported by the backrest.

The cup in his hand nearly topples over when he rushes to stand it on any flat surface. It pulses through the floor when Eric comes down to you. A cold hand from all the ice soothes your forehead and you look up to see Eric’s fringe like a sheer curtain before his eyes.

“You’re okay?” He asks worriedly, “How much have you drunk?”

Eric takes your arm and scolds you gently. As you stand up you incoherently try to defend yourself, but quit abruptly as Sunwoo comes into the story.

Eric guided you up to the bedroom’s at second floor, leaving Sunwoo to die.

“Eric?” You lie down.

“Mm?” He flatten out the sheet above you.

“I forgot.”

Eric snorts, “Really?”

“Mm.” You insist.

Two essence divided between the mattress line in the mit; still staring at the same ceiling. Eric never leaves your side; instead insists on talking about nothing and everything while time wraps in a 4th dimension of one's mind until you can’t rhetorically answer “Mm?”.

Eric finally ceases to babble when shifting his head to your side. The pillows bud like a flower on his cheek when his body completely draws to your field. He knows you will probably feel like shit tomorrow morning, but for now you lie neatly above the creases like white flower of a heaven’s cross field.

The incredible magnetic field of your essence seems to draw in more admirers than just himself, Eric understands. He barely convinces himself that the letter is an eventual sign of their destined love, but just barely.

I can’t know who you dream about as you sleep soundly right now, he thinks while admiring. A face or two flashes before him and Eric sits up. Quietly look at the framed picture on the wall before back down at you.

For now, he’s in denial.

Eric takes one hand off your side to lay on your stomach. His bare fingertips dare to soothe out nothing’s on the cheek just to feel your warmth. He hesitates for a second, but before fully walking off the bed and closing the door; he bends down to kiss your cheek, just gently.

06 . CHAPTER SIX

( monday, midday )

The day has finally come–or not come as in an anticipated date set in stone from the past–rather Hyunjae woke up and felt courage. The last weeks they’ve seen each other nearly every afternoon, and for each time he imagines himself having persuaded you a little closer. And the last beach party seems to have been the silver lining for his confidence to finally confess how he feels.

This afternoon they will meet on the track field for some regular training, but what you don't know is that he will be asking you to be his girlfriend, seriously this time.

Though, between the lecture times, staring at strangers from the row tables; he consciously realized he doesn’t quite know what you like. Or of course, he knows you like astrology, biology, cat’s, exercising but just enough that you can walk guilt free home to the bed. That you always walk around with a first aid kit, and like a mother bandage burnt skin or wrecked ankles.

But none of that is of use when your heart is supposed to flutter at his mere sight this afternoon.

So at a table in the cafeteria; Hyunjae takes the opposite chair of a round table where Eric sits alone. Enticed in his own world; he jumps when the chair creaks of his weight.

Hyunjae figured it was just to ask Eric, your best friend for advice. The older may stand a ruler inferior in emotion to Eric than Juyeon, but nonetheless they have spent many house parties together, jumping off the high roof or throwing pillows at the third.

Eric always looks at him with a smile, nearly identical to his own. But right now, the red blisters' contours wave lower than what it usually does. His eyes adverts between the sad glass divide over the sandwiches and Hyunjae. But the older forces it in an identical manner to the left.

Eric nonchalantly told him he doesn’t know what you would romantically like from him. Hyunjae complained saying he should know since they’re best friends, but Eric reiterates his line, “Yeah, just friends.”

Hyunjae doesn’t cease from the chair, neither his voice. Eric looks at the sandwiches again and guilty bruises his fingers underneath the table. In Eric’s eyes; Hyunjae could win over anyone by just slowly articulate every crook of their name.

It’s not to admit that he’s threatened, Eric thinks. To rationalize the frustration he theorize Hyunjae hasn’t taken enough of a time to get to know you.

Eric’s never been evil. His moral compass holds him on the sane lane; even when emotions begs to pull the other way. But right now, while in silence, the magnetic field of the Earth pulls on the arrows.

“Okay.” Eric puts down the drink. Hyunjae leans in attentively.

“She wants a big, HUUGE confession. You know, those in rom coms where the guy comes out with a huge boombox and gives her flowers and has a big sign.” Eric takes his arms up in the, above his chest in height with his hair. To visually stun him he waves his hands down like confetti and shakes a hypothetical boombox. All while Hyunjae’s expression all visually gets more nervous.

“Okay.” He walks up without looking at Eric. Head deep down the floor as if thinking.

( monday, afternoon )

The white streaks wrapped as a present lining across the field is the same as every time he walks past. But even when the scenery is familiar to his conscious, the heart anxiously breathes in quick patterns. It causes invincible scratches at the inner side of his hands while his eyes can’t hold a scene for longer than a second. There’s a couple walking past the fields down the west campus; Hyunjae’s head follows them until their backs are a mere blemish along the sidewalk.

With his hand tightly knitted behind his back he looks at the grass growing up from under his shoes. Suddenly he looks up again.

Like the world just ended; the sun’s growing, tearing all the accessible and it rounds the golden halo. You’re just left in trance watching how it all beautifully collapses. That’s what your presence does to his troubled heart when your upper body comes up the staircase.

You wave with your free hand as you see him at the center of the rectangular land. Hyunjae doesn’t mirror it, instead refuses to change any position. You tilt your head in wonder for a moment, but nonetheless carry on towards his figure, until there’s just a meter across.

“Hi, Jaehyun.” You say gently.

“Hi, Y/n.” He shifts his head so that a part of hsi fringe falls forward.

You turn to see his side profile, as if he’s sick. With concerned woven shape of your face, you ask, “Are you okay?”

An awkward tenderness in his fronting psyche. To touch his shoulder might cause it to splinter in its frozen preserved state. Hyunjae clasps his hands that’s still behind; gaze your face as if though you were the first he’s ever seen.

Silence insists to frustratingly exist after your question.

When a scene of the entire world, flipped in your eye; he breathes in and falls with one to the grass. His hand trails as if cold to the pocket and takes out his phone, turning the speaker outlet in your higher direction.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world, Y/n?”

A bouquet in pastel silk tightly concealed in a ribbon of a darker shade.

“Hold on.” Hyunjae drops the mobile to the ground; the music practically disappears as it swallows by the grass.

All eyes on the thin space of his front pocket as he struggles to let loose the bits of red paper. At last some gather in his palm and he throws it up in the air as enthusiastically one can without a canon. The flowers now fully extended as the last bits of craft paper adorn his head.

A sore spot on his left knee aches under this weight. The teeth of his smile, slowly together as he bear witness to your expression, blinking cause your lips are opened but stunned. Though he can’t read good or horrible. As he starts tilting from instability he clenches the flowers tightly.

“I didn’t find a boombox, and the party store was closed.” Hyunjae looks behind you instead of up. Embarrassingly wonder if you would have wanted a grand confession in the college cafeteria. He won’t say it, but in all honesty he didn’t have the guts for that.

It feels like you’ve seen this scene before; in some movie lost to time, you’re sure it has crossed you once. The sad petals taken by the wind, fallen on his shoulders or thread beneath your feet. But still might be the most soft of all thousand interactions of your life.

Hyunjae seems embarrassed, you can’t fully tell; he looks at you from passages but sways towards the right at the end. How the past and present crashes at once to see him fully and clearly without cover. He’s such a vision that this should flutter all the lonely parts in the arch marrow body, but nothing goes off.

It’s like standing on the fourth of may, but no fireworks light up.

You finally smile gently, still eyes on Hyunjae. His expression waits for even a whisper, but instead a hand crosses between the fragile space. Yours takes his wrists, behind where the fingers cross the stems. Gently tugging him up from the grass as the last bits of paper rock down his shoulders.

“It’s really lovely, Jaehyun.” You smile and he’s finally up.

The space opens again.

“But I can’t.” You look at him as both lips synchronize withers.

“I’m sorry.”

A heavy wind brushes past; lies a weight on your hearts. Hyunjae, who has never once been the one pushed away, hears lone footsteps echo in the boned structure. It’s a bit embarrassing, it’s a bit sad; he feels like he maybe shouldn’t have said anything.

You see in full vision how his mind travels elsewhere. Still with flowers and the barely audible mobile that now has changed track to a mellow love song of 80s nostalgia. How depressing everything suddenly became.

“I still like you, Jaehyun,” You break the silence, “You were honestly a lot nicer than I originally thought.”

He looks up.

You smile weakly, “When I saw you on campus I thought you flirted with every woman and acted all big.” You gesture with your shoulders and Hyunjae laughs slightly.

“But you’re actually very kind.”

He reaches out the flowers once again. You look up at him with eyes, x-ed expression.

“It’s still your flowers, I want you to have them.” He says gently.

You hesitate but he shakes them in front of you. Once loosen on the tensioned shoulders; you take one hand out for the stems and look at them closely. Deeply pink with faded inner circles.

( wednesday, afternoon )

That table at the cafeteria where they always meet has been occupied two days in a row. You come by between classes and yearn through the window, but at last; there’s always a shirt in a color Eric wouldn’t wear sitting in his place.

At the changing distance through the evening, at the lone table beside your bed; all those papers in painful yellow highlight, tire sore eyes and vision yearns for the computer at the other side. Watch the letter box they communicate through everyday, but is now quiet.

You’ve messaged Sunwoo through facebook; asked him why Eric ceased from Earth. He answered through digital letters that he’s busy, but truthfully Sunwoo knows better than anyone Eric scatters to avoid you. Eric won’t fully admit why; the closest to a confession Sunwoo got was a bleak understanding of inner guilt over something.

“You’re sad.”

You turn to the left where Juyeon sits with curious eyes before the library shelves. Side by side at the communal computers; he has watched you stare at the search page for four minutes without intervention.

“Do you want to go and see the cats?” He asks gently.

You sink down on the table. Hands curl up at the keyboard while the wooden surface catches your chin.

“No, but thank you, Juyeon.” You say tired.

“Is it Eric?” He asks, leaning down.

You nod.

“I don’t want to hurt him, I’m afraid we won’t be friends anymore.” You pause, “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“You should tell him that.” Changmin peaks from behind the computer, opposite you and Juyeon.

“Honesty is always valued.”

“You know, whatever it is..” Juyeon speaks from the right side, “at least having it said will lift the weight off. You have an assignment next week, right?” Juyeon points at the screen.

“Eric would make fun of you for worrying about boys instead of studying.”

You smile weakly.

07 . FINAL CHAPTER

( saturday, evening )

Edges of sharp stone scratches against your old bicycle. Those few streetlights with meters in between emits across the gravel. On the path from your old house, it was quiet like it always is in family neighbourhoods. But as you come closer to Eric’s old house; ruptures in form of music and laughter leak out the open windows.

You had to stay longer in the library working. Time passed like it never does when one’s bored, and suddenly you had missed the first train and waited for the other. It isn’t too far out your old neighbourhood, just a few stations that with each passing minute gets dimmer and dimmer because of lack of lining lamps.

Running the last passage to your front door to take the bike, and now you’re standing at his post. The same sign that hangs on the door, rusted of all year’s weather, intimidates you serenely.

At last, with one foot you force down the supporting metal where all other bikes stand. Close eyes on the handle while the laughter is still muted.

It has never felt so hard knocking on his door.

The blurred window at the roof of the door; you stare at it when finally knocking. Anticipation hugs your knees painfully as you take a step back. Look at all places except the white door. Drag your hands along the clothing fabrics as if it’ll obscure you.

Speakers frees from the door while you feel like running towards the woods.

“Welcome in!”

You don't recognize the man holding this door you’ve walked through since five. His expression contrasts your neutral one. There’s a red cup in his hand, he asks if you want some; you thank him, but reject.

As you come in line with each other through the hallway with mountains of shoes, you look at his back, insecure, before speaking.

“Do you know where Eric is?”

He turns, “Hmm..” Scratching his nape and leaning toward the opening frames of all the different rooms.

“I think he’s in the living room?” The guy points further into the apartment, you thank him.

Despite all open windows and meters of space; the air is horribly suffocating. People sit two and two, talk in five’s, and a path like pattern goes through the crowd. You let it take you, hoping it somehow brings you to Eric.

Your feet, that still have shoes on, cease to motion diagonally towards a large couch group. Between all those mere strange faces you’ve may seen once; a face so deeply dissected and remade sits in between. He’s at the center like the sun itself, and people gravitate towards him.

Somehow you would go back to your corner, sink down quietly. But you’ve been running for too long. Hand behind your back, wrists rope tied while your conscious threats to slaughter from behind, push you forward.

“Eric?” You say above the laughter, and his couch group turns towards you.

You swallow when his expression changes to something calmly unreadable, “I need to talk to you.”

A filter falls like a sheer cover of snow when he closes the door. They’re alone behind the house, blue illumination like an upside down universe highlights you from below. Neither Eric or you had said something, but it wasn’t noticeable until the world ran out of sound too.

Eric’s silhouette leaves your side and sits by the edge of the pool. With his barefoots into the galactic mirror, his face shades and colors like the moon. You too walk to the edge, sit by his side and see his legs make waves throughout the water.

He’s unfamiliarly quiet; similar to when you know something someone else doesn’t.

“I think I like someone, Eric.” You say gently without wasting.

He looks at you, soft and tender, “You do?” He smiles.

You smile too and nod.

His feet make water soar before becoming whole again. Your fingers tear at the concrete lining the pool.

“...and I’m not sure he likes me back…therefore it can’t be you.”

Heavy silence like the Universe itself weighs over them. World’s full of life, yet there’s an empty echo in the marrow arch of your cathedral body.

Eric gazes at the transparent surface of the water, smiling weakly because it’s the only thing right to do.

“Though, I still love you, Eric.” You lean towards his shoulder. Tear his side profile like you beg it is not the last time you see it.

“So much as you can possibly love someone, and a little more.”

He looks up, fringe falling, “It’s okay, I know.”

Voice fragile, so heartbreaking against the smile that could light up the entirety of the solar system. He’s like the pool beneath, a galactic universe tightly compacted into a pond.

His mere existence makes your eyes glisten and words frail, “I’m sorry.” You whisper.

He smiles and takes your wrist, “Why are you saying sorry, princess.”

They both sit there for a moment. The constellations pass a centimeter above the bended celestial before you walk up. Half disappear behind the wall while Eric is left at the pool edge. You can’t bring yourself to leave; having one eye on his back as if it'll fall when you go.

Eric looks back to your wall suddenly, like he knows.

“I’m sorry.” You say it again, nails exhaustingly tearing at the house.

Eric shakes his head, waving you off gently before speaking quietly, “Go get your prince.”

Stones shatter beneath the weight of two tires. All houses are drowned in nightshade glistens of warm lighted windows like the stars above, that is childhood.

Grass divided into squares lined with fences; streamline, down the gravel path until it opens up in a wide circle. You know this place because here’s where everyone always met.

All those gravel paths, identical to the one you just left maze down to a grass circle. The very heart of all these houses, a meter lower than the rest. You pass the path contouring it and all these strokes of green nature hinders you down. You stop with one foot off the pedal and lean your weight while standing up.

Where all distance creates a perfect cross; a boy much familiar to you lies. His own bicycle stranded a meter or two from his still body. Laying on his back with his head tilted on its forearms. Sunwoo’s completely still like midnight around him. It calms you just how water drains from head down after sunshine, but heart tears at its veins.

You found him.

To let go of the bicycle; forcing down the metal to leave it standing. Eventually you walk towards him, slowly as if you’ll scare him away.

About three meters from his feet; Sunwoo suddenly looks away from the star fields and up to you.

“Oh, hi Y/n.” He says like he always does.

You cease to stop, “Hi, Sunwoo.”

He can’t quite place why you’re here. You seem to come up in unexpected moments; take him by heart like a sudden season though he’s been admiring the trees for an eternity. It begins with your hair; how it seemingly floods down on your shoulders. Just like the jewel reflection like glitter under your eyes .

“You’re crying?”

You’re taken back by his question; taking a hand to the cold skin beneath your vision. Liquid dried tight to your complexion.

“It’s a long story,” You stutter; head turns to the ground before your expression becomes decrepit, but poetical.

“I’ll tell you later.”

After silence, you sigh; lending a bit of your worry to Earth. All the heavy mountains, all heavy oceans.

You start, “I have something to tell you.”

Grass stands in between his fingers when they lie flat against the ground. Sunwoo forces himself up while observing your expression. You neither walk closer or further; chin falling in patterns as pupils pierce onto the sight behind him or the grass beneath his feet. Only in mere passages eye contact lasts.

You open your mouth to speak, but realize you have a bad habit of coating everything in a thin layer of sugar as if feeding your words to a child. But there’s a certain bitter aftertaste in being honest.

“I love you, Sunwoo.” The words free from a deep part within. Tears off the inner skin and momentarily aches the body cathedral. He doesn’t say anything. Sitting in place, whether it’s of shock or horror, one can’t tell. To expand the details of his expression, but there’s always two possibilities to his wide eyes and space between lips. Hurriedly you continue.

“I really like you Sunwoo, I’m sorry.” You look down to the left, “I just needed to say it.” You open your arms, not like a hug, rather an impediment.

“So do what you want, Sunwoo.” You breathe in heavily while searching for the world reflected in his window.

“Just break my heart if that’s what you have to, please, just–”

“I love you too.”

“...do–what?” Your arms fall to their sides and the pupil without dimensions expands across the pearl, reaching the far edge of its colorization.

“I love you too.” He stutters more this time.

Every cosmic mass bulging on your shoulders and tearing your back convulses from behind. It like everything eventually does; changes form and frees for the roof without limit. It has compressed your lungs into tiny pulses, you didn’t even notice. Yet the milky way’s worth of celestial bodies frees from you; only eyelids show movement.

You breathe heavily while looking at Sunwoo with parted lips. He looks just as cosmically affected as you.

“But aren’t you together with Jaehyun?” He suddenly says.

You’re quiet for a second before bursting out in laughter.

“No…no.” You take your hands up before your chest and smile “You’re still there?”

Sunwoo’s still crossed brow of confusion. Neither laughing nor speaking.

“I was his fake girlfriend for the parties, but we’re not like that.”

You pause.

“We could never be like that…” You hold your arms behind your back, titling your head when a star aligns with his position.

“Not when you exist.”

He admires you deeply in the same way, one layer below. Knees have come up to his chin and he hugs them slightly while hypnotized following the last season’s breeze across your face.

You’re not sure what is supposed to happen now. But truthfully, you could live adoring the opposite like this for an eternity longer.

Though, Sunwoo has other plans.

The surface of his shoes bend down the grass as he stands. The last meters dying to collapse cease from existence; all before you even lift your head from your shoulder. Just as your eyes widen he’s against you gently. Sheer touch of his fingers across your lower face before he tilts. At last you touch and love-soul bitten sensations fill two hearts.

You look at him again after the kiss; his face so beautiful you believe he could overthrow the world.

a/ n : i kind of broke my own heart by writing reader and juyeon just being friends 😭 it took all my will power

love spectrum spoiler

have flirty/ cute dynamic in the beginning but becomes friends : juyeon, changmin

romantic storylines but do not end up with : eric, hyunjae

end game : sunwoo

tagging : @darcymariebraun-blog @sungbeam @tbzhub @sanaxo-o

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d34dlysinner · 4 months

Note

I don’t know if this counts as a request, but what are some thoughts of the kings taking care of the pregnant MC? Or how would telling them the test came back positive

Sorry for the late answer!!!

Satan looked at you with a huge smile on his face when he heard the news. "It's about time", he said laughing as he gave you a tight hug. Satan would like some kids and he would love to give them the weirdest names he could think. At a certain point you had to stop him with the name picking because some of the names he thought of either seemed like titles or were too hard to pronounce. He would look forward to being able to do stuff with his child, but before that he gets very overprotective of you. He won't put you on a diet (unless you eat a lot of stuff that could harm the baby), but he will yell and kick anyone that gets to close to you. Paimon being excited hearing the news probably would want to hug you and congratulate you. Before he could even touch you Satan is in between the both of you saying. "Keep your excitement in check before you harm MC." He knows his nobles and he understands that they would never want to harm you, but he doesn't want to risk anything when you're in this state.

Mammon would shower you in gifts and affection. He's always there when you need something and at times he's there even when you don't need stuff. He would be excited as he gets baby toys and other stuff he think the baby would like. At a certain point he'd just return with a solid golden pacifier saying: "I used to like this when I was young. My child definitely would too." He sometimes base the things he buys from his own childhood, wanting his child to have the same things he had as a child.

When it comes to you and your entire pregnancy he would get you the best quality of everything you wanted. Food? He'd get it from a 5 star place or he'd let a amazing cook make it. You're tired? Mammon would just carry you the entire time. You want something to read or to do? Mammon would bring you all the stuff you need. He loves to spoil you and he would do rhe same for his child.

Beelzebub would look at you in disbelief. Almost as if he claimed to have used protection which at most times he doesn't. "What..?", he asked as you repeated: "I'm pregnant." Beel was thinking for a while, almost making you anxious as he walked over to you. All the fears washed away when he placed a kiss on your forehead. "I can't believe I'm going to be a dad.", he says chuckling. He would cook for both you and the child, making sure to not put anything too suspicious in his food. He doesn't want you to feel worse during your pregnancy. He will at times disappear but he'd always make sure you're left somewhere safe (with Bael) and he would make sure that the others would help you with food (not Bael). When he returns he brings little gifts for both you and the baby. You understand why he can't always be there so you're not angry, but having him leave at times does make you a little emotional when you want him at your side during these months.

(Extra: ... Beel would comment on your pregnant belly saying "its cute." He would notice every little change and fall in love with you again every time.)

Leviathan didn't really show a lot of expression. You'd almost think he's angry until he says "I see. That's good. Now you have to stay in Hades." He may seem a little cold but he's genuinely happy, just not always the best at showing how he feels. But you'd notice that during the evening he'd place a kiss on your forehead or on your hand. While sleeping he'd hold his hand over your stomach as if he's protecting the child.

During day you'd probably not see him too much since he takes his work very seriously, but he does send over flowers with a letter and other stuff. Foras would deliver them since he'd probably instantly hang anyone else who tried to hand over his gifts to you. When you do see him he starts asking questions like: "Did you eat?", "How do you feel?"

During the lasts months of the pregnancy he'd seem more invested with the child and you'd see a nursery being decorated for the child. He'd also throw names he'd like to give to his child during those months.

Lucifer stayed silent as he walks toward you. He wouldn't do much more than give you a kiss and a hug to reassure you that he wasn't disappointed with the news. He would have a small smile and that same smile would be plastered on his face anytime a conversation leads towards his unborn baby. He does love family and he wants one that would stay with him. Not that he doesn't appreciate his current family, but he's always happy to expand it.

He would force you to do check ups every week. Just to be sure that you're 100% okay. He'd also make sure you eat stuff that's been approved by him. Apart from that he doesn't do a lot more than taking care of you.

If there's danger he'd make sure you're safe. If you're tired he'd urge you to sleep a little longer. If you want to take a walk he'd make sure it's with someone near you.

He doesn't do a lot when it comes to decorating a nursery or searching names. "I'm okay with what you want to pick." Is what he would say.

(Extra: he would cry of happiness when holding his child for the first time. It may not be very noticeable but you'd notice.")

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb asks #whb satan #whb leviathan #whb beel #whb mammon #whb lucifer

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charlie-lec-stories · 9 months

Text

Invisible string // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Vettel!Sister

Summary: While on a difficult time in his life, Sebastian discovers that his family is way bigger than he thought.

Warnings: Alcohol and drugs consumption, strong language.

Author’s Note: This story is and is not about Charles, but it's a nice story and I thought that it would be nice to include it on this blog. I'm not comfortable with writing about the death of real people, so even though reader is Sebastian's little sister, I changed the names of his parents and to feel more comfortable with the plot. You have to remember that this stories are originally done for my own fictional characters and I adapt them to the F1 world to include Charles on them, so when I write about Sebastian's family I am not speaking of the real one. Rate: +16 (sensitive language and mature activities)

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"Sebastian, I'm so sorry for your loss". It was the tenth time he had heard that phrase in an hour, and even though he was grateful for so many people being there for him, he was sick and tired of the condolences. He smiled sadly at yet another friend of his father, Klaus, and quickly looked around, searching for Hanna, his wife, to save him from the situation. He found her at the other side of the room, she instantly understood him and made her way to where he was. She started some light conversation with the older man, sending Sebastian a complicit look, giving him his cue to leave. He swiftly escaped to the kitchen and hid there for a few minutes.

"Hi, kid". Sebastian looked up to find Henry, his father's best friend. The British man was like family to Sebastian and now that his father had joined his mother in Heaven, Henry felt like the last piece of family Sebastian had. "I've been looking for you".

"Well, you found me. I thought I had done a better job at hiding though. I'm not really in the mood for more condolences". Henry pulled away a chair and sat next to him, patting his back lightly, trying to be as comforting as he could.

"You don't need to hide from me, Seb". They both laughed softly, the tension on Sebastian's back loosening a bit.

"I know. I'm just... overwhelmed, I think". He let out a long sigh, and Henry squeezed his shoulder, his heavy hand finding a home there.

"I know, I felt the same when my father passed away. My brother was a good help at the moment, he took care of everything, I just felt like it all was too much. I actually went to your father's and hid there for hours. Came back home, stoned as fuck, just in time to put the old man to the ground". Sebastian smiled, he knew that story, his father had told him about the time he and Henry smoked weed like two Woodstock hippies the day Henry's father died. "Klaus was a good friend, but sometimes I feel a big debt with my big brother, he really stepped up that day".

"You're lucky to have a brother to be there for you at a time like that. I think that's one of the cons of being a single child". Sebastian felt Henry tense up, and the warm hand that was once on his shoulder, now slipped away, as if Henry was unable to maintain the contact. "What? What is it?".

"Seb...". The tension grew so thick that Sebastian had to move away slightly. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. "You know I wasn't just your father's best friend, I was also his lawyer". The younger man nodded slowly, his narrowed and confused eyes focused on the older man. "I may just give you this now, I would rather see you next week for the will's reading with this information a little bit more processed".

"What are you talking about?". Henry looked inside his coat, taking an envelope out of his pocket and handing it to Sebastian, who took him with trembling hands. "Henry, what is this?".

"That's a letter your father wrote to you, twenty years ago". Sebastian took the letter out and started reading right away.

"A sister? A baby sister?". Henry saw the array of emotions that passed the younger man's eyes: confusion, anger, sadness, disappointment, happiness. Sebastian felt every emotion he was capable of in just a few seconds, as his father's words sunk in. The letter was about the time when his parents had briefly separated and Klaus had gone to Henry's home in England to spend a few weeks, while he decided what to do about his marriage. He wrote about how he met a lovely woman, and that after one night with her, he decided that he was getting a divorce, but then, a 9 years old Sebastian called him and asked him when he was coming home and he understood that he loved his life in Germany, with Sebastian and Lina, his wife. He left the lovely woman behind and went back home, just to get a call a year later, letting him know that he had a daughter but the lovely woman wanted nothing to do with him. The letter finished with Klaus begging for Sebastian's forgiveness.

"He left half of everything he had to that little girl, who's not so little now. He asked me to find her once he passed away and let her know that there were some things that he wanted her to have, but, most importantly, he wanted you both to meet". Sebastian, who just then noticed that he was crying, wiped his tears away angrily.

"Why? Why hide this from me?". Henry gathered the courage to place his hand on Sebastian again and ran his finger through the grieving man's blonde locks.

"Because he was too scared to do anything about this while he was alive, but he knew that you deserved to know the truth".

A week later, Sebastian was sitting in Henry's office, Hanna by his side and Henry drinking a cup of tea in front of him while they waited for the girl to show up. Henry found her in the same town Klaus had met her mother, a little town that was Henry's home for a short period of time in 1996. It was crazy, but she was born on July 3rd, 1997, exactly on Sebastian's 10th birthday. He had always wanted a little sibling so it kind of felt like a birthday present, one he had hoped to know about way sooner. They waited but as the minutes passed, Sebastian started to lose hope on ever meeting his sister. What if she didn't show up? What if she didn't want to meet him? Henry sent the letter, but she never answered. What if she just didn't care about her father's side of the family? Hanna grabbed his hand and he felt a little bit of comfort, but the fear in his heart could only subside with the mystery girl's presence. There were some muffled voices that rang on the other side of the door and Hanna turned around expectantly to see who they were, but Sebastian couldn't move, not even when the door opened and his wife gasped, him too afraid to turn around.

"Good afternoon, is this Mr. Henry Wood's office?". Even if the thick Northern British accent took him by surprise, Sebastian was still petrified, and he saw Henry get up to welcome the people who walked in.

"Yes, I'm Henry. You must be Eleanor". Two sets of feet could be heard and Sebastian understood that his sister didn't show up alone. They both reached the desk and just then, he could move to look up. There was an older woman, in her 50s, dark reddish hair and green eyes looking down at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Next to her was a younger girl, her face shared a lot of features with him, she was unmistakably his sister, a Vettel without a doubt. It was strange, looking at her, a complete stranger, and still finding himself looking back. Her hair was lighter than her mother's, but they both shared green eyes.

"Yes, I'm Eleanor. This is Y/N". The girl shook Henry's hand, but she sat down not even looking at Sebastian once.

"Seb, if you don't mind, I'd like to start with Y/N's part of the will". Hanna had to elbow him, because he was zoning out looking at the girl.

"Yes". He finally said, looking back at Henry and clearing his throat. "Of course I don't mind".

Henry took his time, properly going through every part of Klaus' will. The older German left the summer house, one car and half of his bank account to his estranged daughter, and the rest to Sebastian, which included the family home, one car and the other other half of the money. Y/N never said a word, if it wasn't for him constantly looking at her, he could have sworn that she wasn't even there. Eleanor spoke up a few times, asking about legal processes and such, she sounded like a sweet woman, but Sebastian could see that she was trying to put on her mean face, doing her best to protect her child. Hanna had excused herself in the middle of everything, a chaotic call from their children sending her out of the office to play referee between their arguing toddlers. Henry walked out once the will was completely read, telling them that he needed to grab some other papers for them to sign. Eleanor started telling her daughter about what they were going to do with the summer house, that they could keep it or sell it, that if she wanted to sell it, they could rent a hotel room and use the money to do some remodeling and sell it for a higher price. Y/N spoke for the first time, agreeing with the selling.

"You're welcome to stay with us-". Sebastian started, but Eleanor cut him off.

"No, thank you". She had a hard look on her face, but the broken gesture on Sebastian's softened her a little. "I made a choice twenty years ago, and I stand by it, Sebastian. She's not a Vettel".

"But-". Eleanor got up and pulled her daughter with her.

"I said no. She's been more than fine without her father's influence. She won't start with this now". With that, she started to walk away, ready to wait outside for the final papers.

"I am not my father". Sebastian's angry tone made the two women turn around to look at him. He was still sitting, his body resting on the back of the chair, his gaze on the ground, until he looked up at them, tears threatening to spill out. "I was lied to, for twenty years. You knew we existed, I didn't. I was robbed of the chance of meeting her sooner, of watching her grow. I was robbed of the chance of being a brother, of forming a bond. So excuse me for trying to start now! Excuse me for wanting to get to know my sister!". Eleanor exchanged a look with Y/N, then, the girl walked up to Sebastian. The staring contest went on for a few seconds, then, she sat back down and wrote her phone number on a paper that she found on the desk.

He was shocked when Y/N showed up at his door the next month without Eleanor, her mother still choosing to stay in a hotel instead of Sebastian's house. Even though it was unrealistic, when he let her into his home, he kind of expected them to click instantly, but his bubble quickly popped. The following two weeks were a disaster, Sebastian learned that they not only had nothing in common, she actually seemed to dislike him. If he said white, she said black, if he said sweet, she said sour. Sometimes he wondered if she was doing it on purpose, just to start a fight. He had never met anyone so different to him and they argued for almost every little thing on a daily basis. He complained to Hanna every night, he didn't know what to do, he wanted his sister to like him, he wanted to build something great with her, but she only pushed him away. But Hanna told him something that made him keep fighting: "She could go back home whenever she wanted, she could even go to her mother, staying just fifteen minutes away from us, still, every night, she chooses to stay here. She may be having a hard time letting you in, but she's not backing down and neither should you".

There was one thing that he noticed she couldn't hate about his life, and that was racing. Every day she walked down the stairs, he could hear her stop for a few minutes to stare at his pictures on the walls, most of them from his Red Bull days, but some from his now Ferrari era. He could tell that she liked Formula 1, even if she tried to hide it, he could see the spark in her eyes whenever she lingered a little too long on a trophy in the living room, or when he and Hanna went over the last details of the new season starting next month. She always seemed to listen to those conversations without making any mean remarks. That shared interest gave Sebastian an idea, he could take her with him to the races, maybe she would like him a little better if she could see him in his element, doing what he loved and maybe showing off a little. It was also a chance to spend more time with her, just the two of them, getting to know each other better. It could be his chance to be an older brother. She accepted the offer, not before making a whole scene of her showing almost zero interest and telling him that she was doing it more for the chance of meeting cute drivers than to spend time with him. He pretended to believe her, whatever means necessary if it meant her spending time with him.

"Y/N, are you ready?". He yelled from the bottom of the stairs, his German punctuality stressing over the fact that she was taking her sweet time, guaranteeing them to be 10 minutes late for the time he had to be at the airport.

"Stop yelling! Jesus, you're insufferable". She complained as she walked down the stairs, her luggage heavy and hitting the edge of every step. He almost puked when she stood in front of him and saw what she was wearing. She had a white shirt with a Mercedes logo and number 44, Lewis Hamilton's name written on the back. She smirked at him and he looked back at her seriously, not finding anything funny in her little act.

"You know my number is 5, and I drive for Ferrari, right?". He loved Lewis, he was one of his closest friends, but there was no way in hell his sister was wearing that to the paddock.

"I know". She simply stated and walked past him, saying goodbye to Hanna and going to the car. He spent the whole ride to the airport thinking of a good excuse to give to his Team Principal about why she was wearing that, but there was nothing that he could come up with.

"Well... That's... something". Maurizio, his team principal said as Y/N sat on the jet and put on her earphones, ignoring everyone.

"She's not my biggest fan". Sebastian admitted, sighing as he looked at his sister buckling up.

"I can see that". Maurizio laughed a bit, finding the situation a lot funnier than Sebastian.

"I already like her". He heard Kimi, his teammate, add without looking up from his phone, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. It was going to be a long season.

To say that a white Mercedes shirt stood out in the sea of red would be an understatement. She was like a LED sign saying "I hate Sebastian Vettel'' and her little number caught the paddock's attention instantly. Walking into the paddock, she quickly ran away from him, going who knows where while he did everything that was required before the first practice. He spent all Friday without seeing her, until it was time to go back to the hotel and on Saturday, she was already making friends around and ignoring him. Her insistent effort to pretend like he didn't exist only fueled him to win, still, Lewis got pole and Kimi followed the Brit on the starting grid. Sebastian was fuming when he saw Y/N grin as she looked at him, satisfied with his anger. She was a menace, like a Vettel, but he could be even pettier, that's why, on Sunday, he ended up winning the race and enjoying the little tantrum she did before going back to the car locking herself in until he was ready to take her back to the hotel.

The next race, Sebastian got pole and won the race, enjoying more the fuming expression of his little sister than the win itself. But then came China and he ended up 8th even though he got pole position and it was her time to laugh. After almost a month hanging around the paddock, Y/N had made a lot of friends, especially with the drivers that were close to her age. She quickly befriended Max Verstappen and Pierre Gasly, who introduced her to the Alfa Romeo rookie, Charles Leclerc. Sebastian liked Charles, he was a talented kid and there was this rumor, almost confirmed, that he was the one that would take Kimi's seat the following season and become Sebastian's teammate. But Charles was a boy, and the German soon discovered he didn't like her sister hanging out with boys. The next two races ended up with Lewis taking the P1 spot and Sebastian wasn't sure what he hated more, losing or his sister being so incredibly happy with Lewis' wins. Maybe what he hated more was Y/N going out every weekend, clubbing with her new favorite drivers while he waited awake and stressed out for her to go back. She was twenty, it wasn't like he could ground her, but she was still a kid in his eyes and the idea of her drinking with those three boys wasn't his happiest thought.

"I'm going out". She informed him casually, then, he walked out of the bathroom and grabbed his jacket. She looked at him, frowning.

"Let's go". He said as he walked to the door.

"What are you doing?".

"It's obvious, innit?". Replied, smirking and making fun of her accent.

"There's no way you're coming with us". She crossed her arms and they heard her phone ring with a message notification, probably one of the boys telling her that they were outside to pick her up.

"I'm not asking you. Answer the text, tell your friends that I'm taking us to the club". She opened her mouth to complain, but he saw her face morph into a big grin.

"Sure, Seb". She took her phone out of her purse and quickly replied, with a suspicious look, she watched her walk out of the room and he followed her.

He learned that night that, if he pushed her buttons, he'd probably end up paying a high price. She drank her weight in alcohol and made out with half the club, she even got into a fight with a guy way bigger than her, and he was the one that ended up with a sore cheek. He had to literally tear her away from Max Verstappen, and then from Charles Leclerc, and somehow, from three other guys. She did everything she knew would make him mad and the next morning, she ignored his 20 minutes long sermon about her actions. But, she didn't win. He kept joining her on her clubbing and made it his mission to keep her away from trouble - and Charles' disrespectful hands, well she wasn't exactly complaining, but Sebastian still didn't like it-.

It was around their birthdays when they discovered that they were actually having fun together and, before they could notice, they ended up walking out of clubs laughing their asses off. The press had a field day with them, but Ferrari didn't seem to care, and it wasn't like he was getting in any trouble with Hanna for his nights out. Austria was the race before their birthdays and Max won, Sebastian coming in third. The Dutch celebrated shoving his tongue down Y/N's throat and Sebastian decided that he had enough, he could deal with the fights and the drunken mischief, but she was definitely not dating a driver. They spent their birthdays together in England, the first time they had a good time together without alcohol doing its magic. Charles Leclerc sent a gift and it had Sebastian rolling his eyes in annoyance, but it still was a sweet gesture, one he noticed his sister liked a lot. Eleanor was in a better mood, and Sebastian could appreciate a sweeter side of her. It was his best birthday so far. Thirty-one felt great and being an older brother felt even better, even if they still were having some issues.

The next weekend was Silverstone, and the Vettel siblings fell into their previous dynamic. It was Y/N home race and Sebastian wanted to win it more than anything, but she still wore Lewis' shirt. The Brit got pole position, but Sebastian won the race and, for the first time, his sister congratulated him for his win. They hugged tightly, he even let some tears roll down his face, it was their first time ever hugging. They didn't go out that weekend, instead, the party kids decided to join the Vettels for a nice and tranquil dinner. Sebastian got to appreciate better the developing relationship between his sister and Charles, how the young driver was slowly but surely winning her over, and he didn't like it, Sebastian didn't like it one bit. He thought he disliked Max, but he discovered that he could dislike Charles even more. Hanna noticed, because if there was someone on Earth that knew Sebastian like the back of their hand, that was Hanna. She could see the possessive spark in his eyes, the way he tensed as he watched Charles whisper something in Y/N's ear while she giggled. She knew that he was close to exploding, but to her surprise, Sebastian didn't do anything.

The following six wins from Lewis were interrupted by Sebastian's win in Spa, and again, even if she was still wearing white, his sister was there to congratulate him. He could feel that they were getting closer, but as their relationship got stronger, so did hers with Charles. By the end of the 2018 season, Sebastian finished second in the championship and his sister had officially started dating Charles, who was confirmed to become his teammate for the 2019 season. It was going to be uncomfortable, especially since Sebastian had made clear that he didn't like the relationship. He was convinced that Charles would cheat on her, because there were very few drivers that could be trusted and, from Sebastian's perspective, Charles wasn't in that selective group. She spent Christmas with the Vettels and her mother and New Year in Monaco, with the Leclercs. Sebastian was fuming, but he did what he could to keep himself in check. His relationship with Y/N was better, but she still kept him at arms distance, she still didn't trust him fully.

There were no words to express just how happy Sebastian was when he saw her dressed in Ferrari red, but the number 16 was definitely bugging him. Him and Charles got asked a lot about the tension of being teammates and in-laws in press conferences, and the German did what he could to play it cool, even if he was constantly day-dreaming about cutting Charles' hands off. Charles was nice and seemed to admire Sebastian a lot, he was a four times world champion after all, but the older driver just couldn't stand the Monegasque. It was a shame, because if it wasn't for Charles' relationship with Y/N, Sebastian was sure that he would like Charles. The thing is, he was jealous, he hated the fact that she trusted Charles more than him, even if she had known him for less time. The couple shared so much, and Sebastian just wanted his sister to share just one little thing with him, but they were in this weird position where she accepted him as her brother, but they weren't close. Charles had gone to her house, been in her room, knew what she liked, knew childhood stories and shared some inside jokes with her. Sebastian didn't know anything more than what he could guess from the time they had known each other, but she refused to share information with him. They were amicable, but they didn't have a bond and Sebastian hated that she did form one with Charles.

Mercedes dominated and won the first eight races, Max won Austria again and then, after a very tense first half of the year, it was Sebastian and Y/N's birthdays again. After that, came Silverstone, and the tension that had been building up for so long was finally ready to explode. The race was the last drop, the glass was full and Sebastian was ready to set the world on fire. Charles finished on the podium and Sebastian 16th, after being given a ten-seconds penalty for nosing Max's car with his Ferrari. He did the best he could to smile for the cameras but he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and take the longest shower of his life. He watched Y/N kiss and hug Charles before he went to the podium and something inside him just snapped. He grabbed his sister and pulled her to the Ferrari garage as quietly as possible. They started arguing, because they were amazing at getting each other angry, and what started as a petty but harmless sibling fight, ended up with Y/N crying her eyes out and storming out of his driver's room. He went back to the hotel and took his so wanted shower, but when he got out, he didn't feel any better. As the time passed, he felt worse, and when he got an angry message from Eleanor, he knew that he had to fix what he had broken. He knew that she wasn't exactly helping to make things easier, but he was the big brother and if he really wanted the role, then he had to step up.

The trip to Eleanor's house wasn't long, and he noticed that he spent more time standing outside the door than he spent driving there. It was the first time he went there, the previous year they celebrated their birthdays in a restaurant and Y/N had refused to invite him to their home. He walked up to the door and after three failed tries, he finally rang the bell. He waited, the anxiety eating him alive, his heart beating faster as he heard footsteps getting closer to the door, what he didn't expect was Charles to be on the other side of it. He frowned, while the younger driver looked back at him, unamused. Charles actually looked like he was judging him and that angered the german, still, he did his best to contain himself and remembered, he was there to apologize.

"She's not here". Charles said and Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him, Charles rolling his eyes and then explaining. "She went to buy some ice-cream with her mom".

"Can I come in and wait for them?". He saw Charles hesitate, but then move aside to let him in. They sat on the living room sofa, in complete silence. Sebastian took a moment to look around, a lot of pictures of his sister hanging on the walls. "Do they leave you alone here often?".

"Well, yeah". Sebastian was curious, how could Charles have all that privilege while he was constantly begging for his sister's attention.

"This is my first time here". He admitted, and Charles just nodded, shifting uncomfortably on his end of the couch.

"Uhm... I know". Sebastian just scoffed.

"Of course you know. You know more about my sister and our relationship than me". Charles could hear the venom dripping from the words and tried to calm down.

"Don't say that. It's not like I know everything". The sour laugh Sebastian let out was pushing Charles closer to the edge.

"Well, you must be more than aware that she hates me".

"She doesn't-". But the other cut him off.

"Don't lie to me, not about this". It was the hurt in Sebastian's voice that gave Charles the last push.

"Come with me". Charles got up and he followed, both of them walking up the stairs and stopping in front of a white door, Y/N name painted on it. "I promised her I wouldn't tell you, but I can't stand this anymore". The Monegasque opened the door and walked in, Sebastian right behind him. The sight inside left him speechless: His face was everywhere. There were posters, Red Bull merchandising, Ferrari flags, everything with the number 5, everything with his name. The posters were notoriously old, some were even roughed up by the years. "I know that you think she knew about you her whole life, but she didn't. She got a letter, for her twentieth birthday, from your father. Her mother had to tell her then, the truth about who her father was. But the craziest thing is, she was your biggest fan, even when she didn't know you were related. She saw you win your first championship when she was thirteen and begged her mother to buy her everything she could find about you. You were her hero. She worshiped you, Seb".

"I signed this". He said, his fingers faintly gazing at a Red Bull cap that was hanging from the headboard of the bed.

"She went to Silverstone 2012, Webber won, you were third. She was outside the paddock when you walked up to them as you were going in. Signed her cap and told her to follow her dreams. It meant the world to her. She used to race in karting". He couldn't stop the tears even if he wanted to, full on crying as he sat on the bed and hugged the cap close to his chest.

"But then why does she hate me so much?". How could this happen? She felt it, she felt the bond. Even when they didn't know, she did, deep down, she did.

"Your father went back to your family, left her mom alone, then her mother wanted him out completely when she had the baby. She just grew up hating the man that used her mom as a night-stand and then ran back to Germany. When she learned that the same man she hated her whole life was also your dad... it was just too much". Charles walked up to the bed and sat down next to him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "She loves you, Seb. She loves you so much".

"What the fuck, Charles?!". They both looked up and found Y/N and Eleanor standing at the door, Y/N furious as she gripped a bowl of ice-cream. The Monegasque opened his mouth to explain, but she was quicker. "How could you do this to me?".

"Mon amour, I'm so-".

"Bullshit! You're not sorry, you're a fucking traitor". Her accent got a lot thicker the angrier she got. Sebastian, still crying, got up and stood in front of her.

"Don't, please, don't get mad at him". Sebastian begged. "I needed to know this, I needed to know that you actually like me. Y/N, please, I love you so much. I dreamed and begged for you my whole life, you have no idea how much happier I am knowing that you exist. I know that my father was a piece of shit to you both, I know that I can't fix that, but please, I'm begging you, give me a chance". He saw her doubt, he saw her hurt, but the moment she jumped on him and gripped him tightly he knew they were never letting go. "Thank you". He whispered on her hair and she just squeezed him on a deadly grip. They pulled apart and she looked at Charles, who was patiently waiting for her to forgive him, or kick him out. "You know, Charles is alright. I mean, 16 is not that bad of a number".

"I'd rather wear number 5, though". She said and Charles looked down. "But I don't want to be a shitty girlfriend, so I guess I can wear a cap with the number 16 along with my Vettel shirt". Charles looked up again and smiled wide at her. "Okay, listen, I swear to God, if you spill my secrets again, I'm dumping your ass".

"Won't happen again, Amour, I promise". He then looked at Sebastian. "So... I'm alright?".

"Don't push it, Leclerc".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This story was based on a real case of two brothers separated when they were little, and the younger became a fan of his older brother's band without knowing they were related. It was really bittersweet when they discovered that they were brothers. I hope you liked this.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot

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eilidh-eternal · 8 months

Text

Dancing in the deep end

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | CW dub con/non con themes, Simon being a possessive menace in general |

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to sit still today, fighting to keep a grip on the tense coil of compressed nerves within you. One wrong move—one wrong thought—and the tenuous bubble of calm that you and Kyle sit inside of is liable to burst.

It’s not the needles. Not the delicious pain of each pin prick that has you all keyed up.

It’s him.

And you’re doing your best not to think about it, focusing your attention instead on the collection of studs adorning Kyle’s ears and the glittering rhinestones that catch in the light each time his lips part to ask you another question. Inconsequential things about your work, plans with friends, or references you have saved on your pinterest board.

“Who are you gonna book with for that?” He studies the picture on your phone while he changes tips, handing it back when finished and returning his attention to the detail work on your right forearm.

“I’m not sure. I thought about Johnny. He’s good with realism, but this is more… macabre. Not really his style. And I don’t think I want any color, not for this. If I did I’d already be on your book.” You’d book with Kyle every time if you could. Prefer his affable countenance and comfortable conversation over the others. But they all have their specialties, and one size certainly doesn't fit all when it comes to artists.

He hums thoughtfully and the corner of his mouth twists up into a wry grin. “Sounds like something Ghost would take on. Definitely up his alley; all that spooky shit.”

So much for not thinking of him…

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he quips, breaking into a sharp-toothed smile.

“Grinning like there’s some kind of joke around here that I'm not in on.” When he pulls back to pick up more ink you shift in the chair, draw your legs up to cross underneath you and roll some of the tension from your shoulders.

“There’s no joke, hunny bun. Not about you.”

“Then what’s so funny?”

He shakes his head as he returns to his work, still smiling to himself. “Ghost, that’s what. Bloke’s been broody these last few weeks. More than normal, anyway.”

Oh.

“Had a bit of a tiff with Cap’ earlier. Dunno what about, but… I might have heard your name bein’ mentioned.”

“I thought you said this isn’t about me.”

“I said the joke isn’t about you. Never said what we’re pickin’ on him for isn’t about you.” He pauses his work just long enough to wink up at you, and you answer with a groan. “You don’t like him?”

You’ve been doing your best to not think about him. Even if the feel of his hands, pushing and pulling to arrange you the way he wants, tracing roughened fingers over the letters on your thigh, lingers like a phantom touch against your skin every night. The memory of his eyes, depthless yet brimming with beguiling allure, is burned into your retinas, staring back at you everytime you close yours–every time you blink.

You’ve been doing your best not to think of him, and you've failed miserably.

“I don’t not like him, he just…” Kyle’s hand hovers over your arm, the numbing bite of his needle just out of reach, waiting for your answer. “He fucks with my head. Can’t figure him out.”

Can’t get him out.

His smile shifts, full lips curled up at the edges and bright, intelligent eyes narrowed with a knowing glint. “Maybe that’s the point,” he surmises, and returns his attention to the half finished highlights.

In the days that follow, you start to think Kyle is right. That the reason Simon’s burrowed so deep under your skin is because that’s exactly where he wants to be, settling in with the same permanence as healing ink. An ever-present paresthesia that spreads like brushfire through the dried up remains of your resolve. Impossible to ignore.

Against your better judgment, you book your next session with him. This time, you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.

It’s another large piece, stretching from the apex of your spine to just below your shoulder blades, and needs multiple sessions to get the finer details just right. In retrospect, you really haven’t set yourself up for success in this whole ‘don’t let him get to you’ matter with your choice of placement and the inherent lack of clothing involved, but you’re adamant about this time being different.

It’s John who checks you in and collects the same signature and waiver as they always do, making idle chat and asking how some of your pieces have been healing while you fill out the forms. Leggings cover the bulk of Simon’s last piece so you show him the work Kyle did instead, holding out your arm for him to inspect.

“Gaz certainly knows what he’s doing with pigment. Boy’s got a knack for vibrancy.”

“His work is as colorful as he is. And Johnny’s language.” His eyes crease when he laughs, a full-bellied sound that echoes through the studio.

“Ghost should be ready for you. Same room as last time.” He gestures towards the hall with a tilt of his head, an unruly strand of hair escaping the hold of product and pomade to sway with the motion. “Good to see you, hun.”

“Good to see you too, John.”

No escort this time. You’re becoming something of a permanent fixture here, your presence something they’re quickly growing accustomed to. Ingratiated among their ranks and trusted to see yourself to each of their stations without need of their guidance.

Three short taps of your knuckles against the door, fading paint and a mess of stickers that are peeling around the edges dampening the sound, and Simon’s gruff voice grants you entry. When you crack the door open his back is to you, arranging his inks and tips to his specification on a rolling tray, clad in his usual monochromatic black. He’s silent as you slip inside, dropping your bag on the counter and shedding your jacket alongside it.

“Go on and get settled,” he directs, gesturing vaguely to the padded table beside him that’s replaced the chair from last time. His focus remains on setting up his station but you don't miss the way he cocks his head, watching you from his periphery. Once you’re comfortable, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the table, he reaches for the tablet on the counter beside him. “Gaz sent over the design? No changes?” he asks as he scrolls through the notes.

“Yeah, I’m really happy with the suggestions and revisions you made. It’s exactly what I’d envisioned when I sent over the references.” You fiddle with the hem of your tee, twirling a loose thread around your finger. “Should I…”

He looks up then, and it begins—the internal battle between logic and instinct.

The latter begs to let yourself drown in his gaze. Swallow lungfuls of churning amber and nestle into the warm, mindless haze that creeps at the fringes of your mind like mist over the earth, tinged an ephemeral gold by the first rays of dawn. The former recoils from the flaring of pupils like they’re the unhinged jaws of a predator, swallowing all of the light in the room in a uniquely serpentine manner. Some fragmented imitation of self preservation screams for you to run.

It doesn’t scream loud enough.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” Pale skin puckers around his eyes. Fissures in granite, the molten core of him pouring through the cracks and searing every detail of them into your memory.

“Yeah, sorry…” The hum that reverberates in his chest ripples in the space between you in waves of gravel that settle against your skin like velvet.

“Gotta go print the stencil,” he begins, standing from his chair, and he draws your gaze up with him to his full height. “Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” Ink stained fingers brush against your cheek, and you realize it’s not a request but a demand when he doesn’t wait for your answer, worn leather creaking with each retreating footstep until the door closes behind him and you’re left in dazed silence.

You blink once. Twice. Drag a hand over your face to wipe away the feeling of phantom fingers, and release the breath you didn’t realize you’ve been holding in a dejected sigh.

This doesn’t feel different. It feels exactly how it did last time.

Sit. Stay. Behave. These are his demands, and you’re powerless to defy them.

Each word uttered from behind that inane mask has the effect of being yanked by a leash. Dragging you along with him until you learn to match his gait, the cadence of his steps careful and measured, but the collar around your neck only ever gets tighter, reeling you in to heel at his side.

It should make you angry. Should rattle your head with alarm bells and shrill, screeching sirens. But all there is, is silence. Thick, hazy, blissful silence that swaddles your mind in an ardent blanket of warmth. A proverbial pulling of wool over your eyes.

But perhaps that’s too kind, not cruel enough, for the man whose presence smothers rationale and suffocates logic. Who steals the air from your lungs to feed his own conflagration and feeds it back to you on words, whetted by a duplicitous tongue, that feel like licking honey from a honed blade. Warm and sweet–but at what cost?

You wonder briefly if the slow slipping of your sanity is the price to be paid, and balk at the probability that he has even yet come to collect. You wonder briefly, because that is all the time you have. All the time you're allowed before the door swings open and in walks the phantasm of a man with righteous intent.

When the door clicks closed behind him, it sounds more, you think, like the striking of a gavel. A thunderclap in the court of the heavens. The sealing of your fate by something far beyond your control.

“Up,” his voice rumbles in the echoing thunder.

What?

He’s standing over you, hands flattened and fingers splayed on the table on either side of you, staring down at you expectantly. “Gotta take this off to get started,” he explains when you continue staring blankly up at him, dragging a hand over to your hip and curling his fingers into the same hem you’d been toying with not ten minutes ago.

You can’t decipher whether it’s by some divine puppeteering or an infernal possession that your arms slowly lift and you allow him to pull your shirt over your head. Allow him to guide you down onto the table, prone with a pillow tucked under your head, and your right arm folded underneath. To unclasp your bra, unhook each strap from its band, and slide it out from under you.

He smooths transfer paper over your back, cold solution causing you to flinch at first contact, and he quells the beginnings of a whine with gentle sushing and a warm hand at your nape. “Jus’ some cold. Save those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

Time moves slowly, cocooned in a heady smoke and honey scented haze, threads of it woven into his blanketing aura, and it weighs heavy on your limbs. Makes your body feel as sluggish as your mind.

“That’s it, good girl.” Numb and high on praise, you barely register the added weight of his arm slung across your lower back. A faint humming permeates your cocoon, accompanied by a distant fluttering that traces slow lines over your back, and a small, contented sound resonates in your chest. “So pretty like this. Such a pretty, empty head.”

This feels different. Nothing like the last time. There are no nerves that hum like livewires in your head. No furtive glances or chills that creep across your skin when you’re caught staring. He welcomes it–encourages it–but like the rest of you, your eyes feel heavy, lids drooping under a lulling weight.

When that golden mist appears once more at the blurry edges of your mind, there is nothing that stops it from surging forward and swallowing you down to the dregs of slumber.

Waking up feels like surfacing from molasses, thick and syrupy tendrils of sleep still clinging to you and trying to hold you under a little longer. But there’s a stinging sensation that prickles your skin and won't go away, wrenches your body and mind free of its sluggish haze.

Your back feels raw, skin overworked and leaking plasma, but it's the stinging of your arm that clears the fog from your head.

You blink sleep crusted eyes against the harsh overhead lighting of the studio, spots dancing in your vision as it slowly adjusts. It’s been a long time since you've fallen asleep while getting tattooed, and you wonder if maybe you slept on your arm–had it twisted under you at some odd angle that’s cut off its circulation and made it numb with staticy pin pricks.

No, this is different.

Bright color blooms before you, and for a moment you wonder if it's a result of phosphenes; if the pressure of confusion building in your head has somehow distorted your vision.

It isn’t.

The bright colors are a result of the newest tattoo on your arm, more than several weeks old by now, and the burning, itching sensation that should have long since passed is a result of the thick layer of fresh ink that's been overlaid.

‘MINE’ stares back at you in the hauntingly familiar scrawl of Simon’s hand.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 6 months

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Until you come back home pt.2

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Y/n received a letter from Bucky, but it was enough to push her into madness...

Warning: Obsessive love disorder/ mental institution/ electric shock/ freezing bath/ 1940s asylum treatments/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1.9k

When Harry Crosby came in her room with his letter, she couldn’t believe it. She was going crazy without him. Harry had to argue with the Colonel that she was still sane and still able to do her work, even though it was a lie. She snatched the envelope from his hands and quickly opened it. ‘’Told you he wasn’t dead, Croz, I was right’’ she said, smiling.

My darling Y/n,

I hope you’re doing well; I’ve read every single letter you sent to me. I miss you like crazy, say thank you to Crosby for me, I know he’s taking good care of you, and I’m grateful for it. I’m going crazy too, you know, I miss you so much. I miss everything about you, the conditions are awful here; we only eat potatoes and the other day, we have to kill a cat to eat its meat. It was disgusting, the mattress is so uncomfortable, my back hurts, and I can’t sleep well without you. On a good note, Buck is alive, and he’s here at this camp. That helps a little, but I’m still going crazy. I’m going to try and come back to you, in the meantime, I’ve sent you my necklace, it’s in the envelope, it’s not much but I hope it helps you. I think about you all the time, I’ve started to do the same thing as you, calling your name, until I come back home. I’m driving the guys crazy, but I don’t care. It keeps me sane. We have to keep hoping, I feel that we’re going to see each other again, and when we do, we’re going to get married, and we’re going to live together. I love you, my darling, so much it drives me crazy. Until I come back home; Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…

She hugged the letter before showing it to Crosby. Something in her eyes wasn’t right, something changed. The last bit of her sanity evaporated with the letter, she opened the envelope, taking the necklace and putting it around her neck. ‘’We’re going to get married, Croz’’ she giggled maniacally. ‘’Y/n are you okay?’’ he asked, very concerned with his best friend’s attitude. ‘’Bucky, Bucky, Bucky’’ she kept calling his name, over and over again. ‘’You’re scaring me! Are you okay?’’ he raised his voice. ‘’Never better, Croz’’ she smiled. It pained him, but he had to place her somewhere, she didn’t look okay, and frankly, Crosby was afraid that she would hurt herself, and others. So that night, he went to talk to Colonel Harding, and then, went to his desk, to write a letter.

When Bucky saw that the letter he got was not from Y/n, he was confused. When he saw that it was from Harry Crosby, he was worried. He quickly opened the envelope to see why his girlfriend wasn’t writing to him.

Hello Bucky,

Sorry for not being Y/n. I appreciate your kind words in her letters, I tried to look after her in the best way possible, but after your letter, she’s gone mad. And I don’t mean it lightly, I was afraid for her security, I thought she was going to hurt herself and others on the base. That’s why Colonel and I found it better to send her away, where she can get the help she needs. I wasn’t happy doing it, I felt really bad, but trust me, she needed it. The psychiatrist told me she has an obsessive love disorder. It is easy to cure, but it’s going to be hard. She will still be in love with you because I can tell she truly cares about you. The problem is she’s obsessed with you. She can’t live with the idea of you being dead or injured. She can have self-destructive behavior, so that’s why we decided to send her away. I visited her often. The first weeks were hard, but today marks the second month she’s been there, and I can tell she’s improving. I hope you’re okay, I’m going to try to keep you updated on her progress.

Harry Crosby

They put her into a mental institute. He couldn’t believe it, she wasn’t crazy, she was in love. Even if it made him angry, he understood why he did it. Bucky was just hoping that she was okay, and that they weren’t torturing her.

Electrical shock, that’s how they were ‘curing’ her, by electrocuting her. They also put her into an ice bath. But the doctor said she was getting better at first, she fought the guards, but by the time she did her fifth treatment, she grew tried of fighting them, so she stopped. Today was important for her, she was going to be evaluated by the psychiatrist and he was going to determine if she could get out of here, she needed to be on her best behavior. When guards came in her room, she was sat on her bed, ready to be escorted to his office. When she entered the room, she was nervous, her hands were shaking, and she felt like she was going to throw up. ‘’Hello Y/n, how are you today?’’ Dr. Phillips asked. She cleared her throat before speaking. ‘’Hi Dr. Phillips, I’m quite well, how are you?’’ she spoke nervously. He pressed his elbow in his desk, looking at his notes before responding. ‘’Good, thank you. So do you know why you’re here today?’’ she nodded and gulped. ‘’You’re going to tell me if I’m crazy or not’’ she whispered. Dr. Phillips laughed. ‘’Oh, Y/n, you’re not crazy, who told you that?’’ he laughed. He did, multiple times as he gave her shocks. ‘’Trevor did’’ she lied, Trevor was her only friend here, he was here because he could hear voices. Trevor claimed that he was blessed by the gods. ‘’Y/n, I’m the one that can say if you’re crazy or not, and from what I’m seeing in your file, you’re not crazy anymore’’ she shifted in her seat. She fixed her hair, looking at the ground. She couldn’t look at Dr. Phillips in the eyes, she was scared of him. ‘’Can I, uh, can I, g-g-get out?’’ she stuttered, whispering. She was afraid that he was going to give her an ice bath. ‘’Yes! That’s why I wanted to see you, I wanted to tell you the good news myself, your friend, Harry Crosby, is waiting for you in the lobby.’’ Dr. Phillips exclaimed.

His feet were bouncing on the ground, he couldn’t wait to see her. Harry Crosby got a call yesterday, saying that Y/n was going to be released. When the door opened, he saw her. She looked weak, fragile and tired, what the hell did they do to her. She was skinny, did they feed her? Her cheeks were hollow, and she had purple circles under her eyes. But when Y/n saw her best friend, she smiled, that was the first real smile she had in weeks. ‘’Crosby!’’ she exclaimed, walking towards him. ‘’Hey you! It’s so good to see you!’’ he exclaimed, trying not to show his concern in front of the doctor. ‘’She’s all good and ready to go home, take good care of her.’’ Dr. Phillips patted her back, but she flinched.

The second they were inside the Jeep, Harry drove far away from this place, he was going fast. ‘’Are you okay? What did they do to you?’’ he asked, concerned. Y/n turned to look at her friend. ‘’They cured me’’ she simply said. He sputtered. ‘’Do you still love him?’’ he asked, scared of her answer. ‘’I think so’’ her gaze was empty, it wasn’t normal, something was off.

Gale Cleven escaped, he managed to escape and now he was back on the base. He looked for Y/n, Bucky asked him to go check on her. He knew she had been in a mental institute, but when he saw her, getting out of Crosby’s Jeep, he felt sick. It wasn’t the Y/n he knew, who was this woman. She was walking towards him, smiling, but her eyes were numb. ‘’Gale! How are you?’’ she asked him, smiling. ‘’I’m good, Y/n, how are you, you look hungry’’ he stated, seeing how thin she was. ‘’I’m well, but I am hungry, can we go eat?’’ her tone was monotone, like a robot. It was like her brain was fried. ‘’I gotta go, please can you try to get information on what happened there’’ Harry whispered in Buck’s ear, he nodded as they both walked towards the cafeteria. Since it wasn’t the rush, the cafeteria wasn’t crowded.

She took a bite of the food and smiled. ‘’It’s good?’’ Buck asked. She nodded. ‘’Very, I only ate porridge and bread’’ she admitted, unknowingly. ‘’You look better, Y/n, what did they give you?’’ he asked, hiding his concerns. ‘’Stuff’’ she took another bite of her food. ‘’What kind of stuff?’’ he asked. She zoned out, she thought about the shocks and the freezing water on her skin, her eyes filled with tears. ‘’Baths and a painful treatment’’ she mumbled, but Gale understood every word.

When Bucky came back on the base, he couldn’t wait to see his girlfriend, but Harry Crosby stopped him. ‘’Bucky, wait, we have to tell you something’’ he grabbed his arm. ‘’What Cros?’’ he asked, annoyed that he couldn’t see his girl. He tilts his head to tell him to go into another room. The Colonel was leaning against the table, Gale was seated on a chair, Harry closed the door and offered Bucky a chair. ‘’Major, I would sit down if I were you’’ Colonel Harding ordered. Bucky was confused, what the hell was going on, where was his girlfriend. ‘’Where’s Y/n?’’ he asked. ‘’She’s in her room, but she’s different, Bucky. That place changed her’’ Buck started. ‘’How could they change her?’’ he chuckled nervously. ‘’I didn’t know what kind of treatment they were administering her, but she told Buck everything’’ Crosby started. Bucky looked at his friend, he had his head down. ‘’Electrical shock, ice baths, steam baths, they gave her shock, they almost fried her brain. They fed her porridge and bread; they wouldn’t let her sleep’’ he explained. John Egan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘’H-how’s that legal?’’ he exclaimed, nervously. ‘’But the problem is, the treatments worked, but we don’t know how she’ll react to you being there, Major’’ Harding explained.

Y/n was sitting on her bed, reading the letters she missed when she was away. She heard a knock, and she turned around. There he was Bucky was in front of her. She got up from the bed and smiled. ‘’You’re alive?’’ she choked up on emotions. ‘’I am, darling’’ he said, cautiously, not wanting to trigger anything. ‘’You’re real?’’ she asked. He nodded, she carefully walked up to him, she took his hand, she was making sure he was real. His hand was warm, and his skin was soft. Her eyes filled with happy tears as she looked at him. He gently put his hand on her cheek, wiping away the tear with his thumb. ‘’I love you so much’’ she breathed out, before hugging him. In his arms, every shock, every bath and every torture went away. He was back, she was hugging him, he was real. ‘’You came back home’’ she cried out. ‘’Told you I was coming back, darling’’ he softly whispered in her ear. ‘’Never leave me again.’’ She pleaded. ‘’Never, darling. Because I don’t wanna live forever if my life is not with you’’

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air #master of the air imagine #john egan x reader #major john egan #john egan #gale buck cleven #harry crosby

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anna-the-undertaker · 1 month

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Im playing with an incorrect quote generator and I'm sharing them here. They are cracking me tf up.

Belphie: So I can either do something dumb that could very well get me injured or I can listen to MC and not do the thing, Belphie: Well there’s a clear right answer here. Belphie: *proceeds to throw five packs of mentos into a barrel full of diet coke*

Satan: I woke up and chose VIOLENCE. I WILL COMMIT ARSON AND BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!!! I AM ANGRY- MC: Awwww, you’re so adorable! Give me a hug~ Satan: Wh-What? nO, yOURE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF ME! TREMBLE BEFORE MY WRATH- Lucifer, recording: This is so cute.

Beel: sSSSHIT- I BURNT MY LIP- Belphie: …Why the fuck would you even drink coffee with a METAL STRAW in the FIRST PLACE?? Beel: BECAUSE WE WERE OUT OF THE PLASTIC ONES!

Barbatos: Look, Satan, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

MC: Yes, I'm adopting Satan and you cowards can't tell me no!

Lucifer: *running towards Beel with open arms* Beel: *moves out of the way* Lucifer: Hey, why'd you move?! Beel: I thought you were going to attack me. Lucifer: I was going to hug you! Beel: Why would you hug me? Lucifer: WHY WOULD I ATTACK YOU!?

Levi: The best way to gain someone's undying loyalty is by saving them from a perilous situation. Barbatos: So you're just gonna wait until MC is in danger and save them? Levi: Of course not, I'm going to create a situation that puts them in danger and then save them. Barbatos: … Barbatos: You're insane.

MC: We’re going to defeat you with the power of friendship. Belphie: We’re not friends. MC, holding an axe: We’re going to defeat you with the power of incredible violence.

Lucifer: You’re starting to look like me more and more every day— Satan: *Bursts into tears* Lucifer: Why are you crying? Satan: You’re ugly! I don’t want to look like you! *sobs*

*Satan and Mammon are texting* Satan: Who are you? Someone changed the names in my phone. Mammon: What did they change my name to? Satan: Chosen One. Mammon: Don’t change it back. Satan: BUT WHO ARE YOU?!?! Mammon: I’m the chosen one.

Mammon: "What are you into?" is such a broad question, like do I reply with a TV series or choking?

Belphie: Sorry I can’t be emotionally vulnerable with you it’d ruin the mystery.

Asmo: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

Mammon: What happened to your nose? Satan: I used it to break some guy's fist.

Mammon: Would it be discrimination to only hire employees at my doughnut shop who have the same name? MC: Legally, I don't believe that breaches any discrimination laws. Morally though… I don't know. Mammon: I believe god is on my side when it comes to Duncans' Doughnuts.

Mammon: Would anyone know any good vendors for professional-quality brass knuckles? Asmo: I know you’re serious, but you say the scariest shit sometimes.

Mammon: look Levi, I'm not slut shaming you but… Mammon: Actually yeah, I'm TOTALLY slut shaming you.

Lucifer: I am the left brain, I am the left brain. "I work really hard until my inevitable death" brain. You've got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might. Mammon: I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSY-

Satan: My expectations were low but holy fuck.

MC: *Texts a selfie to the group chat* Hey besties!! Mammon: *Texts a selfie clearly parodying MC's* hey besties !!1! MC: I literally hate you so much.

Satan: What's this? MC, hugging Satan: Affection! Satan: Disgusting. Satan: …Do it again.

Lucifer: I am going to need you to swear- Diavolo: Fuck. Lucifer: Lucifer: …swear as in promise.

Mammon: Pardon me, but it sounds like you’re questioning my authority! Lucifer: Not at all, Mammon. Merely your primitive methods.

MC: *cocks gun* Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

Levi: Wait a minute, how did this happen? We're smarter than this! Beel: Apparently, we're not.

Mammon: *Reading a letter* Satan: Well, what does it say? Mammon: It’s a confession letter. It turns out MC killed my pet rock.

Diavolo: Not to be nsfw but I want someone to hold me while I sleep.

MC: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Diavolo and Lucifer's convo? Asmo: Me. I'm in the laundry basket. Belphie: I'm in the washing machine. Barbatos: I'm in the closet. Asmo: We accept you Barbatos. <3 Barbatos: No I'm literally in the closet. Asmo: Love is love. <3

Belphie (brainstorming ideas for pranking Lucifer): How much would a serial killer mask possibly cost? MC: Well it’s hard to find a high-quality one made out of leather or silicone, but if you did find a good one like that it’d be a couple thousands of dollars. I can try to hook you up with one but I don’t know if I’d be very successful. Belphie: Huh, that’s pretty interesting actually- Wait, how the hell do you know that? MC: …I am very passionate about Halloween, Belphie.

Diavolo: I don't know, it's not my cup of tea. Satan: Well then whose is it? Diavolo, staring at a cup of tea: I don't know!

MC: What’s something you guys are better than Lucifer at? Mammon: Mario Kart. Satan: Yeah, video games. Levi: Emotional vulnerability.

Mammon: Can we talk about that mass email you sent? MC: Why? It was important. Mammon: All it says is, "I'm back on my shit". Diavolo, shrugging: The people need to know.

Mammon: Can you pass the salt? Asmo: Can you pass away? Mammon: Too much salt.

*talking on the phone* Mammon: Remember how I said that MC and I were gonna have a calm night out for once? Lucifer: Yeah… Mammon: Well, we’re in jail. Lucifer: *hangs up*

MC: Go to hell! Lucifer: Where do you think I come from?

MC: I see the red flags, I acknowledge that they're there, and then I completely ignore them.

Satan: We need a distraction. Lucifer: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises? Diavolo, whispering: My time has come.

Mammon: I don’t know, this plan seems complicated. Lucifer: You once said that about an orange. Mammon: They don’t make sense. Apples, you eat their clothes but oranges you don’t.

Diavolo: Mammon and I were crossing the street, and this man drove by and honked at us. Asmo: What did you do? Diavolo: They chased him to the next red light, and reached into his window, and- Mammon: *walking in* Who wants a steering wheel?

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me incorrect quotes

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localplaguenurse · 19 days

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Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 6

So ever since my last update, I've gotten a new laptop because deadass the same day I posted chapter 5 like "oh hopefully I'll get it back soon," they told me my old acer aspire is so old they don't even make the parts for it anymore. This has nothing to do with the fic, I just thought it was funny.

Notes: still sfw, semi dysfunctional/controlling family dynamics (I assure you they will get progressively worse), ableism in the form of reader being coddled and patronized by his parents. Check masterlist for previous parts, will eventually make an actual masterlist for this fic.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

You did not immediately tell your parents about your interaction with Pantalone when you finally returned, as once again they were in the midst of an argument. Your mother’s scoldings about how your father knows better, and your father’s arguments about how you’re a grown man who should fend for himself by now could be heard the moment you stepped through the door. Colleen gives you an awkward, sympathetic smile as you shuck off your coat. Before the maid can hang it up, you fish the letter from your pocket, and seeing your name in the Guuji Yae’s handwriting fills you with nervous excitement once more.

You can’t really hear the fighting from your study. If you try to listen, you can, but otherwise it is very peaceful. You open the letter again and set it next to your typewriter, while also tucking the briefcase with your manuscript under your desk. You proceed to load your typewriter, ready to type a response, when it occurs to you that maybe you should hand write this letter. Would it be disrespectful to just type a letter? Maybe. A handwritten letter is more personal, after all.

By the time you finish your letter, there are six other letters crumpled up in your bin, and you hear your mother’s voice informing you that it’s dinner time. The tense atmosphere of dinner keeps you from talking, let alone telling your parents about Pantalone. You really don’t want to set off yet another argument with how much these two have grown apart. As horrible as it is to think or say, you will not be surprised if the word divorce comes up in their next fight, and that next fight is probably tomorrow.

This tense silence continues the next day, and the day after that, until a full two weeks have passed where you have not heard a single argument. Not because your parents made up, mind you, but because they have barely spoken to each other. Nothing beyond standard small talk or informing the other person about meals or receiving something in the mail. The air is oppressive, and you try not to let it show how much it is starting to stress you out. Instead, you have been waiting patiently for a letter back from the Guuji, hoping to surprise them with some good news for once.

(You’ve also been replaying your last interaction with Pantalone in your head, because you know you did not mishear him.)

The silence breaks when your father throws your bedroom door open one morning, when you are in the midst of getting changed out of your sleepwear.

“You!”

You jump, having just put on your pants. Your face heats up in embarrassment. “Would it kill you to knock?” you snap. It’s not even ten.

You hear your mother somewhere behind your father. “Darling, calm down.”

Your father storms inside and an envelope is shoved in your face. “Do you care to explain this?”

You step back and take the envelope. You rub your eyes, shoot your dad a dirty look, and read the envelope. That’s your name and address, but you don’t recognize the return address in the corner. The name, however, you do recognize, and your father does too.

“Why is it that I haven’t had contact with the Regrator in two weeks,” your father asks, “but when I finally get a letter back, it’s for you?”

“Yes, why is Pantalone writing to you?” your mother asks in turn.

Your brow furrows, and with your father glaring daggers at you, you break the seal on the back of the letter. Before you can actually open it, your dad snatches the letter from you. He tosses the envelope aside and unfolds the paper within.

“Hey!” You grab your father’s arm. “If you’re going to barge into my room, at least let me read my own mail!”

“There has to be some mistake,” your father says. “There’s no reason for the Regrator to talk to you.”

“While I disagree with his approach,” your mother says, “your father has a point.”

“Maybe if you let me read my mail, I could tell you,” you reply sarcastically. Your father rolls his eyes but hands the now crinkled letter back to you. You straighten it out and let your eyes scan over the words.

Your father’s voice is impatient. “Well?”

You squint. “It’s an invitation.”

“An invitation?” your mother asks.

“What the hell for?” your father asks.

“An invitation for tea,” you answer, “for… tomorrow, at two.”

“Anything else?”

You flip the paper over. It’s blank. You flip it back over. “No, it’s just tea at two at his estate.”

“No, you fool,” your dad says, pulling the letter out of your hand again. “I meant if he mentions your sister or myself, because I find it hard to believe he’d invite you to his estate.”

You cross your arms. “Why’s that?”

“Your father means it’s odd that you would be invited over when you are not, ah, working with him,” your mother says, making up an excuse on the fly. “You’re not working with your father and sister, so if you were to be invited over, then that would include the rest of the family.” Though she’s out of your limited line of vision, you know she’s glaring at your father based on the way he averts his eyes from you.

“Then why is it addressed to him? It doesn’t address anyone else in the family.”

“I’m not sure, dear. Perhaps there’s been a mistake?”

“Pantalone would not make a mistake like this. Perhaps the post office lost our invites, but not his.”

“Or he just invited me,” you butt in.

Your father gives you a look.

“Think about it,” you say, “if we all got an invite, surely mine would have said something about it, right? Hope to see you and your family, or something along those lines.”

“Perhaps mine would have it,” your father retorts, “as he’s my business partner.”

More like marriage partner at this point, you think and know better than to say. “You’re also assuming this has anything to do with work,” is what you say instead. “What if it’s just tea?”

“No, a man like him wouldn’t invite someone over for just tea,” your mother says.

Your father goes to put your invitation in his pocket, but gives it back to you when your mom gives him a look. He clears his throat. “Well, we’ll have this sorted when we visit tomorrow.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“We’re not going to just turn down this invitation,” your father says, as if you’re an idiot for not understanding what he was getting at.

“We? We?”

“That’s right,” your mother chimes in, “we really shouldn’t go if we don’t know his intentions.”

“That’s not…” You groan, annoyed. You point at your father. “You aren’t on the invite.” You turn and point to your mother. “And we’ve talked about the coddling.”

Your mother shakes her head. “That was about when he visits us, I don’t want you alone at his estate.”

“No, no, we’re not getting into the semantics,” you say, “I have told you time and time and time again to stop treating me like I’m seven! I should be allowed to go have tea with someone else by myself.”

“Watch your tongue,” your father snaps, “and our decision is final. If you want to go to the Regrator’s for tea, then your mother and I are going as well.” He turns to walk off, and stops in the doorway. “And put a damn shirt on.”

The door slams shut, leaving you and your mother in your room. She offers you an apologetic smile, and gets the hint you want space when you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. Her exit is much quiet, a soft apology and a gentle closing of the door.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to find the envelope your father carelessly tossed aside. It slid most of the way under your bed, only the corner of it is immediately visible. You pick it up and feel your heart thump in your chest.

So this is what your name looks like in his handwriting.

----

While the novelty of Pantalone’s social status has worn off, the estate that comes into view through the snowstorm is a reminder of his intimidating wealth. It’s a beautiful building, and significantly larger than your family home. Your eyes are glued to the sight of it through the covered sled’s window. You can also just see your mother looking at it as well through the reflection of the glass.

“Remember what we talked about,” your father says, and you make a face of annoyance similar to the face your mother’s reflection makes. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Don’t touch, trip on, or break anything,” you reply, “and only speak when spoken to. I’m aware of the whole routine.”

“And watch the attitude.”

“And you remember what I told you,” you reply, not bothering to turn your head. “If it turns out Pantalone didn’t invite you over, you need to leave.”

“Look at me when you talk to me.”

There’s a thump. Your mother most likely gave your father a nudge with her foot. Silence takes up the last few minutes of the ride as it slows to a stop right outside the snowy steps. You slide over to the opposite end of your seat and open the door, sucking all the warmth out of the sled. You make no effort to wait for your parents before you step down from the stairs. The snow pelting you in the face diminishes your vision, so you only make it a few steps before you trip on the first step. You catch yourself before you tumble forward and smash your teeth into the stairs.

You hear your mother’s voice from the sled. “Please be careful!”

You shout back that you’re fine, and climb up the stairs. Pantalone must have just had the steps cleared off before the blizzard hit, as there’s no crunch beneath your feet, merely the puff of snowflakes puffing out of the way with each step you take. Your father calls for you to wait for them as you stand before the door. You grab one of the large knockers and give it a few hard knocks on the door.

You feel your father’s firm hand on your shoulder just as a gust of heat rushes out and envelops you. You find yourself standing face to face with an older gentleman dressed in pristine servant’s attire. The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment he offers a welcoming smile before he notices you’re not alone, then it becomes confusion.

“Oh, hello there,” he says, “this is a little unexpected.”

“We’re here for tea with the Regrator,” your father butts in before you can even open your mouth.

“I had assumed as much, but I was told we were expecting a single visitor,” the man says. He brings his gaze back to you. “Now, you fit the description, but these two–”

Somewhere behind the man, you hear Pantalone’s voice. “Fyodor, what’s going on? Why have you not let our guest inside?”

The man turns around to address his master. “Apologies, my lord, but there seems to be some sort of… misunderstanding?”

You hear heeled footsteps descending a flight of stares and across the floor before your host comes into view. You feel yourself salivate and swallow it down quickly. You’re so used to seeing him in mostly black clothing, so the white lace up shirt with puffy sleeves immediately catches your eye. It’s tucked into a pair of black corset pants, which you make a point to not look at either. His hair is not tied back, and the chain on his glasses seems different. Though he still has his rings, he’s not wearing his gloves. Even in more “casual” attire, the Regrator is the pinnacle of wealth and beauty.

This very beautiful man tilts his head at the sight of your parents, namely your father. “What are you doing here?”

“You… You invited us to tea,” your father says.

“No I didn’t.”

Your father is quiet, and you turn yourself to see the confusion on his face. “You sent an invitation, i-it had our address on it.”

“Yes, and I believe I put your son’s name on it, did I not?” Pantalone asks. When you turn back around to him, you find he’s looking right at you.

“You did, b-but I presumed you… you forgot to mention us, or maybe the invitations for my wife and I got lost in the–”

Pantalone lifts his hand, silencing your father. “If that were the case, I would have either addressed it to your family as a whole on the envelope, or I would have mentioned it in the invitation itself. Likewise, I did not send this through the post office, I had one of my staff deliver it personally.”

“But, b-but I’m your business partner!”

Pantalone turns to you. “Did you invite them with you?”

You stumble on your words, feeling too humiliated to answer honestly. What’s worse, saying yes, or saying no, but your parents wouldn’t let you leave unless they came along like they were chaperoning a child’s first field trip or playdate? You manage a shake of your head, and fortunately Pantalone seems to understand your plight after having many interactions with your family.

He sighs, and steps aside. “You’ve already made the trip, and the weather is taking a turn for the worst,” he relents, “you may come in.”

Your father pushes past and marvels at the interior of Pantalone’s estate. Your mother gives you an assuring pat on your shoulder. Pantalone whispers something to Fyodor, who nods and goes to help your parents with their coats.

The door shuts behind you, and you turn to Pantalone. You clasp your gloved hands together and lower your voice. “I am so sorry, I tried to tell them–”

“I know,” he replies in a voice as soft as yours, “perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t think I would need to be more specific in the invitation.”

With that, Pantalone stands up and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Once you’re all settled, please follow me for a short tour on the way to the tea room.” He turns to Fyodor, who is carrying your parents’ coats. “Fyodor, please be a dear and let the chefs know to prepare some extra refreshments for our unexpected company.”

Fyodor nods, and you give him your coat before he leaves. Your mother is already hovering right next to you protectively, and Pantalone gives you a subtly sympathetic smile, which your mother seemingly interprets as an underlying threat judging by the way she wraps her arm around yours. You imagine your father is rolling his eyes.

The tour is short as promised, only staying in any given room long enough for Pantalone to state what the purpose of it is. You pass through the dining room, where Pantalone points out the doors to the kitchen, before you’re in a corridor passing by a ballroom entryway. You try to have a look at the oddly macabre paintings your host has displayed on the walls, but your mother is practically dragging you along so she can get this event over with quicker. You want to ask questions about what the chandelier in the foyer is made of, but your father already asked that in his never ending ramblings of praise for Pantalone and probably isn’t going to stop so you can actually ask the man anything.

Your father finally shuts up and your mother lets your arm go when the four of you step inside the tea room. Something you notice immediately is, while there are paintings on the walls, a table in the centre of the room, and a large cabinet with various tea sets, there is actually very little decor and furniture here. You passed by some sculptures and house plants and other miscellaneous extravagant pieces on the way, but the small room is oddly empty compared to the corridor just outside.

When Pantalone takes a seat, your parents end up taking a seat on either side of him. Your father is immediately praising the barely furnished room, while your mother acts as barrier. As such, you end up seated across from him. On cue, you hear two people come in through the door behind you. You hear a soft squeaking, and a servant pushing a cart with a tea set on top of it. The porcelain teapot and cups have a vaguely floral pattern, with the handles shimmering with gold leaf. You jump when the second person, another servant, comes up beside you with a tray of food to place on the table. Your father marvels as they get to work setting the table, your mother politely thanks the staff, and you just sit still as your cup of tea is poured.

“This is quite lovely, Pantalone,” your father says for the millionth time, “really, I expect nothing less from you!”

Pantalone gives your father a smile, a polite gesture that does not reach his eyes. “I’m flattered.” When he looks your way, his smile seems fonder. “How about you? You seem to have something on your mind.”

“Oh! Um…” You lean back and glance around the room once more. “I was just… curious about your decor.”

Pantalone tilts his head curiously. “Oh? And what would you like to know?”

You hesitate to answer out of fear you would offend the man.

“Well? Out with it,” your father remarks.

“This room is a little bit… um…”

“Bare?” Pantalone finishes. “Yes, I had some of the furniture moved around in preparation for your arrival.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eye condition,” he answers, “you said you used to trip on furniture because you didn’t see it, correct? I figured with a room this size, it would be safer to move some of the decor out of the room while you were visiting.”

“Oh, that’s… actually rather sweet,” you say, “b-but unnecessary. I’m not as clumsy as I used to be.”

“Ah, yes, my suit can attest to that fact.”

You chuckle.

Your father chimes in. “Yes, it’s better we avoid any more expensive accidents.”

Pantalone hums. “While I would rather avoid paying for a replacement or repair job, I was more focused on ensuring your son’s safety. I would hate for my guest to get hurt at an event I invited him to.”

You pick up on his passive aggressive comment, and your father does not. That, or he’s elected to ignore it. “Ah, that too,” your father says. He gestures to your mother. “I would have never heard the end of it if that were the case!”

Your father was expecting someone to laugh. He is ignored by Pantalone and gets glared at by your mother. You just grab a couple pastries, honestly wishing you had just turned down the invite altogether.

Your father clears his throat. “So, about that thing I-I had proposed a few weeks ago–”

“How is the book deal?” Pantalone asks you.

“O-Oh,” you stammer, not expecting him to bring up your book, “well, I’ve decided to go for it, and I’ve written back saying I would like to move forward with the deal. Now I’m just waiting for them to get back to me.”

Pantalone smiles and nods. “That’s lovely to hear.”

Your mother looks at you, confused. “What is he talking about?”

Fuck. You swallow, and nervously, sheepishly smile. “Right, um… I was, ah, saving this for when the deal was finalized, but my book might be getting published now.”

“By who?”

“... The Yae Publishing House.”

Your mother’s squeal could shatter porcelain. “The Yae Publishing House?! Sweetheart, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

You awkwardly laugh, avoiding Pantalone’s knowing gaze. “They’re just s-such a big deal, you know? I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew for certain they were going t-to publish the book.”

“Still, you could have at least told me you sent your book to them! Oh, goodness, I’m getting all worked up now. My sweetheart, being published by the Guuji Yae…”

Pantalone chuckles. “Yes, quite exciting. It warms my heart to see hard work being recognized.”

“I’m very excited,” your mother says, “he hasn’t told me what his new book is about, he keeps telling me to wait until it gets published. I was worried I’d never get to read it when your first deal was cancelled!”

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “This one’s kind of, well, different from my usual writing. I wasn’t sure how people would react to it.”

“Your stories are lovely, sweetie,” your mother insists, “you should never worry about what your mother thinks because I will always support you.”

You hear your father lean over in his chair towards Pantalone, and in a room of four people, his whisper is very audible. “He was worried he would have to get a real job, haha.”

“Which would be difficult given my disability,” you add, “seeing as most jobs require you to have awareness of your surroundings, and my eyesight is only going to continue degrading.”

Your father glares, and clears his throat. “... It was a joke.”

“And it wasn’t very original.”

“You’re also one to talk, considering our little deal,” Pantalone remarks. Your mother looks at your father for an explanation, to which he just sips his tea, embarrassed.

The rest of the afternoon isn’t less awkward. The momentary embarrassment does not stop your father from badgering Pantalone with questions about what he’s been doing the past two weeks (settling some financial matters in Liyue), and praising him for the pastries he’s provided. Pantalone answers out of politeness, but his responses grow shorter and shorter every time your father opens his mouth. Your mother just silently eats, disinterested in conversing with the Regrator. You try to engage in conversation with Pantalone, but despite glares from everyone at the table, your father continues to interrupt you or answer questions Pantalone could not have more clearly directed towards you. You also just keep your answers short, not wanting to divulge too much about your book or true thoughts in front of your parents.

Your father pops the last cream puff in his mouth. He’s already eaten most of them. There is no more tea, bringing the meeting to a close.

Pantalone claps his hands together. “Well, this has been a meeting!”

“We appreciate the invitation, Lord Pantalone,” your father says.

“What invitation?” Pantalone asks. “Remember? You two never received an invite.”

“... Right.”

Pantalone leans forward, propping his head up in his hands. He’s looking right at you, and he smiles so sweetly. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly overstay our welcome.”

Pantalone nods, acknowledging your father. He then looks back at you. “So? Would you care to stay?”

“We just said no,” your mother says.

“That’s fine, you two are free to leave. I’m talking to your son.”

Your mother and father lock eyes, before your father turns back to Pantalone. “Wait, why are you asking him if he wants to stay, but not us?”

Pantalone sighs, and grins at your father. “Well, I think I’ve played host to you two long enough, so I’ll tell you honestly.” At that, Pantalone drops his smile. The atmosphere immediately grows tense as he speaks, his voice cold. “I invited your son to my home because I wanted to discuss his upcoming book over tea. I did not invite you over to discuss work matters on my day off. Now, I would like to have the discussion I cleared my schedule for, and I would like to do it with the guest I actually invited.”

Your father balks, while you feel your jaw drop to the table and your eyes go as wide as saucers. You slowly turn towards your mother, and she is immediately seething. She stands up, her chair scraping on the floor. Pantalone smiles at you once more.

“So will you be staying for dinner? I have many questions about your writing process.”

“I–”

“Absolutely not,” your mother snaps. She grabs your arm hard and attempts to pull you up to your feet. Your father is torn between being shocked over being called out for his behaviour, humiliated for being scolded like a child, and incensed that your invitation did not extend towards him. Your mother tugs your arm again, and you stand up so you can better shake her off your arm.

“We’re leaving,” your father says. “Come along, you two.”

You brush some crumbs off your lap and sit back down.

Your father shakes your shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re leaving.”

“Have fun,” you reply dryly, “I’ll be home late.”

Pantalone absolutely beams. “Oh, wonderful!”

You flinch at your mother’s shrill voice. “No, you’re not! I am not leaving you with this disrespectful–”

“Violka, he has made up his mind,” your father growls. You feel him glaring daggers into the back of your head, and do not move. You hear your mother start to protest, but then the door shuts behind you.

Pantalone lifts a small plate up off the table. On it is the final little piece of cherry bublanina. He offers it to you with a sly smirk, like forbidden fruit.

With this in mind, you take it.

#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #blind reader #my fic #falling head over heels

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ladykailitha · 4 months

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Sweet Home Indiana Part 5

Hey all! Heads up for those that missed my previous announcements, I'm going on vacation starting today for about a week.

No WIP Wednesday tomorrow as it's my niece's graduation, but it should be back on next week, depending on how late I get in.

We finally hit pinnacle douche Eddie and the beginning of his turn to the lovable Eddie we know and love.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

****

Steve walked into his house after a long day at the shop to find Eddie in the kitchen making dinner. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked behind him at the door he clearly unlocked to get in and then back at Eddie.

“How the fuck did you get into my house?” he growled, throwing his keys in the dish by the door and kicking off his shoes.

Eddie didn’t even bother looking up from his dicing of vegetables. “Robin always forgets her keys, so you have to have a spare for her to get in, and because she’s so forgetful it has to be in the same spot.”

Steve let out an annoyed huff. “Under the second flower pot with duck.”

“Right in one, darlin’,” Eddie said, looking up at him with a grin.

“So is this your new strategy to get me to sign the divorce papers?” Steve asked pulling out a beer from the fridge. “Buttering me up?”

“Well,” Eddie said going back to his cutting, “since we’re still married and all with you refusing to sign the papers, I figured I’d just move back in.”

Steve dug around his crock drawer for the bottle opener. “Like you’d give up your cushy tattoo job up in Seattle.” He popped open the lid and took a sip.

He immediately went to the sink and spat it out. “What the fuck is that?!”

“Craft beer!” Eddie said with another grin. “It’s all the rage out on the West Coast. But anyway, I was in town and stopped by the furniture shop because that couch is hideous and has to go. And of course we're going to need a bigger bed.”

Steve scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever, babe. It’s your money.”

Eddie stopped chopping and said with all the innocence he could muster and said, “But Stevie, I thought it was our money.”

Steve who had opened a bottle of his own beer and was drinking it, suddenly froze. His throat still moved, swallow after swallow but the rest of him was stock still.

“I bet the words ‘joint checking account’ are flashing through your mind right now,” Eddie sneered.

Steve emptied his bottle and threw it into the sink with a loud crash. “How much did you take?”

Eddie turned around and faced him, crossing his arms over his chest. “All twenty-nine thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven dollars and fourteen cents.”

Steve’s jaw formed a hard set line and he clenched his fists. “You put it back, right now.”

“Why don’t you use it for something useful, Steve?” he asked, waving his hands in front of him. “You have a shop, why aren’t you putting the money toward that? Christ that is almost life changing money.”

Steve stormed out of the room and was back before he could even raise a protest. “This is what it’s for, asshole and if you don’t put it back I will never forgive you. Do you understand me?”

Eddie looked down at the papers in his hand in confusion, gingerly taking them from Steve. In big bold letters were the words NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.

“Am I allowed to read this?” he asked with a gulp.

“It expired five years ago,” Steve bit out. “So yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be giving it to you, would I?”

Eddie nodded and began reading. The date was roughly three or four months after he left and god was it a mess. It chronicled Susan Hargrove’s addictions to drugs, alcohol, and sex. And that if Steve wanted custody of her daughter, Maxine Maxwell he had to jump through so many hoops, including signing the NDA. His hand shook as he turned page after page of what boiled down to fifteen page document.

“The money is part of the settlement from the court,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “I put it in the old account because I didn’t feel like opening another one and forgot your name was still on it. It pays for her schooling, rent, and food until it’s gone.”

Eddie’s lip quivered. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry. But I’m still in contact with most of the kids. Even Max and no one told me about this. Not ever.”

Steve frowned and took the pages from Eddie’s trembling hands. “I thought you knew. Hell, it was more than a nine day wonder here in town when the dust finally settled.”

Eddie thought for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. The more he thought about it the more it actually made sense. And fuck if that didn’t hurt like a kick to the ribs.

One of his worst parting shots was that the kids would be fine on their own. They had parents and friends and other people who cared about them. But that fucking NDA proved him to be the biggest asshole in that regard. Because it irrefutable proof that he had been dead wrong about that.

“Fuck,” he whispered, drawing his hands over his face. “It’ll be back in there by tonight, I swear. I’m so, so sorry, Steve. I swear I am. I know you won’t believe me and that’s okay. But I would never do anything that would harm those kids. Not if my life depended on it.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered and then he pinched his nose and rubbed the end. And fuck if that didn’t break Eddie’s heart. That was Steve’s little tell that he was fighting back tears.

“You really didn’t know?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Eddie shook his head. “I didn’t know. Here...” he pulled out his phone and immediately transferred the money back. He had transferred it in several small amounts as to not trigger that that Fed law thingy and reversed every one of them. “All back.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Were you really going to blackmail me with the money to divorce you?”

Eddie hung his head and let out a sigh of his own. “I can’t tell you why, but me and Chrissy are on a timetable and if we don’t get married by certain date, things can go very badly. So yeah. I was going to do whatever it took.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered so him bit down on it to stop it shaking.

“Come on,” Eddie murmured. “Let me finish making dinner and we’ll talk. I think there are a lot of things between us left unsaid. I thought it was all on my side, but I’m starting to think there has been a lot of things that I haven’t been told about what’s being going on with you and this town.”

Steve nodded.

****

It took Steve a fair bit of breathing techniques to get his heart rate back to normal after that little stunt. And if he was honest, he couldn’t say had their situations been reversed, he wouldn’t have tried the same thing.

But there wasn’t anyone in his life right now that measured up to Eddie. Or at least that starry-eyed boy he fell in love with the first time.

Eddie had actually made his favorite meal. Manicotti. He had been cutting up the vegetables for the bolognese sauce that he poured over the top.

They sat down on the hideous neon green sofa while it went into the oven to cook.

“This sofa really is grotesque, Steve,” Eddie muttered, bringing one knee up so he could turn and face him.

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what everyone has said once they’ve seen it.”

“So why keep it?”

He ran his fingers over the worn surface thoughtfully. “Because despite how ugly it looks, it’s soft and comfortable. Great for naps and movie nights. If I spill something on it, I won’t freak out about it getting ruined.”

Eddie’s heart sank to his stomach. That was something that had made having movie nights over at Steve’s parents’ house such a nightmare. No feet on the sofa, no drinks anywhere but on the coffee table with a coaster, no dips or salsa, nothing red or orange, drinks or otherwise. It was the biggest house with the biggest screen, but it was a museum and not a home.

He actually looked around him for the first time, taking in the homey surroundings, the pictures on the wall of not just Steve and Robin, but all the kids. Birthdays, graduations, dances, you name it, if Steve was there with a camera, it was there up on his wall in some way.

The house was neat, but in a lived in sort of way instead of the strict tomb quality of his parents’ house. Christ. He had been joking about wanting to move back, but now he actually did. He could see himself slotting himself into this home as easy as breathing.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Right. So how long have you had this place?”

“About three years now,” Steve murmured. “That’s about when the shop started making a profit and not just coasting along above red.”

“I like it,” he said with a fond smile.

Steve gave his shoulder a shove. “You do not. You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Eddie grasped his hands to his chest. “Ah! I doth protest!” He paused for a moment and tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“See?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I love it.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before blushing and looking away. “So how long have you and Chrissy known each other?”

“Two years,” Eddie replied. “She came in for a tattoo to cover up the name of her ex-boyfriend and we became really good friends.”

“And she’s a paralegal?” Steve asked.

“Legal assistant,” Eddie said. “Don’t ask me what the difference is, I don’t know. But she’ll always correct people when they say ‘paralegal’.”

Steve nodded.

“So, is it just you and Robin?” he asked, looking around the house for clues there was another person here. Either for Steve or for Robin.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a sad smile. “But not for much longer. She’s starting school in the fall. She just needs to pick which one she wants and let the other know she’s pulling out.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked. “What are her choices?”

“NYU and University of Washington,” Steve said. “I don’t get wanting to go to either except to get as far away from Hawkins as possible and still be in the country.”

Eddie laughed. “Well can you blame her?”

Steve leveled him with a glare and Eddie gulped.

“Right, sorry. That was a shit thing to say,” he said ducking his head. “I ran away and kept running away and you didn’t deserve that.”

“So why did you? Run away, I mean?”

Eddie ran his fingers over his face and let out frustrated sigh. “I thought it was what I wanted. The fame, the fortune, the screaming crowds every night. And maybe it still is, but the other guys got tired of it. Of the being away from family and on the road all the time, so by the time that all fell apart, it was just too much.”

Steve cocked his head to the side and regarded Eddie fully. He took him all in and not just the cursory glance he got at the bakery.

Eddie had filled out in a good way. He would always be thin, but he was no longer that waif he was in high school. He had more tattoos, which made sense considering his job. His hair was still as wild and untamed as always. He had stubble on his jaw and on his upper lip. There was a weariness to those dark brown chocolate button eyes.

“What was too much, Eddie?”

“The amount of pain I put you through,” he said softly. “And continued to put you through. You didn’t deserve any of it, sweetheart. You deserve a white wedding with all your friends and loved ones around you. You deserve to have someone standing by your side as an equal partner. You deserve someone who isn’t going to run the moment things get rough.”

“I always thought that would be you,” Steve admitted.

Eddie nodded. “So did I, once upon a time.”

“But not anymore?” Steve asked, breathless.

“No. Not anymore.”

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @ravenfrog @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

7- @blackpanzy @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras

8- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites

9- @mac-attack19 @blondie1006

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rom com au

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areyoudreaminof · 2 months

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Worth The Wait: An Elucien Week Playlist

Happy Day One of @elucienweekofficial! Enjoy this playlist of songs about fate, love, and patience that I hope inspire you!

Tracklist and lyrics behind the cut!

Love Letter From the Sea to the Shore-Delaney Bailey

Cause you hold in my tide I would die a thousand times Just to see you in another life I think I loved you in a thousand ways 'Cause you remain stagnant on my trouble days No matter how far I drift away You'll be there when I come back one day

Silence-Before You Exit

Talking Why's everyone always talking? Noise in my head, but it’s nonsense I can't feel nothing Guarded Don't overthink how we started Knew from the second you walked in This could be something Everybody’s looking for a love to start a riot But every time I look in your eyes The world gets quiet

Comin' Around Again-Amber Marks

So let's see where the night goes Maybe love's comin' around again

Why Don't You-Cleo Sol

Why don't you just let go And quiet down your ego Don't complain about finance I know your daddy weren't a real man Go ahead and live your dreams To me you're stronger than a whole team

I wanna see you smile Even when you think I'm angry It's true it might take a while But it's between you and me

Homemade Holiday-babygirl

Homemade holiday Catching rays, wearing shades Inside, dead of the night Who needs pearly gates? You’re the same, hear your name I die, bye bye

Forever & Always-Zeph

Honey, now we're older, but we'll never age I don't think my love will ever start to fade My attachment to you isn't subject to change My heart's yours forever and always

The Day That I Met You-Matilda Mann

But then you called, only to say You'll never love somebody else this way And though I'm still battered and bruised I forgave the world the day that I met you

The people talk, it's background noise I don't wanna hear nobody else's voice There's somethin' sweet about your scent It's like lavender came and never left

Garden's Heart-Natasha Khan & Jon Hopkins

I hear a whisper in the trees Where I am you and you are me You need to find a way back here Remember what I said: The space that is in between You have to fight it

Love Sneakin’ Up on You-Bonnie Raitt

Fever turns To cold, cold sweat thinkin about things we ain't done yet Tell me now I gotta know, do you feel the same? Do you just light up at the mention of my name?

Till Forever Falls Apart-Ashe & FINNEAS

Out on our own Dreamin' in a world that we both know Is out of our control But if shit hits the fan, we're not alone

Jupiter-Flower Face

We can leave right now, never come back home You're all I need Forget everything that we used to be Take me to another place, fly me up to Jupiter We can run away But I'll always feel at home with you

Lucky For You- Novo Amor & Gia Margaret

Lucky for you I’m nothing without The thought of starting all my days With the mornings when I see you I’m bored of staring at my face Every morning when I need you

coffee-Miguel

Old souls we found a new religion Now I'm swimming in that sin, baptism Peach colored skies we feel the sunrise Two lost angels discover salvation Don't you wish we could run away now?

Sardine Song-Lav

If I had a home It would be our tin can Caught in your red hair Breathing in salt and making you swear Please Who do I have to be? I'll dip myself in honey Climb into the spaces in between your teeth

Ends of the Earth-Lord Huron

To the ends of the earth, would you follow me? There's a world that was meant for our eyes to see To the ends of the earth, would you follow me?

Unicron Loev-Raleigh Ritchie

There’s something about you That takes my blues away Life’s nothing without you I can’t get through the days I’ll never be cynical ‘Cause you wouldn’t have it I believe in miracles, I believe in magic

Morning Dove-Genevive Stokes

We don't talk much When I'm around you I'm a statue When you're running I can't catch you But it's not time There's a way to your defiance so I'll wait to break thе silence

I'm On Fire-Bruce Springsteen

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull At night, I wake up with the sheets soakin' wet And a freight train runnin' through the middle of my head Only you can cool my desire Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

Worth the Wait-Kali Uchis

Most people don't know how to love, that's why they're empty Nothing will ever be enough, that's why they envy Gotta be careful with my heart because I love deep

How Deep is Your Love?-PJ Morton

How deep is your love? I really need to learn 'Cause we're livin' in a world of fools Breaking us down, when they all should let us be We belong to you and me

Taglist: @born-to-riot @asnowfern @cauldronblssd @dawneternal @foundress0fnothing @goddess-aelin @goghwilde @kataravimes-of-the-shire @iftheshoef1tz @acourtofladydeath @chunkypossum @amandapearls @climbthemountain2020 @popjunkie42 @queercontrarian @rosanna-writer @tunaababee @temperedink @lainalit @xtaketwox @cursebrkr @octobers-veryown @separatist-apologist @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @jules-writes-stories @velidewrites @melting-houses-of-gold @panicatthenightcourt

#elucien #elucienweek2024 #day one #Spotify #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien

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softestqueeen · 10 months

Text

red roses and deadly promises

pairing: Zade Meadows x fem!reader

summary: When your stalker, Zade Meadows, has to do some business out of town, someone new makes an unwelcome appearance. How will Zade react when someone tries to steal you away from him?

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!! stalking, cunnilingus, blow job, face fucking, attempted rape, dom/sub, pet names, death, murder, body parts, rough sex, knife play, dirty talking, aftercare, p in v sex, breeding, creampie, stabbing

wordcount: 10.658 (lol)

a/n: I think there is not enough haunting adeline fanfiction out there, so here you go! btw I don’t know what happened I only wanted to write about 7k words…. anyways enjoy <3

It had been going on for a while.

It started out with harmless flowers paired with deadly promises. Whenever you got home there would be a bouquet of fresh red roses waiting for you. Hanging from it: a note. It wasn’t always the same, but it always went along of the lines of You’re mine, if anyone ever touches you, they’ll die, you’re so beautiful, I love watching you, etc.

The first time you received a bouquet of red roses, the note read:

You’re so beautiful, I love watching you my little mouse. Can’t wait to play with you. Don’t even try to go to the police, it will change nothing. Love, Z

You were scared shitless. You didn’t know what to do. Even though the mysterious stalker told you not to go to the police it seemed like the most logical option. You didn’t want to ask your best friend, as to not worry her too much. She already didn’t like the fact that you moved into your grandmas old “haunted” house that was literally in the middle of nowhere, so the only logical thing for you was to wait. Wait what his – you assumed it was a man - next move was or if he maybe would even stop.

But actually, quite the opposite happened. The roses came more often, even inside of the house while you were there. Sometimes they were in the kitchen when you wanted to eat breakfast or in your bathroom, which could only be accessed through your bedroom or through the window, which is almost too small for a frown man to get through. You found them in rooms you normally wouldn’t go in. Your grandmother’s old study, in the attic, behind doors that were so dusty, you had to wear a mask before entering, scared you would inhale too much of it.

And still, you could be sure in almost every room in your house was a bouquet of red roses waiting for you.

After a few weeks you suddenly felt a shift. You weren’t as scared anymore but rather felt a weird sense of comfort anytime you got something from him. You knew he wouldn’t let anybody hurt you. He protected you like no one ever did and even protected you from himself. Alone the memory of that note made wetness pool in your panties.

I wish I could come to you little mouse. I live to protect you. No man will ever lay a hand on you, be sure of it. But protecting you also means protecting you from me. I wish I could come to you and ruin you, make you my slut and my good girl. I want to be the cat that fetches you and eats you alive, little mouse, seeing the life draining out of your eyes. Every time I, watch you undress, or watch you showering, rubbing yourself with soap, letting it glide over your skin… I’m always so fucking tempted to take you right then and there, especially when I catch you touching yourself. But I will have to wait. I don’t want to ruin your innocence. Yet. I’ll see you soon little mouse. Love, Z

It was the longest note you’ve ever received. You know you shouldn’t, but you’ve read it over and over. It was not just a note, it was a letter. A love letter, a deranged and sick love letter. But a love letter, nevertheless.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you could see yourself falling for him. You knew it was oh so wrong but that just made it oh so much more appealing. A forbidden love to your stalker who you thought may love you even more.

It had been a cold autumn day, and you were very much looking forward to cuddling up with a book under a blanket, drinking warm tea and enjoying the new season from the inside. Maybe even curl up in your grandmothers old rocking chair, that brought you so much comfort.

Entering your home, you indulged in the warmth and comfort of it. You went into the kitchen, expecting another bouquet of red roses with a note hanging from one of the stems. But nothing could have prepared you for what you actually saw.

Your kitchen had a long window that went along the whole length of it and had a beautiful view of the garden and the woods behind it, that seemed to go on forever. There were curtains, but you never used them, rather enjoying the warm sunlight and how it brightened up the room.

In this situation you weren’t sure if you were grateful for the full view of the garden. Because there was a tall figure standing in the woods, but still in a way that he knew you saw him. And he was looking directly at you.

Was that Z? Was that your stalker? Is that really the man who haunted not just your nightmares but also your wet dreams?

You couldn’t see much of him, only that he must be very tall. Probably even a foot taller than you. You had to admit, you were scared. Of course, you knew that there was a real person behind Z but seeing him was definitely something else. It wasn’t just a silly game anymore it was serious now.

You were frozen on the spot and didn’t dare move. You remained in the same spot, even when you noticed that he was now moving towards you.

Again, you didn’t move a muscle but rather concentrated on the details that came now into view. He creeped closer and closer, and you could now see that he was wearing a balaclava or a scarf that covered his nose and mouth. But his eyes told you all that you needed to know.

His eyes were beautiful, even though his right eye was adorned with a massive scar. The scar didn’t take away the beauty of him though, his eye almost white and the unscared one was a beautiful and rich blue.

He came to a stop in front of the window and looked into your eyes. For a moment you were just standing there, gazing into each others’ eyes. And in this moment, you completely forgot that you were looking at your stalker for the first time. You were so lost in the eyes of the stranger you seemed to know so well.

You’ve never felt this connection with someone, though you’ve also never been stalked. Was this a sick variant of Stockholm-Syndrome? Were you going insane? Because you definitely felt like it.

He broke the stillness of the scene and put his hand against the window, looking at you in a way that made your knees go weak. You took a hesitant step forward, planning on putting your hand to his.

He looked at you expectantly, still with his hand to the glass. You reached your hand out and covered his big hand with your smaller one. At the thought of what these hands are capable of, a shiver ran down your spine.

You both waited for the other to pull away, but both of your hands remained on the window. You looked into each others’ eyes, waiting for some truth to be revealed but it remained peacefully quiet.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and he pulled away. He took out a rose from his back pocket, attached to it one of his infamous notes. He put the rose on the windowsill on the outside of the window, sent you a wink with his blue eye and then turned around and walked away, not honouring you of another glance.

The moment he disappeared into the woods, you snapped out of it and ran into the back yard. You couldn’t see him anymore, still you ran until you felt like you were about to pass out, the adrenaline slowly leaving your system.

You went back to the house and took the rose with you, deciding that you would read the note while you were waiting for the tea water to boil. You put the kettle on the stove, a light tremor in your hand.

You put the singular rose in a glass of water before taking the note out of its envelope.

I can’t wait to see you in real life and not just through the cameras. I know you’ve installed some to catch me, but I have also placed some to catch you in my trap, little mouse. Till we see each other again Love, Z

He did WHAT now?? He placed cameras in your house?! You were conflicted. You knew you couldn’t really remove them (if you even found them) because you were sure he’d just place new ones. But in a way you also felt comforted and safe because you now knew he was always watching you and keeping you safe. Yes, you were aware of how weird that sounded but for you it felt so right.

Oh boy, what did you get yourself into?

After the window incident the letters and roses slowed down a bit. If you were being honest, you were a bit nervous. Did he lose interested now that he saw you? Did he not think you were pretty enough to be with someone as handsome as him? You didn’t know what to do. Even though the flowers and notes still came, it felt different.

‘Fuck. My. Life.’, Zade Meadows thought to himself. How was he supposed to get you out of his head now that he had seen you up close. You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen and now he knew he just had to have you. He didn’t care how long it took but he was going to get you and he would never let you go again. You drove him absolutely wild. The way you looked at him, the mix of fear, intrigue and slight arousal made it hard (no pun intended) for him not to break into your house and fuck you right then and there on the kitchen floor, against the counter and on a chair with you on his lap.

Unfortunately, things were not that easy. You were so young compared to him and seemed so innocent, looking at him like a dear in headlights. He had seen the worst things the world had to offer and also committed some of the worst crimes one could imagine. He didn’t want you to find out that he was such a monster. He wanted to be a good man for you, but he also knew that that was impossible due to his mission.

Yes, he wanted to rid the world from all the pigs that were walking around, and molesting kids left and right. In the beginning the reason for it was that he just wanted the world to be a better place and that no one had to go through the things he had to go through. But now he had a new reason that was way more important to him.

He wanted to make the world a better place for you. He knew that you would be a lot safer once all these horrible people have gotten what they deserved. And he also wanted the world to be a better place for your future children. Fuck, once he had you, he wanted to start a family with you. He knew how dangerous that was due to his profession but once all these assholes have been erased, no children would come to harm anymore. And if there were new ones, he would do the same thing to them. Whatever it took to keep you and your future children safe.

What was wrong with him, why was he thinking about starting a family with you? He had never felt that way about someone. Since he saw you at that book signing, he couldn’t get you out of his fucking mind. You were intelligent, clever, and witty. He read your books over and over before he decided that he needed more than your words.

After he saw you in that kitchen and knew that you saw him too, he had to take a step back. He was coming too close to the point of no return. He knew that there was a line he couldn’t cross yet, and he was literally about to step over it. He sent you less flowers and less notes, hoping that would ease his lust.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

He was completely clueless and out of control. He felt so helpless when it came to you, even though he also knew how much control he had over you. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life: staying away from you.

The only thing he wanted to do was hold you, kiss you, fuck you, and completely ruining you. He would turn his little mouse into his perfect little slut. Into his good girl. He couldn’t wait.

Thank God, a few weeks later the letters and flowers went back to normal. He didn’t tell you in his letters – you started calling them letters because they have gotten way longer in the last few weeks – why he suddenly wrote you less, but you didn’t care now that it was back to normal.

There weren’t any other occurrences with him, and you got out of your house more. You finished a new book – ironically a mafia stalker romance novel – and were now giving signings here and there, mostly at local bookstores though. You loved interacting with your fans and to see them enjoy the books you’ve written.

You were signing books at a bookstore that was a bit further away from your town. You didn’t think much of it and were just excited about being able to talk to more of your fans. The bookshop was stuffed and the line for the book signing seemed endless. The fact that you loved to talk to your fans didn’t help that either.

After saying goodbye to yet another fan you looked up to greet the next person in line. Your mouth fell open in shock at the sight presented to you. There was your stalker, still with mask but at least he was there. You almost didn’t believe your eyes.

He mustered you with curious eyes, scanning your whole body before he looked into your eyes again. He put your (!) book on the table, one of his signature red roses used as a bookmark. You gulped before you opened the book at the marked page. You almost let out a laugh at the scene. It was the scene where the male main character confessed his love to the female main character. Afterwards followed a very unholy spicy scene. Was he suggesting something?

he took the book out of your hand, his fingers brushing yours. They were cold from what you could tell, and you had to keep yourself from taking his hands in yours and warming them. He flipped to the front page where you would normally place your signature.

But instead of an empty page there was a note.

You look so pretty, sitting there and signing your books. I’m watching you, always. No matter where you are no one will ever get to have you except from me. Thank God, there are almost no male fans of yours, I’d hate to get my hands dirty. Love, Z

He looked at you while you read the note, looking as relaced as ever while you were losing your shit. You didn’t know how to react or what to say. You didn’t have to wait long though, because he did the most unexpected thing you could have imagined.

“See you next time, little mouse.”, he whispered into your ear, having leaned slightly forward so you could feel his breath on your face. It’s a good thing you were sitting down right now, because you were sure that if you were standing your feet would have given in.

You had never heard his voice before, but now that you had you were addicted. It was deep, rich and he had said these few words with a little rasp that drove you insane. You had read about such voices in romance novels before, but you would have never deemed it possible to experience it.

You knew that this was a cliché, but he smelled so manly. His intoxicating scent a mix of tobacco, wood, and musk with a hint of leather. You knew this man was going to be the death of you.

He leaned back, took the book again and left the bookstore without looking back. The rose was still laying on the desk and you quickly put it into your bag before greeting the next fan. The rest of the signing went by in a blur because all you could think about was the voice of your mysterious stalker.

How were you supposed to keep on living a normal life knowing how his eyes looked, staring into yours, how his voice sounded like and how his breath fanned against your face so delicately. How were you supposed to life when all that you could think about was his smell and how much you would like it to cling to you and your bedsheets. After the book signing it was getting quieter again and you haven’t gotten something from him in a few days. You didn’t worry too much though, knowing he was probably strong enough to defend himself.

Upon hearing a knock on the door, you enter the hallway. You did not have to open the door, to see the package your stalker left you, as it lay on your side of the door. That was weird, he had never left you anything that was not roses. You could feel a shiver running down your spine at the thought of your stalker returning to you and entering your house without you noticing it.

As you hadn’t heard from your stalker in a few days, this was a highly anticipated package. You made a few steps towards the box and noticed a note on top of it. It read:

Well, if this isn’t my new doll. I’m definitely looking forward to playing with you, bunny. Don’t even try to hop away from me, you can’t get rid of me. I’ll see you around, but you won’t see me. Anonymous

Your blood ran cold as you realised what that message meant. You went to the kitchen, forgetting about the still unopened package. You opened one of your kitchen drawers, revealing a pile of about three dozen notes. They were all signed from your stalker with the same letter. Z

Your worst fear was now confirmed. You had a new stalker. The mysterious Anonymous did write about being excited for his ‘new doll’ and called you bunny, even though you knew Z always called you his little mouse.

You panicked. Where did Z go? Is he okay? Who is your new stalker? Who even is Z? What would happen next?

Suddenly you remembered the package that was still waiting for you to open it.

You went back to the door, nervous about what could be in it. You knelt down on the floor and slowly opened it. The box was quite big, but what lay inside wasn’t. A wave of nausea rolled over you at what lay in that box.

It was a pair of eyes.

Real, human eyes. They were beautiful, dark brown with specks of green in them, but this was not the right moment to think about these things. There was till blood on them, and their optic nerve was still hanging on them. It almost felt as if they were watching you.

You wanted to close the box again but found yourself being unable to do so. You were shocked by what you saw. Whose eyes where that?

But before you could close it, you saw another message.

Now that your lame excuse of a stalker is out of town, he sent this scumbag to do the job. But no one is worthy enough to look at you except for me. Don’t worry Zade is the next one on my list. Anonymous

You froze. Z stood for Zade? Your stalker name was Zade? You were shocked that you found it out like this. It was a beautiful name though and seemed to fit him quite well if your being honest.

Anyways, at the thought of him getting hurt, your blood ran cold. You cared more for him than you liked to admit and knowing you could do nothing to protect him made you feel useless.

Zade Meadows was currently in Washington, wrapping up some business and trying to get a few high politicians behind bars. He hated leaving you alone, but he couldn’t reveal himself to you completely yet and take you with him, so you had to stay home.

He didn’t tell you he was leaving but thought you would notice the lack of notes and roses. He couldn’t leave you completely alone though, so he sent one of his best men to look over you during his absence. René Bellucci. He made it clear that if René were to even think about you being anything more than a mission, he would take care of him himself.

The way the man gulped and nodded, Zade knew there was nothing to worry about. So, he commanded René to send him a daily report of what you were doing and if anything happened to you, he was to tell Zade immediately, no matter what time it was.

After he scared and instructed René he could attend his business trip in peace. But of course, it wouldn’t go like he planned. He was able to get all the congressmen and politicians he wanted behind bars for now, but before he could enjoy his victory, he wanted to check on you.

He took out the burner phone that was specifically for these updates and turned it on. But to his surprise there were no new notifications. The update should have come about an hour ago, so a delay was out of question.

His heartbeat picked up. He immediately called René to see what was going on, but he immediately got to his voice mail.

Something was very wrong.

He took out his secret laptop to check on the cameras he (not so) secretly installed in your house. He knew it was wrong, but so was everything he did when it came to you.

He opened the laptop and typed in the password to access the camera feed. And there you were.

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding at seeing you safe and sound. But when he looked a bit closer, he could see how shaken you were. He immediately turned on the microphones and listened to what you were saying.

“This- This can’t be. Fuck, what am I supposed to do now? Where is he?”, he almost couldn’t hear you because you were whispering these things to yourself. His muscles were taut as he tried to find out what was wrong.

Zade currently watched you through the life feed, where he couldn’t see anything suspi- Wait, was that a package? He quickly went to the feed of your hall and zoomed in. The package was closed but it seemed like you already opened it, so he went to see what had happened in the minutes before.

He rewound the recording and saw you taking a note to the kitchen. You read it quietly to yourself, but it was still loud enough for Zade to hear it. His blood started boiling at what he heard. A new stalker? Definitely not. The celebrations for today where cancelled.

The recording kept on going and he saw you return to the package. You knelt down and opened it, revealing a pair of eyes? What the fuck? Again, he could hear your small voice reading the letter.

Oh oh.

That weren’t just any eyes. That were Renés eyes. Fuck.

How could that have happened? He should have known that such a beautiful woman wouldn’t be alone for long. Still, he always thought that he would stalk you and maybe in the long run reveal himself and claim you as his. But he wouldn’t have thought it possible that someone else was suddenly trying to take his place in such an extreme way.

Rage overcame him as he thought about this other man watching you and entering your house. He had to get to you. As fast as possible. Now.

He left his things behind, asking his assistant to pack them and take them with her when she went back the next day. He jumped in the car, roared the motor to life and drove like his life depended on it. And it did. You were his life and without you he had no reason to live.

Honestly, you were scared. You didn’t know what to do with the eyes, neither did you know what to do with the knowledge of having a new stalker.

Suddenly you heard something. It was an old house, so you often heard weird noises, but this noise didn’t come from nowhere. There was someone in your house. You were scared. You didn’t know what to do but wait for another indication of the intruder.

You heard a floorboard creaking, this time way closer to you. You took out a big kitchen knife, holding it with both hands and bracing yourself for what was to come.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your heartbeat loud in your ear. You could have fainted from the suspense. You prayed that this was Z or Zade in your house and not this new guy.

Why were you such a stalker magnet?

You didn’t know what to do. You could hear the footsteps clearer now, knowing that that meant they were coming closer. You had closed the door behind you when you re-entered the kitchen, so you couldn’t see the person behind it. But maybe that was for the better.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped behind the door. It was silent except for your heavy breaths. You could see the doorknob turning and the door being opened. You looked at the intruder in disbelief, dropping the knife in shock.

Zade had never driven this fast and reckless in his life. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that you were safe. He didn’t know what was happening right now at your house, but he would soon find out.

The fact that he didn’t know what was happening stressed him even more. He couldn’t even call René, because he was dead. He almost forgot about that. Though he was glad that the man didn’t have any family waiting for him at home. To be honest, most of the people that worked for him didn’t belong anywhere else, and he was always glad he could give them a home.

But he had to concentrate on 1) getting as fast to you as possible 2) driving carefully so he didn’t injure someone else or even himself, though he would have tried to get you even if he had been shot in the chest 3) distracting himself from the images of you getting hurt by someone other than him, that were currently going through his mind.

He was pressing down on the gas pedal as hard as he could, not caring at the people honking at him. The only thing that mattered to him right now was you.

You were still standing frozen in place in the middle of the kitchen.

You were standing face to face with a man that was definitely not Zade. He was slightly smaller, both of his eyes were dark brown, reminding you of the eyes that lay just a few meters away still in the box, but the one thing that you noticed right away was the lack of scar.

Zade had a beautiful scar that ran over his eye, giving his look a dangerous edge. But this man did not look like that at all.

And that could only mean one thing. That was your new stalker. Well, it could also be a random man who wanted to rob you, but due to the circumstances you ruled that one out.

“Well, if that isn’t my new bunny.”, the mysterious man told you, revealing a significant part of his identity. And yup, that was definitely your new stalker.

You turned around and started running. You just ran deeper into the house, but you knew it so well by now that you could find your away around it blind. After a moment you heard a second pair of footsteps echoing through the house, meaning the man was now trying to catch you.

You had dreamed of this moment before, your stalker running after you, chasing you through the halls and rooms you knew so well. But you imagined Z chasing you. You felt like you could trust Z, but you couldn’t be sure of the man currently running after you.

Your mind was going even faster than your feet, trying to find a way out of the house and into freedom, but it seemed almost impossible to achieve.

You almost didn’t hear it over the volume of your thoughts, but the second pair of feet had stopped. You did now the same, catching your breath and trying to think of your next move. You were almost at the door and if you were lucky, you could just slip out, jump in the car, and drive as fast as you could. But of course, it wasn’t that easy.

You felt a pair of hands gripping your waist pulling you back and against a hard chest. Before a scream could escape you, a hand covered your mouth.

“Gotcha, bunny!”, you could hear him whispering in your ear. You let out a scared whimper that was immediately muffled by his hand.

He grabbed your waist a bit rougher, pulling you into a small closet, that had blinds on their door, making it possible to look out of it but impossible to see inside. You had an ugly idea where this was going.

“Your little boyfriend is probably already on his way here. It feels like it didn’t take him long to figure out that I killed his little henchman.”, he told you with a grin evident in his voice, before adding, “I sent you his eyes, bunny. I hoped you liked your present. Did you like it bunny?”

You only whimpered at his question, now feeling the barrel of a gun against you instead of the hand that was gripping your waist.

The thought of Z being on his way to you and possibly saving you made your heart skip a beat. But you couldn’t trust your heart right now because it could also be out of rhythm because of the gun that was currently pointed at you.

He pulled it away for a second and kicked you in the knee. The action made you unsteady for a second but that was enough to get a hold of both of your arms and tying them together with a rope. He put his hand over your lips again before you could hear the sound of a zipper.

He pressed his hips against your ass, and you could feel something hard pressing against you that was definitely not the gun.

He leaned down to your ear again, his breath brushing unpleasantly against your skin.

“Your little boyfriend is going to come in here any moment and you’re not going to make a single noise while I rape that little pussy of yours. I’m going to pump you full of my seed, so you’ll be stuck with me forever.”, he let out a dark chuckle before pressing against you again. You could feel that he freed his dick from his pants and was now humping against your ass, that was still dressed in the jeans you wore from the day.

Like he had predicted it you could suddenly hear tires squeaking against the road and a car halting abruptly. You heard the car door opening and closing and rapid footsteps coming closer and closer.

“Be quiet for me, bunny. Let him search for you while I mark you as mine.”, he warned you before you heard banging against the door.

“Little mouse? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”, you heard a muffled voice through the door before the banging continued.

“Not a single sound.”, the man behind you reminded you.

The banging continued before it abruptly stopped. What was happening? Did he leave you now that you needed him the most? You heard him walking away and open a car door. You heard it close again and thought he would leave you alone now. Alone to fend for yourself against a man that you had no chance against.

But suddenly you heard footsteps on the front porch again. Could it be possible that he opened the trunk to get something? And really, you could hear a kind of metallic banging before the door gave in and came crashing down.

You could see someone enter and when he turned to the closet you could see his face. It was Z. He came to safe you.

Theres nothing you’d rather do than scream out and tell him where you are. He was so close, but because he could not look inside of the closet he was also so far away.

Since he came into view you had been holding your breath. You were starting to feel a little bit lightheaded, so you breathed in through your nose.

Zade stopped for a second and looked into your direction, being under the impression he heard someone breathing. He quickly turned away again, seeing nothing but the walk-in closet.

He went into the kitchen and calling out your name, but to no avail. He couldn’t find you.

You had to be home, he saw your car in the driveway and there were none of the shoes missing. He stepped on the package while he was in the hallway. Not that he was in the kitchen and saw the notes, picking them up and reading them again. He could feel the blood boiling under his skin, the urge to murder this mysterious man was growing by the second.

How fucking dare he?

He started running through the house, calling your name, frantically searching for any sign that you could be alive. He went back to the kitchen where he noticed something.

There was a knife on the floor. How did it get there. The drawer where you have taken the knife out of, was still half opened. Did the guy break into your house and you wanted to defend yourself? Now he was really fucking scared about what could have happened to you. He just hoped you were still alive. If not, his hands would be drenched with that scumbag’s blood by the end of the night.

You saw him re-enter the kitchen after he went around the house and screamed you name, sounding more desperate by the minute. Your kidnapper was still humping against you and unbeknownst to you was thinking of a way to remove your trousers without making any noise or removing his hands from you.

You were panicking, tears streaming down your face, waiting for something to happen. After Z went into the kitchen, he went quiet, which made you even more nervous. What were you supposed to do? What would happen if he would leave? What would happen if he thought you were not here anymore?

Would you get raped by a stranger and because of that maybe even get abandoned by the man you grew to love? You could feel the frustration of never really getting to know him, even though he practically knew everything about you.

You could do nothing but wait, trapped in a closet with a gun held to your body.

Suddenly you could hear a drawer being closed and steps coming closer. Zade was now standing in your hallway again, looking around. He made a tempestive step to the closet before halting abruptly. He seemed to think for a second, though his expression remained unreadable.

He made another step forward, now standing directly in front of the door. If he listened closely, he could hear your laboured breathing.

He knew you were behind that door. The only problem was that he didn’t know if you were alone. You probably weren’t but he had to think about the possible outcomes.

If you were alone, you would probably recognize him and let him take you to a safe house where you were safe until he killed that bastard that threatened him.

But if you weren’t alone, he had to get you away so he could kill that asshole. That’s unfortunately not as easy as he thought though, because he was probably not that stupid. Of course, he wasn’t intelligent either because that man messed with what’s his. You.

He had to admit, he was scared. If that man was armed, he could risk hurting you. He could of course wait until his team arrived – that he called before he drove to your house like a maniac – but that could potentially be too late.

He decided on a plan: he would open the door, if you were standing directly in front of you, he would pull you out of there, throw you to the side and attack ‘A’. If you weren’t standing directly in front of it, he would pull out the other guy, lock you into the closet and then fight ‘A’.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. What happened after, went by like a flash.

He saw that you were standing there and yanked you out by your sweater, throwing you to the side as gentle as he could. He took his knife out – he forgot he also had a gun in another pocket – and stabbed the man in front of him in the stomach.

He didn’t see that he was holding a gun, so when Zade stabbed him, a shot went lose, making you scream.

Zade pulled out the knife and his opponent collapsed to the floor.

Snapping out of it, he left the small space to look after you. He didn’t know if you screamed out of shock or if the bullet hit you.

You were standing there, white as a sheet, looking at him in horror.

“Are you alright? Did the bullet hit you?”, he asked you so fast, you almost didn’t register the question.

“No- No, it didn’t hit me.” At your words, Zade let out a sigh of relief.

He went back to the closet, taking a closer look at the man. He didn’t seem to know him, but at the sight of his small dick that was exposed he wanted to do unspeakable things to him. Did that fucking asshole really try to rape you?

Zade had to take a few deep breaths to not kill him on the spot. He was going to have his fun with him later, but now there was something more important that he had to take care of. You.

You were still standing in the hallway, shocked at what happened. You were almost raped and kidnapped, you had seen Zade without a mask for the first time because he saved you from getting raped/kidnapped. You felt like you were about to throw up and pass out.

You heard someone calling your name and saw that it was Zade who was standing in front of you, while people who you had never seen before were suddenly inside of your house.

“Let’s go to the kitchen huh, little mouse?” You could only nod, still in a kind of haze from what happened just moments before. You didn’t know how Zade could be so collected after what happened.

He sat you on the kitchen counter before telling you to stay there for a second.

“Scream if you need anything. I’m just in the next room. I’m not leaving, little mouse.”, he told you before he left you alone with your thoughts.

Zade went to his team, instructing them on what to do with the unconscious man. He was going to take care of him later. Then he told them to clean up, leave and then find out who that bastard was. He knew they wouldn’t ask questions and he had never bin this thankful for that. After they left, he went back into the kitchen.

The shock of your new stalker being dead and seeing Zade’s complete face for the first time slowly wore off. You felt a weird kind of relief at the two events, your heartbeat slowing down to somewhat normal again.

You looked into Zade’s eyes, realising that this is the first time you really saw him. Without a mask and without a filter it was just him. You could imagine him so easily, writing the letters, watching you, lusting over you. Did he even think about you that way or was it all jut a game for him? Playing this cat and mouse game with you?

You didn’t want to ask him directly though, fearing his answer. You were still sitting on the kitchen counter while he was pacing the kitchen. Neither of you said anything.

He came to a halt in front of you and stepped between your opening legs, grabbing your hands, and holding them behind your back. He was able to hold them with only one of his hands once they were behind you, so he wrapped his free hand around your throat, not pressing yet.

He just looked into your eyes for a moment, giving you the perfect opportunity to gaze into his. You saw the difference between his two eyes, but until now you never saw the mesmerizing beauty in them. His pupil was delated, and, in his eyes, you could see hunger, lust, but also the bloodlust that still lingered.

As you tried to lean forward, he tightened his hand around you neck, making it impossible for you to move. He leaned forward, almost giving you the relief, you earned for, your lips almost brushing.

“Tell me what you want, little mouse. Tell me and if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll give it to you.” You could feel every word against your lips, not even registering he waited for a reply. You direct your gaze back from his lips to his eyes.

You thought about it for a second. What did you want? Well, if was clear that you wanted him, but how? Just physically or do you want to be in a relationship with him? Both of you knew that there was a lot to talk about, but you settled on one answer for now.

“I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me, to wreck me, to ruin me. I want you to make me yours, Zade.”, you have never said something that felt so right. At saying his name, you could feel a growl against your lips.

“Please, Zade.”, you whispered against his lips, before they finally met yours.

You’ve always imagined what it felt like to kiss him, now actually doing it felt surreal. He kissed with purpose, like he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. And it felt fucking amazing. You soon found the perfect rhythm. You ached to touch him, but he still held your hands.

You tried to pull your head away from him, but to no avail. He was having a tight grip on you and at feeling your resistance only gripped tighter and deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth, earning a needy moan from you.

He pulls away to breath for a moment, thinking about his next move. Meanwhile, you had time to stammer out “Please let me touch you.”

He was looking at you, thinking about it for a moment. “Say it”, he told you, “Say my name.”

“Please Zade, let me touch you, let me feel you.”, you said before trying to lean forward again. He loosened his hold on you, letting you lean forward and start kissing his neck.

He let go of your hands and pressed himself against you, pressing his growing bulge against your clothed cunt. You let your hands roam his hard muscles and over his arms while you kept on kissing his neck. You could hear his breathing getting laboured and silent moans rolling over his lips here and there.

He quickly grew impatient with your teasing and took your face into his hands, indulging you into a passionate kiss again. Your lips moved against each other like they were made for each other, falling back into rhythm almost immediately.

But Zade knew the first time with you would definitely not happen on a kitchen counter, still he was too impatient to move the two of you to the bedroom, so he improvised.

He put his hands on your hips and picked you up like you were a bag of feathers. You quickly wrapped your hand around his neck, not breaking the kiss once during the move.

He pulled out one of the chairs and took a seat, before placing you on the kitchen table. He broke the kiss, pressing your torso down and spreading your legs so he was face to face with your pussy.

You were still wearing the clothes from before, a relaces off the shoulder jumper with a pair of mom jeans which accentuated your ass very nicely. Even though in Zade’s eyes you looked good in everything, he thought you looked even better with nothing on.

He was too impatient to properly undress you, so he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the knife from earlier.

“Remember this, little mouse?”, he asked in an almost mocking way before standing up. You gasped at the sight of the knife that had just moments ago brought a man to his knees. He leaned over you and started to cut open your clothing, grazing the cold tip of the knife against your warm skin with every slit, making goosebumps rise all over your body and wetness pooling between your thighs.

The awareness of how easy it would be for him to slice through your skin was dizzying. And he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He carefully sliced open your jumper, before moving down your body to your jeans.

He opened your fly before starting to slice down right in the middle of it, looking almost scary while doing so. You could see how he got lost in the moment. After slicing down your front, he sliced down the legs of your jeans. Your clothing was falling to the side and only your underwear remained.

He looked at you like you were the first women he ever saw in his life. You didn’t wear anything special, hell your bra and panties didn’t even match the slightest, but you still looked like the finest five course meal to him.

He just stood there for a few moments admiring you. The curve of your breasts, the valley of your stomach, the way your thighs pressed together. He knew that from this day on he was the only one who’s going to see that perfect body of yours.

He put the knife on the table for a moment to grope your breasts with both hands, giving them a good squeeze. You let out a loud moan which only seemed to spur him more on. He squeezed harder, almost crossing the line between pain and pleasure. He massaged your breasts a bit more, before putting his hands on your waist and giving your still clothed boobs a few kisses. The feeling of his hot breath against you was definitely doing something to you.

He pulled down the cups of the bra, peppering soft kisses over your now naked breasts, even leaving a few hickeys here and there. He pulled away and straightened up, taking the knife back into his hands.

He sliced open your bra before caressing your skin with the blade again. He took his time with it, waiting to see how you react to every movement of him, staying a bit longer at the places where your breath hitches or you let one of your delicious sounding moans slip. He was getting more and more aroused by the second.

After he decided he tortured enough (for now), he took the knife to your panties and sliced right through them, earning a gasp from you.

He took a seat at the table, grabbed your legs, and pulled you to the edge, before throwing them over his shoulder.

He started to kiss along your thighs, leaving the place where you needed him most untouched. He left a few hickeys along your thighs before finally coming closer to your glistening pussy. He admired you mostly in silence so far but couldn’t keep quiet anymore at the sight that you have presented him with.

“What made you so wet huh, little mouse? Was it my kisses, my caresses, my knife gliding along your skin or the sight of me killing that fucker who thought he was better than me? Tell me, be a good girl for me?”, his words aroused you even more. You couldn’t even answer him, taking too long to process his question in the haze you were in.

“Answer me when I ask you something, little mouse.”, he told you more demanding now.

“Every- Everything.”, you managed to stammer out. “Everything about you turns me on. You- fuck you make me so wet.”

“Already this dumb? I didn’t even play with that sweet little pussy yet. How are you going to react when I fuck you until you are unconscious on my cock, huh little mouse?”, he asked you in mock concern before chuckling. You could do nothing but moan at his filthy words. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, waiting to be filled by the man in front of you.

He decided to have some mercy on you and went back to your cunt. His warm breath against you let a shiver run down your spine. He placed a few wet open mouth kisses to your cunt, receiving needy moans from you.

Finally, he licked a long stripe down your pussy before caressing your clit with tight circles, making you cry out his name. His name on your lips seemed to spur him on even more, as he entered your tight hole with one of his fingers, pumping into you at a steady rhythm.

It all felt so good, almost too good. Finally having the relief, you earned for since that very first letter. He was moving against you like it was the thing he was destined to be doing. You had never felt like this with another man, and you were sure that smug bastard new that.e waHe

He slowly added another finger, making your back arch. You were coming dangerously close to the edge.

Zade could feel your pussy clenching around his fingers. He knew you needed that relief, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet. When he knew you were right on the edge, he pulled out his fingers and removed his head from in-between your legs. You whined at the loss, a tear rolling down your reddened cheek.

“Please, Zade. I need you. I was so close. Fuck.”, you almost sobbed out.

“You really thought I’ll just let you orgasm? I wouldn’t have thought you were that naïve, little mouse.”, he spoke to you again in a mocking voice.

You leaned up on your shaking hands to look into his eyes, when another tear rolled down your cheek. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, little mouse. You’ll get you relief and it’ll be the best orgasm you ever had.”, he assured you with a dark edge in his tone.

He gripped your waist and lifted you up, pressing your naked body against his still clothed one. You quickly wrapped your shaky legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, peppering kisses along his jawline and face.

He carried you to your bedroom. Of course, he knew exactly where it was, having placed quite a few notes there in the past. He put you on the floor, steadying your waist in case your legs wouldn’t hold you. He suddenly looked very serious. “Little mouse, do you trust me?”

He could see the hesitation in your eyes. Of course, you trusted him, especially after he almost killed someone for you. But there was still some doubt in you, especially about his feelings for you. You didn’t even realise you hadn’t answered him.

“What do you want me to do to prove to you that you can trust me? Do you want me to kneel in front of you? Because I’ll go on my fucking knees for you, if that’s what it takes, little mouse. I promise you can trust me.”

At the thought of this powerful man on his knees in front of you, you felt another flood of wetness rush between your thighs. Even though you still didn’t know how he felt about you, you felt a little more comfortable.

“Yes, Zade”, you answered him “I trust you.”

That was all it took. He removed his hands from your waist and put one of them on your shoulder, pressing you down so you were on your knees in front of him.

“Take out my cock little mouse.”, he commanded before adding, “and then put your hands behind your back.”

You immediately got to work. You opened his belt, not bothering to pull it out, letting the belt buckle hang to the side. You opened the button and then pulled down the zipper, grazing Zade’s hard dick and making him moan. You put your hand into his boxers and pulled out his rock-hard cock.

He was huge, probably about 10 inches long and thick. Your mouth watered at the thought of tasting him and feeling him inside you. That dick was definitely going to stretch you to your limits. You could see a drop of precum escaping the tip, running along his thick shaft.

You looked up at Zade who was looking at you with a hunger you had never seen at anyone.

“No need to be shy, little mouse. Be a good girl for daddy and suck my cock.”

You leaned forward, your hands behind your back, and took his tip into your mouth, gently sucking it. You could taste his sweet precum, making you moan. You swirled your tongue around his tip before slowly taking him deeper, tracing his prominent veins with your tongue.

Zade was growling above you, mesmerized by the sight of you sucking his cock. It felt so good, finally feeling you around his length after he imagined it for so long. He came so hard thinking about you in this exact position and now having you there, bobbing along his cock felt unreal.

You were going up and down on him now, struggling to take him completely. Zade thought that you had enough time to explore him now. He put his hand on the back of your head and started to fuck your face. He started off slowly but then started fucking your face like it had seriously wronged him.

You were gagging on his cock, tears streaming down your face while you could just sit there and take it. Zade’s face was twisted with please, sinful moans falling from his perfect lips. He cupped your face with his free hand, not slowing his pace. He built a steady rhythm, using your mouth and throat the way he liked.

You could feel yourself getting wetter at the sounds he was making. Knowing that you were the one bringing him so much pleasure turned you on to no end. You were moaning around his cock, making shivers run down your spine.

“You’re such a good girl for me. You take my cock so well, so pretty in front of my knees, drooling and crying. I could fuck your beautiful face forever.” His words were bringing you closer to the edge, but you resisted coming. You knew he was close to, feeling his length twitch in your mouth. You wanted to make him cum, so you started to move your head against his length, giving him everything you had.

“That’s it, little mouse. You feel so good, I’m so close. I know you want it too, want to swallow all my cum. Go on, touch that needy pussy. I want you to cum, chocking on my cock with your hands inside that cunt. Do it.”, he ordered. leaving no room for discussion. You immediately removed your hands from behind your back and started touching yourself, playing with your clit and pumping in and out of you with two fingers. It didn’t feel as good as Zade, but it was enough to send you close to the edge.

“Cum now, little mouse. Be a good girl and I’ll fill you with my cum.” His words sent you over the edge. You chocked on his cock while cumming, sending him over the edge. he spurted his cum down your throat, not halting his movements until he had stopped.

He pulled out of your mouth, admiring your face. Tears streaming down your face, smudging your mascara. Drool running down your chin, your cheeks were red. He had never seen someone who looked that beautiful. He gave you a few moments to catch your breath and waited for you to look at him again. When he saw that stunning little smile on your face, he knew he could continue.

He hoisted you up by the arms and threw you onto the bed, earning a surprised yelp from you. Your legs spread automatically for him, and he admired your glistening pussy before undressing himself. He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled down his pants and stepped out of him.

Now that he was just in his boxers you had some time to admire him. He was built like a Greek god, taut muscles everywhere and his cock, now erect again, stood tall and reached his belly button without effort. He looked even better than you imagined.

Zade saw you starring and cockily flexed his muscles for you, turning around and showing you his muscular back, making you giggle. It was good that his back was turned to you, because your giggle made his face soften. He never thought he would hear you genuinely laugh because of him, but here you were.

He turned around again and rid himself of his boxers, before climbing on top of you, covering your body with his. He leaned down and kissed you with a passion that wasn’t there before. The kiss grew heated quite fast, and you could feel his hard cock against your thigh.

You pulled away. “Please fuck me, Zade. Ruin me, make me yours.”, you almost begged as you spread your legs further.

Zade gladly fulfilled your wish and put one of his hands next to your head for leverage and used the other one to guide his cock to your entrance.

He aligned his fat tip with your gaping hole and entered you in one swift motion. You screamed out at the feeling of him stretching you out. The moment he was fully inside of you, Zade’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing you.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust to his size but bottomed out completely before filling you up again. He started to thrust into you at a relentless paste, using you like a fuck toy.

You loved it.

Admittedly, it was a lot but it also felt so good. He fucked you hard, the hand around your neck, cutting off some of your oxygen only made it so much more pleasurable.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, my good girl. I can feel you squeezing me every time I’m tightening my grip around that pretty neck. Is that what you wanted, little mouse when you told me to use you? To ruin you?”

“Y- Yes.”, you breathed out.

“Yes, what?”, he asked you with that cocky grin reappearing on his face. “Y- Yes, daddy.”, you answered him before letting out another moan at the way he talked to you.

“Good girl”, he praised you before tightening his grip and fucking you harder. He leaned down and kissed you breathless, tasting himself on your tongue.

You could feel his thrusts getting sloppy and the heat in your belly growing. You knew you were both close.

“P- Please.”, you stammered out. He loosened the grip on your neck for a moment. “Please what, little mouse?”

“Please cum in me, daddy. Please, I want to cum with you.”, you begged, more tears falling from your eyes.

“Such a good girl asking permission to cum. Cum with me, little mouse. I want to feel you milking my cock. I want to pump you full of my cum. Cum for me. Now.”

His words sent you over the edge. He tightened his grip around your throat, and you screamed out, your pussy clenching around his length. He came with a shout of your name but didn’t halt his movements.

You could feel him spurting thick ropes of cum into your pussy, fucking his cum deeper inside of you. He didn’t stop until the both of you had come down. He came to a halt inside of you, removing his hand from your neck, admiring the already forming bruise in the shape of his hand.

He reluctantly pulled out of you, watching his cum drip out of you. He pushed some of it back inside of you with his fingers, penetrating your already overstimulated pussy. He placed one last kiss on your clit before getting up from the bed and putting on his boxers again.

For a moment you feared that he would get dressed again and leave you alone. That he would maybe go back to just stalking you, but you relaxed again when he went to the bathroom. He reappeared with a damp cloth and body lotion.

He cleaned you up, being careful not to be too harsh on you. Then he took some of the lotion and started to massage your body. He started with your neck, where he applied some of the cream over your bruises and then worked along your body, relieving your stress. He looked concentrated as he worked his skilled hands over your body and made you feel the safest you ever had been.

After you slightly came back to yourself, he stopped massaging you and looked into your eyes with a feeling you couldn’t really place.

“Are you alight, little mouse?”, he asked.

“Yea- Yeah, I’m fine, more than fine actually.”, you answered with a hoarse voice, already feeling the effect of your rough fucking.

“If I am being honest with you, I imagined my first time fucking you a little bit different. And under of course under different circumstances.” His confession made you smile, though that smile faltered again after a moment. Zade looked at you concerned and was about to ask you if you were alright before you asked with a small voice.

“Are you going to leave me now?” The expression on your face made Zade’s heart break a little. His face grew cold again before he answered.

“I’m never going to leave you, little mouse. You’re mine now. Forever”

a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you liked it! please leave some notes: likes, reblogs and comments. feedback is always ver appreciated! please also consider supporting me on ao3 @ softestqueeen

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

#haunting adeline #hunting adeline #reader #x reader #reader insert #zade meadows #dark romance #murder #stalking #booktok #ao3 #underrated book #no y/n #love #z #z x reader

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