#Self Sabotage Records | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jinkiezzsstuff · 5 months

Note

Hey! I really loved your Covkwarming with Alastor Story. Would you maybe want to make one where Alastor is busy and reader wants his attention? Maybe he even snaps at her only to later search for her and make it up to her? With lots of fluff and maybe nsfw?

Hope you have a nice day

-🌸🦇

BRODI! You waited a whole month for this and I AM SO SORRY. I love and appreciate you and your request so much thank you very much for being patient, i really really loved this idea but dang april has been a crazy month for me, i hope you’re doing well and enjoy this fic it’s a longer one!

i’m actually really happy with how this turned out

warnings: SMUT 18+, angst, fluff, mean alastor, you guys fight, gaslighting girl boss alastor, established relationship (you were together before he went missing), loyal reader described, codependency kinda, some horror aspects?, descriptions of alastors dead food, alastor admits his emotions and issues in an alastor way, brief descriptions of reader having self sabotaging habits- drinking smoking/potsmoking too, GN reader although clit is used, penetrative sex, slow sex, swearing, alastor doesn’t like pillow talk lol i think that’s it but let me know not proof read

5.1K words

Alastor was locked up in his radio tower, exhausted as he sifted through various forms of media coverage from his battle. Vox, the little electronic weasel, had his entire affair with Adam recorded and broadcasted around, which was frightful for Alastors image. Not only had he been gone for seven years, but he’s helping with a hotel that endorsed goodness. Needless to say Alastor wasn’t doing okay, his ears were constantly pulled back, smile strained, and he kept blowing the lights up and down. Hell, his static was so violent it even gave him headaches.

Even his shadows at this point began causing chaos, his own anxiousness and frustration bleeding off into them. Alastors isolation caused you to be extremely worried, you weren’t there while he fought Adam, you should’ve been, because since then he’s not been the same. You saw it on TV, the one Vox had broadcasted. Try as he may, Alastor didn’t keep it away long enough for you to not see, there was always someone else putting it back out there.

You didn’t bring it up to him- not that you could; he was too overly consumed in his tower. Incessantly shutting down broadcasts, throwing out power, attacking minor demons for spreading the information. It made you feel so very many unfortunate emotions, never in your many years of being dead have you ever seen him so erratic and emotionally disturbed.

Alastor would play pretend in public but you knew him, as did Husk, the two of you could tell he was tense, strained, constantly ready to snap, his poise was harder to keep. Lucifer presence in the hotel didn’t help at either, constantly trying to get into it with Alastor, which only furthered his isolation. You began to feel extremely lonely, it was rare in hell anyone was a good shoulder to cry on, or ear to hear, but you got used to going to Al after a long day, laying your head on his lap as he caressed your face and hummed you tunes, now you were alone most the time. None of his silly jokes filled the air, no you barging into your shared room and him attempting to hide his messy eating, no soft jazz playing next to you as you slept, no shadows trying to scare you, nothing.

It was incredibly lonely and the time without him showed how emotionally dependent you were on him. You wondered if he felt the same lonesomeness without you around, or if he didn’t even want you around? Maybe he was too wrapped up in his feelings to realize you weren’t around him? Did he have the same need for you as you did him? Did he miss little things about you as you did him.

Throwing your body off the couch and standing pin straight, you cut your thoughts off by marching towards Alastors tower on the far end of the hotel. You hadn’t been up there once since the battle, so this was bound to be interesting, and anxiety inducing. You could already feel the worry prickling your finger tips, making you even more uncomfortable. Knocking at Alastors door was, well, underwhelming, there was no sound, no movement, no indication he was even in there. Even shouting out at him normally would’ve gotten him to at least respond by now, it was rare he left people hanging like that, it wasn’t how he was brought up.

So you decide to cross the boundary you knew he loathed; intrusion. You entered with your breath held tightly making your throat clench, walking in you meekly hummed out his name. “Al? It’s been a long couple of days, I was wondering if you wanted some down time?” Your eyes bounced around the dark room, papers on the floor, radio frequency buzzing harshly in your ears, the low buzz of what sounded like hospital lights, it was all very creepy

Wringing your hands you came up toward his large table connected with cables and speakers, on the table was cups of coffee empty and half drank, corpses and bones of unfinished mutilated deer, and the smell of blood was something that suddenly hit you nearly knocking you back. As you covered your nose with your wrist, you back up and bumped into something, turning around with incredible speed. Alastor was there, taller than usual with his bones looking sharp and broken in his skin, his smile was stretched gruesomely making you nearly grimace, his eyes as well, wildly glaring down at you black and soulless. “Uh, I missed you.” You squeaked curling into yourself just at the sight of him.

Alastor hasn’t ever looked like this in front of you ever, it was such an abnormal and alarming look for you to set your eyes on. Alastor let out a jagged breath, his antlers growing in size with a nasty crunching sound to accompany it. “You disturbed my work, and snuck in, all because you missed me?” Alastor bent down to grab your attention, your eyes flickering to meet his own. You nodded at him, and he only hummed in return, standing tall and walking around his desk to sit at his chair. You turned on your heel to follow his movements, biting your lip with worry. Sure you were anxious before as you typically got with anybody, you weren’t confrontational and you weren’t one to cross the boundary, although you never expected him to look so angry with you.

“Perhaps, if that’s the case, you should find yourself another demon; I cannot be surrounded by the meek and emotionally stunted. My work, my image, will always come first my dear. Now, get out.” Alastor enunciated every word with his hands rested under his chin, and his head cocked to the side. Your stomach dropped and your cheeks watered like you were about to be sick, immediately your eyes widened, noises falling out of your mouth as you attempted to grasp at the words you were trying to say. “S-You’re breaking up with me?” Your voice was a wreck, struggling to expel the words past the sob that wanted to rip out of you, the disbelief evident in your tone. Alastor stood from his seat and leaned toward your face over the table, your lip quivered as he did so, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Heavens no! I’m simply saying if you can’t handle being a secondary priority perhaps you should take some time alone, remember what it is to be your own person! I will not bend my rules for some silly relationship.” His tone dripped with condescension and he finished his sentence with a boop on your nose. The only thing your mind could conjure was ‘how dare he?’ you never felt so insulted by him before. You always put him first, you waited seven years for his return defending his role in hell, and he sees you as secondary to himself. Does that mean he would save himself before you? Was this relationship only about his own desires, his own cravings and you weren’t important? You must be too sensitive about this?

“So you won’t spare me a moment because some stupid TV proved you aren’t invincible? Grow up Alastor please,” You could help the rage that slipped out in between your words, fists clenching, eyes narrowing. Alastor hissed statically at you. “Don’t for a second get it twisted up in your pretty little head that you are special, you are just like every other disposable sinner, i suggest you monitor your tone with me, dear.” Alastor crackled, his voice more electric than you’ve ever heard before. Your frown was deep, the tears silently falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know what to say, instead you just shrugged with your head low, and turned around silently leaving him behind.

The moment you existed his tower you ran, your brain screamed to get away before somebody could question what was wrong or what happened. You couldn’t stomach the idea of being seen like this, and you didn’t want Alastor to come out and catch you, so you took off. You exited out the back without a trace, wandering into the streets of the pentagram. Eventually you found yourself back at your old apartment, which you still paid for as you really don’t plan to continue living at the hotel. When you got there you were finally able to let everything settle in you, it felt like the sadness slipped into your bones and weighed you down further into your sofa.

You didn’t move for hours, and eventually you ended up falling asleep. You left without a word, without your phone and without any of your stuff. Of course Alastor was very aware he made the choice to say the things he did, but he didn’t mean them, and after a short bit of reflection he could understand it was just an emotional response to the fear of being vulnerable. As well as the anxious thought dancing in his mind about the what ifs, what if he were to die, what if his plan fails and the deal goes wayward and you’re left with the pieces of his mess? What if Vox targets you, what if others do, do the citizens of hell see him as some weak mush because he’s dating you?

It’s all what led him to exploding; insecurity. Even the thought of having such a low tier emotion made his blood boil, but as long as nobody knew about it, he would find a way to quell it. Alastor waited, not wanting to impose while you were still going through thee emotions. However things started getting worrisome by the next day, nearly thirty hours into being gone and the patrons had begun to question him. Obviously Alastor didn’t know, and instead opted to sway the topic away from you and instead to something else.

The week came and gone like a blur, Alastor hadn’t seen you since you came into his tower and the rest of the hotel had set out to look for you with no luck. Alastor kept to his tower, telling himself if you wanted to be away that was your choice; he wasn’t chasing you like some lost puppy. Though he did find himself briefly wondering if you were still alive, after all Vox was out there watching through cameras on every corner and Adam’s corpse went missing and wasn’t accounted for, there was many threats to your safety he hadn’t thought of before.

With a sigh of static frustration, Alastor flicked his hand giving the okay to his right hand shadow to go find you, he couldn’t stand his thoughts anymore. And so it did, within seconds the shadow zipped and zoomed knowing exactly where you were, not that you were trying to hide. It slinked up against the paint peeling wall of your apartment, watching you on the couch, news softly sounding out as you read a book. Your home was a wreck, looking as though you’ve had fits upon fits of rage and lacked to clean after. Dishes piled, laundry scattered all across the linoleum floors. Alcohol, pot and cigarettes were a hefty scent in the room, it didn’t accompany the damp mold smell well at all. Oh what a thing you’d become without Alastor! The shadow watched like a fly on the wall for varying moments, studying you and your state before vaporising into the floor and taking off back to its master.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting Alastor to come knocking at your apartment door, so when you swung it open expecting your usual delivery guy, you were shocked and you didn’t bother fixing your depressed appearance. “Goodness gracious my little dame it looks like you’ve been dragged through mud!” Alastor laughed boisterously using his microphone to push you aside and barge in. You stood aside speechless, watching as he stepped inside with his hands rested just above his tail, surveying the room around him. His neck cracked disgustingly, his body forward while his head faced you, his grin tamed. “What happened here?” The words were simple but his tone was confusing, you couldn’t tell if he was angry, suspicious, or worried. You sneered at him, lip twitching upward as you slammed the door and wordlessly returned to your spot on the couch.

“I didn’t expect you to search, work come first yknow.” Oh yes, you planned to milk the words he said against you to berate him and his attempts to make up, you were in hell for a reason after all. Alastor huffed- like a buck would, something uncharacteristic for him to do outside of being alone with you, which sickeningly made your heart flutter, he still trusted you in a way, did that mean you were still his? You always told him he was more deer then he’d like to admit and those huffs were one of those deer attributes. “Hm yes, but you’ve been quite the work, I hope you know.” You clenched your teeth, trying not to snap instantly, but you did send him a glare.

You muttered about how that didn’t make things any better when he snapped his fingers, all things garbage vanishing in a pinch, mold included. “Ah, much better! My mother always said the state of the house is the state of the mind!” A round of applause sounds from his microphone as he laughed, rounding the couch with a slow stride. “Tell me, would you like to talk?” It felt more condescending then genuine, the way he was bent forward with lidded eyes and an eased smile, like you were some child having a tantrum. “No, Al, you made what you said pretty fuckin clear, i don’t wanna be with you if I am some chore or job, or secondary whatever!- i wanna be your partner and you want me to be a pet? Yeah, no thanks.” You punctuated your sentence with a dramatic scoff, flopping back into the cushions with your arms folded protectively across your chest.

“Ahhh my little doudou,” Alastor chided, sitting himself flush to you, arm around the back of the couch to trap you near him. “I want you to listen to me, and listen to me closely because i will never admit this again!” Alastor exclaimed this with what sounded to be false confidence and a slight hint of exasperation. He pinched your chin in between his claws forcing you to look at him, and of course you did, what else were you to do? “I have become a fool, all across the pentagram, I’m held by ball and chain— the devil my dear! The devil is- some frazzled little nitwit with all the power and no ambition!” Alastors fist clenched at the mention of Lucifer, abandoning your chin to do so. “I was feared my dear, nobody dared to test my authority, and now i’m an assumed bellboy for the princess and her gaggle of misfits. You,” Alastor paused leaning in so close your noses touched.

“My dear, were the only one i actually wouldn’t mind being weakened for.” You couldn’t stop the comical ‘huh’ that gargled straight from your throat. “What does that even mean Alastor.” You whine throwing your head back bumping his arm as you did so, an unknowing invitation to slide it down, hand caressing your shoulder softly. “It means dear, I didn’t mean what i said, because i’ve already done those exact things in the past! I’ve missed countless radio shows from you, refrained from eating deer around you- for your sake. I’ve held you to me on every block knowing Vox could see us perfectly! You were my chosen weakness, darling, but with all these other useless sinners belittling my role in hell, i took it out on you,”

Pausing Alastors static faded in and out, you watched his eyes closely, but the real give away was the way his ear subtly tilted to the side looking like a sad puppy. “I felt what i said, I felt weak and I knew you needed me and didn’t want to feel this weakness anymore, so logically-” You scoffed with a small smirk, mockingly muttering ‘logically’ back at him. “-I had to try to appear as though I am what I originally intended to be.” He finished giving you a pointed look. Shifting your body to face him more, you analysed his body language and face. Typically- no matter how long you’ve been together- he was amazing at hiding his emotions, always seeming to be happy. It seemed like he let his guard down however, his eyebrows were furrowed and pointed upward, his smile tight, shoulders rigid and his breathing shallow. Anticipation was evident by the way his hoof tapped against the floor with beat.

You finally let you emotion reignite, the tears slipped down your face like rivers as you gently shook your head. “What did you intend to be?” You asked softly, an unattractive spit bubble forming as you opened your mouth. “A ruler of sorts, i suppose. Emotionless, cruel, untouchable. I tried to reaffirm to myself by being cruel to you my dear, that i was still a demon, not the altruist teddy bear they all dubbed me as.” Alastors form had finally slumped, sinking into the cushions alongside you, his head falling back gazing up at the ceiling. You caved just slightly at his admission, and rested your head on his chest near his armpit, your body sinking into his. Suddenly he perked up, looking down at you, you reflexively shooting your gaze up to him.

“Yknow they made a mockery of my speech as well my dear! Preposterous, darling, many sinners posted about me being ‘cringe’, my speech was ‘corny’, my dearest can you believe that?” You almost took offence to the fact he sounded more distraught over being made fun of rather than hurting you, but you reminded yourself that Alastor was trying to open up, and you weren’t gonna ruin that. “Is that why you were killing randos instead of overlords?” You asked feeling more relaxed than you had before, obviously there was many words in between you two unsaid, but you wanted to bask in the small talk you craved for so long from him just a little longer.

“Precisely. I’m proud you noticed.” You hummed with a small smile, your head resting back on his chest. “Why did it take so long for you to come?” Despite not even thinking he would, you now had the knowledge he didn’t actually hate you, and if he didn’t why’d he drag it out? “Pride,” What would’ve been a hoarse voice to any other demon, was a staticy robotic sound that crackled out of his chest. “This is way out of my comfort my dear, i didn’t and still don’t know what to say or do, and i don’t like being out of control.” You whimpered at that, curling up into him, your legs slinging over his thighs so you could cuddle up next to him. Immediately his arms engulfed you, pulling you into him with a happy hum, his neck craning to kiss your head softly.

“i missed you, you really hurt me, bad. Don’t do it again.” You state firmly though it was muffled by the fabric of his coat, the one you had your face nuzzled into. Alastor hummed out softly petting you on your head, just like he would before. “Never again doudou~, you have my word, and i promise to make it up to you.” Tiling your head upward you yanked at his colar, and he immediately ducked down meeting your lips at will. The kiss was soft and Alastor could feel the dampness from your tears on your chin against him. After a moment you both pulled away, although not far from eachother your lips were practically still touching.

“Why don’t I give you some attention my sweet doe.” Alastor cooed against your lips, you could hear the mischief in his tone as his hand pawed your hips. You blinked slowly at him, an instant twist of desire appearing low in your gut. “How?” Alastors grin widened for the first time since appearing at your door, and you feared you’d truly be in for it tonight. “Oh my, have i neglected your needs so long you need to inquire how?” Alastor question was rhetorical only furthered by the way he kissed his teeth with his index finger coming up to shake side to side. “That simply will not do!” Standing suddenly, with you in his arms, made you gasp and clutch onto him instinctively. You smacked his chest playfully, muttering to him about being too heavy, he however ignored you, walking toward your old room with his head held high.

The room in question was a mess, and a thick layer of dust coated every object that wasn’t being continually used, like the nightstand, and the lamp. Alastor didn’t care much though, he never did care whether you were messy or super clean he’d always snap his fingers to assist you, and that’s exactly what he did. Slowly around the room things cleared up, his shadows slunk into the room with strange looking candles setting a romantic tone for the room. The bed was remade neatly when he set you on it gently, watching your doe eyes stare up at him with a familiar intensity that always made him fidgety. You let him flop you down without complaint, after all it wasn’t always that Alastor seemed so interested in getting down and dirty.

Standing above you, Alastor grinned down at you with lidded eyes, letting his long fingers dance down his chest to undo his buttons. He wasn’t really a fan of trying to appear sexually appealing to those around him, he’d never admit how out of the ordinary, and awkward it felt, but he knew you. You were his. You were loyal. You waited seven years just for him, never spilling a single secret. Secretly, he was way more comfortable with trying to appear “sexy” for you, because he knew no matter what, you wouldn’t look at him any differently. Alastor shrugged off his jacket, his button down shirt open exposing his chest to you. “Y'know dear,” A bit of southern drawl slipped out, as the mask he wore slipped away with his jacket. “You give me a very special outlet i do not think i’d have with any other sinner, you’re too kind to me.” Pulling off his shirt, he folded it and set it aside, kicking off his slacks right after, leaving himself in his boxers and long socks.

You watched him undress with wide eyes, you wanted nothing more then being pressed against the warmth of him, absorbing his touch. You however stayed still, letting Alastor relax into the mood as he rid himself of clothes. Alastor sat on the edge of the bed, right beside your hips, his hand traced lightly up and down your torso, occasionally dipping down to your thighs. You felt tense at the touch, both anticipation and insecurity making you feel stiff. Suddenly his claw hooked around the band of both your undergarments and pants, his eyes flickering up to inspect you when he did so. “May I?” His voice was soft, the usual uncertainty present as he felt out of his realm. “Yes, please.” You sigh, your tone nearly whiny. “I missed you so much Alastor,” You admit hushed as his claws brushed down your thighs with your clothes. Once off, Alastor leaned down, giving soft pecks to your thighs, eyes staring up to you through his red lashes. “Yes dear, my life been painstaking without you.” He whispered against your flesh, sharp teeth dragging up past your hips, nose bumping the cloth of your shirt. Sitting up slightly, you were preparing to slid your shirt over your head when Alastors body slid between your legs, claws coming up to pinch and lift the fabric exposing your chest.

With him now face to face with you, leaned over your body, you caved. Your hands slid around his neck guiding him toward you slowly, your lips met instantly like two magnets being held just inches apart. It was a sweet kiss for the most part, your lips meshed against his as you let him control the pace, it was nice with Alastor you always had enough time for the heat to simmer and grow, making foreplay unnecessary most times because he naturally took his time. You raked your fingers through his hair, nails scratching up his scalp causing ripples of goosebumps down his arms. Alastor slipped his tongue delicately licked at your lip, brushing as soft as ever. You were a bit shocked at this, typically he wasn’t into french kissing, lamenting that the whole tongue thing was messy and disgusting feeling. However you didn’t fight him, only allowed him access, which he immediately took with ease slipping his tongue against your own.

His body collided into yours, nose bumping your cheek as he angled his head. Your hands slipped down his back, smiling against his lips at the feeling of his tail wagging back and forth making small gusts of wind against your fingertips. Alastor nipped at your lips in retaliation, hands roaming your body as he pushed his hips up to softly grind his hard on into you. You hummed at the feeling of him against you, angling your hips back and up pressing your wetness against his briefs. Your body was buzzing while Alastor slowly grinded himself down on you, his clothed head travelling between your folds and back up to poke at your clit. The kiss had broken as he continued on, your breathing shaky as you enjoyed the slow motion of him above you, his teeth scraping down the length of your neck.

Alastor couldn’t help the groan that bubbled out of him. Not only could he smell your arousal but he could smell just you. He pressed his face to the nape of your neck, kissing and inhaling, loving the smell you had naturally on your skin. He also got quite the kick out of hearing the blood rush through your veins, it made him feel feral knowing you would bare yourself to him so willingly, he had you around his finger. Alastor let his lips glide down your body, leaving bite marks down your chest and neck as he did so, hips still moving slowly against you. You had soaked his briefs making the fabric feel absent, clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock slide through your folds. “Please Al, I need you.” You whined pathetically, pressing your hips up into his. Alastors choppy breath warmed your collar bone, his forehead rested on your shoulder, eyes closed as he slipped his hand down, yanking himself out of his boxers.

Sometimes he felt like an untrained dog, he couldn’t help but want to hump into you without restraint, but that wasn’t him, that was desire, and he knew how to hold back. As he sunk into you, slowly, he breathed out the quietest of noises against you shoulder, basking in you. You could hear his quiet noises clearly since he was so close, you bite your lip at the sound of him, loving how he always let you see him so wrecked. When Alastors hips were flush with your own, your legs came up around his hips, his tail stiff, while your arms wrapped around his neck, your right hand dragging up his scalp to his ears. “I like hearing you, Alastor,” You gasped as he jolted into you, like an involuntary reaction to your praise. “It makes me feel you.” You finished breathlessly. Alastor hummed against you, setting his pace slow and deep, barely pulling away before he pushed hard back inside you.

Your eyes were wide as he continued this rhythm, to you it was incredibly overwhelming, he never left you vacant always hungry to fill you right back up with him. His pants against you were also adding to your arousal, his eyelashes fluttered against your skin ever now and again as he attempted to contain himself. You knew he was sort of embarrassed with himself feeling pleasure, so you never egged him on when he did start making noise, but lord you wanted more. You tugged Alastors hair softly, pulling him up for a sloppy opened mouth kiss. He barely opened his eyes as he mushed his lips against yours, snaking his tongue against your own, bucking up faster into you at the warmth of your mouth. “I missed you, i love you,” You cried against his lips pathetically, your body’s both rocking on the bed as Alastor hurried his pace.

Alastor let out a low guttural noise, something from the back of his throat making your toes curl, pulling at his hips with your legs. “I couldn’t- stand you being away, dear.” Alastors face was inches from your own, forehead rested on yours, lips brushing against each other as he spoke. “Never again will i be such a fool, you’re mine forever.” Alastor growled through his clenched teeth, claws ripping into the mattress as he spoke. Your mouth hung open, eyebrows raised as you tried to from some sort of praise, but now his eyes were open looking down at you with such intensity and emotion, and his pace fast hard putting your body straight into the mattress. You didn’t even feel your orgasm coming on when it did, your body arching up into his, crying out his name alongside pleas.

The display of you in front of him was so pornographic, something he wasn’t fond of seeing but now understood why people were. You were gorgeous right now, your face red, your eyes watering, your body folded up towards his, all the scars, folds marks on your body, all for his eyes only. Groaning loudly, he fell back into his favourite place, your neck, and let out a deep breathless static moan as he came. You clutched him the entire time through watery blurred eyes, enjoying the feeling of him inside you post orgasm. Pulling away, Alastor was quick to pull out and away, snapping his fingers he began to clean you with a cloth. “Disgusting of me,” He muttered, seemingly angrily. “No, it was good Al, you’re allowed to. You’re not disgusting and neither was the sex, believe me.” You coo, sitting up from your position, a dopey look on your face. In a snap, Alastor was redressed as were you, in leisure clothing. “We’re going back to the hotel to sleep my little doe.” Alastor spoke softly, lending his hand to you, humming you took his hand letting him take you through his magic, back to the hotel. You knew Alastor didn’t like to lay sticky in the remnants of sex like many others, and probably would push you to shower before getting in his bed. But that way okay, you loved him regardless, and you really missed having his attention.

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cursedcola · 11 months

Text

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde(here!), Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): The relationship is kinda toxic because it's Idia and I have to be realistic - but it gets better as you read. Just know that there are themes of miscommunication, self-sabotage, self-neglect, and insecurity in both Idia and the MC. I gave him some character growth at least and some maturation to the character. Note: All Ignihyde has is Idia so I gave his piece some extra love(super long. Like, this isn't even considered a headcannon set anymore. I really went overboard, I'm so sorry). Not proofread for grammar since I'm a bit lazy right now. Also, I haven't finished his chapter in game because I'm too weak (seriously wtf is up with these fights). I know the plot mostly but forgive me if there's an inaccuracy in a reference

Idia had it made during his youth - and deep down he knows it despite all his complaining. He knows that he won the introvert lottery. For three years he was able to live in a reclusive dorm room with no expectations beyond showing up to class (via a tablet of all things) and doing his work. Sure, he had to return home at some point and deal with that hot mess...but it was a displaced problem. One to be dealt with whenever. As a full-time 'student' he had junk food readily available, his brother down the hall, all the games and tech he needed, and somehow managed to land himself a loving partner despite his quirks.

The Ramshackle prefect - someone he initially wanted nothing to do with. Chaos seemed to follow their every move and Idia wanted no part of it. He never expected to come within a twenty-foot radius of them without force.

For the record, force indeed was used. Unfortunately they had a nasty habit of being nosy. Very 'main character complex' of them, if you ask him.

Yet it worked in his favor. Their stubbornness and intrusive ways wormed a place in his stone-cold heart. It fueled his ego much to everyone's chagrin. Out of everyone - princes, busy bodies, future doctors and the literal fish mafia - you picked him. The noob cursed to lose all his 50/50s and rot in bluelight. Idia seriously questions your tastes, but hey! He beat the normies and that's all he cares about.

Well, at least that's how he phrases it. Underneath that god-tier ego is an inferiority complex that he tries to keep down for your benefit. Something about your mood dipping by 20% when he talks trash? He'd need Ortho to run another test on that. Just to be safe.

Unfortunately, he still can't reign it in all the way. Victories can be temporary and who's he to say that your relationship isn't a one-shot story? Nothing worthwhile is ever that simple. Good games always get sequels...so the question lingers, will he still be a main character in yours?

When Idia graduates, he fully expects for you to walk out of his life. He returns to S.T.Y.X and leaves NRC to fulfill his role back home. You have no reason to care about him when he's no longer nearby. Life isn't like an isekai manga. You won't wait for him - no, you'll get a taste for how life is without him and indulge. Slowly you'll stop texting him, calling him, playing games with him - well, he'll do it first! He refuses to be the second male lead that gets dumped when you finally find your prince. That's for chumps.

He'd rather you just up and leave this world! At least then he wouldn't be in this pitiful situation...but he's seen that crow's shitty work ethic. You're stuck.

Idia's scared to say the least. One could say that his self sabotage was in action before your relationship even began. Old habits die hard, and no one could stop his spiral. Not even Ortho. Idia left his little brother behind as well. The boy sent him off with a smile, promising to take good care of you in his big brother's stead. After all, you both were in the same year.

It's not surprising that he reverts to his old ways. A hard battle is even more difficult to win when you don't have the motivation to fight it in the first place. Idia loses his drive...and in turn his already negative outlook grows worse.

Needless to say, Idia ... neglects you.

Your relationship has always been more of an 80:20 than a 50:50 - with him taking more than he ever gave. You always set aside time and made sure he was comfortable. You respected his anxieties and dealt with his temper on more than one occasion. His jealousy. You indulged his hobbies, always tried to include him in on activities with your friends (even though he rarely ever accepted), wore your heart on your sleeve and always took the lead. You were always too good to be true.

Two years. Two years with him at S.T.Y.X and you at NRC. Not a day passed where you did not text him or call. Not a week passed where you did not video-chat or play a game with him. You made time. You checked in. Told him stories about your life an friends. Ortho often would send him recordings and clips as well. During vacations you'd make plans to see him and always invited him to come to campus for events. Even though he never accepted, you still always offered. Throughout it all he kept you at a distance, yet unable to fully let you go at the same time. He needed you to do it. He needed his inner thoughts to shut up and to have someone else to blame.

You. You. You. When would you stop? Why weren't you tired of him yet? On a good day he can be frustrating, so how were you not mad when he was physically trying to make you hate him? Were you waiting until graduation to drop the bomb on him that you'd leave for good? On another's arm or back to your world?

Imagine his surprise when neither happened. On the dawn after Ortho's graduation ceremony, Idia came out of his cave to greet him at the S.T.Y.X entrance. He would no longer be as lonely, and perhaps without Ortho around, you'd finally put distance between yourself and the Shroud family. All would be as it should.

He did not expect to see you at the gate as well. Ortho flew up to him with a bright grin and twirl in the air - babbling on and on about how he arranged for you to come work as a research assistant in the lab. After all, you had an extensive knowledge of blot as well as field experience. It was a win-win situation for the company and your relationship! You could now be a happy family! Isn't that just amazing?

"It was extremally difficult to keep this a surprise!...Brother?" Ortho halts mid-rant, his receptors going haywire, "Brother, your heartrate has increased and your temperature is dropping below stable levels. You must regulate your breathing pattern!"

White noise rang like television static in Idia's eardrum. He watched you thank one of the guards while handing off your suitcase. His pulse increased and mind went under water. How long had it been since you were together longterm? You looked different. More mature. Meanwhile he was still the same - physically and emotionally. Still the pasty shut-in with dark eyebags and energy drinks running through his veins instead of blood. He wasn't used to seeing you in person. How should he react? Should he hug you? Do you want him to? That's weird. He hasn't held you in a while - yeah, it would be creepy. Does he even deserve to? What made you want to work here anyways?! You could have gone anywhere. ANYWHERE. - Shit. You're looking this way. What should he do?! aHH! You're walking over!

He does what he knows best. Shuts down. You receive a disgraceful greeting. No affection. Not even a smile.

Idia's brow furrows at your approach and he buries his hands deep into the pockets of his lab-coat. When you lean in to kiss his cheek, he catches you by the forearms and holds you in place. "Since when were you going to work here? You do remember what S.T.Y.X is in charge of, right? Once you're in, there's no going back. Are you a masochist or something?" Ah. There goes the heartfelt reunion. Being home did bring out a more harsh and cut-throat side of him after all.

Despite his poor treatment, you don't react upset. Now the relationship has now become something of a 90 : 10. He knows you have no reason to come here other than for Ortho and himself. You really are an Otome protagonist, jeez. Willing to do all that for him? Giving up your future and friends just to be at his side...dammit. Don't give him hopes! Don't undo all the work he's put in to survive without you! Stop welcoming misfortune for his sake! You're stupid. Stupidstupidstupid .... man he loves that stupidity. Gods he missed it.

Shit. Not even an hour in and he's reverting.

You don't realize it but you're heading straight for a bad ending. He does though. He's read the guides and played more visual novels than he can count. As a pro, he needs to steer you off this villainy ending and towards the true route.

After all ... what was that one saying? Heroes will sacrifice you for the world, while Villans will sacrifice the world for you? He heard it from some normie bookworm...but it seems fitting right now.

Idia's no hero. He'll destroy his world if it means you get to be happy. Not that he had much of one to begin with. You...gave him a life beyond fiction while all he's offered is a curse. Literally and figuratively. Its time he returned what he so greedily stole. He'll make you move on through force.

The months are slow and difficult. Despite being nearby, Idia only ever seeks you out for work-related reasons. Even then he is very cold and dismissive . He also does not turn you away when you take the initiative. Just like old times, you linger around his room and prod him for attention. He wants you to leave, but also doesn't want to be cruel. So, he maintains this impassive position and lets you do whatever you please. Yet the situation is scarily similar to how you both were at NRC. Except instead of using his past as an excuse, he now uses your work dynamic to enable his noncommittal ways.

There really is only so much one person can take. After Idia left NRC, you pinned his switch in behavior on the lifestyle change and distance separating you both. You knew Idia would be someone you had to work hard for when you started to date, and so the situation was one you viewed as an obstacle to overcome. The solution was simple - you would go to S.T.Y.X and prove to him that you were willing to make it work. Without the physical distance, you hoped that he would let you in again. That you wouldn't have to hear reassurances from his brother anymore, and instead hear his feelings from his own mouth instead. Then you both could work out the details together in time. Seeing him reject you at first was discouraging, but you did not let it rest there. Perhaps he needed time and to get used to your presence in his home. After all, these were new waters. You would be patient. You would prove yourself capable.

Life becomes a time capsule. As the days went by, a bitter feeling grew in your stomach. Why wouldn't he laugh? Why wouldn't he look in your eyes anymore? Why is he retreating even further? What were you doing wrong? How could you fix it? Is it you? Your performance in the lab is outstanding according to your supervisors, and your work friends seem to find you agreeable enough. Can't he see that you've adjusted well and are happy here? There's nothing to worry about. How else can you prove yourself?

These thoughts plague your mind to an extend that Ortho felt the need to preform psychiatric evaluation. You dismissed his concerns with a long list of things about your new home that make you happy - including him. It pacifies his panic and somehow mitigates your own as well.

Until one fateful day, when you decided to take your lunch early and overheard a conversation between two senior S.T.Y.X employees

"Isn't the boss' partner kind of pitiful?" One technician spoke in a hush whisper, taking a bite from her salad, "He doesn't give them the time of day. I can't believe they've stuck around this long. Screw the job, I would have been out after the first week," "Shhh! Quit gossiping, it's bad. Especially about the one who pays our bills," The other scolds. "I know....but isn't it just sad. They're clearly being taken advantage of. I can't help but feel sorry" "It's not just you...to tell the truth, I had no clue Director Idia had a partner up until recently. If anything, I thought he disliked Assistant MC and kept them around for Director Ortho's sake. Imagine my shock..." They both snicker at the notion. "Yeah. I give them a few more months...maybe a year. Despite being smart in the lab, they clearly can't read the room:

It was the last straw. Like ice water being dunked over your head after a hot shower. The lunch pale in your grasp suddenly felt like it weighed ten times heavier, and a cold sweat dripped down your back. They were right. He didn't want you here. It was time to move on or else you'll just be living out an endless loop. Nothing has changed since your youth aside from the location. No matter how long you wait, no matter how much effort and time you offer ... the relationship is doomed to fail. You gave him everything...and it was time to stop waiting. To stop expecting and hoping. Time to accept reality.

Your lunch goes discarded in a nearby bin and your shift abandoned. You would not work another second for S.T.Y.X despite the facility not being the source of your anguish. Your shoes clack loudly against the tile flooring as you speed-walk to Idia's office, where he was lazily reviewing data on a recent experiment. His phone set off to the side with some automated gatcha daily playing.

You use your 'special' pass (curtesy of ortho) to get in. The metal door swings out as you march inside and turn off his screen without asking.

"H-h'-hey! What are you-" He shrieks and turns in his chair. "We need to talk" "Can't it wait until later? I'm busy working, if you can't tell" "No" Your tone is demanding. Definite. You all but yank the badge from around your neck and drop it in his lap. In that motion, he knew. Your eyes scrunch tight and teeth grind together. He was prepared for this. For you to lash out and yell at him for your suffering. Make him the bad guy in your story and finally beat the game for good. Not for you to deflate. Not for the glassy, disappointed stain on your eyes. Or the shallow breaths as you calm yourself - not letting your emotions frighten him like a spooked cat. "I'm quitting," "S.T.Y.X? You know you can't just quit. There's a process," He refutes, lazily pushing his chair back with an anxious fidget. "Not just S.T.Y.X...I'm quitting us. I can't do this anymore," "Oh. Alright. Let me get the paperwork," "Alright?" You whisper, gaping at him "...just alright? That's all you have to say to me? Not even 'why' ?" He pauses typing on a holographic keyboard, cocking an eyebrow at the question. "What? You want me to beg you to stay or something like that? We're not in an anime," His words die out at the end, and had it not been for your disbelief you would have caught the note of sadness in them, "you want to go? Then go. I warned you about this place" "No...you warned me about the facility. It's not the facility I have a problem with. I actually like it here" "So it's me then, huh? I warned you about that too," He grumbles and continues to type, "I'm not whatever it is that you saw in me. It's your fault for sticking it out this long. I knew this was how it would end from the start" A silence follows aside from the occasional noise from his computer. That's it. The nail in the coffin. You finally realized the truth. He was no good for you. He couldn't be 'fixed'. With an approving chime, he finally has all the departure paperwork pulled up for you to sign. "Alright. Sign these and I'll get you an escort," He holds out a tablet in pen without looking from his computer. You don't take it. "Hello? I said - " he turns to face you, irritated "....here" Silent tears stream down your cheeks and pool at the tip of your chin, dripping to the tile below. Wide eyes lock in his general direction. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, as if your mind was thousands of miles away. His heart breaks. "You never even gave us a chance, did you?" He says nothing. "It wasn't about 'making it work' for you. It was always a matter of 'how long'. You've been waiting for me to leave you, all this time?" It wasn't a question. "All this time, I've been trying to prove myself. I've been thinking that I did something wrong...that I needed to be better" the word stings your tongue and seems to strike him, " but I was never even close to enough" we were never enough

With languid movements, you take the pen from him and sign the papers. You would not hide your sadness. Your grief. Your pain for a relationship that was never actually one. For a battle that only had one party fighting.

He lets you go, the metal door swinging shut and rattling him to his core. Idia's hands shake as he tries to return to his work. They tremble over the holographic keyboard, making his blue nails look like moving neon streaks in the air.

He had always thought you ere just being kind. That your self-sacrificing nature was natural, and that someone else was more deserving of it. He failed to consider the possibility that all the things you did...you did for him alone. You did out of the same anxieties and fears he felt.

In a way, you both were at fault. He led himself down a self-fulfilling prophecy - letting his anxieties and what-ifs become reality. And you? You thought everything could be fixed with time. With sacrifice. That eventually he would grow. You both were plants, one overwatered and the other left parched in the sun.

He did get one thing right. This was defiantly a bad end. Just not in the way he originally believed...

Somehow, life becomes worse than before you arrived at S.T.Y.X. At least when you were around, people did see him more out of his office or room. Seeing him revert to his previous ways without so much as an inkling of sadness for losing you....yeah, it did not look good. Worse than people not even knowing you were his partner at first. After your departure, rumors began to spread that you had finally snapped. The pity felt for you morphed into judgement towards his character. Others saw him as a heartless recluse, and the pity was extended to Ortho of all things. If Idia could toss out a loyal partner of years, what about the little robot? Perhaps despite all the gossip, the others at S.T.Y.X did not fully believe that he would let you leave so easily. That he wasn't as detached as the Shroud name dictates.

Little do they know that he's become a shadow of his former self. He can't even act self-depreciative. Pleasantries don't hit like they used to. Having you at a distance...well, was still considered as being with you. Now that you're never coming back, it's harder. Everything reminds him of you. Your favorite snacks are still stocked in the cafeteria, and there are blankets in his room that still have your scent. Occasionally a file will pop up with your work in it while he's doing reviews...and then there's Ortho. When you left, he was crushed. He pestered Idia for days - the security cameras giving him full knowledge of what happened. Yet no matter what the robot said about the situation, Idia didn't want to hear it. Eventually he took away Ortho's access data to his personal spaces.

That didn't stop the bot from talking through the door and spamming his brother's inboxes. Despite cutting off contact with his big brother, you still spoke to Ortho regularly. He refused to let his big brother lose all connection to you, and updated him on your well-being. Regardless of what Idia said, hearing about you made a difference. At first it increases his anxiety and drops his mood...but every time, like a scheduled delay, his serotonin levels will spike. Be it from a clip of your voice, a picture, or even just the mention of your name.

"Brother! I just finished a call with MC. Today they decided to adopt a cat! Would you like to see a picture?" His computer beeps with an incoming missive. Idia clicks it, and the screen displays a photo of you with a small white kitten in your arms. "They've decided to name it Grimm Jr. From what I heard, the predecessor was not pleased to be 'replaced,' as he calls it" Ortho laughs from the other side of the door, but Idia is too focused on the image on his screen. The curve in your smile and the way you gently cradle the kitten. You seem...happy. Much better than how he is doing. He fails to hear the door beep, granting access, neither the bot fly up next to him to look at the picture. "Big brother, why don't you apologize to MC? They would listen," Idia startles, clutching his chest as his hair flairs cherry red for a brief moment. He swivels in his chair and closes the image quickly. "I'm not apologizing for nothing. It's not like I miss them or anything. My life's great without having a normie relationship to manage" "Your body language suggests that you are lying" Ortho states, his eyes squinting cheekily. Idia hunches over, glaring at his keyboard and fiddling with his sleeves, "It's not like they'd want to see me anyways. I blew it. Only an idiot would forgive what I did," "That's not true! MC loves you!" Idia glares at him from the corner of his eye, "Yeah? They look pretty happy without me. They were miserable here" "Because you purposefully made them miserable! You are very smart brother, but even I understand emotions better than you and I am an artificial lifeform!" "Then what should I do, Ortho? Go beg them to take me back like some cringe sitcom?!" "Yes!" Idia blanches at the thought, but doesn't entirely dismiss it. Ortho glares holes into his head, causing Idia to shrink into his chair. "You are always afraid, brother. You lost them to your fears once...do you want to regret that? Are you really satisfied with pictures and stories? Why deny yourself wonderful things! We are not trapped anymore!"

Ortho leaves him with one piece of information - an apartment address. He sends it to all of Idia's emails and even somehow makes it the background of his tablet. He can't change it or take it off.

He stares at it long and hard. Searches the place up and even uses virtual reality to scope out the building. While perhaps a bit creepy...he hacks the security cameras and watches feed of you coming and going over the past moths. Some days you look perfectly well, and others you look worse for wear. If he went...would you even want to see him? Would you let him in? Kick him out? Is he willing to even try? What if you already moved on...no, Ortho wouldn't set him up for that if he knew you were happy with someone else.

Idia leaves S.T.Y.X for the first time in months. His request for leave shocks other employees. Yet he's gone the moment it's approved, afraid that he'll lose his edge if he thinks too long on it.

He finds himself at the door of a middle-class apartment in the Kingdom of Roses. Second floor, third door to the left, just like he memorized. He knows its yours from the ribbons tied on the doorknob, themed after one of your favorite animes. One he introduced to you...

In his hands is a small box of candies - a peace offering, just in case you want to kill him on sight.

His boney knuckles wrap around the doorknocker and thwack it three times. Sweat pools in his palms and he jolts away. The seconds like hours as his painted nails dig crescents into his palms. The door opens. "Hi, how can I -" You pause mid-sentence, your mouth going dry. Grimm Jr. snuggled in one of your arms while the other holds the door open, "I-idia?" "T-that's my name," He grimaces, looking anywhere but at you. "What are you doing here?" His tongue feels heavy and the tips of his hair fade to a pale orange. He studders and fumbles with the box of candies, holding them out to you with a grimace. "I wanted to see you...urk. I hope that's not weird! Can ... I come in?" You eye the box in thought, before reaching out to take it and opening the door further. It was a start.

You hear him out - through the stuttering and the self-depreciative comments that he hastily retracts. This isn't just about him. It's about you and everything else in-between. Shockingly enough, you agree to give him a second chance. It wasn't entirely his fault after all ... and you did still love him. Although now there are ground rules. You would not be returning to S.T.Y.X. You've finally created a stable home for yourself and have a life in this new city. You have a career, friends, and a life that doesn't include him. You need the individuality. You would no longer try to morph yourself for him or be placid. If he wanted to spend time with you, he would have to leave S.T.Y.X and come stay at your apartment. You would no longer be the one always reaching out, he would have to start showing initiative and making time for you. You would see how things progress from that point. He was not a child, and you would not beg for basic needs to be met anymore. Words would not be enough, you need actions. It was time for 50 : 50.

Weirdly enough, he agrees to all your rules without a single complaint. Not a normie comment or slang filled statement leaves his lips. He's still that nerdy dork you fell in love with at heart, but these 'normie' things? Well, Idia's accepted that he wants those things. As much as it is difficult for him to admit, they only grossed him out so much before because he always believed they were unattainable

He's true to his word. He calls you every day, first thing when he wakes up (in the late afternoon. He still is a hermit at heart). At first it made him anxious, and he'd hover over the contact for fifteen minutes before dialing. Yet it soon became easy, with his heart only beating fast from happiness. He takes the weekends off and comes to spend them at your apartments. Sometimes he brings Ortho and it becomes a sleepover with games - and at some point you start inviting your other heartslabyul friends from back in the day too. Eventually you do come around the compound again. It's awkward to say the least, considering how you left. Yet at the same time, it's a breath of fresh air. The others are shocked to see him out of his office, and he eats IN THE CAFETERIA. Woah. He calls you by your name and not 'assistant' when in public. Homie scares some people. That's what he does. He gives you a special watch for your anniversary. It's paired with on he has and solar powered, so you can contact him at any time. As a natural born worry-wart, he can't help but worry for your safety. Since watching the appartment CCTV is 'creepy,' he just asks that you wear the watch if you're going out anywhere. It won't die and with the click of a button he'll be alerted. In exchange, you can use it to contact him whenever you want. He'll always get back instantly since it might be an emergency. The watch is also directly linked to Ortho's system, so you can contact him as well. Who needs Cortana when you have Ortho?

For the first time, Idia feels secure in a relationship. He can't count Ortho since the boy is technically his creation. Ortho would always be there...and now? Idia's confident you will too.

Does that mean you should get married? Isn't that the next step in all this?

Well....shit (pleasant connotation)

He never would have tinkered with this idea before considering his 'family'. Who the hell in their right mind would marry a Shroud? A fool. Are you a fool? Maybe.

It's late evening on a Sunday night when you're both walking home together after hitting up a local diner for hearty eats. Wow. Look at him. On a date. So weird...pshh.

Idia walks at your side, forcing his pace to match yours. Not everyone is graced with his long stickman legs. His hands are buried deep in his hoodie and his posture is slightly slouched. Classic scary dog privilege for a nighttime walk - well, if his hair didn't scream valentine's day pink to the world. Although no one else has flaming hair other than the Shroud family, so he doubts anyone would interrupt.

You decide to take the long path home and through a nearby park. The night was still young for nightowls such as yourselves, and fresh air was always crisp at this hour.

Along that path you decide to stop at a cement bench by some vending machines and chill out for a bit. Despite having just ate, Idia gets you each a can of coffee.

He'd be leaving to go back to S.T.Y.X tomorrow. Like he does every Sunday. His gaze drifts to the watch on your wrist and thinks about adding some new features - maybe video chat? So he can see you throughout the day. He wonders what you'll be up to while he's stuck in the lab. Maybe you'll go shopping, or play a new game. Maybe you'll try out a new recipe or take Grimm Jr. out to play. He wishes he could see you during the week.

Ah. You're talking. He should probably tune in or you'll get mad at him. Why's it so hard to focus? He hasn't felt this uneasy in a while...

Why is he having these kinds of thoughts? It's weird.

"You okay? You seem a little spaced," You pull him from his thoughts, a concerned crease wrinkling your temple. "Eh. It's nothing. Just not looking forward to the week," he chuckles weakly. "I know that feeling. It's always a bummer when you dip. Not to sound clingy or anything" His golden hues spark for a moment, a pale pink dusting his cheeks as he whips his head to look at you.

"W-wait - really? I was just thinking the same thing...." "You were?" "Yeah. It's...kind of weird without you. Everything's emptier. Wow. That was pretty cringe. Sorry." He grimaces, internally screaming and knowing that this was going to replay when he tried to sleep later. You tilt your head at him, a slight frown on the cusp of your lip. Something tickles at his fingers and he looks down to see you lace your hand with his. "I miss you too," your words are soft. Genuine. He feels his neck grow hot, the pink glow radiating off him betraying him. Idia looks between your interlaced fingers and the drink in his hand. There...wouldn't ever be a 'right' time for this. Would there? You've waited long enough. He pulls his hand away and pops the soda tab off with deft hands.

"Hey..." he twiddles with the soda tab in his hands, "on a scale of 1-10, how are my odds of getting a yes?" "A 'yes' to what?" "To this, " he sighs through his nose, holding the tab out towards you with a shaking hand, "will you marry me?"

{A soda tab from canned coffee. Not the most charming offering, and it barely fits around your pinky finger. Yet, Idia's always been impulsive at his core. Had he not acted in the moment, he likely would have ran countless possibilities over and over in his mind. While not your forever ring, the tab will remain a sentimental piece}

{Idia is not a man with a keen eye fore jewelry - but he knows quality. Combine his eye for perfection with his craftsmanship and behold - a ring made from purified blot. The center gem is a piece of magestone in it's most refined state. The band is titanium and there are small sapphires along the molding. Since he would be wearing a matching band, Idia decided to keep the design simple. He prefers functionality over all. Yet he does want you to feel proud of his handiwork, so he includes vintage molding on your band only. He wears a smooth black band on his ring finger, and never removes it}

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #twst idia #IM DEAD #THIS TOOK FOUR HOURS #I LEGIT WAS NOT PLANNING TO WRITE ALL THIS #MY HANDS

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lucysarah-c · 5 months

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Masterlist!

All my Levi x reader fanfics and Levi fanart

Art Commission: CLOSED!

Writing Requests: CLOSED!

Headcanons and asks:

-> Little "toxic" things Levi does as a boyfriend

-> Levi dating a Swifty

-> Levi's s/o telling him she's pregnant

-> Virgin! Levi

-> Sexism in AoT

-> Homosexuality in AoT

-> Levi showing affection to his S/O in front of his kids

-> Levi having competition to wins your heart!

-> Canon! Levi (Scouts time) views on kids, marriage and romantic relationships

-> Alpha! Levi believes you would be a good mommy of his spawns

-> Wishing to be breed by Levi.

-> Levi accusing his partner of cheating?

-> Is Levi a virgin?

-> Is Levi conservative?

-> Levi's S/O with a contagious weird laugh

-> Levi in love

-> Connie having a crush on Levi's girlfriend

-> Levi reacting to his girlfriend giving birth

-> Petnames that Levi would use

-> Levi's reaction to his S/O getting assaulted NSFW

-> Levi's kinks

HEADCANONS MASTERLIST PART 2

I've reached the limit of this a single post by tumblr for links so. . . here's another masterlist lol.

One-Shots:

-> Ackerman’s blood

Levi fears for the first time that perhaps his Ackerman's powers aren't a bleassing when his son suffers the consequences of them. Dad! Levi x Reader

-> Stoppers (NSFW!!)

Levi feels overwhelming jealous and decides that there's nothing better to set things clear of who owns who than a good old fucking. Levi x Reader.

-> Criminal Record Part 1 - Part 2

Levi insist he has done worse things in his life than, perhaps, sleeping with a subordinate.

-> Traidor

2020 what a time to be alive. The snk character are doing the same as old of us trying to survive the lockdown... playing among us! Levi x reader.

-> Father’s day

Having a soldier as a father is never easy, way less when your father is Humanity's strongest soldier. Levi's kid has the perfect gift but perhaps it's not the perfect scenario. Dad! Levi x Mom! reader

-> Couple goals

Levi hates military's formal events and you know it. Both of you still make the perfect team.

-> Baby boy

Hang out with your higher-ups as you just become Levi's girlfriend. What's the worse thing that could happen? Spoiler alert: Eren is not going to forget about this... neither Erwin.

-> Scratches down his back NSFW-ish

Repeat after me, nothing good happens in the common showers unless it’s Levi sandwiching you with the wet wall. Sadly, this is not the case. So, nothing good will happen.

-> Blackfire

Erwin insists that Levi should educate his squad on certain topics proper of their age. Levi isn't really convinced but Commander's orders are Commander's orders… However, Erwin didn't specify on what he should educate his bratty cadets about. Levi x reader!

-> ANGEL

You met Captain Levi while working as a teacher at one of the new orphanages that Queen Historia created. He seems so willying to help. (YANDERE! Levi x reader NSFW!!)

-> Tea time

Levi is deep down a huge gossip old lady. Levi x reader

-> An Old-fashioned Girl

You're a teen living her normal life until she travelled back on time to aot period.

-> Self-sabotage

Erwin begs Levi to buy him a coffee on his way to university. Having a crush in a barista is so hard when you don't like coffee. (Modern au! University student Levi having a crush on a barista)

-> Not in season? NSFW! Part 1 - Part 2

Winter had settled in, and the scouts were busy training and preparing for the prospects of spring, still far away, to retake Wall Maria. Despite the snow accumulating outside, the building was freezing cold, and the world had secluded itself until the temperature rose. So, why was Captain Levi boiling in his own body? Something felt off, but his mind was quickly slipping into insanity as he tried to find a rational explanation. OMEGAVERSE ALPHA LEVI X OMEGA READER.

-> Levi and the first encounter! Underground! Levi

Tales of Levi's life in the underground.

-> EXPLANATION OMEGAVERSE AU

-> Fifteen, what an age to be alive!

Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

-> Laundry Problems

Levi's a very stoic calm man. He always does laundry but as a unknown piece of clothe appear, Levi's life flash before his eyes. Levi x reader

-> Bed-head Levi

How are Captain Levi's mornings?

-> Boop! You've been chosen!

Levi and you decide to adopt a kitty.

-> My Teen! Levi's modern AU stories.

There's a lot of them so here's a link to all of them.

-> EUPHEMISMS (NSFW-ish)

Levi may not have attended school, but he knows a thing or two about pregnancy… and also periods. (Levi takes care of you during your period)

-> Transactional (PURE NSFW!!!)

When you go to ask Captain Levi for a promotion, it's important to remain humble.

-> Mother's smile (Dad! Levi angst)

Levi's son feels the pressure of being an Ackerman.

Little Pieces I Wrote (Self-Explanatory Titles).

-> Levi isn't romantic

-> Levi as a father part 1 part2

-> Unpopular aot opinions

-> Levi growing up in the underground 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8,

-> Levi's morning with happy ending NSFW

-> Sick clingy Levi NSFWish

-> Soft Levi NSFWish

-> Horny Levi x nurse! reader NSFW

-> Levi x Passenger princess reader

-> Travelling with Levi

-> Girlfriend effect on Levi!

-> Levi loving calling his girlfriend "wife"

-> Levi and farlan as roomies

-> Levi as the father of a baby boy

-> Being humanity's strongest baby girl

-> SnK boys and pilates.

-> Levi's baby thinks Levi's tight chess works as mommy's chest lol

-> Erwin finds out that now Levi is busy at night 👀

-> Levi's only weakness... You, you and a sundress

-> Sexually frustrated Levi

-> Levi = female gaze

-> Levi using you as an excuse for anything

-> Modern au! Levi was a very attentive fuck buddy, even more attentive as a boyfriend.

-> Your horse doesn't want to share you with Levi.

-> Levi's daughter

-> Erwin introduce you to Levi

-> Rambling about gossip to your boyfriend while stealing his food >>> anything else

-> Deadly Occasion (Levi is forced to marry someone else) NSFW

-> Drunk Levi? Better say needy Levi! NSFW

-> Walking down the streets with Levi

Levi's horrible flirting skills!

Short multichapter where we follow Levi's awkward attempts to win the reader over.

Holy Ground (longfic! Levi x reader)

"Alright, get comfortable because this is going to be a long, crappy tale. Join me as we travel down memory lane, back when Erwin wasn't yet a commander, when Mike and Nanaba couldn't keep their hands off each other, when Hange was... well, Hange. And Levi? Well, Levi was a twenty-four-year-old man who didn't give a damn about the rules. Are you ready?"

600! Followers event!

Have you ever wished you could ask Captain Levi a few questions and see his reaction? Well! say no more! I left Levi incharge of my blog for a few days. Enjoy the comic with hisreactions!

2k! Followers event!

Have you ever wished you could ask Captain Levi a few questions and see his reaction? Well! say no more! I left Levi incharge of my blog for a few days. Enjoy the comic with hisreactions! Part 2! Levi's revenge.

SnK Incorrect Quotes:

63 and COUNTING silly posts of quotes that I think snk characters would say.

You think that art looks cute? I draw it! Here's a link to a few of my other pieces!

WANNA JOIN MY TAG LIST SO YOU DON’T LOSE A SINGLE POST? HERE!

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shaisuki · 1 month

Note

Could I request Kaiser with reader. The two of them are partners for a project when he offers her a brownie he made, (one that he drugged), she was hesitant but took it, once she felt a little intoxicated, he took advantage of her, despite her trying to push him off, her state made her weaker and unable to push him off as he did what he wanted with her. At the end, he blackmailed her with the recording he took of him taking advantage of her

contested cravings

PAIRING. MICHAEL KAISER X CHUBBY READER

CONTENT WARNINGS. noncon + drugging, nonconsensual recording + groping and touching + kissing + blackmail + sabotage + penetrative sex + manipulation + cunnilingus.

SYNOPSIS. michael's is the bad news with his good looks and talent and the reason why you avoided him.

class projects aren't bad not until you're paired with michael kaiser. the school's star athlete and the resident asshole if you must add. have a bad habit of belittling others that pisses most of the whole student body and only hangs out with alexis ness. whom may have developed an unhealthy obsession with the school's golden boy. following him like a lost pup and would skedaddle if kaiser shooed him off.

you found the dynamic between them unsettling and how could ness accepted being treated like that. you guess is just how they express their feeling or to make the other feel good about themselves and you kind of really don't care, not when michael is your partner. his blonde hair is streaked with baby blue highlights on the tips and that haircut that suits him.

you instantly averted your gaze when you see him walking towards you and pretends that you didn't notice him. feigning interest in a book that you have read over and over.

“at my place?” he asks, smoothing his blonde locks. “s-sure.” you answered him. a little worriedly than you have liked and it looks like you were hesitant and regretting your action towards him.

michael paid it no mind. people acted around him like he was a real total assholes and he is and you were no different from the reactions people have shown him. he just gave you a smile and left you to your own devices.

of course, he have a room for himself. he's the school's star athlete and it comes with privilege including personal spaces. you texted him earlier and there he is. opening his door for you to come in. you gave him a curt greeting. “can we start now?” you asked him. the sooner this project is done the better. you really don't want to be alone with michael. “does my presence annoys you that much?” he smirks, eyeing you in such lazy manner that your eyes widen at what he was saying. kaiser chuckles at your reaction. “just kidding. don't want to waste more than time. make yourself comfortable then.” pointing at his work table. the books and papers and pens are neatly arranged. you didn't took him to be the studious type regarding how he acts in the general but you have judged him too early and mentally slapped yourself for thinking that way and you were still suspicious that he is too polite to you.

“what?” pursing your lips in thin line. you shaked your head. “nothing, michael.” he ignores you and sat beside you. already grabbing the needed materials and you both began in silence.

working with michael isn't so bad. he wasn't his usual asshole self who picks fight at school and insults someone for how they look and their skill. michael's behavior placed you in a dangerous situation with him and interactions with him meant to break what little self-confidence you have. opposite he was. he was so good at following up instructions and have studied in advance. it looks like it was better that you should both have split the workload.

“oh i forgot, i would be a bad host if i didn't you offer you some food. i've gotten brownies in that newly opened bakery.” he said, taking off his round glasses he was wearing while you both worked. michael screams like he comes from old money from how he acts and it was totally out of character for him to offer you some refreshments.

he placed a tray of food in the table. consisting of various sweet treats and some drinks. “pick what you want, sweets.” the nickname made you cringed cause michael is really acting nice to you. something's very off at this whole situation. looking at the assortment of sweets in the tray. you hesitated but the look michael is giving you told you otherwise. so you grabbed one and took a bite. “good choice.” he praises you before grabbing a treat for himself.

the brownie's good. the chocolatey goodness melting in your mouth, bursting with flavor. you hum in delight to show your appreciation for the good food and michael nods. smiling a bit and slowly chews. you just only ate one. afraid that he'll comment something and you would rather die than have him say something. it took awhile before you both decided to pick up what's left of the work.

strangely, you have never been feeling so lightheaded before followed by a strange pounding on your head. you grasp the pencil you were holding and it only rolls away from you. you try grabbing it again and it feels like you were holding air. “is something wrong, (y/n)?” you follow the sound of the direction of the voice. why was kaiser is blurry to your vision. did h-he? you were unable to finish your muddled thoughts and even in such state you feel his lips to yours.

your lips is what he imagined to be. soft and plump with the right touch of sweetness. thanks to the brownies. heh. it wasn't really he brought. he put an effort to it just to have what's in front of him. the drug that ness brought him did work just like how he wanted it. you were still conscious and a bit aware of everything but is unable to do anything but he is quite surprised that you were still able to move a bit even it was just an attempt to push him off.

“i can't have you pushing me. i really worked for this.” is what you heard before you are being pushed slowly in his bed.

when you laid there in his bed. michael admires you like he was a painter of his greatest masterpiece. looking like some baroque period painting coming to life while your body's is temporarily incapacitated. his efforts have bore results and he's about to sow.

he begins to strip you. quite annoyed from the layers of clothing you wore. he knows it was fully intentional. not wanting to be called a slut nor a prude by him. he knows his harsh and he likes people when they cry and you were no exception of it. he could have bullied you. break you and pull you apart until you were left nothing but michael withstood all the desires of it cause he wanted you like this. helpless and needing of him.

his palms slowly glides through the expanse of skin. you were the definition of what he deemed perfection in his eyes. your perfectly fit in his and he was about to mold you from his very own hands. he can see the tears pricking in your eyes. glistening as you helplessly watch him defile you.

kaiser never liked giving and receiving. he only takes but what's between your legs leaves him hungry for it. the plushness of your fat pussy drooling with slick is enough to drive him crazy so he did what he did. giving your fat pussy a lick and he was hooked immediately. he continued to devour your pussy until he was satisfied besides his cock is really needing some relief and it was painful. he just found the right place to stick it on.

it was only the tiniest of moans and gasps coming from you but he sure enjoyed it. a symphony being composed and is a music to his hears he won't get tired of listening to. he grabbed and bite whatever his hands and mouth can get to. you were so fucking supple and divine. fitting for an emperor like him. the way your body jiggles and ripples with his very thrusts leaving him grunting and growling for more. your fat pussy is deliciously wrapped around his fat cock that it leaves a drooling mess to your cunt. he already has cummed many times and it squelches with every thrust along with your pussy. his cum being deposited inside of you.

michael glances at the clock. the night is still young and he was going savor all of it until the morning comes. he continues to assault your abused cunt. smiling to himself at the direction of where his phone is currently placed. he needs to commemorate this special occasion.

you were sore. your body screaming in pain while you grab the pieces of your clothing besides you. the tears uncontrollably running down your cheeks while you scramble to get your things and leave this hell hole that was michael's room. “why are you crying?” he asks, sipping a cup of coffee. dressed in his robe and his reading glasses resting in the tip of his nose. “fuck you, michael.” you seethed at the blonde. michael chuckles. “strong words coming from you.” he added.

you were about to grab the last belonging of yours before he interrupts you. “i believe you have a favor to ask me.” your eyes widens. he shows you a video of him repeatedly fucking you. putting you in different positions. “don't you dare, michael.” you warned him. “you fucking raped me, you son of a bitch.” michael didn't really like the tone of your voice and it just triggered something to him. he stands up and made his way to you. grasping your soft jaw in a tight manner. he forces a smile. “oh, i really am.” he taunts you. his blue eyes is filled with storm inside them. “defy me and you're getting this video leaked.”

“what the fuck you want?”

“watch your tone.” he warns before smiling.

“be mine and i'll let this thing disappear like it didn't happen.”

“fuck no.”

“oh really, such a shame. you were enjoying it. see?” he really made it look like you were having the best night of your life. he wipes the tears on your round cheeks.

“good.” he whispers. seeing the look in your face and it left him triumphant.

“don't leave. we really ain't done. i am still starting to enjoy it.”

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #bllk #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x chubby reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser #michael x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #anime smut #anime x reader #anime x chubby reader

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moonreader1010 · 3 months

Text

Pac- your friendships if you were an idol/in the kpop industry

Note - (1)take what resonates.(2) And I don't know all the idols in the industry so i have also described the dynamics. See if it matches any idol that you know. (3) This reading is just for fun!!!

Pile 1 pile 2

Pile3^

(these pictures that I used do not belong to me. All rights go to the original owner)

Pile 1:

When my eyes are on you, 숨막힐듯한 전율

Oh, you know you get me loose, make me go 비틀비틀

Wow. The media would be SO INTO your friend group. Omg. They'll always try to photograph you. I kinda feel bad because like they will always be following you. This could definitely be due to the fact that all your friends would be from the top groups. Very veryyyyy famous people for sure. Like those idols/dancers/actors that sort of rule the industry. Eunwoo is someone that i grasped first. Also Jennie. Your friendships will gather a lotttt of jealousy too. It might result in some hidden enemies. You'll have to be extra careful because these people might try to be your friends just to sabotage your other close friendships. But your close friends will always, always support you. Yeonjun could be one. These people will definitely protect you from anything. Literally anything. And yes another card that tells that you'll be friends with the most powerful people in the industry. Ooohhh. Your friendships might be affected by temptations (👀) if you know what I mean.

You might not have had the best luck in friendships in your current life but you will definitely have some of the best friendships in the industry. Karmic themes are there too. I also got g dragon for some reason lol 😭. You might also have older friends. Your friendships will be your escape. You guys will travel a lottttt together. I see you and them going on random walks together. Moon seems to be something veryyyyyy important. You might also make MANY friends actually. You'll be friends with noble people. They will help you grow and they will also help you teach so many things. You might make dance challenges with them lol and they'll teach you the dance. Mingyu and jungkook friendship lol. You guys will help each other in stressful periods. You will support each other's activity too. You might get married with someone from your friend group lol. You'll be friends with both female and male idols.

Idols- Jennie, yeonjun, g dragon, Eunwoo, karina etc.

Groups- seventeen, aespa, red velvet.

Song- BTBT by B.I, Soulja Boy, DeVita (👀👀👀👀)

Pile 2:

We can go wherever you like

Baby, say the words and I'm down

All I need is you on my side

We can go whenever you like, now where are you?

what's your ETA? What's your ETA?

White flowers seem to be really important. Or maybe if you were in the industry then you would have a lot of moments where you receive flowers from your friends. Like you won an award and then there they are to give you the flowers and you all are being very cheeky and giggling. Such a fun relationship. You'll have a lot of such moments. Lol. Imagine you and your idol friends trying to be professional but then you see each other and start laughing lol. You'll definitely collaborate with your idol friends on many creative projects. Getting bag and making moves fr fr. Now now you guys could be childhood friends. Omg so cute. Like Lisa and bambam and many more. You guys probably trained together too. But then you debut in different groups or train in different companies and it leads to some heart break. You guys would be very happy to see each other at award shows. You might also have to hide your friendships due to some toxic fans that make up rumours so yeah. Your friends will make you so confident. Not a single moment of self doubt. You'll be friends with idols that can hype you good lol. Garden and flowers seem to be really significant again! And you guys will definitely be making good money together. Your collab would break records!!!. You guys will be invited to so many events together and then your interaction videos will go Viral lol.

Idols- Irene, nayeon, jay, sunghoon, s coups, hyunjin

Groups- definitely ateez and twice

Song- ETA by newjeans (because you are secretly meeting each other and you are asking them "what's your ETA? lol)

Pile 3-

Too fast, ㅠㅠ

움직임은 blues clues

Everybody jealous

따라 해보던가, new rules

Okay so hear me out. Your friend in the industry would have gone through a period where they were extremely lonely. Could be a scandal or controversy. It really affected them. They were betrayed by their friends and couldn't trust anyone. Then you just enter their life and boom two silliest people ever lol. You guys would have SO MANY inside jokes and you guys are definitely going on reality shows together and being absolutely chaotic. You will help them heal. Omg I'm feeling a little emotional bby. You will reach many goals together. They will also help you. There could be some anxiety or overthinking tendencies but you will help each other get better. But yeah you guys will be sooo hards to handle. I feel sorry for your leader lol. You guys might be into partying and if you are then you all will be partying a lotttt. They will introduce you to so many people too. Very fun relationship. (Also don't read too much into it but there could be a friends with benefits situation in your friendships)

Idols- honestly, the '97 liners lol, wooyoung, hwasa

Group- nctttttttttttt (all the subunits)

Song - 2 baddies by nct 127 (because you all look so cool together)

#tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a card #tarotcommunity #free tarot readings #intuitive readings #kpop tarot #blackpink tarot #bts tarot #seventeen tarot #twice tarot #ateez tarot #enhypen tarot #new jeans tarot #nct tarot

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concerningwolves · 1 year

Text

Amazon are upping their print costs for books, which means some (possibly many) self-pubbed authors may have to also up the cost of their book(s). I'd like to say now, to make it crystal clear for the record, this is not authors being greedy.

I think someone who looks up the royalty rate for KDP and sees "60% for exclusive publishing and 40% for non-exclusive" would think "Wow, these authors are getting paid good money!" but once you calculate the amount of the list price that Amazon eats after printing costs, that percentage can be literally pennies. The minimum, and I mean the absolute bare minimum that I could sell When Dealing with Wolves for after the changes is £12.48 – and if I did that, I would make £0.00. That's zero money. No royalties.

I repeat: 40% royalties on a book listed at £12.48 = nothing.

I currently have WDWW up at £14.00. My "40% cut" from that is £0.76. After the printing cost changes go into effect, I'll make £0.61 from each sale instead. I really don't want to up my prices, because frankly it enrages me that Amazon won't let me list my book for anything under £12, when the standard price of a fiction paperback in the UK is usually around £8.99 – but writing isn't my priority job, so I have that luxury. I'm not trying to make a living off my writing so much as using it to supplement what I make from the freelance career, which is a choice I made because I knew I could never cope with the workload required for a ""serious"" self-pubbed writing career without sabotaging myself. The £0.15 difference in royalties from one book sale isn't going to be the difference between me eating or not; it just really really annoys and disheartens me. (And, also, is further proof that I can't sustain a full-time writing career, because I'd run myself ragged for too little gain and then I wouldn't be able to eat).

But there are plenty of authors who are writing as their primary source of income, either because they can't do anything else or because they took the plunge they're building their career (and it shouldn't matter to you why someone is writing full-time, by the way. You want fiction media to interact with, then you need writers, and writers need to be paid in order to live in order to make more media). It's these authors who will have to up their book prices, and I feel in my bones that it's these authors who are going to face the backlash.

So, if you must be pissed off at someone, be pissed off at Amazon. The authors are probably pissed off, too (I certainly am!), so you'll be in good company.

(And if you can, buy the ebook version because we get better royalties, or see if the author has their own store where you can get the book, since they'll have more control over their own prices there).

#this is okay to reblog btw #i am venting but also royalty talks are something that's important for writer communities to have #writeblr #self publishing

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etherealising · 1 year

Text

chapter four | to burden natalie berzatto

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ |

pairing: platonic!natalie berzatto x f!reader | slight carmen berzatto x f!reader | slight the bear crew x f!reader | male!oc x f!reader |

summary: your lack of competent decision-making after mikey’s death puts natalie in a compromisng position.

wc: 8.1k

please remeber you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any warnings trigger you DO NOT READ!

The smooth music filtered out of the record player, a rich voice singing through the house painting the atmosphere with a calm vibe. The two occupants were gathered in the living room, sifting through the last of the boxes that contained small decorations and keepsakes. Discussing what would look best where and what should have been left behind in the move.

You looked over your shoulder to check on Nat, her sudden silence cause for concern. Circling over to her you realized what had stolen the words from her lips. You maneuvered to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the framed photo in her hands, the two of you silently reminiscing.

You placed your head on her shoulder as she let out a quiet sniffle, her emotions heightened due to her condition. “You looked so beautiful that night,” you let out a quiet laugh before moving to stand next to Nat, eyes still focused on the framed Polaroid in her grip.

It had been a year and it still wasn’t easy to look at any pictures of Mikey without feeling like your chest would cave in. You hadn’t seen this particular picture since his passing, the grief too much, all memories painting your west coast apartment shoved into a nondescript box.

You understood now why it was so important to label your boxes when moving. If the box in front of Nat had some type of label on it, you knew for sure it already would’ve been shoved into the dark recesses of your closet.

“You can just put that one back in the box,” you left Nat’s side to continue going through your box, pulling out the book designated to sit on your coffee table.

Natalie watched you from her side of the living room, a small scowl painting her face as she watched you so easily disregard a memory that had once been so special to you. She looked back down at the picture, your bright smile staring back at her as Mikey and Richie leaned in to kiss your cheeks. A fond memory of the three of you the night of your senior prom.

Looking back at you one last time Nat let out a sigh before walking over to the mantle and setting it on the corner, visible for everyone to see. She understood how much Mikey’s death affected you, but there was no way you could heal from the hurt if you never allowed yourself to live in the uncomfortability of grief. It was something you had to want for yourself.

Nat had half the mind to keep digging through the box, eyes catching on another memory. Not wanting to sour the first night in your new home, she replaced the cover, doing her best to act as though she wasn’t curious about the box of memories.

The doorbell rang as you were looking for a place for the picture of you and your mom at your college graduation. Carefully sitting it on your coffee table you made your way to the door making sure to grab your wallet on the way. You opened the door to see the pizza delivery person standing there, giving them the money and a tip before thanking them.

“Oh that smells delicious,” you laughed as Nat followed behind you to your decent-sized kitchen. The two of you grab plates and a slice of pizza before heading to your couch.

Setting your plate on the coffee table, you left to quickly grab two wine glasses and the sparkling cider Natalie and Pete bought you as a housewarming gift. Stopping to grab a bottle of water from the fridge for Nat just in case the cider upset her stomach before taking your seat on the plush couch.

“I’m happy you’re home Baby.” Your eyes met Nat’s before you moved to pour yourself a healthy amount of sparkling cider, ignoring Nat’s laugh at the full glass in your hands. You raise your glass in a mock toast, at least one of you was happy that you were back.

“I guess it's good to be back. Nice to be around people that care about me,” the grateful smile sent Nat’s way as a form of thank you.

Natalie deserved more than a pathetic smile and both of you knew it.

You had been relatively alright after Mikey’s death, which came as a surprise to everyone. Your impromptu stay in Chicago after the funeral was a way for you to keep an eye on Natalie and Donna, occasionally helping Richie at The Beef when you could.

But you had to return to your own life eventually, and when you did shit spiraled out of control for you.

People always drone on and on about the five stages of grief and how it affects everyone differently, and you never thought that statement to be more true than when you stepped foot in your apartment upon your return from Chicago. Grief is supposed to come and go, you were doing everything that everyone was telling you to do. Following all the steps, checking all the boxes. Forcing yourself to try and heal, to feel your emotions as much as you would allow yourself to.

But at the end of the day, it was just you, an apartment full of memories, a voicemail you were too scared to ever listen to, and the shadow of your grief following behind you.

You experienced all the denial, anger, bargaining, and depression and you waited and hoped for the acceptance to come. But all that ever came was the cycle of grief replaying in your life like a bad dream.

You had thrown yourself into your work, anything to forget about the pain Mikey’s ghost left behind. And when your psychiatrist recommended a prescription to aid with your anxiety, you accepted. Anything to escape the shadow of a man you once knew appearing in your apartment on late nights.

But then the prescription wasn’t enough, and the alcohol you once used to numb everything had lost its edge, your days just turned into functioning as best you could. And then there were times you couldn’t even remember the previous day, the last five minutes, falling asleep on the couch.

You had become dependent; dependent on the alcohol and the drugs, and the way they made things all better for a short time.

And then you had woken up in the hospital one day, with no memories of how you got there, no care for what happened to you.

The figure in the chair next to you helped you to escape the fog in your brain. The woman you had known your whole life looking down at you with a tear-stained face, her hand tightly clutched around yours, her presence all the more confusing.

The silence in the room was too loud for you as you just watched the blonde, the lack of emotion on your face breaking the woman down even more. When the doctor came in to explain what happened it shocked you. Not because of the severity of the situation, but because you couldn’t remember a thing.

The theory was that you had been mixing prescription drugs and alcohol for some time, a truth you already knew and were purposely partaking in.

You were at your apartment after work winding down from the long day, pregaming for a night out with your co-workers. The Ativan you had taken earlier at work already put you at ease. You were trying to get to your patio for some reason but had trouble with the sliding glass door.

Too inebriated to unlock it you had essentially thrown yourself against the glass until it finally gave way to the weight of your body and you ended up face down covered in glass and the pool of your blood.

Not fazed by your injuries you collected yourself, glass and all. Grabbing your keys from the counter leaving to whatever destination you had in mind. Somewhere between removing yourself from the mess of your ruined sliding door and stumbling out into the hallway, you swallowed two more pills.

According to the reports, a neighbor found the mess of your body in the hallway, making it a mere few inches from your door before your body succumbed to the deadly cocktail swirling inside you.

In October of 2022, 8 months after Michael’s death; you would overdose.

You were broken from the haze of memories as you felt a dip in the couch. Natalie came to sit right next to you head resting on your shoulder, you gently laid your head on top of hers. You owed Nat your life.

A quiet sniffle left you, losing the battle to keep your emotions under wraps. “You’ve done so much for me Sug, and I…I’m sorry if I haven’t shown you enough appreciation.” You felt Nat’s arms wrap around you, squeezing you into a side hug as the two of you sat in each other’s presence.

It was no secret that without Natalie and Pete, you might not have been experiencing this moment. You for sure wouldn’t have gotten your shit together if you were still all alone on the West Coast. Nat had gone out of her way to find the best treatment facility on the East Coast for you, it had been decided that you would make the move back to Chicago when you were released.

So while you were away facing the consequences of the darkest moments of your life. Nat was at home picking up the pieces of your life while also trying to keep hers intact, not that you realized or cared back then.

Nat and Pete sold the family home that was still in your mom's name, nobody needed to ask to know that it wasn’t healthy for you to live in or across the street from a museum of memories. The couple got you a good deal on a quaint home not too far from them, the leftover money put towards the rest of your savings.

Natalie Berzatto, a miracle worker in your eyes had somehow pulled strings to get you an interview with the Tribune. So yeah, you owed Nat a lot more than placating smiles and cheap pizza.

“Are you sure you’re ready for tomorrow?” You shifted positions at Nat’s question, the two of you now sitting criss-cross applesauce, facing each other on the couch. You gave a small nod, fingers playing with your fuzzy socks.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” you let out a small laugh. “I can’t expect you and Pete to babysit me forever.” You smiled up at Natalie, the prospect of writing again caused a sense of excitement to stir within you. It felt like the only thing you had left, the only thing you were still good at. Although you had almost completely fucked up your life, you still had your writing, and that was a start.

“Maybe we can meet up for lunch after?” You didn’t want to celebrate too soon, you hadn’t even got a job yet, but the idea of a lunch date with Nat sounded like the best form of indulgence you had allowed yourself in a while.

The night continued with the two of you talking, Sugar doing her best to catch you up on all that you missed sans any mention of a certain blue-eyed baby brother she had. As the night began winding down the two of you cleaned up the mess of your dinner, before you sent Nat on her way with promises to fill her in after your interview tomorrow.

Making sure your kitchen was cleaned to your liking, you made your way into your room to begin settling in for the night. A knit crew neck you had meant to return to its rightful owner once upon a time, becoming the basis of your pajamas after a relaxing shower.

Settling into bed you couldn’t help but lie awake, mind racing with all the different scenarios that could play out tomorrow. This was your first night alone in your new home and the reality of just how alone you were slowly began to sink in. You knew Nat would always be there for you if need be, but she had her own life to live, the beginnings of a family in her near future.

All you had at that moment were your racing thoughts and the regrets of a life you had almost ended too soon.

You sat in the lobby of the Tribune leg bouncing nervously as you waited for your meeting with the editor-in-chief, resume, and copies of your work sitting snugly in your tote bag. You knew Natalie had already sent over your information, but your nerves forced you to believe that being over-prepared would be necessary.

The sound of the receptionist calling your name caught your attention. She was standing a little ways away from you waiting for you to follow her, you gave a nervous smile before rising from your seat and following the rhythmic click-clack of her heels down the hall. As you watched her walk in front of you, you thought you may have been a little underdressed in your casual street clothes, but you forced yourself to push your thoughts aside. They’d be judging you for your backlog of work, not your choice of attire.

The receptionist lead you to a corner office, the frosted glass of the exterior providing a sense of privacy. Ushering you into the empty room she let you know that the editor you’d be meeting with would join you shortly. You sent her a small thanks before walking into the room, eyes catching on the minimalistic decorations scattered around the office.

Your feet lead you to the wall of windows situated behind the desk, the view reminding you of an office you had occupied so many months ago. You looked out over the Chicago skyline, it still felt so surreal to be back in this city.

The face staring back at you something you were still learning how to get used to. The scars that decorated the right side of your face were healing up nicely considering how deep some of the glass had gone.

You jumped at the sound of the door closing, someone entered so swiftly you hadn’t even heard them, or maybe you were just too wrapped up in memories of a past life. You hurriedly turned from the window not wanting to seem rude, the man who had entered the room caught your eye before gesturing for you to take a seat at one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

You felt a little less concerned about your fashion choice as your eyes followed his Levi-clad legs as he settled into the chair behind his desk. You could feel your nerves returning, not knowing what to expect from this interview. In the most humble sense you had forgotten what being interviewed felt like, not having to go through the process since getting your first big journalist job straight out of college.

“Nervous?” Your leg stopped bouncing as the man’s voice met your ears, a shy smile curving your lips.

“Here I thought I was being subtle,” you tried to joke hoping to relax yourself a bit. The responding chuckle helped somewhat, so far the man sitting in front of you didn’t seem like too much of a stickler.

“Never thought I’d see the day you were nervous in front of me Baby,” you tried to control the look of disgust you felt begging to paint your features. You were grateful for Nat’s help but you were sure this was a mistake.

“I’m sure HR has their hands full with you.” You mumbled, the roll of your eyes showcasing your irritation. “Thank you for the opportunity sir, but I don’t think this is a good fit for me.” You reached out to the chair next to you where you had sat your tote bag wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“No wait,” the sound of the rolling chair moving rapidly caused you to stop, seconds away from rising from your chair. You turned your attention to the figure in front of you eyebrows pinched together.

“It's me, Hayden,” your brows furrowed even more, your mind searching your memory for that name. “I…uh, I took you to senior prom. We met in our creative writing class that same year.”

You felt your eyes widen as your mouth formed the shape of an ‘o’, eyes darting to the pristine nameplate facing you on the desk. The name ‘Hayden Ivanovski’ staring directly back at you.

“No fucking way.” The whisper traveled easily through the silent office, Hayden’s echoing chuckle caused you to let out a small one of your own. “I’m sorry, it's just nobody but close friends and family even call me that anymore. And, I really wasn’t expecting to see you.”

You watched as he nodded, you could see it now. The boy you once knew in the maturity of his face, hadn’t changed much but it was enough that you wouldn’t easily recognize him if he passed you on the street.

“Uh, the porn stache sure is a uh choice,” your hand raised to gesture to your upper lip, you couldn’t help the smile curving your lips.

Hayden laughed head dropping as he resumed his seated position. “Divorce makes you do crazy things,” your smile faltered, you hadn’t meant the quip as an invitation to discuss any personal grievances. “No need to look so sad, it was mutual.” He shrugged the topic off like he hadn’t given it a second thought in a long while.

You nodded your head distractedly, “Enough about my failed marriage, how have you been?” You gave him a small smile, mind going blank as you thought of the best route to take this conversation.

“I uh, almost died five months ago,” the laugh ripped from Hayden’s chest, the last thing you were expecting to hear. You watched as he found your eyes, his smile disappearing as he took in the harrowing look on your face.

“You-you’re not serious are you?” The question almost caused you to laugh.

“As serious as my overdose was,” you watched as Hayden shifted in his seat, the air easily became uncomfortable. “Sorry coping mechanism.” You laughed the topic off, you had assumed Nat told him when she booked you this interview.

“So um, when does the interview start,” your leg began bouncing up and down again, the nervousness returning. If you hadn’t already made a bad impression you were sure exposing your less-than-stellar life choices definitely lost you the job.

“Nat didn’t tell you?” You stopped your brows from pinching together, the constant frowning sometimes the tiny scar between your eyebrows. “I don’t need to interview you, you’re an amazing journalist. I hired you the second Nat told me you were moving back. That is if you want to work here.”

“You’re not just hiring me because we went to prom together, or as a favor to Natalie are you?” Nat had helped you to get your foot in the door, you had wanted to secure the job because of your merit.

You watched as Hayden quickly shook his head, “While it is nice to reconnect with you, we need some experience in our newsroom. I know before your uh… incident you were working as a travel journalist, and the pay here wouldn’t be the same. But you’d still have full control over the stories you write, although you might not write as often as you’re used to.” You nodded along listening to his explanation. The fact that this was happening failed to resonate with you.

“So, the position of Managing Editor is yours if you want it.” Hayden sent you a small smile awaiting your response, he did his best not to focus too long on your scars as he stared in your direction.

“As long as I can write and edit then I will happily work for you,” the large grin spreading across your lips stretched the small scar stitched into your upper lip.

The smile on Hayden’s lips matched yours as he walked around the desk to shake your hand. The two of you sat there going over the expectations that your new role required, Hayden explaining the environment he tried to uphold at the paper.

You finished the meeting off with a tour of the floor the Tribune occupied, the one you’d mostly be working on. The two of you caught up a little as he input you into the system and created your badge so you could easily come and go as you pleased. You learned that he married Marlene Buchanan, a girl you went to high school with. The ink of their divorce still drying after only being finalized two months ago.

He invited you out to lunch but you had to rain check explaining the plans you made with Natalie promising the two of you would work something out in the future. He walked out with you, the two of you parting ways once you left the lobby.

You stood on the sidewalk taking in the crisp Chicago air. Your life was finally starting to feel like your own again, and even though you had only secured a job, the inevitable weight of doom that followed you was beginning to feel a little lighter.

Natalie was pacing in the office quickly moving to close the door as the chaos sounding through the building caused a headache to form. She knew Cicero would be there in the next hour, and that the money problem was their biggest issue in getting the new restaurant up and running.

The urge to call you was immediate after speaking with Cicero. Nat knew how much you cared about this place, and regardless of what anyone else thought she wanted you to have a say in any decision they made now that you were permanently back in Chicago. And she’d be lying if she said the reserved funds that came with you weren’t also a reason to invite you to this meeting.

Shouts could be heard through the door as she finally made her mind up, you two had plans for lunch anyways so you could just meet her and the two of you would leave together. Any excuse Nat could think up to call you would help her.

Sighing she scrolled through her contacts before forcing herself to press on your name and just call you. She listened as the phone rang, part of her hoping you didn’t answer her call, the hope immediately dying as your voice sang through the speaker.

“Nat, hey! I was just about to call you,” She smiled at the light tone in your voice, a tone she hadn’t heard in quite some time. “We still on for lunch?” The question caused her to take a deep breath, it was now or never she either asked you or she didn’t.

“Yeah of course. Uhh but would you mind meeting me at The Beef?” She was hoping the question came across as nonchalant, she called out your name as the line went quiet, sure you had hung up on her.

“Nat, I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” the apprehension in your voice made her feel guilty for even asking you in the first place.

“Listen, Baby, I know how you feel but we’re making a big decision today and I feel like you deserve to have your input heard,” she waited for a minute before continuing. “If it triggers you we can leave immediately, no questions asked okay? I just…this might be good for you.” She bit her lip as she waited for your response, she would be okay with whatever you decided but at least she had put the opportunity out there.

“I think I can be there in 45 minutes,” the tired sigh that escaped your lips matched the way Nat was feeling.

“Thank you, Baby.” She listened as you said your goodbyes before hanging up the phone, Nat was sure if she didn’t already have morning sickness she would’ve thrown up from that phone call alone.

It was exactly as you remembered it. Not that you had expected the exterior to change in the year since you’d been there. Although not physically changed things felt different, it no longer felt nostalgic as you stood there looking at the newspaper-covered windows. You could feel the anxiety eating away at you, the sick part deep inside of you wishing you had something to numb your feelings.

You could hear the faint sound of an alarm blaring with how close you were standing, the sound helping you to focus on the things you could control. You hadn’t come all this way just to look at the old building’s facade, and part of you didn’t think you could take disappointing Natalie by walking away. Nat wouldn’t have been disappointed in you though, but since your accident, you were scared to ever see that look in her eyes again.

The deep breath of fresh air filling your lungs helped to cool you down a bit. The pairing of your puffer jacket and scarf felt a bit suffocating.

In through your nose out through your mouth, a few more deep breaths were all you allowed yourself before forcing your hand to grip the door handle and step foot into a building that might haunt you for a lifetime.

The constant screeching of the alarm was so loud it made you glad that it drowned out the sound of the bell ringing above the door. Your eyes traveled around the restaurant, it was the same but it wasn’t. Little things missing telling you that some type of work was being done.

“As I live and fucking breathe!” The loud voice you would recognize anywhere drawing your attention to the dining area, Richie’s large figure taking up the doorway.

You shared a small smile with him. Subtly adjusting your scarf to cover the most noticeable scar lining your face, you watched as the older man took steps to close the distance between the two of you. The tall man quickly pulled you into a tight hug.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed a hug from Richie until you were snuggly pressed against his chest, the warmth of his body helping to relax you. The unconscious thought crossed your mind that you might have never experienced one of these hugs again if you hadn’t made it to the hospital in time.

The love Richie was pouring into the hug caused your eyes to water, Mikey’s passing bonding the two of you, the loss of someone you both loved so much bringing the two of you impossibly closer. But not close enough for him to know the path you had taken after. And not close enough for you to want to burden him with being just another addict in his life.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your head before pulling away, the annoying alarm still blaring at full volume. You stepped back to give him space, “You been fucking around in the crawl space Richie?” The question paired with your signature grin as Richie let loose his boisterous laugh.

“Of course, you’d fucking know about the alarm.” Richie’s disgruntled mumbling met your ears.

“Hey, Richie, could you please turn that goddamn motherfuckin thing off?” The voice of Cicero filtered through your ears. “It’s making me insane!”

“My bad Uncle J, Baby just walked through the door and shit like a ghost. Fucking Mikey booby trapping crawl spaces and shit.” He poked his head back into the dining room to let the occupants know he somewhat had the situation under control.

“Mikey’s fuckin Kevin McCalliper-,” The responses correcting Richie caused you to let out a small giggle, the noise bringing a smile to Richie’s lips.

You continued standing with Richie as he spoke to somebody on the phone, the long one-word password he gave made you chuckle. Pretending you knew how to help Richie was an excuse to not join the conversation going on in the back for a while.

While the blaring alarm was causing your ears to ring, the loud noise was a buffer between your impending thought and the inevitability of being back in this restaurant. The sudden quiet was the only sign that you would have to face a now unavoidable situation.

“Here lemme take that,” Richie reached out expecting you to give him your scarf and jacket. You hesitated, your wardrobe feeling like a sense of armor for the time being.

“Uh, I’m actually pretty cold. Thanks, Rich.” Your hand shot out to pat his bicep, head jerking in the direction the voices were coming from. “Sugar in there?” You didn’t need Richie to reply to know the answer.

You followed Richie’s lead as he headed to the back, taking a deep breath to still your nerves, not all too sure what you were getting yourself into. You watched as Richie pulled up a chair next to Cicero for you, taking your tote bag out of your hands as he gestured for you to sit. You smiled politely, giving him a small nod as you moved further into the room.

Three out of four familiar faces stared back at you, the look on Nat’s face indicating how much it meant for her that you showed up.

“What is this an intervention?” You made the joke as a way to cut the tension that had filled the room, the silence felt even louder as Nat said your name in a reprimanding tone, the joke not being funny to her one bit. You shrugged before moving to sit in your designated chair, shooting a small smile to the dark-skinned woman who was eyeing you from across the table. Your eyes easily avoided the blue ones you knew too well.

You listened as Nat cleared her throat, all attention focused on her. “So uh, I invited Baby here because I think she deserves to be a part of this decision.” Four eyes flashed to you as you awkwardly adjusted in your seat. “And, um she has a decent savings account.”

A snort left your lips at Natalie’s rushed words, her ulterior motives for inviting you here reminding you a bit of her mischievous brown-eyed older brother.

“Sorry uh, big fan of your work. But uh, how do you play into all this.” Your eyes drifted to the unknown woman, a smile played at your lips, a feeling of shyness sweeping across you at the fact that she had any idea who you were.

“Family friend.”

“Old acquaintance.”

The three other people at the table looked between you and Carmy, eyes darting back and forth at both of your explanations. You couldn’t help the cackle you let out, missing the look of panic shooting through Natalie’s eyes. You couldn’t recall a time you would ever describe your relationship with Carmen Berzatto as an acquaintanceship.

“Baby is a close family friend,” Nat interjected before any other response could be given. “A friend we should be thankful for even considering investing in the restaurant.”

Your eyes finally found Carmy’s having a hard time taming the smile threatening to spread across your lips. The false confidence you were exuding helped you not overthink the situation you were in.

The conversation picked back up where it had left off after you entered. You sank into your seat shoving your hands into your jacket and tucking your chin into your scarf as you did your best to pay attention. You couldn’t help but let your eyes travel across the mostly empty dining room, memories of a life that no longer felt like your own clawing to overtake your senses.

Up and down, up and down. The tick you gained while in recovery helped you to remain in the present your leg working overtime as it bounced to keep you focused.

The voices talking around you are drowned out by your wandering thoughts. Thoughts that had you re-evaluating your relationship with Natalie.

It was no secret that you had become a selfish person after Mikey’s death, every decision you made was to benefit you, and if someone else somehow benefited from it then good for them.

That was the reason you stayed in Chicago so long after the funeral, telling yourself that the remaining Berzattos needed you, that you were staying to make sure they made it out of the deep end alive.

But that was a lie, you stayed because you were too afraid to face your own emotions, afraid to face your grief head-on. Even now you could say you stayed behind to ensure Donna and Sugar were okay, but deep down you knew that you stayed because you didn’t want to be alone.

You helped Richie at The Beef because he needed you, needed to know he wasn’t alone. In all actuality, it was you who needed them, you who had become dependent on people grieving just as much as you.

The same could be said about your substance abuse after returning to your reality. The idea of never being able to talk to Mikey, see Mikey, or hold Mikey was all just an excuse you used to justify your indulgences.

You constantly told yourself that it wouldn’t be fair to burden Sugar or Richie with your hurting, that they didn’t need to babysit you while trying to heal themselves. That when your memory became spotty and you missed more than one of Sugar’s calls, it was because she didn’t need to put up with you and your problems.

And then unintentionally or not, you became Natalie’s problem. Not even letting her brother’s grave grow cold before you forced her to face the idea of losing another person she spent her whole life loving.

You pleaded with the universe for Nat to wipe her hands of you. To let you waste your life away and rot like you were starting to. To turn her back on you, because how could you so easily fall into the same vice as Mikey knowing how much it affected him; knowing how much it affected the people who cared for him.

How dare you pretend as though no one would give a shit if they had to bury you mere months after putting Michael to rest. How fucking dare you be so selfish.

There were nights in bed where you’d lay awake questioning your intentions. Had you purposely thrown your life away because you knew Natalie would come to your rescue? Did you somehow manipulate Natalie’s good nature into digging you out of a hole you were so far gone in you couldn’t bring yourself back from?

You always got on Natalie about putting herself first, and how she needed to stop stretching herself so thin for everyone else. And then you went and almost fucking died, and you forced her to take on a role she had been playing her whole life.

You had willingly ruined your life and forced Natalie to face the consequences.

If there was one thing you learned in your recovery, it was that getting clean, staying clean, and becoming a healthier better version of yourself should never be done for someone else. You had to want it for yourself, but damn if seeing Natalie’s face didn’t push you to get your shit together you weren’t sure what did.

“500,” you weren’t sure where the confidence to speak up came from, not even entirely sure what the balance in your savings account even was. Your unfocused eyes now staring directly into Natalies. “That’s my offer.” You quickly glanced around at everyone else unsure as to what they were even talking about but needing to put your stake into the game.

“Like $500..or,” your attention turned to the other woman, her voice trailing off indicating that she indeed was asking a question.

A chuckle parted your lips as you shook your head. “No, I mean 500K.” You made sure to look at each person across from you individually, instilling how serious your offer was.

“Bullshit.” The sound of Carmy’s voice startled you, sure he had been speaking this whole time but it's not like you were paying that much attention.

You scoffed, eyes rolling in tandem with the sound. “I thought you needed money Carmen,” the name slipped through clenched teeth. You turned to face Nat. Your final numbers would be decided between the two of you, “Nat?”

“100.”

“450.”

“120.”

“375.”

“200,” you hesitated for a minute. The triumphant smile on Natalie’s lips caused your eyes to narrow.

“250, or I walk.” You leaned forward hands moving to lay flat atop the table, a small smirk played on your lips. Your leverage was total shit and Nat knew that there was no way you’d walk away from this project.

“Deal.” The smile on your lips faltered as you faced Carmy again, his annoying crystal blue eyes staring daggers into you.

Clearing your throat you slumped back in your seat, hands moving back to hide inside your pockets. The meeting finished on a good note without a hitch, with the restaurant gaining an extra 250K to put toward inevitable expenses.

You quickly stood from your seat moving to escape any awkward reunion that may have sprouted between you and Carmy. The interest in meeting Carmy’s partner was pushed to the back burner as you made your way through the restaurant, looking for the one other person you wanted to speak with at the moment.

Maneuvering through the kitchen you found Tina not too far from what you remembered to be her usual station. You leaned against the wall watching her work, the effort she was putting into saving burnt and rusted pots bringing a small smile to your face. You shrugged off your jacket and slipped the scarf from around your neck.

“Need some help?” The hesitation in your voice was evident. You weren’t sure where you stood with Tina, you knew how she felt about Mikey and how much his choices affected her. The thought of relaying the past few months to her was too much for you to think about at this moment, you had time, and when you were ready you would confide in her. But for now, there was no point in ruining a much-needed reunion.

You watched as Tina jolted, not prepared to hear your voice. “Ay, dios mío!” Tina turned to you hand raised above her heart, eyes wide. “Why the fuck are you sneaking around the kitchen.” You listened to the older woman’s voice scold you before making your way in her direction.

Not giving her another second before throwing your arms around her, you probably should’ve made sure it was okay, but there was nothing like a mother’s endearing hug to let you know that everything would eventually be okay.

The two of you stood in each other’s embrace in the middle of the kitchen. Neither of you said a word as your quiet sobs began to echo off the walls. You were crying for Mikey, and for yourself, and for all the lives the both of you had ruined, whether they knew it or not.

You were apprehensive to step foot back in this establishment so soon. But it had easily shown you all the things your life would have missed out on had you not allowed Natalie to get you the help you needed.

Carmy’s head perked up as he noticed you exit the kitchen with Tina. His irritation began to rise as he laid eyes on you, Sugar had blindsided him with your arrival. He hadn’t even known you moved back to Chicago, let alone that you had any interest in getting The Bear up and running.

You looked different. His eyes immediately caught the obvious scar tracing along your jaw. The tip of it started a few centimeters below your chin before meeting your jawline and finding its end just before your ear. It was a gnarly scar and he knew for sure the amount of stitches you needed must have been painful.

Carmy was also sure you didn’t have that scar a year ago, nor the smaller one that was carved into your upper lip. He would’ve taken notice, you can’t spend 48 hours with someone and not be able to recall all the puzzle pieces that were specially made to create them.

He watched the two of you approach the group at the counter, you hanging a little farther back than probably necessary, pretending to occupy yourself with the bare walls. Carmy might’ve smiled at your awkwardness if he wasn’t so confused by your presence.

A distracted farewell to Tina left his lips as he tried not to be so obvious in his study of you. His eyes refused to meet Sugar’s as he could feel her watching him, watching you.

Sydney’s return gained his full attention, forcing himself to focus on something else other than his thoughts that were racing and full of you. The clearing of your throat as you finally made your way to stand next to Sug had all six sets of eyes focusing on you.

You didn’t just look different. From the very few interactions the two of you shared and Carmy’s constant people-watching, you seemed like an altogether new person, the confidence and surety he was used to seeing in you was dull.

“I don’t mean to impose, but I was kind of hoping I could take on a more involved role in all of this?” Carmy’s eyes squinted as your hand raised in a flourish to signify you were talking about the restaurant.

You were met with silence. Carmy was too distracted by being in your presence after a drought without you, and Sydney still hadn’t even been truly introduced to you.

“Shit, sorry.” Your hand shot out to shake the woman’s hand as the two of you introduced yourselves. Although she read your articles, mostly your profile stories highlighting various chefs, it was different to be formally introduced to the person behind the stories.

“I uh, actually read most of your articles.” Carmy watched as you brightened up a bit your writing something that would always bring you joy. “I had to cancel my subscription though.” The sound of your laugh went straight to Carmy’s heart, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the delicate sound until hearing it again in this moment.

“I actually have a proposal for you three,” you paused, making sure everyone was paying attention before continuing your explanation. “What if I highlighted the renovation? I was..uh…before,” you had to stop yourself and take a deep breath to ground yourself.

“I was profiling The Beef and Mikey before he…yeah. Um, so I was thinking I could maybe continue that with The Bear,” you stopped to make sure everyone was following along, sending Carmy a small smile before continuing. “We could profile the team, give people a behind-the-scenes look into the renovation, and who’s behind it. I would publish it, it would be great PR and might help to fill seats.”

The following silence made you feel insecure about your proposal. “Maybe just give it a thought. No pressure or anything uh just let me know if there's any interest.” Your voice trailed off as your confidence continued to plummet, Carmy’s blank eyes doing nothing to quell your nervousness.

You turned your attention back to Sugar, a silent plea to leave in your eyes. She nodded “Uh, Baby and I had plans so we’ll be heading out.” You sent the two chefs in front of you a forced smile before hurriedly returning to the kitchen to pick up your jacket and scarf you left there. Call it cowardly but slipping out through the kitchen’s back door seemed to be in your best interest.

The fresh air whipped against your face like a blade, and the immediate change in temperature helped to relax you. There would never have been a perfect time to make your return to this restaurant, and maybe it wasn’t how you things to go, but you felt an immense pressure off your shoulders.

The hard part was over, you made it through the door, walked past the remnants of Mikey every time a specific spot reminded you of him.

It wouldn’t always be like today, you knew that. Some days would be harder than others as you worked through your struggles and allowed yourself to feel the loss of Mikey. One step at a time, it was cliche but it was really how you had to live your life from now on.

Being around Carmy would continue to be hard for the time being. You had essentially watched his brother deteriorate, watched as his mind no longer became his own. And you too had almost become a victim to the whims of your drug-addled mind.

You wouldn’t force a relationship with him and would make him privy to your shortcomings when you were ready. But you told yourself you would be okay if he wanted nothing to do with you, the choices you made would not be easy to come to terms with. And if Carmen Berzatto decided he was finally done with your constant disappointment in his life, you’d just have to accept it.

The sound of Natalie’s footsteps pulled you from the labyrinth of your mind, a small smile sent her way as the two of you made your journey far from this lot of memories.

Carmen stared at the outlines they had hung along the walls, eyes following along with tasks that needed to be completed to open in six months.

He didn’t want to admit it but he was a little bummed out that Sugar returned to the restaurant without you. Any small glimpse, or interaction he could get with you he would swallow like a man starving. The chef stood there doing his best as his counterpart gushed over meeting you, doing his best not to cringe at his two worlds colliding.

Carmy wasn’t sure if he could keep it professional while you worked alongside him on the renovation. Sure you would be doing your own thing in tandem with the work that would get done. But surrounding himself with you in an already stressful time in his life and an even more stressful environment wasn’t something he was prepared for.

He let his mind wander, thoughts of what happened to you in the year since your visit drowning him. Carmy had no clue what happened after you left that night, no clue what had seemed to connect you and Sugar more than you already were.

Seeing you again made his chest hurt. Seeing you was like a hot poker being shoved through his heart, unbearably comfortable but all so warming at the same time. He wanted to know you, know what had changed you since the last time his fingers had traced your skin.

Carmy knew the two of you were nowhere near as close as you had once been. Unsure if you’d ever share a connection like your past one. But he knew while you were here, in Chicago, surrounding yourself with him, the two of you would be given equal opportunity to put this years-long game of cat and mouse to an end; it was just a matter of who bit first.

a/n: well…here we are. i know this might read like baby’s life is just gonna be sunshine and rainbows from here on out but i can promise its not. she is a deeply flawed character with a lot of shit to figure out and a half baked relationship with everyone’s favorite chef won’t fix that. i’ve been around addicts my whole life so i have an understanding of what they can be like, i want to iterate that in no way am i romanticizing addiction. my personal experiences with functioning/addicts DO NOT make me an expert on this topic in anyway, but i do use those experiences to write for baby. i’m always here if anyone needs to talk. i hope you all enjoy <3

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#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fic #carmen berzatto angst #the bear x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊#[aiekoy] chapter 4 #carmy the bear

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miraclewoozi · 6 months

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HIGH FIDELITY, PT 1. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem!reader. content ; strangers to lovers. up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader. fluff, angst, parts two and three will contain suggestive themes and smut. (MINORS DNI). warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage. wc ; 13.5k ( ~35k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

“What do you mean, no?”

Your best friend and longest standing employee Seungkwan turns his head away from the customer he’s serving to look at you with filth in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, his features don’t soften when you double down on your response to him.

“I mean, no,” you laugh. “I’m running on fumes, dude. I’m not going. No way.”

“But…” he whines, putting down the record in his hands. “No, come on. I told you about this weeks ago. You’re really gonna make me go on my own?”

“You won’t be on your own. Chan’s still going.”

Your younger friend, upon hearing his own name, whirls around from where he’s been rearranging the wall of cassettes and lifts an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“You’re still going to that guy’s show tonight, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. Why?” Chan eyeballs your guilt-adjacent expression for a second before his face falls and he looks at Seungkwan with a curled lip. “What did you do? Why’s she not coming anymore?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Seungkwan barks. The customer he’s still not finished ringing up flinches at the lift in his voice, but he doesn’t notice. “Why is that always your first–”

“Shut up, don’t start this right n–”

“I’m not starting anything! You started–”

“Guys!” You interrupt, looking between the two of them and doing your best to smile apologetically at the poor lady fumbling through the cash in her fingers like it’s an Olympic sport. “Can we park this one? For five minutes? Please?”

The bickering pair fall quickly into silence and Chan sends one last glare at Seungkwan before he turns back to the cassettes, grumbling something under his breath.

With a clearing of his throat the only giveaway, Seungkwan drops seamlessly back into his customer service voice and plasters a charming smile onto his lips. He checks the register and warmly tells the young woman her total, holding out his palm for her to place the money into. Even knowing him as well as you do, the switch-up gives you a little bit of whiplash.

The customer passes over her cash and accepts her change from Seungkwan’s hands before making perhaps the swiftest exit you’ve ever seen anyone make. No sooner has the bell above the entry to OFF BEAT Vinyl rung and the door has clicked shut, the two men turn once again.

But not on each other.

On you. And it’s the more gentle of them that pipes up first.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Chan asks, abandoning his little project and hurrying over to the desk with a frown. You’re sure it’s supposed to look sympathetic to whatever issue it is that’s changed your mind, supposed to fool you into believing that this has nothing to do with him still blaming Seungkwan entirely. But… you know him better than that. You know them both better. If Chan and Seungkwan weren’t both employed by you, you don’t doubt that they would have ripped each other to shreds within the first hour of meeting. Their dynamic is fascinating to watch — one minute, the best of friends, the next just seconds away from throwing fists; you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had to send them to different rooms to avoid having to clean blood and tears off your shop (and sometimes your apartment) floor.

“I didn’t sleep so well last night, I just want to go to bed early. Is that… okay?”

(This is an embellishment of the truth, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.)

“No,” they both exclaim at the same time, but Seungkwan goes one step further and slams his hands down on the counter for good measure. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him, but he keeps his palms flat and doesn’t give any indication that he’s about to apologise, so…

“Okay — God.” You turn away from them, heading towards the little office out the back of the store to try and get a few minutes’ respite. “Whatever. Fight with the wall, you guys – I’m not going. Check in with me before you head out, okay?”

Behind you, Seungkwan dramatically calls you a traitor and says he’ll never forgive you for this, but you just shake your head and continue on your way. The world falls into silence as you shut the door after yourself and you lean back against it, letting out a deep exhale and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Now, you did have an awful night’s sleep last night, and after how on-and-off busy the store has been all day today, the headache you woke up with this morning has only slowly gotten worse. But there are reasons for those things outside of what you’re going to admit to out in the main storefront. As close as the three of you are, there are some things that you’ve always thought it wise to keep… a little bit hushed. Especially at work.

When Chan and Seungkwan start an inquisition into your private life, it feels like it may never end. And so sue you, you’d actually like to make it home at a reasonable time, today.

True to your parting request, the two men close down the store for you while you sit out the back in your ‘office’, lights dimmed, pouring over both a new store playlist you’re trying to compile and a few less exciting — but actually important — tasks. Chan heads out first, all puppy-dog eyed when he pokes his head through the door and asking if you’re really not coming out. You shake your head, telling him to have fun and tell you all about it on Monday when he’s next penned in.

Seungkwan is slightly less easily brushed away. A few minutes after Chan says his final goodbye, your other employee slides into your office and shuts the door, sitting down in the armchair opposite you with his eyebrows scrunched together.

He doesn’t speak for almost a full thirty seconds, at which point, you look up at him from the small mountain of receipts you’re trying to organise and click your tongue.

“What?” you ask, leaning back in your own chair and crossing your arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You know why.” Seungkwan shifts forward on the cushion until he’s sat almost entirely on the edge of the seat. “You might think you’re really good at hiding your shit, okay? But you’re not. Not from me.”

“Please,” you sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m telling you, I’m just tired today.”

“And I’m telling you that I know you better than that. Come on, talk to me.”

This is, unfortunately, something you can’t deny. It also seems to be his unfailing last line of defence every single time you’re stubborn over discussing your problems. One of these days, you’ll be ready for it — you’ll have a response sitting on the tip of your tongue ready to shut the conversation down, and he’ll be the one on the spot, and you’ll treat yourself to a pint of ice cream or something when you get home as a victory snack. But today? Isn’t that day; Seungkwan stumps you, once again, so you groan in defeat, cradling your head in your hands.

“I went on a date last night,” you say under your breath.

“What?”

Clearing your throat, you look up at him. You say, louder, “I went on a date last night.”

His eyes blow wide and if he could get any closer to you without actually sitting on top of your coffee-stained worktop, you think he would. Which is strange, if you really let yourself think about it, because Seungkwan is sort of an ex-thing, and talking so openly to someone who has quite literally been inside you about going out with other people… shouldn’t come as easily as it does.

But that was quite some time ago, and for three long months, you drove each other nuts. The two of you are way better off as friends. (Whether you’re better as colleagues is still up for review.)

“You what?” he whisper-shouts. It feels almost like he’s hinting to an invisible audience that this piece of information is extremely scandalous: all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Which would be fine, except it’s not really that scandalous at all, and neither should it be a surprise: you’re single, you have been for a while, and you have an entire sub-folder in your phone dedicated solely to dating apps — you’re at perfect liberty to go out with whoever you like. You just continue to stare at him, refusing to repeat yourself for a third time.

“You haven’t even been home, have you?” Seungkwan asks after letting the dust settle, the silence just on the brink of uncomfortable. “Oh my God. Tell me everything.”

“Shut up,” you groan. “His name’s Wonwoo. I met him on Hinge. And fuck you – yes, I went back to my own place.”

You pause for a second, taking a breath when his features cloud with the question he’s about to ask.

“It’s just-... so did he.”

Seungkwan leaps to his feet and claps loud enough that your already tender eardrums feel assaulted, adding an ‘I knew it!’ for good measure. You cringe at his volume, rubbing your temples – you should’ve known telling him this wouldn’t calm him down, but a small part of you was still hoping. This time, he actually does circle around the desk, carelessly shoving a few bits of paper out of his way before sitting on the newly cleared wood.

“Had you up all night, didn’t he?” Seungkwan asks. You shove his thigh, looking away from him, embarrassed. “What was the date?”

You just wish it was the kind of embarrassment that he thinks you’re feeling. Flustered, shy, giddy even. But it’s not any of those things.

“If I tell you, will you please turn it down a notch?” You ask, and Seungkwan nods, giddily kicking his legs over the side of the desk. With a sigh, you continue. “We just went for a drink. It wasn’t special, okay? It was bad. We had nothing to talk about, he was awkward, I didn’t even wanna be there – I took a bathroom break after like… a half hour, and I tried to bail but I’d left my phone on the table so I had to go back.”

“And how did that end up with him in your panties?” Seungkwan asks, thankfully a little quieter when he speaks this time.

“Do not talk about my panties out loud ever again,” you grunt, drumming your fingertips on the arm of your office chair. You give a dejected sigh as you answer him properly. “I guess… It felt like a sign that I was trying to give up too early. So I stayed a little longer, told him the truth about how I was feeling. I don’t know, maybe it took the pressure off or something? But we got talking a little more, we found some stuff we had in common… It just got easier and he started cracking a few jokes, so…”

“So… he laughed his way into your—?”

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” you interject slowly, narrowing your eyes. “I asked him if he minded driving me home.”

“You devil,” Seungkwan grins, lightly prodding your calf with the side of his foot. “Was he good? Was it big?”

“Seungkwan!”

“Did he make you–”

“He was gone this morning when I woke up.”

Your friend doesn’t say ‘oh, shit’ out loud, but he doesn’t have to. The silence he suddenly falls into speaks for itself, his newly adopted slack-jawed expression the exclamation mark at the end of his unspoken sentence.

“Always the fucking ‘nice’ guys.” You push up from your desk and start to gather your things, shutting off your computer and grabbing your phone off the desk. You’re over it – you can deal with all this tomorrow.

Seungkwan hops down, biting the inside of his cheek as you pull your keys out of the pocket of your jeans. “Come with us tonight,” he tries one more time, laying a hand on your shoulder and sounding the kind of gentle that makes your skin itch. You swerve out from beneath his palm, shaking your head at him again. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”

“I don’t need my mind taking off anything,” you insist softly. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like going out. Gonna order in some food and get my ass to bed. Okay?”

Knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, your best friend finally stops pressing. He circles around you and flicks on the overnight alarm, letting you lead your way out of the office and then through the front of the store. He helps you pull the shutter down and tests the lock for you, as he so often does, before he holds both of his arms out in front of him. With a resigned roll of your eyes, you walk into his embrace for a couple of seconds.

“I’m okay, Seungkwan. Go without me. Have fun and let me know if this Vernon guy is any good, okay?”

“We’ll miss you,” he says as you pull away, and you clap him on the upper arm once before turning away, slipping your headphones on over your ears.

What you neglected to inform Seungkwan, even after allowing yourself those rare few moments of vulnerability, is who you bumped into on your way to the bar where you met Wonwoo last night. The encounter that set the tone in the first place. The reason you were so cold with the stranger who sat across from you in the booth, the reason you tried to bail, and two-thirds of the reason you’ve felt so damn out of it all day. That’s a story for another time, you tell yourself on your walk home. Maybe.

But… then again. Maybe not.

You’ve been marinating on your couch in a pair of sweatpants and a crisis hoodie for at least two hours and are currently on your second bowl of evening cereal when you hear a knock on your apartment door. You purse your lips and set the spoon back down inside the milky sludge, but you don’t set your ‘dinner’ to one side just yet. It’s probably just the old lady next door, asking if you’ve seen her cat, Houdini (you can’t help but feel like she was asking for trouble giving him a name like that) (in any case — no, you haven’t), or the middle-aged couple opposite asking you to turn your music down (you won’t) (it’s not even that loud).

You’re not getting up. All you have to do is wait for them to give up and away.

Knock, knock, knock.

They’ll leave.

Knock knock.

Any second, now.

…

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

You groan loudly as you haul yourself to your feet and skid over to the door, crossing your arms tighter over your chest to try and shield you from the chill that always lingers in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Mrs P, I haven’t seen H—” you start on exasperated autopilot, falling quiet the moment your eyes land first on Chan’s beaming smile, and second on Seungkwan’s guilty eyes. “How… the fuck did you guys get in here?”

“We followed someone in,” Chan tells you as he slides past, inviting himself into your haven and heading through to the living room where your favourite album is spinning on your record player. “That really tall guy – I think he lives on the second floor? Crazy hairline. Like, right back h—?”

“Cool,” you interrupt, except it’s actually everything but cool. Seungkwan steps through the door too, following behind you as you stalk after your younger friend. “Next question. Why are you guys in here?”

“You’ve been in a funk all day,” Chan says, tossing himself down onto your couch and nearly tipping your cereal all over the cushions. He eyes the glass you have on the side-table, raises a brow and looks back at you. “And you can’t deny that. You’re drinking rosè and eating fruit loops at 9pm on a Saturday. You need to get out of this apartment.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you tell him, sitting down on the armchair to Chan’s left that only ever gets used when these two idiots show up at the same time.

“One hour?” Seungkwan tries again, crouching down in front of you and taking hold of your hand. “You don’t have to be out late. And – and I’ll open tomorrow. You can stay in bed as long as you want.”

“Do you guys ever stop?” You ask them, and in tandem, the two men shake their heads at you. “I’m staying here. You’ve gotta go, or you’re gonna be late.”

Chan whines your name loudly, stomping like an upset toddler. “You know it won’t be as fun without you.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” you shrug, picking your feet up off the floor and resting them on the coffee table. “Come on. I’m serious. Get out of here.”

Seungkwan watches you for a moment longer but when you eye him sternly, he stands up again, giving your hand a squeeze and sending a nod to tell Chan to get up and follow him. First taking a long sip from your wine glass, the younger man does as he’s instructed, concern etching a frown onto his lips as he walks towards the door.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are, okay?” Seungkwan says and you nod at him. “See you in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind them and you feel your shoulders droop, a long sigh leaving your lungs now you’re finally back on your own again. You roll your head side-to-side, relieving a tiny bit of the tension that you’ve been holding up in your neck all day, before relaxing back against the cushions behind you.

I’m not going out tonight, you tell yourself as you try to time your breaths to the beat of your music, letting it drown out the fact that the young couple who live two doors down have started arguing just outside your front door. It’s not gonna happen.

There’s no way.

The chill of an ice-cold glass meets your palm not even an hour later.

Chan and Seungkwan had been sitting on the stairs outside your apartment building, giving you fifteen more minutes just in case you happened to change your mind. To your credit, neither man had expected you to get out of your quarter-life-crisis outfit. Each gave a whistle of approval as you stepped outside into the air in a nice pair of jeans and a cute, long-sleeved shirt.

You all set off in the direction to the Arrowhead (so-called thanks to the venue’s unconventional triangular room shape) and both of your friends managed to successfully paint a few smiles on your face along the way. Once inside, Seungkwan dragged you by the wrist up towards the main bar space. Before you even had time to process the blurred faces that you walked by and the fuzzy neon signs all the way up the stairwell, enthused cheers and applause from the room ahead and the melodic strumming of a guitar drowned out the dread you’d been feeling ever since you woke up.

“This guy is not covering U2,” Chan says almost incredulously as he thrusts the drink he paid for into your hand. You manage to work your way through the crowd a little: it’s busier in here than you’ve ever seen it before, and certainly way more full than you would have really expected, but there’s still just enough movement room.

“Yeah, he is,” you say as you weave your way into a decent spot, where you can actually see the musician whose logo has been plastered on every notice board around town for the past month and a half. You even end up with a bit of breathing space, which is a rare, but welcome, treat.

But whatever you were about to say next – about how you don’t like U2, and how you’ve never really forgiven them for putting their entire new album onto everybody’s iTunes back in 2014 – dies a magnificent death on your tongue. You pause with your drink halfway to your lips as your eyes land on the main attraction, the man up on the stage; he has a small band up there, too, but all the lights draw your focus to him. His eyes are sparkly. Both his hands are wrapped around the microphone like he’s caressing it, his rosy lips brush over the metal as they move with each word that comes out of his mouth. Watching him quickly becomes almost hypnotic.

So. This is Vernon.

Long, dark hair sits low over his temples, perfectly parted and shaped in the middle to frame his brows. The top few buttons of his emerald satin shirt are popped open, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, the hem half tucked into his black jeans. He has rings on almost every finger. A silver chain around his neck. He looks good, but his voice?

I think I hated this song ten minutes ago, you think to yourself, but there’s something about Vernon’s deep, rough-edged tone that has you considering never listening to anything else. If you could stand to look away from the way he cradles his mic, and the way one of his eyes squeezes tighter closed as he lifts up into a higher note, and the way he moves on the stage like he was born to be on one, you might notice your friends (and everyone else around you) equally entranced by this gorgeous rendition of Beautiful Day as yourself. You can’t, though, so you don’t.

You keep your attention locked on the singer and instead start to wonder just what he injected the air with when he stepped out from behind that curtain.

Vernon’s eyes flutter back open right as he hits the final line of the song, a smile spreading over his lips. You realise only now that you’re hardly breathing, nor blinking — your body doesn’t remember to function in the ways it needs to survive, too caught up being immersed all the way to the last beat. You think he looks right at you from up on the stage, you swear one of his eyebrows lifts and his features twist into a satisfied smirk. You’re certain, because for half a second it feels like the world tumbles into slow motion and it’s like he’s reading every single one of your secrets, scouring every corner of your mind.

And then… he looks away. He looks across the crowd applauding and cheering and whistling for him, before crouching low and taking a sip from the water bottle sitting on the floor beside his mic-stand. Only then does he speak.

“Risky opener, I know,” he chuckles, his speaking-voice deep and smooth and wholly entrancing. The room erupts into soft laughter, a series of whoops coming from the crowd, everyone disarmed by his slightly awkward charm; the singer’s cheeks turn rosy and a gummy smile lights up his face before he continues. “Thank you guys for giving it a chance, though. If you didn’t know… I’m Vernon—…”

You’re hooked on his every word as he starts to introduce himself and the band behind him — everyone is, but you don’t care about the people around you. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with your two best friends and with every breath inhaling the overpowering cologne of the guy standing right behind you, it feels, in a way, like you and the singer could be the only two people in the entire room.

The set lasts just over ninety minutes and is a carefully put-together mixture of mostly original songs and a couple of crowd-pleasing covers, a few slower ballad-types to offset the higher energy rock songs that he beams the whole way through. In-between, Vernon wins over the crowd with his dry sense of humour and a natural charisma that has you feeling mortifyingly warm, despite the fact that you know he isn’t speaking directly to you when he breaks to talk. You’ve been to more than your fair share of gigs in this venue over the years, but few performers have ever made one of their shows feel so genuinely intimate; by the time he says goodnight and heads off the stage, bidding everyone a safe journey home, it feels, in a weird way, like… you know him.

Most of the more local artists who play in the Arrowhead tend to hang around after their sets – sometimes they’ll have copies of EPs, others come with pins and badges showing off their logos, various cute freebies for people to take home. A few even just stand around in the bar and talk for a while, thanking people personally for coming, sharing information about their upcoming releases and future gig schedules. Unless you’ve been really blown away, this isn’t something the three of you often stick around for, though.

It’s therefore a bit of a surprise that when Vernon re-emerges some fifteen minutes later, you don’t even have to convince your friends to work your way into the crowd already starting to form. If anything, the look exchanged between you all establishes that wanting to praise this guy and say hello is very much mutual; the time that ticks by before you’re face-to-face with him really feels like no time at all.

The people in front of you move off to the side and you catch your first actual, unobstructed glimpse of him. He takes a sip from his glass and wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand before greeting you kindly. Somehow, he’s even more handsome up close. You really didn’t think it was possible.

“Amazing set, man,” Chan says brightly, doing little by way of snapping you out of your trance. “Super fresh.”

“Seriously. So, so good,” Seungkwan gushes.

Vernon pushes away from where he’s leaned against the bar, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and extending it to your friends in turn.

“Thank you so much,” he says. “Glad you guys liked it.” Another one of those easy, bright smiles spreads over his face. Maybe you entertain, for a second, that it grows a little more when he holds his hand out to you, too.

You’re still stunned into silence by how breathtaking he is, but you put your drink in the other hand and wipe the condensation off your palm on the side of your jeans before shaking his hand, as well. He’s really warm, maybe even a little clammy, but when he squeezes with his fingers and looks straight into your eyes, this becomes a very negligible detail.

“Your vibe really reminds me of someone… God, what was his name-...” Chan starts to babble, clicking his fingers at lightning speed as if it’ll help him remember. “He was on that survival show-...”

“We’re sorry about him,” Seungkwan interjects after a few more seconds of nonsense and half-spoken, incorrect names, lifting a hand and covering Chan’s mouth. “He gets a little… it’s just when he’s excited.”

“No I don’t,” Chan huffs, swatting Seungkwan’s hand away. You inhale deeply, trying not to cringe as you watch Vernon’s amused eyes bounce between your two friends like he’s watching a tennis match.

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Case in point—” Seungkwan starts, at which stage you lay one palm on each of their shoulders to try and get them to stop talking.

By some miracle, it works. At least, their mouths stop moving; there’s definitely a silent conversation ongoing in the filthy looks they continue to exchange, but they stop bickering aloud and that’s good enough for you, for now.

“Come on, let’s leave the poor guy alone,” you say, and Chan shoots Seungkwan a filthy look before he nods and takes a small step back from the altercation.

Vernon’s eyes glitter under the venue’s neon lighting, wide and focused on you while you do your best to mediate. You only notice this when you look back at him, by which point it’s far, far too late to stop the eruption of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re really good,” you compliment finally, a smile tugging your mouth up on one side.

“Thank you.” Vernon grins, briefly dipping his head in your direction, but looking for a second as if he’s about to say something else. His chest rises with a breath, his lips push forward like they’re about to separate again, but before he can, Chan finds one more thing to come out with. Of course. (Seungkwan, regretfully, was right — he does get a little…)

“Do you like records?” he asks, pulling Vernon’s gaze away from you. The singer tilts his head, questioning. “Records. Vinyl – albums? Records.”

“Shit – yeah.” Vernon nods then. “Yeah, sorry. I um-... Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

“She owns a record store,” Chan says, jerking his head towards you. You feel your eyes blow wide and you’re tapping harshly at his back in an instant, begging him to stop. “OFF BEAT Vinyl. Not too far from here – it’s a cool spot.”

“No kidding?” Vernon says, glancing back in your direction, but you’re too busy silently pleading at Chan to shut up to realise.

“Mm. You should swing by, some time,” Seungkwan agrees, and all of a sudden, you’re overcome with the urge to fight him, too. “We all work there.”

“All right, let’s go,” you cough eventually, grabbing both men by the wrist and tugging. Vernon chuckles softly at the interruption; it’s almost as sweet a sound as his singing.

“OFF BEAT Vinyl,” he repeats, tasting the store’s name on his tongue, swirling it around his mouth like a wine he’s trying to savour. “For real. I’ll look it up.”

Chan grins proudly, finally letting himself be pulled away from the singer, and you manage to make exactly two paces before Vernon’s voice rings through your eardrums one more time.

“Hey, uh – what was your name?” he asks. It’s unmistakable who the question is aimed at (your friends don’t even entertain for a moment that he could be asking them), but regardless, it takes you a moment to let yourself believe he really wants to know. Vernon doesn’t push, though – he knows you heard him and he waits for your answer, leaning a little forward.

So, you look over your shoulder and you tell him. You see his lips move silently as he repeats it to himself, just like he did with the name of the store. He tastes it. Plays with it on his tongue, remembers the way it feels. As if it’s something he really intends to remember.

“Cool,” he breathes, pushing his hair back and off his forehead and making it very difficult to feel in any way rational. “Well – it’s great to meet you guys. Thanks for coming out, again.”

Finally, you manage to get your friends away. One of them, at least – Seungkwan decides that he actually wants to grab a few copies of his EP (‘one for me, a few for the store’) and rushes back towards the singer; you tell him to just meet you back at the bar.

Then, with another round of drinks on order, you turn to Chan and land a gentle thump on his bicep.

“Dude,” you groan, and he looks at you incredulously, rubbing his upper arm with a pout. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Chan asks.

“Tell him about the store!”

“I mean – I didn’t think it was classified?” he says. “Shit’s slow right now, and he seems like the kind of guy to have a record collection. What’s the damage?”

Seungkwan appears behind you with his hands full of CDs, badges and a scrap of something that you’re reasonably sure is firstly, a napkin, and secondly, has been signed. So you rest your elbows on the bar and place your head in your hands, grumbling quietly about how you don’t know you’ve managed to survive this long knowing these two losers.

“Because you love us,” Seungkwan says, fastening a button to your t-shirt. “Stop trying to deny it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, accepting the drink from the bartender and taking a long sip. “God, you better have been serious about opening up for me, tomorrow.”

(Well. You have to give it to him: he was.)

“It’s just my opinion!”

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock.

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album’ is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask.

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work.

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright.

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and kicking the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return.

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?”

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?”

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. I thought you were kidding about that.”

“Deadly serious,” Seungkwan laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he must see you start to freeze up: he keeps talking instead of letting the silence settle. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks. When all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Chan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

You’re not sure what it is about the onslaught of passive praise that gets so deep into Vernon’s head, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself other than repeatedly saying ‘thank you’. Relief comes in the form of another customer jingling the bell above the door and drawing the attention away from him for a few moments.

“I’ll take these,” he says breathlessly as he turns to face you again. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a second to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually.

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their action. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m playing at the Orchid? Uh— it starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds.

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it.

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your heart finally start to slow down as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink. And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles?

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without much disturbance and with evening plans now in place, you make the executive decision to send the boys home half an hour early. The three of you agree to meet outside The Orchid at just after eight o’clock, giving you all a chance to eat, wash up and change before the show; your friends separate and head in the different directions to the places they call home, making a promise to text your group chat before you leave to coordinate the link-up time. You head back into the office to finish tying up your loose ends and manage to depart just an hour later.

On your way to your apartment, you plan everything out to the minute in your head. You even allocate yourself twenty minutes to sit on the couch and decompress from your working day. So, when you settle down a little further into the cushions and put your head back, resting your eyes… when you tell yourself you’ll get up in just a minute and hop into the shower…

You certainly don’t expect to be woken up two and a half hours later as your phone vibrates on the floor of your living room.

With one eye still closed, you pick it up, yawning and stretching the lingering wisps of slumber from your body. Seungkwan’s contact name shows on your screen and you swipe to answer the call; on the other end of the line, a song you’ve never heard before is audible, but it’s accompanied by a voice you most definitely do know.

Everything snaps into place at once; in an instant, you’re wide awake, and you feel physically sick.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss into the speaker, scrabbling upright, tugging the phone away from your face to see the time. How is it already past 9pm?

“Oh, hello to you, too!” Seungkwan has to half-shout to be anywhere near audible over the music. You can almost perfectly visualise the way he’ll have sandwiched himself in a corner of the venue, pinching the bridge of his nose, head resting against the wall to try and block out enough sound to hear you. “Good to know you’re actually still alive!”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” you say, rushing through to your bathroom to check if you can get away with leaving the house as you are. (Jury’s out, but you don’t have much of a choice.) “I… don’t know what happened. I fell asleep – I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Seungkwan chides you again, this time reminding you that he’s been on your ass about going to a doctor to get your iron levels checked for months, that your timekeeping is terrible and that you really better hurry. You promise you’re on your way and hang up the call, pocketing your (horrifically under-charged) phone and slipping into a pair of sneakers you keep by the door before you head out. You told him you’d be here. Seungkwan’s voice rings loud and clear in your ears as you lock up your apartment.

But of course, bad things never happen in isolation. Waiting on the street outside your apartment block, you find yourself being cancelled on by not one, but two uber drivers: by the time the third reaches you, and has to follow the world’s most inconvenient diversion to get past some construction work, it’s 9:35. You know it doesn’t matter how quickly you run down the last stretch of the street and get up the seemingly never-ending staircase: it’s going to be too late.

You only manage to catch the literal last two songs of Vernon’s set. You’re not sure he even knows you’ve arrived, and in a way, you hope he doesn’t. Maybe having him believe you were a no-show is better than him knowing you’re about as low-functioning as a grown adult can be. You just slip in through the door as discreetly as you can and hover at the very back of the room as he rounds up for the night; Chan slips an arm around your shoulders as you turn to the bar and order yourself a drink, but it doesn’t do much to reduce the guilt that weighs heavy in your chest.

Which… is odd, really, you suppose. Seeing as you hardly know the singer much beyond his name and, now, a fraction of his record collection. Seeing as you certainly don’t owe him your presence at any of his performances. But there’s something in the way he made sure to ask you personally if you’d be able to make it, too, and you can’t shake it off, and… yeah, screw it, maybe you did want to be here. Maybe you did want him to notice. Maybe you do care what he thinks of you.

Maybe… you hope he feels the same about you.

Your drink hasn’t even arrived yet by the time you hear a chain of ‘excuse me – sorry, can I just? Yeah, thanks – sorry, excuse me’ -s behind you. Your eyes fly wide and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, growing closer and closer, somehow audible over the background music floating through the speakers, over the other chattering voices and shrieks of laughter in every direction. Part of your breathlessness, admittedly, is to do with how immediately you just knew who that voice belonged to.

“Excuse m–” it sounds again.

And then, softer: “Hey.”

You turn around on your bar stool, barely managing to bite back a smile. “Hi.”

Vernon grins at you from a few feet away, a dark singlet hanging loose on his frame, showing off his long, lean arms, displaying the few bracelets he wears on one of his slender wrists. You’re staring – you know you are; you don’t even notice the fact that Chan takes several steps away from you, or how he throws a side-along glance toward Seungkwan, nor the fact that your two best friends start talking quietly among themselves, leaving you and Vernon almost alone.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to…” But Vernon’s already shaking his head, coming up beside you at the bar, settling into the seat on your left.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, glancing over at you where you’re sitting. “I’m just glad you’re here, now.”

Chan stumbles over to you somewhere around midnight and claps his hand down on your shoulder, interrupting Vernon’s very enthusiastic explanation as to why flying is totally a better superpower to want to have than invisibility. Your giggles fall silent and Vernon stops mid-flow, waiting to hear what your friend wants to speak to you about. Unfortunately, Chan’s words are barely intelligible; it’s only when a marginally-better-for-wear Seungkwan appears too a moment later that you’re able to make any sense of him.

“We’re gonna–” Seungkwan hiccups, covering his mouth with his hand and wincing, no doubt at the burn of everything he’s had to drink now sitting high in his throat. “Gonna head out. Are you coming? We’ll split a taxi with you.”

You find yourself glancing over to where Vernon is standing, propped against the pool table that you’re now leaning on the edge of. He just smiles back at you, lifting his shoulders.

“I think… I’m gonna stay here a little longer,” you say after chewing it over. “You guys go ahead.”

Seungkwan looks between the two of you and frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vernon gently pipes up from your side, sliding over a little so that his palm rests flat on the felt of the table, his forearm supporting your hips from behind. But it isn’t you he addresses, despite this butterfly-inducing contact. All deep and serious, he says, “I promise, she’s safe with me.”

He takes his time to show it on his face, but ultimately this satisfies Seungkwan, who (despite being just about able to support both his and Chan’s weight in his current condition) has before, and still will, ignore his body’s demands in the name of ensuring your safety. But maybe he sees a trustworthiness in Vernon, or maybe he knows that you can and do handle yourself quite well. Whatever it is, he’s happy with this development, and your two friends bundle you in a hug so tight that it squeezes the air out of your lungs before they make their way towards the exit.

Once they’re out of view, you turn back to Vernon again, raising both brows at the man now closer to you than he’s ever been. But it’s far from claustrophobic – not as these things can so often be. No. No.

It’s addictive.

“Oh you promise, huh?” The tease comes out before you can do anything about it. You even end up batting your lashes at him for good measure.

“Cross my heart,” he says with a small shrug of his shoulders. His eyes dip from where they’re boring into your own, glancing down a fraction, just for a moment, and you’re sure you see him start to lean. Drawn to you like an opposing magnet, like a moth to a flame — his breaths feel hotter as they fan against your skin, his cologne starts to smell a little stronger… then, his fingers on the other hand curl around the pool cue he’s been balancing on his side and he drags himself away from you. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick your ass one more time.”

One more game of pool quickly turns to two, and it even threatens to become a third as you tease, again, that Vernon just got lucky and he flashes you another one of those looks that says ‘oh? Try me’. But as tempting as it is, you don’t think your pride can withstand any more losses. You resign yourself from the table with a huff when he rests his palms flat on the velvet covering, leaning towards you in that mouth-watering way he’s been doing for hours. The thing is, for the size of his pool-playing-ego, Vernon isn’t even that good. Not if you consider the number of completely missed shots, questionable connections and pocketed cues. But, because your own skill level leaves plenty to be desired, he doesn’t have to be up there with the big leagues.

He just needs to be a tiny bit better than you.

Asshole.

An announcement for last orders from behind the bar tells you that it’s nearing one in the morning as he starts to circle around the table and makes his way towards you. The bar has emptied considerably since you arrived, the music has steadily started getting more and more cheesy, people in all four corners of the room have started draping themselves over one another like well-dressed blankets, having already chosen the individuals they’ve decided to take home tonight. By all accounts, it’s the perfect time to leave. If you head out now, you’ll miss the rush of people flooding into the street and, if you’re lucky, the surge in taxi prices. The really good takeout place around the corner doesn’t close for another half hour, too.

There’s just one problem. You don’t want this night to end just yet.

“I think I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you say to Vernon, trying to stretch out a burning knot in your shoulder. “It’s like, a thousand degrees in here.”

Vernon nods. “Yeah – cool. I’ll come with you.”

And with your bag slung over the arm not causing you an ache, you start off down the stairwell. The doors are already open and the late night breeze has you feeling like you’re walking through the gates of heaven as you head outside. You inhale deeply, making the most of this very rare occasion of the city’s air not feeling thick with car fuel and cigarettes. Your eyes fall closed.

“I always liked being out at this time,” Vernon says as he joins you, leaning one shoulder against the brickwork of the outside of the bar. “Feels peaceful.”

“Sure,” you nod, craning your neck to look at him. His face is half-illuminated in the neon red of the bar’s sign above you. The harsh lighting and the shadows cast by his angular features have him looking… sort of sinful, in a weird artsy way that you can’t explain thanks to the pleasant buzzing in your brain. Straight out of an arthouse, indie movie. I bet he likes those, you think absently.

He looks straight into your eyes, intense and focussed as if he’s trying to search them, though for what you’re not sure. Honestly, you think if he gave a few more flutters of those beautiful lashes, you’d bend in-half-and-half-again to give him anything he wanted, so in a way you’re interested to ask what he’s thinking about. You don’t end up saying anything, though. There’s something wonderful in these little unspoken moments with Vernon. Something raw.

Something… unexplainable.

Sitting at the bar and stealing tickled glances as the waitress fumbles and drops a tray full of glasses on the floor. Subtle winks of his right eye (always, you’re discovering, the right?) from across a pool table when he succeeds in making a shot he has absolutely no business pulling off. Standing opposite you in the store you own, waiting to find out when – not if – he’s going to see you, again –

“You know,” he starts, the tiniest edge of nervousness in his voice for the first time tonight. Is the performance adrenaline finally wearing off? Is he… maybe starting to feel a little shy? Whatever it is, your last train of thought melts away into the drain just to his right, and you focus on him as he continues down this new path instead. “I got a new coffee machine in my apartment last weekend and I haven’t had the chance to use it for anyone yet.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing. “I uh…” He bounces one fist in the palm of his other hand, searching for the right order to put the words into. “I mean, it’s not like, one of those super fancy ones, or anything… but it’s sorta retro looking? Which is cool, and—”

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You‘re a little out of practice, huh?”

He chuckles on an outward breath, bowing his head, a grin that threatens to split his pretty face in two taking residence on his lips. “That obvious?”

“A tiny bit,” you say. “It’s cute though.”

He glances up at you, head a little tilted. “Yeah?”

“Mm… getting less-so by the second,” you tease him. “You can just ask me to come with you.”

“I-…” he starts, but he takes a deep breath instead and corrects his posture, as if it’ll prepare him somehow. “Okay. Okay — do you… maybe wanna come back to my place, with me?”

Not without flashing him a look first that says ‘now, was that so hard?’, you find yourself nodding up at him.

“I’d love to,” you say.

He pushes away from the wall and when you do the same, he falls into step, heading in the direction of his apartment. You try to discreetly roll your shoulder out again but it’s obviously not discrete enough; it draws his attention down to your arm, and he frowns slightly.

“Is that giving you trouble?” He asks.

“It’s fine.” You wave him off, stretching the muscle as best as you can by tilting your head as you walk. “It’s been like this for years.”

He scrunches his brows. “Here — can I?” He asks, his fingertip looping beneath the strap of your bag. You look down at your shoulder, then back up at him, before raising one brow, dropping the other.

“I mean — I don’t know if it’s your colour?”

Vernon barks out a ��ha’, easily slipping your bag down your arm, the tips of his warm fingers brushing against your comparatively cool skin. You make no effort to stop him. He positions it on his own shoulder instead, the one furthest away from you so he can still walk right against your side.

“There’s a reason I wear all black, okay?” He says. “It makes everything my colour.”

His fingers smoothly slip between yours as he says it. It was quite the move, and for a second you’re impressed. At least, until it turns out that this simple action seems to jolt him back to his factory settings, because—

“I’m so serious about this coffee machine, by the way.”

“I know you are,” you laugh, bumping your weight against him and squeezing his hand. “I’m counting on it.”

“Okay, so,” you start, settling into Vernon’s couch and tucking one of your legs up beneath you. You cradle the mug of coffee he’s made you — admittedly, the retro-style machine was pretty cool — between both of your hands, a thumb brushing over the raised pattern on the ceramic. The fresh air from the walk here seems to have decently sobered you; barring a pleasant buzz, you feel almost like you haven’t drunk a thing. “How did you get into music?”

Vernon matches your posture play-for-play, biting the inside of his cheek before he answers. He drank less than you in the first place, but he seems steadier now, as well.

“Uh… a couple things, I guess,” he starts. “I mean, my parents are big into music. Sometimes they'd take me with them to shows and stuff, had a bunch of CD’s all over the house — all that. You know? I really grew up on it, so…"

You nod, tilting your head to gesture for him to continue.

“Then… I don’t know. There’s- okay, I was kind of a loser in high school,” he goes on. You roll your eyes; Vernon nudges your thigh with his knee playfully, shaking his head.

“I just mean, I didn’t have a lot of friends.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “So…, I mean, that’s— that’s whatever. The point is that I spent a lot of time on my own and I basically had an earphone in any time I thought I could get away with it, and–... and sometimes even if I couldn’t.” He chuckles. “Weird. Most of my teachers didn’t like me much either.”

You laugh too now, and Vernon bows his head a little; every single one of his handsome features brightens up and you don’t really know where to look. His never-ending lashes are so long they cast shadows down onto his cheeks, and the ambient lighting reflects off his eyes so beautifully that they look like they’re glimmering.

He goes on, “there was one, though. My bio teacher? She was really cool. She had a lot more time for me than the others did. And uh, she called me into her office after school one day and just said… basically, my options were to start giving a shit about… cells, and mitochon– whatever, or start really working for this great big thing that I spent all my time daydreaming about. And it’s been a little up and down, but…”

He trails off, shrugging on one side.

“I think you’re doing pretty okay,” you chime in, leaning one arm against the back of the couch and resting your head in your palm. “I bet those kids would lose their minds if they could see you now.”

“Oh?” Vernon asks, setting his coffee down on the side-table. You click your tongue at him.

“Don’t– come on.”

“No, seriously,” he laughs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-…” you start, shaking your head. “Okay. People go out of their way to listen to you. Everyone who comes to one of your shows… that’s an hour, two hours, whatever – of making people feel exactly the way you want them to feel. They... all want to understand you. Right?”

Vernon just looks at you, forehead a tiny bit creased — the cogs in your brain tick away trying to find a better way to explain what you mean, but he finally speaks. (You’re glad, because you were struggling to come up with anything else.)

“Shit, I thought that was just an in to say you thought I was hot, or something.”

You push at his chest lightly, your palm lingering on his vest a moment longer than is, perhaps, strictly necessary.

“Shut up,” you groan. But a second later… “I guess there’s that, too.”

He sits back a little, pushing his hair off his forehead with a chuckle. “I dunno, I mean — I sort of… is it weird if I don’t really think about it that way?”

“Of course not,” you tell him.

He gets that look back on his face again; the pensive one, where he appears like he’s seconds away from saying something else, something important. But he falters, and when he glances back at you, his engine stalls.

Then, with a shake of his head, he says, “wow, okay, enough about me. I’m so sorry. Can I ask you a question?”

You take another sip of your coffee and set it down, too, nodding ‘yes’. To be honest, you were quite enjoying talking about him; at the same time, you know what it is to feel a little too perceived sometimes, so you let him move on without argument.

“How do you just… own a record store?”

You laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve had to explain this one. (When was the last time one of your dates was interested enough to ask?)

“I’m not as good a storyteller as you are,” you preface, mirroring him when he rolls his eyes, pretending not to notice that he shuffles even closer. You launch into it easily enough — the old store owner was a friend of the family, he let you work there while you were in college, took you on full-time after you dropped out. When his eyesight started deteriorating, he chose to retire and told you it was yours, if you wanted it.

“Place would’ve closed down, otherwise,” you shrug. “But I couldn’t do it on my own, so I brought the guys in to help. Two years later... yeah. I guess that's how.”

The whole time as you talk, his eyes don’t leave you. He’s quite expressive, you find — whether he’s lifting a perfectly shaped brow, nodding along to what you’re saying, smiling at you… you feel listened to. When he’s sat across from you, you feel heard; you feel known.

“Well, first — take it back. You’re a great storyteller,” he says. You feel your face grow warm and you nudge him with your knee, but you don’t argue — you aren’t convinced he’d let you win, anyway. “But that’s… really cool? Actually.”

“Oh yeah, I heard nine-to-five retail is the coolest thing you can do, these days,” you laugh.

Vernon scoffs at you. “You close at six thirty.”

(How on Earth does he remember that?)

To avoid thinking about it too much, and so you don’t have to try to navigate asking, you roll your eyes.

“You’re right,” you say to him. “That’s way better.”

“Do you like what you do?” He asks, and you tilt your head at him. “Well — okay. If you ignore the… boring, back-office stuff.”

“Yeah,” you say after a pause. “I guess I do.”

“Then it’s cool.”

Your coffees both go cold as you talk more, and more, and more — he asks about your life, and growing up, your friends, and he answers all of your questions in turn when you ask them. He has an interesting way of talking about himself outside of his job; it’s not so much that you have to pry for information, but he’s not super forthcoming. It’s as if he’s taking all of your questions at face value, like he doesn’t know how to go about expanding on them.

Maybe he’s just more of a listener, you contemplate once he turns yet another of your questions back on you and you teasingly pull him up on it. It flusters him, which you can’t help but find very endearing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I just… you have such a pretty… voice?” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, ears burning pink.

“Oh?” You ask, stumped for a moment as your heart lurches in your chest. When he nods, you find the gall from somewhere to say, “takes one to know one.”

(You’re not sure how.)

And on it goes. On, and on, and on. More questions, more answers, more lighthearted shoves and lingering touches and shy glances away from each others’ scorching gazes as heat rushes to your cheeks. He even shows you his record collection and puts on one of his favourite albums for background noise before you settle back into the couch. It’s so natural, even when the vinyl runs to the end and the only noise from the player is a distant crackle. Being in his space and having mindless conversation after mindless conversation feels almost as comfortable as being in your own home.

You notice something, as you’re rounding off a monologue about why your highschool math teacher was the worst person you’d ever met. A tiny hair on the apple of his cheek. One of those lashes you envy so much. Even as you try to focus back on your closing remarks, your eyes keep dropping to it and you trail off into silence a few words short.

“I’m sorry, you’ve-… got an eyelash,” you say, tapping roughly the same spot on your own cheek.

“Mm. I have a few of them,” Vernon counters, wiping the heel of his thumb against his skin. He misses, though, and drops his arm back down with the lash still stuck to his face.

You move before you can stop yourself, hand lifting up to his face and hovering just a few centimetres away.

“Can I?” you ask.

Vernon nods, wordlessly. He goes cross-eyed and his lids twitch in a flutter as he watches you get closer; you brush the lash onto your thumb and he only breathes again when you rebalance it on the tip of your finger. You hold it up to him, settling back into your own part of the couch; he just stares back at you.

“Make a wish,” you prompt.

His confusion is poorly concealed, head cocked to one side as he looks from the lash to you and back again. “Huh?”

“Don’t you…?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay, wow,” you laugh, glancing down at your finger too. “You have to make a wish on your eyelashes when they fall out.”

“No, I got that part,” Vernon snickers. “I just mean — why?”

“I—” you start to explain, but you fall short of an explanation and frown instead, biting the inside of your cheek. “… I don’t know. It’s just what you’re supposed to do. I’ve always done it.”

The downturn of your lips doesn’t last very long, though.

“Well, what if it’s not an eyelash? What if it’s like… one of my eyebrows, or something?” He asks.

It's such a simple but off-the-wall response that you can't help but laugh, except it comes on so suddenly you start to choke on your own saliva. One of his hands circles around you and rubs soothingly between your shoulder blades as you cough, succeeding in bringing him even closer and failing to lower the fever you’re starting to feel creep up on you. By some miracle, you don’t drop the lash, even as you hack pathetically into the crook of your elbow; Vernon waits for it to subside, a weirdly fond look on his face all the while.

Now, when you turn your head, he’s right there. In your space. His arm still around your back, the glint of the bar pierced through his brow drawing your attention up away from those smiling lips.

“I guess it just doesn’t come true? I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve never tried wishing on an eyebrow before.”

“I’m just saying,” he starts, falling back against the cushions now he knows you’re not suffocating. His arm doesn’t move, though. If anything, he sort of pulls you with him. “What if it ends up like a reverse wish. Whatever I ask for, the opposite comes true, or something.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” you say, starting to bring your finger closer to yourself.

Quicker than you can blink, he reaches to you and lightly lays his fingers around your wrist, stopping you in your path.

“Wait,” he says, pouting a little. “I didn’t say that.”

Both of you glance down to this new point of contact. Two sets of lips stay parted but two identical breaths remain held, burning in both your lungs and in Vernon’s. His gaze shifts back up to your face, eyes wide and wholly serious and unblinking.

“What do I do?” He asks on the eventual exhale. It reminds you to breathe again, too.

“Close your eyes.”

It takes him a second to obey, but he does. His eyes flutter closed and you clear your throat, lifting your finger until it’s just in front of his face.

“Make a wish.”

A few seconds later, his brows relax and he nods.

“Then… blow.”

His lips purse and he pushes a breath through them, lifting the stray lash off your skin and sending it out into the room. He opens his eyes, then, smiling in a manner that you can tell is absolutely despite himself.

He doesn’t move away, and his cologne, fresh and citrusy, mixes tantalisingly with the sandalwood candle he lit on your way back to the couch a little while ago, both accented by the chewing gum he popped to get rid of the mocha aftertaste still lingering on his breath.

“What did you wish for?” You ask, dropping your hand back down to your side.

He frowns.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” he says. “Pretty sure that’s against like… wish laws, or something.”

“Boring,” you chide, slumping your shoulders, but he just grins at you, darting his tongue out over his lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his Adam’s apple bob in a thick swallow and you can feel the gentle brushing of his thumb. The slow movements, up and down over the exposed area on your hip where your shirt has started to ride up, make you shiver, and you know your chest stutters when his fingers move to press wholly against your bare skin. You know he notices, because he does it again. And again, and again.

It's maddening. You end up stuck in this never-ending feeling of falling head-first into his arms.

“Where do you think the laws stand on showing you, though?” He asks, inching a little closer.

You hold your breath, little more than anticipatory static flooding your brain.

“I think they’re okay with it.”

You mirror, slowly, hooked in the gaze that has adrenaline dripping down the length of your spine like honey, and you can’t bring yourself to look away until you can practically taste him. He closes the space between you in half speed, but gently, like you’re both made of tissue, he brings his thumb and forefinger to your chin and touches his lips to yours. His nose presses against your cheek.

It’s comfortable. It’s warm. It’s easy, it’s exhilarating, it’s perfect. You feel like your heart just might burst clean out of your chest—

But… you can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, tugging yourself away and clamping your hands over your mouth. “Shit — I’m-… I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere, you’re fighting to catch a breath, head spinning in circles, and no longer in the good way. Have those beers finally come back to bite you in the ass? Or, deeper down, do you know your sudden intoxication isn’t alcohol related at all? Vernon shoots back from you like you’ve gone up in flames and he might catch, too — his eyes search your face as you scramble to get to your feet, and he looks… scared.

“Are you okay?” He asks. You don’t respond right away, already looking around the apartment for where you left your shoes, already trying to locate your bag too. (As you try to swim towards the surface, you forget that it wasn’t you who still had hold of it when you came through the door and placed it on the loveseat back in the living room.) “Hey… is everything-…?”

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. You’re not. “I just-… I remembered-… I have to go.”

You catch sight of your shoes, hidden behind the ones Vernon kicked off just after you, and you hurry across the apartment to get to them.

No bag. Where’s your bag? Where did you leave it? But… ah, your keys are in one back pocket and your phone is in the other and maybe it’s not the end of the world if you never see that lipstick again—

“It’s really late,” Vernon says as you bend down to re-tie one of your laces, hovering just a few steps behind you. “Are you gonna be okay to get home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rush. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Well, at least let me wait with you until it—”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, you snap, only now looking up at him again. He tenses, but his eyes stay soft. It’s not in the same way you’ve seen them all night, though. Not in a nice way. Not glittering and full of intrigue. No. He’s hurt. And like a wounded animal, he takes several stiff, unsure steps back away from you, swallowing hard and looking anywhere, everywhere else.

“I’m fine,” you say again, trying to sound a little quieter, a little calmer. Even if that is miles away from the truth.

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced and wringing his hands in front of his stomach. “If-… I’m sorry if that was-… I didn’t mean to make you-…”

You shake your head, standing back up to your full height, but you don’t close the gap between you. You don’t reach out to him, even though you want to. You just have to blindly hope he can read your mind somehow — there’s no way to explain it quickly enough without leaving you both in a mess, and right now...

“Hey,” you say, forcing him to look at you once more. “It’s not-… it isn’t you. I just have to go, okay?”

He doesn’t seem overly reassured by this, but he nods anyway. “Can-… you text me when you get home?” He asks. Then, hurried: “Just so I know you’re back safe. That’s all.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” you say on an outward breath, cringing at how exasperated it sounds. You don’t mean it to — you’re really not mad at him. “I will. I’ll message you.”

Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Vernon takes another step back. He doesn’t say anything else, just shoves his hands as far into the pockets of his jeans as he can and watches you.

“I’ll message you,” you repeat, opening the door, speaking more to yourself than to him. “I promise.”

Then, you’re stumbling out into his hallway. Hurrying down the too-narrow staircase. Leaning your back against the brickwork outside, a light drizzle of rain splashing all over your bare arms. The stone prickles through your t-shirt as you slide down, as you feebly try to suck thick, damp air into your lungs, as your head starts to ache, as a dull throb starts to reside behind your eyes.

It takes ten minutes of staring into the empty road in front of you before you feel steady enough to attempt to wrestle your phone out of your pocket. No matter how many buttons you press, no matter how many times you tap it, the screen refuses to come to life and you only now manage to recall the ‘low battery’ notification that came through several hours ago. Briefly, it crosses your mind to go back upstairs and ask if you can request a ride on Vernon’s phone. You know he’d say yes. Hell, he’d probably throw a blanket over your shivering shoulders and fix you another cup of coffee while you waited, too. But you can’t. The look on his face as you slid out his front door is burned into your memory like a brand and there surely couldn’t be anything worse than having to go back in there and face him like this.

Five more minutes pass before you find the energy to stand, to stretch out your bunched up muscles, and start on the walk home. Another thirty until you’re trudging, sodden and blurry eyed and heavy-hearted, through your apartment door. Three and a half after that before you finally manage to text Vernon to say your phone died, but you’re back, you’re safe. That you’re sorry.

Barely ten seconds tick by before it pops up that he reads your message. (Followed by ninety seconds of staring down at the bubble that says he’s typing, waiting for a reply that ultimately doesn’t come.)

And four hours later, you’re still wide awake, lying under your covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling. You think you ought to be giddy, squirming, hiding your smile in your pillow — that’s how first kisses are supposed to make you feel. Isn’t it? Alas, you’re flooded instead with visions of the last time a first kiss felt like it made this much sense; in place of all the endorphins you’re sure should be ricocheting off every inner surface of your brain, all you know is heartache and dread.

So you stare, and you stare, and you keep on staring; even when your eyes start to burn, you stare a little more.

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. parts 2 and 3 are very nearly finished, as well, so stay tuned.<3

#vernon fanfic #vernon imagines #vernon x you #vernon fluff #vernon angst #vernon x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #kpop fanfic #j writes.#re. high fidelity.#*

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sunboki · 1 year

Text

001. RECORD PLAYER LOVER — ANTHOLOGY

PAIRING. Christopher Bahng x fem. reader | WORD COUNT. 3.3k & 20 minute read | SERIES PLAYLIST. | WARNINGS. cursing | TROPE. enemies to lovers (somewhat), fishing town au, friends to lovers, coincidences, making-up (in a way)

( ✉️ ) — if you want an idea of where the small town boy! chan brainrot came from, seek this post back in july.. it only got worse from there(＞＜)

There’s a new guy working at the Record Shop you’d been to countless times as a kid. So when you show up and see a stranger working the register and not the sweet old man who’d give you lollipops, you’re not too pleased.

The last time a new face showed up in your town had to be before you were born, and as someone nearing twenty-one, that said a lot.

On the bright side, there wasn’t much judgment unless it came from choosing the wrong batch of strawberries in front of a grandmother, or perhaps that was simply your experience living here all your life.

Although, twenty-one years later, you didn’t expect for someone new to show up.

Familiar chimes clatter above your head while opening the door, bright blue label reading “Po’s Vinyl” decorating the windows and staining the tile floors an iridescent tone from the midday sunlight. It’s pretty, it’s ordinary.

Except something isn’t ordinary, because after a good few minutes or so of browsing, your normal stop by the register stops you in your tracks.

Clad in a black beanie with bouncy, tangled curls peeking from the fabric is a stranger. A stranger with toned arms and a pretty nose and kind features you stare at for too long.

But he’s not the grandpa, not Mr. Po who’s been dearly greeting you each and every day for more than twenty years.

Your stomach drops.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” You scramble to the counter, his warm pools for eyes flickering up with surprise. “Where’s the old man- Mr. Po- the one who works here?”

“Oh! Mr. Po? He retired a few days ago.”

Now your stomach decided to do backflips, and there’s a pit of nausea climbing up your throat.

Curse the boy in front of you for looking so happy-go-lucky. This moment is detrimental, why is he smiling? …And why is he cute?

Preparing to ask a billion questions, you pause, fixing the handsome man with an incredulous look before he catches onto your confusion.

”Sorry sorry, I’m Chris, ‘moved in last night. And you?”

Debating upon either running out the door right now to end up apologizing later, you crack a small smile you hope looks a tad bit more graceful than earlier.

Chris, huh.

“Y/n,” You reply, noting the soft dip of his dimples. “And uh.. you haven’t met Miss May yet, right?”

The question, coming off as more of a warning than anything, earns a sheepish shake of his head noticing your pitying expression.

Granted, the woman wasn’t that awful, she’s just.. Miss May. An unmarried, stubborn, seventy year old prune who will rightfully argue with anybody about anything and rightfully enjoy it. Not to mention her addiction to finding a suitable lover, and not just for herself.

Trust, once she lays eyes on this breathtaking hunk of husband in front of you she’ll never leave him alone. Might as well treasure your days until you’re stuck in the witch’s dungeon.

“Can I ask what you mean by that?“

Spaced out watching his lips move, you barely caught the question till he cleared his throat and every particle in your body resorted to self sabotage.

Way to make an introduction.

Opening your mouth to respond, you choke on your words, hastily run behind the counter and whisper-scream for him to duck at the sight of said woman passing by the window.

Speak of the devil.

At his attempt to peek out, your hand unconsciously forces his head down, slapping on your best “nothing to see here!” façade while the heel-wearing matchmaker saunters in.

“Why hello dear,” She casually drawls, thin brows raised.

The woman slowly grins, stepping forward to lean over the counter and peer down where Chris hides blinking up beside your calf.

“You can come out now.” She says with a chuckle, and he hesitantly raises up, face blooming pink.

Erupting with obvious delight, she claps her claws hands together, and you can feel the dread creeping in from a mile away.

“My my, I didn’t know you two knew each other- -“We don't!” Shouting in unison, you synonymously turn to each other, nothing but utter puzzlement etched across your faces. It’s like something out of a sitcom. Literally.

“He’s Chris,” Nervously, you refer to the man with an uncertain point of your finger, him doing the same.

You’re certain if this situation got any more awkward you may win a spot in the book of world records.

Miss May amusedly shook her head. “So you do- -“No!”

She might as well have been internally arranging a wedding by the way she stared through your souls, neither of you daring to move a muscle out of fear she might pop a ring out of her ass and declare you engaged if you breathed loud enough.

“Alright alright, I’ll leave you two to your business then.” Waving like some pretentious heiress, you make sure to mock the action once her back is turned—Chris stifling a bubbling laugh beside you when she finally leaves.

You have an itch this won’t be the last time she stops by. You’ll just pray it won’t be when you’re within a six foot radius of both this shop and the man next to you.

Sorry Chris, it’s every man to themselves with Miss May.

Brushing off your clothes, you step back slightly, not realizing how close you’d gotten to him before nearly bumping into the dark-haired man. And, in the least weird way possible (that's still weird), from your closeness, you discover he smells like the ocean. Not too salty, not too strong. Like the sea’s air clings to his clothing.

Considering he got here a day ago, he must’ve stopped by the harbor on his way here. Strange.

“I’m.. gonna go. See you sometime?” Heading toward the door, you spare a glance behind you, vision again magnetically pulled down to his lips—so plush and pretty, then back to those equally pretty eyes that crinkle when he smiles goodbye. A nervous habit.

Who knew a potential heartthrob would show up here out of all places.

Guess things were finally getting interesting.

Your trek home wasn’t too eventful, unless you counted locating Mr. Po, begging him to come back, and avoiding the severely bitter tea he kept offering—then yeah, not too eventful.

Jamming the key in your door and being sure to successfully waste at least three hours forcing the newest addition to town out of mind, you’d like to say by the time 6pm rolled around he was completely void of your thoughts, but the coffee stain on your shirt after imagining his face said differently.

Best part about not having a neighbor? Walking around without a top, bottoms, or anything on was always on the table. Sort of gross, but you get the picture.

Best part about not having a neighbor yet.

You should’ve put the pieces together sooner, because already halfway into pulling your shirt up off your head did you notice a pair of eyes meeting yours from the other, usually vacant house next door.

Chris’ eyes. Unmistakable and currently swimming with horror.

It wouldn’t surprise you if you looked the same right now.

Urgently yanking the fabric back over your body, you practically throw yourself down, met with nightmare-fueling reality and too much embarrassment to properly function nor rise from your squat on the floor.

Moved in last night, he’d said. But the one thing he forgot to mention was that he moved in right next door.

Fucking. Fantastic.

. ..

Over the next five days, you’ve come to the conclusion that Chris makes music. Or something involving headphones, his finger tapping a beat, and the occasional nod of his head to a rhythm—observations made from peeking out the window each evening.

It’s sort of mesmerizing watching him routinely click buttons. Like, in a sense, you learned the first clue about his life before telling him your name.

That is until he rises and you prepare to duck, fixated on his adam's apple bobbing when he swallows, pretty, still damp strands of dark hair crowning his forehead.

The last thing you need is for him to catch you ogling after having witnessed you half naked, something that would, quite literally, be the cherry on top of demolishing your ego.

Knowing him though (after only physically meeting once), he’d probably gladly forgive and forget, but you couldn't, and that was the problem. Couldn’t shake that incessant pit in your stomach telling you if it were anyone else you’d be able to move on.

Anyone other than him, other than Chris.

Something about him. There was something about him.

On the other hand, Chris couldn’t forget either. The image permanently tattooed in his brain for what felt to be eternity.

Not just your body (and also your body), but you, the incredibly attractive new acquaintance he’d met hours beforehand was, coincidentally enough, his neighbor.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out you were avoiding him since, frankly, it was virtually impossible not to run into everyone in this town at least once a day.

He was a nice guy, so he gave you your space. Nevertheless, that didn’t keep him from picking some fun from time to time.

Like yesterday when he’d noticed you standing by your sink, repeatedly stealing not-so-sneaky glimpses.

Slyly deciding on honing the most nonchalant move in the book, he stretched. Rolling his head back, a tiny bit of his abdomen becoming visible when his arms raised up, and even sighing just to add to the ambiance.

Trying not to laugh had never been so difficult in his life.

Regardless, avoidance never lasted forever, and seeing you practically tiptoe around town was too obvious not to pay mind to.

So when the door to Po’s Vinyl creaked open during his evening shift, he craned to greet the customer, only to be met with bare space. Well, prior to noticing your hunched frame stalking through aisles, crouched down rather comically.

Biting his tongue, he watched you scour like a mad-woman, finally stilling in front of at a new arrival, the latest album restocked yesterday.

Turns out you were fated to run into each other again somehow. One way or another.

Maybe this was his chance to clear things up, or maybe that was the wrong move, maybe it would mess everything up and you’d move away and— Oh. You’re in front of him now, pale as a ghost and religiously averting eye contact.

“This,” You mutter, barely forming coherent sentences while sliding the album forward, hand wildly fishing through your bag in search of your wallet.

He stays quiet, periodically fixating on your expressions while scanning the barcode. Debating, contemplating.

“Hey can we—“

“Sorry! I really need to go to the vendors today, another time?” Scrambling, you snatch your purchase and rush off, ceasing to take note of the playful smirk painting his features.

He has an idea, an idea that may or may not work.

He’ll test his luck.

Spending the majority of his shift waiting for you to pass by again, he immediately locks onto your frame sprinting past an hour or so later.

Stepping from the store and calling out your name multiple times, it only makes you walk faster in response, leaving him to gradually catch up and move in front of you.

You try slipping past each side, finding yourself blocked every time. Your brows knit frustratedly.

“Y/n, can we talk, please?”

You sigh, stalling your movement to cross your arms and send him a taut gaze.

He can tell you hate this, hate standing here and especially hate his invitation, but the small, curt nod he got after a few seconds was enough.

Perhaps, that “maybe” would turn out true. The chance to clear things up.

He hoped.

. ..

“Look, I didn’t see anything.”

“Liar.” You grumble, jogging to keep pace without heading anywhere in particular.

If only you were a toddler and could throw a tantrum to get out of this due to simply being petty. Except you couldn’t. You were an adult, and you had to handle the situation like one.

What bullshit.

Flailing his arms helplessly, he tugged his jacket tighter against his body, the chilling air only dropping further as you neared the ocean.

“I’m not lying! Seriously!” Voice childish whilst avidly squirming around, the sound of gray rocks clattering beneath your shoes muffles your conversation.

He halts suddenly and you do the same, ceasing to acknowledge how far you’d aimlessly walked till the Lighthouse, located on the furthest side of town, looms above.

There’s a good minute of silence, interrupted by clearing his throat and simultaneously sending you a mischievous glance.

“Although,” He begins. “That red color was cute.”

You blink, watching as he gestures to his chest before swiftly dodging your swinging fist, looking mere seconds from exploding.

It’s sort of adorable.

Adorable in a dangerous, likely-to-kill-you way. But adorable.

Albeit expecting you to drown him, sucker punch him or suffocate him (quite possibly all three), you alternatively grab his hand, dragging him towards the Lighthouses’ entrance and up the winding rails.

Chris doesn’t interject nor pull away, face instead broken into a sweet smile while following you, observing you.

Arriving at the top that overlooked blue cascades, you sit down, not caring to explain with your knees pulled to your chest. He doesn’t mind.

It’s hard not to admire the endless abyss of water overwhelming every expanse in view, the moon’s glint scattering upon its surface. Wind whips your hair in wild directions, and it’s rather cold now above ground level.

Chris quietly hikes up the last few stairs behind you, easing off his jacket to drape around your shoulders—earning a hum of appreciation as he drops down on your right.

Silence.

“Hey, um, thanks.” He speaks, but his voice is softer this time, sadder this time, and if it weren’t for you two being mere inches apart you doubt you would’ve heard it.

“For what?”

“Nothing important. Just, thanks.” Peering at you with a tilt of his head, you decide not to pry, reflecting his subtle happiness.

Being completely honest, you don’t have the first clue of what Chris’ life was like before here. Somehow, it felt better staying that way. We all have secrets, and in a sense, this seemed to be his escape, his own secret.

Whatever his history entailed, you’re glad it led him to Seoul. Lead him to you.

“Awe,” You shove his shoulder lightly and the man pouts, cheeks dusted pink from the biting cold while his eyes stay trained on the sea, glimmering.

You sit there for a few minutes, listening, appreciating.

“Say, ‘wanna swim?”

The sky dark overhead, Chris gives you an incredulous look, wondering if you’re joking.

He’s quiet, eventually nodding and nearly toppling down the circular stairs after you, hastily pulling off your shoes to run through sand and scattered shells.

It’s stupid, so stupid swimming in freezing cold water at night.

Something the you who didn’t know Chris wouldn’t ever consider. But now he was here, currently taking off his shirt and— shit. He’s taking off his shirt. Holy shit.

Unfortunately, you weren’t given much time to be shocked (and mystified) before being picked up and literally thrown in, clothing and all very much intact.

Sputtering as you surfaced, you instinctively covered your top half, earning a giggle from the greek god of a man a few feet away, calf deep in the water.

“What’re you all shy for? ‘S not like I haven’t seen your—“ Now it’s his turn to be dunked, and you’re more than happy to force his curls into the water below, both drenched and shivering.

This is like a fever dream. Like you’ll wake up in your cozy bed to never have any of this happen in the first place. Never have had Chris happen in the first place.

Unable to contain the question, words basically pour out at an alarming pace the moment you open your mouth.

“Are you real?”

Because the moment feels too good to be true.

You both stop.

“Am I real? What, wanna find out?” He cockily points to his flexed arm, leaning your way while you shrink back, face contorted with disgust.

Best to have kept that one to yourself, but hell, you’d give in just this once.

Wading closer, you wrap your arms around his tummy in a sticky, uncomfortable hug. Chris doesn’t pull back though. Alternatively, he reaches up to pat the back of your head, surprised expression transforming into that of fondness.

You stay that way, wordlessly confessing so many things in a minute and a half as the stinging breeze seems to rattle your bones. Things you don’t have the courage to say aloud, things Chris understands all the same.

Walking home was a blur, filled with shapes and colors you barely recognized till the sound of a door opening knocked you back onto your feet.

Too cold to comprehend anything, you both race into separate rooms, coming to the realization this isn’t your home when searching for a towel to cover yourself.

Not your home, but his.

And you wonder if his setup is still situated directly in front of your window like normal. Wonder if, possibly, it was a coincidence you were now in the house you’d been staring daggers into for weeks, or if it all was a twist of fate.

How funny.

There’s quiet, childish interaction as he knocks on the door, sheepishly handing you a pair of his shorts and a t-shirt while his eyes stay glued to the floor.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to tease despite how bad the urge is, because he’s just him.

And you’re wearing his clothes. That too.

A hair dryer seated on his bathroom counter catching your eye, you pop your head out the door, yelling to Chris who’s busied himself somewhere in the living room.

“Hey Chris! Want me to dry your hair for you?” You shout, and he shuffles to make out what you said, practically lighting up witnessing you wearing his clothes.

The view is better than he could’ve ever imagined.

Laughter fills the air, all squeaky and high-pitched with you seated above him on the couch, occupying the floor while drying his wild curls that fly in every direction.

Clicking the off button, his head falls back to look at you, long eyelashes dusting and perfectly framing chocolate brown orbs. He’s practically glowing, and cupid has to be lingering nearby by how fast your heart thumps in your chest.

“…Can I spend the night?”

Whispering, you carefully place your hands on either side of his face, glancing back and forth erratically between his eyes and lips.

You don’t notice how close you are, a habit picked up from the start. He draws you in like a Siren, and you’re more than happy to senselessly follow his song.

His lips part, breathlessly uttering.

“Yes.”

And before you know it, you’re capturing his lips just as senselessly, kissing the man as if a near microscopic thread connected the both of you.

That is until Chris took charge, pulling your right-side up face against his upside down lips. Deeper, hungrier.

Crashing, like the moon-reflected waves you’d seen earlier. Messy and greedy, fervent. So many feelings, so many words without sound. You were good at doing that.

You’d like to admit it lasted for a few seconds, but from how you managed to somehow end up in his lap in the process, that definitely wasn’t the case.

“Here,” Chris says, handing you a warm mug of tea and settling beside you on the couch once you finally finished eating each other's faces, TV playing continuous episodes of Friends that numbly buzz your eardrums.

Neither of you spoke apart from exchanging drinks, atmosphere comfortable, exhaustion growing the longer you sat. Your eyelids began to droop before your head (unbeknownst to you) plopped onto his shoulder.

Initially Chris tensed, waking up from his own dazed daydream to marvel at the now sleeping beauty, you, cozied up against him.

He stared for a while, taking in what small interactions deprived him of. Those tiny details of you, the imperfect perfections. Beautiful.

Brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, he smiles—one that he can’t contain, one that hurts his cheeks from how big and bright it is.

“I’m so glad we met.”

> SERIES TAGLIST. @phtogravi @liknws @luckieleaf @jhstayy @meloncremesoda @chans1aptop @eternitywaveshello @meanergreener @ladylexis @love-gy-u @hanjingin @idkluvutellme @dark-anxel @yubinism @rachabreathing @seung-scrittore @fylithia @skzsupremacy @alrm02 @ener-energy @koliki @anskiiz @dprkbyn @bellamuerte1987 @ylixbok @hanjisung-enjoyer @youngunknownwitch @hwangflora @hanjiingin @starlost-andfound @taeriffic @flwerfield

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