#chapter one is but a teaser ..... a set up for the fucked up shit to come.

[enochianribs]

What if Mary Campbell had a little sister who she adored very much? What if her little sister was soft and sweet and no matter what she tried, Mary could never be like that because she was so so angry all the time? And what if she felt like there was something deeply, intrinsically wrong with her? And what if forces beyond her comprehension were working to ruin her family?

PART ONE CHAPTER 1/4.

[littleroaes]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, tbz

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT ⏵ 19 k

playlist i listened to while writing

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

like and reblog are highly encouraged !

01 . CHAPTER ONE 

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

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

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

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

There are five of them. 

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

In short, everyone liked Lee Jaehyun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

( next morning ) 

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

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

Mom shakes her head, “No, I haven’t?” 

You sigh, sprint up the second floor. 

“Y/n?” 

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

“What?” 

“The letters…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’LL KILL YOU!” 

02 . CHAPTER TWO

( tuesday afternoon ) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jaehyun.” 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

He talks suddenly.

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You side eyes him still and sits up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too bad, too bad.” 

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

“Yeah, is it a deal or not, Angel?” 

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

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

Hyunjae smirks. 

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

“Sure.” He nods. 

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

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

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

( friday evening ) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not so fast.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Now I’m yours.” He smiles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” You deadpan. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Y/n.” 

He smiles, still holds the book before him. 

You refuse to move, “Hi…Juyeon.” 

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

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

“Yeah.” You agree awkwardly. 

“Why are you here?” You ask. 

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

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

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

“Escaping things?” He asks, still reading.  

You nod. 

“We all do.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, he’s dead.” You deadpan.

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

“Mindy?” He says. 

“Oh, Yeah.” 

They both laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do.” He tiredly answers back. 

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

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

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

“Out the way, you’re fucking hot.” 

“I am?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re gonna fall down the stairs.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunwoo!” 

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

“Jaehyu–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

03 . CHAPTER THREE

( saturday midday )

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh–Hi, Y/n.” 

“Oh, Juyeon?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. 

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

“Jump on.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently something must have shown because Juyeon says from beside. 

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

You look up, “Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

“Is that Mum Mew?” 

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

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

They sit there until the lady comes out again. 

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

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

"Yeah, uhh–” He stammer. 

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

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

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

“Oh, you see!” 

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

After another conversation, the topic returns. 

“So when did you meet?” 

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

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

Lady nods, “Since when?” 

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

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

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

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

You freeze. 

“Then I confessed in university.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your conscious runs desperately from this room, but physical state is in the same seat. 

Juyeon holds out a blue letter with your handwriting on it. 

“I should’ve said it sooner, I’m sorry.” He says in that gentle tone he always speaks to you with. Maybe a soft arch at the end of the sentence. Nonetheless, you imaginary stabs the mind resting in your bone cradle. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You look at him once before turning to the empty seat and make an expression. One of deep second hand embarrassment that comes from the very narrow part of ‘me’ and sends like shivers. 

“I understand.” Juyeon follows your movements, “You were not supposed to see that letter, they shouldn’t have been leaked.” 

Worried you might have genuinely caused borderline trauma for the poor guy; you turn to him, “I’m really sorry.” 

“No.” The corners of his lips turn into leaves of a red apple. His eyes clouds the color round the pupil and his height convulses barely as he leans into the seat. 

Parts of us never veins, and in front of you, he’s the same boy who patted kittens and was deeply sad when they parted from their mother.  

“I’m honestly very touched by it.” He admits. 

He was back in his childhood home for the last week before semester. When folding the navy sheets of his old bed; his mother came up. A letter in her hand with turquoise color and bubble arch letters in pink ink. Already, it couldn’t be something written in ‘today’. 

And Juyeon is truthful towards you. He read it on the train back home. Always oblivious but grateful nonetheless. Used the window like a passage to the time where you sat beside him on the bedroom floor. 

“Really?” You say surprised. 

He nods, “I’ve never gotten a love letter before.” 

You would scoff and tell him he’s lying, but as his appreciative eyes blur with the blue envelope; you don’t. 

“You know, I think you should join the writer’s club here on campus.” Juyeon smiles at you suddenly. 

“What?” You lean away. 

“Really.” His eyes shapes of honest o’s, “Like–of course there’s some grammar mistakes and you spelt ‘desperatly’ wrong, but you got the feeling!” 

Still the same skeptical expression answers him back. 

“I’m really serious Y/n.”

Own hands in your lap trail towards each other like opposite poles, “I’ll think about it.” 

You watch how he timidly holds the edges and opens the envelope again. Lips shaped in pout like he wonders. 

“Does it bother you if I keep it?” He asks. 

Head shake, though still confused, “No, you can keep it.” 

“Thank you.” He smiles endearingly and tucks it back between the papers and folders. 

A revelation wasn’t as horrid as you thought. Hyunjae’s was deeply embarrassing, but there’s a brief space for contemptment in your heart where anxiety wandered before. Like a visual sight of the butterfly; you look up at the auditorium and ponder over the hidden connections.

You didn’t expect anything from Juyeon; that time has passed. But his now grown up presence seems to fulfill this daily life too. 

“Did others get letters?” Juyeon breaks silence. Like always, his expression paints past the physical boundaries, and one could make out white lines of curious cat ears. 

You figure he means the “they shouldn’t have been leaked”. 

You nod and he tilts his head. Visual intrigue and anticipation from his seat, but you close off in rose pigment like tired flowers. 

“I'd rather not tell you, it’s a bit embarrassing.” You laugh and Juyeon leans back, reassuring. 

This anticipating silence doesn’t cease. It exists as a continuation, a ‘more’ before the ‘end’. One person can’t seem to leave the edge undiscovered, rather, you wait for the red thread to tie its last loop. 

“You know Eric has been looking for you? He seems to miss you a lot.” Juyeon finally says. Tone serious than anything else that left his lips. 

A stone grows between your throat, not acid. There’s no dissolving, just constant aching as you try to move. 

Juyeon continues to talk as you’re silent, “I don’t know what it is, but he’s very understanding…”

He pauses, “...and you know, cause you know him better than I do.” 

04 . CHAPTER FOUR

( tuesday, morning )

“Where’s the psychiatrist?” 

“At the library.” 

“No, I can’t talk to Juyeon anymore.” He groans. 

To drift from the flat roofs outside the window; Eric looks at Sunwoo, further the beige walls. Sunwoo’s head is deep tucked beneath the bedding; Eric crawls over from his own bed to the end of Sunwoo’s. When the weight leans towards Sunwoo’s feet, he closes the pink envelope and lets the navy sheets hide it. The cover comes off Sunwoo’s head by Eric. His face like the moon causes an eclipse over the sun and Sunwoo stares unenchanted back at it. 

“Y/n still haven't answered my messages, it’s been like three weeks!” Eric forces the pillow down. 

“I wouldn’t answer you either.” Sunwoo pats bedding over his chest while Eric throws the pillow at his side. 

They just became friends at the end of the last semester and decided to room for this year. As one’s social circles opens up in double doors whenever Eric comes; your name was one of the first he heard. Sunwoo immediately leaned intrigued at the name, but figured it was just a mere coincidence. He was bound to grow from youth and twine old names with new faces. 

Either way, destiny doesn’t exist, and he won’t take a bait from the universe. Though, Sunwoo threaded over that principle the week before uni started. He worked at the old summer camp and a letter came during the closing week. 

“To Sunwoo”, nothing else. Curiosity took the best of him and he opened the letter to see “From Y/n'' at the end of a massive paragraph. 

The universe got him this time, he admits. In how many positions has he reread the letter and dreamt of the yellow filtered summer from when he was thirteen. In truth he reminiscenced about you those summer’s after. Once reaching adulthood, he realized there was no point in yearning, it’s been years. But this late season has turned into the car ride home from that camp, still with you in vision, so close but not here.

At this point ‘Y/n’ feels like a mere fragment of his imagination; therefore he wont tell. Keep your name from any seekers and contemplate. 

After laughter; Eric plummets to the bed and looks up at the ceiling, feeling Sunwoo’s legs at his elbow. 

“I just don’t understand why she can’t talk to me.” He murmurs. 

“Did anything happen?” 

Only Juyeon knows about the letter Eric received from his best friend. A confession he has longed for since he lived in his castle (big house), but never would be granted. 

Eric thought their connection was stronger than this. Why did you send it if you weren't seeking answers? Why now, this place at this time? 

He has traced every curve of your letters; stared at facebook and mail box. Even the refrigerator at night for answers. 

Though everything the roommates did this summer; Eric can’t tell him, not yet. It’s the luminous memories coming to his ruins. Sunwoo is his presence. 

Silent melancholia climbs above the horizon together with the bleeding sun at the football field. Lines of the goals, rigid and angular, separate the pink-orange growing fragments. Breeze from east colds your heated heart while waiting on the bleachers for Hyunjae. 

You were forced to wake up; not following the united routine of the dormitory when he needed help for a training pass at dawn. But he’s not in sight. 

Half asleep leaning on the backpack, center of your lap; waiting for something holy to run past. 

World’s colors fade into abstraction behind the pupil and a small figure crosses the field. You don’t notice how it leaves the red tracks, closer to the bleachers. Same breeze that touched you passes through its shirt and by mere coincidence. He turns his head opposite from the sunrise and sees you lone illuminated. 

Sunwoo recognises the person despite different clothing. There’s an unconscious underlying characteristic in posture. Sunwoo has been entranced by his own world, but he did think a lot of the pretty girl who fell drunk out of the entrance at Jeno’s party. 

Slowly his feet take him further from the white lines. 

“You’re okay?” His voice tears the plaster away from your vision. 

To look up from the bleacher, a ruler higher than the green grass, they make eye contact. It takes a pattern of blinking but at last you speak. 

“What?” 

“I saw you at the party last Friday, I just wonder if you’re okay?” He repeats. 

A sort of second hand deja vu like nausea, spreads from the visual, coming back. Forces the parallel expression to the feeling, down and instead scratches your head. 

“Oh.” Eyes widen, “Yeah, I’m okay now, thanks.” 

Solitude pushes down into the field with the next breeze. The two of them linger in the same place though the conversation seemed to have ended long ago. You who tie eyes on the far tower of the male dormitory, look back towards him. He stands with barely knit eyebrows, two meters away. It’s not an uncomfortable stare whatsoever, rather curious as the sun rising above the world. 

You smile, “You’re trying to place me…” 

Trying destiny runs through him but nonetheless he’s taken by the sudden realization. You see how the expression unravels and a single shooting star passes the brown coloration of his left eye. 

“You’re Y/n; Y/n from summer camp?” 

You don't react as quickly and are now left blaring into the past and present and the same time. 

“We went kayaking together, don’t you remember?” He points at himself, “I’m Sunwoo.” 

The star falls in east and transcends pink orange shine throughout the campus. For a second; you would have fallen from first row down the grass field with knees bruised of embarrassment, but just in time, you realized that the address written on the letter wasn’t his, just the camp. 

“Sunwoo?” Your posture folds higher to come into view with his own. Truly there’s exciting nostalgia within. 

“I didn’t know you went here.” You say slowly. 

“Me neither.” Sunwoo laughs. 

While in awe over the struck of fate; eyes momentarily drift to the right. Another shadow cuts through the horizon and appears closer while jogging across the field. All light still shines in your eyes while standing up. They come in equal footing and quietly watch each other. He looks over behind and sees Hyunjae. Sunwoo doesn’t quite feel like leaving yet; wished they were stored a moment longer. 

His arms just barely lifts off his sides to embrace you, but the sharp sequence of Hyunjae and you strikes him at the spinal cord. Not wanting to disrupt your relationship again. 

You’re left with wide eyes as Sunwoo runs off the direction he appeared from. 

“Bye Y/n, see you around!” 

It all just played as if at two times speed. One hand lifts to wave from your side of the world while the last strands disappear beyond the goals. 

By peripheral vision, Hyunjae traces Sunwoo. Once more, there’s a torturous sensation growing between marrow bone and heart. When you look his way he feels your eyes held down on him only. 

“You never take water with you, Ice God.” 

While still a meter across, you throw the water bottle to him and he captures it perfectly. Hyunjae looks up with eye-framed windows like staring at the sun. 

“You’re close with Sunwoo?” 

Your bag falls to the ground, “We went to summer camp together, I didn’t know he studied here.” 

Briefly nod while his bag too comes down the grass. You lucid leaning onto the bleachers again–until Hyunjae starts sprinting in one place. The end strands of his hair in parallel motions and his child-like smile shine between the pauses. 

“Let’s run.” He says. 

“I have a volleyball match later.” Back falls to the second and third row as you complain. 

He laughs and takes your wrist, “Running helps with stress.” 

White ribbons knitted along the green corners; they jog the red track field and do a few rounds. Each passage closest to the bleachers you see the shadows diagonally downgrade across the seats. 

Despite having their lungs barely reaching air; Hyunjae persists in conversation. It presses from Earth towards your upper body as you unconsciously choose words before steps. But Hyunjae too seems incredibly out of breath for someone that trains as much as he does. 

You won’t admit it just yet–if ever–that his company is actually enjoyable. 

He lingers across the sport’s center until the shift has ended, and talks to you in insignificant states. In one way; your long shadow at the end of your feet feels guilty. An idea of a self serving dude with too much attention. In truth; he laughs a lot. 

“When’s the game?” Hyunjae asks as their feet come out of synch. 

They stand still catching breath. 

“At three.” You sigh and start walking to the bleachers. 

“Then, I’ll skip this lesson.” Hyunjae stands next to you. 

He takes out the water bottle you gifted him. Presence from your side lingers on him as he drinks, and he raises his eyebrows at the long look. 

“You don’t have to come though.” The lines above eyes cross in a slight perplexed X. 

“You were at my game last time, I should come to.” Hyunjae smiles gently. 

( tuesday, afternoon )

“Need to go to the toilet; nervousness makes me pee.” 

‘21’ in bold font disappears behind the bended wall. You direct towards people in fitted shirts as patterns before the teal walls.

It’s not usual for you to be nervous before games; nor to be completely absorbed by else’s. Now you’re unconventionally a bit more dreamy. The halo in your eyes, up at the sky and shoulder’s slack as if moon-touched. Your teammates pointed it out too when you didn’t answer after ‘Y/n!’. 

Sunwoo reentered your life this morning. The boy that had caused such a heartbreak it was unbelievable. And despite your time changes, you found yourself counting the star constellations he told you that summer. 

This sort of unending chase starts again, that the letters dated to the old camp will find its way to him. Like a foolish child's secret. 

You also wonder why Hyunjae was so persistent on going to your match. One could thread through the interactions and guess he’s become comfortable in your life too. But there’s a brief self reflection. You neither rejected him to come or encouraged. Maybe you want someone up on the bleachers shouting your name, even if it’s not Eric. 

Wooden floor reflects the studio lights like water. Eyes wanders immediately from teammates up to the bleachers. Blue plastic seats on row, to the very windows where it barely collides with the roof. There’s a few silhouettes in groups up on the high rows. Everyone waving their hands to someone, not you. 

When you see number 21 stop before the white line and bring her arm high up to one standing; you suddenly regret not messaging Eric. Though, just as fast; he maybe wouldn’t even have showed up? 

One loud whistle comes from the left; your head directs off the green line tracing vertically. Sees teammates reach their hand out for you to the ring building at the side of the rectangular room. On the opposite, mirrors like theirs in green shirts, they gather.

Thin water like bubbles trace down the narrow row from your temples. All these bubbles that have accumulated beneath the shirt, down knees and threading your throat like a transparent necklace. 

Once the last whistle soars across ceiling; you return to the corner of teammates. Someone touches your arm while running for water; a teammate smiles sincerely but exhausted. 

When shoes are in line with the white painted diagonal; your name chants above all noise. From the floor, your eyes see Hyunjae coming down the blue seats. You aren’t able to reiterate his name before arms of his own wrap around shoulders. 

The invincible spot of cologne sits beneath his shoulder blade. Evoking gently as your chin, supported by the broad shoulder. You hesitantly hug him back and try to look at his face but only reaches his ear. 

Suddenly you feel a bit insecure. 

“I’m really sweaty, Hyunjae.” You laugh awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” His hands retrites without walking back. 

Lips curve to gentle his face and the eyes like porcelain. 

“, and it fits you.” 

A strand falls before your eyes; tucked in by his hands like a dove’s wing. 

Once the match heat flush red, another round of pigment paints your cheeks. There’s no hinder above your eyes left, but still you shake your head and cough; all while Hyunjae still smiles. 

“Thank you, Jaehyun.” 

His expression, more blinding than the long lights above. It’s impossible to not curl up before. You have a certain love for looking away when adoration blooms like spring season on him. Somehow you seemed to have missed when he came to the bleachers too. 

It’s quiet, but Hyunjae still feels like hearing your voice. 

He starts, “You did grea-”

“Y/n!” 

A voice so deeply teared apart and assembled within your mind, that it exists stored in the furthest corners. There’s a certain nerve created just to react to that tone fall, you believe. 

With eyes widened and fingers loosen from each other; you pierce towards the blue door. People still run past your double vision, but for a second the world stopped. 

Eric stands with hands in the blue frame. The universe must’ve heard that wish you prayed before, and in some way, full of relief and exhaustion, you’re happy it did. Eric is visually as hesitant as you, bearing fear and soft in heart pulses. 

“Sorry, Hyunjae, it’s something important.” You jog up to the double door determined. With one last glance to the bleachers, “See you later! …Thanks for coming!” 

Confinement exists excruciating; you hoped it was just the sunbleached walls with square hole windows that trapped them. But not even the open atmosphere, heaven to the infinite universe could save them from what’s been left unsaid. 

Eric asked while passing doors “I have messaged you for two weeks, why didn’t you answer?”. You could only look at him for a second before turning to the open field. His expression begs of confusion, but truly you think he knows why. 

It’s silent. Wind from east campus brushes between the grass. You become the only thing stagnant along the heavy constructions weighing down on Earth as Eric walks up the bleachers. Blue faded denim pockets console his hands as he holds sight on his converse before white plastic. 

“You didn’t even tell me you had a game today.” He refuses to make eye contact. 

Head falls low; everythings to remind you that guilt is the heaviest matter on Earth. 

Theoretically, it’s supposed to be useless feeling alone or unloved with a person like Eric. Sometimes you catch yourself staring in mirrors to search for another pair of eyes. But it’s hard to be miserable when Eric’s been a phone call away. 

It was lonely without you, but I pushed you away. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally say. 

It’s the only thing you get out as you walk up the bleachers. Together on the second row; they watch the green grass and its maroon building boxes. A mellow sun on the edge of disappearing while the land continues flat forever. A wind of different temperature while the concrete still radiates warmth. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you Eric.” You speak again. 

Their shoes in different font over the white row; you look at them before his side appears in the same position as you. They make eye contact in what feels timeless and it trips on your heart. 

“I was-” 

“It’s oka-” 

There’s silence as they stare at each other; anticipating the other. Though the ink period of the passage becomes laughter as their shoulders collide like the southern and north pole. It ends up being Eric who speaks. 

“You’re forgiven.” He smiles and Earth sighs of relief with you. 

The two poles of their angular edge bind them gently. North and south diasporas sit in silence, whispers of the flat city come from all directions and it smells like grass or nothing in particular. 

A closed connection where everything flows freely without hinder; you had nearly forgotten about that feeling. 

Courage drapes whatever embarrassment was left in you. To breathe in before honest confession. That you love him deeply still, though any romanticized visions are of the past. 

As you think of it; a part of the old self frees and runs with you back towards the grass field. 

“I actually like you too, Y/n.” 

It hitches in your throat. 

“You don’t have to answer yet.” His smile reeks of cotton candy, and the hand on her shoulder before he leaves radiates in puddles like theme parks. 

“I’ll wait for you, princess!” Eric shouts with his hand in his pockets before turning his back. The same nickname he’s called you since seven, never understanding why. 

The stark contour of the real world fades as he disappears towards the dormitory until he’s just a mere dot. 

It’s still warm, but summer has made one privileged. You feel like wearing a jacket as your old self now takes the empty space beside. 

05 . CHAPTER FIVE 

( thursday, afternoon )

Ji Changmin has never been great at sport, and that’s never with a big N. Last night the breaking news of a 2 day beach party got delivered by the infamous friend group, and of course, everyone would be playing the mandatory volleyball games. 

Changmin took his backpack and ran, hoping Eric would be too busy arguing with someone else to notice the empty chair. But at last, Changmin walked up the dormitory corridor with Eric hanging from his left calf like chained. Desperately begging that it wouldn’t be the same if everyone doesn’t come. 

One thing led to the other and every dorm heard a passing march of footsteps to the other end. Changmin was running after Eric whilst he screamed of absolute terror (traumatized from the year before when changmin chased him down the campus, drunk). In a last attempt of escape; Eric jumped Juyeon’s room and made a borderline olympic leep down the bedding before Juyeon processed the door had been opened. 

Like the unofficial therapist he is; Juyeon told Changmin he has a friend in the volleyball team that can teach him this afternoon so as to not embarrass himself completely. 

And that’s how you stand in the same hall; wide eyed and chills growing like rose stems it might strangle you. Though, you could’ve been more embarrassed as Changmin looks about the same. 

With an aggressive tilt to your shoulder while eyelids reach your eyebrows; a firm stare directed at Juyeon. Quietly it signals “what the fuck didn’t you tell me it was Changmin?!”. 

He doesn’t get it. 

“...and he’s really bad.” Juyeon ends while smiling. 

“I’m not that bad.” Changmin side eyes the taller one; also in search for some backup. 

“Yes, you are silly.” His eyes crease in turn with the ends of his lips. From the right side, his hands come up to ruffle the sprout of Changmin’s head. 

All three compiled the net up. You had no interest in bringing up the letter for either Changmin or Juyeon; therefore you rigid and pale served the first shot. 

But thankful for Juyeon’s excitement and obliviousness (surprising) to the reunion he just set up; the tension wore off Changmin’s shoulder and your pigments returned. 

All would rotate between the two sides of the net. You would purse lips to a thin line and turn the plastic of your shoes on the hard floor before running up to Changmin to show him how to serve. At first you stood a little less than a meter behind him; shoved gestures in the air to somehow manipulate his own body to do the same movements. But at last you went up to him, held his hand like gentle rain. 

There was not a bruise or patterns of shades on his palms. Either he’s absolutely addicted to hand cream or those text books of his must enchant his skin while turning pages. 

Changmin felt fragile like all ancient history when you showed him. He tried to be quiet, shyly only talking to Juyeon, but couldn’t help but let out shrieks every time he missed or won. It was just like board games at the dinner table when their parents whispered in the other room. 

You suddenly shout, “Move!” 

Juyeon’s on the opposite side of the two and forced the ball up to the roof with neck breaking power. 

You see how Changmin doesn’t; instead glued to the floor with knees rigid and his hands come up in chest length as if it will save him. You desperately swing your shoulder to the right, but all actions are in vain when their foreheads collide. Force acts up on them and leads them to the ground. Swear it was visible stars circling both heads. 

As the collision wears off and presence hits you as a second impact; terrified you watch Changmin between own two arms down the floor. Legs have his stomach tied to the flooring; 

where in all directions you are. And when they both blushes of embarrassment; Changmin’s hands come a little higher up his chest. 

“You’re supposed to chase the ball.” You stutter and hastily push up from him but miserably fails as the clothing material slips on the floor. 

“I’m sorry-” 

Changmin, just as terrified, apologizes while pushing himself off the floor. One way and two directions; they shut their eyes painfully as the point between their eyebrows hit each other again. One step further down his stomach.

“You didn’t even tell me we had started.” Changmin complains and holds his forehead, looking at Juyeon who climbs under the net. 

You slide off him; knees supporting any weight while at the end of his calves. Great silence from the tunnel system in the high ceiling expands over the yellow walls. It scratches in their throats that you cough. It was enough to crack the tension layered like a glass dome. 

“I don’t feel the same, Y/n.” Changmin sits up. 

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh because you know what he means without asking. Fingers left racing the floor.

“Old story; you were not supposed to get it, I’m sorry.” Guiltily purse lips in, “Also, sorry for falling on you.” 

Suddenly gentle, his legs come over in crisscross and he leans closer to your figure. 

“Yeah…it’s fine.” He confirms in same tone, “Though, I appreciate it. The letter.” 

He pauses. 

“...I had no idea.” Changmin admits.

You laugh, “Really? I was super obvious.” 

“You think so?” He skeptically smiles. 

To bring your arms to an imaginable table and articulate, “I literally held my arms over the textbooks to lean over to you..” 

“I just thought you were a bad listener.” Changmin smiles, bothered, like he always does.  

They both laugh. 

Another shine made by the sun outside draws with a ruler down the yellow wall. It has an angular cut in where it has a darker wooden frame just above the floor. Like the highlight is a window to the midsummers of one’s childhood; you dare to hold eyes open and watch. 

They used to sit at the dining table where the pattern cloth folds at your knees. Because you were way too shy to invite him behind your room door. Sometimes, laughs loud enough for them to hear came from the living room where both their mom’s sat. Mostly they whispered; never understood why. 

When they were younger, he was mostly intimidating. So much taller and just his glasses felt like a sign of great intelligence. But truly his personality held some sort of shine you believed was a leftover from some ancient spell along the yellow fields. 

With their families having dinner sometimes; the two of them used to play board or card games late into the afternoon when the adults still sat along the dinner table. You didn’t want to invite your brother when you finally had time to talk to Changmin without it being about math, but he was way too nice to leave him out. 

“Is your cat good?” Changmin asks suddenly, “Or is he dead?” He knits his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, he’s dead.” Smiles and thinks of how Scuba Steve, in his orange white complexion used to jump into Changmin’s lap while he was tutoring. And when he talked to him so sweetly and petted him along the long fur; her teenage self used to dream about their future (delusion). 

“It feels like he liked everyone more than me.” You admit while leaning into your palm. 

“I’m sure he liked you too.” He laughs. 

“Are you going to the beach party?” Changmin suddenly asks, “You’re close with Eric, right?” He knits his eyebrows, “Aren’t you together with Jaehyun too?” 

“No, no, no, I’m not with Jaehyun.” You fall back to the floor and hands melt down your face. 

“Don’t tell him I said that though.” You add, “But no, I’m not going.” 

“Why not?” 

Visions from the past weeks pass like a bad trailer and you close your eyes. Sunwoo and Eric run across the field in a sort of evangelical light and Hyunjae in the far corner.

You sort of lie, “It’s complicated. I don’t want to meet Eric.” 

Changmin stands up, “I’m only going if you do.” 

“Don’t do this.” You complain. 

“No, whatever’s going on, we’re fixing it now.” He takes your shoulder and forces you up. You whine again and try to make the weight fall back to Earth. 

“I’m fighting volleyball and you’re fighting Eric, great!” He cheers.

There was a lot more than Eric you had to fight this weekend. 

The ball goes flying in their direction again. It lands on Changmin’s head and forces his glasses to the floor. They both look to the right and see Juyeon stand awkwardly upright, hands hanging like leaves as he longs for the ball. 

“I missed.” He deadpan. 

You take the ball and look at Changmin. He smiles knowingly before you both rush at Juyeon. 

( friday, morning )

“Do you want some?” 

Your head turns to the right where the sun shines through the glass brighter. It ceases through the back of his loose strands like the tree crowns from summer camp. 

When you came down to the bus station, Changmin waved at you from a stack of backpacks piled like a mountain. Juyeon stood slightly behind and followed the shoerter’s movements. You asked them if they plan on moving with that; Changmin answered it was Juyeon’s and Eric’s bags. He had–while straightening his posture–just taken the necessary. 

When all had arrived, you got a third row seat at the back beside Sunwoo. You had met again on campus. It turned out between all those words that both were going to the party this weekend. You mentioned how you’re mainly here as Changmin’s emotional support.

Sunwoo– a little horrified– told you he’ll have eyes in the back of his neck for this trip. Hyunjae, Eric or anyone else for that matter could come up from behind and throw hsi poor body in the water. With both in desperate situations, they jokingly built a pact to have each other’s back on this trip. 

So when you sit beside Sunwoo, and look down the space created against the armrest where he reaches out a pink package. He shakes it and you smile before taking a hand off the backpack. 

“You stole my pocky?” 

Tearing away from that space; they look behind the red seat to see Eric leaned over the two. He pierces down at Sunwoo with a dumbfounded O of his lips and starts pointing at the roots of Sunwoo’s hair which he ducks away from. 

“I didn’t steal it.” He defends. 

“It’s mine, I bought it this morning.” Eric looks at you, begging for sympathy, “Now I have no snacks.” 

“You said you weren’t going to eat them.” Sunwoo hides them. 

“They’re mine!” Eric hangs down the seat. Immediately you take the edge of his sleeve as if he’ll fall on you. 

“You’re gonna eat them now?” Sunwoo taunts, “Take the jelly grapes.” He throws out a plastic package from his bag while still chewing. 

“Let’s split it.” Eric deadpans while holding out his palm. 

“I’ll buy you one later.” Sunwoo repeat. 

Eric laughs from above, “You literally just asked Y/n!” He points. 

Sunwoo gets quiet for a second; looks up et Eric, before back at Y/n. 

“Can’t you just eat the grapes?” He shakes the package up in Eric’s face. 

Feet fall back to the floor, the row behind them and Eric, still dumbfounded, points at Sunwoo while stunned searches for assent in you. 

“He’s shameless.” Eric sits down. 

Where the dense complexes only ends when shore starts, the bus ride isn’t long. Despite constant traffic, conversations over the unconscious roaring of the bus engine; you resisted the falling weight of eyelids but at last, gave in. The last minutes when blue hues start to form between the windows and houses lined up against the sand. Head falls onto Sunwoo’s shoulder. 

Changes surprises him, but just as immediately he gently falls back into his seat and your head comes between his neck like the last piece of a 100 puzzle. How could he describe the violent but gentle flutter that grows from a part in his chest and blooms into all directions. And when each stem leaves its youth and creates rosen petals at his fingertips; the playlist in his headphones changes song. 

A melody of 80s slow paced rhythm and a voice soft like silk; lies over the muted woven chorals and yellow of the beach houses. Tiny flowers in perfect composition, like a trail across each street and when he sees the roof of the largest beach houses, just below the shore; Sunwoo wishes the bus would take one more round. 

He dares to look down.  He has seen this image before. All those movie nights in the dining room at summer camp evening. When he rushed to take the seat beside you before anyone else. And towards the end of the long hour you couldn’t keep your eyes open and leaned just like now, on his shoulder. It’s been so long but it doesn’t feel like a season has passed since that summer when he sees your hand lightly touching his own. 

“You need sunscreen, Jaehyun!” You wave the blue plastic tube while slipping down the sand. Hyunjae looks over his shoulder, smirking questionably to her while you come closer. 

“You’ll get skin cancer.” You squint when the blue sky shines behind him. 

“You do it then.” He smiles. 

Holding hands above your eyes, hoping it’ll cease all rosen blushes, “I’m not your mom.” 

“Please, Y/n.” He shakes your forearms, pouting. At first your own hands come up to his chest to force him off, but retrites like touching a hot stove as he’s shirtless. 

“Okay, okay.”

Overarching sand, up to the wooden porch, frees from the rest when they walk up. Hyunjae quickly takes the lead when he jumps up on fixed ground and takes a seat on the edge of the porch. How he wiggle his legs like an excited child while smiling so brightly; you didn’t know he could. You fall to knees behind him and awkwardly look over his hair. 

“Can’t you just do it yourself?” Sun highlights his skin from above. The sharp points of his shoulders, down to his arms, seem soothing against the sharp sand. That specific smell of sunscreen, so deeply ingrained into summer, trace along the porch. Your palm hesitantly moves back and forth between the flexed spot of his shoulder. 

“Just do it, Angel.” Hyunjae looks back at you encouragingly, but you quickly lie the cold sunscreen on his skin to divert him. In the clear summer sun spotlight, your cheeks luminates of struck pink. 

“Ah, it’s cold.” Hyunjae’s shoulder rises up and you continue soothing it in one hand. 

“Don’t complain.” You try to sound normal. 

They got along more than you originally thought. Hesitant to calling people friends, but you guess that's what they are. Though, friends shouldn’t blush of nervousness from innocent touch, right? Especially when Hyunjae leans back further into your hand, and you wonder if it’s wrong. 

At the same time; Eric peeks from the doors to the beach house. He tries to convince himself he’s longingly looking at the open shore, but it’s merely a background to Hyunjae and you.

It’s not that you’re lying, he thinks. You looked more than authentic that day, he asked if they were together and you denied. It’s not a competition, but still he feels a burn coming from another direction than the sun when your hands go to his neck and Hyunjae laughs from tickling. 

“Y/n!” 

You turn from Hyunjae and see Eric coming closer. All that in one motion, you forgot about the painfully obvious red of your face. It isn’t until Eric’s eyes widens and he falls in height to take your left cheek. 

“You’ve burned yourself, Y/n.” Eric traces with his thumb the rose colors of your essence and  to feel it coming off your skin, embarrassingly paint your soul. At this point,  nervousness would leak out from your skin, but by Eric’s and Hyunjae’s wide eyes and open mouths; they’re completely oblivious to their work. 

“N-” Stuttering out the beginning of a no; you stop suddenly as there’s no good excuse for the color. 

“Let me help you.” Hyunjae reaches for the tube down the wood and you immediately try back from Eric’s gentle palms. 

“No, no, no, it’s just heat.” 

“Water.” Eric wants to get you on foot, take you to the kitchen. 

“You need a cold bath.” Hyunjae says quickly after and without looking at Eric takes you in bridal style. Hand lets go of Eric’s and he’s left standing as you in panic tries to convince Hyunjae to turn away from shore. Hyunjae laughs while shouting that you’ll overheat.

It’s a dark seemingly normal, but guilty jealousy Eric watches the older one throw his best friend down the water. You’re quick on your feet again, and start chasing Hyunjae further down. Laughs come from that side while Eric tears his eyes off the new waves; clench his fist because frustration might visibly leak out his skin, and turn back to the house to take his mind off. 

It was only a limited amount of sups, you shared one with Changmin. They had agreed to alt the paddle in interval, but it was you who ended up dragging them both along the surface while Chnagmin sat behind, criticizing the solo sups. 

His victim was mainly Juyeon who traversed the first ocean layer for a good minute playing God until he lost balance. The entire group laughed while he tried to climb up. At the same time Sunwoo laughed so hard he was second to fall in. 

Changmin did well, all things considered, when it was beach volleyball. Juyeon and you cheered on him. That brought him enough confidence to stand at the front. Which wasn’t his greatest moment as he fell head first into the net. 

Sun’s, fleetly asleep above the horizon. All those hours of shine still left like a memory in the sand while four of them still play, the rest swimming, taken a seat with the group who grills or in the house. Laughter with the waves collide, creating a divide of foam. Breeze ensues their hearts. 

It smells of garlic smoked marinade from behind once the ball comes over again. Though at first refusing to go, you’re still thankful for Changmin who desperately forced a game over either way. 

Soon there’s food and you sit on the porch once again. Sunset like a filter over the shore and its houses, maybe the heart too. 

“I have some for you.” 

You look up at who you thought was Eric, with a brightly printed paper plate, gathered of the same choices since childhood. But you blink once, realize it’s Sunwoo. He takes the space beside where only vague music accompanied earlier. 

“Oh, thank you, Sunwoo.” You smile and take the second plate. 

“No worries.” He bends down to eat a bite of his own food. 

A scenery in fleeting composition, scattered of dust passes through the peripheral. 

“I remember you used to take food to me back then too.” Unconscious of the tender light you hold while tracing the oil leaking across plastic shine. 

“Yeah,” He looks at his chicken, “Cause you were always busy sorting stones.” 

You scoff, “Why? You’re judging my hobbies?” 

“No,” He answer truthfully, “It was cute.” 

“My stones?” You tilt. 

“You.” 

Sunwoo’s voice is monotone like it wasn’t supposed to blemish your heart like the orange and dark blue sky divide. The bones across your shoulders and hover over chest convulse in like wings of the delighting butterflies. 

Sunwoo looks up from the food, “I don’t really remember how your stones looked.” 

You smile and take a bite, “I guess that’s why I married you back then.” 

Still confined between your own frame to prevent any sheer wings of escape; you miss how his ears perked up together with his horrible posture. Him in his sharp complexion becomes adorably curious. 

“You remember that?” He says surprised. 

“Of course.” She says as if it’s obvious. Sunwoo looks down at the sand as if to see the smitten reflection of his face in them. 

“I actually didn’t think you’d remember.” He says quietly. 

Another song on the playlist comes on and a group of people rush beside them. Jumping off the porch; their silhouettes darken in pink contrast as water evaporates on their burnt arms. 

Sunwoo dares to look to your side; still eating and it further reminds him of times in circles when they sat next to each other. Something absurd with seeing you again like this. For some nameless reason you have lived all these years as a little girl in his memories, constantly visiting when summer’s approaching. Now you're here, finally at the same age. 

He knows he shouldn’t advance, shouldn’t take a step closer on the porch. Since behind him just some meters further, Hyunjae sits. How adoringly he thinks of Hyunjae because he has you unconditionally by one side. 

“I remember you told me about the stars.” You suddenly say. 

Sunwoo looks at you then the skies, vaguely guilty that there's nothing's left to see yet.

He smiles,  “Damn, I can’t see them, otherwise I would’ve told you about them again.”

You hold head tilted at his side while his eyes still squint for a light away to hit them, “You can show me later.” 

 You don't know what has crawled into you lately, but it’s dependent and has zero abstinence. 

As if the hangover from last week wasn’t enough to convince you; you’re drunk once again (this time in the kitchen). Juyeon worriedly came over, asking if you’re always this bad with alcohol. In turn you took his shoulders dramatically and said no, shaking him. 

And you weren't the only one. In the same vein, at another window by the house; Eric found Sunwoo staring dead into the reflection. When asked what he was doing, Sunwoo simply replied he’s staring at bird shit and laughing like it was the funniest thing. 

Most people are still outside. Fairy lights might look like fireflies in this state as it cradles lightly from night weather. As people cross the sand it changes patterns. It lays a plastic cup further away which Eric runs to pick up. You don't know what song is playing when the high frame expands as walls in all directions, but you think it’s good. 

“Can you dance?” You look at Sunwoo. He turns confusingly with bad posture from the bird shit. An awkward beat drop passage muffled by the walls takes the silence. 

Suddenly you jump up to him in another rhythm than the beat. Smiles wholeheartedly while waving arms.

“I can’t.” You answer your own questions and do a spin. 

Sunwoo’s hangs down its sides like towels over the branches. You reflect in highlights by his porcelain eyes. He must look extremely out of it as the pupils can’t concentrate on the shifting lights and his amused smile. But you couldn’t tell. 

You force his tired arms up in an awkward rocking-back-and-forth swing. He laughs that his teeth show when you start complaining how he’s stiffer than the expensive couch behind them. 

“Let’s tango.” You take his arms and they start circling around the room with either hand on their shoulders and next in each other’s clasp, straight forward. Sunwoo’s laugh overpowers the music as they nearly collide with the couch. Through the window frame they must look like a middle school couple. 

And as if galactic alignment was truly divine; the next song on the playlist slows to a vintage soundtrack as if from an old romcom. They’re still laughing when the circles haste and all weight stills on the carpet lining. 

They’re so drunk, Sunwoo can’t hold himself when your face comes so close. 

“You know…” He starts. 

“No.” You deadpan.

“Don’t speak.” Sunwoo complains and you fall one step backwards from laughing. 

“You know, we’ve reached our 11th marriage anniversary.” He smiles drunkenly, “I think I deserve a kiss for surviving our long distance.” 

“You haven’t even shown me the stars yet.” You whine and curl his hand in a weird way. 

“I know, I know.” He screws his eyes, it looks like it hurts.

“Just give me a kiss and we’ll go outside.” He purses his lips out. 

“Can you even name the constellations still?” You knit your eyes. 

“Of course, there’s Little bear.” Sunwoo points at your nose. You contract your head and watch his finger tip with big eyes. 

“I’m actually a Capricorn.” 

Sunwoo’s lips curve harder as his head falls between the space created from their chests. You watch the root pattern of his hair before he comes up again. 

“You’re really cute.” He smiles. 

You can’t help clasp his hands and twine fingers even harder, “Really?” 

He nods that his fringe follows. 

“Am I cute too?” Sunwoo asks, leaning in.

You think, rolling your eyes slowly, “No.” 

He pouts with big eyes. 

“Again,” He flicks your nose lightly. 

“Me or the flowers?” Sunwoo points at a vase beside the couch. You turn over your shoulder to see the arrangement of pink blemishes with white roots. 

You pretend to think, “Hmm.” 

There’s a anticipation like a butterfly on the last leaf, flickering its sheer patterned wings before taking off. Just like that, it pulses of thousand wings in both your hearts. All as Sunwoo lean in closer. Fingers laced through the other like silk and he pulls you closer by them. When the heat accumulated in the chests collide, with your lips merely touching his own. The tension weighs heavy, it might impend on the room. 

The door from the kitchen beside them forces open. 

Both Sunwoo and you loosen the lace and throw yourself onto the couch. A painful thud erupts from the back rest when Sunwoo crashes nape first. Your condition is in dangerous state, therefore you land about 10 centimeters too short and glide off the couch to the floor. 

When the outer door closes and Eric passes by the frame, he sees Sunwoo decked out; arms hanging lifelessly and his mouth opened, supported by the backrest. 

The cup in his hand nearly topples over when he rushes to stand it on any flat surface. It pulses through the floor when Eric comes down to you. A cold hand from all the ice soothes your forehead and you look up to see Eric’s fringe like a sheer curtain before his eyes. 

“You’re okay?” He asks worriedly, “How much have you drunk?” 

Eric takes your arm and scolds you gently. As you stand up you incoherently try to defend yourself, but quit abruptly as Sunwoo comes into the story. 

Eric guided you up to the bedroom’s at second floor, leaving Sunwoo to die. 

“Eric?” You lie down. 

“Mm?” He flatten out the sheet above you. 

“I forgot.” 

Eric snorts, “Really?” 

“Mm.” You insist. 

Two essence divided between the mattress line in the mit; still staring at the same ceiling. Eric never leaves your side; instead insists on talking about nothing and everything while time wraps in a 4th dimension of one's mind until you can’t rhetorically answer “Mm?”. 

Eric finally ceases to babble when shifting his head to your side. The pillows bud like a flower on his cheek when his body completely draws to your field. He knows you will probably feel like shit tomorrow morning, but for now you lie neatly above the creases like white flower of a heaven’s cross field. 

The incredible magnetic field of your essence seems to draw in more admirers than just himself, Eric understands. He barely convinces himself that the letter is an eventual sign of their destined love, but just barely. 

I can’t know who you dream about as you sleep soundly right now, he thinks while admiring. A face or two flashes before him and Eric sits up. Quietly look at the framed picture on the wall before back down at you. 

For now, he’s in denial. 

Eric takes one hand off your side to lay on your stomach. His bare fingertips dare to soothe out nothing’s on the cheek just to feel your warmth. He hesitates for a second, but before fully walking off the bed and closing the door; he bends down to kiss your cheek, just gently. 

06 . CHAPTER SIX 

( monday, midday )

The day has finally come–or not come as in an anticipated date set in stone from the past–rather Hyunjae woke up and felt courage. The last weeks they’ve seen each other nearly every afternoon, and for each time he imagines himself having persuaded you a little closer. And the last beach party seems to have been the silver lining for his confidence to finally confess how he feels. 

This afternoon they will meet on the track field for some regular training, but what you don't know is that he will be asking you to be his girlfriend, seriously this time. 

Though, between the lecture times, staring at strangers from the row tables; he consciously realized he doesn’t quite know what you like. Or of course, he knows you like astrology, biology, cat’s, exercising but just enough that you can walk guilt free home to the bed. That you always walk around with a first aid kit, and like a mother bandage burnt skin or wrecked ankles. 

But none of that is of use when your heart is supposed to flutter at his mere sight this afternoon. 

So at a table in the cafeteria; Hyunjae takes the opposite chair of a round table where Eric sits alone. Enticed in his own world; he jumps when the chair creaks of his weight. 

Hyunjae figured it was just to ask Eric, your best friend for advice. The older may stand a ruler inferior in emotion to Eric than Juyeon, but nonetheless they have spent many house parties together, jumping off the high roof or throwing pillows at the third. 

Eric always looks at him with a smile, nearly identical to his own. But right now, the red blisters' contours wave lower than what it usually does. His eyes adverts between the sad glass divide over the sandwiches and Hyunjae. But the older forces it in an identical manner to the left. 

Eric nonchalantly told him he doesn’t know what you would romantically like from him. Hyunjae complained saying he should know since they’re best friends, but Eric reiterates his line, “Yeah, just friends.” 

Hyunjae doesn’t cease from the chair, neither his voice. Eric looks at the sandwiches again and guilty bruises his fingers underneath the table. In Eric’s eyes; Hyunjae could win over anyone by just slowly articulate every crook of their name. 

It’s not to admit that he’s threatened, Eric thinks. To rationalize the frustration he theorize Hyunjae hasn’t taken enough of a time to get to know you. 

Eric’s never been evil. His moral compass holds him on the sane lane; even when emotions begs to pull the other way. But right now, while in silence, the magnetic field of the Earth pulls on the arrows. 

“Okay.” Eric puts down the drink. Hyunjae leans in attentively. 

“She wants a big, HUUGE confession. You know, those in rom coms where the guy comes out with a huge boombox and gives her flowers and has a big sign.” Eric takes his arms up in the, above his chest in height with his hair. To visually stun him he waves his hands down like confetti and shakes a hypothetical boombox. All while Hyunjae’s expression all visually gets more nervous.

“Okay.” He walks up without looking at Eric. Head deep down the floor as if thinking. 

( monday, afternoon )

The white streaks wrapped as a present lining across the field is the same as every time he walks past. But even when the scenery is familiar to his conscious, the heart anxiously breathes in quick patterns. It causes invincible scratches at the inner side of his hands while his eyes can’t hold a scene for longer than a second. There’s a couple walking past the fields down the west campus; Hyunjae’s head follows them until their backs are a mere blemish along the sidewalk. 

With his hand tightly knitted behind his back he looks at the grass growing up from under his shoes. Suddenly he looks up again. 

Like the world just ended; the sun’s growing, tearing all the accessible and it rounds the golden halo. You’re just left in trance watching how it all beautifully collapses. That’s what your presence does to his troubled heart when your upper body comes up the staircase. 

You wave with your free hand as you see him at the center of the rectangular land. Hyunjae doesn’t mirror it, instead refuses to change any position. You tilt your head in wonder for a moment, but nonetheless carry on towards his figure, until there’s just a meter across. 

“Hi, Jaehyun.” You say gently. 

“Hi, Y/n.” He shifts his head so that a part of hsi fringe falls forward. 

You turn to see his side profile, as if he’s sick. With concerned woven shape of your face, you ask, “Are you okay?” 

An awkward tenderness in his fronting psyche. To touch his shoulder might cause it to splinter in its frozen preserved state. Hyunjae clasps his hands that’s still behind; gaze your face as if though you were the first he’s ever seen. 

Silence insists to frustratingly exist after your question. 

When a scene of the entire world, flipped in your eye; he breathes in and falls with one to the grass. His hand trails as if cold to the pocket and takes out his phone, turning the speaker outlet in your higher direction. 

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world, Y/n?” 

A bouquet in pastel silk tightly concealed in a ribbon of a darker shade. 

“Hold on.” Hyunjae drops the mobile to the ground; the music practically disappears as it swallows by the grass. 

All eyes on the thin space of his front pocket as he struggles to let loose the bits of red paper. At last some gather in his palm and he throws it up in the air as enthusiastically one can without a canon. The flowers now fully extended as the last bits of craft paper adorn his head. 

A sore spot on his left knee aches under this weight. The teeth of his smile, slowly together as he bear witness to your expression, blinking cause your lips are opened but stunned. Though he can’t read good or horrible. As he starts tilting from instability he clenches the flowers tightly. 

“I didn’t find a boombox, and the party store was closed.” Hyunjae looks behind you instead of up. Embarrassingly wonder if you would have wanted a grand confession in the college cafeteria. He won’t say it, but in all honesty he didn’t have the guts for that. 

It feels like you’ve seen this scene before; in some movie lost to time, you’re sure it has crossed you once. The sad petals taken by the wind, fallen on his shoulders or thread beneath your feet. But still might be the most soft of all thousand interactions of your life. 

Hyunjae seems embarrassed, you can’t fully tell; he looks at you from passages but sways towards the right at the end. How the past and present crashes at once to see him fully and clearly without cover. He’s such a vision that this should flutter all the lonely parts in the arch marrow body, but nothing goes off. 

It’s like standing on the fourth of may, but no fireworks light up. 

You finally smile gently, still eyes on Hyunjae. His expression waits for even a whisper, but instead a hand crosses between the fragile space. Yours takes his wrists, behind where the fingers cross the stems. Gently tugging him up from the grass as the last bits of paper rock down his shoulders. 

“It’s really lovely, Jaehyun.” You smile and he’s finally up. 

The space opens again. 

“But I can’t.” You look at him as both lips synchronize withers. 

“I’m sorry.” 

A heavy wind brushes past; lies a weight on your hearts. Hyunjae, who has never once been the one pushed away, hears lone footsteps echo in the boned structure. It’s a bit embarrassing, it’s a bit sad; he feels like he maybe shouldn’t have said anything. 

You see in full vision how his mind travels elsewhere. Still with flowers and the barely audible mobile that now has changed track to a mellow love song of 80s nostalgia. How depressing everything suddenly became. 

“I still like you, Jaehyun,” You break the silence, “You were honestly a lot nicer than I originally thought.” 

He looks up. 

You smile weakly, “When I saw you on campus I thought you flirted with every woman and acted all big.” You gesture with your shoulders and Hyunjae laughs slightly. 

“But you’re actually very kind.” 

He reaches out the flowers once again. You look up at him with eyes, x-ed expression. 

“It’s still your flowers, I want you to have them.” He says gently. 

You hesitate but he shakes them in front of you. Once loosen on the tensioned shoulders; you take one hand out for the stems and look at them closely. Deeply pink with faded inner circles. 

( wednesday, afternoon ) 

That table at the cafeteria where they always meet has been occupied two days in a row. You come by between classes and yearn through the window, but at last; there’s always a shirt in a color Eric wouldn’t wear sitting in his place. 

At the changing distance through the evening, at the lone table beside your bed; all those papers in painful yellow highlight, tire sore eyes and vision yearns for the computer at the other side. Watch the letter box they communicate through everyday, but is now quiet. 

You’ve messaged Sunwoo through facebook; asked him why Eric ceased from Earth. He answered through digital letters that he’s busy, but truthfully Sunwoo knows better than anyone Eric scatters to avoid you. Eric won’t fully admit why; the closest to a confession Sunwoo got was a bleak understanding of inner guilt over something. 

“You’re sad.” 

You turn to the left where Juyeon sits with curious eyes before the library shelves. Side by side at the communal computers; he has watched you stare at the search page for four minutes without intervention. 

“Do you want to go and see the cats?” He asks gently. 

You sink down on the table. Hands curl up at the keyboard while the wooden surface catches your chin. 

“No, but thank you, Juyeon.” You say tired. 

“Is it Eric?” He asks, leaning down. 

You nod. 

“I don’t want to hurt him, I’m afraid we won’t be friends anymore.” You pause, “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” 

“You should tell him that.” Changmin peaks from behind the computer, opposite you and Juyeon. 

“Honesty is always valued.” 

“You know, whatever it is..” Juyeon speaks from the right side, “at least having it said will lift the weight off. You have an assignment next week, right?” Juyeon points at the screen. 

“Eric would make fun of you for worrying about boys instead of studying.” 

You smile weakly. 

07 . FINAL CHAPTER 

( saturday, evening ) 

Edges of sharp stone scratches against your old bicycle. Those few streetlights with meters in between emits across the gravel. On the path from your old house, it was quiet like it always is in family neighbourhoods. But as you come closer to Eric’s old house; ruptures in form of music and laughter leak out the open windows. 

You had to stay longer in the library working. Time passed like it never does when one’s bored, and suddenly you had missed the first train and waited for the other. It isn’t too far out your old neighbourhood, just a few stations that with each passing minute gets dimmer and dimmer because of lack of lining lamps. 

Running the last passage to your front door to take the bike, and now you’re standing at his post. The same sign that hangs on the door, rusted of all year’s weather, intimidates you serenely. 

At last, with one foot you force down the supporting metal where all other bikes stand. Close eyes on the handle while the laughter is still muted. 

It has never felt so hard knocking on his door. 

The blurred window at the roof of the door; you stare at it when finally knocking. Anticipation hugs your knees painfully as you take a step back. Look at all places except the white door. Drag your hands along the clothing fabrics as if it’ll obscure you. 

Speakers frees from the door while you feel like running towards the woods. 

“Welcome in!” 

You don't recognize the man holding this door you’ve walked through since five. His expression contrasts your neutral one. There’s a red cup in his hand, he asks if you want some; you thank him, but reject. 

As you come in line with each other through the hallway with mountains of shoes, you look at his back, insecure, before speaking. 

“Do you know where Eric is?” 

He turns, “Hmm..” Scratching his nape and leaning toward the opening frames of all the different rooms. 

“I think he’s in the living room?” The guy points further into the apartment, you thank him. 

Despite all open windows and meters of space; the air is horribly suffocating. People sit two and two, talk in five’s, and a path like pattern goes through the crowd. You let it take you, hoping it somehow brings you to Eric. 

Your feet, that still have shoes on, cease to motion diagonally towards a large couch group. Between all those mere strange faces you’ve may seen once; a face so deeply dissected and remade sits in between. He’s at the center like the sun itself, and people gravitate towards him. 

Somehow you would go back to your corner, sink down quietly. But you’ve been running for too long. Hand behind your back, wrists rope tied while your conscious threats to slaughter from behind, push you forward. 

“Eric?” You say above the laughter, and his couch group turns towards you. 

You swallow when his expression changes to something calmly unreadable, “I need to talk to you.” 

A filter falls like a sheer cover of snow when he closes the door. They’re alone behind the house, blue illumination like an upside down universe highlights you from below. Neither Eric or you had said something, but it wasn’t noticeable until the world ran out of sound too. 

Eric’s silhouette leaves your side and sits by the edge of the pool. With his barefoots into the galactic mirror, his face shades and colors like the moon. You too walk to the edge, sit by his side and see his legs make waves throughout the water. 

He’s unfamiliarly quiet; similar to when you know something someone else doesn’t. 

“I think I like someone, Eric.” You say gently without wasting. 

He looks at you, soft and tender, “You do?” He smiles. 

You smile too and nod. 

His feet make water soar before becoming whole again. Your fingers tear at the concrete lining the pool. 

“...and I’m not sure he likes me back…therefore it can’t be you.” 

Heavy silence like the Universe itself weighs over them. World’s full of life, yet there’s an empty echo in the marrow arch of your cathedral body. 

Eric gazes at the transparent surface of the water, smiling weakly because it’s the only thing right to do.

“Though, I still love you, Eric.” You lean towards his shoulder. Tear his side profile like you beg it is not the last time you see it. 

“So much as you can possibly love someone, and a little more.” 

He looks up, fringe falling, “It’s okay, I know.” 

Voice fragile, so heartbreaking against the smile that could light up the entirety of the solar system. He’s like the pool beneath, a galactic universe tightly compacted into a pond. 

His mere existence makes your eyes glisten and words frail, “I’m sorry.” You whisper.

He smiles and takes your wrist, “Why are you saying sorry, princess.” 

They both sit there for a moment. The constellations pass a centimeter above the bended celestial before you walk up. Half disappear behind the wall while Eric is left at the pool edge. You can’t bring yourself to leave; having one eye on his back as if it'll fall when you go. 

Eric looks back to your wall suddenly, like he knows. 

“I’m sorry.” You say it again, nails exhaustingly tearing at the house. 

Eric shakes his head, waving you off gently before speaking quietly, “Go get your prince.” 

Stones shatter beneath the weight of two tires. All houses are drowned in nightshade glistens of warm lighted windows like the stars above, that is childhood. 

Grass divided into squares lined with fences; streamline, down the gravel path until it opens up in a wide circle. You know this place because here’s where everyone always met. 

All those gravel paths, identical to the one you just left maze down to a grass circle. The very heart of all these houses, a meter lower than the rest. You pass the path contouring it and all these strokes of green nature hinders you down. You stop with one foot off the pedal and lean your weight while standing up. 

Where all distance creates a perfect cross; a boy much familiar to you lies. His own bicycle stranded a meter or two from his still body. Laying on his back with his head tilted on its forearms. Sunwoo’s completely still like midnight around him. It calms you just how water drains from head down after sunshine, but heart tears at its veins. 

You found him. 

To let go of the bicycle; forcing down the metal to leave it standing. Eventually you walk towards him, slowly as if you’ll scare him away. 

About three meters from his feet; Sunwoo suddenly looks away from the star fields and up to you. 

“Oh, hi Y/n.” He says like he always does. 

You cease to stop, “Hi, Sunwoo.” 

He can’t quite place why you’re here. You seem to come up in unexpected moments; take him by heart like a sudden season though he’s been admiring the trees for an eternity. It begins with your hair; how it seemingly floods down on your shoulders. Just like the jewel reflection like glitter under your eyes . 

“You’re crying?”

You’re taken back by his question; taking a hand to the cold skin beneath your vision. Liquid dried tight to your complexion.  

“It’s a long story,” You stutter; head turns to the ground before your expression becomes decrepit, but poetical. 

“I’ll tell you later.” 

After silence, you sigh; lending a bit of your worry to Earth. All the heavy mountains, all heavy oceans.

You start, “I have something to tell you.” 

Grass stands in between his fingers when they lie flat against the ground. Sunwoo forces himself up while observing your expression. You neither walk closer or further; chin falling in patterns as pupils pierce onto the sight behind him or the grass beneath his feet. Only in mere passages eye contact lasts. 

You open your mouth to speak, but realize you have a bad habit of coating everything in a thin layer of sugar as if feeding your words to a child. But there’s a certain bitter aftertaste in being honest. 

“I love you, Sunwoo.” The words free from a deep part within. Tears off the inner skin and momentarily aches the body cathedral. He doesn’t say anything. Sitting in place, whether it’s of shock or horror, one can’t tell. To expand the details of his expression, but there’s always two possibilities to his wide eyes and space between lips. Hurriedly you continue. 

“I really like you Sunwoo, I’m sorry.” You look down to the left, “I just needed to say it.” You open your arms, not like a hug, rather an impediment. 

“So do what you want, Sunwoo.” You breathe in heavily while searching for the world reflected in his window. 

“Just break my heart if that’s what you have to, please, just–” 

“I love you too.” 

“...do–what?” Your arms fall to their sides and the pupil without dimensions expands across the pearl, reaching the far edge of its colorization. 

“I love you too.” He stutters more this time. 

Every cosmic mass bulging on your shoulders and tearing your back convulses from behind. It like everything eventually does; changes form and frees for the roof without limit. It has compressed your lungs into tiny pulses, you didn’t even notice. Yet the milky way’s worth of celestial bodies frees from you; only eyelids show movement. 

You breathe heavily while looking at Sunwoo with parted lips. He looks just as cosmically affected as you. 

“But aren’t you together with Jaehyun?” He suddenly says. 

You’re quiet for a second before bursting out in laughter. 

“No…no.” You take your hands up before your chest and smile “You’re still there?” 

Sunwoo’s still crossed brow of confusion. Neither laughing nor speaking. 

“I was his fake girlfriend for the parties, but we’re not like that.” 

You pause. 

“We could never be like that…” You hold your arms behind your back, titling your head when a star aligns with his position. 

“Not when you exist.” 

He admires you deeply in the same way, one layer below. Knees have come up to his chin and he hugs them slightly while hypnotized following the last season’s breeze across your face. 

You’re not sure what is supposed to happen now. But truthfully, you could live adoring the opposite like this for an eternity longer. 

Though, Sunwoo has other plans. 

The surface of his shoes bend down the grass as he stands. The last meters dying to collapse cease from existence; all before you even lift your head from your shoulder. Just as your eyes widen he’s against you gently. Sheer touch of his fingers across your lower face before he tilts. At last you touch and love-soul bitten sensations fill two hearts. 

You look at him again after the kiss; his face so beautiful you believe he could overthrow the world. 

© littleroaes, written and all

a/ n : i kind of broke my own heart by writing reader and juyeon just being friends 😭 it took all my will power

love spectrum spoiler

have flirty/ cute dynamic in the beginning but becomes friends : juyeon, changmin

romantic storylines but do not end up with : eric, hyunjae

end game : sunwoo

tagging : @darcymariebraun-blog @sungbeam @tbzhub @sanaxo-o

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling Chapter 19 Teaser

I promise I'm working on this for y'all! Maybe up tomorrow night?

“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about,” she said. “What you told me about what parents do for their kids… I never had parents. Like… ever. It’s not like I had some when I was little and they fucking died or something I just never had them. No one ever… I don’t know, loved me and shit. I never had it so I never really thought about what that would be like. But Joel… he loves me. Right?”  “Yeah,” you smiled a little sadly at her. You wished you could go back in time and find the little girl who was Ellie all alone and love her then, love her the way she deserved to be. “He does. More than anything.”  She nodded slowly, like she was processing it.  “I guess I never understood what that would mean,” she said. “That it would mean someone would choose me over… well, over anything at all I guess but over the entire fucking world? It doesn’t feel right.”  You shrugged.  “Love is crazy like that,” you said. “Especially the kind Joel has for you.”  She nodded again.  “I still don’t know if I can forgive him,” she said slowly. “But I can try to understand him. I think I can understand him and see why he thought it was the right thing…”  Her voice trailed off and she bounced her leg and picked at the seam of your couch cushion before she looked at you, her eyebrows drawn tightly together.  “But what if I never get a chance to tell him that?” Her voice cracked a little and she swallowed hard. “What if something happens and the last thing I said to him… I was so fucking mean to him before he left, Bambi, I was so fucking mean and I…”  “Hey,” you said gently, setting your guitar down and going to sit beside her. “It’s OK, Honey. It’s OK. Joel loves you, he would never hold it against you and, deep down, he knows you love him, too. But it’s all a moot point, he’s coming back and he’ll be fine. You’ll get a chance to talk to him and tell him how you’re feeling and it’ll be OK.” 

[fieldsofview]

Spider-Man: Homesickness

M | 20 Chapters | CW: Graphic Depictions of Violence | Five years after No Way Home The week that Peter finally learns to let people in again, despite kicking and screaming the whole way

READ CHAPTER 14 HERE

Teaser below the cut

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Shit,” he whispers to himself. Okay. Okay.

He kicks the half-open first aid kit under his bed and tugs on his quilt until it’s haphazardly hanging to block the view.

He hears a familiar voice, muffled and hushed through the door. “Maybe this isn’t the best-”

Ned.

“Oh shush,” another voice says. “Trust me.”

Gwen.

Fucking hell.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gwen calls through the door, “Peter, open this goddamn door. I know you’re home.” There’s a playful edge to her voice like she’s smiling.

He forcibly drops his shoulders from his ears and takes in a deep breath, holding it in his chest until it burns before releasing it. With one more passing glance around his spartan apartment, he hopes he’s not missed anything that blatantly screams ‘I’m Spider-Man!’

Wrenching the door open with more force than necessary, he says, “What do you want, Gwen?”

Before he can blink, Gwen barrels past him and into the apartment. Her arms are full of a stack of several pizza boxes that waft cheesy deliciousness into the room. “Hello to you too, asshole. Maybe think about texting me back, for once in your life.” She sets the boxes down on his kitchen counter and turns around to lean against the edge, watching him with a smile.

Left stranded by her, Ned and MJ stand awkwardly in the hallway. MJ’s arms are also laden with full bags of something, while Ned is carrying a whole TV screen and a black rolling container, not unlike a suitcase.

MJ seems to shake off the tension first, raising her gaze to meet his, steady. She ducks around Ned and through the doorframe past Peter, offering a quiet, “Hey, loser,” as she kicks off her shoes by the door. She follows after Gwen and sets her bags down on the small square of counter left, quickly pulling out drink bottles and snack bags.

Peter tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, wondering how the hell his life could get any more complicated.

Ned shuffles his feet, adjusting his grip on the TV screen. “I told you, man, they were planning something.” He gives Peter a sheepish, lopsided grin. “You can’t fight it. It’s no use.”

Peter sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “Yeah, alright. Come in, I guess. Welcome to my… apartment.” Not home. Never home. He holds the door open wide so that Ned can pass through without bumping the screen and shuts it behind him with a shove, wincing at the scraping shriek as the door and the frame scrape against each other. The hot, humid, summer air always makes the wood swell.

Gwen is leafing through his cabinets, pulling out plates and glasses. She doesn’t bat an eye at the fact that none of them match and most of them are chipped or scratched.

Ned immediately makes his way over to the far side of the room next to Peter’s threadbare, polyester couch from the 1980s. He found it on the curb last year and only brought it up here once he realized that it would be great for blocking out the chill that leaks through the window during the winter.

Peter leans his back against his door, unsure of his place amongst the chaos. “Okay, I’m going to try this again. How the hell do you know where I live? And why are you here?”

“We’re here to hang out, obviously,” Gwen replies, still focused on rifling through his cabinetry.

“Right.”

She closes one of the cabinet doors a little too firmly and runs a hand through her hair with mild frustration. “From what I’ve heard, you had a rough morning,” she says pointedly, catching his gaze and holding it. “And while Harry and MJ are busy at The Tower, helping good ol’ Norman recover from that disaster of a press conference, I thought we could bring the party to you here, instead.”

He winces, clearing his throat in an effort to hide it. “Yeah, I, uh- I saw something about that.”

“Yep,” she replies, popping the ‘p.’ “But they can handle themselves, today. I thought it would be good to give you some company. And maybe some fun. Hence…” She waves her hand vaguely in Ned’s direction.

“Don’t take all the credit,” MJ cuts in. She pours a glass of something sweet, bubbling, and smelling of citrus.

“I’m not,” Gwen protests. “I’m just explaining why the ambush.”

Peter says, “So you admit it’s an ambush. Cause I gotta say I’m feeling a little on the back foot, right now.”

“After all the ups and downs this week, Gwen wanted to do something to surprise you. She said that you need to learn to relax and take a step back from work,” MJ says. She gives Gwen a look like there’s more to the story, but Gwen purposefully avoids eye contact. “So Ned brought everything he would need to set up his TV and Switch here since we weren’t sure what you might already have.”

“I hope you like Mario Kart,” Ned calls over his shoulder as he continues to set everything up.

[lively-potter]

— trials of athena ; four

— genre ; enemies to lovers, kinda slow burn, friends to lovers

— warnings ; a hella lot of cursing, some typos ( of course 🙄😬 ), mature themes, smut, athena doesn’t like feelings, fluff, smut, angst, some violence, a teeny bit of blood and gore, JK’s a dick fr

— intro, teaser, part one, part two, part three

— find me on Wattpad ; LivelyPotter

— 2024 © LivelyPotter all rights reserved

— word count ; 2k

— taglist ; @ahgasegotarmy116 @jk97bam

chapter four ; “my brain is experiencing technical difficulties.”

May 23rd, 2023 9 AM

The next morning, I was still annoyed that my family didn't let me give that rotten rat shit a piece of my mind. It got even worse when Mom and the rest of my family were basically infatuated with that cabbage head.

Mother dearest couldn't stop saying how kind he was. How respectful he was. How sweet. How handsome.

JK this, and JK that.

Constantly.

Gag.

He's a two faced, hotter than the sun, little rat bastard.

After finishing my second round of editing my manuscript for my latest book and sending my agent an email to clue him in on my latest accomplishment, I tore myself away from my desk and stretched my poor, aching shoulders.

"Yo bitch, did you even hear me?" Sawyer hollered through the phone.

"Sonofabitch – Sawyer, you ass! You scared the shit out of me." I grumped, grabbing my phone from the desk and taking it off speaker phone. I set the phone against my ear and flopped back on my bed.

"Sorry dude," I sighed, stretching out my body. "What were you saying?" I asked, lips pulling up in a grin when Sawyer started to whine.

"I was telling your bitch ass that I'm gonna be home soon to see your little boy toy," he snickered.

My eyes widened, "That rotten beaver nugget is not anything to me, and he is anything but little – if we're getting technical about it."

Sawyer moaned tortured, "I can't believe I missed that. I wanna go home."

"Same," I sighed, "I wish you were here. But when you get back, you can come stay with me if it's cool with your parents – which would be a good excuse to see the dickwad next door."

"We could always egg his house," Sawyer said thoughtfully. I laughed loudly and shook my head.

"I wish." I grunted, "But Mom and the others would murder us if we did."

I could picture Sawyer smirking, "They're probably hoping he'll be your future husband." He cackled.

My face flushed heavily from anger or envy—never mind. No. My face did flush from anger, it couldn't be anything else. I wouldn't allow it to be anything else.

"Fuck that!" I squawked, "He's insufferable." I stuck my nose in the air, lip curling as I did so.

Sawyer tutted, "Okay then, so you don't mind if I steal him?"

Yes.

"No," I replied, mentally smacking myself across the face. I absentmindedly traced the bruise on my cheek. "Go on ahead, Sweetpea. Plus, he isn't a possession to steal, bro."

Try it and I'll saw your tiny balls off and shove them down your throat.

A lump grew in my throat at that terrifying thought.

"Anyways," I quickly changed the subject once I heard Mom call for me downstairs. "I gotta go, Mom's calling me – but I'll call you later and tell you any new gossip, 'kay?"

"Kay, hoe. Love you."

A laugh escaped my lips, "Love you too, cunt."

I hung up the phone and pocketed my phone and rushed downstairs.

Mom was waiting for me at the dining room table. I walked into the large room and saw her on her laptop with a stack of papers on her left side.

"Whatcha up to, Ma?" I asked, plopping down into the seat across from her. Mom peered up at me over her glasses with a big smile.

"Hi, sweetie." She greeted, holding a small piece of paper in her french manicure hands. "Would you mind picking up a couple last minute things at the store for me?" She asked, "I would ask one of your dads to do it, but they're dealing with something at the diner."

"Sure, I don't mind. What do you need?" I asked, brows furrowing when she handed me the piece of paper in her hands.

"Here's a list," She smiled, and pecked the top of my head, eyeing the bruise with barely contained amusement. "Thank you."

"No problem," I shrugged, "Just let me get dressed and I'll head out."

I got up from the table and on my way to the stairs, Mom called after me.

"I love you! Oh! And if you see our neighbor; be sure to be nice, Athena."

My face dropped in agitation, "I'll try." To get on his nerves. "But he deserved fuckin' Nair in his shampoo."

***

May 23rd, 2023 10:55 AM

After dressing in black leggings, a random oversized AC/DC shirt I stole from North, and then proceeding to steal his jeep to drive myself to the nearest store, I was already seething after being caught up in a fuckin' traffic jam.

Ugh.

I really hated going out sometimes (what the fuck am I saying? I hate leaving home period).

"Let's get this over with." I mumbled, jumping out of North's jeep (which would soon be mine if I played my cards right, if he didn't rip my heart out after finding out I stole it first.)

Oops.

With Papa's credit card in hand, along with Mom's list; I proceeded my walk into the store.

Twenty minutes had passed, and I nearly had everything – deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, Mom's green juice, and oddly enough a skin tag remover.

With my arms full, I peered down at the last items and paled.

Tampons, I could deal with. But condoms? Eww.

I gagged and cringed.

"This is fucking mortifying," I whispered to myself.

Who knew I would have to buy my parents' condoms. But with all the shit that's been happening recently; it didn't seem too far-fetched. But still nasty.

I hesitantly walked into the women's hygiene isle and got the biggest pack of tampons I've ever seen and squared my shoulders and looked at the ground; briskly walking towards the end of the isle, not paying attention to where I was going until I bumped into a rock wall.

"Oww." I winced, holding my bruised cheek with my free hand, "I'm so sorry, please excuse—" I looked up and froze.

Holy Peanut Butter and Jelly Crackers.

The bitch glaring darkly at me was my neighbor, the unnecessary movie sequel. Who stood towering above me, (glaring darkly, might I add, once again), for accidentally bumping into him.

"...Never mind." I raised a brow. I tried side stepping him, but that stupid beaver bitch nugget stood in front of me, blocking me from moving – for no reason.

I gulped, eyes flashing down to his crouch. It was like getting fucking PTSD flashbacks. Of his monster dick tearing that women's throat in two.

(not that I see all of it happen – it was just my imagination, you dirty hoes)

I bet she'll be having to suck on some of those throat lozenges my dad gives me when I get sick to get some feeling back there.

I tore my eyes away from his pants and felt the back of my neck flush as I took in his outfit.

Black combat boots seemed to be his norm, along with dark clothing. This time the dickhead wore baggy pants, a white tank with a open button down shirt overtop. You could still see the tattoos on his arms, but I knew he had a lot more. A black studded belt tied the entire outfit together.

It tore me up admitting that the dude had style.

My mouth dried at the thought of his bare chest. And those abs. If I could squeal like a little girl at the image of his abs, you bet your bottom dollar I'd do it.

UH-THEE-NA

STOP THINKING OF HIM THIS WAY

HE IS A DICKFACE

A RUDE HOOLIGAN

My neighbor raised a brow of his own and licked at the silver hoops on his lips – eyeing me up and down. His doe eyes darkened back into a glare when he looked into my eyes to find I was looking at him hatefully in return.

"I liked you better when you were stuttering." He rasped, dark eyes flashing in amusement when I bared my teeth at him.

"And I liked you better when you were halfway across the country." I spit back, remembering his conversation with Mom and North last night when he told them he lived in California prior.

Gods, why did this man get me so angry, so quickly?

My neighbor threw back his head and laughed for a moment, and I took the chance to take him in. His dark black hair was shaved in the back, with his hair longer on top. It looked so soft and fluffy; I just wanted to touch and tug it.

Wut? No Athena – the only time I will be thinking about his fluffy hair is when I imagine it all falling out when I put Nair in his hair products.

My neighbor looked back down at me and bit the edge of his lip.

My eye twitched.

I remembered the way he bit his lip when that lady hit her knees in front of him.

DO NOT THINK OF THIS AGAIN.

"Can you get out of my way?" I gritted out through clenched teeth, don't lash out, Athena. Just don't...no matter how much you want to

My neighbor eyed my cheek curiously seeing the handprint shaped bruise and jerked his chin. "What happened there?"

Ah, nothing much. Only that I bitch slapped myself after seeing the pierced beast in your pants. No biggie.

"Not your business, you overdraft bank fee." I snapped. My neighbor's head neared back in shock, lips pursing to keep the smirk off his lips.

"Overdraft bank fee? Really? That's the best you got, Princess?" he asked, bending his knees down to lower his height to look me in the eyes.

I gasped at the disrespect, "Okay; listen here, you lunatic." My eye started to twitch again. Damn it. "I am not that short—"

"Really?" he snorted, eyes alight with amusement, "How tall are you? Five Foot?"

He stood to his full height and peered down at me, daring me.

"Four eleven and a quarter, thank you very much for asking." I cut in, ears blushing hotly as he snickered, "and two, I have a lot of insults – I can make you a list, if you'd like, fuckface. And three, my name is Athena, not Princess." I hissed lowly.

I held onto the box of tampons when he looked after I had finished my speech.

My hotter than the sun smirked again (ohmygod, does he not know how to smile? Only smirk?) and peered at the list in my hands.

"You have a mouth on you." He mused, watching with rapt attention as I choked slightly.

"Probably not as good as that lady a couple days ago." I muttered too lowly for him to hear.

His ears perked, "You say something, princess?" he asked, lips lifting in a little smirk.

The back of my neck flushed at the nickname.

I grasped the items in my arms tighter towards me, "Nothing. Now can you move out of my way?" I asked. My neighbor chuckled lowly and reached above my head to grab something.

Sonofabitch: my brain is experiencing technical difficulties.

The fabric of his shirt brushed against my chin, and I got a whiff of his cologne. It was light but fuckin' heavenly. Why did this insufferable salt slug smell so good.

"Here," His eyes sparkled in amusement as he dropped a medium sized box on top of the items in my hands. My face paled then brightened into a blush when I saw the box of condoms.

My neighbor watched my face color in sick amusement.

I wanted to reach over and smack the piss out of his gorgeous cheeks.

He backed away slowly, holding another box of condoms in his hand as he left, chuckling lowly.

"I'll be seeing you soon, princess."

Fuck.

It happened again.

I was malfunctioning. 

My eyes look to the right, and lit up once I saw the Nair powder.

Without a second thought and regret; I swiped the box up in my hands and went to the checkout.

I have a feeling I'll be needing this. Real soon.

A/N

i love my beloved athena sm. are y'all excited to meet sawyer?

[fuckingpajamas]

Homesick Chapter 24 teaser

We are officially one chapter away from getting a glimpse of our villain and I am so incredibly excited to reveal them.

We’ve gotten some new interactions with Homesick and it has rejuvinated me to push and finish this chapter- so here’s the first few paragraphs of chapter 24 to tide you over!

HOMESICK CHAPTER 24 TEASER:

John followed Butcher to the car, sliding into the backseat and draping back over the headrest. He took a second to remove the glasses and hat, setting them onto his lap. As sunlight began to spill into the car, it became more obvious by the eyes sunken and dark and the ragged sigh that followed just how exhausted both parents were.

Once MM entered the car a silence settled over them, John being the first to speak to ease the tension.

"I think we all deserve a vacation when this is over."

Maybe he could finally take his family to the beach like they'd talked about. Anywhere would be better than this, he thought. He had to remind himself that as long as they were together, it would be okay.

"Think you may be right about that." Butcher numbly replied as he flopped down into the seat.

"I'll take two first class tickets to Hawaii for me and my little girl as payment after this. Please and thank you." MM gave a quick glance through his rear view mirror back to Homelander as he started the car, leaving up to him to decide if he was kidding or not.

The joke about Hawaii didn’t go unnoticed, Homelander tossing out something about fulfilling that promise. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it tenfold. Despite his usually rigid and hostile attitude, William and his friends seemed to have the proper grit of personality to wear him down. The man who ate breakfast with them wasn’t the same man who wore the Homelander suit and for that? John was grateful. It was nice to finally be just. . . John.

Even when MM would glare back at John or comment on something he’d done in the past, he couldn’t take offense, instead yielding and allowing himself to smile or shrug it off. He was a terrible person and they all knew it. But at least he could find solace in the fact that none of this group started out *good*. They found it. Together.

"Did the weird wanker that Monique was seein' back off at all?... Tim? Todd? Something fucking godawful like that." He asked, making a face of disgust toward MM who was already preemptively scowling at the question.

"Todd. Yeah. He went off the deep end once his favorite superhero suddenly, miraculously eased up off the rhetoric. Monique finally started seeing the red flags." There was another pointed look back at Homelander as they turned to get onto the main highway again. MM had a lot of mixed feelings about all of this, but he was a pretty difficult man to read. He looked back to Billy briefly before turning his eyes on the road, tapping the steering wheel in his meticulously habitual way. "I'm just glad the guy isn't around my kid anymore, even if the two of us never work things out."

"For once, I think I get what you mean," Butcher pulled the lever on the old car to let the seat flop backwards at a slight incline. He went pulling an arm up behind his head and trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. He flipped his sunglasses down over his eyes to block the light out. He needed to rest. Though it was hard not to listen to MM talk about his kid and not think of Ryan, wherever he was.

"Having kids puts shit into perspective real quick. That's the only reason I agreed to do any of this in the first place.-- I've seen up close how having a kid can change people." MM shrugged and kept his eyes on the road, but that was clearly directed at both of them.

"Not that I can 'andle anymore therapy today but... I'm glad you came. Despite all the shit I put you through,you still showed up for Ryan's sake." Billy cracked an eye open to look horizontally up at the blonde in the back seat.-- "And I *did* put him through *a lot* of shit."

“He sure did.” MM cleared his throat and graciously grazed past the invitation to list his grievances. Butcher had put him through a lot. “Still. You're welcome, William.”. It was loving, no matter how condescending it sounded.

[bioticbooty]

I've been working on a rewrite of Crosshairs for quite some time, for a lot of reasons. There's gonna be a tense change because when I decided to abandon what I had already written and go from there, what came out on the keyboard came out in present tense, so obviously that was the bare minimum rewrite. But aside from that, there are a lot of different things that I wish I had done differently and bits of story I wish I had included. So. Rewrites!

My new chapter two has been sitting in this half-finished state for a while, but last night I finally nailed down a scene I'm happy with (though it will probably see some tweaks between now and posting time later this year). So as a teaser / love note to all those who have loved Crosshairs and Olivia Shepard over the years, here's my closing chapter two scene:

---

Shepard hands him the rag back, and starts piecing her rifle back together, applying lubricant where needed.

He sees writing on the stock just as she’s reattaching it. “Mjolnir?” he asks.

Shepard makes a little hum he thinks is a cross between acknowledgment and contentment. “My old head of marine detail when I served on the Cold Harbor joked that if I was too small to fire my rifle, at least I could wield it as a hammer. Told me I shouldn’t have been so cavalier with my first one. Named the damned thing Mjolnir to spite him.”

Kaidan laughs, then asks, “What happened to the first one?”

“The Blitz,” she says, “Crossing a bridge to get to the port and a batarian outfit blew the fucking thing in an attempt to stop us.”

“Shit,” he says.

It’s a wonder she’s sitting there in front of him. A fucking bridge. And all it did was apparently slow her down.

“So what did he think of the name?”

“Laughed his ass off.” Shepard leans forward and holds the Punisher out to him, exposing the underside. “Signed it, too.”

XOXO -Jones is scribbled on the bottom.

“No one’s ever signed my gun,” Kaidan laughs.

“All you non-sniper people are boring as fuck,” she replies. “Where’s the ritual? The sacredness?”

“Ritual’s happening right here, right now.”

“This is it?” Shepard shakes her head. “Boring.”

“I saw the way you were looking at Mjolnir, Commander. It was anything but boring.”

“Maintenance as the only ritual is boring,” she corrects herself. “How the hell do you know your gun is safe to use if you don’t give it a name first? Kiss the stock? Inscribe it? Bless it?”

“Do you name all your guns?” Kaidan asks, genuinely curious.

“Of course.”

“What was your first sniper called?” he asks as he finishes putting his pistol back together and sets it on the ground.

“Henry. That’s easy, you already knew we name our sniper rifles.” Shepard reaches forward and picks up Kaidan’s newly reassembled pistol. “You’re telling me this guy doesn’t have a name?”

Kaidan has to shake his head because his gun doesn’t have a name, and the crestfallen look on Shepard’s face makes him feel so bad he apologizes.

Instead of accepting his apology, Shepard holds up the pistol so it’s cradled between her two hands, almost as if she’s offering it up to him in prayer.

“Name,” she says.

Kaidan stares at his pistol. It’s a solid pistol. Armax, from the Brawler line. Sturdy and reliable, especially with the mods he’s outfitted it with. The gun has never failed him in the field, even when he’s pushed it to the edge of its limits, and he’s had it for seven years. He looks at Shepard’s Punisher, looks at Shepard. Grins as a wicked idea emerges.

“Ragnarok.”

Shepard stares at him in surprise and amazement. Then before Kaidan can do anything, she pulls an engraving laser out of her pocket and etches Ragnarok on the stock, flips the gun over, and etches XOXO -Shepard on the bottom.

When she hands it back to him, she says, “Love your gun, Alenko, and she’ll love you back.”

The way she reverently packs her sniper rifle back into its case, going so far as to wrap her scope in a small bit of fabric that looks as if its seen better days, Kaidan believes her.

[monstersinthecosmos]

Hi! I have a bit of an odd question. Do you think it’s possible to read your VC fics having zero familiarity with the source material? More accurately, how can I get acquainted enough with what’s canonically relevant in order to be able to read them? I am a long time fan of alllll your Sheith fics and have read them all so many times I can’t even count anymore. I saw you mention some similarities between Keith and Armand (?) in a comment and Immediately tried reading your latest VC fic but it went right over my head 😭. I can’t put into words how much I appreciate your writing - and how read to filth *I* feel when reading your stuff LOL - so I won’t try, but I hope you can tell it’s a lot. My latest rereading binge was set off when I saw you post about the new chapter of ttsr! on twitter and I lostttt it, I literally think about that fic every day (if you can give me any teasers at all about the next chapter, I will die and hopefully resuscitate when it’s posted). In any case, in the meantime, I’d love to read your other works. Any tips would be much appreciated. Either way, thank you so much for all you’ve already put out there. <3

dfasdhkgj oh my gosh WHAT A QUESTION AND IT'S SOMETHING IVE THOUGHT ABOUT SO MANY FUCKIN TIMES !! You're not even the first to ask! And I've answered in both directions because I've had VC people read my Sheith fics!!! OH LORD OKAY LISTEN LET'S HAVE A SEAT FOR A MINUTE. (Also thank you so much omg 🥹🥹🥹)

Okay to break this down!!! My main two ships I’ve posted about are either Armand/Daniel or Marius/Armand and they can BOTH be Sheith analogs imo, especially because I think Sheith fandom is SO fic heavy and we have so many sort of like established tropes and fanon for the way people approach Shiro! 

But starting with Armand on his own, here’s what you need to know:  He’s 500 years old but he was turned when he was 17! He’s always going to look like he did when he was 17 in 1497!!!!! He’s from the RENAISSANCE BAYBEE!!! But he grew up spending a lot of time in a monastery and he was ABDUCTED when he was like 14ish and SEX TRAFFICKED! And then he’s found & rescued by a vampire named Marius, who’s like 1500 years old and very lonely and looking for a companion! Marius is convinced that it will backfire if he tries to turn any old rando into a vampire and what he really needs is like a BLANK SLATE that he can groom for vampirism. When he finds Armand, Armand is so fucking traumatized that he doesn’t remember how to talk, doesn’t remember where he’s from, has no memory of being trafficked, etc. Marius is also feeling traumatized so he feels a connection to this person and decides THIS IS THE ONE and he takes care of him for a few years and winds up turning him. (They have a lot of sex and stuff it’s wild.) I actually wrote an AU based on it for Sheith one time on Twitter so this might also explain it!!!

((I'M EXTREMELY SILLY BC I ALSO SHARED THE ART BUT WITH RED HAIR TO BE ARMAND HAHAH))

Then blah blah a lot of traumatic shit happens, they get separated, they don’t see each other until the 1980s lol. Armand also spends like 300 years in a cult. And in the 1970s he meets DANIEL! And if you are aware the first book of this series is called INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE, Daniel is the interviewer! He’s the one who interviewed the vampire!!!! And Armand STALKS HIM LMFAO and threatens him and they play a cat and mouse game. But then they start getting used to each other and kinda enjoy seeing each other and they wind up being lovers. This goes on for like TWELVE YEARS during which time Daniel is like slowly killing himself with alcohol because he wants to be a vampire so bad and Armand refuses to turn him. Eventually Daniel is like dying of liver failure or whatever and Armand turns him because he can’t handle the thought of losing him.

What I think Armand has REALLY IN COMMON with Keith and why they’re fun to write about is that like

- They’re both orphans and their experiences being orphaned and losing people at young ages really dictates a lot of their behavior and how they treat others. I think a ton of Keith’s characterization comes down to his abandonment issues and for Armand it’s the same. There’s some added drama with Armand because he’s a vampire so like, he’s so convinced that vampires can’t have meaningful relationships with their makers (because of his own maker) that he can’t bear to turn Daniel. It’s a lot like how Keith, in his human version, can’t get close to people and doesn’t even try to. Even looking like the entire time he’s with Voltron he really never bonds with anybody,  even way later in canon when he admits he doesn’t think any of them are friends. AND HOW HE FUCKIN HAS NO ISSUE LEAVING THE TEAM TO JOIN THE BLADES BECAUSE HE’S NEVER FELT SUPPORTED BY ANYBODY EXCEPT SHIRO? 

- I think also that Keith deliberately makes himself unpleasant to people (ie: immediately stealing Shiro’s car) so that he can have some control over people coming in and out of his life. Like, if he pushes them away first they can’t leave him. And like with Armand, his cult years remind me of this too. Like in VC there’s a LOT of Catholicism in the themes of the writing and Armand was very religious when he was alive, and then he winds up indoctrinated by this cult. He spends 300 years living in filth, in rags, under a cemetery, not allowing himself any type of creature comforts because the cult believes that vampires are a tool of the Devil. In VC there’s a lot of themes of like, abstinence/absolution/penance and so I think there’s some thematic resonance here when it comes to like, forcing yourself to be uncomfortable because you think you deserve to be. And also just like, after a life of abandonment and trauma picking SOMETHING to have control over, even if it's not healthy.

- A huge theme in VC is also the concept of the vampire as the outsider, which is how the author intended it. So like all the ways vampires are on the outside of society or humanity is always kind of infused to the stories and I think same can be said for Keith being Galra!!!!! And in VC there’s always this thing about how like, the vampires all do terrible things and the stories still ask us to love them, and I think the vampires always eventually are just asking to be loved! They’re all just looking for love !!! And I MEAN. I MEAN???? KEITH????? 

- On a shallow note, smol angry bby lol 

- This is completely headcanon territory but I think they each have the same AUTISM CODING; both fandoms notice this lol. Just that they’re like, KINDA WEIRD AND PRICKLY? Don’t always understand social customs, often deadpan!  <3 Armand has a lot of sensory stuff in canon and I think we see this a TON in Sheith fic even though it’s never said specifically on the show that Keith probably gets sensory overload from his Galra traits.

So when it comes to fics, what I love about this is that like I’m sure you’ve noticed like there’s such a WIDE SPECTRUM of Sheith fic because they are so wholesome and support each other so much and are just such a beautiful ship? But then they also fit all the like smut tropes LMFAO like the size difference, the mentor/mentee, Shiro being daddy af, etc. So I think like if you were to read either of these VC ships you could sort of imagine a Sheith analog to make it make sense, whether you want it to be loving or if you just want NASTY DISRESPECTFUL SEX.  

Marius/Armand is a bit like canon Sheith in that there’s the age difference, the size difference, and it’s teacher/student. As an AU you can say: Shiro is an ancient lonely vampire who purchases a trafficked boy to be his apprentice. 

The catch here is like! Marius is a really polarizing character in VC fandom because he can be kind of an arrogant prick sometimes LOL. And he’s very obsessed with like, being patient and wise, and he tries REALLY HARD to be patient and wise but he’s actually kind of petty and has a temper. In a lot of ways, Shiro reminds me of like everything Marius WISHES he was. And like both characters are so obsessed with the concept of PATIENCE, even though Shiro is a bit better at it.

And Marius was ALSO abducted by DRUIDS 😭😩😩😩! Weird coincidence! But Marius was turned because he was taken hostage by some druids and forced into like a Wicker Man religious ritual where he was sacrificed to a vampire and turned against his will and he's real salty about it. IT JUST FEELS A LOT LIKE WHAT HAPPENED TO SHIRO, RIGHT? Except Shiro is like a modern person who knows how to do therapy or something.

So I think Marius/Armand fics could also fit the kinda Dark!Shiro trope that a lot of Sheith fics have. Like if you picture how Rifa or Aphor have written dark!Shiro LOL or even like how people characterize Kuron sometimes. Like, still Shiro, but, kind of a dark undercurrent happening. 

The other catch is that Armand and Marius get separated because they get their house raided by the cult (the one that eventually indoctrinates Armand) and they burnt the house down and it’s traumatic for everybody; Marius is severely injured and has to go into hiding for like 100 years to recover, and by the time he finds Armand again he just sees that he’s fully engaged with this cult and he decides to leave him alone and doesn’t risk trying to rescue him because he thinks Armand has like, found his place with them and he can't risk betrayal/rejection.

And like, this is never exactly in canon, but I just think it has so much to do with Why Armand is Like That, and why he has all these Daddy/Maker Issues, and 500 years later it’s why he’s so squeamish about turning Daniel and just cannot do it. 

SO I WOULD POSIT THAT THIS IS LIKE, THE DARK ALTERNATE UNIVERSE OF WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF SHIRO ACTUALLY GAVE UP ON KEITH?????? Like Keith would be fucking crushed, he’d never be okay again !!! 😭😭😭

But having said that, depending what era a fic is set in, Marius/Armand PRE-DISASTER is very much Sheith when it comes to like Daddy & Mentor stuff and that type of vibe. ALSO, IN CANON, A LARGE CHUNK OF THEIR TIME TOGETHER IN THE BOOK IS THEM HAVING BDSM LOL. So there’s that. 

Now! Armand/Daniel, on the other hand!!! imo fits really nicely into like Sheith fic tropes/fanon like FERAL KEITH and DISASTER GAY SHIRO. So the AU would be this: Shiro is a nerdy journalist trying to publish a book about vampires, and Keith is a weird creepy vampire who stalks and fucks with him for years until they start liking each other, Keith becomes his sugar daddy, Keith likes to watch him fuck people and they cry a lot because Keith doesn’t think they can be together and he loves Shiro so much he refuses to CURSE him with vampirism because he thinks of it as a CURSE! They do a lot of kinky stuff and need each other but also sort of resent each other.

And in this situation! The thing about it is that in VC canon, Daniel is the person who HEALS Armand the most!! He learns how to be a person again because he has Daniel!!!! AND SO I JUST THINK THIS TOO IS LIKE, SHIRO IS THE ONLY PERSON KEITH CAN BE HIMSELF AROUND, THE ONLY PERSON HE CAN BE VULNERABLE WITH, THE PERSON WHO GIVES HIM STRENGTH AND HELPS HIM BECOME A BETTER MAN!!!! And in some ways I think Daniel is that to Armand, as well, even if it’s in a real fucked up toxic kinda way because of all the stalking and alcohol abuse and whatnot LOL but I think imagining Disaster Gay Shiro can sorta give you a primer! It kinda reminds of that Sochi fic where Keith is a vampire ??? The “You need to eat something” and he hands Shiro a fucking TOMATO?? That fic LOL. 

Another way I would TLDR this is like, with the dynamic you want, do you want Vampire!Keith with Human!Shiro (Armand/Daniel) or Vampire!Shiro with Human!Keith (Marius/Armand) ? It changes the power dynamic significantly. I think again within the spectrum of Sheith fanon and the huge culture of fanfics we’ve written that there’s so much space for both to fit as Sheith, like if you want feisty feral Keith or if you want like vulnerable uwu bby Keith. LOL. 

One last thing that I think is important to mention LOL is that in the VC lore, the vampires are asexual! Once they become vampires, drinking blood is like THEIR WORLD and it’s so much better than sexual gratification that they lose interest in sex. A lot of VC fic doesn’t honor this but I fucking adore it as an asexual, so if you do decide to check any of my fics out they're gonna be fooling around and not often penetrative sex, because that’s how it is in canon! The vampires will still play with their food and sorta get their pets off but they don’t actually stick it in LOL. 

So I talked a lot, I’m not really sure if this answers your question LMAOOOO. If you did try to read any of my VC fics I think this kinda gives you a primer for the relationship dynamics even if misc canon events get dropped or hinted at that might be out of context. I’m always very happy to answer questions if something doesn’t make sense!

Regarding my most recent fic, what I think you’d need to know if you want to take a shot:

It takes place around part of the book where Marius and Armand have a huge fight that ends in a BDSM scene of Marius whipping him and Armand crying and stuff and then getting off lol and then they go out to a banquet and Marius kills a bunch of dudes in front of him, and all the dudes are saying lewd shit to Armand about what they want to do with him and how they want to fuck him and etc. 

For Armand & Daniel’s canon, one of the things that happens is that Armand makes Daniel fuck people while he watches, so I decided to ask like, what if this habit is something he LEARNED from Marius, and so I decided to write a fic about Marius watching people fuck Armand after the banquet incident.

Marius has sort of a group home for boys he rescues (but Armand is his fav that he’s grooming lol) so there’s a few mentions of that, and one of the boys is called Riccardo and he’s Armand’s best friend! You’ll also see a namedrop of someone called Bianca who’s this local woman that Marius is in love with lol. 

In the fic there’s also some fuckery like name drops of Andrei (Armand’s given name that he doesn’t even remember) and Ivan (his father that he also doesn’t remember) and there’s a scene with “THE PARENTS” aka Akasha and Enkil. And blah blah LONG STORY LMAO but Marius takes care of The Parents, and they’re like the first ever vampires who are so old as fuck and bored that they’re just catatonic in a shrine where he keeps them safe. And he goes to check on them and stuff and he wants Akasha’s approval so bad and wants her to give him a sign that he should turn Armand and she just is hardcore ignoring him and he’s upset lol. 

Also if this helps to know, Armand’s name is Amadeo if you see that in fics. Same guy! He changes his name to Armand later when he’s a vampire.

If you check out any Armand/Daniel fics they’re a lot more straightforward, I mostly just write porn about them LOL!!!!!! The book kinda glosses over the twelve years that Armand stalked & then bedded Daniel so my fics are just like trying to think about more details about what went on or think about individual incidents that might have happened. 

So yeah! 

THIS POST IS A MESS, I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE LOLLLLLLLLLL 

I got into VC when I was like 12 years old so it was such a blueprint for me for stuff I like and Marius has always been my favorite character so I think it’s got a lot to do with why I like Shiro so much. And Sheith fandom is such a strong community of writers and I feel like I’ve really thrived there as a fic writer, but I still make time to write about VC because it’s like my main home that I’ll never be able to get over. And I could talk about this all fucking day, I am a disaster!!! 

Anyway thank you so much, this was such a nice thing to say. :D Please talk to me about Sheith and vampires any time and if you do decide to read any vampire fics you can always ask if the details are confusing! But no pressure at all man sometimes like I just do NOT get other ships LOL. Like there are authors I love to death and it’s like I’m reading another language if I try to check out their other fics. 

And finally, re: teasers………….  flattery will get you everywhere, my friend:

“Oh,” Keith says. His temple grinds against the wall as he turns, trying to roll the stiffness out of his shoulders. And if Shiro is going to pretend to be collected, Keith can do that, too. He can be embarrassed that Kolivan walked in on him getting his ass beat later, but he can play it cool. “Hey.”

Shiro’s eyebrow quirks and he motions towards his upper lip, some attempt to be subtle and polite, but Kolivan speaks over it.

“You’re bleeding,” he says. His arms are folded behind his back and he stands straight up, yellow eyes taking stock of him, of the bots, of the mess in the room. 

Keith sniffles. He tastes the blood in the back of his throat. The tip of his nose tingles again and he tugs at the bottom hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face. Cold air hits his exposed belly, and Shiro’s smell gets stronger as he wipes his nose. Less diluted by metalic hint of his own blood. When he looks back up at them, the reality settles in. And Shiro looks small next to Kolivan, but the two of them together make Keith feel like a complete child.

Shiro’s fingers fidget against his helmet some more, and he glances up at Kolivan, watching him for a moment even as he speaks to Keith.

“We just wanted to... check on you,” he says. Keith wonders what Shiro would’ve said if they were alone. And wonder if the adrenaline slowly creeping out of his body would leave him feeling this vulnerable all of a sudden. He turns away from them, finds his discarded baton on the floor and puts it away as an excuse to busy himself. 

“I’m gonna go to the med bay,” he says, to spare Shiro the awkwardness of having to tell him to. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand and peeks at the red smear left behind. He tries to blow his nose on the hem of his shirt, not caring that he’s being disgusting. When he looks back up, Shiro’s face is that same diplomatic-neutral, doing his best not to respond. 

Being around Kolivan isn’t like being around the Paladins, though. Not like Shiro has to pretend Keith isn’t his favorite. Kolivan had called Shiro his mate last night. 

Keith hadn’t told Shiro that, though. Hasn’t seen him alone since. He wonders what Shiro and Kolivan have been talking about. What went on when they watched Keith get brutalized for hours. 

He’s still trying to be professional, though. Maybe he’s being submissive to Koilvan. Trying to show they’re not too horny to function in a fucking war. 

Your mate. Hah. Keith had been too tired to worry about it at the time. Now, he looks back and forth between them, rolling the word over and over in his head. What a strange thing to say.

The silence is awkward, and he wipes his hands on the tops of his thighs. His pajama bottoms still, and he realizes he’s not wearing shoes. He should leave, and has the excuse to, but the two of them are shoulder to shoulder in front of the door. 

“AI is never going to teach you,” Kolivan says. It’s simple, the way he speaks. The pitch of his voice crawls across Keith’s skin. “This program is not smart enough.”

Heat rises in his face. He rubs at his nose again, fidgeting, tasting the blood as it drips down the back of his throat. 

Before he can think of anything to say, Shiro is smiling, gesturing. “It’s good for keeping everyone in shape. The weapons programs help teach them proper form.”

“The whole team does this?” Kolivan asks.

Shiro looks from Kolivan to Keith, then back. Keith sniffles again and pinches at his nostrils.

“We have team exercises,” Shiro says. “Keith puts in some extra time on his own.”

Kolivan’s eyes sweep over the room. It twinges in Keith’s stomach, wondering if Shiro can tell where Kolivan is looking. He has to ask later, when they’re alone. But there’s that eerie feeling that Keith gets, in his spine, that he can read Kolivan’s eyes, even without pupils. It makes him wonder what Kolivan even sees. How he sees. 

And the idea of it dawns on him, the possibility peeling back and back that maybe one day he’ll be able to ask Kolivan about it. When they’re alone.

For a moment his mouth feels dry. He looks between the two of them again and it sets in that… he’s different now. 

Not just literally, like he’s an alien. Besides, he was an alien the whole fucking time and just didn’t know it. No, it’s the knowledge of it. Today is the first day he knows it. And it’s never going to be the same after this. Not really.

Being out here is fucked up. Getting involved was an accident. But. He’s here now. And here’s Kolivan, and Keith can ask him questions, and get to know the others. 

Shiro sneaks him a look, while Kolivan is inspecting the weapons rack. It’s an Are you okay? kind of look. 

Keith chuckles. He grabs a water as he starts heading towards the door. Claps Shiro on the arm as he passes by.

Who the fuck knows anymore. 

🫡

[someone-you-do-not-know]

🤡😈💖👀

Yay, a question!

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh? Evil laugh or happy laugh? xD Tbh, all of the stupid puns in Birdbrains crack me up, especially the teasers I put in the summaries for "Anatinae" and "Haliaeetinae". Also, this exchange: “I still blame that shit bird.” Lovino muttered under his breath, and Matthew huffed. “Gilbird isn’t that bad.” “Black Canary is exactly that bad.”

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers? Yes! It's in my fairytale retelling of Rapunzel called "Romano, Romano let down your hair!" where there's a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of a chapter. As for current WIPs, let's just say I'm not promising I won't do it again. 😈

💖 What made you start writing? Way back when I first started, it was just to do something creative as a teenager. Then in 2021 I felt myself get back into Hetalia, and was overjoyed that "The Many Personalities of Spain" had been finished. Then I found out one fanfic I really liked still hadn't updated since freaking 2013! And I've been waiting for the next chapter for all that time! So... I decided to write a conclusion (still working on it, it turned into a 25 chapter nightmare, and I need to rewrite the whole thing, because I did ✨research✨ that ended up intimidating me out of writing it). And that evolved into just writing a lot of fanfiction.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please! Oh god, so many. Although Birdbrains is technically not secret at all, because there's already 80k+ words of it on AO3, I want to talk about it. The next part is Arthur-centric, and is going to deal with him and Francis' friendship/relationship/whatever the fuck they have going on. It's still going to be a while, because I'm also working on A Job Interview, but Birdbrains, if I ever finish the entire series, is going to be a behemoth with at least 15 parts to it – so we're not even halfway. There's going to be 10 "character studies" in total, and I have at least one more interlude planned. Then there's a collection of short stories (which I've already begun writing, and STARS, ONE OF THEM WILL KILL YOU, IT'S LOVINO AND GRANDPA ROMULUS-CENTRIC), and one story that's going to be set a few years after everything else. So if Arthur and Francis would just let me write them that would be great, then I could go on with my AU.

[sunwarmed-ash]

Sinful Sunday: On deck- Figure You Out

okay so really the backstory of this whole fic was I got stoned and was starting to try to write and Figure You Out by VIOLA came on spotify. Less than 12 seconds into the song the angsty Steddiegrove story started forming in my brain.

Then I started thinking about how it would be cooler if Eddie performed this modified version of the song post breakup with Billy. and THEN I started thinking about who would be on tour with Corroded Coffin and because this is my fic and my obsessions I chose OG Panic! At The Disco :D

thus the steddiegrove, rydon, eddie/brendon 2000s band au fic was born

i also didn't expect to write more than the song fic haha so thats why theres only one chapter. Maybe if yall like it enough ill write more 👿

CHAPTER DROPPING THIS SUNDAY!!

in the meantime, here's a little teaser

Chicago: Punk Never Dies Tour 2005

Panic! At The Disco has just cleared the stage and their stage crew is busy setting up Corroded Coffins gear while the crowd demands a second encore. It's been a few days, since his break up with Billy, but it's still eating at Eddie. He hates that he's in such a bad mood. He loves the stage. He loves performing. But his personal life can’t get its fucking shit together and its bleeding all over his stage persona. Even two weeks later. 

He's far enough into his head he doesn't even notice there's someone in front of him until they make physical contact. 

“Eds? You good man?” 

It's Gareth. 15 years his band mate and he knows Eddie and his moods like the back of his hand. Eddie gives him a tight lipped smile. He's not. Not even a little.

“Yeah man, sorry. Didn't sleep great last night.”

Gareth smirks and rolls his eyes. 

“So I guess I should be blaming Billy then.” 

Any other day, Eddie would laugh it off. Maybe agree, flirt, or make an over the top sexual remark. But not today. Not after Billy yanked out his heart, crushed it with his boot and then pissed on it. 

“We’re done.” 

Gareth's playful face drops and he looks a little queasy. 

“S-Shit, man, I-I’m so sorry.”

“You didn't know,” Eddie says, shaking his head and slapping the back of his bandmates shoulder to indicate the end of that conversation. “Come on, gotta get warmed up.”

-

Billy is practically vibrating out of his skin. He looks like he's either going to pass out or throw up. 

“I don't wanna be here Steve,” he says for the 7th time since they arrived at the small venue, but based on the never ending mood swings and constant name dropping of his ex, it's more than obvious to Steve Billy does want to be here. Needs it actually. Steve knows Billy never should of broken up with Eddie. Even if the blonde convinces himself, poorly, he's better off without him. 

“Yes, you do. Come on, I’m right here. I’ll be right here, the whole time.”

-

The stage lights change and Eddie turns to face the crowd, still high off that last long. Evidently so are they, because the pit is still active and Eddie watches with glee as the security guards try and fail to stop it. He's arguably feeling a little bit better. Their first few songs have turned an already wild crowd feral. He makes a risky decision, and hopes it's the right one.  

“Okay so this next song is brand new. LIke, I wrote it a week ago new. And, well, it's drastically different than anything we've ever written or performed, but I don't know, what do you think guys? Think this is a good crowd for it?”

The crowd explodes and Eddie laughs, high off their approval. 

“Alright alright, ya convinced us,” he says before nodding to the band to start setting up for their new song. Gareth changes his black bass for an electric-red one, Jeff swaps his bass for the electric violin, and Mike starts up the simple, repetitive drumline with a bass boosted modification. Eddie switches his handheld microphone for a headset, eagerly waiting for his tour mate to return to the side stage.

The song starts off starts off slow, with a deep base undertone accentuated by an electric violin that Eddie thought feels so sexy once they get to the chorus. He's never performed it live before, only twice at practice before the concert tonight, but in his head it's going to be sexy. Mostly, he just had alot of feelings about one resident asshole Billy Hargrove that he needs to get out. The stage is where he healed.

[emotionalcadaver]

WIP Whenever

Gonna try to get more regular in posting teasers sometime in the middle of the week since I've mostly settled into posting updates on Mondays and Fridays.

Tagging @shelbydelrey, @moral-terpitude, @confidentandgood, @eclecticwildflowers, @scaryscarecrows, @areyenotfondofmelobster, @detectivelokis, @roofgeese, @enightshade89, and anyone else interested!

Dance of Darkness Chapter 3: The Devil's Most Loyal Servant (Tommy Shelby x OC)

Tommy hauled himself in a position sitting up. The door slammed shut behind Campbell, and Lucy huffed, putting her revolver back into its holster.

“Shit. Not like we had enough to deal with already–what are you doing?”

“Help me up,” he said, reaching out a hand to her, trying to heft himself off the mattress.

“Wha–absolutely not.”

“We need to get out of here.”

“Tommy, your face is so swollen you can’t open one eye. You can’t even piss by yourself.”

“We’re sitting ducks here, love. If it’s not Campbell who comes back for us, it could be Sabini’s boys. Go get my clothes.”

“No!”

He let out a frustrated growl, grunting as he struggled to fully sit up, clearly biting back a wine at the pain the movement caused in his ribs. Lucy watched him with her arms crossed over her chest, undeniably impressed as he managed to swing his legs up off the bed.  

“Oh, for fucks sake…” she finally relented. “Fine. you stubborn bastard. Let me go get your coat. Do not try to stand up until I get back,” she pointed a finger at him, stalking to a storage area at the end of the room, mumbling to herself about him falling flat on his face. She came back a moment later with his clothes folded in a neat little stack in her arms. “Here.”

He let her help dress him, letting out a cut-off cry of pain when she accidentally jostled his ribs while helping pull his shirt on. 

“Sorry, sorry.”

Getting his slacks pulled fully up his legs was an ordeal alone, Tommy swaying dangerously on his feet, holding onto her for dear life as she pulled them up his hips and fastened his belt for him.

“This is a stupid fucking idea,” she told him after she’d wrapped his coat around his shoulders and set his cap on his head.

“Your opinion is noted.”

“You feel warm,” she said, feeling at his forehead and his cheek.

“I run hot.”

“No, I mean…warmer than usual.”

“I’ll be fine. Just get me out of here.”

“Where are we going?” she hooked the arm that he didn’t have clutching at his ribs around her shoulders, supporting his weight as they began to walk slowly out the door and down the hall.

“Charlie’s yard.”

She sighed. “Okay. Try not to faint before we get there.”

[sweetestofchaos]

The Captain’s Vow Masterlist

➳ Series Info

☠ paring: Captain!Seokjin x OC!Enya | Captain!Seokjin x OC!Amaryllis (w/ a side of Bangtan x oc’s)

☠ genre/au/rating: M (18+), Fluff, Angst, Pirate Au, Strangers to Lovers, Fantasy Au, Soulmate Au (if you squint)

☠ summary: When events take an unexpected turn, Captain Seokjin and the remaining members of his crew from the renowned Abyss seek refuge on an isolated island home to ex-pirates. The young captain has a change of heart there and makes his way back to his native country to hang up his uniform. The royals are furious with Seokjin's decision and condemn him and his crew to death, along with the islanders. Seokjin attempts to escape death with the aid of a young servant before setting out to save the islanders, but it is too late. Seokjin makes a pact with someone who most people would believe to be a devil there on the island, and he swears to exact retribution.

☠ warnings: More in depth included in each chapter - not a lighthearted story. Dead Dove (do not eat). Non-Con, Murder, Blood, Unprotected Sex, Protected Sex (using magic), Violence, Physical/Mental Abuse, Major Character Death(s), Warfare 

☠ cwc: 0

☠ other: I understand that I have a million story ideas just sitting around collecting dust...but Seokjin, the mother fucking Kim Seokjin has me in a headlock that I cannot get out of even if I wanted to (which I don’t). His photobook is going to be a masterpiece and because of that, this story has come about. Let me get my shit together and enjoy the ride! As always thank you to the wonderful @eerieedits​ for creating the stunning banner above. Y’all don’t know how much this brilliant woman has helped me on most of my stories. She brings out my ideas in visual form and it just makes me wanna do better. So, thank you again, hun for the banner. I love it!

➳ Index

☠  teaser - reading map and charting course...

➳ Extras

☠ drabbles/one-shots

☠ moodboards I II

☠ Glossary

[paigelts05]

Promises that can't be kept [FNAF Renegade AU]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Promises-that-can-t-be-kept-FNAF-Renegade-AU-906173137

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36911932/chapters/92120410#workskin

Published: Feb 6, 2022

The first segment of this fic is from well before the release of security breach, yet I added the ending after I played the game. I intended this to explain why Vanessa Diego (this Vanessa is Vanny, not the security guard. The security guard goes by Sylvia in the Renegade AU, but shares her half sisters legal forename) is at the Pizzaplex. Whilst the intentions that I had planned for her are not possible anymore, I decided to pull the angst card and keep her original intentions, but just have Glitchtrap pull the rug out from under her feet, stopping her from acting on them, which will explain how the reluctant follower who fought back still wound up as the murder bunny at the Pizzaplex, hence the ending of this fic that takes place several weeks after the first part (and holds teasers and references to other segments of my AU). After all, even the best laid plans and promises can all come tumbling down. =°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

"So you have to meet up with him because...?" Luis asked Vanessa as they got into her car. Ness's car was painfully average as far as cars went. It was normal looking, silver, common brand, standard wheels, no scratches, etcetera. It didn't stand out at all. "It's a case of meet up or die. He's losing his trust in me, and I somehow have to gain it back, AND somehow convince him that I need to take you around with me, otherwise we'll keep having repeat performances of last time if he catches us together again." Vanessa sighed, fastening her seatbelt and staring out of the windscreen, not starting the car until Luis had also fastened his seatbelt. "Right. Got it," Luis nodded. He had been wondering for a long time, and curiosity had gotten the better of him, "and how did you get into this situation anyway." Upon being asked, Vanessa froze. For a moment, Luis thought he may have struck a nerve, but when she smiled and started the car, he realised she was simply shocked, and somehow relieved. "Finally, someone asks. Time to unload almost my whole family history. Good thing the meet up point is so far away, cos I've got a lot to get off my chest," Vanessa spoke with a giggle as she started the car, then continued to speak as she drove. "As far as recent history goes, it all started with my great grandmother. She was such a simp. She had the hots for William's dad, and they wound up having a kid. A few years later, great grandmother got with another man and had Ina. By the time Ina knew about her half sister, she was all grown up and had had a kid - I mean Ina had a kid. Joy. Joy was young, and Ina had recently been laid off form her job because her employer was a peice of shit and when she asked to go part time to take care of her daughter, he just got rid of her completely. So Ina was out of a job and had a kid to feed. That's when her half sister swooped in and helped her get a job at Fredbear's. It all went smoothly for a while. Fredbear's became Freddy's, and the place had been open for over a year. So as it turns out, Ina's half sister made a the same deal with William as what Krasnyy's mother's parents made. Joy was 17 at the time, and it was one of her mates birthdays, you know Krasnyy? It was his 16th when shit hit the fan. Ina and Philip died in a spring lock faliures, and whilst Krasnyy - poor thing - stayed putt as he grieved his dad, my mum seemed to know something was up and booked it to live with her grandma on her dad's side. Did I forget to mention that Ina's husband fucked off, leaving Ina on her own, but, like, his family preferred her to him so deadass just treated her like a daughter still? A few years later, the apartment block they were in was set on fire. It was the middle of the day, and as it was a small building and most people weren't home, no-one actually died, but some people did suffer horrible injuries as they evacuated. You see, my mum was blinded by something whacking her in the face and she ran out the back. No-one found her, so she was pronounced dead dispite there being no body or evidence to prove it. The arsonist was caught, and guess who it was: Ina's half sister. Now, my mum decided it would be safer to assume a fake identity, and even though she was still living with her dad's mum, she was safe somehow. She did have to hop between jobs, which wasn't easy for her, but she was safe. Especially after her mum's half sister died in prison in 92, and Joy was able to go by her own name again, and then she got with this guy and had my half sister. He was a right slimy bastard and tried to accuse her of all sorts of shit. All of it fell through, cos mum's blind. She can't see shit, so all of what he tried to accuse her of fell through, but he still got custody of my half sister cos he had better divorce lawyers and made my half sis lie. My half sis even said that it was a lie, but the bastard just had better lawyers. A few years later, Joy found someone else, and she had me. Even though gran's half sister is dead, I know she's the one who roped me into this. There's this 'item' we have in our family. Whilst normal people can get posessed and fight it off, this item basically makes it nigh-impossible to fight back. Only she could have done this. If it was just the physical item, I'd have not had to do anything for him as he wouldn't be able to use it, but only someone from my family knows how to make it work, so out of all my relatives, only she would have used that relic to make what happened happen. If that damn thing didn't exist, I'd have been able to fight him off just like Cassey and Sylvia did. But I can't. It's a lot harder to fight him off for me. And if I don't do something soon, they'll have complete control over me." When she paused to take a deep breath, Vanessa realised that there were almost there. "Anyway, you know the rest, about that relic and everything recent." She said as she pulled into the car park for the old headquarters of Fazbear Entertainment. Fazbear Entertainment had tried time and time again to make the public think that it had distanced itself from the killers that worked there, but it was all a lie. An expensive lie, given that this time they had even moved all their workers from the regional HQ's to the main one in Utah after building some extra wings there, which left the monolithic building in Chicago empty bar the labs in the basement. Luis was about to step out of the car, when Vanessa stoped him, only saying "Wait," as she got out the car and grabbed some things from the boot. She came back wearing her mask, with a backpack presumably full of blood bags, her nail bat, and some bandages. Taking a small blood bag our of her backpack, she told Luis "If you don't want to ruin your jacket we're leaving it in the car, so take it off. I've got to make you look a bit roughed up." Luis obliged and tossed his jacket onto the back seat. Vanessa then put some of the blood on her hands and ran them through Luis's hair, purposely messing it up. She then flicked some of the blood onto his shirt before smearing some of it onto his face before quickly wrapping bandages around his head, covering his eyes. Then, she adjusted the bandages so that Luis could see. "And this is supposed to do what?" Luis asked, to which Vanessa replied, "I've got my mask, this is your mask. He's more likely to trust me with you if you look like this. Also makes it seem like I've actually converted you to work with me with him. Also if I actually hit you as hard as I told him I did, that scratch on your head wouldn't have healed by now." "But it's been a few weeks." "About that... Lie number 2; frequency." "Oh. ... Oh. I see. So you need to keep your story straight basically." "Pretty much." Luis nodded, then stood up. "Sounds like a pretty daunting task. I just hope everyone at work is ok." "Hopefully. Even with that happening yesterday, I'm sure they'll be safe," Vanessa then checked her watch, "we've got to get moving though. The upper elevators don't work, and he's expecting us to meet him in his old office." Luis didn't like the idea of walking up several flights of stairs in a rotting old building half blind, but if it brought them closer to getting rid of William and stopping that other old dude from attempting to recreate the great fire of London again, it would be worth it. Getting in the building was easy. The door was unlocked, so they walked straight in. Strange machines were dotted about, and it seemed that personnel had been replaced with robots. "Try to look dead inside," Vanessa whispered to Luis, "They'll only bother you if you seem to have free will." Luis tried to fake a deadpan expression, but his fear made this a struggle. But it was good enough. The security gates at the stairwell were deactivated, and had been for many years, which was apparent because they were torn to shreds and rusting from the inside out. Continuing past the ruins of the security gates and up the stairs, they pushed forward. After six flights of stairs, they were only at the third floor, and they both were getting exhausted. Another five flights of stairs, and surprisingly enough, it was Vanessa who collapsed to her knees. "Damnit," she bearly pushed the words out as her throat felt as if it were on fire. Her knees had pretty much given in, and they still had nine flights of stairs to climb. "Why did the meet up point have to be so high up." She rummaged through her bag and grabbed two water bottles, passing one to Luis. The two took a short break, but they didn't have much time left, so Luis helped Vanessa up, and they carried on up the stairs. "Damn my knees, if they weren't shitty, we'd probably be a lot further up by now." This was not the first time that Luis had heard Vanessa complain about her knees. It had been a recurring thing and had frequently determined the route they'd take when going on walks, but it was times like these where it was obvious how intrusive her bad knees could get. When it was clear that she was struggling, he helped her keep standing and moving up the stairwell. "We're almost there. Just keep up the act, and everything will be fine." Luis nodded. He hadn't spoke since they entered the building, and he wasn't going to blow their cover by talking now. Heading through the double doors, they saw Glitchtrap standing at the end of the hallway. "You were beginning to run a bit late, so I thought I would come and find you." It's voice was staticy and put both of them on edge. "Stairs," Vanessa replied, still trying to catch her breath, "could we meet up on a lower floor next time. I've told you about my knees before." "Subsequent meetings will be held on floor four. This one shall still take place in my office." They all made their way to the room at the end of the corridor. Luis wondered how Vanessa was staying so calm. His heart was pounding in his chest, and not in a good way. Vanessa wondered how Luis was keeping up his dead-inside act so well. She could hear her heartbeat in her head as adrenaline pumped through her body. "Take a seat," Glitchtrap said as he opened the door to his office. The gesture had a grandiose and regal air, which when combined with his businessman demeanor felt rather patronising. Especially coming from an oversized plush toy. The first thing you'd notice about this office is that it was a mess: documents strewn everywhere, drawers ripped out of filing cabinets and desks and tossed across the room, a broken paper guillotine sitting on the desk, stained with blood that had to have been at least a few years old. A fight clearly happened here many years ago, with no effort at cleanup since. Vanessa's observations were promptly cut short by Glitchtrap's staticy voice, "let's review your progress." Vanessa's attention was drawn away from the trashed surroundings and back to the ghost piloting a fursuit who was now sitting behind the desk. If the tonal change at the door was the start of his facade switching, then he had truly switched facades, changing from the maniac that she knew to the businessman she didn't know. His tone had also changed completely from the homicidal restaurant mascot he initially confronted her as to that of a disappointed CEO. "So far," Glitchtrap continued, "you've amassed one follower and appear to be working on amassing five others. As for your other tasks, you say you've selected a target, but I'm yet to see you take any action." The staticy voice held an air of superiority, like a boss giving orders to a worker. "Other than that, you've only managed to start a few minor tasks." Glitchtrap glared at her as if he were looking down his nose through a pair of glasses, "I'm beginning to believe you aren't as competent at this as you claim to be. The only things you've managed to complete are things I've overseen." Hearing those words made Vanessa's blood run cold. She was worried that he was catching on, or worse, that he had given up all together and was going to turn her into some mindless servant using that blasted heirloom of hers that he stole. At least her mask hid her face, so hopefully he wouldn't be able to tell that she was scared. "So," he continued, "Do you have any reason why you've not managed to accomplish much?" Now that she had an invitation to speak, she had to think of something to say, and fast. What would William Afton want to hear? What excuses would be acceptable? What would he tell him? She had it. "I've been making small steps, but I didn't want to get caught." Vanessa started, remembering what a friend of her mum's friend had told her, "You see, each opportunity hasn't been as seizable as you'd perceive. There are far more security cameras in the world nowadays, so finding suitable locations is not as easy as it was back in the eighties." A sly grin crept across Glitchtrap's face before he spoke again. "I see you've done your homework. I'll let your lack of action slide for now. Especially since I have a special task for you, which may make your current task easier. I want you to go to this mall. Freddy's Pizza megaplex, or did they abbreviate it without my express permission. I can't recall. But I want you to go there. It's under my command, so cameras and witnesses will be a non-issue, and there will be plenty of targets for you to trap and pick off. A woman works there with the same first name as you. You may find killing and framing her at some point useful so we can get many targets in one and keep you in the clear - as you seem to enjoy having all your bases covered." Vanessa meekly nodded back, "Alright. I'll start working on a better disguise than just this mask, and get to work as soon as possible." "Good. Now don't let me down." And with that, Glitchtrap vanished, and thier meeting was over. Vanessa dismissed herself and Luis - who had been standing next to Vanessa doing absolutely nothing the whole time - from the office and proceeded down the stairs in silence. Once they were back in the car, Vanessa removed her mask and passed Luis his jacket back. "We can talk freely now." She said before collapsing on the steering wheel, exhausted, both physically and mentally. "I can't believe he wants me to kill my half sister. This can't be happening." Vanessa said as she sunk further into the seat. "I thought your half sister was called Sylvia?" Luis replied, a bit confused. "Yeah, her legal name is Vanessa. She goes by her middle name. Mum didn't know until the court case as she didn't know her first husband had switched the names. Anyway, that's besides the point." Vanessa shook her head before continuing, "He wants me to go somewhere and kill a bunch of kids, and then frame Sylvia for it all." "All he seems to actually want is for you to kill people. He didn't seem that happy about you 'converting' me - he definitely wanted me dead. How have you been able to dodge his requests so far like that? Are you ok, like, mentally? Are you sure he's not catching on?" "Sure I'm sure. If these excuses were valid for Vincent in the 90's they're even more valid now, but it won't hold forever." "Vincent? Isn't he that Springtrap we put all those poisonous flowers on after he got delivered to us? You know, the dude who immediately started complaining about the people that dragged him to us, but he was actually really nice and really just a pleasant guy even though he's dead? Him?" "Yep. That one," Vanessa sighed, "he actually used to work as a hitman under the orders of William's right hand man. He wants William gone as much as I do, so I might be asking him for help. It might be a last resort though, as talking with him outside of animatronic maintainance would instantly tell William that I'm betraying him." "Right." Luis was a bit shocked, but somehow not surprised about any of that. He was pretty numb to the shock of learning about dark pasts and such, so learning that the undead man with an interest in gardening was actually a hitman actually made a lot of sense. "So," Luis continued, "we keep on bluffing and call Vincent as a last resort as a helping hand?" "Kind of," Vanessa said as she started the car, "Well keep bluffing, but as soon as we call for help, it'll be all hands on deck. Vincent, Cassey, Mike, Sylvia, everyone. If I want to stand a chance, I'll need all the help I can get. Once I go to the megaplex on my own terms, that'll be the day it all ends. I'll take him down there, no matter what it takes." ***** The memory of that day stung in Luis's chest as he stood at the door to the guest room. Moonlight beamed in and basked the small room and the open cardboard box in the centre in a silver glow, whilst the shadows were bathed in blue. The curtains bellowed out of the window, almost beckoning him to approach. As he stepped toward the window, other memories flooded into his head. Like how when they returned to the maintenance firm that day, they had found that Adelaide had struck and had only been thwarted by Raha being able to arrive late that day, and how the so-called 'ritual' that she interupted had almost killed Dan. He remembered the days after, when Dan had recovered and Ness had fallen ill. He remembered how they had received tech support from a 'V_A', and how that account had been used to run admin commands on thier system, releasing all the Springtraps from the Special Delivery project. He remembered the day Ness limped back in, not entirely herself, and the girls had grabbed her, causing whatever had had a stranglehold on her mind to leave, albeit temporarily. He remembered Ness moving in with him, wanting to not be alone. He remembered the night that 'Vanny' had taken over, and that he was only able to stop her from killing him by tearing off the rabbit mask. He remembered how scared she was, and how he had vowed that he'd do his best to make sure that that leech wouldn't hurt her again. He wasn't able to keep that promise. As he finally approached the window, he saw a car - Ness's car - drive away. The steering seemed shaky, as if an old man was trying to drive for the first time in years. Luis remembered the promise that Ness had made to him the day they went to the old HQ, and knew that she was incapable of keeping hers. °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

[shanie]

TEASER THURSDAY!!!

(As tagged by @afterdarkprincess, although they tagged me for Tuesday. Whoops)

Anyway, have something I just wrote that's meant to be part of the next chapter of "A Lovely Bella Giorno"!

Rating T for language.

It had taken ten minutes that time to get to the restaurant.

Thankfully, blessedly even, Generico didn’t go out of his way to keep them away from it. That said, he also didn’t help, but luckily, the place was a straight shot from the hotel, and visible from the road before the intersection for the plaza he needed to turn into.

Unfortunately, that plaza had something else in it.

“NO!” Kevin barked as Generico gestured frantically at the colorful signage for the comic shop in the nearby section of strip mall. “I am not getting you any more comics. Have you even finished the ones you got from the free day?”

“No. Saboreando,” Generico replied, and, sure enough, Kevin no sooner had the car parked than Generico had his seatbelt off and the door opened, heading in the direction of the store.

Fuck, Kevin thought, quickly turning the car off and getting out himself.

“HEY!” he called after his friend, who was already halfway there, “Are they even open? Generico it’s almost 6:00!”

If Generico was listening... well, there was no if about it. Generico wasn’t listening, not in the slightest, and, with a long, suffering sigh, Kevin headed after his partner towards the comic shop.

....

The trip had been mercifully quick. The store was getting ready to close for the day and Generico hadn’t had much time to look. But, somehow, Generico had managed to find an issue of Spider-Man that was both Spider-Man AND Fairy Tails.

And it was issue #1.

“That’s the only one of those you are getting, I hope you know,” Kevin told his partner as they left the store, hearing the telltale sound of the front door being locked behind them, “the cover on that looks scary enough, I’m not dealing with you having nightmares because you got messed up by a comic book.”

Generico wasn’t listening, AGAIN, instead humming something to himself.

Kevin rolled his eyes hard enough he might have sprained them.

“Come on, we came here for dinner, you can’t just – ”

Kevin stopped short when he realized what Generico was humming.

“That’s Superman!” Kevin told his partner, “Not Spider-Man.”

Generico stopped walking and stared. “Que?”

Kevin stopped as well, rubbing at his forehead and shaking his head. “The song. That’s the Superman movie theme. How do you even know about that, anyway, it came out before we were born?”

“Que?” Generico asked again, still confused.

“SUPERMAN! When the hell, no, how the hell have you seen the Superman movies?”

Generico grinned, and, with a giggle, leaned forward close enough that Kevin could feel Generico’s breath against his face.

“Videocinta,” the luchador laughed, “VCR”

“What is Vaysayerray? If you’re gonna be annoying about shit, at least be annoying in a language I understand!”

If Kevin was getting irritated, Generico was getting the opposite, somehow, smiling wider and, as he moved to stand in front of Kevin, his friend captured his hands and looked right at him with dark eyes that Kevin swore looked like they were shining with the setting sun.

“Tapes,” Generico said softly. “Abuela tapes.”

Oh, Kevin thought.

VCR.

Stupid Spanish put an extra sound on the end of the R.

Spanish pissed him off so much. Sometimes, the words made sense. A little. But most of the time it was just complete nonsense to him. They kept doing dumb shit like adding sounds and letters to the end of words.

Then again, it wasn’t like Generico had ever wrapped his head around the silent letters of his language, so maybe fair was fair.

Maybe they were just doomed to never understand each other.

But really, even without words, they still did. Generico would look at him and he’d just know… and at that moment, the way that Generico’s eyes were shin- no, glowing, melted Kevin’s heart immediately.

He couldn’t be angry, he couldn’t be. Not when Generico was looking at him like that.

... granted, Kevin wasn’t entirely sure what “that” all entailed, but it really didn’t matter much. Generico had gotten his comic book which, remarkably, he had paid for.

A comic book that was in a bag hanging from Generico’s wrist... that was still connected to Kevin’s own via a pair of disturbingly tenderly held hands.

“Ok,” Kevin said, shaking his hands free, “You win. You’ve seen tapes. Of course you’ve seen tapes. Plus your parents probably had cable when you were little or something.”

“Nope,” Generico replied before, raising his hands, he made a gesture like an overhead antenna... and promptly smacked himself in the face with his bag.

Kevin tried not to laugh. Tried. Tried and failed.

“All right, buddy,” he said, tugging Generico’s arms back down to a reasonable level, “Let’s get your stuff in the car before you hurt yourself on it.”

Generico whimpered.

“We can’t take it into the restaurant, it’ll get ruined. I promise, we’ll put it in the backseat, in the pocket. Nobody will see it.”

“SI!”

Kevin smiled, a small sigh escaping him.

Generico really was impossible at times.

Impossible, infuriating, insufferable... Kevin thought, but, as he watched as Generico grinned broadly and headed back to the car, his arms swinging as he practically skipped across the parking lot, one more word came to mind.

Irreplaceable.

[sweetest-devotion]

.

[sungbeam]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 (teaser)

nonidol!kim hongjoong x fem!reader

you and joong made a promise to each other. now the world wants to test that.

genre. strangers 2 lovers 2 ??, fluff, angst, scene by scene

inspired by. lany's (what i wish just one person would say to me)

teaser warnings. fluff!!, like 2 curse words, a lil kith, being sickly in love

release date. week of august 21st (yup, next week (;_;) — EDIT !! IT'S HERE HEHE

estimated wc. about 10k

taglist. open! (send an ask or leave a comment)

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @staysstrays @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @yedammi @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @hoohoohope

taglist: @yuufiles @rge-nini @bookishcalls

TEASER BELOW THE CUT (APPROX. 500 WORDS)

"Joong!" You called into the apartment, venturing deeper into the bedroom, where Hongjoong had gone to start organizing some of his things into drawers and the closet space. 

"In here!" He replied from the closet. He poked his head out. "What's up, doll?"

"I think you dropped this," you chuckled, showing him the chain dangling from your fingers. "Probably fell out of a jewelry box or some—"

"Oh shit, you weren't supposed to see that yet," he swore. Hongjoong winced, hissing to himself, as he hustled over to you and took the chain. He raked a hand through his raven dark locks; why was he so stressed about this? There was that pout again. "It was supposed to be a surprise, like—like an apartment warming gift and a thank you for letting me move in with you."

He slumped, sulking, and you imagined he was beating himself to a pulp on the inside. 

"Oh, honey," you murmured with a small smile. You set the box down on the ground and gathered him into your arms. He brought his arms up to wrap around your waist, chin settled on your shoulder. "You're so sweet, but you didn't have to get me anything. I think it was only a matter of time before we moved in together anyway."

"It was gonna be a cute reveal, too," he sulked some more, playing with the chain behind your back. "See?" He moved back slightly and withdrew his own chain link choker from beneath his shirt collar. Instead of a key, however, a silver lock hung from the center. "Because you've unlocked the key to my heart—something sappy like that."

Your cheeks warmed. "Surprise or not, it's beautiful. I love it a lot, Joong."

Hongjoong brightened. "I'm glad." He made a swirling motion with his fingers. "Alright, now turn around for me, babe. Let's put this on, shall we?"

You turned your back to him and let him link the choker around your neck. The chain rested just above your collarbones, comfortably. There was a bit of weight to it, but it was a welcomed presence that didn't really bother you much. You fiddled with the key charm, trying your hardest not to smile too big. 

When you turned around to show him with a little "ta-da", Hongjoong's eyes flickered to your collar. He grinned, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He stepped closer, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. "You're stunning. Dear fucking god, you're perfect."

"Hongjoong, you can't just say something like that!" You stammered helplessly. Oh Lord, you were a mess he was making you an utter mess with his words. That was supposed to be you, wasn't it? 

He cupped your cheek in his hand, lips parted in awe. "I need to kiss you. Let me kiss you."

"Kiss me then," you told him. 

One arm wrapped around your waist and the other tilting your chin up toward him, he pressed his lips against yours, the seal on an old chapter and the beginning of a new one. Because there was no one else either of you would want to be with—could imagine yourselves with—for the rest of your lives.