#did ten not suffer enough already????

[dcxdpdabbles]

Phantom's Number 1 Fan Part 3

John Constantine calls a joint Justice League and Justice League Dark meeting.

It's not something he wants to do. He barely works with the LJD, but at least that lot understands his work and knows what to do and where to go.

The JL members always ask questions and forget proper manners when working with the paranormal- John isn't the most well-mannered bloke around, but even he knows to permanently say goodbye to ghosts so that they don't follow him home- and it's like trying to teach an intern while dodging bullets.

He prefers to avoid the whole origination, especially since Bruce's death; everyone has been walking on eggshells, and there is a sense of disorganization drenched in grief that John breaks into hives just thinking about, but this is big.

Bigger than he can handle it on his own or with just the JLD. Even if the whole group gives the bats not-so-stable glances as they filter in.

John notices that one of Batman's brats is missing- the smart one- but he has heard that the kid suffered some kind of psychotic break from his father's death. It's sad, really, mainly because John used to believe that the third Robin was the one with the good head on his shoulders.

What's worse is that the Third Robin up and ran off, having gone off the grid when he refused to accept Batman's death. The boy hadn't said anything besides, "The portraits told me!" after having a miniature breakdown in his home.

It didn't help that around this time, the boy teammates had all dropped like flies except for one. So yes, John knows it wasn't a big surprise that he lost it, but it was still sad to see. Kid is only seventeen.

He hopes they find him soon to give him the help he needs. John would offer a spell to try and find him, but he needs to learn about the kid better, which means his spell can only point in a general direction.

Nightwing looked downright ragged, but losing a father on the battlefield and a younger brother to his grief did a number on anyone.

John hates himself just a little for dragging the grieving family here. He does, but again, this is bigger than all of them. This is a matter of life and death- literally.

"Listen up. We have a bloody level ten on its way to Earth if it's not already here." His words cut through the muttering crowd, shutting everyone up. A level ten makes even the big, lousy Superman sweat. He snaps his fingers, allowing his magic to shift into the image of a King Phantom sitting on his throne- painted in the early 1200s and the picture that can be used to identify him.

The art style would have been almost modern if it wasn't for the unease that the painting could cause due to the glowing green from his majesty's portrait. They say the green was ectoplasm from the king himself- and that alone should warn others to not mess with him.

Everyone Justice League Dark member hissed through their teeth, sitting up straighter and a few even pale. John is once again grateful that they understand just how deep in shit they genuinely are.

"This is the Ghost King. He is not to be confused with a god or king of gods. He's something else entirely because he makes gods nervous. He is on his way here to kill whoever is dumb enough to threaten his pregnant fiancee, and I fear the rest of Earth will be collateral if we don't prepare-"

"That's Danny Phantom," A young voice cuts John off. He is surprised someone would talk over him in a level ten briefing. All eyes turn to Robin- er, the new Robin.

The kid is frowning at the image, his signature scowl already deeper than usual. He's also heard the new Robin was a spoiled boy who was not a team player.

"You know King Phantom?" John asks.

Robin nods. "Placeholder is obsessed with him. Half his room is covered with King Phantom's heroics."

"Do not call him that.," Nightwing hisses a second later. He frowned when Robin ignored him but returned to the room without further comment on the boy's cheek. "Danny Phantom is a low-level search and rescue hero. He pops up around the world but only sometimes interacts with people. Robin- Young Justice Robin- was obsessed with him."

The room gains an awkward weight as no one is willing to bring up the mentally unsound MIA teenager.

It's too bad for them. John has never cared about making anyone comfortable. "You said his room is covered in images of King Phantom?"

From the corner of his eyes, John catches sight of Zatanna's face. She's pale white, with a horrified expression as if though she was standing before the grim itself. Every other member of the Justice League Dark is in a similar state.

"Yes, he has a whole wall of posters and stuff." Nightwing conforms, and shit John knows who Phantom's after now.

The thing is, one just doesn't have pictures of King Phantom. No one knows why, but the Ghost King can not be documented. Not without having some kind of connection to the King.

Throughout history, the only ones who have ever had even one solid picture of the king- John's magic doesn't count cause he can't well hold the thing up forever- usually meant that the King would appear before them at one point.

There is also a myth if one could beat a member of the royal ghost family, then one wish is granted to them. If one can kill a royal ghost member, death can be overturned.

It's not true, obviously, for death is not easily beaten like that, but John knows that as an expert, would a mentally unwell teenager know the same?

It was also known that if the King appeared before you, something terrible would happen. The sighting of King Phantom often came as an omen and usually right before a terrible disaster.

In the last disaster, they lost Batman, and if King Phantom had shown up, where the Third Robin have spotted him? Where the Third Robin have thought the King could return the dead?

Not to mention the rumors!

King Phantom was hunting down a group of humans known as "The Bats." John hadn't put that much stock in that rumor simply because it could have been anyone- hell, when he looked up the bats seven different groups appeared, varying from boy bands to zoologists.

But if he placed the name "The Bats" next to the Third Robin's psychotic break, his obsession with King Phantom, and his intertwined fates...well, shit.

There is a slight chance that the Third Robin's fate could be intertwined with the Ghost King in a positive light, but John has learned to not be optimistic in his line of work.

"I think the Third Robin is gunning after the Ghost King's fiancee and unborn child in a misguided attempt to bring Batman back to life. He may have kicked started a war that humanity can not win," He announces. He hates to say. hates to even suggest it, but the needs of the many outweigh those of the few. "We have to find the Third Robin and attempt to stop him. If we can't reason with him, we must put him down."

Wonder Girl gasps a sob, pressing her hand against her mouth.

John hates himself a little more as she sobs; a few rushes to confront her, but no one is unaffected by the news.

"I'm ordering a hunt for the Third Robin," Wonderwoman speaks up to her steady leadership, returning everyone from their despair. "Every available hero will help. Do not use lethal force unless there is no other choice. We may be able to find him before King Phantom's armies arrive."

John just hopes they are not too late.

Meanwhile, across the plane of existence, unaware of the manhunt for his head, Tim Drake is trying to stare down a Yeti, attempting to put him in silk clothes that are just fabrics held together by strings.

"No."

"But-But- but you have such a flattering figure! You must flaunt it! The Great One will barely be able to contain himself if he sees you in this!"

"No. It looks like something you wear on a honeymoon to seduce your spouse. I'm not walking around in that."

"Well, you don't need to bewitch his majesty. You already have a child on the way." The Yeit mutters, considering the fabric in his claws with a frown. He is Frostbite's royal tailor and has been attempting to dress Tim for over an hour. Everything he's suggested so far looks like it came from those romantic fantasy games.

It's like they want to make him a sexy consort or something.

Tim's teeth grind against each other. He hates how often his role is reminded, how casually the yetis mention that Ra's expects a child from Tim.

He doesn't even know how that child will come to be, and it makes him sick. He's been bidding his time, waiting for his wounds to heal and to find a weakness in the frozen fortress, but so far, he is unsure how he will escape.

And Bruce is still out there, waiting for Tim to get him. He can't waste any more time here.

"How about this cloak?" The Yeti offers, holding up a dark metallic fabric that reminds TIm of his Robin cape. "If we are going for a more conservative look, something that screams power is just the way to make the masses wild!"

Ugh, he really needs to think of a plan soon.

[lovelyhan]

— every summertime  ⟢

you're not really interested in the record shop downtown. but people aren't oblivious to the way you keep trying to get into the owner's pants—not even the owner himself.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x afab!reader

★ WORD COUNT;  16.1k words

★ TAGS; 70s au, playing hard to get, bad bad bad decisions, friends questioning said decisions, reader is a slut in theory but not so much in practice (at least...in the beginning), pining?, angst but like, only a microcosm of angst, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ WARNINGS; alcohol consumption

★ NOTES; if i told you all about how much this fic has changed over the last three months i've spent writing it, you'd all be sick of me going back and forth with the direction i wanted this to go lmfao !!!! i don't think i've ever suffered writing anything as much as i did with this, so i'm proud to be sharing the fruit of every one of my trashed drafts to all of you :') i sincerely hope you all like it T T

this is part of the svthub 70s;teen collab!

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, dom jeonghan bc i just Need him to dom me, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, dacryphilia kinda?, cockwarming

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti--red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @dearjeonwonwoo - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon - @todorokiskitten - @immabecreepin - @98-0603 - @peachhiz

★ JEONGHAN TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @bias-recs - @lunaryoongie - @haoxiaoba - @ak6ko

“Ji, I got you a present!”

Your best friend of over ten years glances at you momentarily while he’s in the middle of replacing the strings of his guitar. There’s an unimpressed look on his face when he does it—no different from the way he looks at you whenever you walk in a gritty session of Dungeons and Dragons back in high school. Only this time, you’re being downright annoying for another reason entirely.

“I’m pretty sure you already have all the Led Zeppelin vinyls in existence so I just picked out whatever from the shelf instead,” you tell him nonchalantly as you bring out a spiffy-looking record of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. “This one’s nice, isn’t it?”

It is, but here’s the thing:

“I already have that.” Jihoon affixes you with a blank stare as he gets up from his seat, letting his fingers glide across the alphabetized collection on his own shelf. 

Ten seconds later, your best friend pulls a carefully preserved vinyl with the exact same album art plastered on the front, making you lower the one in your hands in abject disbelief. But Jihoon has been friends with you long enough to know that something like this isn’t enough to fluster you.

“Consider it a high quality dupe then.” You giggle maniacally before letting yourself fall on top of Jihoon’s bed and hold the sealed vinyl tightly to your chest. “Jeonghan looked soooo gorgeous today. I was really down in the dumps when I heard that he cut his hair, but there’s just a different appeal when guys have it shorter. You get me, right?”

“I really don’t,” Jihoon deadpans as he plops himself back into his chair, coiling a roll of fresh nylon around the pegs of his guitar. “Don’t you ever get tired of spending your summers chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t like you back?”

“Don’t you get tired of lecturing me when we both know I’m never gonna listen?” A simper escapes your lips before you engage the Stevie Wonder poster on Jihoon’s ceiling in a staring contest. “Besides, it’s not as if I like like him! I just want to fuck him—big difference.”

There it is—the classic why am I even best friends with you sigh that only makes Jihoon more endearing than he already is. “Let me rephrase then: why do you keep chasing after a guy who obviously doesn’t want to fuck you back?”

Stevie Wonder ends up winning when you shoot back up into a seating position, letting out an obnoxious laugh that you stifle with the same vinyl you supposedly got for Jihoon. “Au contraire! It might seem that way, but you just haven’t seen a person as deep in his own denial as Jeonghan is.”

“Second door to the left—bathroom’s there. I highly recommend that you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror.” Jihoon’s jaw ticks when he says the words but as long as he isn’t blatantly kicking you out of his room, you’re still within tolerable range. “Didn’t Mingyu set you up with one of his friends? I clearly remember you telling me about it before the semester ended.”

Ah, that’s right. 

Two weeks ago, Kim Mingyu—one of the many friends you’ve left in your hometown—called the telephone that you shared in an apartment with four other girls. When the housemate that answered told you about some guy with a lisp looking for you, you quickly ditched whatever notes you were pretending to read for a quick conversation.

Of course, once Mingyu dropped the call, you quickly turned the telephone dial to ring up your best friend with a pressing question: Mingyu wants to set me up with some guy named Jungkook. Do you know him? 

Jihoon, however, has never met anyone that goes by that name his entire life, which made you draw the conclusion that this Jungkook person must be Mingyu’s friend from another city. He tends to collect people like trading cards and you can’t fault him for it. Mingyu is pretty charming.

Charming enough that you agreed to go hang out with him and Jungkook once you’re back in your hometown.

“Well, he hasn’t contacted me about it again so my Jungkook appointment is on hold until then,” you point out with a huff. “Plus, I don’t see why I should stop trying my chances with Jeonghan just because I’ve got another boy reserved.”

“I don’t remember you being this much of a man-eater last summer.”

“Yet you still love me anyway.” 

Despite already having one in his possession, Jihoon accepts the blasted Pink Floyd vinyl and places the dupe right next to his first copy on the shelf of collectibles. The conversation drifts onto different topics ranging from your mutual struggles with work and the supposed girlfriend that Soonyoung may or may not be lying about. Then right after he finishes restringing his guitar, your best friend walks you home just like old times.

When you’re halfway to the front door of your house, however, Jihoon calls out your name—a sound barely audible in the evening breeze, but you turn around with a questioning look anyway. 

“Don’t be too pushy with Jeonghan, okay?” He instructs sternly. “I know you’re just fucking around, but really, you’re better off investing your time in better things. In better people. Not someone who only keeps you around as a source of entertainment.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand for added flair. “Fucking around? I’m very serious about getting my insides rearranged by him!”

Your best friend makes a face. “Y/N.”

“Just kidding, Ji. You, of all people, should know that I know my limits!” you reassure him with a smile. “Why do you think Jeonghan still speaks to me warmly whenever I walk inside his shop? Whenever I run into him at the disco?”

“Because you’re his customer? And he’s after your money? And maybe he’s a pretty decent person outside his reputation as a sexual fiend?”

“Well that might be true, but that’s also because he’s interested in me too!”

“Good night, Miss Delusional.”

“Good night, Mister Enabler!”

This is pretty much a good summary of your relationship with your best friend. You willingly get yourself tangled up in something incredibly stupid, he tells you off like he’s your mother every time he finds out, and once things start crashing down, you run over to Jihoon in tears while he consoles you for something that’s a hundred percent your fault. It’s quite the understated miracle how he’s tolerated you for so long, but that’s precisely why you’re best friends in the first place.

But there’s this one thing that you can’t tell even Jihoon about. 

“Were you finally out on a date with Jeonghan?”

Your sister, Luna, asks when you make your way to the living room to say hi. She’s nose-deep in one of those Stephen King novels, but her eyes stray away from the pages to spare you a momentary glance. 

You snort. “As if he’s that easy.” 

Luna hums before her eyes wander back to her book. “Mmm. You’re right. If he was, he would’ve gone out with you like, I dunno, three years ago?” 

“You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re such a coward,” she snorts. “You know, if you just told him hey I’ve been in love with you since we met at Joshua’s graduation party instead of asking if he wants to sleep with you, your odds of getting with him would skyrocket.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you chuckle before stepping inside the living room to ruffle her hair—an act of affection that Luna receives with distaste. “Quit making unnecessary comments about my sex life and help me with dinner before Mom and Dad get home.”

“Your non-existent sex life?”

“Oh, screw you.”

After having dinner with your family, you quickly retreat to your bedroom to retire for the evening before Soonyoung can call your house phone to ask if you’re down for a night out. It’s practically tradition whenever you’re back in town, but your last conversation with Jihoon has been weighing heavily on your mind since you walked inside your house. 

Despite there being a one hundred percent chance that you’ll run into Jeonghan again if you go out with your friends, you’re strangely not in the mood to mingle like you always do. 

You’re better off investing your time in better things. In better people.

That might be true, but…

How can you possibly break free of a cycle you’ve always found yourself tangled up in every summertime? 

THREE SUMMERS AGO

A few nights before graduating from college, Hong Jisoo—better known as Joshua—decided to throw an unforgettable party at a disco club his stepfather owns and monopolizes an entire chain out of. You’re not sure how he managed to pull the strings and smuggle enough booze to make the entire graduating class drunk, but old money does wonders especially in a town as small as this.

You recall it vividly because that was the first time you met Jeonghan.

He was a new face in a crowd of people you practically grew up with. But even if he wasn’t, you still would’ve been able to pick him out of the sea of graduating seniors with ease because of how breathtaking he looks.

His hair was brown when you met him, the tips barely tickling the nape of his neck with bangs framing his soulful eyes. You caught him sipping on a glass of something you can’t really name and the moment your brain managed to process the existence of such a beautiful man in such a boring old town, your immediate reaction was to turn to Mingyu. 

“Who’s that? Violet jacket, white pants? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

Mingyu hums before looking around—something made easier by his towering height. “Oh! That’s Jeonghan—Joshua’s brother.”

“Brother?” Jihoon pipes up right next to you, mirroring your surprise. “I thought Joshua was an only child.” 

Seungkwan hisses as he ushers the four of you into a miraculously vacant booth near the jukebox, looking around as if your conversation was under threat of being eavesdropped on. “Pipe it down! We don’t want to get kicked out of the party for talking smack about Joshua’s family.”

“We’re not talking smack, we’re just confused.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Is it so bad to wonder about the newcomer when the entire disco has been eyeing him up and down? Look, even Soonyoung stopped mid-dance just to talk to him.”

True to Jihoon’s observation, another one of your friends, Kwon Soonyoung deigned to step off the dancefloor to exchange a few words with this Jeonghan person. Their interaction lasts for merely a few seconds with Soonyoung obviously taking a liking to the newcomer—a hearty laugh piercing through the song playing on the jukebox as he nods before heading back to whence he came.

Jeonghan was grinning the entire time too—a lazy, laid-back yet attractive smile—and fuck… 

You might have a nasty case of love at first sight. 

“So are you going to explain why Joshua suddenly has a brother or are we going to be in suspense the entire night?” Mingyu whines in his seat. 

Seungkwan huffs. “Alright, alright! Apparently, Joshua’s stepdad has another son who used to live several cities away. No one knows why he moved into this old dump, but hey, more eye candy for everyone, I guess.”

“Is he single?” you blurt out.

Mingyu’s expression twists with smugness. “Why are you curious? You’re not trying to go after him, are you?”

“And if I am?” Brows raised, you fold your arms together as you stare the six-foot puppy down. “It’s like Seungkwan said—he’s eye candy! It won’t do anyone any harm to try and get to know him better, right?” 

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision to make when you’re going to be traveling a lot for work?” Jihoon ponders seriously. “What happened to being ready to leave everything behind and starting anew?”

“Hey, it still counts as starting anew when I’m trying to get with the new guy in town.”

That’s when it starts. 

Jeonghan is easy to talk to. That night, you learned that he moved into town because the big city was much too stifling for him to bear; that he gets along swimmingly with his stepbrother despite their parents’ sudden remarriage; that he isn’t really interested when you boldly asked if he wanted to go out sometime.

It’s no big deal. Not like you went into that conversation with high expectations. The fact that he even entertained you was already a miracle on its own. You can take your losses with your head held high—because it’s no big deal.

But then you saw him leaving the disco with some woman you don’t recognize. You’re not sure who she is and what her relation is to Jeonghan, but the smiles they exchanged as the man of the hour escorted her outside would be forever engraved in the back of your head. 

The rest of the evening was a blur. You thought you’d be able to wipe the image of Jeonghan going home with someone else off your mind with enough booze, but even when you wake up with a hangover the next morning, the ghost of his pretty smile still haunts you. 

You carry it with you even after graduation—all teary eyes and tight hugs exchanged with the friends you spent your entire life with. While Soonyoung is in the middle of telling you to memorize everyone’s house telephone numbers so you can keep in touch while you’re away, you spot Jeonghan in the crowd of visitors filling the university quad.. 

He’s with Joshua and their parents, happily congratulating the youngest for his most recent milestone. You're sure you were at least subtle enough with how you observe him from the corner of your eye, but he catches you staring anyway. 

Instead of breaking eye contact immediately, however, Jeonghan holds your gaze and cracks another one of those lazy grins before waving. You have to look around to see if he was gesturing towards anyone else, but to your surprise, it seems that you’re the intended recipient.

Naturally, you don’t let it get to your head. You’re leaving town in three days and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to keep hankering for someone who made it clear that he isn’t into you. 

But then Jihoon thought it would be a great idea to drop by this newly opened record store in Main Street. So I can give you a little souvenir when you’re thousands of miles away, he said and you were so touched with the sentiment, you actually went along with it.

The excitement you’d racked up at the idea of receiving a gift from your best friend, however, was easily eclipsed by the person that greets the two of you once you enter the front door of the shop. 

“Good morning,” greets a chipper-looking Jeonghan wearing denim overalls with the name of the shop embroidered on the front pocket. “How can I help you two?”

Jihoon quickly recovers from the initial surprise and utters, “Oh, um, I wanted to buy a few cassette tapes for my friend. Can you direct us to the right aisle?”

Jeonghan nods before leaning across the wooden counter to direct you two to a row of shelves on the far right. “Just go down that one and you should be able to find what you’re looking for. They’re all arranged by the artist’s names.”

“Cool. Got it.”

Before you can even get a word in, your best friend proceeds to drag you off to the stack of cassette tapes—ducking behind the shelves to make sure Jeonghan doesn’t see what goes on.

“What’s he doing here?” he hisses quietly.

“Do I look like I have a clue? You’re the one who planned this,” you point out with your arms folded. “Just when I thought you were against me making a move on Jeonghan, you proceed to bring me to the place where he works anyway.”

“I still am! I just didn’t know he’d be here too…”

“Well, don’t get your panties in a twist and just let me pick out my gift so we can leave. How’s that?”

Though he’s visibly disgruntled with the knowledge you’ve both been presented with, Jihoon grunts in agreement before you flutter off to the neatly organized shelf. It reminds you of the one back in your best friend’s room. He’s been big on collecting vinyls and cassette tapes for as long as you can remember, so it’s natural for Jihoon to be drawn to this newly opened record shop. 

When you end up taking far too long to make up your mind about what you want, Jihoon eventually migrates to the other spots in the store—checking out the other merchandise being put up for sale with a quiet look of amazement shining in his eyes. The sight of him in his natural habitat has you chuckling to yourself before your gaze rivets back to the collection of tapes you’re supposed to choose from. 

Of course, you’re startled by Jeonghan appearing seemingly out of nowhere right next to you.

“You’re taking your sweet time,” he chuckles, offering up another smile that makes your heart do somersaults. “Say, aren’t you the one who asked me out at Shua’s graduation party?”

You stare him down like he just personally affronted your entire family before clearing your throat—making a show of grabbing a random tape from the rack to examine its contents. Anything to get you to look at anything but Jeonghan’s stupidly beautiful face.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” you laugh uneasily. “And I’m only taking my sweet time because I don’t want to repetitively play an album I don’t even like on my Walkman.”

“Fair. How about I offer up a few suggestions then?”

That makes you arch an eyebrow. “Sure. What do you have for me?”

He hums for a moment before reaching for one of the higher levels—easily accomplished by his height. The gesture has you backing up against the wooden shelf to give him some more space, but the close proximity has your face flaring with warmth. 

“Here,” Jeonghan offers before handing you a cassette tape that looks pretty brand new. “The Beatles is cliché for a reason and I personally think Let It Be was the best way to end their time together. But you might also be interested in Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

He then proceeds to reach for another tape from the store’s vibrant collection and gives it to you—the lazy smile on his face never faltering. 

“Hmm, which one should I get though?” you wonder while comparing the two. “My best friend over there rarely gets me gifts and I’m not about to abuse the privilege by getting two.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “The other one’s on the house then.” 

The nonchalance in his tone makes your face twist with disbelief. “What?”

“I said it’s on the house. You can have your friend pay for one while you get the other for free,” he explains. “Think of it as a limited time promo of sorts.”

You grimace. “Um, I don’t think I saw any signs outside that said you’re offering a Buy 1 Take 1… Won’t the owner of this place be furious with you or something?”

“Now how can I ever be furious with myself, sweetheart?” 

You’re not sure what baffles you more—the fact that Jeonghan turns out to be his own boss or the fact that he just addressed you with some nickname that has you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

“Y/N, are you done—oh.” 

Saved by the bell—or rather, your best friend—Jihoon walks back into the scene with surprise coloring his features. He’s got a couple of vinyls and a box of guitar picks hefted in his arms as he stares at you and Jeonghan all alone in the aisle.

“Ji, I finally got to pick some out,” you beam while holding the two tapes Jeonghan recommended. “The owner said it’s a Buy 1 Take 1 so…”

He mutters the words the owner under his breath before his gaze zeroes in on Jeonghan who simply waves at him with a cheery air.

“Oh, I-I see,” Jihoon clears his throat. “Thank you for being so generous. You really didn’t have to. She doesn’t even care that much about music in the first—”

“Anyway,” you interject loudly before directing yourself to the counter. “Let’s go check these out. We’re meeting Mingyu and the rest of the guys for lunch, aren’t we?”

You pack up your business with Jeonghan fairly quickly. He places your most recent purchases in individual plastic bags, handing them to you with an ever-present smile. Even when you’re already seated at the diner you chose to hold your farewell lunch in, your mind still toys with the memory of Jeonghan calling you sweetheart.

Though if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think of Jeonghan much when you eventually move out of your hometown to pursue your work. You make new friends and colleagues, kindle a few romances here and there, and still keep in touch with a select few you’ve left behind.

Of course, Jeonghan does cross your mind whenever you deign to listen to the cassette tapes he personally picked out for you, but starting over completely in a new city every few months certainly gives you a fresher outlook in life.

Yet whenever you come home for the summer, it takes little for you to start regressing into old habits you thought you’d already outgrown. 

TWO SUMMERS AGO

“When did you arrive in town?”

You nearly spill your drink all over that same violet jacket he was wearing the night you first met him—heart rate spiking at the sight of such a gorgeous face. Jeonghan leans across the counter where you and Seungkwan deigned to catch a breather after dancing your hearts out to Earth, Wind, and Fire. Thankfully, you’re able to mask the surprise upon seeing him again with a warm smile.

“Just this afternoon actually,” you chuckle before taking another sip. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Big city boy like you should’ve gotten tired of this place in the first month.”

“I could say the same for you,” Jeonghan rebuts with an easygoing grin. “You’re a big city girl now too, aren’t you? But you’re back home anyways.”

“Well, Y/N actually has friends to come back to or else we’ll hop on the earliest flight to wherever the hell she is to come get her ourselves,” Seungkwan interjects beside you with a huff. “What’re you even doing here? Don’t you have a date waiting for you or something?”

Despite convincing yourself that you were over that fleeting crush on Jeonghan, you still feel your shoulders sag at the thought that he was here tonight with someone else. Thankfully, neither Seungkwan or Jeonghan notice the shift in your countenance.

“I do, actually. I was just going to pick up a couple drinks I ordered earlier. Can’t a man treat her to a Tequila Sunrise?” Jeonghan pouts and just in time the bartender stationed behind the counter places two glasses of a vibrant-looking drink in front of him. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Y/N. I hope the tapes I sold you kept you good company while you were gone.”

Oh. He still remembers that.

“They did,” you affirm all while trying to keep yourself from smiling too much. “I can always rely on the taste of someone who literally owns an entire record store.”

“Well, if you need some new tunes to groove to, you know where to find me,” Jeonghan says with an attractive wink, butterflies beating their wings inside your stomach. 

It’s only when Jeonghan walks back to the booth he’s sharing with his supposed date—a pretty blonde with shiny dangling earrings that glimmer in the disco lights—that you realize that maybe you haven’t really gotten over him like you initially thought.

Unfortunately for you, Seungkwan gets the same idea.

“Jihoon’s not gonna be happy about this,” he drawls before taking another sip of his drink. 

“Well, he’s not my mother.”

“Your mother won’t be happy about you getting the hots for someone who sleeps with different women every weekend, but okay.”

You brush off his comments with a shake of your head, downing the rest of your drink as you tug him out of his stool. “Whatever. Come on, let’s go find Soonyoung and the others.”

Apart from your usual circle with Jihoon, Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Soonyoung, they’ve made a couple more friends in the local university they decided to attend together. They introduce you to Seokmin, a theater major with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen—and for some reason, they’ve all managed to befriend Joshua Hong himself as well.

The new additions to your growing group of friends fit right in. Even Joshua, who you’ve always thought of as some snotty trust fund baby, proved to be quite enjoyable company. To your delight, your first night back after almost an entire year of being away turns out much more worthwhile than you initially thought.

For the rest of the night, you try your best to keep your mind off of Jeonghan and focus on mingling with your friends again. God knows how badly you’ve missed them—the occasional phone call can’t ever hold a candle to hanging out with these lunatics in the flesh. 

But despite having loads of fun just watching Soonyoung engage someone apparently named Minghao in a dance-off, you can’t help but feel like someone’s watching you. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find Jeonghan’s eyes in the crowd. 

His date is resting her head on his shoulder—obviously buzzed from the drinks she’s consumed for the night. You’re not sure if it was pure coincidence that your gazes locked in such a packed crowd, but before you can even think about waving at him, Mingyu yanks you to the dancefloor to duke it out with the rest of your friends.

The heat of Jeonghan’s gaze sears into your being like a soldering iron kissing your skin. Every time you try to look for him wherever the boys would unwittingly drag you to have some fun, you’d find his intense stare still affixed on your form. If it was anyone else, you would’ve been unnerved by the scrutiny he’s giving you especially when his date is literally half-asleep next to him in their booth.

But maybe part of you will always want Jeonghan—even if you’ve convinced yourself otherwise.

When the night comes to an end, Mingyu and Seokmin do the honors of carrying a ditzy-drunk Soonyoung inside Joshua’s SUV. It proves to be a fool’s errand at most because of course Soonyoung would make it a point to be difficult while all his well-meaning friends just want to tuck him back to bed—breaking into a quick dance every five steps forward.

“Hey, I’ll just go use the washroom first,” you whisper in Jihoon’s ear. “I won’t be long.”

Your best friend nods. “Yeah, we need someone to look after these idiots. Seungkwan would just provoke Soonyoung into doing something even more stupid.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Seungkwan complains.

You break away from them momentarily with a giggle before hoisting the strap of your purse over your shoulder and making your way to the washroom. 

There are a couple of other disheveled disco-goers trying to make themselves look a bit more presentable. You decide to take a vacant spot by the mirror to touch up your makeup, dusting bits of glitter with unknown origin away from your face. Once you’re all set, the others have long left the washroom—prompting you to make your way out of the building before the owner closes its doors.

However, once you make it back to the main area, you spot Jeonghan on one of the barstools—speaking to a man with dyed blue hair, while his date is nowhere to be found.

“Y/N?” Jeonghan calls out despite your best effort to brisk walk to the door. “You’re still here? Your friends didn’t ditch you or anything, right?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. They’re waiting for me outside. They were struggling to get Soonyoung inside your brother’s car so I thought I’d go freshen up first.”

“Shua’s car? I didn’t know you two were friends,” he comments with brows raised. “I asked him about you back then but he said he and you haven’t spoken two words to each other.”

Wait a minute. He asked Joshua about you?

“That’s because you’re always too friendly, Han,” the other man whose name you don’t know interjects with a roll of his eyes. “You probably know all your customers and mine by name at this point.”

“You’re being funny again, Cheol,” Jeonghan snickers before turning to you once again. “Y/N, this is Seungcheol. He’s the new manager of this particular branch of our father’s discotheques. He’s also a very good friend of mine.”

You glance at Seungcheol with a nod. “Hi.”

“Hmm, your friends are a bunch of regulars here, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he observes. 

“That’s because this little bird has been away for work for the past year,” Jeonghan supplies while twirling a glass of what looks like bourbon in his hand.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him. “You sure know a lot about Y/N.” 

“Well, she was one of my first customers and her best friend is one of my most loyal regulars,” he laughs before taking a sip, grinning so handsomely, you can almost feel your knees give out at the sight of him. “Tell Jihoon I said hi once you meet up with them again, yeah?”

“O-Okay,” you stammer, clutching your purse much too tightly for someone who’s just having a casual conversation with a bunch of guys who aren't your friends. 

“I’ll leave you for a while. I’m going to go check on your sister and make sure she hasn’t thrown up all over my desk,” Seungcheol excuses himself with a pat on Jeonghan’s shoulder. 

“Your sister?” you repeat with an incredulous ring to your voice.  

“Mhmm. My biological sister,” Jeonghan hums in affirmation as Seungcheol steps out. “Not so different from you, she’s been traveling in and out of the country for work and decided to pay me a visit while she’s here. Though I didn’t expect her alcohol tolerance to be…like that, which is why I had her rest in Cheol’s office for the meantime.”

Your mind processes his words at lightning speed—quickly pulling out the memory of Jeonghan with his supposed date with her head on his shoulder.

“So your date was your sister?” you clarify. 

“Why are you making it sound like it’s a bad thing? Can’t I take my sister out on a few dates?” He shakes his head.

“I never said anything like that!” 

Jeonghan places a hand on his chest in feigned offense, shaking his head with a dramatic sigh. “It’s alright, I’m quite used to being falsely judged.”

“You are so dramatic,” you snort.

“So I’ve been told,” he laughs airily before putting down his glass, getting up from the stool he decided to occupy. “By the way, there’s a little something that’s been bothering me since you came over here.”

As your present company draws closer to you with each word, your heart swells with equal parts anticipation and dreadful curiosity. 

Something’s been bothering him? Did you perhaps do something wrong? That’s a little impossible because you could’ve sworn you’ve done your best to ignore him the entire—

“You’ve got some glitter right…” Jeonghan murmurs as he cups the side of your face with a warm hand, thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. 

“Here.”

It’s as if time came to a standstill when he does it—holding both your gaze and your breath captive in the lush brown of his eyes. You always wondered what it would feel like to have Jeonghan’s skin on yours and of all the ways it could’ve happened, this isn’t exactly part of your list of delusions.

He’s so close and so pretty and he smells so good—

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out sometime?” 

You don’t even realize that your thoughts have translated it into words until Jeonghan’s expression morphs from relaxed to mildly surprised. He pulls away only a little before his lips twitch into a smile that borders on taunting.

“Oh? You’re still on a mission, huh?” Jeonghan simpers. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” 

Maybe it’s just the alcohol you’ve consumed making you just a bit braver than you usually are, but your mouth just won’t stop running.

“Well, I wouldn’t be this persistent if you didn’t give any signs that you might’ve lied to me the first time I asked.” 

“Hm? And what makes you think I was lying?”

Your shoulders heave with a soft laugh, folding your arms together as you hold his gaze with confidence oozing out of your posture. “Yoon Jeonghan, if you really aren’t interested, then why were you watching me the entire night? I’m not blind you know. You weren’t being subtle either.”

“What if I was just extremely happy to see one of my first ever customers back in town?” he chuckles, the tone of his voice aggravatingly leveled for someone you’re supposedly cornering. “And sorry to say, sweetheart, but I don’t really go out with any of Shua’s friends.”

His reasoning makes you heave an incredulous laugh as you recall the way he stared at you earlier tonight like you have a target on your back. You want to make it a point that you’ve only considered his stepbrother as a friend on this same night, but decide on going at this with a different approach.

“Okay,” you respond coolly, challenging the nonchalant smile on his face with one of your own. “If you don’t go out with any of Joshua’s friends, would you sleep with one?”

You don’t know how, but you’ve managed to make the distance between you even smaller. Jeonghan doesn’t budge even as you stare at him with fire in your eyes—even when your skin prickles with electricity from the sparks of something inevitably flying between the two of you. 

Once upon a time, you resigned yourself to the fact that Jeonghan would be nothing more than a fleeting, unrequited crush. But who knew that all it would take is a single night after months of not seeing him to make you realize that maybe things aren’t really what they seem?

“My, I’ve never had anyone come onto me this strongly before,” he muses with a soft laugh. “But your friends must be looking for you. No one takes that long to retouch in the ladies’ room, no? You best be on your way, Y/N.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” you deadpan with an amused smirk. “If I told you I’d leave you alone and never bother you with this again if you really, truly aren’t interested, will you answer me then?”

A voice that sounds like a strange mix of Jihoon and Seungkwan wails in the back of your semi-inebriated mind. What the fuck are you doing?!

You want to respond back that you completely know what you’re doing, but you’re well aware that the half the words you’ve uttered during the entire course of the conversation would never even get past your lips had you been in a better state of mind.

But for all of Jeonghan’s inclination of playing hard-to-get, he leans closer to your ear—the hand he places on your bare shoulder nearly searing his mark onto your skin. 

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

This game you’re playing with Jeonghan eventually becomes commonplace.

You spend a chunk of it deliberately getting under his skin. While you certainly made all those bold declarations under the influence, you quickly realized that the day after Jeonghan gave you his cryptic answer, you’re completely serious about this so-called mission.

So you brought out all sorts of ammunition that would make your mother weep with how you’re practically flaying yourself open for a man. You’d purposely wear tight-fitting clothes that emphasized the dips and curves of your body, show up to every night out where you were certain Jeonghan would be present, and of course, hang out at his record store more times than an average person would willingly spend in her boring old hometown.

Jeonghan—ever the infuriatingly level-headed person he is—takes all of it in stride. Where your friends have raised eyebrows with how you’re openly pursuing the most un-pursueable man you all know, he doesn’t treat you any differently from the way he usually does. 

He still entertains you whenever you sneak up on him at the disco, still accommodates your unnecessary purchases in his store…

Still flat-out rejects your advances even if he’s borderline flirting back.

It’s a constant push and pull that Jihoon might be sick of hearing whenever you deign to come over to tell him about the progress of your pursuit—or lack thereof. But since he’s taken up the mantle of your best friend, this is the fate that he has to live with. 

“You do know that you’re dancing with a wolf over there, right?” he points out one night while he’s busy writing a song and you’re flipping through a magazine on his bed. “The other guys have told me enough stories about how he’s always got a different date every time they’re at the disco. He’s a raging Casanova, Y/N. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“How can I get hurt when I’m just after a good time?” you chuckle as your ears ring every time he strums his guitar. “If he’s such a Casanova, then why hasn’t he tried to make a move when I’m openly expressing how into him I really am? Have been for, like, two years now!”

“If I knew the thought process behind how he responds to you, I wouldn’t be stressing as much as I have for the past two years,” he grumbles.

“You worry too much about me, Ji. I’ve already fooled around with some guys here and there. What’s another one from my hometown?”

Jihoon turns to glance at you with a tired look on his face. “But Jeonghan isn’t just some guy. He’s Jeonghan.” 

You want to refute that statement by saying that you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. But for someone who mostly keeps to himself, Jihoon has an extremely good perception on things. He probably already knows things about Jeonghan even if you don’t say them outright.

The owner of the record store in Main Street is undoubtedly alluring. He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen—beautiful enough to have you hope time and time again that you can call him yours. What’s more is that the chemistry between you was established the moment he teased the possibility of you getting what you’ve wanted since you met. 

Maybe next time, sweetheart.

No matter how risky it is to toe this jagged cliff of your mutual interest, you’ve always been a glutton for danger.

ONE SUMMER AGO

Your game plan after settling your bags into your house is simple: drop by Jeonghan’s store to let you know that the biggest thorn on his side is back in town and check if he magically wants to fuck you this time around. It’s a routine that your friends have long grown tired of—seeing no point in interfering when you’re so dead-set to get with Jeonghan however you can.

It’s pretty pathetic, but you’re anything but a quitter.

Although contrary to popular belief, screwing Yoon Jeonghan isn’t always the only thing running through your head whenever you’re home. Take right now for example.

You’d just finished unpacking your things into your room when you realized that you’d forgotten to place one of the cassette tapes that Jihoon personally made for you inside its usual protective container—discovering that the outer casing was cracked through the middle while the plastic film lolled out of the rupture, dangerously close to being torn in the state you found it in.

If it were any other cassette tape—even the ones Jeonghan personally picked out for you before you left—you wouldn’t have been fazed. These things are replaceable, especially when Jeonghan would have a dozen other copies waiting for you in his store.

Except this tape in particular can’t be replaced because Jihoon spent a fortune getting it personally manufactured for you. He recorded a few of the songs he personally wrote into the film and had it mailed to you as a surprise—a thoughtful attempt at easing your homesickness for the holidays. 

There wasn’t a day when you didn’t listen to your best friend sing with the help of your Walkman. Your old cassette tapes from Jeonghan definitely took a backseat once you received Jihoon’s present in the mail with a letter he personally wrote attached to the package. 

And now it’s broken because you were an idiot who didn’t pack it somewhere more secure—

“Sweetheart, I’m closing early tonight. If you’re going to ask if I want to sleep with you, you should try…”

Jeonghan’s playful tone falters when he sees that you’re sniffling in the oversized parka you hurriedly pulled from the coatrack before heading over to the only person who can possibly salvage Jihoon’s precious gift. You don’t say anything as you place the broken cassette tape on top of the wooden counter—eyes downcast as Jeonghan peruses what you’ve presented for him to inspect.

“T-That’s really important to me,” you murmur, wiping the tears off your face as your eyes rivet themselves on the smiley that Jihoon doodled right next to the message he wrote for you on the outer cover. “Can you fix it? I’ll pay you up front.”

As the store owner you’ve been crazy about for the better part of three years examines the crime scene before him, he lets out a soft laugh that has you glancing at him inquisitively.

“So Jihoon made you your very own tape, huh? How sweet of him.” He smiles comfortingly—devoid of the usual mirth and amusement he typically showcases in your presence. “Don’t worry too much, yeah? The outer shell is damaged, but the tape reel itself is still intact. I’ll just replace the casing and you’ll still be able to listen to this just fine.”

Your eyes widen ever-so slightly. “Really?”

Jeonghan’s smile spreads even wider as he leans across the counter. He’s tall enough that he can reach you without much difficulty, his knuckles softly brushing against your cheek in a quaint attempt at drying your tears. 

The sight of him so close to you is equal parts foreign and familiar. His gesture reminds you of the time he brushed some glitter off your face last summer, but the provocative look in his eyes back then is nowhere to be found. All Jeonghan offers you right now is solace over something that you probably overreacted about. 

“I’ll go check if I have some spare cassette cases in the back before I try to fix this, okay? You can have a look around the shop in the meantime.”

Jeonghan punctuates the words with two soft pats on your cheek, his soft smile never faltering as he directs himself to the door behind the counter—Jihoon’s broken present carefully cupped in his hands.

As promised, your knight-in-denim-overalls manages to fix one of the most precious gifts you’ve received in your lifetime. You nearly jump to embrace him when Jeonghan reemerges from the back with the cassette tape more or less good as new, but he quickly side-steps your attempt out of the fear that you’ll end up breaking the damn thing all over again.

“How much do I owe you?” You’re practically humming with glee as you bring out your wallet from the pocket of your jeans. “Thank fucking god, Jeonghan. I was so close to losing my mind over it.”

“I’m the one who revived this patient and you’re thanking god? Way to discredit an artist for his craft.” The store owner pouts. “I’ll let this slide and tell you that you don’t have to pay for a thing.”

“I insist.”

“You can pay for it in other ways, you know.”

Once the words are out of his mouth, silence settles over the two of you in near-deafening fashion. The bustling of cars and other vehicles from outside is the only sound you could hear as you mull over what his words could possibly imply.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You gape, eyeing him incredulously. 

As Jeonghan hands you back your perfectly repaired cassette tape, the corners of his mouth twitch with a conniving smile. “What do you think I’m saying, sweetheart?”

That you can pay for his services with sex? Isn’t that the usual implication when it comes to things like this? But that doesn’t seem right. 

Even if you should be elated from being so much closer to your goal, it feels like you’re cheating. You’ve been subjected to this seemingly endless chase for so long that in the ideal event that Jeonghan would finally cave and let you sleep with him, this definitely isn’t the way he’d concede. You know him well enough to say that for sure.

So instead of pouncing at your prize like some slobbering mutt, you choose your words carefully—making sure to not step into that conversational bear trap he so obviously set up.

“No idea. You tell me.”

Jeonghan simpers before dusting off his overalls, carding his fingers through his dark hair. He’s wearing it a little longer this summer and you’re really digging the look more than you probably should.

“How about we stop by the roller rink later? My treat. You can pay me back with your company.” 

A large scowl immediately roots itself on your face. “Aren’t you already doing too much?” For someone who’s been pestering you like a fly every summertime, you’d like to add but obviously didn’t. “Seriously, let me just pay you for the repair and we’ll be even.”

Adamantly, he shakes his head. “I don’t have any rates for tape repairs, so consider it as a favor. I also mentioned that I was closing up early tonight, remember?”

“Uh, what does that have to do with—”

“Seungcheol begged me to come to the roller rink to teach him how to skate because apparently this lady he’s been eyeing is a figure skater. Poor guy doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her on their first date this weekend,” Jeonghan explains swiftly before chuckling to himself. “He’s kind of unteachable so I thought I’d bring some backup.”

Your face twists with even more confusion. “And what made you think I’m any good at roller skating?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Gut feeling.”

And that’s how you wound up in the town roller rink at eight in the evening when you promised Luna you’d be home to watch The Exorcist on your father’s VHS player. 

Jeonghan is awfully difficult to say no to when he’s the one doing all the pestering and even though your roller skating skills are subpar at best, at least you’re not as pitiful as a man named Choi Seungcheol.

“These aren’t even roller blades,” you point out all while stifling a laugh. “What’s the deal, Cheol? Is your center of gravity that shitty?”

“Say that to me when we’re in a taekwondo match, I dare you,” Seungcheol huffs as he grips the metal railing for dear life. “The things I do for a gorgeous girl…”

Jeonghan skates over to his friend with a smirk, tugging on his arm. “Come on, now. You won’t impress your date if you keep ambling by the sides like a spaz.”

In an attempt to become the devil’s advocate, you take Seungcheol’s other arm in your grasp as well. “Yeah. If you weren’t confident about this, why’d you ask her out here? Actually, who on Earth schedules the first date at a roller rink?” 

“I wanted her to know that we have common interests!” 

“And skating is your common interest?”

“...No, but at least she’d get the idea that I care about what she does for a living.”

With the newfound determination to not embarrass himself in front of the gorgeous figure skater, Seungcheol lets you and Jeonghan teach him the art of not falling on your ass every time he glides forward. This goes on for about thirty or-so minutes until he finally gets the hang of it and is out and about in the rink full of teenagers that are looking at him funny.

This is when you decide to wind down and hang out by the railings as well, watching your student test out if he can do a little spin now that he’s sort of mastered the basics. Unfortunately for Seungcheol, he slips and lands on his back after the attempt—immediately scrambling back to his feet before any of the younger skaters could laugh at him for the mishap.

“Hope you don’t mind that I whisked you off for an impromptu tutoring session.”

You don’t even startle when Jeonghan materializes beside you like he almost always does—his eyes also trained on his poor friend while he practices what he’s been taught. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you stare at him with a shake of your head. 

“I’m supposed to be marathoning horror movies with my sister, you know,” you chuckle. “Dunno why you asked me to come with you to teach the unteachable, but I’m glad I could help.”

He lets out a quiet laugh of his own. “I just wanted to give you a warm welcome is all. Haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Even if all I do is ask if you want to have sex with me?” 

“Hey, all friendships are built on different foundations. Ours just happens to be more unorthodox than the rest,” Jeonghan points out, like it’s common knowledge. “Besides, don’t you think it gives the friendship more spice when one of us keeps asking the other if they want to sleep together?”

You punch him in the shoulder. “You’re so weird.”

“And you still want me to fuck you despite that. I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me.” He grins and your throat constricts with how pretty he looks.

Just before you can open your mouth to dish out another snarky response, the song that comes up on the speakers switches into something familiar—the crowd of skaters immediately erupting into cheers.

“Oooh, Dancing Queen,” Jeonghan marvels as he pushes himself off the railing before yanking your hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Can’t let Cheol have all the fun now, can we?”

You’re no dancer but you’ve spent so many nights with your friends at the disco that you can’t really refuse when ABBA says that you can dance and you can jive. It’s a little more challenging when you’re literally wearing roller skates and Yoon Jeonghan is spinning you around while his head is thrown back in laughter, but you can manage,

It feels so strange to be doing this with him. You’ve gotten used to just coming up to Jeonghan to hit on him and get rejected before going about the rest of your day, so you don’t really know the protocol when it comes to fooling around with him in a roller rink. 

But instead of psyching yourself out too much, you just let yourself loose in the moment.

It’s…nice. You can feel the music in your veins as you burn the memory of Jeonghan grinning as he twirls you amidst a sea of roller skaters. Something pangs in your chest—a feeling you’ve felt with your other romantic prospects from the past, but never with Jeonghan.

Just when the song is about to end, however, you lose your footing and end up slipping onto the polished wooden floor. It would’ve been less embarrassing if you hadn’t hooked your arm around Jeonghan’s waist to balance yourself, but you both end up toppling into a heap.

“Shit, sorry!” you groan, rubbing your tailbone as you try to collect yourself. Your legs are right on top of Jeonghan’s though, so it proves to be somewhat difficult to get back to your feet without bracing your hands on the ground. 

Which is exactly what you end up doing just to keep yourself from face planting.

Jeonghan isn’t able to school his expression fast enough when you straddle his hips in the middle of the roller rink—eyes lit up with surprise as you stammer apology after apology. You really want to fucking stand up but you’re so shaken up by the chain of events that you can’t find the right balance. 

“So much for your center of gravity, huh?” 

You and Jeonghan both jump at the sound of Seungcheol’s voice—the other man sporting a smirk of his own as he stands over the two of you. Thankfully, instead of simpering at the fact that you got a taste of your own medicine, he offers a hand for you to take—one that you take more gingerly than you meant to. 

The three of you eventually hobble back to the waiting lounge together, making jabs at each other’s slip-ups for the night. Hanging out with these two men is just as fun as hanging out with your old friends and you’re glad to know that you’ve found such worthwhile company despite being away for most of the year.

After returning your skates, Jeonghan tells you and Seungcheol that he’s just going on a quick bathroom break and you agreed to wait for him before heading home. Your student then takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation. 

“Hmph. And you thought this wasn’t an ideal spot for a first date.”

Puzzled, you glance at Seungcheol with a questioning look. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Han,” he continues. “This is your first date, isn’t it? Took him long enough.”

Took him long enough? Seungcheol’s words sound so silly, you actually end up laughing at the foolishness of it all. “What? Jeonghan? Taking me out on a date? You didn’t hit your head while you were practicing, did you?”

“Hey, I might be a newbie, but once I learn, I never forget it,” Seungcheol huffs before crossing his arms. “And, yeah, is it so strange for Han to ask you out? Sure, you’re never really here like half the time—”

“I wouldn’t say half the time. I only ever get short breaks in the summer”

“Hey, summer breaks aren’t short… Okay, maybe they kind of are, but that’s not the point!” 

“Whatever your point is, it’s pointless,” you snort. “He always turns me down whenever I ask if he wants to sleep together. How could he possibly want to take me out on a date?”

Seungcheol makes a face. “You’ve been asking him what?” 

“...If he wants to sleep together?”

“Well, that’s because you’ve been asking the wrong question!”

“I’m not! Look, that wasn’t always my go-to. The first time we met, I asked if he wanted to go out sometime. He said no. And it’s been a…thing between us for me to constantly ask even if I know he’ll just turn me down.”

“...Doesn’t that just make you pathetic?”

“You know, you’re a lot different when you’re outside the disco.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you should really recalibrate the way you’re trying to get with Jeonghan because even if he’s the biggest manwhore I’ve met, when he actually gets serious, he—”

“Now what could you two possibly be talking about?” 

Like he always does, Jeonghan waltzes into the conversation with the most opportune timing. He glances at you and his friend curiously as he slings his arms around both of your shoulders—a conspiratorial grin weaseling its way onto his face. “Sounds to me like it’s something interesting.”

“I was just about to tell Seungcheol that you don’t go out with Joshua’s friends, hence the complete impossibility of this being a first date,” you clarify—face heating up with embarrassment at how ridiculous you sound right now. “I mean, would a proper first date include teaching your hopeless friend how to roller skate?”

Seungcheol snorts. “You obviously don’t know what Han considers as a proper first date.”

“But she’s completely right about that specific preference of mine,” Jeonghan agrees without missing a beat. “Now that this is all cleared up, how about we drive her back to her house? It’s getting late.”

That night, you climb under the covers of your bed reeling from that conversation you had with Seungcheol. You still think it’s downright silly for him to assume that Jeonghan took you out on a date when he clearly just sees you as a friend. 

Yet when you think about it a bit more, isn’t it more ridiculous for you to still be going at this game you’ve been playing with him for the past three years? Asking a man who’s way out of your league to sleep with you like some hooker on the streets? 

The way Jeonghan receives your advances doesn’t help your predicament in the slightest either. Most men would be unnerved by the fact that some woman keeps trying to get in his pants, but Jeonghan practically considers it as a thing that friends do. He simply turns you down without treating you any differently, and you’re starting to second-guess whether he’s just that good of a person or if he’s only keeping you around to amuse himself.

Seungkwan would tell you that you’ve got little to no respect for yourself. Jihoon would just sigh and tell you that he honestly expected better from you, and you wouldn’t fault either of them, really.

Because even when the odds are stacked against you, you’ll always find your way back to Yoon Jeonghan.

THE PRESENT

Much to everyone’s surprise, you’re able to go two straight weeks without seeking out the object of your prolonged affections. 

You make plans with anyone and everyone else there is to make plans with—going on a picnic with your sister, helping Jihoon write a song, hitting the arcade with Seungkwan. Anything to keep yourself away from Jeonghan.

Hell, you even agreed to meet Jeon Jungkook in the flesh when Mingyu finally remembered that he set you up with him a month ago. 

First impressions last and Jungkook definitely blew all your expectations out of the water when he pulled up in front of your house with a shiny Harley Davidson that boasted far more horsepower than your father’s old minivan. He’s the textbook definition of a badboy if his piercings and full sleeve of tattoos are anything to go by.

But for someone who hasn’t even met you before, he was thoughtful enough to bring flowers for your mother, a bottle of wine for your father, and Stephen King’s newest release for Luna when he arrived at your door with a boyish smile.

When Jihoon caught wind of the news, he immediately came over to your house to confirm if it’s actually true—a completely drastic shift from your usual habit of coming over at his.

Apparently, your mother ran into him at the grocery store and fessed up all about this wonderful biker who took Y/N out on a candle-lit dinner at the only decent restaurant in town to your best friend. It’s painfully obvious that Jihoon mirrors her excitement when you tell him that yes, your first date with Jungkook actually went better than expected. 

You thought Jungkook was the type of guy that your best friend would avoid at all costs. Jihoon hates loud noises that don’t contribute to his musical creativity and your newest flame’s motorcycle would definitely be an issue if your best friend ever hears him rev it up. 

And yet when you finally introduce them to each other, they hit it off at lightning speed. Turns out Jungkook was also a music major when he was in college and you find yourself lost in a sea of jargon as the pair engrosses themselves in a conversation regarding their mutual interests. 

Jungkook gets along swimmingly with your other friends too.

You should’ve trusted Mingyu’s judgment when he first told you that his friend can blend into any circle he chucks himself into because now you can only watch in awe as he and Sonyoung duke it out at your usual disco—exchanging high fives when the song on the jukebox comes to an end and the rest of the crowd cheers at them from the sides.

“How’re you liking our little town so far?” you ask when he returns to the booth you’ve claimed for the two of you, giggling when he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek. 

“You seriously downplay this place too much,” Jungkook sighs, unable to suppress the grin on his face. “Sure, there aren’t a lot of things to do, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s as passionate about dance battles as Soonyoung over there. Joshua, Seokmin and Seungkwan are brilliant company, too. Oh, and how could I forget about Jihoon? I’m seriously pissed because Mingyu didn’t introduce me to them sooner.”

Your bottom lip swells into a pout. “Only them, not me?”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh that makes your skin tingle, leaning closer enough that you can feel his breath on your face. When he smiles, his lip ring glints in the colorful lights of the disco.

“Baby, if we’ve met any sooner, you’ll probably get sick of me.”

“And why is that, Mr. Jeon?” you whisper. 

He hums for a moment, tracing the outline of your lips with the heat of his gaze. “I’ve been told that I’m a very passionate lover. You might not be able to handle it.”

“And who’s to say you’re the judge of that?”

“Well, we can get out of here so you can see for yourself, no?”

Your face heats up at the notion of what he’s trying to imply. It’s a little silly because you’ve spent so much of your time practically throwing yourself at Jeonghan that when another man expresses interest in you, you suddenly clam up out of embarrassment. 

Jeonghan…

Even if you’re being pinned in place by Jungkook’s weightful stare, your gaze still goes over his shoulder—straight to the bar where you know he’s been watching you. 

The moment your gang of loud friends piled into the disco one after the other, you were quick to pick up on Jeonghan’s presence as he spoke to Seungcheol at the bar and from the way he snapped his head in the direction of your group, you like to think he’s just as privy to yours too.

Especially when his eyes zeroed in on Jungkook’s arm around your waist.

This time around, instead of hounding the guy with the same question you’ve been asking for years, you do your best to ignore his existence altogether. It was easier than you expected because Jungkook has the ability to make you forget about everything else when you’re in his company. He’s charming and sweet in ways that don’t leave you second guessing his intentions. The man wants you and he needs you to know that in whatever way he can manage.

But even if you’ve got a handsome badboy under your spell, Jungkook’s charms don’t work on you with the same intensity as a single gaze from Jeonghan.

He isn’t smiling at you like he usually is—lips nearly twisted into a frown as he watches Jungkook crowd you in your shared booth. While most of your body language would suggest that you’re receiving your beau’s affections openly, the fact that your eyes are trained on the man you’ve been trying your best to get over would tell Jeonghan another story entirely. 

Which is what ultimately makes you let out a breathy laugh before lightly pushing Jungkook off of you.

“Easy there, tiger. We’ve been dating for, what? A month?” you remind him with a somewhat forced smile. “You might be one of the two hottest guys I’ve met in my life, but I still believe in the art of taking your time.”

“The two hottest guys?” Jungkook parrots, amusement coloring his face as he leans back on the leather upholstery of your seat. “Who’s the other one then?”

You force yourself not to look at Jeonghan so you wouldn’t give yourself away. After all, you haven’t lost yet. It’s perfectly normal to still think about the man you may or may not have been in love with for years when you’re in the middle of getting over him. Whatever you and Jungkook have going isn’t a lost cause just yet.

“No one important,” you insist before tugging him back to his feet . “How about you come dance with me instead of asking silly questions, loverboy?”

A hint of skepticism crosses his face for just a moment before he concedes, letting you drag him back to the dancefloor as you try your damnedest to ignore the way Jeonghan’s gaze never strayed far from you for the rest of the night.

Summer is almost coming to an end and your boss has already mailed you some documents containing the details of your next job. You read through them while you’re bundled up in blankets in the living room with Jihoon, who seems more excited about it than you are.

“You’re going to Paris?” your best friend gawks. “That’s actually insane. I thought only the filthy rich could go there in this economy.”

“Well, if you land yourself some work in a pretty well-off company, you can gain more benefits than you’d otherwise expect,” you chuckle. “How about you come with me? You can go busking in front of The Louvre or something. Then the Parisians would discover just how talented one Lee Jihoon actually is.”

“Or I could get arrested by the Parisian police force.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I am not as ambitious as you are.”

“Hmph. Suit yourself then.”

While the two of you are busy planning an itinerary for the entirety of your trip, the telephone rings down the hall and you get up to answer it. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Jungkook’s smooth voice rings in your ears after asking the caller’s identity, making your face warm with how flustered you are. “Heard tonight was best friend’s night so I wasn’t really supposed to bother you, but Gyu wanted to throw me a surprise birthday party and he was wondering if you and Jihoon want to come with.”

“It’s not a surprise anymore if you’re the one inviting guests though?” you point out with a laugh. “And your birthday isn’t until a few days.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but one thing about Mingyu is that he can’t keep a secret for the life of him. What’s more is that we already have dinner plans for my special day, remember?” Jungkook sighs. “Anyway, are you two going to show up or am I gonna be miserable the entire night because you’re not here?”

“Where even is here, Jungkook?” 

“At the disco, where else? Mingyu rented out the entire place for the occasion.”

“Hmm, maybe you should start dating Mingyu instead.”

“God, no. So are you coming or not?”

It’s funny how you don’t even hesitate when you answer, “Sure thing. I’ll go tell Jihoon about it.”

“Aw, baby, you sure know how to make the birthday boy happy. See you soon.”

You hang up on Jungkook after bidding him a farewell of your own, heart beating just a little bit faster at the exchange. You know you’re not obligated to come to his not-so surprise birthday party since you already made plans with Jihoon to marathon a couple of movies, but even if you and Jungkook aren’t really a thing just yet, you still feel like you should at least be there to celebrate alongside your friends.

Jihoon agrees to it without a hitch—god knows how much he adores Jungkook. And as the two of you are getting ready to go out again, an idea pops into your head.

“You can go ahead of me to the disco. I’ll just go buy Jungkook a present first.”

Your best friend glances at you, confused. “I can accompany you, you know. It’s no big deal.” 

But despite his kind offer, you shake your head adamantly. “I really want this to be kept between me and him, Ji. Is that alright?”

“Ugh. Fine, whatever.”

There’s some truth to what you’ve told Jihoon, but everyone knows that only relaying some of the truth is as good as lying. 

You tug your jacket tighter around your shoulders as you stand in front of a familiar record store. You’ve been to and from this place so often in the past that you’ve practically memorized Jeonghan’s operating hours by heart. 

You’re going to prove to yourself that you’re over that phase in your life. Once you buy a vinyl by this one bossa nova artist that Jungkook really likes, you’ll kiss your once-prominent obsession with Jeonghan goodbye.

Not like it’s difficult, right? Jungkook has always been sweet and reassuring where Jeonghan gave you nothing but uncertainty and countless instances asking yourself, what am I even doing? It’s practically a no brainer to choose the former over the latter.

You suck in a deep breath. The thundering of your heart is too loud to ignore, but before you’re overcome with nerves, you step straight inside.

It’s empty like it always is when closing time is just a few minutes away. Jeonghan’s already mopping up the floor of his shop—something that surprised you the first time because you didn’t think people who came from old money actually knew how to do chores. 

You also notice that he’s already changed out of his denim overalls—already donned in an outfit that he would no doubt be wearing to the disco right after he closes up shop. A velvet maroon shirt with a few buttons undone that’s tucked inside a pair of black trousers. Before you can catch yourself salivating over how fucking good he looks in that outfit, his gaze flickers to you in an instant.

“Hm? Been a while since you’ve dropped by, sweetheart,” he comments before stuffing the mop back in a supply closet and sanitizing his hands. “You’ve been busy with that boyfriend of yours, haven’t you?”

So he has noticed. “You could say that.”

He nods before stepping over to you, that stupidly disarming grin ever-present on his pretty face. “Hm? Is that trouble in paradise I sense? Don’t tell me he hasn’t bothered to put a label on things. What a waste.”

You planned on making this gruesome exchange with Jeonghan swift, but you completely forgot that he has a knack for getting under people’s nerves when he feels like it. “Why would it be a waste when we’re just taking our time? Besides, I’m not here to talk to you about me and Jungkook. I’m here to buy something.”

“For your little badboy? Now what could he possibly know about the finer things in life? That man looks like he wouldn’t even be able to play a triangle.”

Just when you managed to spot a record that you’re certain Jungkook has mentioned to you in passing, Jeonghan’s uncalled for words have you scowling at him. “Really? I know your family’s loaded and all, but you never really struck me as the pretentious type, Jeonghan. Mind you, Jungkook is a music major, and that’s low, even for you. 

He simpers with folded arms, one foot tapping impatiently on the linoleum. “Well, forgive me, sweetheart, I don’t think I can react with my usual finesse when someone else is encroaching on what belongs to me.”

You don’t even think it’s possible, but your scowl only deepens. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve always been mine, no?” 

…How he has the guts to tell you that after every single instance he’s rejected you is unfathomable. You do not want to have this conversation right now, so you quickly pluck Jungkook’s present from the assortment of vinyls before storming off to the cashier—mentally cursing Jeonghan for being so self-sufficient that he doesn’t see the need to hire other people but himself. Now you’ll be forced to deal with him until you’re finished with your purchase.

“How can you stomach buying your little badboy a birthday gift when we both know your heart is still tethered to me, sweetheart?” Jeonghan taunts you from behind as he shuffles towards the counter. “I thought this was just some ploy to get me jealous, but you’re acting a bit too realistically for comfort. Have you forgotten who you were trying to get with for the past few years? 

“Have you forgotten who you’ve rejected time and time again?” you deadpan with a glare. “You made it clear whenever I asked that you weren’t interested. You know, Jihoon and the others kept calling you a player, so I never really understood why you never tried to get with me—someone who’s literally throwing herself at your feet every summer.”

Jeonghan lets out an incredulous laugh. “Why do you think I turned you down each time? You’re always asking if I want to have sex with you, but have you ever considered that maybe I don’t just think of you as another notch on my belt? That I actually wanted to get to know you past the sexual pretense?”

His words are quick to turn your heart into stone. “Then why didn’t you say that to me back then? Why are you only coming clean about this when I’m finally ready to move on with someone else?”

“That’s because I like you, Y/N,” he sighs, jaw clenching as if he has the right to be more frustrated than you are. “I didn’t want to just sleep with you. I wanted us to be friends first before I pursued you, but then you went on about asking if I wanted to fuck each and every time you’re home. I was just being careful because I don’t want to give anyone the power to trample on my feelings.”

“So you thought it was okay to trample on mine?”

The exasperation on Jeonghan’s face seemingly melts away with that simple response. You’re still staring at him with fire in your eyes—the kind he’s used to admiring from afar whenever you’re feeling your emotions a little more intensely than usual. But for once in his life, Jeonghan is unable to formulate some clever retort.

“Just fucking scan my vinyl so I can leave,” you grumble before sliding the record across the counter. “If you don’t have anything worthwhile to say to me, just don’t say anything at all.”

“Do you really mean it?”

Your whole body freezes up when you feel Jeonghan standing directly behind you, caging you between his tall frame and the counter. Both of his lean arms are braced against the wooden surface and you make a mistake of whirling around to face him. 

“M-Mean what?” you stammer, suddenly losing whatever conviction your voice once held because of his goddamn eyes. They look so pretty even if they’re pleading for something you can’t put your finger on.

“That you’ve already moved on with him?” he murmurs. “If it’s true then…you can forget that this conversation ever happened. Go celebrate his birthday and make him your boyfriend or whatever.” 

When Jeonghan leans closer, his lips brush the shell of your ear—making you shiver with anticipation. “But if you think you’d still choose me after all, then I promise you that I won’t waste your time anymore. I’m ready to own up to what I feel about you even if I deserve none of your reciprocation at this point.”

He’s right. He doesn’t deserve even an ounce of what you would’ve been willing to give before you saw reason. Jihoon was smart to come to the conclusion that Jeonghan only kept you around to entertain himself, but once losing you became a possibility, he suddenly put on this show of buttering you up.

Admitting things he should’ve told you years ago. Telling you he likes you only when you’ve already got your eyes set on someone else. 

The logical thing to do is turn him down and walk away from Yoon Jeonghan once and for all. You could do it—you could leave the convoluted history the two of you shared in the past. You’ve already been doing it with Jungkook for the past month. But no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, there’s a singular truth that you won’t be able to escape: 

You’ll always find your way back to Yoon Jeonghan.

The next few minutes are a blur of desperate touches and equally desperate kisses. You don’t remember when exactly you lunged in for the kill, but the next thing you know, Jeonghan has you propped up on the counter of his store as he pushes your jacket off your shoulders and hikes your skirt further up your thighs.

“Wanted you for so long,” Jeonghan sighs against your lips and you feel like he’s exercising active restraint so he wouldn’t rip the delicate fabric of your skirt. “But I needed you to take me seriously so you wouldn’t think you’re just another girl I slept with.”

You bark out a condescending laugh before reclaiming his lips, shoving your tongue down his throat until he’s groaning into you—fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. 

“You obviously didn’t take me seriously with how much you fucked with my head.”

“I wasn’t fucking with your head, sweetheart. I was just biding my time.”

“So the thing that finally got you to crack is seeing another guy get his hands on me,” you point out with a quiet chuckle, trying not to moan when his lips trace a scorching path down the skin of your neck. “I didn’t take you to be the jealous type. If I knew, I would’ve paraded Mingyu inside your shop ages ago.”

“Hm?” He hums—a noncommittal noise that has you shivering beneath his touch anyways. “Are you saying that you would fuck Mingyu too? When you’re already cozying up to his best friend? You’re quite greedy, huh?”

You let out a quiet whimper when you feel him press two fingers against your clothed core—wanting him, needing him. “J-Jeonghan, someone outside might see…”

“Then we better put on a show, right, sweetheart?” 

The fact that Jeonghan calling you sweetheart incites a more visceral reaction out of you compared to Jungkook calling you baby makes a clump of guilt fester in your chest. The vinyl you’re supposed to get for him as a present sits idly a few inches away, but all of it is forgotten once Jeonghan reminds you of what you really want. 

It’s fucking humiliating how your cunt gushes at his words. Jeonghan is clearly pleased with the mess he finds between your thighs after pushing your underwear to the side. You curl yourself into his chest, twitching every time his fingers graze your clit. He laughs, low and dangerous in your ear all while he lathers your slit in your own essence.

“I’d love to take my time and eat you out right here, but I don’t think I have the patience just yet,” he whispers before teasing your entrance with the occasional dip of his fingers. “I’ll make you come with my mouth some other time. For now, I think I just need to see you crying on my fingers and my cock.”

His crooked digits slide into you with perfect ease, stretching out your gummy walls so you’d be able to take something more. You cling onto Jeonghan like a lifeline as he murmurs a string of filthy musings into your ear.

“Has your little badboy finger-fucked you this good, sweet thing?” he rasps. “In fact, has he even kissed you?”

“H-He’s kissed me once,” you admit, the walls of your cunt clenching around his intrusive fingers as you try to recall how you and Jungkook shared your first real kiss in the parking lot of the movie theater. “But I wished it was you instead…”

“Really now?” Jeonghan chuckles, clearly emboldened by your honesty. “You still think of me even when you’re with someone else, hm? Well you’re in luck sweetheart.”

“I do the same thing, too.”

Your eyes flutter with pleasure when he curls his fingers inside your tight channel, his free hand toying with your clit with each pass he makes. Jeonghan praises you for spreading your legs so prettily for him, for being his good girl and no one else’s. Every word he breathes into your ears only makes you wetter by the second and you fear that each time he plunges his digits into your heat, someone outside would hear the squelching flesh.

“J-Jeonghan,” you whimper, thighs quivering with the need for release. “Let me come, please. I wanna come on your fingers. I need it.”

Of course, your newfound lover makes it a point to laugh at your desperate plea, licking his lips as he draws tight circles around your sensitive nub. “Just a few moments ago, you were afraid of being caught getting off like this. Now you want me to make you come?”

You nod vigorously—uncaring for how pathetic it would make you seem. “Yes, I want you so much… You’ll give it to me, won’t you?”

Ah, he’s always known you were a vixen. Those days when you’d purposely dress up wearing the skimpiest outfits just to get his attention were one of the hardest. In fact, the entire ordeal of keeping his hands off you when you were offering yourself up so willingly was one of the hardest things he’s done in his life. 

But Jeonghan supposes that he can still reap the benefits of his patience—even if that patience was snapped in two when you dared to think another man deserved to have you.

“Of course I’ll give it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs sweetly before planting the sloppiest kiss on your lips. “Come for me if you want my cock in you. You can do that, right?”

You screw your eyes shut at his affirmation to focus on getting yourself to the pinnacle of gratification. Jeonghan has slowed the pace of the fingers thrusting in and out of your messy cunt and decided to zero in on your clit. You’re twitching and thrashing in his grasp, moaning his name so prettily, he wishes he could snap a photo to preserve the memory for life.

You come undone on his fingers with a breathless sigh, nearly collapsing on top of the counter from how boneless you felt in the aftermath. But Jeonghan is quick to coil an arm around your waist, peppering your face with kisses as he keeps himself from grinning too wide.

“So good for me. So perfect—my perfect fucking girl.” 

The lasciviousness dripping from his words urges you to spread your thighs for him—eyes glazed over with lust as he undoes the zipper of his trousers. You have to keep yourself from gasping once he takes out his impressive length—fully engorged with how much you’ve been teasing each other over the past half hour. 

Jeonghan fists his cock before sliding the head across your oversensitive clit, but you don’t voice out any complaints—already desperate to have him again despite having just recovered from your last orgasm. 

He doesn’t wait for a verbal confirmation, doesn’t waste his time on any more preamble. Jeonghan simply hooks your thighs around his elbows and sinks his cock into your tight channel with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. You’re a lot less reserved with the noises you make—openly crying out his name once he buries himself to the hilt. 

You feel him everywhere—inside you, on your skin, on your face, in your heart. Jeonghan is heaving deeply as he lets you get used to him and when he flashes you that lazy smile that started everything, your chest seizes with something not shy of glee. 

You have him. You finally have him.

And from the way that smile you’ve always loved morphs into a smirk, you have a feeling he’ll make sure you engrave this moment into your mind.

“We could’ve done this sooner,” Jeonghan sighs with the first drag of his hips, loving the way you writhe underneath him when he plunges his cock back into your slick heat. “If only we just got together like normal people, I could’ve fucked you on every surface of this store years ago.”

“If only you didn’t reject me every single time like some self-absorbed brat.”

“You sound pretty brave for someone who’s already in tears on my cock, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan murmurs something along the lines of cheeky little thing before surrendering his grip on one of your thighs in exchange for the space to reach for your face. There, he wipes the moisture collecting in the corner of your eye with his thumb, a self-satisfied look settling on his face.

Jeonghan murmurs something along the lines of cheeky little thing before surrendering his grip on one of your thighs in exchange for the space to reach for your face. There, he wipes the moisture collecting in the corner of your eye with his thumb, a self-satisfied look settling on his face.

“Maybe you do now.”

He doesn’t waste anymore time after that—fully aware that though he’s already drawn the shutters before you came, he hasn’t had the opportunity to lock the main entrance yet. The possibility of someone walking in on you getting fucked to an inch of your life on the countertop are all too real and Jeonghan has no plans on getting arrested for public indecency when he just grew the balls to tell you how he’s felt all this time.

“You’re fucking dripping for me,” your lover rasps into your neck, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake as your poor cunt takes a beating. “All dressed up for someone else but here you are stuffed full of my cock. Tell me, who is it that you really want?”

“You.” The mewl that follows your abrupt answer is music to his ears. “I’ve only ever wanted you, Hannie. F-Fuck! Right there, please.”

He drags your hips closer to the edge, resuming a secure grip on your thighs to keep you balanced as he rams his thick cock into you. You throw your head back in bliss, uncaring for how the bruises he’s kissed into your skin sting with pain. The pleasure he’s sowing between your legs eclipses any sort of ache that can deter you from losing yourself in the moment.

You hook your legs around Jeonghan’s waist to keep him close—arms slung around his neck as you pull him down for a kiss. Your lover responds in kind, moving his mouth in perfect sync with yours as if to make up for all the years you could’ve spent in each other’s arms. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes burning with pure, unadulterated desire. “So pretty and perfect for me.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re balls deep inside me,” you try to scoff but it melts into another breathless moan when Jeonghan angles his hips just a bit differently and has your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

“You talk big for someone who can’t handle being a little roughed up,” he teases. “Now hush and take my cock like the good girl you are.”

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar pressure in the pit of your stomach—like a balloon expanding and expanding until you’re filled to the brim with the pleasure he’s giving you on a silver platter. You whimper beneath him, pressing your mouth against the cut of his jaw as you murmur about how close you are.

“Fuck, I need you to feel you come around me, sweetheart,” he moans. “Come on my cock—let me feel your cunt squeezing it out of me.”

You don’t know if you’re just that high strung, or if you’ve waited for this for so long, your body just responds to his whims. But whatever the reason, the most skin-tingling, toe-curling orgasm washes over you like a storm surge—pure lightning skidding up the length of your spine as you surrender yourself to the height of euphoria. 

“That’s it,” Jeonghan goads, fucking you through your orgasm as he chases after his own. “You feel so good around me, my perfect Y/N.”

As you drift in and out of coherence, you vaguely pick up on the fact that Jeonghan isn’t wearing any protection—the two of you overcome by your need to have each other to think things through. But as his cock plunges over and over into your soiled cunt, you find yourself uncaring for the consequences of your recklessness.

But Jeonghan continues to surprise you by using all his strength to disentangle your legs around his waist—pulling out just in time for those spurts of cum to splatter all over your rumpled skirt. He hisses between his teeth as he pumps his cock into completion, his white hot release staining your clothes in a way that you’ll probably still forgive him for with how well he fucked you tonight. 

"Can't get you pregnant when your career's ahead of you," he chuckles and you can only punch him in the chest in response.

The silence that settles moments after is more deafening than it should be, but you’re no means unsettled by it.

Not when Jeonghan still has that look in his eyes.

When he kisses you again, it feels like the stars and the planets have aligned for everything to fall into place. He smiles against your lips as if he’s just as relieved to have found you when you thought all hope was lost and it makes you recall any other time you’ve been more in love with someone else in your life.

In the end, you come up empty handed.

“I’ll clean you up and close up the store,” Jeonghan murmurs. “I need to take you home with me because I am nowhere near done with you.”

And who are you to say no to that?

“Paris, huh?”

Jeonghan muses right after he’s finished cleaning you up—diligently scrubbing at what three more rounds of sex at his apartment have done to your poor body. You answer him with a quiet hum, burrowing deeper into both the warmth of his blankets and the heat of his chest.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be stationed there for a better part of the year,” you tell him softly, tracing the small trail of freckles on his sternum. “It’s going to be way different than what I’m used to, but new experiences are always welcome.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you don’t have any reason to be afraid of Paris to begin with. The only thing that might get in the way of you having a good time is the language barrier.”

“You talk like you’ve been there before.”

“Been there before? Sweetheart, I lived in Paris before I moved here… Why are you looking at me like that?”

You mutter a string of curses under your breath before pouting at him. “I keep forgetting that you and Joshua are a couple of trust fund babies. Of course I’d be surprised if you dropped a bomb like that.”

Jeonghan chuckles before leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss—deepening it until you’re hooking your thigh across his hip and moaning into his mouth again. Your lover chuckles at your eagerness before he pulls away, a string of saliva obscenely connecting your lips. 

“I do kind of miss it there,” he admits sincerely, but you can’t pay the admission much mind when his fingers are trailing the inside of your thighs again. “Maybe I should go on a quick getaway for a while.”

“What, so you can go fuck me in Paris, too?”

You do your best to bite down your whimpers when he lathers his fingers with the wetness between your thighs, making it a point to rub your still sensitive clit in slow, lazy circles. The vibrations of Jeonghan’s laughter travel across your skin and when he presses a kiss on the corner of your lips, you’re not sure how to feel—endeared by the sweet gesture or embarrassed by how quickly he’s winding you up.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to be in full hardness again and you don’t even resist him when Jeonghan eases his length back into your tight hole. He sighs against the crook of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth as he slides inside you languidly. When your hips are flush together as he bottoms out, your chest swells with pride when you hear him breathe out a shuddering sigh.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can’t believe I waited for so long to have you like this.”

“Now if only you said yes the first time I asked you to sleep with me,” you chuckle, trying not to moan at the feeling of his cock pulsating inside you. “You could’ve railed me in the bathroom of Cheol’s disco and he never would’ve known.”

“Oh, he’d definitely know,” Jeonghan chuckles dryly as he presses a kiss along your jaw. “But thanks for the visual, I think I just got even harder. We should do that when you get back.”

“Didn’t you say something about going on a quick getaway so you can fuck me in Paris, too?”

“You’re the one making plans here, sweetheart. Not me. But if you’re so hell-bent on taking my cock in the bathroom of some random Parisian disco instead, then I suppose I can make the proper arrangements,” your lover appeases you with a lazy smile. “Maybe I’ll have Jihoon and your friends watch after the store while I’m gone.”

“He might be your regular, but when he finds out that we’re screwing around, he’ll probably torch the entire building.”

Jeonghan pauses for a second. “That reminds me, won’t they be looking for you, sweetheart? From the way you were dressed earlier, it looked like you were headed somewhere else after buying that stupid badboy his birthday present. This is quite the detour, don’t you think?”

When Jeonghan brings it up, it takes you a few seconds to process that…fuck.

“Yeah…” you groan. “I was headed to the disco for Jungkook’s surprise party.”

He hums. “And here you are warming my cock. That boyfriend of yours is going to be heartbroken, you know?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumble, mewling when Jeonghan snaps his hips into yours to take you by surprise. “But…I guess it still sucks that I lead him on like that.”

“I suggest,” Jeonghan starts before pulling himself back again only to rut into you so hard, you’re surging forward on the bed. “That you give him a call in the morning—tell him that you’re fine and nothing’s happened to you. Oh, and tell him that you actually have a boyfriend now.”

Despite your senses being overloaded by how good his cock is stretching you mid-conversation, you still manage to look up at Jeonghan with withering surprise. “I do?”

“Sweet girl’s gone dumb on my cock, huh?” Jeonghan laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead that has you melting from the contact. “From here on out, I’m your boyfriend. Some fucker from another city has no business flirting with you when you’re with me.”

In a split second of clarity, you roll your eyes at him. “I still think it’s stupid that you only went after me after I found someone else. You’re a terrible person.”

“But you still love me anyway, hm?”

You do. You think you’ve loved Jeonghan even longer than you first realized it. 

Loving him and losing him even if you had neither to love nor lose is a vicious pattern you’ve cycled through for the past four summers. You’re perfectly aware that actions have consequences and what you chose to do with Jeonghan now would definitely jeopardize everything you’ve built for yourself. 

But you can think about what Jihoon and Jungkook and Seungkwan and everyone else has to say about this some other time. 

For now, you’re just going to focus on how good your boyfriend splits you open on his cock.

“And how are you so sure about that?”

Jeonghan shrugs before crowding you against the bed, a no-good smirk plastered on his pretty face. It gives you hope that maybe—just maybe—the cycle has finally been broken.

“I dunno. Gut feeling.”

⟢ end notes: you're finally at the end of it! thank you so much for reading through this brain fart that has been decaying in my drive since july :') i'd also like to extend my thanks to jj, rj and zeta specifically because if it weren't for them i would've lost every and all direction for this fic altogether and i might've actually dropped out of the collab for real (i am literally 4 going 5 days late!!) leave a like, reblog with your thoughts, or yell at me in the replies -- idk !! it's just that this might be one of the last fics you'll read from me for a while, so i'd appreciate the feedback now more than ever T T that said, do check out everyone's works from the collab as well!! they've all created such wonderful stories with the given theme <3 you def won't regret it!

this is part of the svthub 70s;teen collab!

[oriigami]

(spoilers for both knives out movies ahead)

i think what i really enjoy about knives out and glass onion is that they are, while not completely fair-play whodunnits, pretty close to it.

a fair-play whodunnit is a murder mystery which is entirely solvable by the viewer before the detective sums everything up at the end; the viewer is given the same information as the characters, and the same opportunity to figure everything out. this is a style some modern detective stories like to break to preserve the ability to catch the viewer off guard, as hbomberguy elaborates at some length in his sherlock is garbage and here's why video.

knives out gives you almost all the information you need. its possible to figure out on ransom's introduction that there is, at least, something missing from his story, that he returned to the house for some reason after leaving; the dogs were heard barking the night of harlan's death, and he is the only one they are seen reacting aggressively to. likewise, the audience hears nana saying 'ransom, are you back again already?' well before blanc learns about it and realizes its importance.

the only crucial piece of evidence any of the characters ever see that the audience doesn't is the toxicology report, which the audience doesn't get a chance to see before blanc's summation at the end revealing marta's innocence. but even with that omission, it's possible to guess harlan wasn't poisoned! marta lists off the symptoms of morphine poisoning at five and ten minutes on screen, and we see him exhibiting none of them, even after she's left and snuck back in, which must have been more than ten minutes after the initial injection. later we see fran suffering an overdose of the same drug, and she's far more debilitated than harlan was even in his last moments.

glass onion, of course, plays a lot more fast and loose with this concept, because it hides large swathes of the setup from the viewer until the halfway point. blanc actually has a lot more information than the viewer until we get the extended flashback in the middle of the movie.

however, after you know the circumstances of andi's death, like blanc says, you can completely guess that miles killed her! helen even suggests it during one of their first conversations, because it's obvious! of course he did! the only thing the movie does to delay this conclusion is throw out a swarm of red herrings in presenting motive and opportunity for everyone else, but the motive is obvious. the main thing both the audience and blanc need to realize is just that miles is stupid enough to do it. blanc uses his countless malapropisms as evidence when reaching this conclusion, but he doesn't even need to; it's absolutely obvious from the fact, readily available to the audience, that HE MADE HIS HOUSE INTO A BOMB.

likewise, the movie shows you that miles handed duke the drink that killed him, though this is later corrected during his self-serving flashback. you can see the outline of a phone in miles's back pocket after duke's murder even though miles doesn't own a phone, and even a brief shot of him sticking duke's gun in the ice bucket on the table.

additionally, putting a little bit of thought into miles's justification for the lights going out reveals it makes no sense. he was supposed to give a big speech as part of the murder mystery?? no he wasn't! he's dead at this point! he gets shot by the crossbow at dinner! why would he be giving a big speech at 10 pm? because he made up the lights going out on the fly based on blanc's earlier comment, and didn't think it through at all, like everything he does!

i'm not gonna pretend i figured either of these movies out ahead of time on the first viewing- i totally didn't! but i know when the next one comes out, i'm going to be watching very carefully, and probably doing a lot of rewinding.

[fairyhaos]

❖ take care of me anyway // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 1.7k+ words

tags: office worker!jeonghan not rlly relevant to the plot tho, sick fic, fluff, established relationship

warnings: brief fever-induced hallucinations ig?? but theyre rlly cute, pet names, reader has a cold

notes: im sick. like, 'i have a cold' sick. and i also have another sick fic planned so uhh yeah im a little Unwell in the head too

There are ten minutes left of Jeonghan’s lunch break when you finally call him.

“Hello, my darling,” he says, his tone both parts dry and amused. “How are you?”

“Sick,” you reply, and even just that word sounds horribly bunged up. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? You called in sick for me.”

Jeonghan just hums, smiling a little as he adjusts the phone against his ear, walking down the street back to his company building. “Maybe I did.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, and he can almost hear you pouting on the other end of the line. There’s a rustling sound as you adjust yourself in bed, and he sighs.

“How sick are you?”

“Very,” you say, miserably, and then give a series of harsh, wet coughs that has him wincing. “Very sick. I only just woke up, but my head is just…” You don’t finish your sentence. Just make a very pained sound like a wounded puppy.

Jeonghan chuckles. “Gee, I wonder how you managed to get so sick. It’s not like walking home in the pouring rain without a coat makes you ill, isn’t it?”

You whine at that, upset. “Han, I told you, I was gonna call you but my phone was dead. I had no choice! Wanted to get home fast to see you,” you add in a mumble, sounding dejected.

He smiles at that. “It wasn’t like I was going anywhere, though,” he points out. “I was all comfortably squished on the couch. I wasn’t gonna disappear any time soon. You could’ve taken your time. Waited for the rain to pass.”

“Yeah, but still,” you huff petulantly, then sniff. “Can you make soup when you get back home?” you ask after a beat, and sniffle again. “And also buy some tissues? And meds? And give me cuddles?”

Jeonghan chuckles at how pitiful you sound, resisting the urge to coo. “No.”

“What?” You’re whining again, and you sound all bunged up but Jeonghan just smiles, amused. “But your darling Y/N is currently suffering the worst cold in the entire world.”

“But alas, I think my darling Y/N is the sole person to blame for this cold,” Jeonghan says, lips twitching upwards. “Don't you think so?”

“Come take care of me anyway.”

“No.”

You make a noise of discontent, sheets rustling as you shift around in bed again. “Hmph. Worst boyfriend ever. I’m breaking up with you.”

That makes him laugh, the stunned sound being pulled out of him by your deadpan tone, and he grins to himself out on the street, rounding the corner until his company building is in sight. “Whatever you say,” he singsongs. “I’ll see later, okay?”

“Whatever. Bye.” A pause. “Have a nice day.”

Jeonghan smiles as you hang up, looking fondly down at your contact name. He’s standing in front of the company entrance, now, and he has three minutes of his break left. Just enough time to get into the elevator and up to his office.

He pockets his phone, turns on his heel and traipses off to find the nearest pharmacy.

───────────── 🧂

You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep the entire day, constantly stuck in that drowsy, so-sick-that-nothing-feels-real state, and you’ve hallucinated Jeonghan coming home a total of thirteen times in the past five hours.

At least, you think it’s been five hours.

Maybe it’s been less than that.

Whatever. Time is weird.

The point is, your mind is all fuzzy and everything feels like it’s floating, so when someone who looks an awful lot like Jeonghan comes into the room, you just groan. Hallucination Jeonghan #14 has come to pay you a visit, it seems, so you just frown and give him the response that you’ve given all his other clones.

“Go away. Stop trying to sell me fish.”

Hallucination Jeonghan #14 makes a confused noise at that, walking closer to your bed, leaning over to adjust your pillows and pull you up into a more upright position.

“I don’t want your fish,” you say, just in case he didn’t hear you the first time. “Stop it.”

That makes the hallucination chuckle, and his hand comes up to your forehead. 

Cold. Huh. None of the other hallucinations touched you before.

His hand drops from your forehead, swiping at the soft skin under your eyes gently, and his fingers are blessedly cool against your skin. You hadn’t realised how much you were burning up before.

“You’re really, really sick,” Hallucination Jeonghan #14 murmurs, and he sounds so concerned, before pulling out a bottle of water from one of the plastic bags he’s holding. Woah, you hadn’t even realised he was holding them. “Here, darling. Drink.”

You obediently take a sip once he uncaps the lid for you, before making small noises of distress when some of it spills down your shirt. Hallucination Jeonghan #14 (wow was it a mouthful to say, even in your head) just hushes you gently, dabbing at it with tissues that he’d procured from the plastic bags. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and his hands take yours, clasping them around the bottle. Once you’re holding it, he gets up, and for a horrible moment, you think this hallucination is going to leave again. You kind of like this one.

“Where’re you going?” you ask, but it comes out as more of a slur of vowels. You’re not sure he understood a word.

 “Drink up,” is all he says. He fishes out a packet of pills from the bag (it’s like a magic bag, you think blearily. It seems to have everything inside it). “Have these as well, okay? I’ll go make that soup you wanted.”

You nod, blinking. Dutifully, you sip the water that the hallucination has left you, because really this was one of the most gentle, doting, Jeonghan-like Hallucination Jeonghan and it kind of feels like he really does have your best interests at heart. 

Unlike the other Hallucination Jeonghans, who just wanted to sell you fish. This one really seemed to care about your well-being. 

You blink again, slowly. 

Oh. 

By the time Jeonghan comes back with a gently steaming bowl of chicken soup on a tray with a mug of tea, you're more lucid than before, pouting at him as he comes closer, having remembered his last words before you’d hung up the phone.

“You said you weren’t going to take care of me.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, setting the tray on the bedside table, before sitting down on the edge of your bed, wordlessly picking up the bowl and spoonfeeding you some soup. You open your mouth easily, and he hums in approval with a smile.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my darling be sick all alone, hm?” he says. “I can’t do that. Especially if you’re also seeing hallucinations of me who are trying to sell you fish.”

He continues feeding you soup in tiny sips, and the entire situation feels weirdly vulnerable, with you propped up on pillows and Jeonghan making small noises of approval every time you successfully swallow a spoonful. Like you’re a little baby bird, or something.

But he smiles so lovingly at you the entire time, so it’s kind of hard to feel too embarrassed.

“Well done,” Jeonghan murmurs, once you’ve finished half of the bowl. Your boyfriend is affectionate, almost overbearingly so at times, always poking you in the side or pinching your cheeks or tweaking your nose, but the softness with which he treats you right now is a whole other level of affection entirely.

Jeonghan cares deeply for you. You know that. You’ve never doubted how much he loves you, and he never gives you reason to doubt it. But still, when he smooths down your hair and strokes the back of your hand and gazes at you so gently, it makes you realise yet again that oh God, he loves you.

“We’re going to get you to finish the rest of the soup in a minute,” he says, reaching down towards the plastic bag at his feet, “but first. I wanted you to have this.”

Out of the bag, he pulls out…

A fluffy bunny plushie.

You blink, tilting your head, sniffing in confusion and also to try and unblock your bunged up nose. “What?”

“Say hi to Jjongie,” Jeonghan says. “He came up to me when I was buying your soup, and I couldn’t not bring him home.” The bunny’s pink ears flop adorably into its eyes as he holds out the soft toy to you. It even has a cream coloured ribbon around its neck. “He’s gonna keep you company whenever I can’t be here for you.”

“Oh,” you say softly, taking Jjongie from him with a smile. You rub your thumb over the soft fur of the bunny’s cheek. “He’s adorable.”

Jeonghan beams, proud. “Of course he is. He’s a me-substitute.”

You look up at him, smiling. “Han, I—” You can’t finish your sentence, too choked up. Literally. You suddenly start coughing, hand coming up to cover your mouth, and Jeonghan rushes forward with the mug of tea and an opened box of tissues that he suddenly procured out of nowhere.

“Hey, it’s okay, no need to cry over it,” he says teasingly as you glare at him, eyes tearing up from how hard you’re coughing. You accept the tissues and, when he pushes the tea insistently in you direction, you take the mug too.

“Yeah, yeah.” You blow your nose with one hand and then drink the tea, noting with a smile the subtle notes of honey in it. “Thank you,” you add, softly, looking down at Jjongie in your lap. Jeonghan really has gone out of his way for you.

Jeonghan just shakes his head, picking up the soup bowl again. “Thank me once you get better,” he says. “You can take care of me after. I’ll probably be catching your illness from looking after you.”

You grin, blowing your nose again, and even you can’t miss the way that Jeonghan watches you, eyes devastatingly fond.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna look after me anyways, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan grins, unashamedly bright. He taps the spoon against your lips, smiling wider when you sip the soup, the mug of tea in your hands, Jjongie the bunny in your lap. 

“Duh. I love you too much not to.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @butiluvu @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[lxkeee]

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

—CHAPTER TEN

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: ANGST

Warnings: swearing and just angst.

Notes: Yayy! An update after being gone for a month or so lmao XD but anywho, heaven and back would be updated next week, I'm still finishing the chapter up lol.

Second notes: incase if you haven't seen the Azrael fanart my friend did for me, here's the link~! And also, did you know we have a discord server? Here's the link to it:3 come and join, everyone is friendly<3 and if you're already part of the server, come and say hi too:D

Word count: 4.6k

PART ONE I PART NINE | PART ELEVEN | NAVIGATION

Michael lets out a deep exhale once he finally hears the door to [Y/n]'s room clicked as he closes it. He was beyond worried when he heard the news of what happened to her. He blamed himself for being the cause of her passing out, if only he didn't send her down there then she would've been fine.

Michael leans against [Y/n]'s door, running a hand through his soft blond locks, eyes closed as he sighs.

Unaware of the approaching dark haired taller male.

Azrael's eyebrow raised as he noticed the blond man scrunched against [Y/n]'s door, seemingly in deep thought.

Azrael heard what happened and he immediately rushed back to heaven after his work, he was worried sick for the woman.

He sighs, although he didn't show it. His charming and mischievous face remains unchanged as he approaches the door.

“Michael, didn't expect to see you today.” Azrael says, his usual teasing and sultry voice catching Michael's attention.

Michael's head raised up—previously hung low—to look at the source of the voice, only to see Azrael in his deathly glory.

“I heard what happened so I immediately came here to check up on her, especially knowing she went down there and possibly saw him.” Michael explained and Azrael fought back the urge to roll his eyes at the man.

“Still wondering why you chose her to go down there, I was willing to take the load off her shoulders.”

Michael sighs, running a hand through his light blond hair, he doesn't get paid enough for this.

“I know and I suggested it to her right? To do the rock-paper-scissors game again after she lost but she was determined to take the case and I needed to respect that, she was fully prepared to go down there.” Michael explained, exhaustion evident on his voice. He was confused too, worried even. He can only believe God's words, the man sees everything—the past, present, and future.

He can only trust his judgement despite how it pains him to see [Y/n] suffer.

Azrael sighs, stuffing both of his hands in the pocket of his pants. Decided not to further question the man and possibly aggravate both of them.

Fights between Virtues are close to non-existent, but never zero. Arguments can be dangerous for powerful heavenly beings such as themselves.

“I shall not question you further, I'll hand you my reports later this evening so for now, excuse me.” Azrael says with a sigh, walking past Michael as he knocked on [Y/n]'s door before entering.

The door closed with a click. Michael was alone in that hallway after, with a sigh and finally drooping his heavy shoulders, he walked away.

For someone to be God's right hand man, he doesn't know anything. He has no choice but to place his trust in their heavenly father.

Who is currently away to a place they don't know.

‘What a mess,’ Michael thought to himself, the worried expression on his face disappearing as it was replaced with his usual cold and aloof facial expression that he is known for, shoulders straightening up, his footsteps fading as he disappeared from the hallway.

[Y/n] was blankly staring at the ceiling as she was lying down on her bed, seemingly lost in thought.

Azrael sighs, heels clicking as he walks towards her bed, [Y/n] shifted her head to look at the sound of the noise just to see Azrael, sitting on the empty spot of the side of her bed.

She gave him a weak and tired smile.

“Are you alright? I heard what happened,” Azrael muttered, a worried look on his face, “What did I tell you about pushing yourself to the limit?”

“The audacity to say that to me with your nonexistent sleep schedule—” [Y/n] says with a teasing tone but got playfully smacked by a pillow by none other than Azrael.

“I am death, I do not need sleep.”

Azrael says with a small pout, returning back the pillow to where he got it from, crossing his arms and crossing his long and slender legs.

[Y/n] chuckled softly, moving her position to sit on the bed instead of lying down.

“I mean... You looked like death.” She says, Azrael raises his eyebrow at her.

“I don't know why but I feel offended by that statement—”

[Y/n] stares at him, almost a deadpan looking the man up and down, “Come on... You know what I mean.”

“It's the bags underneath my eyes isn't it?” he asked, deadpanning at her, “Michael has it worse, stop attacking me.”

Azrael sighs, sometimes he forgets how difficult she is.

‘Dear father, give me the strength not to end her myself. I'm just kidding, I didn't mean to say that—’

He thought to himself, letting out a long exhale as he saw the teasing grin on the girl's face.

“You're trying to distract me.” he says, eyes narrowing into a deadpan, his lips still in a pout.

“Is it working?” [Y/n] asked with a playful tone, eyebrow raised teasingly at the male.

“Unfortunately.” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, long and slender fingers weaving through the dark black locks in slight frustration.

Whenever he's with her, he sighs a lot. That's something he noticed a long time ago.

The heart palpitations he gets whenever she's near might've not been because of attraction, it's probably because of stress.

She stresses him out.

Okay, just a little bit.

Azrael sighs once more, [Y/n] resisting herself to burst out into laughter, “That's the sixth time you've sighed.” She points out, Azrael deadpans at her.

“Thank you for keeping count, I really appreciate it.” He says, playful sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“You're welcome, death.” She says, it was enough for both of them to burst into chuckles.

Knock, knock, knock.

A knock was heard from her door, catching both of them off guard.

The door opens. A long dark blue haired woman can be seen standing by the door. Her hair tied into a ponytail yet her hair still reaches her waist. A serious look on her face.

Gabriel is here.

‘Oh shit.’ Azrael thought to himself, a shiver running down his back.

The room suddenly felt colder with the woman's presence. Something that often happens whenever Gabriel is in the room.

“Gabriel... Hi—” [Y/n] says nervously, getting cut off.

“Save it Raphael, Azrael please leave.” Gabriel says, voice dripping with icy coldness.

Gabriel, known as God's messenger; she handles reports that are needed to be passed around between realms.

It is natural that the news of Raphael collapsing would immediately reach her.

She can never understand what [Y/n] sees in Lucifer, sure she can see the vision but after what happened and what he did to [Y/n].

She gets the ick.

When the meeting about Sera and Adam's actions were held and the meeting also included about this 'Hazbin Hotel proposed by none other than Lucifer's daughter.

Someone needs to oversee it.

Unfortunately, [Y/n] lost the game that decides that.

The other members thought it was a bad idea but [Y/n] insists, saying that it's fair.

She doesn't want them to baby her. She wants to prove to them that she's okay.

Gabriel was beyond worried, [Y/n] is like a little sister to her despite their ages being so close to each other.

She trusts [Y/n], she can't trust Lucifer.

She couldn't trust the man who abandoned his wife for another woman.

Especially when she learned that Lilith left Lucifer.

It made Gabriel smile when she found out.

Qui totum vult totum perdit, as she always says.

Which translates to, ‘he who wants everything, loses everything.’

Michael usually refutes it with an, ‘Omnia causa fiunt.’

Which translates to, everything happens for a reason.

She doesn't understand Michael sometimes, despite knowing the man for many eons now.

She supposed Michael has some secrets to hide as the heavenly father's right hand man.

She couldn't imagine the burden he's carrying but then again, everyone in the seven virtues has something to hide.

She hums to herself, her mind returning what she was previously thinking.

What was she talking about again?

Oh, Lucifer.

Lucifer got greedy, he lost both of his wives in the process.

What differs him from the first man then?

Nothing.

After all, he is the embodiment of the sin of pride.

He is prideful, arrogant, and greedy.

Not much of a difference between him and Adam, except for how they show their arrogance.

Lucifer became blind when given the opportunity to act upon his God forsaken dreams.

Gabriel grimaced at the thought. The very dreams that doomed humanity.

With that blindness, he lost everything in the process.

As what he deserves.

Gabriel wonders why can't [Y/n] see that a man is willing to go on his knees to worship her?

Azrael, the angel of death.

The virtue of humility. Despite Azrael's slight narcissistic personality, the man knows how to be humble.

Despite the popular belief.

The man knows how to control himself. He knows the difference between being arrogant and being proud of one's achievement.

Unlike Lucifer.

Although, Azrael is borderline to it, she won't speak about it though. Nope, nuh uh.

How funny, Lucifer the sin of pride and Azrael the virtue of humility.

Gabriel almost chuckled at the thought, ‘I supposed there are two sides of the same coin.’

With a sigh, the sounds of her heels clicking against the tiled floors came to a halt.

She stood in the hallway of the Caeles mansion, facing the door that leads to [Y/n]'s room.

She can hear [Y/n]'s muffled behind the door, along with a familiar voice of Azrael laughing. Though, muffled.

Gabriel tilts her body slightly to the side so she can gaze outside through the many windows that are in the hallway.

Dark evening blue skies are what she can see, the sun has set a few hours ago.

She's not sure, the concept of time doesn't matter to an immortal being such as her.

She turns to face the door once more, taking a deep breath as she composes herself.

Stand straight, chest up, shoulders back. Confidence.

She knocks and opens the door.

“Gabriel... Hi—” [Y/n] says nervously, getting cut off.

“Save it Raphael, Azrael please leave.” Gabriel says, voice dripping with icy coldness.

Azrael smiled nervously at [Y/n], patting the girl's head before getting up from where he was sitting—the edge or side of [Y/n]'s bed—his heels clicked on the tiled floor as he walked.

He passes by Gabriel, patting the woman on the shoulder before exiting the room.

The door clicked as it closed. [Y/n] nervously gulped.

Gabriel sighs, finally letting herself walk towards [Y/n]'s direction.

The sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor is what [Y/n] can only hear, she plays with her thumbs nervously. Her [e/c] eyes avoiding deep dark blue ones.

“We need to talk.” She says sternly as she sits on the edge of the bed, [Y/n] sighs and nodded.

This is going to be fun. [Y/n] thought to herself, sighing mentally.

“What happened?” Gabriel asked, crossing her arms as she looked at the other female.

[Y/n] chuckled nervously, “I sorta got ambushed by evil...?”

Gabriel just stared blankly at her before deadpanning, “How—”

“It just happened okay?” [Y/n] just sighs and Gabriel just inhales and then exhales loudly.

“I don't want to continue asking about that,” Gabriel says flatly, clearly lost for words.

[Y/n] just nodded before looking away to avoid the other woman's eyes.

“Why do you insist on taking this job?” Gabriel asked, her dark blue eyes sternly looking at the [h/c] haired girl.

[Y/n] looked at the other woman in the eye, faltering slightly from the sharpness or Gabriel's dark blue ones.

“Because I just want to, what more reason do you want?” [Y/n] says nervously, avoiding Gabriel's stern and judgemental gaze.

Gabriel sighs then raises an eyebrow at her, “We know you just want to see him. It's been eons, [Y/n]. Why are you still hung up on the guy? You should move on and perhaps find someone new?” she asked her and [Y/n] avoided Gabriel's gaze and turned to look at the window near her bed, watching as the clouds passed by her window.

She sighs, “I can't, I still love him, Gabriel. After all these years my heart still yearns for him, aches, and beats for him.” she whispers softly, voice shaking and vulnerable.

Gabriel sighs, “You always let your emotions get in the way, that's the problem with you [Y/n] you don't think.” she says sternly and [Y/n] remained quiet, she knows Gabriel is right but she can't help it.

“He's just a man, [y/n].”

“A failure of an angel, he brings shame to the seraphims.”

“No, he's not.” [Y/n] refutes back yet her voice lacks resolve, it was barely a whisper.

“So what are you telling me? That this is all worth it because he's the love of your life and this was the man for you” Gabriel asked, a tinge of anger in her voice, her words sending knives to [Y/n]'s heart.

Gabriel is right and she refuses to listen.

“I don't know... He might've been.” [Y/n] answers weakly, a single tear running down her left cheek.

“This is ridiculous.” Gabriel says and [Y/n] just gave a pained laugh, “I know.” she says, she knows that.

“So there's no chance of changing your mind then?” Gabriel asked, a small scoff leaving her lips, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in slight annoyance at the thought of [Y/n] going down in hell once more.

[Y/n] nodded, Gabriel sighed and stood up from where she was sitting, “You're really an idiot, [Y/n].” Gabriel says with a small sigh, a strand of dark blue hair falling on her face. She uses her finger to tuck those strands behind her ear. Her dark blue eyes analyzing the other woman—helpless, weak, an utter fool for lowering herself for a man.

One might say the standards are in hell because of how low it is.

How ironic, amusing.

[Y/n] smiled weakly, she knows. She knows she's stupid for loving a man this much.

Yet, she can't help it. She's a fool. A fool in love with the devil, who was once an angel, who was once her loving husband.

You can never really know you love someone until they've hurt you and still think of them as the best person ever.

“Yeah, I know.” [Y/n] says with a pained smile, a bitter chuckle escaping from her plump pink lips.

Gabriel stood up from where she was sitting, walking to a nearby window that's near the edge of her bed, she stared outside the glass panel, her hands behind her back.

“Does that mean you'll be going down there again?” She asked, not bothering to look at [Y/n].

“Yeah.” [Y/n] nodded, her eyes downcast as she looked defeated. She hated herself for being like this.

“I am not stopping you, you're far too stubborn to listen anyways.” Gabriel says, voice monotone and tired.

“I know.” she says, voice barely above a whisper, a meek and powerless voice. Not wanting to agree with Gabriel but the woman is right and it hurts admitting it.

“Don't say I didn't tell you so.”

Not the first time someone told her that, and it didn't end well for her.

History repeats itself.

And as usual, it's her fault for not listening.

Azrael stood behind the door, ear pressed on the wooden door, eavesdropping.

He is aware that Gabriel can be harsh sometimes and he is also curious.

Can't say what he heard didn't break his heart.

He moves away from the door and leans against the wall, his face expressionless.

He has no reason to cry about it, he knows he had no chance.

A small smile was now on his face and a single tear slid down from his left eye, leaving a wet trail on to his pale cheek.

The door suddenly opens which prompted him to quickly wipe the tear away and composed himself.

He watches as Gabriel walks out of the door and closes the door behind her.

Dark blue eyes meeting dark black ones.

Gabriel's eyes widened ever so slightly when he saw Azrael standing and leaning on the wall near the door, “I thought you left.” she says, eyebrow raised at him.

Azrael chuckled softly, his voice smooth and sweet yet had a tinge of slight bitterness.

“I was curious what you girls were talking about, curiosity kills the cat indeed.” he says with a slight humor in his voice.

Gabriel's eyes softened slightly, “Are you okay?” she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Azrael shakes his head, “No, but I will be eventually.” he says with a small sigh, “Perhaps I should start moving on, besides, I'm starting to get interested in a certain someone.” he murmured, a mischievous grin on his face as remembered a certain archangel who is the acting celestial scribe to the book of life.

“Is it Michael?” she asked and Azrael gave her a disgust and flabbergasted expression, a hand over his chest.

“Excuse me?” he says, dumbfounded, “I may swing both ways but he isn't my type.” he says flatly, Gabriel gave him a side eye.

“Really? I swear both of you have this weird tension. The younglings say they 'ship' you and you two are the perfect representation of old man yaoi whatever that means.”

Azrael almost choked on air, what the fuck? Where did those angels even learn those words—

“Gabriel, what the fuck?”

Gabriel chuckles, nudging the male's shoulder, “I am just kidding.” she says with a teasing tone before humming to herself, “Metatron was it? I barely interact with them nor see them often. They're like Michael but worse, they're usually near father at all times to help him write the book of life so we barely see them in public.” she deadpans before looking at Azrael, “Since you are the angel of death, I supposed you see them often. I can just imagine you annoying them every time you're with them.” she says flatly.

Azrael chuckles, “Indeed, they're rather interesting but for now, I'll resolve my personal issues before acting upon my interest in them.”

“Good. Go to therapy.” Gabriel says, her lips pressed in a thin line as she looked at Azrael with a deadpan expression.

Azrael pouted a little.

“But I no no wanna...” he whined dramatically with a small laugh as he began to follow Gabriel as they walked away from [Y/n]'s room, the click of their heels slowly faded away as they slowly disappeared from the room.

Meanwhile,

“Dad, are you okay?” Charlie asked softly, her father staring outside his bedroom window, a lost look on his face.

Charlie was outside the door during her father and her supposed half brother arguing.

She wanted to come inside the room and try to calm both men down, but when she heard Xavier's voice as he talked to their father.

Charlie could hear eons of rage and utter pain in the boy's voice.

It stopped her from intervening, a voice in her mind kept telling her, ‘Don't. He needs this.’

Even if their father was the receiver of those harsh words.

She might not fully know nor understand the pain and suffering Xavier went but when she looked at the boy's [e/c] eyes, she was able to see utter sadness despite the blank expression on his face.

Lucifer was just blankly staring outside the window, his eyes fixated on the outside world but his mind somewhere, lost and drowning in his own self hate.

He hated it. He was not prepared. He was not prepared to see an almost exact replica of himself to arrive at his daughter's doorstep.

He was not prepared to see an exact replica of him filled with anger and sadness.

Seeing Xavier with his own two eyes, he was able to understand a bit of what the boy went through.

And he was the cause of it.

He regretted the things he has done, especially on how he treated [Y/n].

He was young—no, he was stupid. Just stupid.

Nothing can excuse his actions. He was an idiot and a fool.

[Y/n] was there for him, she was his best friend and he treated her like that.

Like a doll he discarded once he got bored.

He was wrong on how he treated her.

He should've done that, he should've loved her properly, treated her properly.

He should've been Xavier's father, the father that the boy needed and the father that the boy could trust.

Not someone he looks at with so much anger.

Terrifying, Xavier's rage reminded him of his own when he fell from grace.

Though, the reasons are highly different.

He loves [Y/n], he still does.

He realized that he still does in fact love the woman when he was separated from her for many, many years.

He would often call out to her without thinking, then remembering ‘Oh, she's not here.’

Falling from grace was enough to slap some sense into him.

He treated an amazing woman like her like garbage.

He's really an asshole.

Lilith cannot compare to [Y/n], he can't remember how many times [Y/n]'s name slips from his lips whenever he argues with Lilith.

It created distance between them.

Lilith couldn't take it anymore and left him.

He was left alone to wallow in self pity. He was left alone to mourn for the woman he left to suffer in her heartbreak which he caused.

He mourned his first love, he mourned his first son.

Which he doesn't deserve to do, considering that it should be the opposite.

To Xavier, he's a dead man. To [Y/n], he's a nobody.

Charlie watches her father with an unreadable expression on her, her hand outstretched as if to reach him but it hesitated midway. Shaking and unsure.

“Dad...?” she softly calls out again, her voice echoing despite the ringing in Lucifer's ears. His daughter's voice sounds like it's echoing in the four corners of his hotel room.

Suffocating. It felt like he was trapped in his own mind. His mistakes echoed like a siren's call to him. Teasing him.

He felt cold. He felt numb.

Snap. Everything stopped. The ringing stopped.

Though, his heart is beating erratically against his ribcage, like a monster threatening to get out of its prison.

He felt utterly numb.

His eyes are scanning his room, gentle streaks of light filtering through the glass panel of his windows giving his room a reddish like hue.

With a deep shaky sigh, he turned around and faced his daughter, his hand gripping his cane clenched ever so slightly.

“Charlie, dear... I would like to be alone at the moment.” he says, hesitantly. Voice quivering in each syllable, each word filled with the regrets of his past and present. Weighing him down.

Charlie's eyes widened ever so slightly before giving her father a small reassuring smile, “Oh! Of course... Excuse me...” she says giving him a small bow before turning around on her heels to walk towards the door. She paused, took a deep breath before looking at her father through her shoulder.

“If you need me, I'll be somewhere around the hotel. I'll always be here for you, dad.” she says with a small smile before turning around once more, twisting the doorknob open and walks out of the door.

The door clicked to a close when she was gone.

Lucifer's tensed shoulders loosened as it drops, a small frown on his beautiful face.

A single tear slips past his eye, the droplet sliding down on his left cheek, leaving a trail on his soft and pale yet rosy cheek.

“I know.” he whispered before a choked sob escaped his lips.

He can feel the stinging sensation around his eyes, vision blurring as tears mess up his sense of sight.

He can feel his legs buckling as if it struggled to carry the weight of his mistakes that he's carrying on his shoulders.

It gave out as he was now on the floor, small sobs could be heard from, his sobs bouncing on the walls of his room, mocking him.

“Why am I crying? I don't deserve to cry. I don't deserve to cry after what I had done.” he says choking on his words, shoulders shaking, trembling.

He hugged himself in an attempt to comfort himself, yet he was met with painful memories of when [Y/n] used to hold him when he was crying.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” he repeated to himself, rocking back and forth on where he was kneeling like a sinner.

Begging for her forgiveness, yet his repentance can't be heard from her.

‘It's all my fault, it's all my fault.’ thinking these words were like a stab to the heart because it is true.

With his last bit of energy, he lies down on the cold tiled floor. His white suit a pop of color to the redness all around him, his cheeks pressed against the tiles as tears continue to slide down on his pale skin and on to the floor.

“Over, I can't believe it's over, I can't believe the love I lived, to show some other day...” he quietly sang, his voice raspy from all the crying he shifts to let his body face the ceiling, his eyes staring blankly at the chandeliers.

“Listen, I hope that you can hear me...” he sang, propping his elbows on the floor to lift himself up into a kneeling position, his hands trembling, voice cracking with emotions, “As I kneel down and pray with the love I meant to say...” he sang softly, his voice beautiful yet filled with unexplainable regret.

“Shadows, you took away the shadows...”

“Before my life was black and white, though tonight the room's gone gray.”

She was the light of his life, his life was monotone before she came, she was a splash of color to the black and white of his so-called life.

“Golden, all the love you gave was golden,” he sang softly, [Y/n]'s bright smiling face flashes into his mind, a smile that brought so much warmth and happiness into his life, “Golden, I would gladly pay, to show the love I meant to say...”

“Oh, music you made me hear, such music,”

“Silly Lucifer, don't take our elder's words to heart! Their ancient beliefs can't possibly understand your amazing ideas!” [Y/n]'s words echo in his mind, for a brief moment, he could see [Y/n] smiling and giggling at him, her long white dress fluttering against the wind.

His eyes widened when the figment of his imagination of [Y/n] slowly fades away, his eyes widened in fear as he attempted to lift himself up from the floor, his hands outstretched in hopes of reaching her.

Only to grip on to nothing.

“Without you here to guide me, I feel as though I'll fly away...” he muttered, his voice continuing to break as tears continued to stream down his cheeks.

Droplets of his tears falling into the floor, his reflection mirrored into the small puddle of his pain.

“S-sorry,” his voice breaks even more, a simple word that is too late to say, too heavy to speak with his own lips. The very words he wants to say to her.

“Sorry, that's the word I want to sing to you,”

He took a deep shaky breath, his wine red like eyes tired and dull, eyes puffy and red after all the crying he had done, “The other word is stay, to hear the love I meant to say.” he softly sang, small hiccups can be heard.

He's really an idiot.

© LXKE 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own.

TAGLIST I:

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[fandomnerd9602]

Midnight

Stepsister!Wanda x Reader

For @lifespectator and @aloneodi

It all started the day your mom brought home her new boyfriend, Django, and with him came his daughter: Wanda Maximoff.

You could feel something stir within you the moment her eyes met yours and she gave you a shy smile. You could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest.

You and her were 12 at the time. You get like you weren’t old enough to like girls yet.

That was roughly seven years ago. Django and your mom married, making you and Wanda step siblings. You thought that being siblings now would’ve made your heart not look at her in that way anymore. And yet it persisted. No other girl in middle school or high school could compare to her.

Wanda, for the most part, didn’t date either. She was an introvert to the highest degree. She opened up to only two people in her life: you and her best friend Natasha.

Well she did start to date when you and her got to college. Her boyfriend was Vis, a foreign exchange student from England. He seemed proper enough but you hated him for taking Wanda away from you. The only times you ever saw Wanda was on weekends and in between college classes but he was always on her hip.

And so that brings you to New Years Eve. You promised your mom that you, Wanda, and Vis, who had never met your folks, would be home for the New Year. That didn’t mean that the three of you couldn’t stop off at a little college get together for the night first.

The party was loud, you couldn’t see or hear much over the mixture of music and voices. You tried to stay close to Wanda. This really wasn’t her forte.

“Come on Wanda,” Vis’ English accent tried to entice her. “It’s new years, what other way is there to celebrate?”

You turned and saw Vis trying to get Wanda up the stairs to one of the bedrooms. You gritted your teeth as one of your friends dragged you off for a split second.

The next thing you knew, you lost sight of both Wanda and Vis. Your heart broke to think that Wanda could’ve really been with someone else.

And then you caught sight of Wanda, tears streaming down her cheeks as she bolted out the door and into the cold. You turned to see Vis already making out with some other random chick.

You ran out into the blistering cold. That Vis was a jerk, making out with some other gal that wasn’t his date. You wanted to sock him in the jaw but Wanda was your bigger concern.

“Wanda?” You nearly shouted into the cold December air. You found her a few feet in front of you, crying her eyes out.

“Hey Red” you gently approach your stepsister and wrap an arm around her. She immediately turns around and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Take me home” she mutters against your skin.

You nod and guide her to your car. The ride home was quiet and somber. Wanda tried to wipe away a few fresh tears.

“I wouldn’t give it to him” she muttered.

“Huh?”

“He wanted to-and I wouldn’t.” She tries to say through her tears. “So he went off with another girl.”

“You did good” you reassured her. “Vis was a jerk”

“Papa would’ve hated him”

“I hated him from the moment I met the guy. Accent or not, Vis was no gentleman” you muttered. You even did a mocking accent earning a giggle from your step sister.

You guide her back into your family home. The clock on the mantle read ten minutes to midnight. Wanda settled onto the couch. You went and brewed some tea for her.

You brought in two mugs of piping hot tea. Wanda blew on hers a little. “Sorry I ruined your New Year’s party” she whispers.

“I’d rather be with you than let you suffer alone” you take a sip.

“Almost midnight” Wanda gives you a shy smile, “sorry you didn’t have someone to kiss”

“None of the gals there interest me” you shrug.

“What? You need to find yourself a girlfriend. You’ve never had one. Middle school. High school. Now college? Why?”

You take a deep breath, “because no girl can compare to the one who loves Florence and the Machine, Harry Potter, and old black and white sitcoms…”

Wanda gasps and then begins to tear up as you continue.

“The girl who gave my darkest days hope. The one whose smile lights up my world. The girl I’ve been in love with since I wasn’t supposed to like girls”

Wanda wipes away a few tears, “Vis wasn’t the one I loved. You are. I just thought it was too crazy…you and me…but we’re older now and…and…”

You gently wipe away a tear from her eye with your thumb and pull her into your arms. “Wanna be my New Years kiss?”

“We’ll” she giggles, “there’s no one else around so…five…”

You laugh, “four”

Her pupils dilate. Her eyes show only adoration for you. “Three”

“Two” you pull her closer.

“One” she whispers as you pull one another into a gentle kiss.

The sound of distant fireworks ring in the new year. But it didn’t matter for you and Wanda. You finally had the love of your life in your arms.

“My detka,” she sighs as she pulls back. She looks at you, you look at her. She giggles before immediately kissing you again. Her lips were like the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted.

What would her father or your mother think? It didn’t matter right now. You’ll take it one day at a time.

But for now, it was a new year. Full of new possibilities and new adventures awaiting for you and Wanda Maximoff, the little witch who always had your heart.

[incorrect-koh-posts]

"Young Baldwin seems to have possessed a naturally strong constitution, and he was also gifted with undeniable qualities of character and a strong, lively intelligence. William of Tyre, who was his tutor, says that 'in his childhood he was very handsome, with a quick and open mind, and he rode very well, better than his forebears had done.' 'Never forgetting an injury, and still less a kindness,' he had 'a retentive memory, was well educated with an excellent memory for tales and a fondness for telling them.'

The child must have realized very early that his disease was incurable, and his reaction shows great strength of character. He wanted to forget and make everyone else forget, right up to the end, that he was sick. But by the time King Amalric died, young Baldwin's disease had made such progress that it was already beginning to show, and 'the people of the kingdom felt great grief when they looked at him.'

From 1175 onward, the regent and the barons of Jerusalem were able to count on an unexpected ally, and a more valuable one than might have at first been thought. At fourteen years the young King Baldwin emerged as an intrepid fighter, capable of leading his troops into battle and later on of commanding them personally in the field. He was seen at the side of the constable and the Count of Tripoli, riding at the head of his troops and taking part in raids and diversionary campaigns [...]. At the time the King was still too young to actually command his army, and his principal function was as a symbol and an inspiration for his men. They were all happier marching under command of their lawful King. Young though he was, he was like the flag, to be protected and followed through the thickest of the fight, and he was not afraid of personal danger. [...]

When he came to the throne, he had [...] been a leper for ten years, and although the disease did not begin to make rapid strides until puberty, it must, even in early adolescence, have weakened and exhausted him. It is unlikely that anyone would have dared to reproach him had he wished to consider himself an invalid, yet he behaved as though he were perfectly well.

He had been educated, as became a prince, by knights and masters of arms and also by churchmen [...], and these had not failed to teach him patience and prepare him for the harsh trial that was to be his life, and to arouse in him a sense of duty and pride in being, despite his infirmity, King of Jerusalem and Defender of the Holy Sepulcher. Whether as a result of education or temperament, Baldwin IV seems to have had little inclination to self-pity. The young King overcame his illness with all the determination of an adolescent who knows he is physically weak and is bent on proving to everyone, himself included, that he can equal and even surpass others. He may have been a king who had the misfortune to be a leper, but he was also a leper lucky enough to be a king.

He loved power because it was all life had to offer him, and he very early evinced a wish to govern by himself, and would not tolerate disobedience. A temperament of this kind can easily degenerate into tyranny and capriciousness in one so young, but Baldwin IV had a lively and precociously mature mind, and was sincerely concerned to do his best for the good of the kingdom; and this right up to the time when his sufferings began to drive him out of his mind. [...] Up to the last moment he wanted to be a king and a general, and he wanted to be obeyed. It was his way of clinging to life, and he was a terrible fighter."

- Zoé Oldenbourg, The Crusades (1966)

[hufflegruff]

girl the way i RAN when i saw you asking for requests as a break from a knowing look!!! if youre down to maybe do something like hurt comfort vibes? with sebastian x MC? like mayhaps they’re fighting and MC gets hurt and protective Sebastian comes out? literally in love with everything you’ve written!!! you’re amazing! <3

I was meant to write a drabble but somehow this became a NOVEL?! Good lord. I really wanted to do it justice!!! I hope you guys still enjoy it!!!

It takes a disaster

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader Word Count: 5k Contains: Fluff, angst, making out!!! Requested: The lovely @ithinkweallsing and @musicbecky had similar requests about protective Seb x hurt MC so I combined both :)

Summary:

“And why didn’t you think to tell me that you were struck by a bloody unforgivable curse before you fell lifelessly onto the fucking floor!” He yelled. She winced at the loudness of his voice.  “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the love of your life almost die in your fucking arms?” His deafening voice echoed through the chambers of the hospital wing.  She stared at him, mouth agape.  Sorry, was she dreaming? What was that he just said? 

It takes a disaster

When she first resigned to the pitiful fact that she was very likely in love with Sebastian Sallow, she accepted her fate. Doomed to suffer in an unrequited love she held for her best friend. 

Merlin, it was such a cliché. 

Honestly, she would have laughed at herself if it didn’t also feel so pathetically miserable.

Somewhere along the way, amid catacombs and restricted sections and ancient relics, she found herself becoming dissatisfied with just friendship. And before she could even catch herself, she had already fallen. Buried ten feet underground by the weight of her own despicable, cavernous feelings. 

Because they’d been best friends for long enough for her to know that Sebastian Sallow flirted like his livelihood depended on it. If courting witches was a sport, he’d be a professional. It came to him as naturally as breathing. 

That was why Cressida Blume battered her eyelashes so feverishly everytime he was near. And why Samantha Dale had been so Goddamn adamant on being her potions partner, so she could siphon hints on how best to charm the Slytherin for herself.

And why she would never entertain the idea that any of Sebastian’s pretty words could be anything more than lip service. 

So she went out of her way to find reasons to keep herself busy. Taking jobs and doing favours for townsfolk in the vicinity, so that she wouldn’t have to sit with her own feelings. Or Sebastian himself. Hoping that by the time it came for them to leave Hogwarts, that she would find peace and leave her feelings for him in the deepest depths of the castle. 

The distance would help. It just had to. 

Unfortunately for her, when she had said that she was heading to the poacher camp up in the Poidsear coast by her lonesome, Sebastian insisted that he absolutely had to come along.

“Don’t be daft. Of course I have to come with you. Who else is going to swoop in when your sorry arse needs saving?” He teased.

She was almost offended, “I don’t need a babysitter, Sebastian.”

“Not a babysitter,” he clarified, “A knight in shining armor,” with a dashingly flirtatious smile.

She felt her heart flutter, and cursed his annoyingly perfect fluffy hair for it. What business did it have looking so attractive? Honestly, the cheek of these Slytherin boys to say such rousing things.

Ominis, Sebastian and herself had been lazing in the grass in front of the main school grounds. But with a deft wave of his hand Seastian beckoned over his broom, and it zipped obediently over. 

“Come on. Let’s go.” Sebastian said easily.

“What? Right now?” She replied in disbelief.

“Well, I don’t see anything better to do. Do you?”

From beside him, Ominis piped up annoyed, “Um, excuse me. Did we not agree that we needed to finish our group project today so as to not suffer the wrath of Sharp’s horrid temper?”

Silently, she thanked Ominis for the diversion and prayed Sebastian would take it.

“Like I said. Nothing better to do.” Sebastian reiterated shamelessly. 

Ominis rolled his eyes, “Absolute moron you are. Whatever. Take him off my hands for all I care.”

Well that didn’t go at all the way she hoped.

“But I’ve… not even stocked up on my potions.” She said weakly.

Sebastian wasn’t having it.

“Come on, it’s just a routine poacher clear out! I’ve got a couple of Wiggenwelds on me. You know it’s going to be a cakewalk for the both of us.” 

She could never say no to him. Not when he looked at her like that. She imagined that most girls couldn’t either. An ugly, decrepit feeling bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. But she willed herself to push the unhelpful thought down and out of sight. 

“Fine.” She caved with a haughty flip of her hair, “But try to keep up. I don’t want to have to take care of you out there.”

In a ridiculously exaggerated display of chivalry, he offered her his hand and led her onto the broom with a coy smile.

“Ladies first.”

This boy was going to be the death of her. The ride to Poidsear would all but confirm that. 

Sebastian had insisted that she sit in front of him to steer — and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how she had willingly agreed to put herself in this position. His breath was right in the crook of her neck, and his warm hands were wrapped all too tightly around her waist. Did he really think that she could steer like this? She was appalled at how totally inconsiderate he was by being so oblivious to her feelings. 

She could hardly hear her own thoughts — not even the intrusive ones — let alone focus on the fly.

Was he doing this on purpose? Because it was annoying.

The singularly, most vexing thing he could do in fact. She had a mission to concentrate on. She didn’t need to be sidetracked. She hadn’t even wanted him and his distracting face to come along in the first place.

“Merlin. Hold me any tighter and I might burst, Sebastian.” She tried her best to make it sound casual. With the light cadence of a joke, and not the high stakes affair it felt like.

“Well, I can’t risk having you falling to an untimely death under my watch. I’d never hear the end of it from Ominis. Or Samantha. For killing her potions partner at such a crucial time in the academic year,” He joked. 

His tone was teasing, but she hated that his words sounded so… carefree. Completely unbothered. It bruised her heart more than she liked to admit, but it hurt her to know that he probably thought that this was the same as being in close proximity to Anne. 

And why the bloody hell did he have to mention Samantha Dale at a time like this? Unprompted and all. Teenage boys really had no tact. If that had been a glimpse into Sebastian’s mind, she didn’t want to see it. Lock it up and throw away the keys and unleash it into the depths of the black sea to never be found. 

If she just ignored it, and never faced it head on, maybe her heart would break a little bit softer. 

“Right.” She replied curtly, willing the dejection she felt to go away.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” 

“No.” 

He paused in contemplation, before declaring, “You’re upset.”

He had said it so matter of factly she almost couldn’t disagree with him. Almost. She cursed herself for not being able to hide the bitterness in her voice better. She cursed him for noticing this of all things.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not.” She retorted harshly.

When the words left her mouth, she quickly regretted them. She felt guilty for how unnecessarily rude it sounded. But she couldn’t talk about this. There was objectively no good way to explain why she seemed so irrationally bothered without emotionally vomiting her feelings onto him.  

But before she could apologise, he chose to let it go. 

And she didn’t know if she felt relieved or even more devastated.

The rest of their journey to Poidsear was endured in silence. When they finally arrived, they landed just at the precipice of the poacher camp. It was time to get serious, she mentally chided herself. There was simply no time to torment herself with such frivolous nonsense.

They kept out of sight behind a mountain of crates next to a tent. Making sure to stay hidden, she briskly surveyed the scene. She could see from the corner of her eye, a family of hippogriffs chained in cages by the Eastern front. But getting to them would be no easy feat; the area was littered with Ashwinders at every corner. 

“God. There’s more of them than I thought.” She whispered to herself.

“Worried? How very unlike you.” Sebastian raised a brow in response.

“Not at all. It’s just you would think that these degenerates would have more productive things to do with themselves than taking magical creatures as prisoners.” She whispered with a scoff.

She had not even one ounce of respect for the Ashwinders, especially those of the poaching variety. Those who made a nefarious career out of hunting innocent, majestic creatures for blood sport were the worst of them.

To her surprise, when she turned to look at Sebastian, he was looking straight at her with an enigmatic smile.

And then suddenly, she felt self-conscious.

“What?” She whispered nervously.

Sebastian murmured warmly, “This is a little nostalgic is it not?”

“How so?”

“You. Me. The exhilarating thrill of getting caught at any moment. Feels like fifth year doesn’t it?” His voice was lower than usual, quieter, with a hint of something dastardly alluring. 

It made her heart skip an alarming amount of beats and her skin shiver at the sound of it. She felt an outrageously girlish impulse to snog him and hex him and run far, far away from him all at once. What she would give for him to have a taste of his own medicine. Even if he wasn’t in love with her, maybe she still could grab him by the collar and kiss him silly until his lips were bruised. 

Maybe that would finally fluster him. 

Because by God, he deserved to be put in his place for all the bloody grief he unknowingly gave her.

He was looking at her so affectionately, and that was just so uncalled for. Honestly, she didn’t know how he managed to flirt so skilfully even in the face of imminent danger. In the near vicinity of bloodthirsty dark wizards. If she wasn’t so conflicted by it all she would be impressed. She imagined that Sebastian Sallow could probably flirt with Death himself and get away with it. 

Perhaps that would be a rather useful quality in an Auror. Perhaps, when they were back in the safety of the castle, she would suggest it as a fitting career path for him—

“Look what we have here. A little far from Hogwarts aren’t we?”

She felt her blood freeze over at the sound of the new voice. Sebastian stiffened. A sinister chill ran up her spine.

When she turned, she was greeted by the menacing smile of an Ashwinder, cloaked in shadows. And almost as if the Hermes had struck her himself, the girl wonder retaliated at reckless speeds and pointed her wand with venomous hostility at the dark wizard in front of them.

Fuck. She cursed internally. Her guard had been irresponsibly down. She hadn’t even heard him approach them.

Sebastian probably sensed her panic, and squeezed her hand twice.

Once to comfort her, the second to ask her to follow his lead.

Raising his hands up in mock surrender, Sebastian said sardonically with a wry smile “Sir, we were just passing by the area. We didn’t know that this was private property. Terribly sorry for the intrusion. If you allow us, we’ll be on our way now.” 

The Ashwinder scoffed, “Save it kid, I know exactly who you two meddlesome brats are.”

“Oh well that’s unfortunate.” Sebastian said patronisingly.

Her grip on her wand tightened. She wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, but she knew that she had to be ready. 

“Why’s that?” The Ashwinder asked with a laugh.

“Because that means I have to do this.” 

And suddenly, with a swift motion, Sebastian lunged forward with his wand. And almost as if by blind, brazen instinct, her own hands followed suit. 

“Confringo!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

Red, green, and blue. The colours of their spells cackled at lightning speeds against the howling wind. 

But soon enough their commotion caused a ruckus, and it became an army against two measly bodies.

“Shit!” Sebastian cursed under his breath.

And frankly, she had to give it to them to their credit, these Ashwinders proved to be pretty formidable adversaries. They moved faster than the others did. And their spells missed her more narrowly than they normally did. But still, actually hitting her was the aim. Close enough wasn’t good enough, and she was determined to make sure that they would never achieve it. 

She’d make sure of it — they didn’t call her the girl wonder for nothing. 

Spells collided and echoed around her, the acrid scent of fire filling her nostrils. If peril were a smell, this is what she imagined that it would smell like.

And in the midst of the chaos, without a surge of power erupted from one of the Ashwinders. Like a strike straight out of God’s hand — with a single, severe flash of light — a calamitous spell was unleashed, enveloping the camp grounds in a sheathe of blinding white. 

And when the light became less blinding, she found herself separated from Sebastian. 

Panic welled up within her as she searched the battlefield, her heart pounding in her chest. 

"Sebastian!" She called out.

Where was Sebastian?

Fuck. That wasn’t good. She needed to find Sebastian. 

Like insidious tendril vines, fear crept into her veins. Yet she willed the anxiousness in her brain to focus; willed it to calm down. Sebastian was a capable wizard. He could handle a few pesky Ashwinders. 

Just as capable as she was. 

Because with a flick of her wrist, shields shattered and hexes were deflected. With every spell she cast, the wind sang as her curses hit bodies, like a force of nature answering her call. One by one Ashwinders fell under the weight of her unyielding assault. 

But then a piercing hex sliced right through her defences. 

Her protego shattered, and she was thrown backward into a mess of limbs onto the ground. 

“Crucio!”

The sound of the spell sent chills down her spine. It brought her back to the scriptorium. It brought her back to a shadow of Sebastian that she had been trying to forget. 

But before she could run, scream, dive or react — it reached her. 

And just as torturously as it had the very first time she endured it, pain erupted through her body as she was thrown backward, limbs contorting as she crumbled in agony onto gritty soil. Back then, it had felt as if lightning had struck every single nerve ending in her body. This time it felt like she was burning under a flame that was twice as brutal.

The pain was relentless. Her mind screamed for respite, for any brief release from this torture. She clawed at the ground, gripping her nails deep into the dirt, as if seeking solace in the earth itself. But there was no escape. No reprieve.

Through the haze of pain, she caught glimpses of the Ashwinder that had casted the curse. Even through her blurry vision, she could see that they were gloating. Content at how they had reduced her to nothing more than a writhing, broken vessel.

And God, that pissed her off immensely.

If they could sense the literal thunder in her veins, she wondered if they would be so cavalier?

She didn’t think so.

Through gritted teeth; through sheer determination, she struggled onto her feet with her body shaking in defiance. Summoned the last remnants of her ancient magic, her wand trembling in her shaky hand. A surge of energy flowed through her veins. The air above the tips of her fingers crackled with raw power as she channeled her magic, focusing it into a singularly devastating spell.

And when it hit the Ashwinder, it eviscerated them in waves.

In between all the fighting and screaming and surviving, she didn’t remember much of the details.

But all of a sudden, it was silent. 

And all of the sudden, it was just her standing alone in plumes of dust.

When the air finally settled down, she felt herself start to cave. The adrenaline had done its job and was quickly leaking out of her blood stream. As if she had exerted and drained every last ounce of her spirit and was on the verge of collapse.

Was it just her, or were the skies starting to fade?

The pain in her chest was still excruciating. This cruciatus curse felt different from the one that Sebastian had casted on her before. 

This one was lingering. 

Like it was clawing onto her heart and gripping onto it in a chokehold with a resentful vengeance. Despite having just won, she didn’t have a spare moment to feel relieved. The pain was quickly growing and air couldn’t seem to reach her lungs fast enough.       

But Sebastian… Where was Sebastian? The panic began to rumble within her. She had foolishly let her own guard down, and let him out of her sight. She mustered what little energy she had left and moved her head frantically in search of him. 

How could she ever forgive herself if she let him die? 

But when she saw a figure barreling head first towards her, even through blurry eyes and the crackle in the depths of her tired limbs, she knew that it was him. And like an oasis in the blistering desert, the comfort she felt from seeing his face was a brief solace to the pain. 

If this was where she was destined to meet her end, she hazily deliberated, at least she could draw her last breath in peace knowing that he was safe. 

(Not to be dramatic or anything.)

When Sebastian finally caught up to her, he laughed and bursted out breathily, “Merlin… Whatever you and your ancient magic did back there was insane.”

He was safe, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have the energy anymore. Not for a conversation, let alone banter. She needed to preserve her last scraps of her battered stamina to make it back to the castle and patch herself up in solitude.

And one thing was for certain: Sebastian could not know.

“I think we managed pretty well.” He said with a tired smile.

“Yeah,” she replied breathily, “W-we did good.”

She sounded a mess. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

To her dismay, the look on his face immediately switched into that of deep concern. 

He interrogated hurriedly, “What wrong? You sound a little off. Are you hurt?”

Everything was wrong. The discomfort that gripped her chest was getting worse with every passing second. Standing was starting to become too taxing of an undertaking for her. 

But needless to say, she didn’t want another thing to worry about, and Sebastian would always make an unnecessarily big fuss anytime she was hurt. Even if it was just a minuscule scratch. He was always too distraught; too tender. It was one of the things she adored most about him. 

And she absolutely loathed him for it.

So her stubbornness was persuaded that suffering in silence was the easier of two fates. 

Indignantly, she retorted, “How rude. I’ll have you k-know I’m perfectly f-fine.”

Her words were starting to slur, not that she noticed. But Sebastian clearly had. Assertively, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him.

“You’re not fine.” He declared demandingly.

As he frantically searched her eyes, arms, back, legs for signs of what was wrong, she found herself nuzzled in the nook of his chest. She felt her willpower wither slightly in his flustered hands. 

In the shallow breaths that she took, she could smell him. The musk of pinewood and sputtering fireplaces and late nights drifting in the restricted section. An aromatic cocktail that was overwhelmingly intoxicating. 

Now she was getting angry. And drowsy. And dizzy. Why couldn’t Sebastian tell that he was being so selfish by being so considerate? He needed to stop touching her so carelessly. She was lightheaded enough as it is, she didn’t need his excessive gentleness to add fuel to the flames of her absurd delusions. 

But maybe if she just closed her eyes and rested for this brief moment. Sebastian would take the hint and just leave her be. Maybe all she needed was a quick lie down and he would see that she was perfectly fine. 

“Oh fuck, there’s so much blood— hey, hey!”

She could see Sebastian calling out her name, but she couldn't hear it. And soon enough she realised, she wasn’t fighting it anymore. And soon enough, Sebastian was no longer in sight. Soon enough, she found herself alone in a quiet, soothing darkness. 

Something was twisting at her to give into slumber. Into solitude. Into emptiness. She vaguely remembered from one of Sharp’s more riveting lectures that when poisoned - one should always fight the urge.

But she could still feel the warmth of Sebastian’s hands on the small of her back, and the comfort of it lulled her to relinquish control. After a few ambivalent moments, drifting in and out of awareness, she surrendered to sleep.

When she woke, she was greeted by a horrendously pounding headache. She had no sense of place, but a low groaning ache in her bones. Her eyes struggled to open, but she could feel the warm sun on the tip of her nose, and the tips of her cheeks. The softness of the sun quelled a little bit of the soreness in her body. 

She deduced that wherever she was, it was warm and safe. Despite the ache in her bones, there was also a weightlessness to her body. Therefore, she somehow rationalised with herself that this was very likely heaven. 

Or any other religious equivalent afterlife. 

She wasn’t picky. Any one would do, really.

When her bleary eyes finally pulled themselves open, the fragmented parts of her vision pieced together a faint picture. Of pristine white linen and crisply casted grey brick. A peculiar blend of sickly artificial peonies and concentrated chemicals flooded her nostrils. 

Which was odd. Because she hadn’t imagined that the afterlife would feel quite so sterile.

“Fucking hell,” spoke a voice she could never not recognise, and she was shocked. 

Did heaven include conjuring up a phantom Sebastian from the figment of her deepest imaginations to keep her company for the rest of eternity?

“Sebastian?”

“You’re awake.” His voice was hoarse.

When her eyes finally focused, she saw him properly. It was definitely Sebastian Sallow, the boy that had her heart leaping acres across the Hebridean seas. But in all her years of knowing and pining for him, she’d never seen him look so terrible. His hair was disheveled as if it had endured a torrid storm. His eyes were heavy and solemn, as if they had tolerated an eternity of grief.

This seemed all too real. Too visceral. 

Maybe this wasn’t heaven.

“Am I dead?” She thought to confirm.

He laughed a humourless laugh.

“No. You’re in the hospital wing.”

So this was real. She was in pain because her body had been bruised like a peach. 

When she finally looked around, she found herself neatly tucked into the covers of an infirmary bed. She couldn’t recall how she got here, and only remembered a few little scraps of the event that led up to Poidsear. But if she had to be certain of anything, Sebastian must’ve brought her back to the castle.

“I guess that makes sense,” She said with as much mirth as she could muster, “Heaven couldn’t be this quaint.”

Clearly Sebastian hadn’t found it funny at all, which is why she was met with silence. 

As she cleared her throat, she asked, “What happened?”

For some reason, Sebastian was doing everything in his power to avoid her eye. 

“An Ashwinder hit you with a modified version of the cruciatus curse. She tampered the spell and combined it with a blood poisoning hex. You… could’ve died.” He said through gritted teeth. It seemed as if he struggled to even get the words out. 

In an attempt to diffuse the graveness of his tone, she made a joke.

“Unlucky. Maybe next time they try to kill me they’ll actually get it right.”

But once again, Sebastian didn’t laugh. If anything, he only got more aggrieved. She felt his grip on the edge of her bed frame tighten so fiercely, she could see his veins pop and his knuckles turn red. He was being so serious — and she was not at all used to serious Sebastian. She had only seen this side of him once or twice, and only ever because of Anne. 

“Are you … upset?” She asked cautiously.

“I’m fucking furious.” He said. 

She was gobsmacked.

“Why?”

Finally, he looked at her straight on and her stomach flipped at the sight of it. He looked absolutely distraught. Like the splintered shell of a boy who had been cracked open and drained dry of his will to live. Behind the hard look in his eyes, radiated something cloudy, tempestuous and devastating. 

“It was my fault that we were even there.” He said

She hadn’t known that a voice could carry such grief and anger simultaneously. But Sebastian’s voice was laced with insurmountable despair. And it broke her heart irrevocably to think that she could’ve caused him so much pain.

Did he think that he was to blame?

That was ridiculous.

“I thought-” he started to say again, but his voice cracked. 

I thought I lost you? I thought I’d left you for dead? She wondered if that was what he was going to say.

“Sebastian…” She finally began “It’s not-”

“And why didn’t you think to tell me that you were struck by a bloody unforgivable curse before you fell lifelessly onto the fucking floor!” He yelled.

She winced at the loudness of his voice. 

“I didn’t think-”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the love of your life almost die in your fucking arms?”

His deafening voice echoed through the chambers of the hospital wing. 

She stared at him, mouth agape. 

Sebastian himself looked shocked by the words out of his own mouth. 

Sorry, what was that he just said? 

Was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating? Had Sebastian Sallow really said that he loved her? Her? Complicated, chaotic, haphazard her? Even if her brain couldn’t quite process what she was saying, her heart had certainly understood. It was battering against her ribcage so firmly that she swore it would no sooner burst out of her chest.

“You… love me?” Even as the words sat in her mouth, even as she tasted it meticulously on the edge of her tongue — she still couldn’t believe them. 

With his head buried in his hands, Sebastian groaned. 

Obviously that wasn’t what he had wanted to say, and that terrified the living shit out of her. He looked as if he considered going back on it. Saying that it had just been an emotional slip of the tongue. 

But to her surprise, he stood firm. 

“Fuck.” He cursed, “Isn’t it fucking obvious?”

His words still weren’t fully sinking in. Her brain was running so fast that it was on the verge of failing her entirely. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. Was it obvious? To who exactly? By what egregious definition? And did he expect her to just take his word and say that this little detail was always hidden in plain sight for her to find? 

Then there were other more intrusive thoughts she couldn’t shake. Like what about all the girls that fawned over his every word. What about all the other girls that were softer, prettier, more endearing than her? She just hoped that whatever she chose to say, that she wouldn’t let out the intrusive ones first.

“...What about Samantha?” She blurted practically incoherently.

Oh Merlin. Why did she say that? Why was that the first thing she said to him after she had just been on the verge of death? After he had just confessed his love for her.

Never had she felt so exasperated with herself for being so dumb.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian looked at her as if she’d just grown three heads. She also considered that maybe she had enunciated so poorly that he hadn’t understood a single thing she said. Either way, just as she was about to laugh it away - change the subject - he responded.

“... What about Samantha?”

Suddenly, she felt too shy to ask. But she knew she had to follow through.

“... You’re not in love with Samantha?” She asked meekly.

Sebastian stared at her in absolute disbelief. 

“Are you crazy?” he began incredulously, “You think I fancy Samantha Dale?”

It wasn’t that crazy of a thought, she wanted to retort. 

But before she could even get a word in, Sebastian bulldozed on.

“Fucking hell. I think I’ve mentioned her name all but three times in the last six years I’ve been in this castle. All I talk about is you all day everyday, which makes Ominis go absolutely livid! All you have to do is say my name and I’d stop everything at the drop of a fucking hat to do literally anything you ask for me—” 

Did he know what he was saying? She wanted to scream. The feelings in her chest were so intense she feared that she might just throw up. 

Could he hear the absolutely ludicrous and inconceivable things coming out of his silly mouth? Did he know what in Salazar’s name he was saying to her? 

And he wasn’t even done yet.

“—I look for you in every hallway, every classroom, every corner in this bloody castle! For Merlin’s sake, I can’t even begin to fathom how you could not know that I’m stupidly love with you—”

Despite herself. Despite the stabbing pain in her chest. Despite the stitches in her lungs. She lunged her body forward and pushed her own chapped, split and desperate lips onto his.

And when their lips met — good God. 

She had no idea how she had waited so long to do this.

And she hoped for his sake that Sebastian hadn’t said any of that lightly, because now that she had finally had him, she was never ever letting him out of her shaky, unpracticed hands. 

At first, Sebastian had been taken aback. His mouth unmoving, eyes open in disbelief. It was as if he was observing the scene from outside of himself.

But then soon enough — he was all in, and he had his hands cupping the curve of her cheek to pull her closer to him. Soon enough, Sebastian was kissing her like he was looking for something. Pushing, pulling, scouring the shape of her mouth like she was a puzzle to be deciphered. Gripping tightly onto the sides of her waist and the small of her back like she was a prized to be possessed.

And she obliged. 

Whatever he wanted to know she’d tell him. If she were a prize, she'd use every cheat every ruse in her arsenal to make sure he'd win.

She just hoped that her needy moans conveyed her willingness to be compliant in his competent hands.

Her limbs ached, her bones groaned. This kiss was too wild, too strenuous, too demanding for her worn out body. But she didn’t care. The floodgates had opened now, whether either of them knew it, and this feeling was unquenchable. 

He tasted like home and aftershave and salt and all those silly peppermint candies he ate all the time. If she could fasten herself to him with an irreversible stitch, she would. If she could seal herself into a perfect mould of his arms, she would. If the shivers that raced down her spine could etch themselves permanently into her nerve endings in her skin, she’d gladly bear the mark.

In between peppered, sloppy kisses, she managed to gasp, "I'm in love with you too."

There was no time for pauses. She had no use for breathing; no use for air. She had no use for anything that didn’t include his lips. 

His laugh was gravelly and tired and breathy. But it was filled with relief and tenderness all the same.

“Thank fucking god,” Sebastian murmured.

Her hands instinctively found their way to his hair, fingers tangling into the strands of his. She revelled in the texture of him. In her daydreams and her undisclosed fantasies, she had always wondered what it would feel like. Would he be as gentle as his charms implied? Or was he as abrasive as his words could be?

But despite his devouring intensity, despite how ardently he consumed her — everything about Sebastian was soft. His lips were soft. His body was soft. His hands were soft.

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back. Which immensely disappointed her. And she wasn’t shy to let it show on her face.

"Be careful. You're still recovering." He managed to get out, but it was weak.

Yes, that was true. It was very lovely and sensible of him to say.

But frankly, she couldn't give two fucks.

"I wouldn't mind dying today," she replied breathlessly, her voice laced heavily with longing.

He groaned into the edge of her mouth, "Way too soon."

She smiled wryly. Was it wicked of her to take delight in how protective he was being?

Silence hung in the air. 

"Please just... just be careful next time?" he said, his voice wavering slightly.

She looked into his eyes, "I will."

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she hoped that he knew that she truly meant it. That by definition, her feelings for him meant that her assurance was very much real. Because if not with words, she needed him to know through this gesture that she too looked for him in every inch of this castle. That she too would drop everything at his beck and call.  

He squeezed her hand back in return.

Message understood?

“And as much as I’d love to keep kissing you," he whispered with a playful glint in his eye, "I would hate for Nurse Blainey to shun me from the infirmary for so shamelessly accosting one of her patients."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, the tension easing between them. "You're right. We wouldn't want that," she replied, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

—

A/N: This is deffo a little different from the normal soft/simpy Seb that I write. I tried to go for overly flirtatious and wildly charming Seb and a pining MC this time to shake things up!! I still think they're cuties.

Gosh, I hope you guys liked it!! I'M STILL WORKING ON OTHER REQUESTS and of course my bb A Knowing Look! They will be taking a while but I promise I will be putting my heart and soul into them.

xoxo gruff

[megu-meow]

missin' you crazy - Gojo Satoru

gojo satoru x fem.reader

Summary: moments when Gojo misses you and tries to cope with you being away.

Satoru always did everything so that he wouldn't depend on anybody but himself. Growing up, he was given everything, he didn't have to do anything on his own - that shows when he moves into the Jujutsu Tech dorms and he's the only one incapable of doing his own laundry, however, he always preferred being alone for his emotional well-being. He was conditioned into thinking that friends, family, and lovers were only sources of weakness, and the Strongest must not have weaknesses. But people change in high school and that most certainly applies to the prodigy of the Gojo clan as well. Firstly, he befriends his classmate, a dark-haired kid with the ability of Curse Manipulation, Geto Suguru. The two of them click instantly, despite their different upbringings and their clashing personalities. They wreak havoc around campus together, making every teacher and student aware of their immense power and the dominance they have over the entire Jujutsu World. So when you get admitted to the Tokyo branch of the two existing sorcery schools, you are already aware of the potential your upperclassmen have. However, you're not the type to settle, so you challenge yourself to work hard enough to get to their level, and for the first time, Gojo Satoru meets someone he finds to be intimidating. Not only are you determined and hot-headed, but you're also kind-hearted and gentle. Satoru cannot help but blush every single time you ask him about his well-being or every time you bring him souvenirs from your missions from around the world. Gojo finds himself slowly falling in love with you, a big no-no for him, based on the teaching of his clan members. However, he wouldn't be the Strongest if he let anyone but him influence his decisions in life, so he asks you out anyway and is thrilled when you agree, because no matter how arrogant, spoiled, and insufferable you think he is, he also has a big heart and he's sweet, considerate and gentle towards you.

Over time, Satoru learns that you're sent away abroad a lot, given how your cursed technique consists of you being able to speak any language, imbedded with cursed energy that can manipulate humans, curses, sorcerers, and curse users alike. It's a unique and powerful technique that Gojo admires, one that is considered extremely useful around the globe. And with you, his favorite person on the entire planet, being away comes an unbearable amount of suffering - so he says.

The first time you take on a longer mission overseas, it's around three or four months into your relationship. Satoru is being driven back to campus by an auxiliary manager from the airport, where they dropped you off approximately ten minutes ago. His eyes are glued to the display of his overly expensive flip phone, an obnoxious message from you opened, one full of emotes he would usually consider silly, but his heart aches from knowing that this is the last point of contact he would have with you for the next two weeks. The year is 2006 and cell phones are not developed enough to maintain stable connection across the globe, so he knows he won't hear your voice or see your face until you come back to Tokyo. As soon as he arrives back on campus he looks for Shoko and Suguru, maybe they could distract him enough so that he forgets how much he misses you. It's a new feeling for him, it somewhat pisses him off, not one person was important enough for him before that he would experience how missing someone would feel like, but here he is. Miserable.

"You look rough, champ." Shoko teases from the top of the girls' dorm building, where she and Suguru are sharing a cigarette.

"What happened, Satoru? Did they run out of strawberry mochi at the convenience store?" Geto asks curiously. It's not every day that Gojo's smile is wiped from his face or the bounce is missing from his step.

"No, I don't want mochi right now." the white-haired sorcerer sighs dramatically, as he teleports to the roof and sits down beside his friends.

"Oh, something's definitely wrong. You always want mochi..." Shoko exclaims.

"I KNOW WHY HE'S SULKING!" Geto states with a wide smile, trying to contain his laughter "Didn't our beloved kohai, Y/N leave for a long mission today?"

"You're right, Geto, she did!" says Shoko, while Satoru stays quiet, his eyes focused on the ground under him, his long fingers fiddling with a loose thread on his school uniform. "Do you miss her already, Gojo?"

"I guess so... We didn't spend much time apart since we started dating."

"You're smitten, Satoru!" Geto says matter-of-factly and flicks his best friend in the head to annoy him even more.

"Yeah..." the wielder of the Six Eyes agrees and disappears in an instant, teleporting into his dorm room. He hopes that waking up early and running around helping you pack all day tired him out enough so that he could go to sleep straight away, but he's totally wrong: he's been tossing and turning for hours now, unable to sleep, thinking about how you're so far away, possibly still on a flight to get to your exotic destination. He's huffing, dramatically flailing his limbs around as he turns into his back, eyeing the blank, perfectly white ceiling of his dorm. He remembers the fluorescent stars decorating your room, he thinks about how calming they are when it's pitch black outside and there's no other source of light when he wakes up beside you in your bed in the middle of the night. He turns again and suddenly gets a whiff of your sweet perfume and he shoots up, looking around the darkness surrounding him. He spots one of your plushies that he gave to you on your second date, that time you went to an arcade and he promised he would get you any stuffed toy you wanted. His plan miserably failed, but then he used his technique at ring toss, wielding the air around so that he could succeed and got you the stuffed penguin you were eyeing the whole evening. He picks up the toy, bringing it close to his chest as he buries his nose into the soft fur in between his fingers. It smells exactly like you, a mixture of your perfume, your shampoo, and body wash as calmness takes over his tense muscles. Sleep comes easy after that and the next 13 days fly by just like that, he keeps the toy close to his person the whole time, having it around gives him a sense of security, one that he didn't realize existed while he was around you before.

After 14 days you're finally back in his arms, he's at the airport waiting for you, of course, with a bouquet of flowers and an explosive amount of energy. He swoons a bit when he spots you, in one of his expensive, black sweatshirts and he teases you for wearing it, however, you don't mind, you tell him without hesitation that it was the only item that could provide you the comfort to go through your mission without him. He smiles widely, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, but he doesn't mention his newfound attachment to your stuffed penguin.

The second time you leave for nearly a month, Satoru is dealing with a lot. His best friend just recently left Jujutsu High to become a curse user, a murderer (Gojo hates referring to him as one, but it's the truth). You don't want to leave either, it's evident from the endless tears that are running down your face. You want to assure him, that you love him and you'll always come back to him, but the "L word" is not something you've said to each other before and you know talking about feelings is not the Strogest's forte, so you stay silent, trying to express your strong emotions towards him with long embraces, soft, loving kisses and mindful squeezes to his hands. He understands, more than ever, that you're just as committed to this relationship as he is, he knows you're not going to leave him like Suguru and you will never develop insane beliefs that would turn the entire Jujutsu World against you. You're more level-headed than that. So he decides, he's gonna confess to you, he's gonna admit he's irreversibly in love with you, but no words leave his mouth. He doesn't know why, he thinks it's because he recently lost one of the few people he allowed to get close to his heart and he doesn't want to admit something that would make him vulnerable. The real reason though, is that those words have never been spoken by the Strongest for anyone besides his mother. So he spends the whole time you're away contemplating his decision to let you leave without telling you how he really feels, his brain drifts towards the scene at the airport even while fighting a Special Grade curse he would consider amusingly weak on any other day. He doesn't sleep, he overworks himself, but that doesn't affect him as he conditioned his brain into healing itself constantly. However, at one point the tiredness takes over him and he shuffles instinctively towards your dorm room where he falls asleep instantly in between your familiar sheets. That night he dreams of you, he cannot quite recall the details, but he knows he wakes up with a smile on his face and that's the point where he decides he would tell you he loves you the moment he picks you up at the airport. He does exactly that and you say the words back in between tears because you're an emotional mess every time you two get reunited.

The third time, he's already a teacher at Jujutsu Tech and the two of you have your own house inside the school barriers. Satoru spends a lot of time on missions as well and he doesn't like leaving you completely alone, so knowing that you're safe inside Tengen-sama's protection gives him a level of calmness but he never stops worrying for you. However, it's the first time you're leaving him since you moved into your shared home and he suddenly realizes that home does not necessarily mean a place, but a person. The first time he truly felt at home somewhere was in this exact house when the two of you moved in, but without your music softly playing, the smell of your cooking lingering around and your soft hums/giggles it's not the same. When he gets home late from a mission he notices your absence from the couch, your curled up form waiting for him with tired, but happy eyes. The heater setting is the same as he put it on a few days ago, not slightly higher, because you're not around to complain about being cold. He walks towards your shared bedroom with his head hanging low and he looks around the usually comforting space with a lonely sigh. He walks up to your vanity, your jewelry box open, displaying all the beautiful pieces he gifted you over the years. Images of you wearing them run through his mind, the domestic scenario of you asking him to put on your favorite necklace for you in the morning. He always complies, leaving kisses on your neck and collarbones, inhaling your scent that never changed since high school. His eyes drift towards the slim band around his ring finger and he smiles, because you made an oath to return to him every time you leave.

A few days later you're back, as you get older your missions shorten because you finish them in a smaller time frame than expected. You're cool and talented like that. The house fills with your music and the smell of your cooking again, the giggles can be heard as well after Satoru starts tickling your sides while he admires the smile plastered on your face lovingly.

The fourth time, Itadori walks around campus, looking for his teacher. He's late for class and after an intense battle between the three first-year students, it has been decided that Yuji had to be the one to look for Gojo. However, he's caught by Principal Yaga, whose blood instantly boils upon hearing about Satoru's slacking out.

"Follow me, Itadori. I know exactly where that idiot is." the intimidating adult starts walking down the corridor, towards the staff offices. He guides the kid to your office and he opens the door widely. Yuji steps in and he instantly notices his teacher, fast asleep on your couch with a fluffy, pink blanket around him as he embraces your stuffed penguin close to his chest. This has become routine of Satorus over the years, as he slowly learned how to cope with your absence. He knows you spray both the blanket and the stuffie with your perfume before you leave because you know what he's doing every time. You've received numerous pictures of him in this exact state from Shoko over the years and your heart swells with love every time.

"Whoa, whose office is this?" Yuji asks looking around. He admires all the different memorabilia you’ve collected from your travels around the world.

"It belongs to Y/n-san. Gojo loves sleeping in here when she's away." the principal explains, as he tries to shake Gojo awake, but fails miserably because of his infinity.

"That's a bit creepy, isn't it?" the boy asks, not quite understanding the situation.

"Not when she's your wife and you're the clingiest person to ever walk on this earth."

"GOJO-SENSEI HAS A WIFE?" Itadori exclaims in shock, fishing out his phone from his pocket to text Nobara.

"Yeah, the prettiest one as well." they hear from the couch as Gojo gets up and stretches. "I'm sorry for being late to class, I don't get much sleep when..."

"...your pretty girl is out of town, we know Satoru! Now get back to teaching!" Yaga exclaims and Gojo mutters an obnoxious 'scary' into Yuji's ear.

The boy giggles and they both leave towards the classroom they're supposed to be in. As soon as they get there, Nobara bombards them with millions of questions, demanding to see pictures of the 'idiot that tolerates Gojo' and is surprised when Megumi scoffs at her, warning her not to refer to you as an idiot. However, Satoru is glad to show them all his favorite pictures and he tells the kids stories about you, ones that are new to Megumi as well. Gojo Satoru is not alone anymore, on the contrary, he hates being alone. However, over the years he learned how to cope. At least he knows you will always come back to him, no matter what. As long as he's surrounded by your scent, your belongings, Megumi, his other students, and the stuffed penguin is close by, waiting for you to come back is not as hard as he first imagined.

[skribblezcorner]

stupid silly zosan (again)

Continuation of my tipsy Sanji post i made a couple of days ago!! you don't need to read that first if you didnt already but I am slowly nudging you.... to my page.... sumbliminally.... (go read it)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoro is at his wit's end.

It's been close to half an hour, and he's wandering in the dark alleyways of this random ass town trying to get back to the ship. In addition to that, He's carrying a very drunk and very annoying Sanji on his back.

"Marimooo," he drawls, swaying to the side. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Stop fucking moving or I'm gonna drop you, cook."

The position they're in is precarious as it is, Sanji's legs wrapped around Zoro's waist the only thing really keeping them both upright.

The cook's hands come from where they're draped over Zoro's shoulders to poke at his face. "You don't even know where we're going, do you?`"

"Like you know either," Zoro grumbles.

"Yeah, but you're mostly sober," the cook slurs.

...Fair enough.

Sanji yawns, the action driving his chin harder into the top of Zoro's head. "You're talking too long, hurry up so we can get to the Sunny."

"Maybe if you stopped fidgeting, I could actually walk straight and we would get there faster." Zoro grunts, hoisting the lanky man higher up on his waist.

"Fuck you, I'll walk myself back to the ship then." Zoro thinks Sanji attempts to get off his back, but the cook slumps back down almost immediately after raising only his head. "No, no no. that's not happening. Christ, how much did I drink? Marimo, I'm gonna die from alcohol poisoning-"

Zoro lets Sanji lament about his booze-tinted doom, mainly because he's still trying to figure out where the fuck they are but also because the blond idiot does this every time they go out drinking. He gets piss drunk off of what, two shots? and Zoro has to haul his uncoordinated, mouthy ass all the way back to the Sunny. Bonus points if he stops to spew his guts in an alleyway. Sanji stops talking after a few minutes, but the silence doesn't last for long.

"Did I tell you. We're going... uh... grocery shoppi-"

"Yes. Yes, you did, Curly. Six goddamn times."

"Okay, don't be a dick about it!" He feels the cook's spindly fingers sluggishly tug at his hair, pulling his head sideways and making them more unsteady than they already are.

"Stop. Moving," Zoro hisses as he stumbles. "You're fucking heavy."

Sanji giggles from behind him, and Zoro can feel the vibrations across his back as the blond speaks. "Oh, 'm sorry, you directionally challenged wad of grass. Maybe if you went the right way you wouldn't have to carry me any longer." "Shut up! It's too dark, everything looks the same."

"No, you're just fuckin'... what's the word? oh, incompetent. I bet you don't even know what incompetent means."

"I know what incompetent means."

"God, I'm so dizzy," Sanji groans.

"Stop complaining!"

They bicker back and forth, Sanji spewing insults in his ear while Zoro barks at him to shut up and wonders how many times they've passed that street lamp on the corner. Sometime during that, Sanji's head makes it into the crook of the other man's neck, and every time the cook speaks his lips brush over Zoro's shoulder. His hands have also taken up permanent residence in Zoro's hair, combing through the short strands as he complains endlessly. Zoro can't say he minds.

"Ah, we're lost," Sanji whines in his ear. "Completely, irre....irrevocably lost. Marimo, the ship was ten minutes from the barrrr."

"We're almost there, you impatient prick." They are not, in fact, almost there. Zoro trudges past what he feels like is the same house he saw fifteen minutes ago.

"Good... because m'gonna pass out."

"What?" The cook doesn't speak, and his fingers go slack on top of Zoro's head. "No, cook - damn it, wake up." Nothing but Sanji's soft breaths sound as a response.

Zoro looks around, surrounded by rows of dark houses and no boat in sight.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh. "God fucking dammit."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoro struggles for another 30 minutes trying to find the ship with Sanji as a dead weight the entire time. he hated it (not really).

Sanji, for the 27th time: we're going grocery shopping tomorrow Zoro, tired of his bullshit: I KNOW.

ugh theyre such dumb homosexuals making bad life choices. i want to make them kiss.

Every day at 3am I rise from my coffin to write zosan content. they make me sick <3333

[thelastofhyde]

i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )&lt;3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre

[lively-potter]

— nepenthe ; jjk ; part one

— genre ; age gap, angst, fluff, smut, sheltered oc, ceo jungkook, mafia/gang vibes ( kinda/sorta)

— warnings ; please note that in the beginning, the oc is in an abusive home — and if this triggers you please don’t read. the oc is of age but nothing smutty will be happening for a while — but there WILL be smut. A small part of SA is in chapter two/part two.

— intro — part two ( coming soon )

— 2024 © @LivelyPotter

SOLARIS ; January 20th, 2024 Charleston, SC ***

HAD LIFE ALWAYS BEEN DISAPPOINTING?

I had always wondered what it would be like if I was like other teenagers my age. Would I smile without reason? Instead of looking glum and sullen? Would I have friends? I never had any before. Well, none that I could remember, anyway.

I liked to fantasize of what I wished my life would be like if Mama hadn't died.

I most often dreamed of a world without pain, suffering, and misery.

But didn't we all?

My life has ceased its meaning the moment Mama died ten years ago, at least in my Father's eyes.

I believed he only kept me around because of Mama. He loved her — more than life itself. And the moment her soul left her body and drifted to the heavens, I became a meaningless piece of property Father had to care for.

Not that he did.

I was tossed into the background and continued to exist. No love, no care, no words of comfort when I awoke during the night, sobbing, when the memories of what could have been flashed behind my eyelids.

Quite honestly, the only times my Father paid me an ounce of his attention was he got drunk and turned violent. Which was more often than I cared to admit.

And I couldn't even defend myself.

I had always been weak.

Weak minded and submissive when people — men or women — raised their voices at me.

My first thought would be to find the nearest corner and cower.

I was upset with myself about that fact.

Would I ever get stronger?

Hard pelts of water landed on my cheek and I whimpered, bruised wrists already starting to swell, weakly trying to rid myself of the zip ties encasing them. The shower turned on full blast constantly belted cold water onto my face and shivering body.

The stool underneath my bottom wobbled as I did so, and a squeak left my lips as I nearly fell forward into the cold shower wall. 

This was my punishment for accidentally forgetting to cook dinner tonight.

I had been so tired from picking up the tiny minuscule pieces of glass that was embedded in the living room carpet.

I had been there for hours after Father busted it over the coffee table.

Now I was paying the price for my incompetence.

Tied to a stool in the cold bathroom waiting for Father to sober up and he remembered where he put me.

Another shiver racked up and down my spine. I was so cold. When will this end?

I sniffled, limbs trembling, and looked heavenward.

I pressed my eyes shut and mumbled a prayer under my breath. Nowadays, praying was the only thing I sought comfort in.

Loud bangs were heard outside of the bathroom door causing my heart to skip a beat. The drunken slurs leaving Father's lips made fear creep down my spine.

Mama, please just let this night end.

I wished now more than ever to be sitting on the roof above my bedroom to look up at the stars and pretend Mama was right beside me, pointing out the constellations she was so fond of.

Mama loved the stars — being named after one herself — and even loved them enough to name me after the sun she admired and the heavens she knew she would be inhabiting one day.

Far sooner than any of us expected.

The images around me blurred, pulling me into a comforting memory that dialed down my fear. The memory was my favorite.

"Your name means of the sun, Solaris." Her voice was sweet and as smooth as honey. The unconditional love and care she held within her soul shined brightly as she brushed through my hair.

"Your middle name means heavenly," I heard her voice continued. The banging within the bathroom made an unconscious jerking sensation to my shoulders, but I was pulled in far too deep into my head that I didn't care about what would happen.

"And finally, our last name." My lips pulled up into a sorrowful smile as I heard her laughter, "it means evening star or evening prayer. Pretty, isn't it?"

Mama was my hiraeth – a home that I couldn't return to unless my days on earth were no more.

My body was jerked and the zip ties cut with a clumsy slice of a knife, jerking me back to reality. A cry of pain got lodged in my throat when the knife sliced the inside of my delicate wrist and bled.

"Up." Father's slurred voice commanded as he gave a kick to the stool I was tottering on. I teetered back and forth, my aching arms flailing through the air.

Pain erupted in the back of my head once my body fell back, and I hit the back of my head against the tiled walls.

"When will you stop being so fucking clumsy, girl?" Father looked down at me with cold, reprimanding, watery eyes.

I hesitantly touched the back of my head with my arm, and the cold water continued to pelt down onto my body — making my pain numb.

"...I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." my teeth chattered as I forced the words out. The only thing the water didn't numb was my fear.

"You never mean to." He rolled his eyes, his dark hair sticking up in different directions as he leaned down and jerked my body up with his hold at the top of my arm.

A cry of pain left my lips as my head smacked the glass shower door when his blunt fingers pressed purposely against the gash on my wrist.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I sobbed as I was thrown onto the floor, knees crashing against the hard marble floor. I curled into myself and pushed my soaking-wet body into the corner beside the toilet. "It was an accident."

Father only stared at me hatefully, "Shut the hell up, girl. Don't you know it doesn't do you any good to make excuses for your laziness?" He slammed his fist into the wall above my head. "Now dry yourself off and make my fucking dinner — and don't even think about getting to eat tonight after what you've done."

Throbbing erupted behind my eyelids as I pressed a tender hand to my head. I stood up on shaky feet — took a towel from the basket and dried myself off, and the tears that were rolling down my face in the process.

Sniffling, I placed a small bandaid on my wrist to stop the bleeding and stared at my scraped knees as blood beaded from the tiny cuts.

My body convulsed in shivers as I left the bathroom, freezing. Biting down on my lip, my feet padded on the floor as I took myself up to my room to take off my wet clothes.

Thumbprint bruises were already starting to form on the tops of my arms where he had grabbed me, and my injured wrists were rubbed raw, bleeding,  and had already been bruised hours ago.

"It's okay, Solaris," I whispered to myself — having no one to talk to besides myself. It brought me comfort to hear the name my mother gave me. I never heard it leave anyone's lips besides myself.

I hurriedly changed into my clothes — an old tattered dress the women next door had given me years ago, and a pair of old socks, that had more holes than I cared to admit.

It was the only other clean set of clothes I owned. Father didn't care to buy me new clothing or shoes since I never left the house and hadn't for years.

Most of the information I knew from the outside world, was from the books and magazines Father carelessly threw away. But I always managed to sneak them back to my room and hide them in my hiding place underneath my bed.

I pulled my dripping hair back in a careless bun at the nape of my neck and snuck to the kitchen — hoping to not anger Father more than he already was.

I was as quiet as a mouse as I cooked dinner, silently crying as I did so. It didn't take me as long as I expected and I was grateful for that. My fingers shook minutely while I was plating the spaghetti and garlic bread onto his plate.

"Finally," Father grunted, glaring up at me, eyes clearing and appearing more sober than before. I jumped, flinching away from him the moment he snatched the plate from my hands and set it on the table before him. He smirked at my reaction and cracked his knuckles. "Get my beer, would you?"

I jerkily nodded and flew away from his figure to grab an unopened bottle of Modelo and cracked it open with the bottle opener hanging on a magnetic hook on the fridge.

I shifted in place, picking at the cracked skin on my lips, and waited for him to dismiss me for the day.

I shivered, running my hands up and down my arms to gain warmth. I knew better than to leave without him telling me to.

The last time I did it, two years ago, I was locked outside of the hours, in the middle of the night, during the worst cold spells Charleston had ever experienced. I distinctly remember wearing this dress and no socks.

I felt myself sniffling and made myself stay quiet. I knew I was going to have a cold after being under the cold water for hours – every time this happened, I always ended up getting sick a day or two afterward.

Father slurped down the noodles and leveled me with a stare as I stood by his side, feeling my limbs turn to ice. "I expect you to have this house spotless by the time I get back tomorrow. The guys at the company are coming over to finish up a project."

I licked at my dry lips.

I don't like it when they come over. Why do they always have to come here?

"...w-why are t-they coming here, Father?" I asked meekly, immediately regretting it when my head shot up and looked at me warningly.

"Why else? We got to get that stupid fucking PowerPoint ready for the meeting before Chairman Jeon comes back from his trip."

The blood drained from my face and my blood ran cold. author's note ; ✨

The first chapter of nepenthe is here! I hope you enjoy learning more about Solaris and her story! I'm SO EXCITED to be able to write this one for you guys. it has a more intense and intricate plot than a few of my others and it'll be a little slow to get to the climax of the story. thank you for reading ✨❤️

[for-ests]

Suffocation: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Warnings: none for this part, later violence and sexual themes 

Wc: 6k+

Summary: When you show up to Jujutsu High on nothing but a hunch to find your long-lost brother, you get more than you bargained for when you meet his handsome teacher. Who seems interested in you not only for your abilities but also your body.

Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist. This story is also on my ao3 and wattpad. COPE fic alert. some things will not be canon accurate please keep in mind!

∘∙∘☾𖤓∘∙∘

There was no way this was the correct address. 

Truthfully, you had already forgotten how you even made your way into the stunningly vibrant complex with historically accurate landscaping and architecture—but you were somehow there. The path had turned from gravel to stone within one step, leading you toward decorated buildings and temples that seemed to tower into the sky. When you finally looked up, even the clouds seemed more plush. 

Birds were chirping loudly, and you heard faint voices in the distance. Confused, you turned your head and looked for your car but found it had vanished. The path you thought you traveled down was no longer there and was replaced by a forest that stretched for miles. You hadn’t walked miles; you had only taken one step past a threshold that only someone like you could see. 

Something was off, and you knew it deep within your bones. But as your eyes scanned your surroundings, you found no hostilities, ghosts, or curses. A sigh of relief left your lips at that. Wherever you found yourself seemed inviting enough, so you would persevere. 

But that didn’t matter. You were there solely to reunite with your supposedly long-lost brother. A sibling you didn’t learn of until a month ago when you were sorting through the boxes in your adoptive parents' basement. It wasn’t fair. You were only twenty-six and had lost two sets of parents, your adoptive perishing in a car accident a few months ago, and your biological parents were still unknown. You were only ten at the time and hardly remembered anything, yet the need to solve their case was always in your mind. The suspicious death of a pregnant woman never went unnoticed, so you always had an inkling there was more to the story. A story you were now beginning to piece together a decade and a half later. 

None of this made sense. The child your mother was carrying did survive, and instead of keeping the two of you together, they ushered you into the foster system? It was all so jumbled together, undoubtedly buried in layers of secrets. You were told you had no extended family, let alone a full brother. You’d been led to believe your life was as every day as possible, only to find you’d been lied to by the couple who took you in. 

The curses were the only hint that something was off. But you’d never spotted any around your adoptive parents. And because they were oblivious, you refused to burden them with the knowledge. Instead, you practiced secretly, exorcizing what you could to keep your new family and friends safe. 

You would do the same for your brother if he would have you. 

Determined, you kept walking down the cherry blossom-decorated path, desperate to solve whatever mystery you’d been thrown into. Jujustu High made enough sense, and the suspicions were confirmed when you saw through the spell. When you saw the DNA test results, all you had was your brother’s name. Weeks of searching on the internet led you to find the school he was enrolled in. There was no other address, and you found that strange. It made you suspect he was forced to suffer through your same predicament. 

When you realized this high school was for sorcerers, it all clicked into place. Maybe he could see curses, too. He could have similar talents or be even stronger with practice. Did your sibling also have the same ability? Was he here for a reason? Maybe you had gotten your hopes up; perhaps you were hallucinating. You panicked and checked your phone, only to find no signal. 

Why does this always happen to me? 

You stopped abruptly under a sakura tree, the scent it emitted more enchanting than you ever thought possible. For a brief moment, you closed your eyes to take it in, only to realize it was not of cherry blossom. It was a musk of amber and turmeric. 

Your eyes drifted down the hidden path that led off campus. It intrigued you. Somehow, it called you. A piece of the puzzle that you were trying to solve. You were about to indulge until you suddenly felt the presence of another. 

“How did you get in here?” Someone asked, the tone half accusatory and half amused. The deep, alluring voice caused you to stiffen. 

And when you turned, your breath stopped. The man was striking, somehow able to captivate you by the faint smile on his lips. You could not see his eyes through what you presumed to be a charcoal-tinted blindfold. He stood a few feet away with his hands shoved in his pockets, radiating confidence and power. Before you could even muster a reply, the white-haired man swaggered toward you, somewhat curious but also cautious. 

No words left your lips as he approached you; all you could focus on was the aura surrounding him. It was blaring, basically engulfing him, possibly the strongest you’d ever been able to comprehend. 

It was as if you were suffocating, wasting precious air as you tried desperately to configure all he entailed. All that he was. He was far past your understanding, spiritual, bewitching, and commanding. His looks could kill. The black uniform was not concealing enough, and you fought past the spell he seemed to cast on you, making you fathom what was underneath. 

Lucky for you, your determination cleared the haze he left you in. 

“I’m here to see my brother.” That was all you managed to reply, but it was enough. Somehow, you knew that was what you needed to say. You were grasping at strings but understood that being truthful in a realm you couldn't fully comprehend was the best option. 

The stranger was standing too close, towering over you as if inspecting every fiber of your being. Even if you couldn’t physically see his eyes, you could feel them all over you. 

The intensity of his concealed gaze almost made you gasp out loud. 

Silence passed before the man asked, “Do you even know where you are?” 

Blinking yourself out of the embarrassing way you were staring at him, you reached into your purse and pulled out a piece of paper, brandishing it to him as a defense. “Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College” 

“Ahh.” He plucked the paper from your fingers and took a step back. Since his eyes were covered, you didn’t even know if he read the contents. Regardless, it was your proof that you’d been led there thanks to Google Maps and your own detective work. 

Frowning, you watched him closely for a reaction. The initial energy you witnessed was now barely a flicker. Was he a teacher? He seemed friendly enough but also shocked—as if you were trespassing. 

“What's your name?” You practically squeaked, internally wishing you could display more confidence.

“Maybe you can help me.” 

“Gojo Satoru,” he replied, folding the piece of paper and handing it back to you, suddenly becoming unbothered as his hands stretched above his head, a yawn threatening to escape his lips. “Not that I don’t enjoy the company of a beautiful woman, but you aren’t supposed to be here.” 

Something inside of you fluttered, but it didn’t diminish your sudden panic. “I would have called, but there was no phone number!” You rushed out, trying not to sway nervously on your feet. You were antsy, knowing you were so close to finally getting the answers you’d dedicated the last couple of months of your free time to. 

It was the only thing that had kept you strong through your mourning. 

Gojo crossed his arms. That wasn’t a lie, but there was definitely something you weren’t sharing. Notably how virulent your cursed energy was and why he had never heard of you. “Why don’t you just call his phone?” 

You slumped in defeat, knowing you had led into that trap. But you needed to be honest to find the answers, to find your baby brother. That mattered most at the end of the day, and you would make this man help you whether he liked it or not. 

“Look, I just figured out I had a brother, okay?” You paused for a moment and shifted your purse farther up your shoulder. It was hard to gauge his reaction when you couldn’t see his eyes. That was your specialty; it was how you saw the true intent of someone’s soul. “I just want to confirm he’s here and I’ll set up a meeting with his guardian. I know I showed up unannounced but I just need to make sure he’s alive…”

“What made you think he wasn’t?” 

“I don’t know. It was hard to find him.” You glared. “Are you gonna help me or not?” 

“Maybe.” He smirked. 

“Maybe?” You scoffed. “What more proof do you need?”

“A few things…” He tapped his chin as if he was apparent. This man was being far too playful with you. 

“Can you fucking help me or not?” Your question was laced with venom, so much so that you were shocked. Being toyed with like this, about something so profound to you, caused all your manners to vanish. If he would keep you from seeing your brother, you would find an alternative. 

“Tell me why you’re suppressing your cursed energy.” Gojo shrugged, like admitting something so personal was an everyday experience. 

After the initial surprise of his statement passed, all you managed to do was tilt your chin up in defiance. So, he was like you. Though in a different way. 

“Take your blindfold off, and I can show you,” you replied back just as casually. 

He whistled mockingly, but the way he stepped closer to you ensured he was impressed. And he was wondering if your previous anxiety was just a well-played facade.

“What a feisty little thing you are…” He whispered, dipping his head down, invading your personal bubble. “But I keep it on for a reason.” 

Instead of backing up like your instincts told you, all you could do was stand your ground, trying to stare through the thin fabric, imagining what color they would be and what you would find once he let his guard down. All you needed was a glimpse of his soul. 

A long stillness passed, and the stranger was way too close, but you were unbothered. You knew he was teasing you, possibly trying to flirt with you, and it took all of your strength to hide your bashfulness. The reason you were there mattered much more than your sudden curiosity for him. 

“I want to see my brother.” You tapped your foot against the stones anxiously. 

Sighing through his nose, Gojo finally asked, “What’s your name?” His hands fell back down to his pockets, demeanor relaxing now that he acknowledged you were not a threat like he initially anticipated, only demanding and impatient. 

Your eyes were focused on him, analyzing his movements. A debate was ongoing in your mind. Part of you wanted to keep everything a secret, and the contrary was willing to admit everything. It was obvious, even to someone inexperienced like you, that this man could have already killed you if he wished. 

So, possibly against your better judgment, you took the first step and entrusted him with information. 

“My given name was Y/N Itadori.” 

…Itadori? 

Gojo’s entire reality almost collapsed at your reply. There was no way you could be related, not even a chance. Extensive background checks had been put in place, and an immense amount of effort was put in to ensure Yuji remained a secret at Jujustu High. Yet somehow, you managed to appear.

A woman, an older sister that Yuji didn’t even know about. You looked nothing like the youngster. You were far too beautiful. It wasn’t just that, though. It was in the way you held yourself, the power pulsing through your veins, the way you smelled—your voice and your eyes. No woman had ever piqued his interest the way you currently were. Perhaps it was because something else about you was impossible to configure. 

He was so stunned that his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. You could only see his eyebrows, but that was the hint you needed. The hesitation was expected and revealing—his reaction displayed that he was closer to your brother than you thought. 

“So he is here,” you pried further, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to a single hip. Your snarkiness was blatant, and that was because you felt naturally drawn to play whatever game he had in mind. 

“Maybe?” He shrugged, gritting his teeth, left hand raising to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You better tell me where.” 

“I can show you if you ask nicely.” 

“Absolutely not,” you hissed but didn’t make a move to retreat. There was no way you were going to make the first move. Whether you were leaving or staying, you needed to be cautious. Even if he was playing with you, your eyes did not lie. He could be dangerous if he wanted to be. And you wanted to be nice, but God, was he pissing you off. 

“How rude,” He frowned as if he was actually wounded by the potency of your tone. “I’m trying to be nice, and this is how you repay me?” 

What you initially wanted to say was definitely discourteous. But that would get you nowhere. Instead, you tried your initial approach. Honesty.

“Gojo,” you said his name bitterly but managed to lower it to a hush. “I can see that you’re powerful, but you also know who my brother is.” You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the nerves rushing back. Your brother was close. He was there, within reach. “I’ve been traveling all day…So please, show me where he is or let me find him myself.” 

Your sudden shift surprised Gojo. Maybe that’s what he wanted his teasing to unveil—your true desperation to see Yuji. It became apparent that his dramatics would not work on you. His suspicion was also correct. You could see curses, and you could see his power. 

“He’s here, and he's under my supervision,” Gojo replied, analyzing you again as he contemplated what to do. He shouldn’t let you meet your brother, as that would only cause more problems for him and the higher-ups. But you…could be useful. You could be something special. Despite his initial curiosity for you and the way you blinded him with your beauty, he wanted to know you as more than what you could be. He didn’t just want to use you. “He can’t leave. You still want to see him?” 

You nodded furiously, hope appearing back in your radiant doe-like eyes. “Please.” 

Gojo cursed himself for making it disappear in the first place, even if he had to. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to apologize. Why?

But instead of apologizing, Gojo gestured behind him and turned on his heels. He didn’t need to ask you to follow him, knowing you were going to anyway.  

He led you down a winding path, and you tried your best to remain focused. It was hard not to become distracted. His physique and the power radiating from him were engulfing when you let yourself notice. 

The breathtaking nature surrounding you was also impossible to ignore. This compound was picture-perfect. If you had another reason to be there, you would have pulled your phone back out of your pocket. 

The air was crisp, not heavy like the city air. No curses were around, and you felt a foreign sense of peacefulness. 

You followed Gojo into a building and then into a long hallway. You tried your best to trail the path but came up empty-handed. That was when you realized you were trusting the white-haired man too much. Far more than you would have ever anticipated, but your gut wasn't twisting. The hairs on the back of your neck were not prickling with warning. It felt safe. 

When he finally spoke minutes later, you registered just how desperate you were trying to pick him apart with your mind. 

“This is my office,” Gojo said, sitting in the chair behind the desk, kicking his feet up nonchalantly. “I’m a professor here, or an equivalent.” 

“It's nice,” you replied, trying to hide your wandering eyes as they scanned the office. It would be nice if you had a blindfold as well. 

You didn’t exactly know what you were looking for but were satisfied to see nothing suspicious. There were no clear signs of deception. An empty office with a few decorations. There was only one picture frame on the desk, presumably with students. One had black hair and one had pink hair. You couldn't help but smile once glimpsing it, as they all looked so happy. Gojo was in the middle with the biggest smile on his face. 

You wondered if he would ever smile at you like that. Your stomach flipped with warning the second you realized what you wished for. What was wrong with you? Who was this man, and why did he have such a hold on you? 

“I already texted your brother,” he finally replied, face focused on yours. He knew exactly where your eyes were wandering. And that was what gave him confidence. It made him aware that his flirting attempts were successful. Whatever the two of you had going on, it wasn’t just him that felt it. You did, too. 

Thank God. He was lucky his eyes were hidden. There was a mystery even with what he expected your abilities to be. Gojo was already craving for you to be underneath him, and he hated himself for it. Those thoughts definitely had a time and place. 

“How long?” You asked, finally sitting in the opposite chair and away from his propped-up shoes. 

You hadn't even asked for clarification on your brother's name. Still, your stare was so intense that Gojo couldn’t help but be physically flustered, his usual nonchalant behavior mending into something more severe in your presence.

At least Yuji had already replied to him. But Gojo did not know how to respond back. He didn't learn how to navigate a situation like this. Yuji would take the news of a long-lost sibling the best out of everyone, but Gojo was still nervous. 

“Any minute,” he rushed, staring at the door, trying to ignore the beauty that commanded even the power of his six eyes.  

There was no way you weren't feeling the same fervor he was. He could see it in your eyes, the way you chewed on the inside of your cheek. He was making you flustered, but he could be wrong. A few years had passed since he'd been intimate with a woman, let alone interested to this degree.

You had a facade he'd never seen before. You acted like you had a secret, even as you admitted the truth. When he pried for the truth, you gave it. So… what were you hiding? 

You were looking at your hands, but Gojo was entirely enticed by you. 

Studying your features, he almost lost himself in them before the door slid open—revealing Yuji Itadori. His student, your brother. A catalyst that tied your souls together. 

If it was possible for Gojo to hear your heartbeat stop, he did. Your aura immediately changed, and all the sassiness you threw his way vanished, replaced with shyness and uncertainty. 

“Yuji!” Gojo greeted enthusiastically to compensate for your silence, finally sliding his feet off the desk and sitting up straighter. 

It took extreme willpower to not start bawling on the spot as you finally glimpsed your long-lost brother. You just knew it was him, and it made your eyes sting. They stung for all the months you’d been searching, for all the years you missed out on, and all the times you couldn’t be there for him. You wanted to reach out to him, but you were frozen. You couldn’t formulate a single word as your mouth hung open, embarrassingly so. 

He casually greeted his sensei before glancing apprehensively at you. “Who’s this?” 

A moment passed when nobody said a word. Gojo was waiting for you to say something, anything, but it seemed you’d short-circuited. How cute.

“This is your sister, Y/N Itadori!” Gojo almost yelled, throwing his arms up and pointing at you in a V-shape. “Isn’t that wonderful?” 

Gojo’s exuberant nature snapped you out of your internal debate, realizing what he had just admitted. 

“Really?” You snapped your head at Gojo, eyes wide with disbelief but your lips pursing with contempt. “That’s how you’re going to tell him!?” 

The sorcerer dropped his arms in defense. “You weren’t saying anything!”

Frustrated, you returned to Yuji, who stood in the doorway with analytical eyes boring to you and trying to find any sense of a joke. You tried to think of something to say, but it was fruitless. No excuse or apology seemed sincere enough. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind. 

He stepped closer to you, oncing you over and putting the pieces together. “You have grandpa’s nose,” He finally said. “Which means you also have mom’s nose.” 

“Yeah…” You slumped in your seat, slightly out of relief. At least he believed you. And because of that, you chuckled to release the tension. 

“You’re really my older sister?” He asked, apprehensively pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down. “I didn’t know I had one.” 

Whether or not you should have invaded his personal space, you couldn’t help but reach for his hands. And when he didn’t shy away, you gave them a squeeze. “I can explain everything to you, if you want.” When you released his hands, you leaned back in the chair. “Or at least the pieces I’ve put together.” 

“Of course I want that.” Yuji smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. Undoubtedly, he was thinking about everything you’d been stressing over. Right then and there, you decided you would do everything you could to make it up to him. 

A tear escaped your cheek before you even realized it. He was a handsome young boy; he was strong and intelligent. He was everything your parents could have ever asked for, and it made you miss them even more. “God, Yuji,” you faltered. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

“Really?” He asked, eyebrows raising in distress at how quickly your mood shifted. 

You nodded, wiping your tears and laughing again. Too many emotions were racing through your body, and you didn’t know where to start. You took a moment to compose yourself and decided to start from the beginning, knowing Gojo was listening but not really caring. It would be beneficial for him to know as well. 

Taking care of your brother was something you would forever be indebted to Gojo for. 

“My adoptive parents were killed in a car accident,” You started, feeling your throat tighten at the memory of getting that police call. “I was sorting through their documents, and I found a folder from my adoption…” 

Everything poured out quickly after that. You even gushed about how excited you were about having a little brother when your parents broke the news to you all those years ago. You told him about the good and the bad, about the struggles, about your sadness and belief he was dead. You told him about how angry you were when you found out that he’d been alive the entire time and how the adoption system failed both of you. 

An immense amount of relief filled your being when you finished the story. Yuji hardly asked any questions as you spoke, and Gojo had sat there perfectly calm, listening intently. Just being able to tell Yuji about his past was satisfactory enough. At least he knew. At least you were able to find him and be at peace that he was alive. 

You glanced at the documents sprawled across Gojo’s desk. The proof was all there, and so were your intentions. “I’d love to be in your life, Yuji,” you said somewhat nervously. “If you’ll have me.” 

Your brother’s face was blank for a second but then cracked into the warmest, brightest smile you’d ever had the blessing to witness. “Of course I will, Y/N!” 

And before you could muster a reply, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you. You giggled, returning the embrace, holding him extra tight, cherishing such a tender moment. The best possible outcome. A healthy brother. 

But when you pulled away and got a better look at him, you let the curiosity overtake you. The power inside of you couldn’t resist taking a closer look to truly know if his soul was untainted, if it was pure—what the future had in store. 

Within a split second, hardly a glimpse, you peered into Yuji’s eyes and beyond the surface level of his corneas. You broke down the barrier to see into his soul, desperate to know the color of his heart, the essence of his being. 

Sunset orange. 

But there was something else, faint but there. Crimson and black. Foreign. Deadly and evil—from the deepest pits of hell. It wasn’t your brother, though. 

Panicked, you came back to reality. You could barely even gasp before standing up, hands slamming down at the table. You were not going to blame Yuji for it, you were going to direct your anger to Gojo. 

“What's inside him?!” You hissed, finger jetting out and pointing with malice. For a split second, your eyes were able to bore through the black blindfold that covered Gojo’s eyes, and you saw them widen with shock. The color filled your senses, but it disappeared before you could process it. 

Gojo and Itadori glanced at each other. 

“How do you know there’s something inside him?” Gojo asked, harshness blaring in his tone for the first time, covering up for that millisecond where you infiltrated his fortified barriers. 

“I don’t know,” you said curtly. “I just do.” 

“Wait…why do you assume it’s my fault?” Gojo asked as the surprise and pique faded away. 

“Can you see curses too?” Itadori questioned somewhat excitedly. 

You nodded, still on edge, as you glanced back to your brother. “Since before you were born.” 

But Sukuna was different. Gojo knew that. A sorcerer, let alone an ordinary person, could not sense anything of Sukuna in the first place. You had also slipped through his own fortifications, closer to his infinity than he’d ever felt before. Did you have an ability he couldn’t sense? 

“Doesn’t explain how you know there’s something inside me.” Yuji narrowed his eyes. 

At the slightest hint of contempt from your newfound brother, your voice's hesitation and accusatory tone vanished. 

“I can see souls,” you whispered. Neither Yuji nor Gojo replied, but you could feel their gaze as you fiddled with your thumbs. “I don’t like to. It’s invasive. I only do it as confirmation.”

“Of what?” Gojo asked. 

“That I'm making the right decision.”

How extraordinary. With all the power you wielded, you could use it for good. You had kept it a secret, had lived among those who were weaker with no hunger for anything more.  

But Gojo could see more than you could ever imagine. He could see your potential bubbling, strengthening each time you gathered the willpower to use it. Did you even know you could scramble someone’s mind with a technique like that? 

“I just needed to know, Yuji.” You bit your lip. “Forgive me.” 

“It's fine,” he replied. “You’re right.” 

You lifted your head. 

“I'm a vessel,” Yuji said. “There’s a demon inside me.” 

“What!?” Your voice raised with concern. 

“Its under control for now,” Gojo interjected. Before you could say anything else, he continued. “Yuji, its getting late, go back to your room. We will talk later.” 

He nodded and rose from the chair immediately, which shocked you. “It was nice to finally meet you, Y/N.” Yuji lowered his head respectfully. 

“Wait, Yuji!’ You stood up and rushed toward him, handing him a post-it note you snatched from Gojo’s desk with your phone number scribbled. 

“If you need me,” you whispered faintly. “I’ll be there.” 

Smiling brightly once again, Yuji took the note from you and embraced you. “I’ll see you tomorrow sister, yeah?” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured, watching him leave and sliding the office door shut. Your head turned with his footsteps as they pattered down the hallway, only hoping he got back to his bedroom safely. What you had learned was nothing short of terrifying, but if he allowed you to be there every step of the way, you would. 

“There's an extra room for you,” Gojo said after a stretch of silence. “I think you should stay.” 

“I’ll be alright.” You smiled. “My motel is only a few minutes away.” 

Gojo had a horrible feeling about it but knew he couldn't do anything to stop you. It would be impossible to convince you of things you couldn’t understand. Even if Yuji was your brother, he was still a stranger. So was Gojo, but he was wary of letting you leave now that you knew part of the truth, possibly one of the best-hidden secrets in the world. The least he could do for his sanity was give you his number and a few incentives to make you return and remain comfortable. 

“How much is the motel room?” He asked nonchalantly. 

“About 10,00 yen.” You shrugged. “Nothing fancy.” 

Reaching into his pocket, Gojo pulled out his wallet. You watched him with a confused expression as he separated the bills and handed them to you. “This should cover tonight, but after that cancel the room.” 

Hesitantly, you let him place the bills in your hand. “Gojo, I don’t-” 

“If you want to learn everything I can teach you, what I’ve been teaching Yuji-” he paused momentarily, awkwardly reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. “You may become a target. You’ll be put in danger, so I need you to stay on campus.” 

You took a moment to mull over his words, the way he said them. His once confident posture had become somewhat humble, and you thought over your answer as Gojo turned to grab a post-it note and scribble on it.

“Preferably… as close to me as possible.” He faltered but pinched the paper between his fingers and brandished it to you, waiting for you to take it, to accept the deal he wanted to make. 

Snatching the note, you saw that it was his phone number. And next to it was nothing less than a winky face. 

Your eyes shot to what would be his, immediately searching for any signs of a prank. Yes, it made complete sense for him to give you his number, but your heart sensed an ulterior motive behind it, and you couldn’t help but blush, finally understanding what he said. 

Gojo grinned at your stupified expression. 

Tilting your chin up, you recovered from your hesitation.“I won’t trust you until I see your soul.” Was all you said, but then went to pull out your phone and save his number in your contents.  

“You can’t see it now?” Gojo smirked. 

Shoving your phone back in your pocket, you began to take your leave, only looking over your shoulder once you had slid the door back open. 

“Take off your blindfold,” you requested again.  

“Not a chance.” 

You chuckled, nodding your head in acceptance. It did bum you out, though, as you suspected the eyes under that blindfold to be incredibly mystifying. A pair that would only cloud your judgment, if anything. Gojo had already flattered you enough for one day, and you didn’t want to get your hopes up that the flirtatious sorcerer wanted something more. 

It would have been easy to tell if he took that blindfold off. Perhaps it was the mystery that intrigued you. A mystery that would eventually torture you if you couldn’t solve it. 

“Goodnight, Gojo.” 

And then you left, stepping through that barrier like you had only hours ago. But this time, leaving felt much more intimidating. The safety you felt inside was no longer surrounding you, and you were left in the middle of a forest, standing on the decaying steps of an abandoned cabin, with your car only meters away. 

The crickets were loud, and so was the wind. It was cold and dark compared to what you’d witnessed being so close to Itadori and Gojo. 

But it was too late now, and you had too many belongings inside that motel room to lose. As you walked to your car and started it up, you rummented over the proposal Gojo made. Staying there couldn’t be that bad, right? 

For some reason, you felt the urge to send Gojo a text before departing. Perhaps he’d instilled a new fear in you, but you also learned to listen to your intuition when your gift was absent. Your mind was in shambles, your instincts convincing you that something bad would happen if you left. 

Stay. Your mind blared. Stay the night. 

Taking a deep breath, you ignored the warnings and theorized them to just be the intrusive thoughts that came with being in the presence of an attractive, powerful man. 

Y/N:> Leaving now, thank you for the money. 

Annoying ass teacher guy:> Let me know when you get back ;)

Y/N:> fine 

Annoying ass teacher guy:>I’m open to pictures as well

Annoying ass teacher guy:> I mean

Annoying ass teacher guy:> As proof that your safe 

Y/N:> you’re*

>Contact Name Successfully Changed

Yuji’s beautiful sister:> it’s gonna take more than 10k yen to impress me 

Annoying ass teacher guy:> noted

Shaking your head, you tossed your phone in the passenger seat and drove off. The teasing made you smile enough to etch a giggle from your lips. Embarrassing. It had been way too long since you’d flirted with someone. 

Your giddiness only lasted for a few minutes, though, as the further out you drove, the stronger your trepidation felt. You turned your music up louder and glanced at your GPS. Only a few more minutes. A few more minutes and you would be in your room, safe and sound. 

Down the long stretch of road, you could see the light illuminating through the forest, the neon-lit sign peeking over the darkness of the trees. 

Shoulders relaxing, you were about to admit you were only paranoid before the hairs on your neck stood up. It made you gasp, the sudden alert of evil eyes on your frame, location, and vulnerability. 

With one hand on the wheel, the other desperately reached for your phone. You quickly opened it and tried to type a coherent message with your thumb. 

Yuji’s beautiful sister:> something is wronfgg

And when you glanced in the rearview mirror, your heart almost stopped at what was barreling down the street toward your car. 

“Fuck!” You screamed, only seeing the mass gain a staggering distance with each significant, inhuman stride. A curse. A large one, an intelligent one. Something way more advanced than your current capabilities. 

You barely managed to press call before watching its arms reach out, seeming to stretch misshapenly, its mouth opening with a deadly, vengeful smile. 

Instinct took over, and you slammed on your brakes, screeching to a stop. The force of its body colliding with your car caused you to lurch forward in your seatbelt and slam against the wheel. Coughing, you looked up and saw its body fly over your car and smack against the pavement. It rolled, seeming to break into pieces before they snapped back together. 

The curse jolted, and you heard it scream. 

All you could smell was the burnout from your tires. You were frozen in place, hands gripping the steering wheel with so much force that your knuckles were starting to cramp. Your foot was still pressing the brake to the floor. 

“Y/N?!” You heard Gojo’s voice yell through the phone speaker. “Are you okay?” 

You coughed again, struggling to breathe. But his voice snapped you back into place, the adrenaline fading only enough that you were able to speak. 

“No,” you whispered, unable to think of an explanation on how to describe the situation to him. 

“Where are you?!” Gojo asked a little louder, a little more frantic. 

But his questions faded into nothing as the ringing in your ears grew louder. The curse shot up from the ground, its neck cracking back into place, flexing a total of six arms. That same decrepit smile was still on its face. You couldn’t even fathom what it was and what it could possibly want with you. 

“On the road, just by the motel—!” You rushed as a sob of fear rose in your throat.

There was no way to know. The why didn’t matter when you were the prey. You wouldn’t even live long enough to ask. 

“I think I’m gonna die,” you whispered as the curse took a wobbly step forward. Despite its imbalance, the ground still rumbled from the weight and force. 

Its mouth snapped open, revealing layers of razor-sharp teeth and a decaying uvula. Its mouth consumed its entire face, causing you to scream in fear. 

Then, the creature lunged as you slammed on the gas.

[authorred]

To Love Kaz Brekker | Kaz Brekker x fem!Reader | Shadow and Bone | Part 2

Masterlist

Preface: A botched solo mission leaves you injured and forced to kill to escape. You enter the Crow Club in a hurry and don’t talk to anyone. You isolate yourself in your room so you can fix yourself, but someone decides to make his presence known outside your door.

Kaz Brekker is a different kind of ‘love from a distance’ yk

Part 1 Part 3

Warning(s): Mild injuries, mentions of blood, description of injuries

Tags: Softcore pining, awkward interaction, losers in love

To love another is no easy feat. It takes patience and trust. Respect and compassion. To be able to wait for someone through a finite storm is an ability not everyone has, nor wants. But you have it. And you’ll wait through any severity of weather, even if there’s no promise of a rainbow at the end.

Hobbling to your room like a battered old woman, you made sure to cover yourself with a cloak you took off a merchant before your arrival. Jesper and Inej observe you skirt around the Crow Club, hugging the side walls before scurrying up to your room. The sharpshooter and wraith share a look before shrugging. They’ll check in on you later and they know better than to annoy a heartrender.

You shrug off your outer clothes and examine your wound through the shredded fabric of your shirt. Some shitbag nailed you right in the torso with a bullet. Luckily, he didn’t hit anywhere vital, but it still hurt, and you’re still bleeding. With a soft grunt you untie your shirt and carefully peel it away from your body. A clean entry wound presents itself at the front of your torso and you’ve no doubt the exit wound looks worse.

With a sigh, you carefully sit down on a chair, grunting lightly when you irritate the injury. Looking down at yourself, you carefully start to weave your tissue and muscles back together, face cringing lightly from the feeling. It didn’t hurt because you were blocking pain receptors, but it felt weird to your other nerves. The squirming and sewing-together of your insides felt equivalent to sliding your hand through a large trough of mucus-covered meat. You wanted to shiver but you couldn’t. 

Sewing together your entrance wound took an agonizingly long time. If it was on someone else, you could’ve done it in ten minutes. Perhaps it was due to the fact there’s no rush; you’re safe in the Crow Club (hopefully). The real issue is trying to do the exit wound, which is almost directly behind you. You’ll need mirrors and very flexible shoulders.

Standing and shuffling around your room, you manage to assemble a doable set up--with a standing mirror behind you and a wall mirror in front of you. You adjust both to be able to see your exit wound--which is as gnarly as you thought. You sigh deeply and bring your arms behind your back, attempting twist your wrists so your palms are facing your body. You succeed, but it’s extremely uncomfortable, and you already hurt from being shot.

That’s when you hear it. A strong, steady heartbeat outside your room. No one announces themself--no one knocks--but they’re standing there. You know who it is. You know why they’re there.

“Kaz,” you call out. “People can suffer in silence, you know. You have to see them to know if they’re okay.” A few seconds pass and you know Kaz is thinking. You turn your head to the door when it slowly starts to creak open. 

When Kaz opens the door enough to walk into your room, he immediately looks to the side when he sees you in undergarments. You can see him swallow nervously and his heart picks up speed a little. 

You look back at your reflection. “You should be coming up with a new plan with Inej and Jesper. I didn’t fail, but I did alarm. And that’ll cause problems.”

“The planning can wait until you’re fixed.”

“I’m already halfway there.” Your wrists and hands flex uncomfortably when you move them, soft grunts leaving you. “I’ll be patched up by the time you’re done.”

Kaz sneaks a glance at you, eyes lingering on the wound you’re trying to patch up. Then his gaze moves to your arms and hands, which are in a specific position that makes you look like a demon’s possessed you. You’re succeeding; he can see your wound being manipulated and the hole getting smaller, but you’re struggling. Swallowing, he takes an unsteady step forward until he finds himself traipsing over to you.

You pause your heartrending when you see his reflection standing behind yours. You blink, then slowly turn your head to look at him. “What? You can’t help with this.”

He’s struggling to keep your gaze as it switches between your eyes and down at your arms. Picking up his cane to hold between his arm and side, he slowly reaches out to gently press his gloved hands against your arms.

Your brows scrunch when you’re trying to figure out what he’s doing. He’s not grabbing your arms, rather he’s supporting them. He’s taking tension from your shoulders.

You turn your head back around and continue to heartrend yourself, having an easier time than before. You’re painfully aware of his close proximity to you--you’re insanely aware of his physical contact as well. You can feel him shaking and you can hear his heart racing.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say quietly. “Your heart is racing. Please move away if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” his response is slightly forced and shaky. “Stop listening to my heart and focus on fixing yourself.”

You sigh softly and try your best to fix yourself as fast as you can. You cringe lightly when you reach a particularly painful part of your body where you didn’t block the pain receptors. You let out a strained grunt in response and you can see Kaz’s eyes look at you in concern from the mirror.

“I’m fine,” you quickly say. “It just hurt a little. I’m almost done.”

Kaz nods and looks back down at your hands and back, silent.

You’re done in two minutes and as soon as you are, you move away from him to keep him from being uncomfortable. You turn to him and smile softly. “You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve managed.”

Kaz places his cane back on the floor and leans on it. “You got done faster though, didn’t you?”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding. “I suppose I did. Thank you.”

Kaz attempts a small smile, but it’s almost indiscernible--it looks like a weird wince. “We meet at the bar in ten.” He turns and walks to the door. “Jesper and Inej are wondering if you’re okay.”

“Tell them I’m fine and I’ll be down in five.”

Kaz nods, not turning to look at you. He closes the door on his way out and you can hear his heartbeat move farther and farther from your room.

You notice how it’s faster than before.

You notice how yours is faster than his.

Ah, yes. To love Kaz Brekker is no easy feat.

[artificial-transmutations]

Trophy Husband

"That's your boyfriend?" Charlie knew exactly where this was going. He had just shown Linda, a good friend of his, a picture of his boyfriend Theodore, and she already made 'the face'.

"But isn't he..." she began and trailed off, probably searching for a way to phrase it nicely.

Charlie could have helped her, as he knew exactly what she was going to say, but he let her suffer.

"... Perhaps a tiny bit older than you?"

It was true, and Charlie couldn't even be mad at Linda for pointing it out. He would probably have done so, too, if he were in her shoes. The fact was that Theodore was indeed older than Charlie, and not just a bit. With his forty-six years, he was more than twice as old as 21 year old Charlie, and could definitely pass as his father.

"I know."

Charlie knew it, and Linda knew it too. Even though Charlie loved Theodore dearly, he knew what people would think about them. People often assumed that an older man would take advantage of a younger one - that Charlie was kind of a trophy boyfriend for Theodore.

"But it's nothing weird. We're just in love, that's all."

Charlie could tell Linda was not convinced, but forced a smile and nodded, congratulating him on his new relationship.

Later, at dinner with his boyfriend, Charlie told Theodore about his encounter with Linda.

"You know, it's so weird to talk to my friends about us. They all assume that you are some kind of weirdo, or I am just a trophy boyfriend for you. Sometimes I hate that I'm so young compared to you." Charlie said, with a twinge of unhappiness.

Theodore smiled warmly and put his hand on Charlie's knee.

"Well, they couldn't be more wrong. I genuinely love you my dear. You're the only person that matters to me, and you always will be."

Charlie felt his heart melting, and he leaned over the table to kiss his boyfriend.

"Besides, what's wrong with being young? You're so energetic and good looking. Look at me, I have wrinkles already, and my hair is graying. I'm stuck in a boring dead-end office job, and I know that nobody would hire me anymore. I really do wish to be as young as you are again.", he adds with a tender smile.

"You shouldn't. Being young isn't so great. Nobody takes me seriously because I look like I just finished school. And talking about jobs: I can't find a good job either, because everyone is looking for the twenty year old with ten years of experience now. It's ridiculous. I wish I could just magically leave that all behind me and be as old as you. Then nobody would think of us as a weird couple."

After this heart-to-heart, both men grew silent.

Theodore felt weird. The conversation had a strange weight that still resonated between the two of them. Did he really look that old? He stood up and went over to the large mirror in his living room. Sure, he had some wrinkles, and his hair and beard were graying, but it wasn't so bad, right?

He went with his hand over his wrinkles and stretched his skin. Surprisingly enough, once he removed his hand, his skin stayed exactly like that - no more wrinkles, only firm skin. It gave his face a youthful impression he had long lost. It didn't stop there, though. Like a bushfire, the firm skin extended from the point where he touched it outward, quickly stretching out all the wrinkles in his face. The skin cleaned up in the process, as it stretched and firmed.

His hair, too, changed. All the little gray hairs that had appeared over the years returned to their original black color - a process most notably in his stubbly beard that grew more impressive by the minute before suddenly disappearing completely, leaving his chin clean-shaven.

As the transformation spread downward, Theodore hurried to get out of his shirt, to have a better look.

His belly that had turned slightly flabby shrank and became fitter, as did his ass. His biceps grew thicker and his pecs bigger, while his legs became more muscular. All the extra weight he had gained throughout the years seemed to simply melt away, as if he had spent the last decades in a strict fitness program.

Theodore regarded himself in the mirror with a proud smile on his face. Not only did he look fitter, but also younger. His chest hair disappeared just like his beard hat, leaving behind only a muscular and young well-groomed chest worthy of a movie star. His trousers shortened and turned into a completely white pair of shorts, with a generous bulge growing in them. Theodore gave it a squeeze, amazed by the amount of cockmeat he had gained. He could feel himself getting hard just by looking at his reflection. Theodore's eyes turned a bright blue, and blonde dyed highlights appeared in his hair.

Theo shook his head and smirked. He was just looking awesome, as always. And also as always, he was feeling really horny!

He cupped his bulge as he turned around.

Charlie was watching from behind him in awe. What had just happened? He had watched Theodore transform into a young muscular bodybuilder. That couldn't be right!

Still, Charlie himself felt a weird tingling sensation in his body. Fine little hair grew all over him, itching as it did so. Charlie, too got rid of his shirt and pants, standing only in boxers, to watch what was going on. His chest was quickly filled with short brown hairs that continued down in a treasure trail to disappear into his boxers. Underneath the hair, however, his body firmed up considerably. He, too, grew fitter and more muscular than he had before, but it was a different kind of body from the one Theodo- wait, that felt wrong. Charlie frowned and tried the thought again. It was a different kind of body from the one Theo had. Better. It was a product of years of willpower and work, not the easily malleable flesh of youth. That was a body he had worked on for decades!

Charlie watched the hair on his chest turn gray, as he looked down on himself with his usual stern look. It was just his standard way of looking, a fact that made most of his subordinates feel uneasy. Being the CEO of a multi-million dollar company left hardly any time for smiling or all this nonsense. He had to exert authority at every time.

His hair became shorter, styled into a perfect and expensive cut, as their color turned the same silver as his body hair. He touched his face with his weathered, strong hands, feeling the wrinkles all the stress and years of his live have brought him. Sometimes, Charles asked himself if he was getting old. But no. With his 49 years, he was still perfectly in control. He had money, power and authority, and still a great body. And contrary to popular believe, money could buy happiness.

He looked over to his husband Theo, who was busy admiring himself in the mirror again. He was half his age, and dumb as a brick. He would never succeed in live, but he didn't need to. All he needed to do was look good on Charles' side, keep his body in check and present his ass every time Charles' python, which was growing hard in the tight underwear that were once boxer shorts, needed release.

He didn't need to decide or think. Charles' was the one paying the bills and Charles' was the one in control here. Theo was just his trophy husband - and both were very happy with that.

Another request from a subscriber over at my riot page that they chose to make publicitly available. Enjoy!