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mylovesstuffs · 2 months ago

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The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu

Mingyu’s been in love with you forever but you’ve never seen him that way, or so he thinks. So he writes you anonymous letters, sends gifts, leaves clues—seven days of hope that you’ll catch on without him spelling it out for you. But every time you get close, you guess everyone but him.

Genre: Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery

Pairing: Mingyu × fem!reader

Content: Secret admirer, friends-to-lovers, slow burn (?), miscommunication, amnesia (in terms of realization—reader doesn’t realize Mingyu’s feelings), investigative humor, gift-giving (anonymous), letters (anonymous), silly investigation, mingyu’s subtle hints, light drama (misunderstandings and comedy), emotionally constipated Mingyu, orange juice, lavender, hidden camera, fake love ringtone trauma, laughter and fun with friends (Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Woozi, Seungkwan, Vernon and Dino), dramatic!seungkwan, over-invested! soonyoung, smug!jeonghan, unspoken yearning, heart-thumping hugs, romantic confession.

Warnings: None for explicit content, just mild comedic frustration and tension related to the investigation. potential light anxiety (reader overanalyzes and stresses about figuring out the admirer), occasional bout of existential romantic confusion.

Word count: 20,620 words

A/N: HIT TEXT BLOCK LIMIT SO EXCUSE ME. this was my rushed valentine’s day fic; written in a fog of sleep deprivation and caffeine, desperately trying to meet the deadline [14th Feb] before tumblr decided to glitch its entire draft-saving system into oblivion. to this day, it still won’t let me fix it [dear tumblr devs: once i get my degree, i’m coming for your job. and then i’m resigning on the spot after fixing my own problem ☺️] if wanted to post this,, life, exhaustion, and tumblr’s war crimes said no because to post it, i would've had to sit down and format it from scratch for HOURS because drafts wouldn't worl. it took me until few weeks into the issue [Feb] to realize i could cheat the system with scheduled posts [which is still a cursed gamble when you're handling 3k+ words]. i reread this recently and cringed so hard i nearly vaporized. this is so metallic and roboticthis… it truly contains all the side effects of first-draft. but at the time, i gave this thing my everything. sleep was sacrificed. blood, sweat, and tears [real] were involved. i was running on loneliness too. this may be posting now, but like I said earlier, it was written a long time ago. the fics that will come after this are recent. so, they’re better and you’ll see the difference. i’m not the same writer anymore, and that’s something i’m low-key proud of bc i see improvements lolllll. massive, massive thanks to K @cheers-to-you-th Calli @hhaechansmoless and Tiya @gyubakeries for resurrecting this from the grave; you three deserve hazard pay for beta-reading this without losing braincells. also to Kae @studioeisa, who was quite literally the only person i spoke to while writing this. thank you for letting me talk about this fic’s summary

inspired by the golden age of secret admirer tropes and that one friend who’s always been right in front of you, but you were too blind to believe it could be him. much love to GoSe for fueling Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s idiocy. also, Jeonghan’s smirk deserves a credits roll

to the readers: you deserve better than this first draft. but thank you for reading it anyway ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

You’re not expecting a package when you step outside your apartment door.

You're not expecting an online order—maybe the overpriced serum you panic-bought at 2 a.m. last week because TikTok convinced you your skincare routine was trash, but instead, there’s a neatly wrapped gift box on your doormat, and right on top of it, an envelope with your name on it.

Your first mistake is thinking this is a normal day. Your second mistake is opening the letter in front of your friends.

It was a normal afternoon at the café in your usual spot, where the group had gathered to do absolutely nothing productive as per tradition. You had just settled into your seat, wedging yourself between Mingyu and Soonyoung, when Seungkwan gasped.

"Oh my God, is that a love letter?"

Seungkwan’s voice was loud enough to startle the students at the next table. The café, previously humming with the background noise of clinking cups and conversations, now suddenly goes dead silent, at least, in your world, because now everyone is looking at you.

"It could be anything," you say, though the neatly written name on the envelope suggests otherwise.

"No, no, no," Soonyoung cuts in, already reaching for the letter. "We have to open this together. For the sake of the investigation."

"What investigation?"

"The one where we figure out who is in love with you, obviously."

Before you can argue, Jeonghan, sitting across from you, gestures toward the envelope. "Just open it. If you drop dead from embarrassment, at least we’ll have entertainment."

That’s all the permission Seungkwan needs before he grabs it, clearing his throat before reading aloud. "Dear Y/N," he read aloud in an exaggerated, sappy voice. " It feels a little cliché to start with Dear, but here we are. I don’t know if this is the best way to do this, but I guess I’m doing it anyway. The first time I met you, I thought the world had shifted just a little. You probably don’t remember, but I do. And I think… I always will. I see you. I see the way you get that little crease between your brows when you’re focused. The way you fight back a smile when you think something’s funny but pretend it isn’t. The way you give your things to people without thinking twice – your food, your jacket, your time. I see you, and I hope just this once you see me too.

P.S. You’re really bad at locking your phone screen. I already know your new favorite flower.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

"WHAT?!"

"NO WAY."

"Wait, wait, WAIT—who sent this?!"

Mingyu chokes on his drink. "Huh?"

You yanked the letter back, heart hammering.

Jeonghan, lounging across from you, smirked. "Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer."

Seungkwan is already on his feet, "You have a secret admirer?! I—this is—what—WHO?!" And adds, "How come I don’t get secret admirers?!"

"Maybe because you announce every five minutes that you’re single and desperate." Jihoon deadpans.

"That is NOT—okay, but that’s beside the point!" Seungkwan huffed before rounding on you. "Who do you think it is?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Your fingers traced the ink absently, brow furrowing. You wonder: Who, among them, is listening just a little too carefully? You steal a glance at your friends, Jeonghan is still smirking. Vernon and Chan are whispering to each other. Jihoon looks entirely uninterested, already focusing on his phone. Mingyu stays relaxed with that big smile in place. Soonyoung, who already struggles to sit still on a normal day, is practically vibrating in his seat.

"It has to be someone we know," you mutter, narrowing your eyes. "Someone who knows me really well."

Soonyoung gasped. "Wait. What if it’s Jihoon?"

Jihoon doesn’t even look up. "Do I look like the type to write love letters?"

Fair point.

Seungkwan ignores him. "No, no, no, think about it. The handwriting, it’s too neat, too precise. And look at this phrasing—'I see you'? That’s some poetic, brooding nonsense right there."

"That’s definitely not Jihoon," Vernon mutters, taking a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

"Okay, but who else could it be?" Chan muses.

"It has to be someone we know," you murmur, rereading the letter. The words are too personal. This isn’t some random admirer. This is someone who knows your habits, your quirks and stays with you a lot of the time.

"Maybe… Jeonghan?" Chan suggests.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Me? That’s cute, but if I were her admirer, she'd know. I’m not subtle."

Okay. Not him either. Your mind whirls, piecing together possibilities. "So then who?" you ask, exasperated.

Soonyoung slams a fist on the table. "We investigate."

Seungkwan nods, solemn. "Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N begins now."

Mingyu exhales, but no one notices. No one sees the way his shoulders drop, the barely-there shift in his posture, releasing something he was holding onto too tightly. No one catches the way Jeonghan glances at him from the side, a smirk playing on his lips like this is the most entertainment he’s had all week, and you obviously don't notice him either. Because you—sweet, oblivious, you have already ruled him out. Because of course Mingyu couldn’t be the one. The thought is too absurd, too ridiculous. How could he ever be into you? You don't even have the confidence to suspect him aloud. Mingyu, who walks into every room like he owns it, who grins too easily and makes everyone feel like they belong. Mingyu, who could have anyone if he wanted. And you’re just… you. It makes no sense. It has to be someone else, someone who wouldn't make your heart stutter in your chest just by standing too close. But if you really looked at him, you’d see it. His ears are pink, fingers drum against his knee, the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him; but you don’t.

You’re too busy strategizing.

One thing that’s as clear as day now is that, you're suspecting your own friend group. While he wanted to stay anonymous with the letters, he had deliberately altered his handwriting hoping to throw you off but ironically in doing so, he somehow ended up mimicking Jihoon’s handwriting accidentally. And now, Jihoon is your prime suspect.

You, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Jeonghan, and Mingyu are lounging in the library, passing time when Seungkwan starts scribbling something on a piece of paper, lips pressed together in deep concentration as he taps the pen twice against the table before declaring, “Soonyoung is out.”

“Hey!”

“And Seungkwan,” you add.

“Excuse me?”

“Be honest,” you deadpan, tilting your head slightly. “You can’t keep a secret for five minutes, let alone one day.”

Seungkwan opens his mouth to argue, but then stops, visibly deflating. Soonyoung, still grumbling about the injustice of it all, leans over to peer at the list Seungkwan has been working on. After a lot of back-and-forth (and Seungkwan rejecting some of Soonyoung’s wilder theories, like what if it’s a ghost?), the three of you narrow down the list of suspects. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan remain, with Jihoon being the prime suspect because, as Seungkwan pointed out, his handwriting is suspiciously similar to the letter.

Across the table, Jeonghan and Mingyu stay silent throughout the discussion. Jeonghan watches, bemused, while Mingyu leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Neither of them bother to chime in, letting the three of you spin as you, Soonyoung and Seungkwan plot to set a trap when the time is right.

Now, Chan and Vernon, for some reason, being one of the suspects… Mingyu absolutely cannot wrap his head around it. Why those two? What about anything in that letter screamed them? Why is it so easy for you to entertain the idea that either of them could be your secret admirer, but not him when he’s right here breathing the same air as you? When the admirer is right in front of you? He can literally just straight up confess, but no, he has to wait. He has to hold himself back. After all, it hasn't even been a day since you received his first letter. He can be patient. He’s more calculated than people give him credit for. Sure, he might not seem like the type to plan things out, but when it comes to you, he’s meticulous. His friends know it, even you know it, but you’re too caught up in the role of being his friend to acknowledge that he’s more than just a guy who trips over thin air, that his intelligence is just as attractive as everything else about him.

Mingyu’s original plan was simple—he wanted you to figure it out. He thought that by leaving letters and gifts, you’d naturally start paying closer attention to the people around you. He assumed it would be obvious, that you’d pick up on the little details: how he knows things about you that only someone truly paying attention would, how each gift is something he’s seen you admire before. He expected you to connect the dots, to turn around, to look at him, and to realize. But instead, you’re sitting there, hunched over a notebook with Seungkwan and Soonyoung, listing off suspects like this is some kind of whodunnit mystery game.

Two

February 8th.

Walking up to your locker with Vernon, you sip the orange juice that Mingyu handed you just a few minutes ago. As you reach your locker, you pass the juice to Vernon and dig into your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. Your fingers brush against something unexpected, a small, rectangular object. You pull it out and take a closer look. It’s a bookmark, delicately pressed with a lavender flower—your favorite. Attached to it is a tiny note:

“It reminded me of you.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Turning to Vernon, you hold up the bookmark, but before you can say anything, you catch him sipping from your juice.

“Yah! That’s mine!” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes.

Vernon simply shrugs. “Right…” he says, unfazed, taking another sip.

Rolling your eyes, you shove the bookmark in his direction. “Are you sure you didn’t slip this into my pocket when I wasn’t looking?”

Vernon scoffs, shaking his head. “I swear, Y/N, it's not me. I mean, I like you, but not enough to be your secret admirer.”

You huff but decide to let it go. Shaking your head, you turn back to your locker and start gathering your things, your books, a notebook, and a pen before shutting the door with a soft click.

Slipping your bag over your shoulder, you glance at Vernon, who still is sipping your juice. Letting out a sigh, you wave him off. “See you later, thief.”

“Enjoy finding your secret admirer.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn on your heel and make your way toward the park near the college library. The crisp breeze brushes against your face as you walk, the bookmark still tucked safely in your grasp. As you reach the park, you spot Seungkwan and Soonyoung sitting on the swings, chatting animatedly. A smile tugs at your lips as you pick up your pace, ready to execute your usual routine, which is pushing Seungkwan off his swing and claiming it for yourself.

Just as you lunge forward to shove him away, Seungkwan, having caught sight of you from the corner of his eye, expertly stands up and moves aside at the last second. Caught off guard, your hands swipe through thin air instead of meeting his shoulder and the momentum sends you tumbling forward. Instead of landing smoothly on the swing, your foot catches on the ground, and you face-plant onto the seat before slipping off and landing in the most ungraceful heap.

Soonyoung bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubles over, his giggles echoing through the park. The scene now resembles a group of drunk boys fumbling around with a soccer ball, except the only thing truly injured is your pride.

Groaning, you lift your head just enough to mutter, “The earth is full of selfish people.”

Seungkwan scoffs, arms crossed. “As if.”

Soonyoung is still wheezing. Like, fully doubled over, hands on his knees as Seungkwan rolls his eyes before sighing. Eventually after much suffering, he and Soonyoung each grab an arm and help you back to your feet. Dusting yourself off, you all make your way toward the bench in front of the swings, settling down.

Seungkwan disappears for a bit with a, “I’ll go get us something to drink,” and comes back with three drinks and, bless him, some ice wrapped in a napkin for your mishap from earlier. “Here,” he says, plopping down next to you, “for your bruised dignity.”

You roll your eyes but accept the ice anyway, pressing it against your arm where you had landed a little too hard. It’s a little embarrassing how much it helps. “Anyway,” you say, setting down your drink and pulling something out of your pocket. “I got another gift from the admirer today. Vernon was with me when I found it in my jacket’s pocket.” You hold up the bookmark along with the note.

Seungkwan squints at it. “You sure it’s not Vernon?”

“He denies it,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But he’s still sus.”

At that, the two of them launch into a theorizing session, their ideas getting more ridiculous by the second. You’re pretty sure they're just saying words now. Seungkwan adds fuel to the fire, and before you know it, they’ve spun a whole conspiracy web involving secret codes. It’s a little concerning how quickly they came up with all this. “You guys are so stupid.”

“But seriously,” Seungkwan says, “how many gifts or letters have you gotten so far?”

“Yesterday, I got a letter which you both saw, and a small plant so in total, one letter and two gifts including today's bookmark.”

Last night, when you got back to your dorm, there was a box sitting neatly in front of your door. No note on the outside, no sign of who left it. You glanced up and down the hallway but nope, no secret admirer lurked in the shadows, just the usual dorm silence. So you brought the box inside, set it on your desk, and opened it. Inside was a small, neatly potted plant with a tiny note tucked beside it. The note read:

“Take care of it well.”

That’s it. No name, no signature, just that.

Soonyoung immediately decides it’s finally the time for drastic measures. “It’s time to set a trap.”

Seungkwan, already tired, sighs. “No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is,” Soonyoung insists. “We need cameras, motion sensors, maybe even a decoy package—”

Seungkwan holds up a hand. “Okay, first of all, you’re not rich enough to have motion sensors.”

“Fine, but we can record the next delivery,” Soonyoung counters. “We set up a camera, catch them in the act.”

Seungkwan hums, considering. “Actually… that could work.”

And so the plan is set. The three of you head to Soonyoung’s place, which is always a good idea. Not just because he always somehow manages to convince his sister to lend him something after only minimal begging (or a taekwondo match), but because his mom recently visited, which means homemade food. And if there’s one universal truth, it’s that Soonyoung’s mom’s cooking has the power to make you forget all your problems. So while Soonyoung is off on his mission to beg or fight, you and Seungkwan shamelessly take advantage of the situation by helping yourselves to an absolutely unnecessary amount of food. Every bite is warm and ridiculously comforting, enough to make you forget you’re literally in the middle of an undercover investigation.

By the time Soonyoung returns, looking victorious with the tiny camera in hand, you’re full, satisfied and only mildly guilty about eating half his mom’s cooking. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, too focused on phase two of Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N. Soon, you all make your way back to your dorm, and upon arrival, you scout for the perfect spot to set up the device, ultimately deciding on a corner of the corridor wall just out of plain sight but with a clear view of your door. Now comes the tricky part: actually installing the camera.

With no ladder, no proper tools, and absolutely no sense of self-preservation, you’re left to your own devices, meaning an unsteady, completely improvised method of reaching the higher spot. This is how you end up watching one of the most questionable stunts in history unfold.

Seungkwan, grumbling under his breath about always being dragged into Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas, crouches on a chair to add some height. “I swear, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” you remind him helpfully.

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

Then, after a brief, heated argument over whether this was a terrible idea (which Seungkwan insists it was), Soonyoung climbs onto Seungkwan’s back, steadying himself by pressing a hand against the wall.

Soonyoung stretches up, muttering instructions that Seungkwan has absolutely zero patience for. “Hold still,” Soonyoung hisses, wobbling slightly as he raises the camera in one hand and secures it in place.

“I am holding still!” Seungkwan retorts, voice strained from supporting Soonyoung’s weight.

“Then why do I feel like I’m on a boat in the middle of a storm?”

"Maybe because you're as heavy as a sack of rice!"

You, being entirely unhelpful, are doubled over in silent laughter, barely holding back tears.

Despite the constant bickering, Soonyoung manages to attach the camera securely without knocking anything over or causing a disaster which is an impressive feat in itself, given the circumstances. Once he's satisfied with the placement, he carefully climbs down, having only one near-death slip, but he catches himself just in time.

With the camera now rolling, the three of you retreat into your dorm, hoping that today might bring another letter. You settle in, playing a few rounds of UNO to pass the time while keeping an ear out for any sounds outside. However, as the hours tick by, no new delivery arrives. Eventually, as the clock edges past 8 PM, Soonyoung and Seungkwan decide to call it a day.

“Well,” Soonyoung sighs, stretching his arms above his head, “I guess we check the footage tomorrow.”

“Or,” Seungkwan grumbles, rubbing his sore shoulders, “this was all just an excuse for Soonyoung to climb on my back.”

You laugh, walking them to the door. “Thanks for helping out, though. See you guys tomorrow.”

With a final wave, they head off leaving you alone in the dorm. But as you glance at the door one last time before heading to your bedroom, a thought scratches at the back of your mind relentlessly: What if the admirer knows they’re being watched?

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. Now’s not the time to get paranoid. You have other things to focus on, like your studies. After spending most of your day fooling around, it’s about time you catch up. With a sigh, you open your books and begin to study. Your eyes scan the page, absorbing formulas and theorems—polynomials, integrals, trigonometric identities, limits. It’s pure maths which always seems to make sense when you’re in the right mindset. You scribble through some practice problems, your pen moving quickly across the paper as you tackle linear algebra and calculus, but your focus doesn’t last long. After an hour of studying, the temptation to check your phone becomes unbearable. Just a quick break, you think. So you open Instagram and start mindlessly scrolling through reels, watching endless edits of SEVENTEEN. As the adrenaline from watching them starts to course through your veins, you stand up, feeling a little too hot and giddy from the rush. You need to walk it off so you head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water trying to cool down and calm your racing thoughts. But as you’re pouring the water, your eyes naturally drift toward the front door. And that’s when you see it.

A letter. Slipped under the crack of the door.

Your heart skips a beat, and afraid to move. It’s from the secret admirer. The thought sends a shockwave through you. The thought that the hidden camera set up by you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung might have actually caught the admirer in the act fills your mind, making your pulse quicken. Your hands are slightly trembling as you set the cold glass down, then without thinking twice, you rush over, bending down to pick it up. The envelope is unmarked, your fingers linger on it for a moment as a weird mix of excitement and nerves bubble in your chest. Slowly, you rip the top open and pull the letter out, unfolding it carefully.

“I saw you laughing today, and it made me stop for a second. You’ve been on my mind for a while now and if I’m being honest, I don’t think a single day passes without me thinking of you at least once. It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone can become a part of your thoughts without even trying. Anyway, I hope you liked the bookmark, thought you might like the lavender on that. It's nothing too fancy, but I hope it makes you smile. And before you ask – no, I won’t tell you who I am yet. You’ll figure it out when the time is right. Or maybe I’ll have to be the one to tell you. See you later.”

You place the letter on your desk and take a deep breath. Part of you just feels this strange comfort from the letter, but another part of you is still buzzing with excitement, wondering who the camera caught.

You decide against checking the camera right now, knowing full well that if you watch the footage without Seungkwan and Soonyoung, they’ll throw a fit and sulk for days. And dealing with their pouts and sighs isn’t worth it. They’d probably demand some sort of grand apology, maybe treating them to a big buffet or approving one of Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas as compensation. Yeah, no thanks. With that in mind, you push aside your curiosity and decide to wait until tomorrow to watch it together.

Three

February 9th.

“Hey, have you been sleeping well? You always pretend you’re fine, but I know you haven’t been getting enough rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you rubbing your eyes or you zoning out when you’re supposed to be paying attention. I know you have a lot on your mind. Maybe even too much. If I could take some of that weight off your shoulders, I would. But for now, all I can do is remind you to please, take care of yourself.

Also, I know you’re probably looking everywhere for answers, but sometimes you’re too focused on finding them that you miss the simple ones. Take a breath. Relax. Not everything is a mystery – sometimes, the answer is right in front of you, waiting for you to notice.

Anyway, I saw you trip earlier. That was funny.”

You stand, dumbfounded, gripping both last night’s and today’s letters while Seungkwan struggles to restrain himself from launching a punch at Soonyoung. The excitement of finally discovering your secret admirer had kept you patient, waiting for the two boys so you could watch the footage together. Now, the three of you stand in a loose circle in your dorm room, Seungkwan holding the mini camera in one hand, his grip tight enough to crack plastic.

Soonyoung, your beloved and apparently utterly incompetent partner in crime, forgot to check the camera battery. Which meant that after a measly thirty minutes of recording, the camera died. Which meant it captured absolutely nothing. Which meant your admirer had narrowly avoided being caught, not because of their own cunning but because Soonyoung was an idiot.

A heavy collective sigh fills the room, a habit the three of you have apparently perfected at this point. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. Shoulders slumping in defeat, you all grab your bags and head toward the stairs, making your way to campus.

Seungkwan, however, is not letting it go. He insists that this is a catastrophe, that you’ve all officially lost your credibility as investigators, that Soonyoung should be banned from handling equipment ever again. “This is ridiculous. This is a disaster. This is an embarrassment.” He’s been nagging nonstop, words tumbling out at breakneck speed as he waves his hands. “How did we mess up something this simple? How does anyone forget to check the battery? We are so unserious—”

You groan, throwing a hand in front of his face, forcing him to stop mid-rant. “Seungkwan, shut the fuck up and watch where you’re walking before you trip over your own ego.” Although he’s not wrong, he was just as invested in this as you and Soonyoung were, so he really has no right to act this self-righteous.

He gasps, but to his credit, he actually shuts up, though you can feel the pout radiating off of him.

Soonyoung meanwhile, has already moved on. By the time you reach campus, he’s concocting another plan, mumbling under his breath about an official interrogation session. “Café,” he decides. “We’ll question the suspects in the café.”

It’s not the worst idea. After all, you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung did come up with a list of potential admirers. And since Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan were still blissfully unaware of their suspect status on the list, it wouldn’t hurt to gather more intel.

Soonyoung claps his hands together, grinning. “Alright! We meet up at the café later with the others, and then—”

“Then we go to class before you actually flunk out of college,” you interrupt, already dragging Seungkwan toward the lecture hall.

“Pfft. Rude.” Soonyoung huffs but waves you off. “I’ll see you later!”

As you and Seungkwan slip into your usual seats, you let your eyes drift over the letters once more, fingers tracing the words. If Soonyoung hadn’t messed up, would you have already known the answer? Probably, but still…

Instead of paying attention to whatever your lecturer is droning on about—something about algorithms, efficiency, and real-world applications—you and Seungkwan huddle together whispering over your list of suspects one last time. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan. The same three names.

“We need a proper plan,” Seungkwan mutters, tapping his pen against his notebook.

You nod in agreement. “We can’t just corner them randomly without knowing what to ask.”

So, while the rest of the class focuses on things that actually matter like, say, the lecture that’s apparently worth half of your grade, you and Seungkwan draft an interrogation script. Questions, strategies, ways to subtly (or not-so-subtly) catch the culprit slipping. Once it's done, Seungkwan sends the script to Soonyoung and without hesitation, drops a message in the group chat:

Seungkwan: Everyone. Café. After class. No exceptions.

Just as he hits send, "Seungkwan," your lecturer calls, voice heavy with disapproval.

You barely suppress a wince as Seungkwan slowly looks up, caught red-handed with his phone still in his grip. The lecturer pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, unimpressed. "Would you like to share what’s so important that you’d rather text in the middle of my very crucial, very grade-determining lecture?" (He says that every lecture. At this point, you’re convinced it’s just a scare tactic.)

Seungkwan, without missing a beat, gives the lecturer the most withering, unimpressed side-eye you’ve ever seen, one that he definitely doesn’t notice, too busy shifting his focus onto another poor student. With a sigh, Seungkwan stands up, gathers his things, and exits the room like a man facing exile.

After the lecture ends, you gather your things and step out of the hall, immediately spotting Seungkwan and Soonyoung waiting for you near the stairway landing. Seungkwan leans against the railing, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently and Soonyoung, on the other hand, is half-sitting on the lower step, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at some absurd meme he’s about to show you the moment you get close. The second you approach, Seungkwan spots you and gestures for your water bottle, giving you an expectant look. Without a word, you hand it over and he takes a long gulp like he’s been trekking through the desert. Meanwhile, you grab Soonyoung’s wrist to pull him up from his seat, and just like that, the three of you set off toward the café.

On the way, you pass by Chan’s lecture hall. He’s just stepping out when Soonyoung with no warning or whatsoever, hooks an arm around his neck and steers him in your direction. “Where are we going?” Dino asks, confused but not resisting.

“To the café,” Seungkwan answers. “We have an important interrogation.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope,” you and Soonyoung say at the same time.

“As expected…” Chan says sadly (fake).

When the four of you reach the café, you slide into your seat right between Seungkwan and Soonyoung, with Chan sitting beside Soonyoung. The moment you’re settled, the others start trickling in, each arriving on their own. That means they actually checked the group chat. If they hadn’t, well, you three would’ve just stormed into their respective halls and dragged them here by the ear. You weren’t about to wait around forever. Once everyone had gathered, Seungkwan takes charge.

“We’re here to interrogate Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan,” he announces, placing the list in the center of the table. “No questions about why they’re on the list. No complaints. We have our reasons.”

Mingyu watches all of this unfold, barely holding back a sigh. They’re never going to figure it out at this rate. He was never worried about Seungkwan and Soonyoung actually catching him. Those two could be geniuses in their own fields but when it came to deduction, they were absolute fools. It’s amusing how confident Seungkwan and Soonyoung are in their so-called investigation. He wants to scoff, wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps himself in check. You, on the other hand… you’re smart, but Mingyu is starting to think that your partnership with Seungkwan and Soonyoung might be lowering your IQ. Still, he lets it play out, keeping quiet as the interrogations begin.

Suspect Interrogations

✔ Jihoon goes first. He looks downright offended that his name is even on the list, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowls at you and Seungkwan. "Why would I do something so cheesy?" he demands. "I've told you already, it's not me!"

Seungkwan doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward squinting at Jihoon, "That’s exactly what a guilty person would say!"

Jihoon visibly clenches his jaw, looking like he’s one second away from launching his drink at Seungkwan’s head. You almost want to stop him but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see it happen.

✔ Vernon is next. He stares at you, eyes blinking slowly, looking about as confused as a man who’s been woken up mid-dream. "I don’t even write notes for myself, why would I write one for you?" he asks. "And I think I've told you many times, it's not me!"

You and Soonyoung exchange looks, still very suspicious of him for some reason.

✔ Chan goes last. He doesn’t even pretend to take this seriously, instead, he just laughs, "If I liked you, I’d just tell you," he says.

It’s a fair point. A good point. But then… he keeps talking. He starts adding unnecessary details, rambling about hypotheticals—the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes’ that no innocent person would feel the need to explain. He’s digging a deeper hole with every word, and you can practically see Seungkwan’s brain short-circuiting beside you.

Then, all at once, Seungkwan slams a hand on the table and leans forward, "That sounds like something the real admirer would say to throw us off."

Chan looks so betrayed.

Jeonghan crosses his arms as he observes the mess of notes and theories sprawled out before him. "You're not going to get them to confess, you know," he says. "They want to stay anonymous. No amount of begging or interrogation is going to change that."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Then what do you suggest, Sherlock?"

Jeonghan smirks. "Simple. If you can’t catch them in the act, make them come to you."

He lays out his ideas: each one realistic, logical, and frustratingly effective. He insists that if the admirer is really in your friend group, they'll never slip up under pressure. They've already been careful and their goal isn't to get caught. It's to wait until they're ready.

But for the first time, Jeonghan is wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t want to stay anonymous because he isn’t ready. He’s been ready for as long as he can remember. He’s been in love with you since forever. The only thing stopping him from confessing outright is that he wants you to see it first. To realize, without anyone spelling it out for you that your admirer has been right in front of you this entire time. That it’s him.

Jeonghan keeps talking, giving you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung ideas on how to lure out the admirer. You nod along, jotting down notes with Seungkwan, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu shifts in his seat, playing idly with the rings on his fingers, memorizing all of your plans. Jeonghan’s part is done, and now he just leans back, chatting lazily with Mingyu, who barely hears a word. Mingyu knows you’re not getting anywhere with this approach, not as long as you keep treating this like some detective novel. So, he decides to leave some hints of his own. Letting you catch him staring. Letting his fingers brush against yours just a second too long.

A waiter approaches the table, setting down a glass of orange juice in front of you, along with a small hand warmer wrapped in soft fabric. A tiny note is attached, folded neatly under the band.

You blink, frowning. "I didn’t order this."

The waiter only smiles. "It was ordered anonymously. For you."

Before you can even process what that means, Seungkwan moves at the speed of 3×10⁸ m/s, snatching the orange juice off the table. "We are not letting her drink something from an unknown sender," he announces before he downs it in one go.

"You mean my secret admirer," you correct, deadpan, reaching for the note instead.

"So you say," he mutters.

Mingyu leans back in his seat, watching your reaction carefully as you unfold the tiny slip of paper. The words are simple yet enough to make your stomach flip:

“Keep your hands warm. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Seungkwan doesn’t even notice your momentary daze because he’s too busy sulking over his lack of a second drink. "That was good," he mutters, smacking his lips. "Would be nice if someone ordered one for me, though.”

Mingyu, cool, calm, and completely unbothered, raises a hand and calls the waiter over again. "Seven more orange juices, please," he says and then throws a pointed look at Seungkwan. "For everyone except him."

Seungkwan gasps. "What! Why not me?"

Mingyu smirks, propping his chin on his hand. "You already stole hers. No take-backs."

Seungkwan glares at him, indignant. “Oh, so now we’re playing favorites? Unbelievable.”

Mingyu only pokes his tongue out teasingly before leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the laughter echoing around the table. Soonyoung bursts into laughter first, quickly followed by the others. Mingyu just smiles to himself, but soon enough, you clear your throat, drawing everyone's attention. "So," you start, your voice slightly exasperated, "I was this close to catching the admirer in the act." You proceed to recount the series of events from yesterday and today, explaining how Soonyoung and Seungkwan had set up a hidden camera in your dorm’s corridor, only for the idiotic Soonyoung to forget to check the battery, causing it to die before it could record anything.

Mingyu who had been listening intently, releases a relieved breath, knowing how close he came to being discovered. The thought of you catching him in the act sends a shiver down his spine. He silently makes a mental note to be more careful with these anonymous deliveries. After all, he wants you to discover the admirer is him, but on your own time. Mingyu doesn’t want it to be forced.

Before he leaves, Mingyu stands up, making his way toward you. He gives you a hug and in that moment, it feels different unlike other times. His arms wrap around you with purpose, his chest pressing lightly against yours. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him, fresh and lightly musky with a hint of wood, lingers in your senses. You can feel the gentle pressure of his arms around you, and to not exaggerate, it feels like time had slowed down. Your heart stumbles over itself, a foolish, reckless thing, drunk on the way he feels against you. It’s ridiculous how a simple hug can make your head spin, how the warmth of his arms feels like something you shouldn’t crave, but do anyway. You press your lips together, willing yourself to breathe normally, to not let it show just how much this moment is unraveling you from the inside out. But it’s stupid. So, so stupid. Because this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel when your heart should be occupied with the mystery of your secret admirer—the person leaving you letters, the person who sees you in a way no one else does. You shouldn’t be aching for more, shouldn’t be selfishly lingering in Mingyu’s embrace, wishing he’d never let go. You shouldn’t want him to hold you like this again, and again, and again. But you do. And it feels wrong, because Mingyu isn’t the one writing you those letters…

He pulls back slightly, still holding you for a moment longer than usual as if trying to convey something without words. You notice how his touch lingers; the light yet deliberate way he lets you feel his presence though you don't fully catch onto his intentions. Meanwhile, Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at the hug. The others don’t really notice, as it’s not uncommon for the eight of you to hug, but something about this seems different even if they don't quite pinpoint it.

Mingyu pulls away, his smile still staying as he bids everyone goodbye, claiming he has another class in the afternoon that he can’t afford to miss.

However, as soon as he steps out of the café, he changes direction, heading not toward the classroom, but to a candle-making workshop he’d booked an appointment for a few days ago. Inside the workshop, Mingyu walks around with the instructor who guides him through the candle-making process. The space smells like warm wax and a cocktail of fragrances. The place is dancing with creativity but Mingyu already has a vision in mind.

His first idea is a rotating heart-shaped candle made of light pink wax, its design featuring ribbed layers that spiral upward giving it a unique 3D sort of effect. The second candle will be more playful, a rubik's cube made of hearts. It's a square candle and each side is covered in a grid of tiny hearts, all in varying shades of pink. The design is neat and the colors blend really well which makes the candle appear soft but striking at the same time.

Mingyu carefully selects the wax, something soft yet durable, perfect for the designs he has in mind and the colors, choosing soft shades of pink, each one different but complementing the others. He picks out the scents: a lavender with hints of vanilla. The instructor walks him through the remaining details, ensuring everything is perfect for the candles he’s about to create. Mingyu’s thoughts briefly drift back to you, wondering how you’ll react once you see the candles. But he has no time to waste anymore, so Mingyu rolls up his sleeves as the instructor prepares the workspace, laying out all the necessary materials. He’s focused, the idea of creating something special for you igniting a sense of excitement and purpose within him. The sound of the instructor’s instructions makes Mingyu feel like he’s entering a different world, one where he can focus solely on his vision.

Step 1: Preparing the Wax

The instructor starts by showing Mingyu how to melt the wax to the perfect consistency. Mingyu, fully engaged, watches carefully as the wax turns from solid to a glassy liquid. He chooses a light pink wax, the base for both candles, and pours it into a large mixing container, ready to be heated. The wax glows softly under the warm light and Mingyu smiles at how it resembles the color he envisions for the heart-shaped candle.

Step 2: Crafting the Heart Candle

Mingyu takes a special mold, shaped like a heart, and begins carefully pouring the melted wax into the mold. He does this slowly, ensuring there are no air bubbles and that the wax is evenly spread. As it fills the mold, he adds layers, letting each one cool slightly before pouring the next to create the ribbed, spiraled effect he wanted. With each layer, the heart shape begins to come to life, the design slowly becoming more intricate, giving it that soft, rotating effect he’d envisioned.

Once the mold is filled, Mingyu lets it cool. He then checks the temperature of the wax again, then chooses a faint vanilla scent to add, mixing it in thoroughly. He waits patiently, allowing the wax to solidify into the form of a delicate rotating heart.

Step 3: Crafting the Rubik's Cube Candle

Next, Mingyu turns his attention to the Rubik’s cube candle. He chooses a square mold, knowing it’ll be a bit trickier to get all the sides even but he’s determined. He melts a darker shade of pink wax, then carefully pours it into the mold, covering each side evenly. As the wax cools slightly, Mingyu presses tiny heart-shaped stamps into each side, ensuring each one is uniform but with slight variations in the shade of pink. Some hearts are light, some darker, creating a neat grid-like pattern.

Before he finishes, he adds the scent, a hint of lavender to the candle for a calming, refreshing scent that contrasts but compliments the soft vanilla in the heart-shaped candle. He doesn’t know why, but something about it feels just right.

Step 4: Setting Them to Cool

Mingyu carefully places both candles on the cooling racks, watching as they begin to set. He’s exhausted but satisfied, a small smile playing on his lips as he imagines you receiving them. He doesn’t need to say it but these candles are more than just gifts, they are symbols. Symbols of his feelings, wrapped up in a soft pink glow waiting for you to figure out that the admirer was always right in front of you.

As the wax cools and the candles solidify, Mingyu’s heart races just a little faster. He’s ready, he’s more than ready. He just needs you to realize it too.

Four

February 10th.

You carefully lift the velvet black box, a silk material cradling the delicate necklace inside. Your fingers brush against the golden chain as the lavender gemstone catches the light. The oval shape of the gemstone adds a timeless quality to it, and the way the facets reflect the light gives it an ethereal, almost magical quality. The chain is fine and delicate, emphasizing the dainty, feminine look of the necklace, which, in all its understated elegance, somehow feels like it was meant only for you. You can feel your heart race, knowing that someone took the time to pick out something that you also had your eyes on.

Then your eyes fall on the note attached to the box, and you carefully read the words:

“I remember you mentioning this the other day. Couldn’t resist.”

Your heart skips a beat as the memory floods back. You remember the moment so clearly now. It was maybe an offhand comment but you had mentioned how much you adored that lavender gemstone necklace you saw during window-shopping. You had daydreamed about having it in your hands, imagining how beautiful it would be to wear and how it would make you feel. You'd been chatting with the others, and as you recall, the only ones who were around that day were Jeonghan, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Chan. Your mind races as you quickly start to piece things together. It was one of them, wasn’t it? Vernon is out now but one of them had been paying attention and had remembered that fleeting wish.

You set the necklace aside for a moment, turning your attention to the next gift. As you open the small package, your eyes widen in surprise. It's a keychain—a cute, round Doraemon keychain, the little blue robot cat you used to love watching as a kid. You can actually hear the theme song in your mind as you hold it in your hand.

You step into your room, carefully setting both gifts on your desk. It’s officially the fourth day since you found out about your secret admirer. Each day without fail you've received a gift along with a letter. But today, there’s been no letter yet. Which means it could arrive any moment. And that means this is your another chance. If you time things right, if you plan well enough, you might just catch them in the act. Your mind immediately goes to Seungkwan and Soonyoung. You need to meet up with them as soon as possible to strategize. Jeonghan’s advice had logic behind it, if there’s any hope of luring out the admirer, you’ll have to be smart about this.

With a deep breath, you check your phone to see the time and—Holy shit. You're late. Like, really late.

Your eyes widen as you scramble to grab your things. Soonyoung and Seungkwan are definitely going to scold you for making them wait. You don’t even have time to dwell on the gifts anymore, your priority is getting out of here now.

You rush to your closet, throwing on a gray oversized hoodie. It’s comfortable, and most importantly, easy to move in. You quickly pair it with high-waisted black wide-leg pants that you found hanging right in front of you. Slipping into your sneakers, you grab your black quilted tote bag, sliding it over your shoulder in one swift motion. Before heading out, you catch one last glimpse of yourself in the mirror, quickly applying a soft burgundy lipstick just enough to add some color to your face. Your Sony headphones settle around your neck as you practically bolt for the door.

You can already imagine Seungkwan’s sigh and Soonyoung’s exaggerated disappointment. You are so not ready for this.

You burst into the library slightly out of breath, scanning the room until your eyes land on them sitting at one of the corner tables. Soonyoung is slouched over, lazily flipping through a book while Seungkwan looks far too unimpressed, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

The second you reach them, Seungkwan wastes no time. "You’re so late," he huffs, grabbing your wrist before you can even attempt an apology.

“Wait, I—” you start, but it’s useless.

Before you can even process what's happening, Seungkwan bolts out of the library with you in tow, dragging you behind him. You barely manage to throw Soonyoung an apologetic look but he just waves lazily, muttering something about meeting up later.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop until you’re both speed-walking through the hallway toward your class. “You seriously need to start checking the time,” he scolds though his grip on your wrist loosens once he sees you struggling to keep up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say between breaths, deciding to distract him before he starts a full-on lecture. “Anyway—oh my god, you won’t believe how noisy my neighbors have been lately.”

That catches his attention. “How noisy?”

“Loud loud,” you emphasize, lowering your voice as you both slip into the classroom and find your seats. “Like, I swear they’re either throwing a party every other night or filming some very questionable action scenes.”

Seungkwan gasps, already invested. “That’s insane. You have to spill everything later. But wait…” he pauses, turning to you, “...did you get anything from your secret admirer today?”

You nod, pulling your tote bag closer. “Yeah, actually. A keychain and a necklace.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Necklace? Okay, that’s new.”

“Yeah, yeah, but focus,” you whisper, nudging him as the professor enters. “We’ll talk about it later when Soonyoung’s here too.”

Seungkwan sighs but leans back in his seat, finally quieting down as class begins. You let out a relieved breath, glad you managed to avoid more nagging.

The plan was supposed to be foolproof. Simple, yet effective. You, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung had spent nearly an hour or two in the library piecing together the perfect strategy. Since the admirer delivered gifts and letters at completely random times, catching them in the act had been next to impossible. But then, Seungkwan had a moment of genius enlightenment or at least, that’s what he called it.

“You pretend to leave,” he had explained. “Turn off the lights, make some noise like you're walking away… but in reality, you're just hiding somewhere nearby, waiting to see who sneaks in.”

“I think it’s perfect!” Soonyoung grinned, clapping his hands together.

You weren’t as sure. On one hand, you wanted to catch him. On the other, you secretly hoped he’d be smart enough to avoid the trap. You didn’t want a dumb admirer, but you also desperately wanted to know who it was.

And so it was set, you pretended to leave your dorm, deliberately shutting the door a little louder than necessary. The lights were turned off, and your footsteps echoed down the hallway only for you to quickly slip into a hiding spot right around the corner, out of direct sight but close enough to see anyone who entered.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung were stationed at different vantage points: Soonyoung crouched behind a vending machine down the hall, and Seungkwan, well… he was supposed to be hiding behind the stairwell.

Except he was the one who completely blew the mission.

You were barely five minutes into waiting when your phone suddenly blasted at full volume—

I'M SO SICK OF THIS FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~

Your heart stopped. Seungkwan was calling you.

You fumbled with your phone, fingers scrambling to hit decline as fast as humanly possible, but the damage was already done. From the dim light of the hallway, you saw a figure, tall, broad-shouldered frozen in place. There was a brief pause, and then… an unmistakable snort. Your admirer had just laughed at you.

Your mortification reached new heights as you caught a glimpse of movement just as Mingyu took a step back, blending into the shadows with alarming ease. But before he disappeared entirely, he let something slip from his fingers. A single envelope fluttered down to the floor. Then, just like that, he was gone. Mission failed.

The timing had been perfect. You had expected to wait for at least an hour, maybe two, or even five before the admirer would finally make a move. But no, he had shown up almost immediately after you hid. It should have been a victory. You had been so, so close, and yet…it still ended up failing. Your disappointment is immeasurable.

The one time you had a chance to catch him and Seungkwan of all people had to blow it. You don’t even want to look in his direction right now. Instead, you stare down at the envelope on the floor, left behind in his quick escape. You take a shaky breath before stepping forward, crouching down to pick it up. Your fingers brush against the smooth paper. It’s slightly warm, maybe from being held just moments ago. He was right in front of you and you missed him.

Mingyu sighs, his arm draped around your shoulders, patting you just below your shoulder blade. You lean into him, still fuming while Seungkwan sits stiffly across from you, avoiding eye contact. Soonyoung is usually the loudest one in the group but remains eerily quiet, the guilt probably eating him alive too.

You groan, burying your face against Mingyu’s chest. “I was so close! Like, insanely close. But no, of course, the universe had to humiliate me instead. The admirer didn’t just escape—he snorted at me. Snorted! He found it funny that I got caught!” You lift your head, eyes blazing with frustration. “You guys don’t understand. We had one job. One job! And we failed.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch, a mix of amusement and fondness. He’s enjoying this even as he strokes your arm absentmindedly, pretending to be the supportive friend. Jeonghan, on the other hand, actually smirks. “To be fair, I did tell you to be discreet.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

Mingyu watches you closely and expectantly. Maybe you’ll finally piece it together now, maybe you’ll notice the way he’s been around you, the way the gifts are so him, the way his words always hold an extra layer of meaning. But no. Instead, you start throwing out the most ridiculous theories. “What if he’s not from our group? What if it’s some random stranger who’s been stalking me this entire time?”

Mingyu sighs deeply.

“What if it’s a professor?”

Mingyu groans.

“What if it’s—”

“Stop.”

You blink as he turns you toward him, his hands suddenly cupping your face. His palms are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin. Your eyes widen at the sudden closeness, at the way his gaze locks onto yours. For just a second he wonders if you’ll finally see it. If you’ll notice the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. If you’ll catch onto the warmth in his voice when he speaks. If you’ll recognize the way his hands feel so familiar, because he’s been by your side all along. But instead, you just stare at him puzzled.

Mingyu exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before pulling back. “Don’t overthink it,” he says. “The admirer will still admire you even after knowing you were spying on him without his consent. He has no reason not to.”

You blink at him. “That’s… oddly reassuring?”

Jeonghan watches the entire thing unfold, his smirk deepening. Of course, he picked it up. Mingyu releases you by shaking his head. He’s this close to just spelling it out for you, but no, you have to figure it out yourself. His fingers twitch slightly as he slips two candies into the pocket of your hoodie. You’re sharp and he knows that better than anyone. Always observing, always analyzing but right now, you seem lost in thought, your brows furrowed just slightly, lips pressed together as if deep in contemplation and he wonders who are you thinking about? Who are you suspecting? Because he's right here. He's always been right here but do you see him?

He leans back slightly, now one arm slung over the back of your chair, watching the way your fingers idly trace patterns on the wooden table. He wonders if you realize how much of yourself you give away. The way your shoulders relax ever so slightly when you’re comfortable. The way your fingers tense when you’re overthinking. The way your lips part just the tiniest bit when a thought clicks into place. And right now… you’re thinking hard.

Meanwhile, his mind flashes back to earlier.

When your ringtone screamed Fake Love, he didn't panic but his body reacted on instinct, stepping back into the shadows, keeping his composure. And honestly, he had expected you to pull a stunt like this. Ever since he heard you setting up the hidden camera last time, he knew you’d try something even bolder next. That’s why he had prepared for it, why he was ten times more careful now especially since you’d taken Jeonghan’s advice. But the real problem was that you were so cute.

The way you hunched down, scrambling to decline the call, eyes darting around like a guilty child caught sneaking snacks before dinner. From the corner of his eye, he had watched you, heart clenching in the most endearing way. He wanted to stay longer just to see you try harder, to watch the determination in your eyes. But he had slipped the letter onto the floor and disappeared before you could catch him.

At night, when you can’t get the gifts out of your head, the theories keep spinning, running faster than your thoughts. You pull out your phone, without even thinking about it. You tap his contact in your phone reflexively. He is the only person you can call for this, the only one who doesn’t mind when you ramble, who lets you spill every ridiculous and half-formed thought without ever making you feel like you’re too much. He’s the only one you trust to catch your words when they come tumbling out. But does he ever do the same? Does he ever pick up his phone in the middle of the night, scroll past contacts, and land on your name? When things get too loud in his head, when he feels too much, does he think about calling you the way you think about calling him?

The sound of the dial tone fills the silence in your room, your pulse quickening as you wait for him to pick up. It rings once, twice—until finally, he answers.

"Hello?" His voice is deep and groggy like you’ve just pulled him out of deep sleep.

"Hey," you say, your words spilling out all at once. "I think it’s Jihoon. His handwriting, I swear, it's obvious. And about that keychain, it could be Chan too, maybe he remembered that necklace…."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and you’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to hear the shift in his voice. It’s a bit of a sigh like he’s holding back something. "Hmm," Mingyu murmurs, dragging the word out. "You think it’s Jihoon or Chan? I mean, I guess it could be them." But you don’t hear the tension in his tone.

You launch into another theory, oblivious to his discomfort. "Or it could be Jeonghan? I know he's blunt all the time but I only talked about the necklace with him, Chan, you, Jihoon and Seungkwan…so it has to be one of them, right?"

He chuckles softly though the sound feels strained, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. Maybe you should just… let it be for a little while. Think about it in the morning, yeah?"

"I’m not letting it go, Mingyu. I need to figure this out. It’s driving me crazy!"

You hear his deep exhale on the other end. He’s not chuckling anymore. "Okay, okay," he says, voice slightly more clipped. "But get some sleep, alright?"

You roll your eyes, but you’re not listening. You’re too focused on unraveling it. "I’ll sleep when I have answers. Thanks anyway, Mingyu."

By the time you glance at the clock, it’s already 2 a.m., and you’re still awake, thinking about everything.

“You seemed deep in thought today. I wonder what you were thinking about. Or rather… who. You’re sharp, you know. Always paying attention, always observing. I wonder if you realize how much of yourself you give away when you’re lost in your own head. You’re looking for answers right now, aren’t you? That’s okay. Just don’t get so caught up in looking that you forget to see what’s right in front of you.

I hope you liked today’s gift. I thought it suited you.”

Five

February 11th.

Another day, another failure. You, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan are officially verified stupid.

The three of you sit slumped against the dorm room wall staring at the ceiling in sheer defeat. The plan was foolproof but you didn't account for one crucial factor. You live in a building with other students. You guys decided to install a motion alarm. Too many false alarms. A passing student, a delivery guy, a gust of wind. Each time the alarm went off, you three sprang into action only to find a confused neighbor or an empty hallway. By the third false alarm, Seungkwan was done.

"I'm quitting." He declared, standing up immediately. "I can't do this anymore. I might commit a crime."

"But you want to find out, right?" Soonyoung asked.

"I do. But not like this..." Seungkwan rubbed his temples, looking at you for support.

You didn't understand him. At all. "We were so close this time, though!" you argued, but even you were starting to doubt that.

Soonyoung groaned, flopping onto the floor. "I thought this would be the one…"

"Well, it wasn't. And I need a break before I actually start throwing hands." Seungkwan warns.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the floor. The admirer was winning. Again. And you were running out of ideas.

Somewhere out there, Mingyu was definitely laughing.

A knock echoed through the room. Your heart jumped. Reaching for the door, you find another letter. Your stomach twisted. The admirer had already delivered it. He knew, he must have waited until you were distracted, until you were busy sulking over another failed plan before sneaking in and leaving this behind. You clenched your jaw. He was taunting you.

Seungkwan sighed, flopping onto the couch. "We lost again."

But you weren’t ready to admit defeat. You slowly opened the letter, your fingers brushing over the familiar handwriting.

“It’s interesting watching you try to figure this out. I wonder if you’ll ever catch on or if I’ll have to spell it out for you one day. You looked frustrated earlier. I know you hate it when things don’t make sense, but sometimes, not knowing is part of the fun. Not everything has to be a puzzle to solve, maybe I'm right in front of you. Still, I’m curious—how’s the investigation going? I guess I already know.”

The note says:

"Your favourite, hope you aren't mad anymore. Oh and to remind you, don’t finish this in one go. I know how much you love it but eating it all in one day might just lead to a cold! I won't be able to bear to see you sniffle with a red nose, especially when you're already so adorable. Take care of yourself, okay? I’m sure you don’t want to be caught with a runny nose.”

There you stand holding the tub of half baked Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. The combination of chocolate and vanilla ice cream with cookie dough and brownie chunks, your absolute favorite. You take a deep breath, a little smile tugging at your lips, but the mystery of the admirer still weighs heavy on your chest.

You stride over to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and making your way to the couch. You plop down, the tub in your lap and start digging in. The cold ice cream melts quickly on your tongue, soothing some of your earlier frustration. You scoop up another generous bite and let the flavors settle as you think.

Then, you grab your phone, typing away in the group chat. You snap a quick selfie, spoon still in your mouth, with the ice cream tub beside you. With a smirk, you send it out to the group chat:

Y/N: "Whoever got me this, thanks! But I'm still angry. If you don’t reveal yourself soon… you might just regret it."

Six

February 12th.

"You’ve been looking everywhere, hahah. Searching, questioning, analyzing... but sometimes, the answer is closer than you think. It’s easy to overlook the obvious when you’re searching too hard. But I don’t mind, I like watching you figure things out even if you’re terribly off track. Don’t forget to rest, okay? Also, I know you skip meals when you’re too busy, don’t do that. Take care of yourself, because someone out there cares enough to remind you every day."

"It's been six days!" he groans. "And still no clue who this admirer is?"

Seungkwan sighs, peering over his shoulder. "At this point, I’m starting to consider Soonyoung's idea that we’re dealing with a ghost."

Mingyu and Chan lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of the note. Mingyu’s heart beats faster not just from curiosity but from something else entirely.

Then, something clicks in your mind. Without a word, you dive into your bag shuffling through its contents in a frenzy. The others watch with curiosity as you pull out all six letters, carefully laying them side by side across the table.

Mingyu watches as your eyes scan each letter, analyzing every word, every phrase. His pulse quickens. Are you finally piecing it together? Are you about to turn to him, grab his collar and pull him in and kiss? Will you tell him you’ve known all along, that you’ve felt the same way, that he’s been in your heart just as you’ve been in his? He inches closer slowly, hoping to make it easier for you to reach for him when you want to pull him in. And then you gasp loudly.

Soonyoung jumps forward. “What? What is it?”

Your eyes widen, mouth agape in disbelief. “I—I think I know who it is.”

The room goes silent. Mingyu barely breathes.

You turn to the group, your expression resolute. “It’s Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s heart stops. A crushing weight settles in his chest as his two-minute fantasy shatters in an instant. The imagined confession, the kiss, the overwhelming relief of finally being known is now gone.

"Jeonghan?" Seungkwan echoes, stunned.

You nod, “Think about it! The letters keep hinting that the answer is closer than I think, that I’m overlooking something obvious. And I completely dismissed Jeonghan before because I figured he’d be too lazy to go through all this effort.”

Soonyoung frowns. “That still seems like a stretch.”

“No, listen! Jeonghan was the one who told us the admirer isn’t ready to reveal himself yet, which means he knows who it is, because it's him! He was also there when I talked about the necklace. The admirer sent me one a few days later. That’s not a coincidence!” The group exchanges glances, mulling over your logic. “And,” you continue, “the letters keep saying I’m terribly off track. Who else could it be but the one person I never seriously considered?”

Mingyu stays quiet, watching as you piece together a puzzle with the wrong pieces. He clenches his jaw as you match all the clues to Jeonghan, not realizing that in your eagerness to connect the dots, you missed the most obvious thing of all. It's HIM that you never considered. Not even once.

He was the one listening when you spoke about the necklace. He was the one who spent hours writing each letter. He was the one who paid attention to every detail. He was the one who knew you so well he could predict your reactions before you even had them. He was the one who had been right in front of you all along. He was the one watching you search, waiting for the moment your eyes would finally land on him, but instead, you’ve drawn the wrong conclusion. Was he that unimportant? That invisible to you?

His heart sinks lower and lower as you present your case, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. What will you do when you realize the truth? When you finally see what’s been in front of you this entire time? Will it be too late?

Seungkwan and Soonyoung looked at each other before nodding in agreement. “You know what? That actually makes sense,” Seungkwan says, arms crossed. “It has to be Jeonghan.”

Soonyoung says, “Honestly, the more I think about it, the more obvious it seems. He’s been here the whole time, just messing with us like always.”

Chan, who had been nervously eyeing the letters earlier, exhales in relief. “Well, at least that means it’s not me.” He mutters, sinking into his seat, visibly relaxed now that he’s off the suspect list.

Everyone’s looking at you, and in their eyes, you see the same thing. Certainty. You’ve convinced them. The mystery is nearly solved.

“You’re 100% sure?” Mingyu finally speaks, his voice light.

“No. 99. I just need to be 1% more sure.”

But for a moment you feel a strange hesitation, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you haven’t even considered how you feel about Jeonghan being your admirer. You were too caught up in the thrill of the mystery, in chasing after the truth that you forgot it involved real emotions. That someone out there has been writing to you with real feelings, with intention. Do you even want to know? What if the truth doesn’t match the version of the story you’ve built in your head? What if it’s not who you expect, not who you secretly hoped for? What if it’s not Jeonghan? Or what if it is? And what does it say about you that the thought makes your stomach twist? That, deep down, some foolish part of you already knows whose name you wish to see at the end of those letters? Not Jeonghan. Not Jihoon. Not Vernon. Not Chan. Not anyone you’ve guessed so far. What if the one person you want it to be is the same person you’ve already ruled out? The one who’s always felt just a little out of reach. The one you’ve spent years convincing yourself is too much, too good, too impossible, because the thought of him being your secret admirer is too absurd. Too ridiculous. Right? But you shake the thought away and turn to Mingyu, your most trusted ally in this.

“You’re close with Jeonghan,” you say, eyes locking onto his. “Out of everyone, he’ll lower his guard around you the most. Can you help me fish him out?”

Mingyu stiffens for a fraction of a second, but no one notices. His heart sinks at how easily you place your trust in him, at how confidently you believe in something so wrong. But he doesn’t know how to say no to you. He never has. So he forces a small smile, nodding even as his chest tightens. “Yeah… sure. I’ll help.”

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to fish out of Jeonghan when the admirer you’re searching for is him.

He forces himself to keep a neutral expression as Seungkwan and Soonyoung excitedly discuss possible ways to corner Jeonghan into confessing. Chan listens with mild amusement, occasionally throwing in a comment but Mingyu barely hears any of it. His thoughts are drowning in the bitter irony of the situation.

This was supposed to be his moment. A dull ache settles in his chest, an uncomfortable tightness that won’t go away. Had he been so careful, so subtle, that you never even considered him? He swallows down the lump in his throat, gripping the edge of the table as he grounds himself.

“Mingyu?”

He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts only to find you looking at him expectantly. “You okay?” you ask, brows slightly furrowed.

He should say something. Laugh, tease, pretend everything is fine, but all he can manage is a weak nod. “Yeah,” he lies. “Just… thinking.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Thinking too hard. Come on, we need you on this. You know Jeonghan best.”

Mingyu forces a smile. Yeah, he knows Jeonghan well but more than that, he knows you and right now, he knows that you’re chasing the wrong person. And worst of all, he has to help you do it.

The air carries a faint warmth of the afternoon sun, but it does nothing to ease the cold ache settling in Mingyu’s chest. He nudges Chan and looks at you, “It’s getting late. We should head home.”

You nod, stretching slightly before gathering your things. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you, Mingyu, and Soonyoung step out onto the streets, the golden light catches in your hair, turning it into something almost ethereal. Mingyu sees it but his heart feels heavy, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in his mind. The moment you confidently said Jeonghan’s name, the moment you smiled as if you had solved the puzzle, it had been like a dull knife sinking into his chest. A slow, dragging pain that refused to go away. It hurts. Really, really hurts. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let it show. Instead, he walks beside you, nodding and responding when necessary, pretending everything is fine.

By the time he drops you off at your dorm, his emotions are stretched thin, barely holding together. You wrap an arm around him, pressing yourself into his side in a casual hug. His breath hitches, but he forces himself to stay still. The warmth of your body against his should be comforting but it only reminds him of how far away you actually are.

“Don’t forget to talk to Jeonghan, okay?” you remind him, looking up at him with those bright, expectant eyes. “Let me know what he says.”

“I will.”

You disappear behind your door, and just like that, you’re gone.

Mingyu bids Soonyoung bye and stands there for a moment before turning on his heel and walking away. But he doesn’t go home.

Instead, he finds himself by the river, the city hums softly in the distance but here, it’s quieter, just the occasional ripple of water, the faint rustling of leaves. The soju bottle in his hand is already half-empty but the bitterness of it barely registers on his tongue.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to tell you when you inevitably ask about Jeonghan. He doesn’t know how to fake a conversation that never happened. He doesn’t know how to face you, knowing that you had every clue and still, still didn’t see him. He had waited; waited patiently, watched you go through your theories, your excitement, your endless blabbering about clues. He never snapped, never broke character, because he truly believed you would figure it out. That at the end of this little fun, you would finally turn to him and say his name with certainty. But you never did, and that’s what hurts the most. Not that Jeonghan, who was completely uninvolved, was about to be wrongfully accused. But that when you looked for the one who adored you, the one who knew you inside and out, the one who had spent every day thinking of ways to make you smile—you didn’t recognize him.

Still, if nothing else, at least he gave you something exciting. At least, for a few days, he gave you a mystery to solve, a thrill to chase. Even if in the end, he was the one left behind.

The almost-emptied bottle is plucked from Mingyu’s loose grip. He blinks, sluggish from both the alcohol and the weight pressing down on his heart and looks up to find Jeonghan standing over him. The older man wears his usual smile, one that could mean a hundred different things but his eyes tell another story, one that sees right through Mingyu’s poor attempt at pretending he’s fine.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He just turns his gaze back to the river, watching the water ripple under the dim glow of streetlights. Jeonghan exhales softly, before sitting down beside him. He doesn’t speak, or pry. He simply stays, settling Mingyu in a way that only a longtime friend can.

For a while, the only sound between them was the distant buzz of the city, and the lapping of the river against the banks.

Then, Mingyu finally breaks the silence. “She thinks it’s you,” his voice hoarse, the weight of the evening settling deeper into his bones. “She really, really thinks it’s you.” He lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “When the answer was right in front of her the whole time.”

Jeonghan remains quiet, just listening.

“I’m not mad,” Mingyu continues, “I shouldn’t be mad. I’m just… a little hurt.” He pauses, gripping his knees. “No, actually… I am hurt.” His throat tightens. “I don’t even know why it hurts this much, but…”

He trails off, exhaling sharply before looking down at his hands.

“I thought she’d get there eventually. I really thought she would.” His voice drops to hissed tone “I waited. I watched her figure out her little theories, set up her stupid traps, get all excited over the mystery… and I was patient. I thought, ‘Any day now, she’ll turn around, she’ll realize, she’ll see me.’” Mingyu swallows, “But she never did.”

He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to say these things to Jeonghan, maybe because Jeonghan is good at keeping secrets, at holding things close without judgment. Maybe because Jeonghan doesn’t rush to give meaningless comfort but just stays.

Mingyu drags a hand down his face, exhaling bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do tomorrow. She wants me to ask you about the admirer—to ‘fish’ something out of you.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What the hell am I supposed to fish out of you, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice calm but softer, something that understands. “Well, I could always confess to being her secret admirer. She's not bad.”

Despite himself, Mingyu snorts, shaking his head. “Not funny.”

Jeonghan leans back on his palms, looking up at the night sky. “You’re hurting because you care. Because you love her and you wanted her to see you without you having to say it outright.” He tilts his head toward Mingyu. “But love doesn’t always work like that, you know?” Mingyu doesn’t answer. Jeonghan sighs. "If it's hurting this much, then maybe you should ask yourself why you're still holding on."

Mingyu stays silent for a long moment before finally admitting, “I wanted to make it exciting. I wanted it to be something she’d remember.” He clenches his fists. “But it all just went wrong.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually,” Jeonghan says a little too knowingly.

Mingyu huffs, unconvinced. “What if she doesn’t?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Then maybe it’s time you stop waiting for her to find you and let her see you instead.”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. He just looks out at the river again, letting Jeonghan’s words sink in.

He simply lets the silence stretch out and finally after what feels like hours, Jeonghan stands up, brushing off his pants, “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” His voice is soft, the teasing edge absent for the moment.

Mingyu nods, not trusting himself to speak. He watches Jeonghan walk away, the older man’s figure swallowed by the night, before his gaze drifts back to the river. He takes a deep breath trying to clear his mind but nothing seems to work. His heart still aches for you, for the way you’ll probably look at him tomorrow, expecting him to just play along, asking questions he has no answers to.

Seven

February 13th

“I wonder if you’ll figure it out or if I’ll have to spell it out for you. You looked happy yesterday. I hope it stays that way. I hope whoever I am to you, whoever I will be, gets to see that happiness every day. Maybe this whole thing was ridiculous. Maybe I should’ve just told you from the start. But I guess I wanted to see. To know if you’d ever look my way without me having to say it first.

See you soon.”

The elevator doors slide open and you step in, jabbing the button for the sixth floor with more force than necessary. The doors close, but your mind is still racing, still stuck on the morning’s events.

Jeonghan had shown up at your dorm today, standing at your door with his usual lazy smile, but soft eyes. “I heard you think it’s me,” he had said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You had opened your mouth to defend yourself, to explain the logic, to lay out all the pieces that led you to him, the way all the clues lined up in your head but before you could get a word out, he had sighed, shaking his head saying it's not him and just like that, everything crumbled. Because he wasn’t lying. You could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he looked at you, not with amusement, not with mischief, but with something almost like pity.

“You’re hurting him, you know,” he had added, too softly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You had stiffened at that. “What?”

Jeonghan had just sighed again, then pulled you into a quick hug, arms warm around you, like he knew you needed the comfort. Then he had sat you down, looked you in the eye and said, “You’re misdirected, miserably so.”

You had thought you were getting closer, thought you were connecting the dots but you were connecting the wrong ones. Seven days. Seven days of chasing a ghost and you were nowhere.

It felt like you had been running in circles, grasping at shadows, only to be led astray at every turn. It wasn’t that you were upset Jeonghan wasn’t the secret admirer. No, that wasn’t what frustrated you. It was the fact that despite everything, you still couldn’t figure it out. You had failed. And then failed again.

After hearing Jeonghan out, you should have let it go, let your mind rest but something wouldn’t let you. Mingyu. You needed to hear what he had to say too. Jeonghan had been honest with you, and you believed him, but you still wanted to hear it from Mingyu’s mouth. What had he talked about with Jeonghan yesterday? Did he come to the same conclusion? Did he know Jeonghan wasn’t the admirer?

You weren’t sure why it mattered. Maybe it was because you trusted them both, maybe it was because you were still desperately searching for a lead, even if it meant going over the same conversation twice.

So now, here you are, frustrated and restless, storming into Mingyu’s apartment without so much as a knock, letting the door swing shut behind you. Mingyu, who had been standing by the kitchen counter, blinks in surprise as you march past him and collapse onto his couch.

“I can’t figure it out,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Seven days, and I’ve gotten nothing.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you as he grabs a glass, pouring you some orange juice before walking over and setting it in front of you. You peek at him through your fingers. He's too quiet. Still, you sit up, grabbing the glass but barely paying attention to it. “Jeonghan came over this morning,” you start, swirling the juice in your hands. “He told me it’s not him.”

Mingyu hums, lowering himself onto the couch beside you but not too close like before; after what happened yesterday.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I mean, it makes sense now. My whole theory was just coincidence. But if it’s not him, then who?” You run a hand through your hair. “It’s like I’m playing Mafia game but worse—no real clues, no real strategy, just me failing over and over again.”

Mingyu swallows, looking away. Failing? No. Just blind. You don’t notice the way his fingers tighten around his knees, his shoulders curling in just slightly. You don’t notice him. “You trust Jeonghan, right?” he asks finally, his voice careful, controlled.

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is steady but there’s something just barely restrained underneath. “What do you need from me?”

You hesitate, tilting your head. “I just… I wanted to hear what you talked about with Jeonghan yesterday.” You let out a breath. “I trust you both, but I wanted to see if you came to the same conclusion.”

Mingyu’s heart sinks after knowing you’re here for that. He nods slowly, fingers curling into fists against his legs. “Right.”

You don’t notice his jaw tightening, his expression flickering for half a second before smoothing over. You don’t see how the very person you’ve been searching for is sitting right beside you, falling apart. And Mingyu just listens because what else can he do?

The deeper hurt comes from the fact that he still loves you, and he's been waiting for you to realize it, but instead, you’ve been focused on other possibilities. He’s trying his best to stay supportive and patient, but it’s hard for him to keep his distance while you’re upset and trying to figure things out. There's a sense of loneliness in how he’s been handling everything on his own, even though he’s surrounded by people who care about him. He feels like he's been the quiet one in the background hoping you’d see him, but you haven’t. Now, hearing you rant about your failed attempts and frustrations, he feels both comforted and hurt—comforted that you trust him enough to vent to him, but hurt that, despite his feelings, you’re still unsure of him as the person who’s been giving you all those gifts and letters. He’s torn between wanting to confess his feelings, but knowing how much it would hurt to be rejected or overlooked again. He wants to be the one you turn to, the one you lean on when things get hard so in this moment, he's just there for you, listening, because that's what friends do, even when their heart is breaking.

Your voice is sharp with frustration as you pace around Mingyu’s apartment, fists clenched at your sides.“I just don’t get it,” you say, shaking your head. “Who would go through all this effort?”

Mingyu, watching you from where he sits on the couch, his heart aching, simply mutters, “I would.”

But it slips past you. You’re too caught up in your thoughts, too wrapped up in your own confusion to hear the weight behind his words. He watches as you continue to storm around, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything more.

Then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way he remains so still while you’re falling apart or maybe it’s the way his presence has always felt steady. But whatever it is, it pushes something inside you to snap.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?" You turn on him suddenly, as you throw another jab that Mingyu doesn’t deserve. He sits there, the heart inside him breaking. "You always have something to say, Mingyu. Always. But now, when I actually need someone to help me figure this out, you’re just sitting there looking at me like I’m missing something obvious!"

Mingyu exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. He’s been patient. So patient. But this is agony, watching you fight for an answer when he’s been in front of you the whole time. Watching you tear yourself apart over this, over something that was meant to be a confession of love. "Maybe because you are missing something obvious," he finally says, voice measured, but there’s an edge to it now.

Your brows furrow as you take a step toward him, your heart pounding for a reason you don’t understand. "Then tell me, Mingyu! What am I missing?"

His gaze hardens, but beneath the frustration, it's more vulnerable than ever. "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes!"

And suddenly, it hits you like a freight train crashing into your chest. Mingyu.

It’s always been him. You love him. Not in the way you love your friends. Not in the way you once thought love was supposed to feel. But in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that makes your heart race even when you’re angry. You don’t care who the secret admirer is. You don’t need to figure it out anymore. Because it doesn’t matter. It never did. Because you love Mingyu. And you always have. It’s not that you never considered him, it’s that you forced yourself not to. Mingyu was too kind, too good, too perfect. He was the type of person every girl wanted, and you were just lucky enough to call him one of your closest friends. It was easier to pretend, easier to ignore your feelings than to face the possibility of rejection. Because the truth was, if you had acknowledged your feelings, it would have hurt too much to know he didn’t feel the same way. But now, as you really look at him, you realize just how foolish you’ve been. You love him.

Even now, as you lash out at him unfairly, he stays patient. Even though your words are cutting, he doesn’t push you away. He listens, endures, and understands, and that’s what hurts the most. "Wait…" Your voice comes out quieter now, your anger dissipating into something raw. "Do you… do you know something?"

Mingyu stares at you, disbelieving. His patience, his restraint, it all crumbles in an instant. "…Seriously?"

He grabs a piece of paper from the table, scrawls something quickly, and thrusts it into your hands. You look down.

“It’s me, dummy.”

The world stills.

Your breath catches as you read the words over and over again, the realization crashes into you like a wave, sweeping away every doubt, every misdirection, every foolish assumption you’ve made in the past week. It was always Mingyu. Your fingers tighten around the paper as your heart pounds against your ribs. You lift your gaze, meeting his, and suddenly everything makes sense; the lingering stares, the way he was always there, how he looked at you like you hung the stars in his sky. The sadness in his eyes earlier wasn’t just frustration; it was heartbreak. And you had been the one breaking him all along.

Mingyu watches you, his eyes holding everything. The years of waiting, the longing, the pain of standing so close yet feeling miles away. His confession wasn’t grand, wasn’t how he planned. It was raw, impulsive, torn from him in a moment of breaking. And now, he waits. For you to understand, for you to say something, for anything.

Your lips part but no words come because how do you speak when your heart is in your throat, when the very foundation of what you thought you knew has shifted beneath your feet? It was always Mingyu. The notes. The gifts. The presence. And you had spent all this time searching for someone who had never been lost.

“Mingyu…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He always hears you.

His hands clench at his sides, bracing himself for whatever comes next. You can see it in the tension coiling just below his cheekbone, his breathing is just a little unsteady. He’s terrified, because now that you know, you could break him all over again.

But you don't want to break him this time. You've already broken him enough.

You simply step closer, so close he can feel the warmth radiating from you. His body stiffens when you reach for a piece of paper behind him, taking it from the table. Without a word, you flip it over, your fingers moving as you scribble something down. The tension of the past week melting into something softer, and new.

Then, before he can process it, you step in even closer reaching toward him, slipping the folded paper into the pocket of his hoodie. Your fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing him but it’s enough to send a shiver down his spine. Mingyu blinks, startled, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket as you take a step back. His fingers find the note, unfolding it with a mix of hesitation and urgency. His eyes scan the words, and his breath hitches.

"Tomorrow, dinner at 7? My treat, Secret Admirer."

For the first time in what feels like forever, a slow stunned smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes, searching for confirmation. And when you finally meet his gaze, your own lips curling into the softest, most knowing smile Mingyu knows.

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging with relief. The tension that had been weighing on him for weeks, even years, unravels all at once, “you’re serious?”

You tilt your head, your smile growing just a little. “Would I offer to pay if I wasn’t?”

Mingyu lets out a full, genuine laugh this time, shaking his head as he folds the note carefully, tucking it back into his pocket. “Tomorrow at seven,” he repeats, savoring the words.

But as soon as the weight of everything settles in, what just happened and what it means, you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to run. Your heart is racing, your palms are clammy, and you don’t trust yourself to speak without making a fool of yourself. So, without thinking, you turn on your heel, ready to flee. But you don’t get far.

Mingyu’s hand wraps around your wrist in an instant, stopping you mid-step and before you can process it, you’re spun around, your momentum pulling you straight into him. You gasp as your body collides with his chest, the warmth of him, the solidness of him, momentarily knocking the breath out of you. His other hand finds its way to your waist instinctively, and your brain short-circuits.

His fingers glide up, brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine. You force yourself to look up at him, only to be met with the most breathtaking sight; Mingyu gazing down at you with that smile. Not just any smile, a smile that steals your breath, that makes the whole world blur at the edges. His slightly tousled hair falls over his forehead, the soft strands brushing against his brows making him look effortlessly perfect in a way that shouldn’t be fair. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly as he murmurs, “Now you can run away.” His lips curl into that signature mixture of a smile and smirk, teasing yet affectionate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Oh, and don’t forget—you have a class to attend.”

Your eyes widen slightly as the reminder crashes into you but Mingyu simply chuckles, finally letting go of your waist but not before leaning in just slightly, just enough to fluster you even more. The absence of his touch is almost immediate, leaving behind a warmth that lingers.

Mingyu now steps back, grinning as he watches your flustered expression unfold and as you stumble over your words, scrambling for any semblance of composure, he just stands there looking entirely too pleased with himself. He's already looking forward to tomorrow.

The sight in front of you is nothing short of chaos.

Seungkwan's grip on his iced Americano slips as he processes the revelation, and without thinking, you reach out, catching the cup just before it crashes to the floor. A few drops spill onto your hand, the cold seeping into your skin, but you're too preoccupied to see it.

Seungkwan looks utterly defeated. Soonyoung, however, isn't faring any better. His mouth hangs open, his entire body frozen and his brain is still buffering.

"You mean to tell me—" Seungkwan starts, his voice high-pitched, "Mingyu?! Clumsy-ass, can’t-lie-to-save-his-life, trips-over-air Mingyu?!"

You nod.

They had too dismissed the possibility at first, thinking there was no way he could pull off something so sly. Not when his entire history was filled with clumsy mistakes and awkward cover-ups. The Mingyu they knew was many things, but a master of deception? Not a chance. And yet, here you three were, blindsided.

They had spent the entire morning preparing themselves to comfort you, fully expecting you to be in shambles after your 99% certainty that Jeonghan was your secret admirer turned out to be 100% wrong. When Jeonghan had told you in the morning that he wasn't the one, they thought you'd either be breaking down in devastation or burning something down in frustration (which, technically, you were). But they definitely hadn’t expected you to walk in with the revelation of your secret admirer.

Eight

February 14th

The moment you step out of your apartment, Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat.

He was supposed to have dinner with you at night for your first Valentine’s Day date, but he insisted on spending the day together before dinner. And now, here you are, standing in front of him with your hair down, looking confident and stylish in your new boots and skirt.

The delicate lavender gemstone around your neck catches the morning sunlight, its golden chain resting just above your collarbone on top of your sweater. You’re wearing the necklace—the one he gave you. And now, seeing it on you, knowing you chose to wear it today of all days, something warm and undeniable unfurls in his chest.

He clears his throat, trying to focus as he hands you a bouquet of lavender flowers nestled between soft pink roses. “For you,” he murmurs, watching closely for your reaction.

Your lips part as your fingers gently trace the petals. “Lavender…” you whisper, your gaze lifting to meet his.

Mingyu grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And roses, because…well, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Something tugs at your heart but before you can dwell on it, he’s taking your hand, leading you toward the day he’s planned just for you. Mingyu decides to take you everywhere.

The smell of warm pastries fills the air as you both settle into a booth. Mingyu insists you try his favorite pancakes. They’re stacked high, topped with whipped cream, and drizzled with syrup. You raise an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the enormous portion.

“Okay, you have to try these,” he insists, pushing a plate of pancakes toward you.

“Are you sure these are as good as you say?”

“Trust me, they’re life-changing,” Mingyu says practically bouncing in his seat, eager for you to try them.

You take a bite, and the fluffiness, the sweetness, the perfect amount of syrup, all of it hits your taste buds in a rush. You pause, eyes wide in surprise. “Okay, okay, I admit it. They’re that good.”

“See? I told you!” Mingyu grins. “Now, pass me the last bite.” You hold your fork up, about to take the last piece of pancake for yourself, when Mingyu leans across the table, “I’m not letting you have it that easily.”

“Oh, it’s on,” you smirk, holding the bite just out of reach. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “You want this last bite? You’re gonna have to work for it.”

He laughs, his voice full of amusement. “You’re really gonna make me fight for it?”

“Absolutely,” you say, digging in your heels and preparing for the battle.

And so begins the great pancake fight. You both fall into an exaggerated tug-of-war with the last piece of pancake. Mingyu’s laughter rings out, the sound infectious. Finally, you make a show of pretending to ‘fight’ for the last bite, your fork and his clashing in the air, until you grab it and pop it in your mouth. He glares at you mockingly, then laughs again, shrugging good-naturedly.

“I’ll get you next time,” he promises, and you roll your eyes.

After wiping syrup off your chin with a napkin, Mingyu stands up with a contented sigh, stretching his arms above his head. He looks down at you with a grin. "Alright, time to burn off all that sugar," he says, picking up the check and tossing a few bills onto the table. "Next stop—arcade!"

"An arcade? Really?"

"Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for."

You grab your bag, following him out of the café and into the crisp air. As you both walk down the street, Mingyu leads the way basically bouncing as you head toward the neon-lit arcade a few blocks away. The sound of clinking coins and cheerful music grows louder the closer you get, and you can feel the excitement building.

When you reach the entrance, Mingyu holds the door open for you with a flourish. "After you," he says with a grin.

You step inside, greeted by the flashing lights and the vibrant sounds of the arcade. It’s a bit overwhelming at first but then you hear Mingyu’s voice over the noise, full of enthusiasm.

“Let’s see if you can keep up!” Mingyu’s eyes light up the moment he sees a game he’s good at. You follow him, amused, and find yourself standing in front of a claw machine. The giant stuffed animals inside stare down at you, their big eyes unblinking. “I’m warning you now,” Mingyu says, his tone smug. “I’ve got a 100% success rate with these things.”

You roll your eyes. "Is that so? Well, I’m about to prove you wrong."

He grins and hands you some coins. “Sure, but don’t get too upset when I win.”

You laugh, stepping up to the claw machine and starting your attempt. The claw moves clumsily, completely missing the prize.

“See? Told you,” Mingyu teases, already stepping up to take his turn. His fingers hover over the controls, his focus making his brow furrow in concentration. "Watch and learn," he says, as he carefully maneuvers the claw. You can see the way he’s calculating every move, adjusting his grip with precision. With one smooth motion, the claw sinks perfectly into the plush bear's fur, and with a satisfying click, it hoists the stuffed animal up.

You’re left speechless for a moment as Mingyu snatches it from the prize chute, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He holds it out to you, the oversized bear almost comically larger than his own chest.

“Here,” he says, clearly too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d win.”

You take the bear, grinning in defeat. “Fine, you win this round. But I’m getting you back.”

“I’m not worried. Let’s see how you do in the next game.”

The competition continues, the two of you moving from machine to machine. Every game brings another round of teasing, laughter, and playful banter. Mingyu gets so competitive that his voice rises in exaggerated frustration when he loses and you can't help but giggle at how seriously he takes everything. At one point you're both doubled over in laughter, unable to breathe as Mingyu pretends to ‘fall’ into a virtual race car, his arms flailing as he crashes into the walls of the game.

By the end of it, you’re both out of breath and giggling uncontrollably, each sporting a ridiculous grin. You look at the stuffed animal still tucked under your arm and then back at Mingyu. “Guess it’s mine after all,” you say with a sigh, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.

Mingyu just laughs, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “Of course it is. You should know better by now.”

The sun is now setting as you both arrive at the park, the golden hour light casting everything in a warm, soft glow. Mingyu's carrying a wicker basket in one hand, the other brushing through his hair as he looks for the perfect spot and you just follow, taking in the peaceful scenery.

He drops the basket beside a large, checkered blanket he’s already laid out, smoothing it down with care. There’s something so domestic about the whole setup, so surprisingly perfect. He places a few cushions on the blanket, pulling everything into place as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

As you sit down beside him, he smiles, a little shy. “Okay, here’s the moment of truth.” He opens the basket, revealing containers filled with food like homemade sandwiches, fresh fruit, a small salad, and a few pastries wrapped up neatly. It all looks perfectly arranged, the kind of meal you’d expect from someone who knows what they’re doing.

"You made all this?"

Mingyu nods proudly though there's a trace of nervousness in his expression. “Yep. Every single thing. I might not be a professional, but I can follow a recipe.”

You chuckle, “Well, we’ll see if it’s as good as they look.”

Without hesitation, you grab one of the sandwiches taking a big bite. The flavors hit you immediately—fresh, savory, and not so surprisingly, delicious. Your eyes widen as you chew, momentarily lost in the taste.

Mingyu watches you with a grin, anticipating your reaction. He bites his lip nervously, fingers drumming against the basket as he waits for your verdict.

The bread is perfectly toasted, the filling is perfectly seasoned, and it’s just... good. No surprise there. You’ve had his cooking many, many times by now and every time he manages to make even the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.

You glance up at him as you chew. “Not bad,” you say with a teasing smile though it’s a compliment disguised as a joke. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is, what, your fiftieth time making me lunch?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes, right?” He looks at you with a mix of pride and that shy smile that’s too endearing. “I mean, it’s not that surprising, is it? I’ve been cooking for years.”

A small smile tugging at your lips. "True. You've always been the one to get way too competitive in the kitchen. But really, it's good. It's… annoyingly good, as usual."

He beams pleased by your reaction, “I’m glad you think so,” he says, his voice low and warm. He watches you take another bite before reaching for a small container of fruit. You can see the glint in his eyes like he’s genuinely happy to share something he’s put effort into with you.

Time melts away, the day slipping through your fingers like golden sunlight filtering through the trees. And then, as the sky deepens into hues of pink and orange, Mingyu, reaches into his bag, pulling out a box. He hands it to you, eyes soft but filled. “One more gift,” he says, his voice lower now, savoring this moment just as much as you are.

You carefully lift the lid of the box, your curiosity piqued. Inside are two candles, one shaped like a rotating heart, the other a Rubik’s cube, but with tiny hearts as the pieces. You look at them then up at him, your heart suddenly skipping a beat.

“I made these,” his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the box. “The heart one… it reminded me of you. And the cube, well…” He lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing his thumb nervously over the box’s edge. “It felt like something I could make, something fun.”

You’re silent for a moment, taking in everything. There’s something about the care he’s put into every detail, the choices he made, the way he looked at you all day, it all makes your heart ache in the best way possible. “You made these?” you ask, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the candles, studying the intricate designs. There’s so much attention to detail, so much of him in every inch of them.

Mingyu nods, the corners of his lips curling upward as he watches your reaction. “Yeah. Picked the scents, the colors… everything.” You notice how his fingers twitch at his side, a nervous habit he doesn’t even realize he’s doing. “Do you like them?”

You don’t answer with words instead, you step closer, the soft rustling of the grass beneath barely registering as you close the distance between the two of you. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek softly against his chest.

There’s a brief stillness. You feel his breath catch, his heartbeat thumping in the space between you. His arms hesitate for a fraction of a second but, he pulls you closer. His hands find your back, his embrace steady, warm, like it was meant for this moment. He exhales slowly, the tension that had built throughout the day is finally melting away. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely a murmur, but full of all the unsaid things between you. His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, savoring the quiet, the stillness, and the feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

As the evening unfolds, the last stop of your day is quickly approaching: dinner. But before you can indulge in a fancy meal, Mingyu takes a slight detour.

He glances at you as you both drive toward your dorm. "Let’s stop by your place first. You need to drop off those stuffed animals," he says with a grin, glancing over at the pile of plush toys filling the backseat.

You chuckle, nodding. "Good idea. I’m not sure how much more my arms can handle."

When you arrive, you grab the stuffed animals one by one, making your way into the dorm. Mingyu follows, standing by the door as you carefully place each one in its spot. There’s a chuckle in the air as you look at the growing collection. "You know," you say with a smile, "I’m going to need a bigger bed at this point."

"I'll help you make room," Mingyu says easily, his voice light as he stands in the doorway, watching you.

Once the stuffed animals are safely tucked away, you both head back to the car, driving to the destination. Arriving at the restaurant, Mingyu opens the door for you, his presence is as attentive as ever. The place is just as elegant as you remembered when you booked it, soft candlelight, a cozy ambiance, and the murmur of other patrons creating the perfect atmosphere for an unforgettable night.

Dinner is everything you could’ve hoped for. The food is exquisite, the conversation flowing naturally between the two of you as if this was just another evening together. There’s no need for pretension, no need to try too hard. Everything feels easy, comfortable, and perfect.

When the check arrives, you reach for your wallet instinctively but Mingyu is already one step ahead. "Nope," he says firmly, his smile still warm and gentle as he pushes your hand away. "I insist. I’m treating you tonight."

You give him a mock pout, raising an eyebrow. "But I was supposed to pay! Remember our deal?"

"I know," he says, his voice a little playful, a little serious. "But you’ve already made this day so special. Let me do this, okay?" His smile grows as he sees the look in your eyes that says, You’re not getting out of this one.

Sighing dramatically but with a fond smile, you relent. "Fine. But next time, it’s on me."

He nods, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he settles the bill. As the two of you leave the restaurant, the night feels like it’s already wrapped in a perfect little bow.

By the time you arrive to his place, it feels as if the day has come full circle, every moment leading to this one, this next step, whatever it may be.

Mingyu pulls into the parking spot and without a word, he opens the door for you, his hand brushing yours as you both step out. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your heart flutter.

As the door closes behind you both, Mingyu sets his suit jacket down, now left only in his black button-down shirt. You, on the other hand, sink into the couch, not sure what to do or say next. It’s 9 p.m., and you’ve got an hour left before you have to return to your dorm. The day has been filled with so much laughter and moments that have made your heart race and now here you are, in his cozy apartment, not quite ready for it to end.

As you sit there lost in your thoughts, you don’t expect what happens next. Mingyu extends his hand toward you, his fingers beckoning in the soft glow of the room inviting you into his space, into his arms. You don’t hesitate for a second, your hand finding his without a second thought, letting him pull you up to your feet. And then he naturally begins to guide you into a slow dance. The music in the background is soft, almost a whisper, but it doesn’t matter as it’s the rhythm of your hearts that sets the pace now.

You take a step forward, your chest brushing gently against his. Mingyu stays perfectly still, like he’s holding his breath, as if afraid to break the spell. There’s a delicate tension between you, a space between your lips that’s filled only with the moment.

Your fingers glide along the collar of his shirt, drawn to him by some unseen force and you lean in just slightly, “You never really told me why you chose lavender.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicker to yours, his gaze soft, intense and filled with a sincerity that makes your heart race a little faster. His hands find their place on your waist but he hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling you even closer, the heat from his palms burning through the fabric of your sweater, leaving a trace of his warmth on your skin.

His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Because,” he says, his lips grazing your ear, “it reminds me of you… and it's your favourite”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn’t expect him to say something like this, leaving you speechless for a moment. You can feel the room closing in around you, the mood lights casting soft shadows that only make the space between you two feel even more intimate. The world outside feels distant now, irrelevant. All that matters is the way Mingyu holds you, the way he makes everything feel right.

Then in a surprising and tender move, Mingyu slowly sinks to one knee, his gaze never leaving yours. His hands still linger on your waist, steadying himself as he looks up at you with a soft, genuine smile. “I’ve had the best day with you, and I can’t imagine my days without you anymore,” he says, his voice filled, his heart in his eyes. “So... I need to ask you, officially… will you be my girlfriend?”

The room feels even smaller now, the moment so heavy with emotion that it’s almost suffocating in the best way possible. Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as his words settle in your mind. Your heart swells with joy as you look down at him, knowing that you’ve both come this far, knowing that this is more than just a question.

“Yes.” The word escapes your lips and as soon as it’s out, Mingyu’s smile stretches wide, that same smile that makes everything around you fade into the background. His eyes sparkle with joy, and you swear it’s like he’s glowing. You can feel a warmth fill your chest, overwhelming.

He stands up, his grin still never faltering and leans in, resting his forehead against yours. There’s no need for words now; the silence between you is thick with meaning, with a thousand unspoken things that only the two of you understand.

But as the joy of the moment settles in, a sudden realization makes your heart tighten and it feels heavy in your chest. A thought flashes through your mind that makes your throat close up and your chest ache.

You think about how you never really noticed Mingyu. How you were blind to him, how you failed to see him for what he was to you. How, all along, he was there, patient and constant, while you kept pushing him away, thinking he was just a friend. He was the secret admirer you never even considered and he had carried all that weight on his own. He never lashed out. He never got angry. Instead, he waited. He never gave up on you, never turned away, even when you hurt him again and again with your obliviousness. A rush of guilt floods through you. The thought of how much you put him through, how you always doubted yourself thinking he was too good for you, never giving him the chance to show you how much he cared, it makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, pulling back just slightly so you can look into his eyes, searching for the words to say, what’s been buried inside you for so long. “I need to tell you something.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening as he waits, already knowing something heavy is coming.

“I always liked you,” you admit, the words trembling on your lips, finally finding their way into the open air. “But I never came to terms with it, because I was scared. I was scared that if I let myself believe it, it would only end in disappointment. You’re… you’re so out of my league, Mingyu. You’re the kind of person every woman dreams of. And me? I’m just lucky to be one of your closest friends. I didn’t want to push my luck, to ask for more.” You take a breath, “I never thought you’d choose me. I never thought I could be more than just your friend. But then you were always so kind, so patient with me even when I didn’t see it. You carried all of that on your own and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known what was right in front of me. And if you never confessed, I might’ve never been able to say this to you… but I like you, Mingyu. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

The moment you finish, everything feels still. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly but he doesn’t speak and neither do you. It’s like time has frozen and all you can do is stand there, your heart racing, waiting for him to process what you’ve said. The silence is deafening and yet it’s comforting, because it feels like this is the most real thing you’ve ever said.

Mingyu stands still for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on your waist and then slowly, his expression changes. “I don’t want you to ever doubt yourself,” he finally says. “You’re everything I could ever want, and more. I didn’t care about being the man of every woman’s dreams, because all I ever wanted was you.” He lifts his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “I waited because I knew it would be worth it,” he adds, his eyes never leaving yours. “And now, I’m just… so glad I did.”

Tears prick at your eyes as the full weight of his words hits you, and before you can stop them, a tear slips down your cheek. Mingyu wipes it away kindly, his smile full of so much love that it nearly breaks you.

“You never hurt me, you know,” he says lovingly, “because I knew we’d get here eventually. And now, all I want is for you to know that I’m here. Always here for you no matter what happens.”

Mingyu doesn't like you, but loves you, more than you ever thought possible. He'd never needed anyone else because all along, you were enough. No one else could compare to you in his eyes. The thought of being with anyone else never crossed his mind, because it was always you.

You tiptoe and press a soft kiss on his lips, an apology for the past misunderstandings, a rush of emotions fills your chest. You pull away but before you can even fully pull back, his hands are already on your waist, drawing you back to him. His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that makes your stomach flip, a desperation that feels almost uncontainable. His kiss is deep, slow, and deliberate and the weight of it is enough to knock the breath out of you. "Mingyu..." you murmur against his lips, your body melting into his warmth. His grip tightens ever so slightly, his body stiffening in worry. He pulls away, chest heaving with shallow breaths. His voice is laced with uncertainty though it trembles with desire.

"Tell me to stop," he says, low and unsteady, "And I will."

For a moment you just look at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there's nothing. His love for you is written in every inch of him, in the way his fingers gently graze your cheek, in the way his breath catches when you shift closer.

You lean in again, closing the space between you. The moment your lips meet, he kisses you slow, deep and it makes your heart race. His hand moves from your cheek to your back, pulling you flush against him and you can feel every beat of his heart against yours. There's nothing hurried about it, just slow, careful movements that send sparks flying in your veins making you feel like you're floating. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully right.

He knows that this time, you see him. This time you see the admirer is right in front of you.

“To the one who has always been right in front of me,

I used to write these letters with the hope that one day, you’d realize it was me. That somehow, my words would reach you before I had to say them out loud. But today, I don’t need to hide behind words anymore.

You know me now—not just as the admirer, but as Mingyu. And I know you, not as someone I can only love from afar, but as someone who chose me back. Still, I wanted to write this—one last letter, not as a confession, but as a promise. A promise that I’ll keep looking at you the way I always have. That I’ll love you not just in grand gestures, but in the small moments too, the ones where love isn’t loud, but it’s there, steady and certain.

So here. This time, I’m not slipping it into a locker or leaving it on a table. I’m giving it to you with my own hands, looking right at you, so you know—this has always been real.

Yours, always.

— Mingyu”

Lee Y/N @y/nisnot_sleeping · 1h

Been mine for a while now…

♡ 4 🔁 - 🗨️ 4

Boo @americano_.boo · 57m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping

Did you just ditch us for THIS ?¡?%&!?

♡ 2 🔁 - 🗨️ 1

yoon ★ @yjh1004 · 49m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping

Finally!!!!

♡ 3 🔁 - 🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 45m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping

🫢🫢🫢

♡ 2 🔁 - 🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 44m

Replying to @americano_.boo

where is @horang_m_a_n ?? crying in the corner because the investigation flopped?

♡ - 🔁 - 🗨️ -

⌦ 💌 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

1K notes · View notes

plushflower · 2 years ago

Text

Why Box Boards……Plush Gem Art …..linktr.ee/PlushGemArt

0 notes

yuujispunches · 1 month ago

Text

Babysitting emergency ~ R.S.

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Summary: Sukuna is in charge of babysitting his little nephew for an evening, should be easy enough right? Turns out it isn’t so he finds himself knocking at his annoying neighbour’s door.

CW (content warning): cuteness overload, modern AU (no curses), ooc Sukuna (he’s kinda nice), Sukuna is an architect for literally mo reason, some light cursing.

AN: This is way too long because I got too into it hahahah but I think really like how this turned out 🤍 English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of character I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

There were very few things that could rattle Sukuna Ryomen. Earthquakes, client meltdowns, the occasional burst pipe on-site, those were all things he could handle effortlessly. But standing in his living room in a faded black hoodie, sweatpants, and socks that hadn’t matched since 9 a.m., he was definitely rattled.

The source of his current crisis was none other than a pink-haired five-year-old named Yuji, his nephew.

The kid was adorable. When he was asleep. Awake? He was a human pinball, a juice-powered chaos gremlin with endless questions and zero fear.

“Uncle Suku, can I feed the fish again?” Yuji called, already climbing onto the kitchen counter.

“We don’t have a fish!” Sukuna snapped, catching a juice box midair. “That’s my garlic press!”

Yuji grinned, completely unbothered, as he jumped down and ran in circles around the coffee table, dragging what used to be a potted plant behind him like a leash.

It was only noon.

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. His sister had begged him, really begged him, to babysit while she and her husband attended a last-minute emergency at her office. He’d said yes because he was a responsible adult with a flexible work-from-home schedule and because, well, he wasn’t heartless.

But this? This was slowly turning into a war of attrition.

He tried distracting Yuji with cartoons. Didn’t work. Tried coloring. Yuji drew on the wall. Tried snacks. The living room now smelled like stale applesauce and childhood regrets.

Sukuna’s eye twitched as a toy firetruck zipped past him and hit the front door.

He needed backup. But not just any backup. His neighbor. He stared at the wall separating his apartment from hers.

You’d lived next door for about six months. Too cheerful. Too nosy. Always humming in the hallways and leaving little potted plants outside your door like this was some rom-com set instead of a downtown apartment building.

And you loved to get on his nerves.

Whenever he bumped into you in the hallway, it was like sparring with a cartoon character. You smiled too much. Talked too much. You once called his very expensive minimalist furniture “cold serial killer chic” and he still hadn’t forgiven you.

But Yuji liked you. A lot. And right now? Sukuna was desperate.

With a long-suffering sigh, he knocked on your door. It opened a few seconds later, revealing you in leggings, a hoodie, and fuzzy socks. You were holding a mug that said BITE ME in cheerful bubble letters.

Your eyes widened. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Brooding himself. Need to borrow a cup of angst?”

“Help me.” Sukuna said flatly.

You blinked. “Sorry, come again?”

He cleared his throat. “I said… Help. Me.” He said it like the mere act of those words leaving his lips physically hurt him. It probably did in fact.

You leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling. “Did you swallow a thumbtack, or did you actually just ask me for help?”

“Yuji.” He said simply, gesturing behind him. A loud crash followed.

Your smile widened. “Say no more.”

——————————————————————————

Fifteen minutes later, you were in his apartment, crouched on the carpet, helping Yuji build a pillow fort. The kid had immediately latched onto you like a magnet, and you? You looked completely at ease.

Sukuna watched, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

“Okay, Yuji, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to guard this pillow castle from the evil broccoli overlords.”

“Broccoli is gross!” Yuji shouted.

“Exactly!” You said solemnly. “They must be stopped.”

Yuji saluted you. “Yes, General!”

Sukuna felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. One were his heart did weird things when he saw you laughing at something his little nephew did. He wasn’t handling it well.

“How do you do that?” He asked finally.

You didn’t even look up. “Do what?”

“That. Handle him like you’re some sort of… tiny human whisperer.”

You shrugged. “It’s not that hard. He just wants to play. And not be barked at like he’s a military recruit.”

Sukuna scowled. “I wasn’t… Okay, maybe a little. But in my defense, he colored on my tax documents.”

You laughed. “Honestly? That’s kind of iconic.”

He groaned. “Of course you’d say that.”

Yuji popped up from behind the couch. “Uncle Suku, can she stay forever?”

He sputtered. “No.”

“Yes.” you said at the same time.

Yuji laughed, then returned to his fort.

Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for stepping in.”

You waved him off. “I love this stuff. Chaos is my natural habitat.”

“I can tell.” He muttered, eyeing the glitter stuck to your sleeve.

You grinned. “Admit it. You’re relieved I came over.”

He looked away. “I… You’re not entirely useless, I guess.”

“A glowing review.” You said. “Should I write that on my resume?”

You ended up staying all afternoon. Sukuna tried to pretend he was annoyed by it, but the truth was… the apartment felt lighter with you in it. Your laughter made Yuji light up. Your presence calmed the room. You even helped him clean up after Yuji crashed for a nap on the couch, completely worn out from fort-building and broccoli slaying.

“You want tea?” He asked, half-grumbling.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering because you’re being polite, or because you’ve realized I’m delightful?”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m offering because you stopped him from destroying my apartment and my will to live. Tea is the least I can do.”

“Romantic.” You said dryly. “But sure.”

He handed you a mug and sat across from you at the table, eyes half-lidded, arms folded.

The silence was surprisingly… comfortable.

“I still don’t get why you hate me.” You said after a moment.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You kind of do.” You smirked.

He exhaled. “You’re loud.”

“And?”

“Too cheerful.”

“And?”

“You rearranged the mailboxes that one time.”

You laughed. “Because they were in the wrong order. You’re such a Virgo.”

“I’m a Scorpio.”

“That tracks too.”

He gave you a look, but the edge in his eyes was softened by something else. Amusement?

“Okay.” You said, sipping your tea. “Let’s lay it out. You’re grumpy and tense. I’m sunshine and rainbows. Opposites attract.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” You said with a shrug. “Is it working?”

Sukuna opened his mouth, then shut it. For the first time in years Ryomen Sukuna had been rendered speechless. The silence stretched for a bit.

Then he stood and walked to the sink, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

You smiled behind your mug. Because you knew that in Sukuna language that wasn’t a no.

——————————————————————————

You came over again the next weekend.

This time, Sukuna asked. Not begged. Not pleaded. Just a text that read:

You busy? Yuji’s back. Bring sugar.

You arrived ten minutes later with cupcakes and a grin.

Over the next few weeks, it became a pattern. Sukuna watched Yuji during the day. You popped over to help when you could. The three of you became an oddly functional little trio.

You learned that Sukuna was surprisingly good at drawing. That he secretly loved cooking shows. That he kept extra fuzzy blankets but pretended they were for guests.

He learned that you used sarcasm as a shield. That your last relationship ended because someone told you to “stop being so much.” That you secretly worried you were too loud for quiet people like him.

He told you, one night while Yuji was snoring in the other room “You’re not too much. People just suck.”

You smiled so hard it hurt.

He noticed. He was utterly screwed.

——————————————————————————

The day it all changed, Yuji had just left with his mom, and the apartment was quiet again. You were helping Sukuna pack away the last of the kid’s toys.

You held up a plastic lightsaber. “I’m keeping this.”

“You literally didn’t buy it.”

“I earned it with emotional labor.”

Sukuna smirked. “You’re ridiculous.”

You put the lightsaber down and looked at him.

He was closer than you thought. Still in his black hoodie, hair a little messy, he had red finger paint smudged on his left cheek and his eyes were dark and unreadable.

“I like you, you know?” You said softly.

He didn’t respond right away. Then he stepped forward. His hand found your waist.

And just like that he kissed you.

It was warm and slow and soft in a way that made your heart ache. No snark. No banter. Just the press of his lips on yours and the quiet hum of understanding between two people who had somehow, impossibly, become each other’s favorite chaos. When he pulled back, you blinked in shock, your heart almost beating out of your chest.

“Wow.” You whispered. “That was…”

“I should’ve done that weeks ago.” He said.

You smiled. “You absolutely should’ve.”

He hesitated, only for a moment, just enough to make you squirm a bit. “Wanna go out sometime? Like, a real date. No Legos involved.”

You looped your arms around his neck. “Only if you promise to let me win at Mario Kart.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then I’m in.” You beamed at him.

——————————————————————————

The first date was his idea. Which, honestly? Surprised both of you.

It started with a knock on your door, three days after the kiss. You opened it expecting mail or a neighbor with a Wi-Fi emergency. Instead, there was Sukuna, in a navy-blue jacket, holding a small paper bag and looking like he’d spent twenty minutes pacing before mustering the courage to ring your bell.

He cleared his throat. “Put on shoes. I’m taking you somewhere.”

You blinked. “Wow. So romantic. You didn’t even offer me a rose or tell me to pack a bag for a mysterious getaway.”

“I brought food.” He held up the bag like it was a peace treaty.

“What is it?”

“Gyoza from that place you like. The one with the sarcastic waiter.”

You smiled, grabbing your coat. “You’re lucky I’m easy.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “That’s debatable”, but his ears were pink.

——————————————————————————

The date started at a park. Sukuna led you to a quiet, tree-lined path, where you sat on a bench under the soft glow of streetlamps. The weather was cool, the sky cloudy, and for some reason, it felt oddly cinematic.

“You brought me to a park?” You teased. “What are we, eighty?”

“I considered a rooftop, but someone’s afraid of pigeons.”

“I was attacked once.” You said firmly. “They’re sky rats.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes and handed you the gyoza bag. “Eat before you get even more dramatic.”

You bit into a dumpling, humming contentedly. “You know, I never expected you to be the ‘pack a picnic and stroll through the park’ kind of guy.”

“I’m not. But you like this kind of stuff.”

You paused mid-chew. He kept looking straight ahead, refusing to meet your eyes.

“You remembered I like this?”

He shrugged. “You talk a lot. Stuff sticks.”

Your chest tightened with that stupid, fluttery ache that happened every time he did something unexpectedly sweet.

And of course, being you, you couldn’t help but push a little. “So… is this your idea of boyfriend material?”

He gave you a dry look. “Don’t push it.”

“I dunno…” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours playfully. “I might have to make you a Pinterest board.”

“If you do, I’ll set your phone on fire.”

You giggled, and for the first time that evening, he smiled. A real one. Small, lopsided, and rare as hell.

You didn't kiss that night. You both kind of wanted to, but something about it felt too… gentle. Like rushing would break it.

So instead, you walked home with him in silence, hands brushing occasionally. When you reached your door, he said, “Same time next week?”

You grinned. “Only if you bring dessert.”

——————————————————————————

By the third date, he was holding your hand.

By the fourth, he’d let you see his apartment’s second bedroom, the one filled with sketchbooks and drafting tables and old, half-finished models of buildings.

He told you, without looking at you. “I used to want to design theaters.”

You sat beside him on the floor, tracing your fingers over the paper. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Money. Clients want modern. Steel and glass. Emotionless. Easy to clean.”

You whispered, “But you wanted magic.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and said quietly. “Still do.”

That was the night he kissed you again. Not a maybe-kiss, not a I’ve-wanted-to-do-this-for-weeks kiss.

It was a you matter to me kiss.

And that’s when it started.

——————————————————————————

The relationship, if you could even call it that at first, was chaotic.

You were still neighbors. Still bickered like you were trying to win a verbal UFC match. But now he’d kiss you when you were mid-rant. Now you’d steal his hoodies like it was your God-given right. Now you sat on his kitchen counter and kicked your feet while he cooked, and he let you eat the last dumpling without pretending to fight you for it.

Yuji figured it out before either of you said anything.

One Saturday morning, while you were helping him build a pillow fort version 3.0, he looked up and said, “Are you Uncle Suku’s girlfriend now?”

You blinked. “Uh…”

Sukuna, from the other side of the room, said “Yuji.” In almost a warning tone.

“What?” The kid said, frowning. “She’s here all the time. And you kiss. That’s what girlfriends do.”

You covered your face with a pillow.

Sukuna walked over, ruffled Yuji’s hair, and said, “You’re too observant for your own good.”

Yuji beamed. “Does that mean I can call her Auntie?”

“No- ” You and Sukuna said at the same time.

Yuji pouted. “Lame.”

——————————————————————————

It was bumpy, of course. Sukuna didn’t exactly slide into domesticity. The first time you left your hairbrush in his bathroom, he stared at it like it was a live grenade.

“You’re moving in?”

You blinked. “It’s a brush, not a lease agreement.”

“I’m just saying, that’s how it starts. First the brush. Then you’re here every night. Then I wake up and there’s throw pillows on my bed.”

“God forbid you experience lumbar support.”

Eventually, though, he got used to it. You being there. Your humming in the morning. Your socks in his drawer. The way you curled up on his couch and tucked your feet under his thigh like you belonged there.

One night, after too much wine and too many old horror movies, you looked at him,flushed and sleepy, and said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

He froze.

You panicked. “I mean, not like in love in love. Not in a weird way. Just, like, casual love. Like a chill-”

He kissed you. Long. Firm. No hesitation.

When he pulled back, he said “I love you too. Ever since you knocked on my door with a batch of welcome cupcakes.”

You blinked. “You don’t say anything for ten minutes and then just- ?!”

“I was trying not to freak out, okay?” He snapped. “You caught me off guard.”

You snorted. “You? Mr. Stoic? Freaked out?”

He grumbled. “Shut up.”

But you didn’t.

You laughed, leaned into his chest, and said once again “I love you.”

And this time, he whispered it back immediately.

——————————————————————————

Dating Sukuna was like learning a new language.

He didn’t always say the right things. Sometimes he snapped when he meant to ask. Sometimes he shut down when he should’ve opened up. But he showed love in small, quiet gestures.

A thermos of your favorite tea on his counter when you were sick. An extra key on your keyring that you definitely hadn’t put there. A grumble of “Don’t be late” when you had a big meeting.

And you? You loved out loud. Sticky notes on his mirror. Spontaneous takeout at midnight. Kisses on the back of his neck while he worked on new sketches.

You argued, of course. Loudly. Often. Once about the right way to fold towels. Another time about whether Die Hard was a Christmas movie, which, by the way, you won. Once about the color of a shower curtain.

But the make-ups were always worth it.

Sometimes that meant soft apologies whispered under the covers. Sometimes it meant passionate, desperate kisses against the kitchen counter.

Sometimes it meant cuddling on the couch with Yuji between you, asleep, while the TV played forgotten cartoons in the background.

——————————————————————————

One night, months into the chaos, you were curled up on Sukuna’s bed, flipping through one of his sketchbooks. He was brushing his teeth, hair damp from the shower, wearing the gray sweatpants that absolutely should’ve been illegal.

You held up a sketch of a tiny theater with stained glass windows and velvet curtains.

“I love this one.”

He spat into the sink. “Old. From college.”

“Why didn’t you build it?”

He shrugged. “Too sentimental. No one wants that crap.”

You hesitated. “I do.”

He glanced at you in the mirror.

You closed the book. “I want all your sentimental crap. All of it. The weird sketches. The hoodie you never wear but won’t throw away. The grumpy texts. The yelling. The quiet. I want all of it.”

He turned. You waited.

Then, softly, he said, “You already have it.”

You smiled. “Even the hoodie?”

“Especially the hoodie.”

You laughed, and he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you into his chest.

——————————————————————————

Six months after the first kiss, you officially moved in. Not all at once, it started with your toiletries, then your sweaters, then somehow your cat, who terrorised Sukuna for the first week.

The building super made a joke about it one day in the hallway.“You two finally caved, huh?”

Sukuna just smirked, one hand on your lower back.

“Better than her breaking into my apartment every other night.”

You elbowed him. “I never broke in.”

“You climbed through the fire escape.”

“Once!”

“You brought tacos.” He conceded. “So I let it slide.”

——————————————————————————

One morning, while brushing your teeth beside him, you looked at him in the mirror and said, “You know I love you, right?”

He met your eyes. “I know.”

“And you… love me too?”

He leaned down, kissed your toothpaste-foamed cheek, and said “Unfortunately.”

You grinned.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was yours.

A slow-burn romance with yelling and laughter and pizza stains. A relationship built on bickering and babysitting and the most unhinged five-year-old matchmaker alive.

And somehow, against all odds? It worked.

——————————————————————————

You two had decided to keep your relationship to yourselves for a while, not that you were ashamed of it because you weren’t in the slightest. You just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of living in your own little bubble, but given that there was a five-years-old that was the embodiment of ADHD that knew… the secret was meant to come out rather sooner than later.

It happened at a family barbecue. A simple, innocent Sunday afternoon.

Sukuna’s sister had invited him, meaning, both of you to her house just outside the city because she wanted to thank you for “Not allowing her brother to throw Yuki out of the window”. It was a yearly tradition: kids running around, way too much food, and at least one uncle getting into an argument about lawn maintenance.

You didn’t expect much. Just decent grilled corn, a slightly-overcooked burger, and maybe a chance to mess with Sukuna’s head by being overly charming to his extended family.

You didn’t expect Yuji to completely detonate your secret relationship like a tiny pink-haired grenade.

——————————————————————————

“I told you.” Sukuna muttered as you got out of the car. “My family is nosy.”

You slipped on your sunglasses. “And I told you: I’m adorable. They’ll love me.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “You stole my last piece of cheesecake last night.”

“And yet you still let me wear your hoodie this morning. That’s love, baby.”

He made a noise that could’ve been a scoff or a suppressed laugh. You counted it as a win either way.

You walked into the backyard hand-in-hand, a detail you both completely forgot until it was too late. Music was playing, kids were screaming, and the smell of charcoal filled the air.

Sukuna’s sister came over first, grinning. “There he is! The brooding menace himself.” She said as she hugged the brooding tattooed man next to you. “And his emotional support ray of sunshine.” She beamed at you, as she embraced you.

She laughed as hugged you both. “It’s about time you brought her around again. Yuji hasn’t shut up about her.”

“Of course not.” You said. “I’m his favorite adult.”

“Excuse me?” Sukuna said.

“I don’t make him eat vegetables.”

“You bribed him with marshmallows to get him to brush his teeth.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

Sukuna muttered something about bad influences and childhood cavities, but his hand didn’t leave your lower back the whole time.

You tried to play it cool. Smile. Be casual. Only… it was hard to stay subtle when Yuji was running toward you at full speed, arms wide.

“AUNTIEEEE!”

Sukuna flinched like he’d been hit.

You bent down to scoop Yuji into a hug. “There’s my favorite little chaos goblin!”

“I missed you!” He said. “Uncle Suku was so boring last week. He wouldn’t let me use the hose indoors.”

“Because I’m not a psychopath.”

You whispered to Yuji “We’ll stage a mutiny later.”

He giggled and kissed your cheek loudly.

That was strike one.

——————————————————————————

Strike two came later when one of Sukuna’s cousins, a tall guy with a man bun and too many opinions about kombucha asked. “So, what’s your deal with the grump here? Just friends?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deflect with your usual “I’m his handler” joke, but Yuji beat you to it.

“They kiss a lot!” Exclaimed proudly, licking a popsicle. “Like, a lot a lot. I saw them one time on the couch and Uncle Suku said I had to pretend I didn’t.”

Dead silence. You blinked. Sukuna blinked.

The cousin blinked and grinned. “Ohhhh.”

You covered your face.

——————————————————————————

Strike three came barely a minute later when Yuji, still unaware of the social nuke he’d dropped, said to Sukuna’s mom, loudly. “Uncle Suku said he’s gonna marry her one day but he’s being a big chicken about it.”

Sukuna choked on his beer. You very, very calmly set down your lemonade before you dropped it.

Yuji looked up at his grandmother innocently. “Right, Ba-chan? He said he was gonna do it soon. With a ring and everything. Like on TV.”

The silence was now legendary. Sukuna’s mother turned slowly to her eldest son.

He coughed, red-faced, and muttered “Kids say weird things.”

“Oh no.” You said, barely holding back laughter. “Let’s hear more about this ring, chicken man.”

“I’m going to exile him.” Sukuna growled. “I swear to God.”

——————————————————————————

You didn’t bring it up again that night.

He was flustered enough. You could tell by how much he was cleaning. Sukuna never cleaned while angry, only while thinking. While trying to process. And judging by how many times he rearranged his spice rack, he was practically having an existential crisis.

So you let it go, for about a week at least. Until you noticed him acting… weirder than usual.

You’d wake up and find him staring at you like he was trying to memorize every freckle on your face. He kept checking his coat pockets, muttering under his breath. He googled “best restaurants with rooftop views near me” and pretended he didn’t. He even said “I love you” first one night and then acted like he hadn’t.

You were no genius, but you could put two and two together. Still, you didn’t say anything.

Because this? Watching him unravel like a tightly wound spool of sarcasm and anxiety? This was fun.

——————————————————————————

The night it finally happened, he invited you to dinner. Which wasn’t weird. Except he was nervous. Weirdly nervous.

“You okay?” You asked, brushing lint off his shirt as he fiddled with his keys.

“Fine.”

“You look like you’re about to testify in court.”

He scowled. “Just get in the car.”

He took you to a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. Very fancy. Very romantic. Very not Sukuna.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Trying to get laid or trying to hide a body?”

“Shut up.”

The dinner was good. The wine was better. And you were just starting to feel that warm, fizzy buzz when Sukuna reached into his coat pocket.

Paused. Frowned. Checked the other pocket. Then the inside. Then his wallet.

“Everything okay?” You asked, eyeing him as if he had just grown a second head.

“I… I forgot something.”

You tilted your head. “What’d you forget?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair into a waiter. Then he mumbled “Be right back” and practically sprinted down the stairs.

You stared after him.

Okay you thought to yourself, So either he’s proposing or he just remembered he left the oven on.

——————————————————————————

Ten minutes later, he came back, flushed and out of breath, holding…

A tiny, slightly crumpled black velvet box.

You blinked. He sat down, still panting.

“Had to run to the car.” He muttered. “Was in the glovebox. Under your fuzzy socks.”

You stared at him. Then at the box. Then back at him.

“You kept a ring next to my socks?”

“I panicked!”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

He exhaled and pushed the box toward you, not opening it, not kneeling, just sliding it across the table like it was a cursed artifact.

“I was gonna do this right.” He said. “Fireworks. String lights. Maybe a cat in a tux.”

“A cat in a- ”

“But then Yuji opened his gob, and you started looking at me like you knew, and I started panicking every time you reached for a coffee mug like you might find it by accident- ”

You opened the box. Simple. Silver band. A small, round-cut diamond in a vintage setting. Elegant. Understated. So you.

You looked up, eyes glossy. “You picked this?”

He shrugged. “You said you liked rings that look like heirlooms. You were half-asleep. Probably don’t even remember saying it.”

Your chest ached. You stood, walked around the table, and sat on his lap, not caring that half the restaurant was now watching.

“You’re a mess.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“And you’re a menace.” He said. “I think I’m about to have a heart attack, so can you please just put me out of my misery?”

“You didn’t actually ask, you know.”

He rolled his eyes. “Will you marry me, even though I’m emotionally stunted and allergic to sentiment?”

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

He kissed you. Not gentle, not shy, but completely, hopelessly yours.

Applause broke out from a nearby table.

You flipped them off without breaking the kiss.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t tell Yuji until a week later.

He was on your shared couch, watching cartoons, shoveling goldfish crackers into his mouth. You sat beside him. Sukuna stood behind the couch, arms crossed, trying not to smile.

“Hey, champ.” You said. “Guess what?”

Yuji looked at you.

“We’re getting married.”

Yuji gasped. Loudly.

Then jumped up and screamed. “I WIN! I WIN! I TOLD YOU!”

You blinked. “Told who what?”

He pointed at Sukuna. “He said he wasn’t gonna do it until next year. But I said he was a big chicken and he was gonna do it this month! I win!”

Sukuna stared at his nephew like he was an ancient demon haunting his bloodline.

“Did you bet on my proposal timeline?” You asked.

Yuji looked smug. “I also bet with Ba-chan. She owes me ice cream.”

You howled with laughter.

Sukuna groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m being outsmarted by a five-year-old?”

You leaned into him, kissing his cheek. “Because you are.”

Neither of you would change a thing.

Tags: @noooo-onee @suna-yoshihara @hawkwithsocks @pickledsoda

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna fic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen fluff #jjk au #jjk blog #sukuna oneshot

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stormsthatrage · 1 year ago

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It bugs me that so many people's default example of published fanfic is 50 Shades of Grey.

What about West Side Story, a famous modern AU of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?

What about Dante's Inferno, a self-insert RPF if I've ever seen one?

What about Wicked, a pre-canon AU of The Wizard of Oz?

Hell, what about Percy Jackson? There's definitely an argument to be made that that's a modern AU of various Greek myths.

Humans have been writing fanfic as long as they have been telling stories. In about the year 20 BC, our dear Roman poet Ovid wrote the Heroides, a series of aggrieved "letters" from the female characters of famous myths to their respective male heroes. Are you telling me that Ovid, writing a letter from the perspective of Queen Dido to Aeneas -- Aeneas, whose fantastical adventures were put into poem by Virgil -- wasn't writing an outsider-POV fic? A fic that is, in fact, translated in Latin classes world-wide today!

There is so much famous fanfic out there, but people tend to forget that it is fanfic once it becomes mainstream enough. And as a consequence of that, people who aren't into fandom don't see how beautiful fanfic is, and some members of fandom feel shame associated with writing and reading fic. But fanfic is beautiful, and it is something humans have always done, and it is nothing to be ashamed about.

So if you ever find yourself in a situation to give an example of published fic, think outside the box. Remember that published fanfics hide in plain sight; once they're famous enough, we no longer think of them as fanfic. And never forget that fanfic is a very, very old human tradition, and your ancestors who partook in it would not have wanted you to feel ashamed of it.

#my soapbox

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buckysleftbicep · 1 month ago

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letters through time (2) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: 1940s!bucky barnes x modern!fem!reader

warnings: bucky being an absolute flirt, some angst

summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love.

word count: 1.8k

author's note: chapter 2 is here!! i love this chapter so, so much and i hope you do too! thank you for stopping by my loves! i miss 40s!bucky so much.

series masterlist

It became a ritual.

Each morning, before brushing your teeth or even checking your phone, you opened the drawer.

Sometimes the letter was already waiting—tucked beneath the linen cloth like it had grown there overnight, the envelope still warm from some invisible warmth. Other times, you had to wait. Hours. A day. But it always came.

And with every letter, Bucky Barnes became less of a ghost and more of a person.

You learned the rhythm of his days. The sharp whistle that pulled him from his bunk before sunrise. The sound of boots slamming against pavement during drills. The warmth of the boys in his unit, the fear of the war hidden behind their jokes, the quiet way Steve carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint.

You told him about your own days. The museum. The cataloging. How every box of artefacts made you feel like you were touching echoes of a time you now saw through his eyes.

You joked about your coffee addiction, the neighbour’s cat who acted like it owned the hallway, and the fact that you were talking to a man who was born before sliced bread became a thing.

He told you he found that hilarious.

March 19th, 1944 Sweetheart, You said people in the future are obsessed with their coffee, right? I’m starting to think I was born in the wrong era. But you wanna know the real reason I wake up smiling lately? It’s you. Your words. Your voice in my head when I read your letters. I never thought paper and ink could feel like a heartbeat. I asked Steve what he thinks about writing letters to a girl from the future. He laughed and told me if anyone could charm a girl, it’d be me. So. Here I am. Trying. Yours, Bucky

Somewhere between shared stories and inside jokes, your letters turned soft.

You told him about your favourite books. The first time you got your heart broken. That sometimes you felt a little lost, like you were floating through life without knowing where to land. You asked if he ever felt the same.

He did.

You asked what scared him most.

Not coming home. Forgetting who I am, maybe. Being forgotten. Losing people I love. Losing myself. Does that count?

You wrote back that of course it counts. That he wouldn’t be forgotten. Not by history. Not by you.

He sent a dried daisy once. Pressed between the pages of his letter. He picked it, he said, from a patch behind his barracks, just for you. It arrived crisp and pale, as if time hadn’t dared touch it.

You said you like soft things, doll. Thought you deserved something pretty. Hope the flower’s not too crushed, I’m better at shooting targets than pressing petals. I like thinking of you with something I held in my hands. Makes this whole crazy thing feel real. You feel real to me, (Y/N).

You read that line more times than you meant to.

And then one night, after a long shift at the museum and the kind of quiet that makes you feel a little too alone, you sat down at your desk with a pen in your hand and a question you weren’t sure you should ask.

You asked him for a photo.

It felt like you were crossing some invisible line. But the way your chest fluttered when you read his letters, the way your cheeks warmed at his teasing, it made you want to see him. Not the black-and-white image in a museum. Not the name in a textbook.

Him.

You folded the letter before you could change your mind and tucked in a polaroid, nothing dramatic. Just you in the corner of your room, soft light spilling across your face, your favourite sweater slipping off one shoulder as you smiled, small and uncertain, into the lens.

You slid it into the drawer and closed it gently. You didn’t expect anything to happen.

But the next morning, when you opened it again and there it was.

March 24th, 1944 Hey there, gorgeous. Is it allowed for a guy to be knocked breathless by a picture? ‘Cause I think I forgot how to breathe the second I saw you. You're beautiful, (Y/N). There’s this look in your eyes, like you already know me. Like you’ve been waiting for me. You asked for a photo, so I’m sending one. Just me, back behind base, jacket half-off because Steve said I look less like a “buttoned-up cadet” that way. Punk said I should look like the guy writing love letters to a girl in the future. He’s not wrong. Thought you should see the face that’s been stealing your time, sweetheart. Do I get another photo in return? Maybe one where you’re smiling that secret little smile you keep mentioning in your letters? Always yours, Bucky

You pressed the photo to your chest the moment you saw it.

He was handsome, of course, broad shoulders, a strong jaw, that soft curve of a smile. But it was his eyes that got you. Cerulean-blue and impossibly warm. Kind in a way photographs rarely captured. Like they weren’t just looking out, but looking at you. Through paper. Through time. Through everything.

You wrote back with shaking fingers and told him he wasn’t playing fair.

I don’t think you know what you’re doing to me, Bucky Barnes. Your letters make my heart race. And yes, I’ll send another picture. But only if you promise not to fall in love with me too fast. Kidding. (Sort of.) Yours always, (Y/N)

After that, the letters got flirtier.

You called him trouble. He called you trouble he’d gladly ruin himself for.

You teased him about the way he laced his boots after he sent a picture of himself leaning against a wall behind base, jacket slung over one shoulder, boots perfectly tied like he’d stepped out of a training manual.

You really lace them like that every day? you wrote back. No wonder Steve calls you a tightass. You joked after he had complained in the last letter about how Steve comments about his boots and how he laced them.

He replied that a man needed to be ready for anything. Especially if he was trying to impress a girl from the future.

He teased you in return about your obsession with peanut butter and how it came up in almost every letter, how he still couldn’t wrap his head around it being spread on toast.

Can’t wait to try it, he wrote, especially if you’re the one handing me the spoon.

You asked about his childhood.

He told you about Coney Island. Stealing candy from the corner store. Watching fireworks with Steve every Fourth of July. His first kiss at sixteen that made him laugh afterward because he sneezed mid-way through.

You told him about your favourite street vendor, how you always bought two hotdogs and left one for the homeless man at the subway entrance. You said it reminded you that kindness still existed in the world, even when everything felt overwhelming.

Bucky’s reply came back with a line that made your breath catch.

You're the kind of person I fought this war for. You make me believe there’s still good waiting for us on the other side.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

Just reread the letters under your covers like a lovesick teenager. Smiling into your pillow. Laughing softly at his dumb jokes. Heart aching at his soft words. And slowly, slowly, something bloomed.

You were falling for Bucky.

A man eighty years out of reach. A soldier caught in the pages of history. And yet, the way he wrote to you… the way his words wrapped around your heart like warmth in the cold.

It felt real.

And terrifying.

But you didn’t stop writing.

One night, you asked him a dangerous question.

If we could meet one day, if somehow the world let us, what would you want to do first?

His answer came in the next letter, scribbled quickly, like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough.

I’d want to touch your face. Just to make sure you're real. Then I’d probably kiss you. Slow. Like I’ve been waiting lifetimes. We could walk through Brooklyn, hand in hand. You could show me the future, and I’d show you the places where I left pieces of myself. I don’t know how this happened, doll. But I think I’m falling for you. Hell. I know I am.

You pressed your fingers to your lips as you read, like it might soften the ache building in your chest.

He was falling for you.

And god help you because you were falling too.

March 28th, 2020 Dear Bucky, I find myself thinking about you all the time. When I pass old brick buildings. When jazz plays from passing bars. You’ve become a part of my days without me even realising it. I fall asleep thinking about your words. I wake up hoping for another letter from you. And when everything around me feels too loud, it’s your voice in my head that quiets it. There’s something about the way you write, the way you talk to me like I matter, that stays with me through my day. It lingers and it reminds me of the warmth left behind after a fire. I keep your daisy tucked in my favourite book, it's delicate and a little crushed, but I love it because it came from you, because you thought of me. Maybe this is fragile and maybe it’s impossible too. But it feels real. And I don’t want to let it go. I don’t know what this is, not exactly. But I know how I feel when I read your letters. And Bucky… I think I’m falling for you too. Yours, (Y/N)

The reply didn’t come the next morning.

Nor the day after that.

Your heart twisted with worry. Every moment without a letter felt like a thread unraveling from your chest. But then—on the third day, you opened the drawer and found an envelope.

Thicker than usual.

And when you unfolded the pages, your heart nearly burst.

March 31st, 1944 Sweetheart, I’m being deployed. Steve and I are heading to Austria. Orders just came in. We leave in a week. I didn’t want to tell you at first. Didn’t want to break what we’ve built. But I can’t lie to you, I don't want to. You asked what I’d do if I could meet you? Well, I’ve started asking around, talking to Howard. He’s the smartest guy I know. He thinks that maybe there’s a way. A way for me to get to you. He said he’d help me, when we make it back. So, I’m writing this with hope, (Y/N). Hope that when this war ends, when I’ve done what I have to do, I’ll find you. Please wait for me. Yours, always, James

James.

You clutched the letter to your chest, tears stinging your eyes.

You whispered his name like a prayer.

And wrote back with your heart in your throat.

taglist: @ndanddnd @darling-eos @alikkatz @creepybake

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dreamivyisla · 4 days ago

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ִ ࣪𖤐 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ִ ࣪𖤐

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ on your birthday, Elijah “Smoke” Moore gives you more than gifts — he gives you all of him. after months of a slow, tender relationship, tonight’s the night you finally give yourself to him for the first time.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ oh my goodness, first post on here and it’s about Sinners? am i too late?? also i’ve made one with Stack, SAME IDEA! so i’ll post it as well. enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 7.4k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ sexual content, virginity loss, submission, intense dominance, degradation (light, experimental), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dumbification, choking kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds, oral sex (reader receiving), missionary, backshots, body worship, aftercare, and modern au. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓! 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

your birthday always felt quiet. not lonely — just… still. like the world knew how to slow down just for you. the air had that weightless hum to it, a softness only june could give, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t spending it alone.

this year, you had him.

elijah moore.

the one people called “smoke” — not just ‘cause of how he moved but ‘cause of what followed after. heat. tension. silence that filled the space like fog.

but not with you.

with you, he made noise in his own way. not loud. not boastful. but he stayed close. remembered things you forgot you told him. touched you like he meant it. and that meant something, especially from a man who spoke more with his eyes than his mouth.

you’d been with him for some months now — the kind of months that don’t pass like time, but like warmth. like heat lingering in the air after he kissed you, or the way his thumb would press into your lower back when y’all walked into a room. nothing over the top. just enough to feel it, deep.

you never said it out loud, but he already knew — you’d never been with anyone before. not all the way.

you weren’t scared of him. no, not even a little. it was everyone else you didn’t trust. the boys who only wanted what you wouldn’t give. but smoke… he waited. he watched. and when he looked at you, you could feel it — the way he undressed you without ever reaching for your clothes.

he never pushed. never asked.

until tonight.

you didn’t know what to expect when you walked through the door of his apartment.

you’d just come back from dinner. quiet place, low lighting, some jazz humming from the walls like background static. he let you talk most of the night, just watched you sip slow from your glass, his hand draped behind you on the booth like he didn’t wanna crowd you but still needed to be close.

you didn’t notice how tightly you’d held his hand until he pulled you inside with him.

the apartment smelled like something clean and faintly musky — like the cologne he pressed behind his throat and the fresh laundry you helped him fold last sunday, all mixed together.

“sit,” he said low, nodding toward the couch.

you blinked. “you makin’ me nervous.”

a smirk curved on the side of his mouth, slow, like smoke curling off a match. “good.”

you sat. not ‘cause he told you to — ‘cause the way he said it felt final. warm. like a promise.

he stepped away, back into the bedroom for a second.

you glanced around, trying to pretend like your heart wasn’t racing.

you could still taste the sweetness of the strawberry glaze from dessert on your tongue. still felt the weight of his eyes from across the booth, his thumb brushing soft against your thigh under the table.

and then he returned.

a black box in one hand. a single rose in the other.

he placed the rose gently in your lap, then kneeled down in front of you, opening the box with careful fingers.

inside:

a necklace — gold, dainty, thin, like it belonged to the skin more than around it. a small charm hung from it: the letter E.

you looked down at him, breath caught in your throat.

he didn’t smile, but his eyes softened.

“you mine,” he said, fingers brushing your collarbone as he lifted the chain. “this just make it official.”

you nodded before you could even think.

he leaned in, fast but gentle, lips brushing the corner of your mouth like he was still asking permission. your chest tightened. your thighs pressed together on instinct.

“that ain’t even the real gift,” he murmured, voice dragging low against your ear.

you swallowed hard. “then what is?”

his lips ghosted your cheek, a single breath before he stood again.

“come find out.”

your breath hitched the second you stepped into the bedroom.

candles, flickering low on the nightstand and dresser. sheets pulled back neat.

music hummin’ from the speaker in the corner, slow and sensual, bass steady like a heartbeat.

you turned to him, heart in your throat.

“elijah…”

he just looked at you, slow and sure. didn’t say a word. but his hands reached for your waist, and you let him touch you.

his fingers ghosted over the hem of your dress, dragging slow, eyes locked on yours like he was waiting for you to run.

but you didn’t.

you lifted your arms.

he pulled it over your head.

stood still for a second, breathing you in like something sacred.

you shivered. not ‘cause you were cold — ‘cause of how warm his hands were when they touched your skin.

he leaned down and kissed your shoulder.

then your collarbone.

then the curve of your neck.

he didn’t rush. he just let it build.

slow. soft.

like he was unwrapping a gift, not undressing a body.

you didn’t speak — couldn’t.

not when elijah was lookin’ at you like that.

your body was bare, barely lit by the warm flicker of candlelight. he hadn’t said much, but he didn’t need to. his silence was weighty. heavy with all the things you were finally ready for, and all the things he already knew.

his hand slid behind your neck. thick fingers curling gentle under your hair. your skin prickled under his touch, chest rising slow as he leaned in.

“you sure?”

his voice was low. like gravel. like smoke rising up from heat that never quite burned out.

you nodded. “i’m sure.”

he didn’t move at first. just stared at you — his thumb pressed to your jaw, lips barely apart like he was breathin’ in every inch of you.

“aight,” he said under his breath, kissing you soft. “then i’ma take my time.”

his mouth dropped to your neck again, this time lingering. tongue warm, breath hotter. he kissed slow, deep, like each part of you deserved to be remembered.

you whimpered the first time his lips grazed the top of your chest.

“sound like that again,” he muttered into your skin, one hand cupping your breast with just enough pressure to make your back arch. “i like that.”

your fingers tightened in the sheets behind you.

his tongue slid over your nipple, slow, then sucked.

soft at first. then harder.

your thighs clamped together.

“open ‘em,” he said without looking up. voice low. calm.

you hesitated. he tapped your thigh, firm. “spread them legs for me, mama.”

you obeyed.

the air kissed your inner thighs. you could already feel how wet you were — too much, too fast. it embarrassed you. you turned your head, biting your bottom lip to keep from whining out loud.

he noticed.

“why you hidin’ from me?” he said softly, lips dragging down your stomach. “nah, look at me.”

you blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down your body — and there he was.

on his knees. shoulders wide between your thighs. both hands caressing the outsides of them like he was anchoring you there. like he wasn’t lettin’ you go.

he kissed the inside of your leg.

then again.

and again.

your breathing shook. your hips rolled forward on instinct — desperate, wanting, already aching for him to stop teasing and start doing.

“mm.” he chuckled against your skin. “you greedy already, baby? barely even touched you.”

“‘lijah, please,” you whispered. you weren’t even sure what you were asking for.

but he knew.

his breath hit your center, then his tongue. one single, slow lick, long and deep, like he was already drunk off you.

your hips jerked.

he gripped your thighs tighter.

“keep still,” he said thickly. “take what i give you.”

then he dove in.

you didn’t know a man could eat like that.

like he ain’t have nothin’ else to do.

like this was his only job tonight.

like he was studyin’ you through his tongue.

his lips sucked hard on your clit, tongue flickin’ fast, then slow, then fast again — working you open like he already knew your rhythm. your moans poured out your mouth in soft, high cries, your fingers fisting the sheets.

“that’s it,” he said in between, voice rough. “give it to me. lemme hear you.”

you whined. back arching. thighs trembling against his shoulders.

then his fingers pushed inside. two of them. thick. slow at first. curling up till you screamed his name.

“‘lijah—fuck—!”

“that’s it,” he groaned, voice like thunder, deep in your belly. “ain’t even fuck you yet and you already singin’ for me. this pussy so damn tight…”

your head dropped back. he kept goin’. tongue, fingers, rhythm like he was tryna ruin you soft before he ever even got inside.

“feel good?”

you nodded fast. too fast.

“use your words, baby.”

“feels s-so good,” you stammered, legs shaking. “feels—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growled. “you takin’ it. don’t stop now.”

your orgasm hit like a wave — hard, sweet, fast — and he didn’t stop until you were gasping, shaking, hips grinding against his face like your body couldn’t get enough.

he licked you through it. slow, like a man proud of what he’d done.

and then he stood.

his lips and chin glistened in the candlelight. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching you with those same dark, steady eyes.

“now,” he muttered, voice deep with heat, “you ready for your real birthday present?”

you barely noticed when he started undressing.

you were too high off your first orgasm, too dazed by the way he licked his fingers clean like your taste meant something holy.

but then you looked up.

and there he was. shirt off. belt undone. pants loose around his hips.

he was thick. all over. chest cut deep with muscle, abs shadowed in the low candlelight. and when he pulled his briefs down, your breath caught in your throat.

he was big.

not just long — thick. curved just a little. veiny, heavy, already hard for you. your stomach flipped. you swallowed slow.

he caught your face. stared at you hard, just for a second.

“don’t get scared now,” he said low, walking toward the bed.

you didn’t even blink. “i’m not.”

he smiled once. slow.

“good.”

he climbed onto the bed, knee between your thighs, body over yours. his dick was resting heavy against your stomach now, warm and firm, pressed between you both like a quiet threat.

his hand slid up your side. slow. possessive.

“‘lijah…”

“yeah, baby?”

your hands reached for his shoulders. “want you to go slow.”

he leaned down. kissed your lips once, then again, and again — soft, then deeper.

“i got you.”

he meant it.

you watched as he reached down, lined himself up.

you felt the tip slide through your folds first — slow, wet, easy — then nudge right up against your entrance.

your breath stopped.

his eyes locked on yours. “keep your eyes on me.”

you nodded.

then he pushed.

the first inch burned. thick, tight, stretching you more than you’d ever imagined. your fingers dug into his biceps. you whimpered loud — your body trying to tense, but he stopped. held still.

“breathe, baby,” he whispered, brushing your cheek. “you takin’ me real good.”

you nodded again. deep breaths. legs open wider, even through the ache.

he kissed your jaw. your shoulder. your breast.

then moved again.

slow. deep. inch by inch.

you felt every part of him — the way his width stretched your walls, the curve pressing against that spot deep inside.

you cried out soft, and he kissed you through it.

“that’s it,” he muttered. “fuck… you feel that? how tight this pussy grippin’ me already? goddamn.”

you nodded frantically. didn’t even realize you were tearing up until he kissed the corner of your eye.

“still with me?”

“y-yeah,” you whispered. “feels so full—so big.”

“you takin’ it, though,” he growled. “takin’ me like you mine. that what you want?”

“yes,” you moaned, nearly sobbing. “i’m yours, ‘lijah.”

his hips snapped deeper. not fast — hard. just once. enough to make your mouth drop open and your back arch.

“say that shit again.”

“i’m yours.”

again.

“i’m yours, i’m—fuck, i can’t think—”

he gripped your jaw. firm. made you look at him.

“good,” he said low. “don’t think. just feel me.”

you couldn’t stop moaning. couldn’t stop clinging to him, crying out soft each time he pulled back and pushed in slow, like he was tryna bury himself deeper every time.

“doin’ so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, dragging his dick all the way out, then in again. “pussy tryna pull me in like it missed me.”

you were shaking now. legs wide, thighs trembling. you couldn’t speak — just whimpering, whining.

“damn,” he chuckled dark, voice hoarse, “got you dumb already? barely even fucked you yet.”

you nodded fast. “so good—feels too good—”

“you sound so pretty like this.”

his hand slid to your throat. didn’t squeeze — just laid there, pressure soft but firm.

your eyes rolled back. your hips bucked up.

“you like that?” he growled. “like when i hold you down like this?”

“y-yeah,” you gasped. “makes me feel… feel owned.”

he leaned in, tongue dragging slow up your neck.

“you are,” he breathed, hips grinding deep. “all mine, baby.”

you came again like that.

deep strokes. his hand at your throat. eyes locked. his name pouring from your lips like a prayer you couldn’t stop chanting.

he didn’t stop moving. not even after you came.

he fucked you through it. let you shake, let you cry, let you babble nothin’ but his name while your body milked him hard.

his rhythm got rougher then. deeper. heavier.

clap clap clap

his hips slammed against your thighs now. your legs spread wider, his chest brushing yours.

“look at you,” he hissed. “a whole fuckin’ mess. i ain’t even done with you yet.”

“‘lijah—i can’t—”

“yes the fuck you can,” he growled. “take all this dick. you wanted it.”

“wanted it,” you sobbed. “wanted you—just like this.”

he kissed your mouth hard. bit your bottom lip.

then his hips started to stutter.

“gon’ cum in you,” he warned. “gon’ fill this pretty pussy up real nice.”

you moaned out loud. “do it. please—please cum inside me.”

his voice broke.

“fuck—”

and then he came.

hips buried deep. groan low and heavy in your ear. his body shaking over yours, sweat dripping from his neck to your collarbone.

he held himself there. breath on your cheek. cock still twitching deep inside, warm cum filling you slow.

but he didn’t move.

he pulled back just enough to look at you — your face flushed, lips parted, body limp and used and overwhelmed.

then he smirked.

“we not done.”

your eyes widened. your legs twitched.

and you whispered:

“…again?”

he chuckled, slow and dark. kissed your throat.

“it’s your birthday.”

you didn’t even feel him slip out at first.

your whole body was floating — boneless, twitching, your skin hot and glazed with sweat. but then you felt the emptiness, the slow drip of cum leaking down the inside of your thigh, and your body clenched instinctively like it already missed him.

you blinked up at the ceiling, chest rising shallow. your voice was gone, but your throat was still raw from moaning.

he leaned over you again. brushed your hair out of your face. kissed the side of your head.

“turn over,” he murmured.

your lashes fluttered. “wha…?”

“you heard me.”

his voice wasn’t mean. it wasn’t cold either. it was low. final.

you rolled to your stomach slowly, shaky arms pulling you up on all fours.

your legs barely worked, trembling from the first round. but then you felt him behind you — his hands at your waist, firm and wide, pulling your ass back toward him like he’d never left.

he leaned down. lips at your spine.

“you look good like this.”

a kiss.

“all fucked out.”

another kiss.

“still open for me.”

you whimpered into the sheets, face burning.

his hands dragged up your back, slow.

then one came down — smack — a sharp slap to your ass, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you jolt.

“you still wet,” he said, voice darker now. “still drippin’ f’me.”

his dick slid up between your folds again — still hard, still thick.

he teased you with it, back and forth, tip just barely pressing at your entrance.

“you gon’ let me back in?”

you nodded fast. “yes—yes, please, ‘lijah—”

“nah.” he grabbed your throat from behind, just enough pressure to ground you. “say it right.”

“want your dick again,” you whined. “want it back inside—please, i need it.”

he pushed in slow, but deep.

you choked on your gasp. it felt even bigger like this — from behind, with your legs spread wide, your back arched, your pussy already sore and wet and raw from the first round.

he bottomed out with a growl, his grip tight on your hips.

“fuck… this pussy was made for me.”

you moaned loud.

his hips started moving — slow at first. each stroke long, dragging every inch of him against your walls.

smack

you could barely stay up. your arms gave out, chest sinking into the mattress, ass still high while he gripped your waist and pounded you from behind like he was tryna see what you were made of.

you whimpered with every thrust.

“look at you,” he muttered, voice all heat. “back here takin’ this dick like a lil fuckin’ toy. that what you want? be my toy?”

you nodded, drooling against the sheets. “yes—yes, i wanna be yours, use me, please—”

“mmhmm. already knew you was nasty.”

his hand wrapped in your hair and pulled your head back, your spine arching sharper, your mouth wide with a ragged cry.

“this how you wanted me to fuck you on your birthday, huh?” he growled, breath hot at your ear. “deep. rough.”

“mhmmmmm,” you whimpered. “can’t think—feels too good—”

he laughed once, dark and low.

“don’t need you to think. just take it.”

and you did.

you let him fuck you deeper. rougher. no rhythm now — just noise and skin and heat. your moans turned to gasps. his name spilled out again and again, your whole body shaking from overstimulation, your pussy clenching hard around him.

you came again, harder than before.

your body seized. legs shaking. tears pricking your eyes from how good it felt. how deep it went.

and he didn’t stop.

he chased his own release, his hips pounding you into the bed until he grunted through his teeth, held you tight, and came deep again — slow, thick warmth spilling inside you while he held you still and fucked it deeper.

it took you minutes to come back to yourself.

you collapsed to your side when he finally pulled out, your body limp and soaked in sweat and cum.

you felt him disappear for a moment. then return — a warm cloth between your thighs, his hand sliding slow across your lower back.

“you good?”

you nodded weakly. “i can’t feel my legs.”

he laughed softly. real soft.

“that mean i did it right.”

you blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes. his hand was rubbing your thigh, slow. grounding.

you whispered, barely audible—“you didn’t hold back.”

he kissed your cheek. “ain’t supposed to.”

you smiled.

his fingers traced the necklace he gave you, still resting warm on your collarbone.

then he said, softer this time:

“happy birthday, mama.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

#elijah smoke moore #smoke sinners 2025 #sinners 2025 #sinners 2025 fanfic #elijah moore x reader #smoke x reader #modern au #reader insert #x reader #established relationship #smut #birthday fic #soft reader

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lystopianne · 4 months ago

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Business & Retail themed cc list

with the highly anticipated release of businesses & hobbies, I gotta say: opportunity taken to make a cc masterlist, yay! I love making those!

small (family) businesses is a huge add-on to our gameplay and with custom content, the fun will never go away. 🥰 everything from essential mods, shopping decor & specific-themed businesses items are to be found here.

feel free to send any suggestions for the list, I'll be happy to add them!

*NEW UPDATES WILL BE MADE ON THIS PAGE*

ESSENTIALS

miunachan's ultimate list of business ideas 🧡

mods

cheat retail & restaurant prices

club & business activity expanded

club & business expanded interactions

functional registers

higher business activity limit

more selectable icons

more small business employees

more small business logos

more small business visitors

no autonomous dancing

sell stuff from any surfaces

small business do not close

tend stalls activity expanded

decor & display

business essentials x @soloriya

industrial inventory shelves x @brazenlotus

retail therapy set x @syboubou

shopping bags & box x @aroundthesims

simoleons decor set x @simdertalia

tip jars x @simdertalia

signs & stickers

backlit wall signs x @gfvsims

business sign decals x @cryptiam

credit card stickers x @ccbybudgie

convenience store ads x @cryptiam

fire department stickers x @ccbybudgie

gift shop neons x @simdertalia

lit up ads on wheels x @ccbybudgie

lit wall advertisements x @brazenlotus

open led sign decals x @cryptiam

sale & ad posters x @simdertalia

security sign decals x @cryptiam

shop ads x @ccbybudgie

THEMED SPECIFICS

animals & pets

aquarium retail display fridge x @brazenlotus

besties: part 1 & part 2 x @sixamcc

pet pack wall frames x @brazenlotus

art & crafts

art studio x @sixamcc

flower arrangement display x @brazenlotus

hobby knit x @helenmay

piano cc set x @syboubou

tattoo wall art x @ccbybudgie

daycare & kids

boho baby x @sixamcc

dream teen sleepover x @sixamcc

dreamy nursery x @sixamcc

kids bedroom x @sixamcc

little critters x @syboubou

modern teen bedroom x @sixamcc

princess & vampire kids x @sixamcc

private school x @sixamcc

tiny playrooms x @sixamcc

entertainment

dance studio signs x @simdertalia

functional quarter coin vending machine x @aroundthesims

old school record store x @ccbybudgie

fantasy & spooky

magic books x @simdertalia

witchy crystal shop ad posters x @simdertalia

witchy crystal shop signs x @simdertalia

witchy shop decor set x @simdertalia

witchy shop window stickers x @simdertalia

fashion & salon

anybody's dress bridal shop x @ravasheencc

chic cosmetics: part 1 - part 2 x @bostyny

fashion store x nando

jewelry set x @aroundthesims

keratin salon set x @bbygyal123

passion by judith ward x @someone-elsa

perfume set x @simdertalia

shoe store & shelving mirror set x @simdertalia

food

appliance collection x @bbygyal123

candy bags x @ccbybudgie

cozy bistro add-on x @aroundthesims

felt letter board x @ccbybudgie

fish chalkboard + fishy wall decor x @brazenlotus

food store ads x @ccbybudgie

fusion pantry set x @bostyny

greasy goods x @littledica

honey, I cooked set x @mylittleponyoh

kitchen clutter x @charlypancakes

martini mixology decor x @bbygyal123

small spaces: pantry x @sixamcc

restaurant kitchen dishwashing x @aroundthesims

rise & grind coffee house x @littledica

sweet treats x @littledica

laundry

laundromat corner x @sixamcc

laundry day clutter x @brazenlotus

laundry room x @sixamcc

library & learning center

books & stuff set x @brazenlotus

business stationery x @aroundthesims

work from home x @sixamcc

working mode set x abbypigg

outdoors

beach shop x @aroundthesims

camping & pétanque x @aroundthesims

stuff for national parks x @aroundthesims

trekking x @aroundthesims

build mode

arold's shop x @pierisim

candyfloss: part 1 & part 2 x abbypigg

love for modern windows x @sixamcc

upscale window & door addon x @brazenlotus

#ts4 #the sims 4 #cc recs #cc finds #ts4 businesses & hobbies #ts4 custom content

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harbours-lighthouse · 16 days ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐍

— part two

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — Jason Todd x F!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — You have an argument with Jason Todd and things don't go your way. There's something slipping out of your fingers, and it might just be him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst :)) possible fluff for a possible pt.ii?

Your feet ache, ankles throbbing in pain with each step you take. You’ve lost count of all the street signs you’ve passed, the chipped white lettering barely giving you an inkling of where you are anyway. All you know is that there’s something clawing inside of your chest, and the alleyways are slowly darkening. Graffiti streaks across red brick walls. Trash flutters out from parked cars.

I don’t need your help!

Jason’s words echo, ringing inside your head like a bell. Your temples feel tense, as if bracing for each thunderous shout of those simple words. A lump forms like a sharp pebble in your throat.

“Okay, Jason,” you whisper, choking on the small utterance like it might cleave you in half. You didn’t get to tell him that—didn’t get to say anything at all. The door had slammed shut behind you once he’d said enough, and you hadn’t bothered to wait and see if he’d come racing after you.

He’s never shouted at you before—the most heated your arguments get is a little bit of bite in your tone, but never your voices raising to shake the frame of your psyche.

I don’t need you.

He’d said that in a much quieter voice—something muttered beneath his breath like an afterthought. You heard that and knew you wouldn’t be able to say anymore without breaking down, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. You wouldn’t let him see you like that. You could barely afford to see yourself in such a state. It was demeaning—overwhelming, too.

A shout skewers through your haze of grief-stricken thoughts, and you glance away from your shoes to scan the street. Long shadows stretch across the cracked asphalt as street lamps tower over you like sentinels, bathing a group of teenage boys in sickly yellow light. They skip and prance like zealous predators, voices dipped in the usual ‘bad boy’ drawl, shouting or laughing at jokes you weren’t privy to. Clouds of smoke puffed from many of them, cigarettes tucked between two fingers like modern weapons.

You usually wouldn’t be too bothered if it was one or two, but you could count five easily, and felt caution settle in your stomach like lead.

Smoothly turning into an alleyway littered with overflowing dumpsters and leftover cardboard boxes, you cut through two buildings to reach the next street. The teenagers fade into the background, leaving you behind. Sucking in a breath, you find that your chest is trembling.

“It’s fine,” you say to yourself, breathing out.

That’s all I am! Okay? I’m fine. I don’t need you constantly pestering me about it.

All you’d been was worried. Afraid, even. He’d been coming over less, and you’d sleep through the night without any interruptions. No living room window sliding open, or boots thudding softly onto the ground. At first, Jason left behind notes on the fire escape, taping the yellow square of paper to the metal bars for you to find when you opened the window for the sharp morning air.

They were cute, with handwriting that was overly neat.

Got caught up with something — wanted to let you sleep. Love you.

Though there was the dull ache of disappointment, it made you smile, imagining him taking the time out of his night (early morning) to do that for you. Him, sleepy from work, leaning against the fire escape while he scribbled the note down, before taping it down for you—that was more than what most men are ever willing to do.

But the notes changed, getting shorter in length. Sometimes you gripped the wind-bent paper and felt that he’d done it out of obligation, rather than consideration. It opened up a chasm in your chest, one where your worries began to fall into, slowly taking up space. It made breathing hard, and your days even harder. Then, the notes stopped entirely.

You went a whole month without hearing anything from him, and tonight was the first night that he finally showed up. No note, but his face cast in moonlight as he rapped on the frame of your window, waiting with shifting feet.

You weren’t expecting the hot feeling inside your chest. A molten ache of loneliness that made itself present when he climbed into your apartment, flashing a white grin that would usually have your knees weak. No, you were surprised when tears already burned at the back of your eyes, though you refused to let them fall.

“Hey, doll,” Jason murmured, stepping towards you to wrap an arm around your neck, pulling your face into him. Gunpowder and leather overwhelmed your senses, and the usual warmth pouring out from him felt suffocating. You wrapped your arms around his waist, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hold on tight.

Jason pressed his lips to your scalp. “How ‘ave you been?”

“Fine,” you answered quietly, grateful that you could hide your face from him. You knew that what you were saying silently would be obvious in the way your brows were bunched together, and how you were chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Jus’ fine?”

“Yeah—I was actually making dinner.”

“Ah,” Jason pulled away, his arm slipping from you. It felt cold suddenly, like icy teeth were nibbling on your skin. You smiled wanly, watching as he glanced at the kitchen—at the stovetop where vegetables were simmering in an oil-slick pan.

It was strange. Where was your enthusiasm? Where was the joy that bubbled inside you like liquid sunlight? And why were his eyes so bloodshot?

You know for a fact that you didn’t mean to be overbearing. All you asked was if he was okay. What had he been up to? Why hadn’t he called? Texted? Why did the notes stop?

Had you done something without even realising?

Maybe you should have realised he was already fraying around the edges.

Maybe you should have realised that he wasn’t ready to come face to face with something that ached to love him when he’d spent a whole month fighting people who didn’t.

“Jason, come on. I can tell that you’re more than tired,” you stressed, hands falling to your sides. You watched as he scrubbed a harsh hand down his face. He didn’t know it, but the lines beneath his eyes seemed to deepen just as the chasm split through you.

“Doll,” he said quietly, with something dancing along the edge of viscous. “I promise you, nothing is wrong. I am fine.”

“Then why’d you disappear on me?”

“I was busy!”

“You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks for that, doll. Really sweet of you.”

“I’m just worried.”

“Yeah, sure you are.”

It spiralled and you weren’t able to stop it. Each new word said was worse than the last—bitter with something neither of you had tried to acknowledge. Since when were you so distant from each other?

Sirens whoop in the distance, and a cold front of wind pushes against you. If only it could seep inside of you and reach for the heat settled between your lungs. If only it could freeze whatever ugly, wailing mess was lingering just beneath the surface of the calm you’d forced on yourself when you walked out of the apartment.

Feeling like a pair of eyes are digging holes into your back, you speed up your pace. A crossroad up ahead is lit with headlights, streaks of light burning through the air as cars zip by, while others are kept at a standstill behind changing traffic lights. You walk up to the pedestrian crossing, glancing up at the little red walking man.

“Lovely,” you mutter, and you wait with the tips of your shoes hanging over the edge of the curb. Swallowing thickly, you look over your shoulder. There’s no one walking up the street. No cloaked figure or rowdy teenage boys. In fact, it looks empty. The only thing keeping the quiet buildings company being the cars sitting dormant and dark in front of thin strips of grass and concrete steps leading into homes. It’s just you and the rush of light traffic, and the little red walking man.

And it hits you like a car—you’re alone, and so is Jason. You left and he let you leave. Is he still at your apartment? What happens when you go back?

“We’re gonna ruin this,” you say softly, breathlessly—like it’s a confession. It’s most certainly the truth.

Frantically, you look around. Lights glaring from cars has your head throbbing with pain, but you find what you’re looking for. A phone booth sits at the edge of the opposite street, and your heart jumps like a bird catching flight. You don’t bother checking for upcoming traffic or whether or not the little red walking man has turned green. You dash across the street, feeling your throat seize with panic and despair and desperation all at once.

You don’t even hear the screeching tires and the horn blaring at you.

Rushing into the booth, the smell of urine and cigarette smoke nearly has you gagging, but you reach for the phone anyway. With it balanced between your ear and your shoulder, you fish around in your pocket from your wallet (something you’d learned to bring with you everywhere in case of emergencies like these). With shaking fingers, you manage to find a couple of quarters and you feed it into the machine. Punching the numbers, you call your apartment's landline.

As you wait, hearing the ring vibrate against your ear, the outside world feels muted. Dull in comparison to the tempest raging inside of you.

You’re worried, but you’re also angry. You're panicking, but you’re also bitter. You want Jason, but his words still sting. You’re a walking juxtaposition and it’s setting your teeth on edge. Maybe all you need is to hear his voice and the pieces will fall into place and you’ll realise what exactly you need to say.

But Jason doesn’t answer, and the phone rings another two times before falling silent with a resolute ping.

You scare yourself when you slam the phone back into place with a hissed curse, though it doesn’t latch on properly and falls, dangling by its springy chord. You rush out into the open, sucking in fresh air into your aching chest.

“Damn it, Jason…” you whisper, and your vision swims as tears blur the endless sweep of pale light from traffic, and the bird in your chest begins to brutally beat itself to death. If he wasn’t picking up the phone, that means he’s not there anymore.

Why are you both leaving? Why are you two—people meant to love each other—both walking out of the same apartment without searching for the other? Without waiting. Without so much as a goodbye.

Shaking, you bring your fist to your mouth as a choked sob breaks inside of you, spilling out in a harsh heave for air.

"Oh, gosh—” you sputter, and the world feels like it’s spinning. Engines are roaring and it’s too loud inside your ears, droning like airplanes sweeping right above you. The lights are too bright and the little red walking man is stuck. He won’t turn green.

What is happening?

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

tags: @kitkatlover015 @batslilwhore

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd/you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood/reader #red hood/you #red hood fanfiction #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfiction #★ harbour's writing !

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sunflowerwinds · 3 months ago

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sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: after vi’s kick-boxing match, you’re invited to come over to her place for a celebration after party. gentle moments & new beginnings ensue.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, baker!reader, mila & jinx being reader & vi’s #1 supporters, mentions of violence & blood (it is kick boxing), the moment everyone has WANTED! (including me)

word count: 6.1K

a/n: that’s the end of these two :( i’ve loved writing this mini-series for you all and hope this satisfies you all as an ending. and thank you guys so so much for 3K FUCKING FOLLOWERS. my mind is BLOWN. MY INBOX IS OPEN FOR ANY MORE VI ONESHOT/SERIES IDEAS if you want to requests <3

— FOUR

The night before Vi’s match was a race to complete the two cakes you were making for her.

One that read: ‘#1 Boxer!’

The other that read: ‘#1 in our hearts!’

Just in case she wasn’t too lucky but judging off of the minimal boxing you’ve seen from her practicing at her gym, there was a slim chance she would be losing.

“Bug, it’s almost midnight. I’ll finish this.” Your grandma scolds you as you pipe the last of the lettering on the top of the first cake.

You huff at her, shaking your head. You were blinking back the sleep itching at your eyelids, determined to get this finished tonight.

“I’m nearly done. I just have the second cake and then I’ll be good.”

Your grandmother folds her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she inspected your behavior.

“You really like this girl,” she says fondly as if she’s realizing it for the first time.

You sigh, looking up at her as you let out a self deprecating chuckle.

“Yeah, I do.” A beat passes. “Do you think this is pathetic?”

Your grandmother walks over to you, rounding the island to rub her hands up and down your arms. She shakes her head as she hums in thought.

“No. I think it’s sweet. You have a lot of love in you and she’d be so lucky to get even a piece of it.” She sighs as she kisses your temple.

You look at your grandma with an adoring look in your eyes, taking in her words. The dimness of the overhead light above the island shone against your glossy eyes.

“Thanks, gram. I love you,” you whisper as you lean into her touch.

“I love you more.” She hums as she motions to everything scattered mess of utensils, bowls and piping tools across the island. “Clean this up before you go to bed. I don’t want to hear the whining in the morning.”

You chuckle as you bump your hip with her own.

“I know,” you drag teasingly, shaking your head.

Your grandmother hums one more time before walking away from the kitchen to emerge into the darkness to her bedroom. A comfortable silence takes over the dim kitchen, unable to move from that position for a few seconds.

With the piping tool in your hand, you think about what the hell you were doing. It came so easy for you to care for Vi. How could you not? Your friendship was something you would hold tightly for years to come.

But what were you doing with her?

The way your heart beats in a special rhythm just for her should be clear enough to show that what you two have is more than that. You shake off the feeling and return to piping the lettering onto the small cakes, ignoring the nervous ache that was settling in the pit of your stomach.

You went to bed after begrudgingly cleaning up the mess you had made and put the cakes in the fridge to cool, sleeping that night with a haunting ‘what if?’ floating in your mind.

The next day was agony.

Vi had sent a photo of her prepping for the match a.k.a getting a last minute workout in.

from vi ♥︎ | [1 Image Attached]

from vi ♥︎ | Getting a last minute workout in before tonight. What are you up to, pretty girl?

What the hell was her problem? It was 8 in the morning.

You gawk at the photo of her reflection in the gym mirror, the shadows perfectly highlighting her sculpted biceps that had a light glisten of sweat on them. She had on a white simple sports bra, her entire torso exposed for you to enjoy. Her athletic pants sat low on her hips so that you could see the waistband of her briefs. She had her phone held up so that her face was covered but you could imagine that irritatingly attractive smirk on her lips.

God, you could feel the heat in your cheeks spreading down to your neck. You hadn’t even made yourself breakfast yet.

to vi ♥︎ | about to make myself breakfast but this is distracting for me

from vi ♥︎ | Me? A distraction?

from vi ♥︎ | No, no. That doesn’t sound like me.

You scoff at her message, knowing that this is exactly the kind of reaction she wants from you.

to vi ♥︎ | whatever.

to vi ♥︎ | i guess you won’t see my cheerleader outfit anymore

from vi ♥︎ | Wait no, please.

You would be lying if you would say her saying ‘please’ didn’t boost your ego a little bit.

“Hey, Jinx is coming over soon so just giving you a heads up since Gram left already.”

Mila’s voice causes you to jump with your phone clutched in your hand, blinking rapidly as you lift your head up to see Mila leaning over the island with a cheeky smile.

“Okay. I’m home. Remember that,” you point accusingly at her.

She rolls her eyes at your words. “She just wants to have breakfast with me and I said I’d cook. You’re one to talk.”

Your eyes trail down her neck to the hickey fading on her collarbone before squinting at her. Mila and Jinx’s relationship wasn’t your business but you were almost 100% sure they were dating. Well, you did walk in on them making out in her room after your shift at the bakery, about to ask Mila if she wanted pizza just a few days prior and your eyes were assaulted with that image.

Jinx ended up staying for dinner and no one spoke a word about it after.

“Yeah, okay. You forgot one,” you motion to the spot on her skin.

Her hand reaches up to feel over the fading hickey, appearing flustered for a moment before mumbling a ‘shut up’ and making her way back to her bedroom. You snicker to yourself at her state, shaking your head in disbelief. You grab a bowl for your oatmeal and send a message back to Vi, feeling all the more proud of yourself.

to vi ♥︎ | mmm i dont know. i might not wear it at this point, violet

from vi ♥︎ | Well, if I ask nicely, will you?

to vi ♥︎ | i guess you’ll just have to wait until tonight :)

You set your phone down for a moment to grab a banana and slice it up into little circles. As you add in a little bit of brown sugar and banana to your oatmeal, your phone on the counter dings and your face heats up at the message.

from vi ♥︎ | Such a tease, cupcake.

Hypocrite.

from vi ♥︎ | But I can’t wait to see you tonight. You’re coming to mine after for Vanders barbecue, right?

to vi ♥︎ | yes! mila’s coming with too so i bet jinx’ll be excited about that

vi ♥︎ hearted this message

to vi ♥︎ | and i can’t wait to see you too :)

You finally set your phone aside to carry your bowl over to your couch, grabbing the TV remote to put on a random film as you eat your breakfast in peace. Well for two minutes until you hear knocking at your door.

You huff as you pause your movie, about to get up from the comfy position on the couch before you hear a door swing open and rushed footsteps come from behind you.

“I’ll get it!” She calls out as she practically flies past you to open the door.

You gradually sit back down, leaning your body to the left slightly. Your eyes lock on the door as Mila sucks in a deep breath to swing open the door. You duck your head as you see that familiar head of blue hair, surprisingly pulled back into a singular long ponytail with her baggy pjs on.

You couldn't eavesdrop as much as you desired to due to the distance but you could hear soft whispers and smitten giggles emitting from the both of them as they made their way to the kitchen.

“Morning!” Jinx peaks into the living room for a moment, waving at your position from the couch.

“Morning. What are you guys making?” You question, smiling at her blue-haired girl as Mila lingers behind her, twirling a few strands of other’s vibrant hair.

“I was thinking french toast but Mils wants pancakes so,” Jinx huffs as she turns to look at your sister.

“Okay, well, clean it up when you’re done, please,” your gaze shifts to your sister as it was catered more towards her.

Mila rolls her eyes but mutters a ‘we will’ before grabbing onto Jinx’s hand, intertwining their fingers and rushing back to the kitchen to be by themselves. You purse your lips as your smile grows at your sisters… girlfriend? You weren’t entirely sure what their relationship was but she seemed happy.

That’s really all you could want for her.

After Jinx and Mila made their breakfast (making sure to be as giggly and have no space between each other at all times until Jinx left), the afternoon was a blur of the two of you panicking as you got ready. You had the cheerleader outfit in mind as you slipped on a skirt that you had bought over a year ago out of impulse at the thrift store.

It had been collecting dust in your drawer up until today. It was a simple black pleated skirt with your skin-color toned tights to help with chafing and a white fitted long sleeve due to the cooler weather outside. It was mid-December but where you lived didn’t get as cold as you had thought.

You blame it on global warming.

“Hey, do you have any conceal–” Mila popped into your room as you were pressing the skirt down to your thighs, checking yourself out in the mirror. “Wow. You look good.”

You look at her through the reflection and a small smile forms on your face. “Thanks. It’s not too much for a boxing match though?”

“No. You look like a boxer's girlfriend.” Mila teases as she walks over to your vanity that held your makeup.

You roll your eyes, feeling all the more stressed now.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell her how you feel. You two have insane tension.” Mila looks up at you as she picks through your makeup.

“I don’t know how, dude. It’s harder than it seems,” you huff as you step away from your mirror to make your way over to her.

“Well, I think you should. The both of you are dancing around telling each other how you feel and are disgustingly flirty. You don’t want to end up in a homoerotic friendship, do you?”

You stare speechless at your sister. As harsh as it was to hear, you knew that she was right. You didn’t want to keep bullying yourself into thinking that you shouldn’t tell Vi how you feel; that it's better being unspoken.

You didn’t want to let something like this lessen over time because you were too much of a coward.

“No, I don’t,” you reply with a long sigh.

“There you go. Tonight at their house; you tell her.” Mila points accusingly at you, narrowed eyes and all.

Your eyes widen at her words. “I didn’t mean today.”

“Well, I did. Because then you’ll be,” she clears her throat and nasals her voice a bit as she mocks you, “I’ll just do it tomorrow, Mils. I’m just gonna stare at Vi’s biceps and abs in the meantime and drool all over my phone instead of just telling her how I feel like a loser.”

You raise one of your hands to smack her upside her head, scoffing at her rude impersonation of you.

“Fuck you,” you roll your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll… tell her later.”

Mila rubs at her scalp before snatching the concealer she had been looking for, turning to you with a small grin.

“See? Tough love works.”

“I think at this point it's peer pressure,” you correct her as she leaves your room.

“I can’t hear you! I’m getting ready!” Mila shouts from the other side of the house after a few beats of silence.

You shake your head with a soft chuckle as you take one more once over of your outfit as you couldn’t help but feel all the more excited knowing that Vi would be seeing you in this. A fleeting thought of imagining her fawning over you passes before you continue getting yourself ready.

Once the two of you were ready to go, you grabbed your keys and passed by your grandma who had been sitting in her living room with her iPad in her lap playing Tetris as the shop had closed early on Sundays.

“Bye, gram. We’ll be home a little late so please don’t wait up,” you walk over to her, giving her a warm hug.

“Look at my two beautiful granddaughters.” She coos as she cups your cheek and looks over at Mila with a sweet smile.

“We get it from you, gram.” Mila chuckles as she goes to the other side of her, giving her a side hug as she snuggles her cheek into her graying hair.

“Have fun. Sneak me some barbecue. I’ll eat it tomorrow.” She chuckles as she pats both of your backs.

You release her with a soft ‘love you’, Mila doing the same as you leave the house to make your way to the local arena where the matches are being held.

The second the two of you walked in, you were bombarded by the scent of sweat and heat. You spot Ekko’s bright white hair before anyone else in the stands, raising your hand and waving to get his attention. Ekko’s eyes narrow when he spots you and Mila before they relax once he realizes who he’s looking at. Jinx was in one of the most relaxed manspreads with her booted feet resting on the hard plastic seats, Isha was coloring next to Ekko, showing him each page. Vander was nowhere in sight.

You both make your way over to the small family, giving everyone a side hug and soft greeting. Isha looks up from her messy scribbles to sign ‘hi, pretty cake lady.’ You can’t help but beam down at her, muttering a ‘hi cutie.’ Isha smiles at that before resuming her colors.

“Hey. We’re not too late right?” You wonder as you sit next to Ekko, setting your purse down on the other seat next to you.

“Nah, she’s in the second half of the tournaments which start in, like, five minutes.” Ekko reassures you, looking up at Mila from his seated position. “Hey, M.”

“Hey, little man.” Mila grins as she steps over the first row of stands to sit in between Jinx’s legs.

“I’m taller than you, you know?” He scoffs.

“Barely. Like an inch or two.” Mila rolls her eyes with a playful undertone.

“Is Vander here?” You wonder as you look around the many rows of people who were undoubtedly here to support the competitors.

“Oh, yeah. He’s getting popcorn but he’ll be back before it starts.” Jinx replies to you as she closes her wide man-spread to allow Mila to rest her head on her knee.

Ew. But cute, you think to yourself.

Right on his cue, Vander walks over to set the large popcorn bucket in Ekko’s palms. A friendly smile etches onto his beard-coated face.

“Glad you could make it. Vi was telling me about you coming,” he sits down on the other side of you, raising a arm to give you a side hug.

You accept the warmth with ease, getting a good whiff of his burly-woodsy cologne lingering to his clothes.

“Dad, she was raving about her coming,” Jinx corrects.

Mila merely raises her eyebrows at you but elbows Jinx’s knee at the teasing. She mutters an ‘ow’ with a huff. Your face lit aflame as you attempted to ignore the blue-haired girl.

“Right, right. She misses you.” Vander tugs you in a little before releasing you to point at Isha’s figure. “So does little miss sweet-tooth over there.”

You chuckle at his words but your mind couldn’t help but pick out the fact that Vi’s father is admitting this to you. Have you affected her as much as she has to you?

You didn’t have much time to ponder on it as the first round began before you could process two people were socking each other in the face.

Boxing matches were a lot more intense than you had thought.

Here you were cramped next to Vander who was clapping and cheering Vi on who was 3 times louder than the entire crowd, Ekko on the other side who was shoving popcorn down his throat as he shouted that at the ref about Vi’s opponent who was apparently doing illegal moves, and Isha was mimicking each punch her eldest sister was throwing at her opponent, wriggling around so much you had to wrap your arms around her torso to keep her still in your lap. You could hear Jinx and Mila who were sitting a row behind you wincing at each blow.

Your eyes flickered from Vi to her opponent, the bright light above the two shining down to highlight the glistening sweat and panting chest. Vi had already gotten a few good hits in, her red gloves already having a faint smudge from her opponents blood.

Her face was determined, brows furrowed in concentration. The match was nearly over; the two being on their 3rd round. Everyone was antsy to see who was going to be condemned as the winner of this match.

Vi had flown past these matches; nearly winning every single one. Seeing her in action ignited something… arousing inside of you. It was humiliating to know the excited thoughts that were flooding your mind as Vi threw calculated hits, kicks and punches towards her opponents as you were surrounded by her close family.

The timer goes off for the last and final round of their match and the bell dinged off for the two to separate. Vi knocked her gloved fist with her opponent with a nod of respect as she walked over to her corner with her coach to spit out her mouth guard and take a few huge gulps of water, a few droplets mixing with her sweat as it trails down her neck.

Boxing matches were a lot more enticing than you had thought as well.

Maybe because you’d never seen a girl you were crushing on in such a position but now? Yeah, you wanted to be at every single one.

“And after a unanimous decision,” the announcer speaks into the mic that floods through the audience. “The winner is Violet from Medarda Studio.”

Excitement rushed through your body as you stood up with Isha in your arms, jumping as you cheered along with the entire family. Vander turns to you and Isha and lifts the both of you up as before, setting you down to clap loudly and shout, “That’s my girl!” with nothing but heartwarming joy. Isha giggles at her fathers ecstatic state as she turns in your arms, silently asking to be set on her feet. You release her as she climbs up the steps of the stands to hop onto Jinx’s back.

Seeming to know what she was asking, Jinx lifted her onto her shoulders as she whoops for her sister’s victory. Vi’s arm was being held up by the referee, her eyes scanning through the crowd and landing on you. Your breath catches in your throat as you visibly notice her smile grow the second she finds your face.

Before you can mouth something to her, you feel a large hand on your back and look up to see Vander pointing towards the exit.

“Come on. She’s gonna leave out the back.”

You nod and let him lead the way, antsy to see Vi even though it has barely been a week since you have seen her. You hadn’t realized just how much until now. Soon, everyone was outback in the parking lot, awaiting the boxing champion.

The heavy metal doors swing open, other competitors leaving as well to reunite with their own families. Vi emerges with who you were assuming was one of her students as she’s clapping the girl on the back with a kind smile and ruffles her head of hair before making her way over to everyone.

“Hey guys,” one of her metals hung around her neck and a duffle over her right shoulder, a bright smile on her face.

How does she look amazing after boxing and sweating for hours?

Everyone bombards her with overlapping compliments about how amazing she was as Isha runs up to her with soft laughter leaving her lips. Vi is quick to bend over to pick her up off of her feet and rest her on her hip.

“Seriously. I’m a little afraid of you now,” Mila juts in as her hand is locked with Jinx’s leaning on her.

“Nah, I would never intentionally hit you.” Vi reassures your sister as she finally locks eyes with you.

You almost miss her eyes locking right on your skirt before trailing up your legs to your face. She steps closer to you, pursing her lips as she is seemingly holding in a giddy grin. You can’t help but mentally give yourself a high-five for her reaction.

“Hey, cupcake. Thanks for coming.” She adjusts Isha on her hip.

“It’s nothing. I wanted to,” you shake it off. “I brought cake!”

“Of course you did.” Vi lets her smile through, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.

“What flavor?” Ekko wonders as he is still eating the popcorn.

You grin with clasped hands behind your back. “Marble cake with vanilla frosting. Nothing too crazy.”

All of a sudden, a loud grumble emits from Vander causing everyone to chuckle to themselves.

“I don’t know about you guys but I have worked up quite the appetite cheering you on,” Vander pats his stomach with a huff, sending his eldest daughter a wink as he tries to usher everyone who rode with him to the van.

You internally frown at Vanders rushing but you keep it to yourself as you think that maybe you’ll get some alone time with Vi when you get to the loving household.

“You were the loudest there. I think I can’t hear through my left ear anymore,” Jinx jokes with her dad, holding her ear with a groan.

Vander playfully rolls his eyes at Jinx, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder that Mila wasn’t resting on.

“Come on. We’ll see you guys at home.” He nods at Mila and you.

Vi nods in agreement, eyes following over your outfit once again as she follows her little family towards the beaten down van. You suck in a deep breath as you watch her look behind her shoulder to glance at you once more before she locks her attention back on Isha who seems to be signing aggressively to her.

Tonight, you remind yourself.

Vander’s house was lively; everyone speaking amongst one another as he was outside barbecuing the meats on the grill. You had been playing Uno with Isha and Ekko in the living room, letting her win pretty much every time. She couldn’t say ‘uno’ so when she would have one card left, she would hold up her pointer finger while you and Ekko groaned and frowned playfully about how good she was at this game.

Feeling a bit thirsty, you excused yourself from the group and grabbed a soda before shutting it gently.

Vi had been in the shower as she claimed she looked terrible after all those matches.

You wanted to disagree loudly and tell her she always looked good but you second guessed it and kept it to yourself.

“So no cheerleading outfit, huh?” You hear from beside you.

Without looking up, you shake your head with a smitten grin.

“Nope,” you hum as you crack open your can, now turning your head to see a freshly showered Vi.

The scent of her body wash and perfume lingered in the air around her as she had given you maybe 3 inches of room between the two of you. She sported a black tee shirt and a pair of comfy red and black plaid PJ pants, her hair a slightly darker shade than usual as it was still air drying from her shower. She had a small butterfly closure and yellowing bruise over her cheek and one on the tail of her eyebrow.

Still, she looked as beautiful as ever.

Her eyes trail down to your skirt, shamelessly checking you out as she points down to the short material.

“Well, I’m not complaining about this compromise,” she grins at you before walking around you to open the fridge door herself.

You hide your blush as best as you can, taking a sip of your drink before clearing your throat.

“So when you said you were boxing, I did not expect to see some professional moves out there,” you tease as you tilt your head at her.

“Wow, doubting me, cupcake?”

“I never said that. I was actually wondering if you’d go pro,” you watch her grab her own can of soda, cracking it open with a soft hiss.

Vi stills for a second at your words before shaking her head. “I don’t know. I… looked into it a while back but it's a lot of traveling. I wouldn’t really have a set home, you know?”

Huh. So, she’s not a fan of traveling.

“You’d like a more domestic life?” You wonder as you lean against the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I would,” she nods with a gentle grin, folding her arms over her chest. “And you? Are you planning on staying at your grandma's bakery for a while?”

The question allows you to think for a moment. You hadn’t really looked into any other sort of career path as you had learned about every nook and cranny to run your grandmother’s bakery for years now. It had become second nature; a space that you felt comfortable in.

You shrug your shoulders, a content smile on your lips. “I definitely can’t complain. I love it there. Yeah, it gets hard but every job is like that.”

Vi eyes bore into yours, seeming to be listening intently to you. For a moment it felt like you two were the only ones in the house as you spoke quietly in the space of her kitchen. The sounds of Jinx, Ekko, Mila and Isha playing in the living room were becoming more and more drowned out by the bright ocean of Vi’s eyes.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not leaving anytime soon,” Vi nods with a gentle smile.

“Why? So you can get more free desserts?” You tease as you lean in closer, your faces just a mere inch apart.

Her eyes flicker down to your lips; a split second of you catching her attention turning to something other than your eyes.

“You know that’s not why,” she whispers as she leans her face in closer to yours.

Your breath catches into your throat as you could feel your cheeks and neck getting hotter by the second. Her hand clamps around your soda can, unbelievably tense and nervous as you try and muster up the courage to tell her.

You could hear Mila’s voice taunting you in the back of your mind.

“Vi–”

“Food’s ready!” Vander’s booming voice echoes in the house, causing the both of you to jump and pull back from one another.

Vi turns her head to shout back: “Be right there, dad!”

A wave of disappointment washes over you but you attempt to shield it as you spread your lips thin, pointing outside with your free hand.

“Let’s go. I’m sure you’re hungry after beating people up for hours.”

Vi pauses before an amused chuckle leaves her mouth. “Uh, yeah but I have a gift for you.”

“You do?” You grin is replaced with a more genuine smile.

“Yeah, I have it in my room. Come on,” she reaches for your free palm.

You take her hand with ease: like you had done it a million times before. You set your soda down on the counter and allow Vi to pull you through the house's walls to her bedroom.

Vi twists the knob and pushes her door open to reveal her overall neat room, noticing a candle lit on top of her dresser. The refreshing scent just screams ‘her’. You don’t miss the little knick-knacks and metals and trophies placed on one side of her wall, her name etched onto the plaques.

“So, what’d you get me?” You hum, a shit-eating grin on your face as you're still looking at the wall.

Vi sucks in a sharp breath before muttering out your name.

“Yeah?” You twist your body back to face her, eyes finding her own.

Not even a second passed before you felt her lips on yours. You emit a noise of surprise as she cups either side of your face, tilting her jaw up to mold her lips into your own. The initial shock passes when you feel her pull back slightly, the realization setting in.

Vi’s kissing you. You’re kissing her.

Your hands land on her waist as you tug her in once again, eagerly following her lips now that you are aware of what’s happening. Vi hums against you, thumbing at your jaw for a moment. A shiver trickles down your spine at the feeling.

You pull away from her with a soft smack, chest pounding against your ribs so hard you swore they could crack.

“Was that my gift?” You breathe out, licking your lips as if to taste the remnants of her lips.

Vi’s lips crack into a sheepish smile, hands still cupping either side of your face as she peers into your eyes.

“No, I just,” Vi sucks in a deep breath, “You know have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we fucking met.”

Your eyes soften at her words, a smile creeping onto your face. “Really?”

Vi nods as she releases your face, the warmth of her palms lingering on your skin.

“I wanted to tell you how I felt after we made the cinnamon rolls but Jinx and Mila came back and I had to leave. Everytime I smelled sugar, I was reminded of how much of an idiot I was for not saying or doing anything before.”

You raise your hand to cover your mouth to try and cover your elated smile at her confession, a breath of relief leaving your lips.

“I was going to tell you today so I’m kind of glad there wasn’t a gift.”

“Fuck, that was stupid,” she breathed out as she looks down at her feet as she places her hands on hips.

You suck in a deep breath as your nose brushes past hers causing her to look back up at you. Taking initiative this time around, you tilt your head as you lock your lips to kiss her as passionately as you can muster. Her hands leave her own hips to settle on yours, tugging you in so your bottom halves were flushed together. Your forearms rest on her toned shoulders as you are practically inhaling each other, heavy breathing and the soft smacking of your lips fill the room.

And if you focused hard enough, you could feel her abs through her thin shirt.

Needing to take a breather, you pull away to rest your forehead on hers with an ecstatic smile.

“It was a little stupid but I like you.”

Vi’s grip tightens on your hips as if she’s trying to remind herself that this is real; that you are real.

“If it wasn’t obvious, I like you too,” Vi hums as she leans in to peck your lips once.

Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling.

“Are we… dating now?” You question, tilting your head at her.

“Well, I have to take you on dates first but yes, I would love to be.”

God, you wanted to kiss her until the both of you were breathless. Excitement floods through your system as you nod with a soft ‘okay’, standing in a comfortable silence.

“So,” you clear your throat as you mess with a loose string on her tee, “should we go out there now?”

Vi’s eyes leave yours to stare at her closed bedroom door, letting out a long sigh before glancing back at you.

“I want to say ‘no’ but I know they’re probably waiting on us. My dad takes his barbecuing very seriously,” she smacks her lips against her teeth with a playful eye roll.

You chuckle, believing her 100%.

“If you say so,” you nod as you place a gentle kiss on her lips greedily.

The kiss lingers for longer than either of you intended before you had to step back, forcing yourself to detach from her addicting lips. Your hand reaches for the knob as you throw her a smitten grin before swinging the door open.

You hear an ‘oh shit’ before the sound of a multitude of footsteps scurrying down the hallway. Taking a step into the now empty hall, you catch a glimpse of an undeniable piece of blue hair peeking from behind the wall that opens to the living room.

“Was that–”

“Jinx and Mila and probably Ekko and Isha? Yeah, come on,” Vi sighs as she grabs your hand to lead back down where you came from.

When you enter the living room, everyone is sitting in a circle on the rug with their own plates of barbecue as they actively pretend to not notice you two.

“Hey guys,” you say flatly, looking down at the group.

Jinx is the first to look up and smiles cheekily. “Hey. Where did you guys go? Because we have been sitting here eating and playing Uno and minding our business.”

Isha raises her little hand to cover her giggling mouth before nodding along to what Jinx was saying.

“We know you guys were spying on us, you freaks.” Vi shakes her head as she flips Jinx off to which she immediately reciprocates.

“Hey, why are you only flipping me off? It was everyone,” she motions to the entirety of the little group.

Ekko, Mila and Isha huff at her words as they continue to eat their own food before making their own sounds of protest.

“Don’t act like it wasn’t your idea. I know you, Jinx.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves Vi off before looking at you with a knowing grin. “Did she do her ‘gift’ bit? I told her it was dorky.”

Vi at this point grabs a throw pillow from the couch to hit her upside the head, nearly stepping on her foot as she does so. Vander calls from the kitchen for them to knock it off and to come and eat.

You snort as you shake your head as you settle in next to Isha who had signed to you: “Are you going to be here a lot now that you kissed Vi?”

You can’t help but nod slowly before signing to her: “I hope so.”

In the blink of an eye, Isha sets her food down before she jumps into your lap, wrapping her smaller arms around your neck with a soft giggle. You jump back at the feeling but are quick to reciprocate, not even minding the fact that her hands were covered with grease. Over Isha’s shoulder, you catch Vi looking at the two of you with a content smile. She walks over to kneel down to kiss Isha on the top of the head and then you on the cheek.

“Do you want any food, cupcake?” Vi questions softly.

You shake your head. “I’m okay, babe. Thank you.”

Vi doesn’t correct you as it sounded so perfect coming from your lips. Instead, she places one more kiss to your cheek before nodding with understanding.

“Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

You nod as you snuggle into Isha’s death grip hug. As Vi walks away from the little circle, you suck in a deep breath as you examine the area around you. Jinx was muttering curses at Mila for cheating and looking at her cards, Ekko was snorting at her anger as he leaned into Mila to hide his face and Mila pushed him off with a groan as his fingers lingered with grease. The sound of Vi and Vander chatting to one another in the kitchen really pulled it together for you.

“You finally did it, kiddo. She’s a good one.”

A beat passes before Vi says with nothing but admiration in her tone.

“I know, dad.”

You could get used to this. You wanted to get used to this.

previous part

TAG-LIST: @cinnamonmilf @sevikasfag @unear7hly @oldloverpoet @ellies-dinosaur @natscloset @baylegend6 @eddiesdrummergf @naponiac @velvetinkbym @caitvicupcakes @sawaagyapong @eyelinerfemme @rosieeteaa @prettyinpink69 @mymelody58 @inara-123 @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @magical-rush @winchestergirlspn @naponiac @alex-thegiraffeboyy @fallingstarsburn @nombreuxx @16novvs @laviannasfanfics @kitty-kei @jupitsim @thalchmy @klallx @seraphicsentences @elliecoochieeater @womenlover-0 @vangoes

#wlw #sapphic #vi x reader smut #vi x you #arcane violet #vi arcane #arcane vi #vi fanfic #vi #arcane vi x reader #vi x reader

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bowtiepasta · 3 months ago

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SFW 𑣿 GOJO, GETO, SHOKO: “SOMEONE NEW”

nothing complicated i just miss sashisu like a mfer and needed a childhood friend to college pipeline with them. this healed something in me (cw: not separate pairings, language, some angst, drinking, modern au, f/afab!reader with she pronouns, flirty)

you first kiss satoru on a soccer field when you are ten, grass littered uniforms and scraped knees disregarded by the scowls on both your faces — one due to his third penalty in this match, yours due to the drink he just dumped out of your hand (and.. the fact that he kissed you in the bleachers in front of the entire school, as the ball flies into the outfield). total accident, he claims.

you first kiss suguru as a thank you for tutoring you through midterms the spring of your second year, in the janitor’s closet while nanami gets dresscoded on the other side of the door. you end up making out till the bell rings, wait for the halls to be empty to leave. caught up in the moment, he says.

you first kiss shoko at her doorstep a day before graduation, both completely shitfaced after utahime fake id-ed two cases of vodka cranberry and had to finish it before her parents got home. she nearly is expelled the next morning, manages to dodge it somehow. shoko ‘doesn’t remember’ one bit.

you haven’t talked to any of them since you drove away from the ceremony, gown and cap sat quietly on the dash of your car, acceptance letter folded in the glove box. you haven’t kissed anyone this year.

it’s not like you haven’t tried dating. blind dates, dates that picked you up at bars, dates that sparked messy roommate situations. and yet.. you didn’t kiss any of them. or anything else, for that matter.

has it really been that long?

when satoru finds out you all live in the same dormitory this year, he adds you to a groupchat and drops the address to a new dive bar down the block. all of them are convinced, except you.

you leave them on read.

it’s not like you don’t want to go. the idea of seeing them again makes your fingers twitch against your phone screen, hovering over the buttons, rereading the stupid little salute emoji satoru sent in. suguru thumbs-upped the text. shoko left it on delivered, though you know she’ll probably show up anyway.

you don’t reply. you’re busy. you’ve outgrown whatever this was, and you’re a different person now. when you drove away from that ceremony without saying goodbye, you did it on purpose.

..right? right.

so you go to bed early, phone facedown, volume off.

the next morning, there’s a photo in the chat: a blurry, overexposed mess of neon lights and moving figures, captioned you were supposed to be here, loser. satoru, obviously. you ignore it.

then comes another. this time from suguru. a selfie. well, almost. more like half of his face and most of shoko’s, her head thrown back laughing. he’s smirking at the camera, holding up a drink, the words we ordered you one anyway typed underneath.

you hate how easy it is for them to pick up where they left off. how the years apart don’t seem to mean anything to them.

you chalk it up to fomo, but really, you miss them.

the groupchat lies dormant for a while. the first time you run into one of them in person, it’s not satoru. it’s not suguru, either.

two days later, at the corner store down the street.

she spots you before you see her. your name slips out of her mouth like a habit, before she can stop it.

“avoiding me?”

you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, letting the cold plastic bite into your palm. “I’m busy,” you say, because it’s easier than the truth.

shoko hums like she doesn’t quite believe you, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the shelf. she looks the same. a little older, a little sharper around the edges, but still so unexplainably her.

the same girl who used to steal sips from your drinks when you weren’t looking, who let you sleep on her floor when you fought with your parents, who kissed you once and never mentioned it again.

“we’re going out again this weekend,” she says, tucking the cigarettes into her left pocket. “if you don’t show, satoru’s gonna start getting.. creative.”

you raise an eyebrow. “creative?”

shoko smirks as her receipt prints. “he has your number. the real one, not the one you muted us on.”

your stomach sinks.

“see you there,” she walks off before you can argue.

you spend the next few days pretending you’re not thinking about it.

which is stupid, of course you are. you think about it while you’re in class, rereading the same paragraph in your textbook without absorbing a single word. you think about it when you’re cooking dinner, zoning out so hard that the pasta overboils and hisses against the stove, licks at the countertop.

then comes saturday night, right as you’re about to convince yourself for real that you aren’t going-

satoru calls you.

not a text. not a meme in the group. a full fledged, obnoxious phone call.

you hesitate before answering. which, in hindsight, is your first mistake. your second is actually picking up.

“hiii, stranger.” his voice is syrupy sweet, every syllable stretched out, “you know, if you were gonna go witness protection on us, you could’ve at least left a goodbye letter.”

you pinching the bridge of your nose. “satoru-”

“don’t ‘satoru’ me. do you have any idea how tragic it was last time? suguru had to drink your cocktail for you. he was fucking devastated.”

you hear a low, amused hum in the background.

“I was fine.”

“no, he wasn’t,” satoru continues. “he stared into space all night. contemplated existence. it was dark.”

there’s a muffled sound, like someone smacking him in the arm. shoko, you’re guessing.

you exhale, dragging a hand down your face. it’s annoying — it is — because it’s unfair. it’s unfair that they can just pick up where they left off while you’re still stuck at a finish line, pretending you can’t.

and maybe that’s why, instead of hanging up, you say, “where is this place?”

satoru gasps like you’ve just confessed your undying love to him. “ohhh, now you’re interested?”

“I didn’t say I was coming,” you argue, but you can already hear the grin in his voice.

“sure, sure,” he says. “texting you the address now. see you soon, sweetheart.”

he hangs up before you can protest. your phone buzzes a second later.

the final straw is a venmo request.

$5 for your absence. we took a vote.

you 9:58 PM: i hate all of you suguru 9:58 PM: so you’ll be there? you 10:00 PM: maybe suguru 10:00 PM: that’s not a nooo

you cave.

you arrive twenty minutes late, hoping the extra time will take the edge off. it doesn’t.

the bar is exactly what you expect — sticky tables, health violations, music that tells you to stay away (nickelback). you spot them immediately, because.. well. some things don’t change.

you hover in the doorway longer than you should, debating leaving, until satoru glances up.

his grin is blinding. “holy shit.”

three pairs of eyes snap to you.

you exhale through your nose. too late now.

satoru waves you over like you’re a lost dog. “get over here, exile. thought we’d need a search party.”

you roll your eyes but make your way to the table, slipping into the seat next to shoko.

“hilarious,” you deadpan, the words coming out lighter than you mean them to.

suguru pushes a drink toward you. “pre-ordered.”

a wrinkle forms between your brows. “what is it?”

“who cares?” shoko scoffs. “just drink.”

you hesitate for half a second. then you grab the glass.

satoru’s grin widens. “that’s my girl.”

you pretend the warmth in your chest is just the alcohol. it burns in your throat, but in the way that reminds you of being sixteen and reckless: bad decisions made on good nights.

“you look good,” suguru says, studying you.

you don’t know how to answer that, so you just shrug. “not so bad yourself.”

“obviously,” satoru interjects, stretching his arms over the back of the booth, effectively trapping you and shoko in. “we age like fine wine.”

shoko exhales smoke directly into his face. he doesn’t flinch.

“you’re a nuisance,” she says.

“you love me,” he counters.

you should feel out of place. you should feel like an outsider looking in, like some unwelcome visitor. it’s been years. yet.. the moment you sat down, every available inch of space is by default, the way it should be. almost like you never left.

“so,” satoru drawls, drumming his fingers against the table. “what’s the deal? you hate us now?”

you blink. “what?”

“you vanished after graduation.” he says it simply, a fact, a puzzle piece he’s been turning over in his hands for years. “I mean, I get it. I’d leave them too if I had the choice.” he gestures towards the other two. “but me?” he gawks. “rude.”

suguru huffs a laugh. “speak for yourself.”

you pick at the rim of your glass, salt flaking between your pointer and thumb. “I didn’t ..vanish.”

“no? then what would you call it?”

you swallow. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t know how to say them. that after the ceremony, after all the hugs and the drunken promises to stay in touch, you sat in your car for an hour and felt nothing. that leaving wasn’t some big, dramatic decision — it just happened.

a door closing. a chapter ending.

satoru is looking at you, suguru is watching, shoko is waiting, and suddenly, you don’t want to say anything at all.

“I wanted a new start,” you lie instead, but no one calls you out on it.

satoru somehow lets it go. “well. you’re here now.”

and just like that, the moment passes. the conversation shifts, and so does the night.

shoko orders another round. suguru leans in, asks about your job, your apartment, the details of your life that they’ve missed. satoru interrupts every three minutes with commentary, and by the time you’re halfway through your second drink, you’re laughing, really laughing, and you realize, with a strange sort of ache, that you haven’t in a long time.

it’s late when you finally leave. satoru slings an arm over your shoulder like he’s been doing it every day for the past four years, and you don’t push him off.

“don’t be a stranger this time,” suguru calls out before heading off in the opposite direction.

shoko kisses your cheek. “welcome back.”

you don’t respond. but as you make your way home, satoru’s warmth still lingering against your skin, you think maybe this time — you’ll stay.

satoru 3:04 AM: since we’re all back together now satoru 3:04 AM: should we address the elephant in the room? shoko 3:10 AM: tf are you on satoru 3:11 AM: you know. how we’ve all kissed her

#romy is 5km away and lonely :(#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #satoru gojo x reader #shoko x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto #jjk shoko #jjk geto #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #sashisu #gojo shaped #geto shaped #shoko shaped

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comatosebunny09 · 6 months ago

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merry christmas, mr. sylus [ aftermath ]

— summary: maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters (sylus is in his mid-30s), mutual pining — notes: a happy ending for the holidays. happy holidays, all! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: some days - stella jang

It’s been nearly a week since you kissed your boss that fateful night.

Well, more like since he kissed you.

And it’s strange because even though he was the one to initiate it, he’s been avoiding you like a sickness. His curt good mornings have felt glacial, where they were once warm enough to light the torch of your day. Your daily briefs have felt rigid, and the car rides together have made you want to tuck and roll out the door. Worst off, he hasn’t maintained consistent eye contact with you since Christmas Eve, his gaze often fleeting away, studying the floor or the blurred space over your shoulder.

It really pisses you off. It’s bad enough that the night replays in your mind like a warped record, bringing with it warring feelings of relief and hurt. Relief because, maybe, he didn’t push you away as much as you initially thought. Hurt because the look on his face when he booked it to the elevator, leaving you to nurse bittersweet emotions and a broken smile, is permanently ingrained in your memory.

The pain overshadows all because he won’t even look at you now.

Were your lips chapped? Is it because you didn’t know what to do with your hands? Did you smell offensive? Were you just shit at kissing? Said thoughts hover in your mind like a nebulous cloud stretched across the galaxy, even as you sift through documents and folders, trying your best to distract yourself.

Mr. Sylus is tucked safe in his office behind you. Over the past few days, he’s made a point to arrive earlier than you—which is alarming considering you’re usually the night heron, showing up to fix his coffee, line up his daily schedule, and greet him with an unbridled smile.

You slam the folder you were working with shut, garnering a few perturbed looks from the staff scuttling about on the tenth floor. Sighing, you pitch yourself back in your chair, a pout inhabiting your features. If he wants to be childish about it, sure. But you’ve rarely been one to let sleeping dogs lie, and the awkwardness between you affects your at-home life as well.

Your gaze flits to the lower drawer of your desk. You scrutinize the lacquered cherry wood, contemplating barging into your boss’ office and giving him your makeup present. You figured maybe, just maybe, he was partially upset because he’d been expecting something more practical for Christmas. And perhaps that’s why he rushed out that night, all stone-faced and covering his lips with spindly fingers.

You still remember their taste—their feel. Your lips still tingle, and your face bleeds bashfulness whenever you recollect. They were slightly chapped but warm as they moved against yours. And, through the union, it felt like he poured something molten into the chasm of your belly. Something that set your heart rate into overdrive, the gears in your head whirring until steam billowed from your ears.

A swift hand covers where your heart thrums, and you shake your head to dispel your memories. Was kissing him really worth it if it meant your working relationship would suffer? Obviously not if you’re mulling over it so hard. But with determination bleeding over your countenance, you bend to throw open your bottom drawer. An oblong, matte black box peers back at you from within, intricately dressed with a scarlet bow. Scarlet, like the irises burned into your memory, looking at you with utter mortification.

Banishing your thoughts, you snatch the present from inside. Kick your drawer shut, standing so quickly that the front wheels of your chair bounce against the floor. You turn towards the heavy oakwood door of his office, the embossed letters of his name challenging you, and you steel your resolve.

But fate has been the most fickle bitch as of late, intervening when she sees fit, burning your efforts to mere soot.

A familiar, mellifluous voice calls you from behind. And just your luck, it would be her. You swivel, greeting Ms. Hunter with all the rehearsed ease of someone in your field.

She’s all bright-eyed and youthful with a thousand-watt smile. Gorgeous despite being in uniform, her hair windswept and cheeks mottled pink. A part of you would love to hate her, but you’ve truly no reason to. She’s never disrespected you, never called you out of your name. She’s been sickeningly cordial since you met her.

“Hey! Sylus in?” she asks, and your heart plummets into your stomach. Why else would she be here?

You nod rigidly, dropping back into your seat with the finesse of a bowling ball. And you take up the handset of your desk phone, dreading the familiar drawl of a particular voice on the other end.

“Speak,” he answers, the curl of his voice making your stomach do somersaults. Despite its flatness, this is perhaps the most emotion you’ve heard from him in the last few days.

“Ms. Hunter is here to see you, sir.”

A part of you hopes he turns her away–tells you he doesn’t want to see anyone, even if it’s his darling lady friend. And you feel you might get your wish when he’s silent for a beat, the crinkly static being your only company. Instead of answering your prayers, he simply answers, “Let her in.”

Your stomach freefalls to your feet. Your mask of a smile twitches, your disappointment sluggishly leaking through the fissures. “Of course, sir.” And you hang up, standing once more to lead Ms. Hunter into the place you haven’t been allowed into for days yourself.

She nods curtly, brushing past you, her hair wispy and the scent of stale Jasmine staining her clothes. When the door clicks shut behind her, you melt into your seat until your shoulders touch your ears, and you kick your excuse for a peace offering under the shadowy abyss of your desk.

And to think you’d worked so hard to muster the courage to confront your boss, too.

—

It’s nearing lunch, and you’re shoving things into your bag as your stomach reminds you that you skipped breakfast. You sling your pack over your shoulder, pushing your chair under your desk, preparing to hit the cafe in the city’s heart for something quick. You barely make it two steps before you’re summoned for the second time, though there is no high and light voice curling around your name this time.

This one is low and even, velvet-smooth, furling in your chest like smoke, sticking to your lungs like ash. You whip your head around to meet a familiar sheen of white hair.

He stands in his doorframe, a pensive look on his face, scarlet eyes smoldering with something you can’t quite place. Has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking between you and your bag, wordlessly inquiring where you’re off to.

With a nervous laugh in your throat, you turn to face him fully. “Was just about to grab some lunch. You want anything, sir?”

He shakes his head, the barest cant to his lips. It’s gone before you’ve time to appreciate it.

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream as you fiddle with your fingers. At least he’s trying to approach you first, no matter how uncomfortable the exchange. You wonder if Ms. Hunter had something to do with this. Maybe he told her what happened six nights ago, and she gave him a pep talk to put him back into good spirits. But you know that’s just wishful thinking. In fact, she seemed uncharacteristically somber when she left his office earlier, barely acknowledging your goodbye.

“Can I speak to you before you leave?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed, head tilted, lips set in a stiff line.

Something cold drips through you. You grab the strap of your bag, grip white-knuckled, and the leather squeaks. Despite the dread turning your limbs to lead, you plaster on a smile and nod. He motions into his office, stepping aside to let you in. And you try to ignore how your heart threatens to leap from your rib cage because this is the part where he fires you, isn’t it?

Oh well. The job was good while it lasted—something to fatten up your résumé and harden your heart.

It’s warm inside his office. Of course, it always is. And you’ve missed this, not having been amid these softened, gray, accent molded walls all week. It smells of cracked cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans with something inherently Sylus snuck in between. The city stretches like a yawning beast against the horizon, peering through the ceiling-high windows behind his desk.

Strangling the strap of your pack, you ease into a red, tufted armchair, your legs bouncing and your throat growing dry. You jolt when the door shuts and admonish yourself for being so jittery. If Mr. Sylus intends to fire you, you’ll face it head-on with a smile on your face.

So you muster one as he moves to inhabit the space mere inches away from you, leaning against the edge of his heavy, cherry wood desk, arms crossing over a broad chest. He’s as devastating a sight as ever, his blazer slung over the back of his rolling chair, his forearms bleeding from cuffed sleeves. And the sight of his veins, branching like a roadmap beneath his skin, still makes your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

You’re going to miss this.

He looks contemplative as you toy with your bag’s zipper. And your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. Wonder how long you’ll have to keep up this act before he drops a bomb on you.

“How are you doing today?” he queries. And you blink rapidly, not expecting him to open the floor with small talk. Regardless, you’re grateful he’s offering you more than curt grunts, even if it’ll be the last time you hear them.

“Um…I’m doing alright, I guess.”

Your stomach growls, disrupting the tension that brews between you. You rub your stomach placatingly, and Sylus snorts, perching virile hands on the edge of his desk, leaning back. He seems a little more open. A little lighter, and you find your lips twitching with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal you away from your lunch break. I promise to be brief.”

You nod as a knot of nerves forms in your gut, warring with your hunger. Straightening your back, you cross your ankles, hands flattened in your lap. Here it comes—

“Do you…have any plans for New Year’s?”

You blink again, brows pinching. “Wh-wha?”

He sheepishly rubs the scruff of his neck, and you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so at odds with himself. He reminds you of an adolescent, rallying the courage to ask out their crush.

“A friend of mine owns a cabin up in the woods.” He looks at you, wetting his lips. You nod, cautiously encouraging him to continue. “He usually hosts this whole weekend extravaganza there every New Year’s. Bringing a plus one is a bit of an unspoken rule. I was wondering if you didn’t already have plans—”

You unconsciously lean forward, brows lifting.

“—if you would like to accompany me?”

Well, that took a left turn. A hand placed over your heart, you laugh, the knot of your nerves slowly unraveling. So, does this mean your boss doesn’t hate you?

“I would love to!” you say with a little too much enthusiasm. And he smiles in turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets, chuckle infectious.

The load of the air a little lighter, you exchange small talk, and it feels as if nothing’s changed between you. Like that fateful Christmas Eve night, you didn’t make an ass of yourself, and he didn’t regret kissing you.

Sylus walks you to the door, twin smiles donning your faces. You turn to him on your way out, awkwardly running into the hardened planes of his chest. He steadies you with tender fingers wrapped around your arms, and the gleam in his eyes siphons the air from your lungs. You find your gaze falling to his lips, his mirroring yours. And had there not been people still milling about, you would’ve kissed him.

“W-would you like to grab lunch together, sir?” you ask instead, caught up in the alluring stir of his eyes—the wispy dance of darkened lashes, the tremor of pink lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your mouth. He sweeps some errant hair behind your ear, the glide of his knuckle against your cheek reminiscent of pill bugs rolling over your skin.

You nod, pulling yourself from the spell the moment cast. And you lead the way, trying vainly to stifle the grin splitting your face in twain, Mr. Sylus a warm and homely presence at your back as the pair of you make your way to the elevator.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #sylus #sylus fluff #sylus romance #holiday fic

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dreamsteddie · 4 months ago

Text

Never Better

Written for the @stmarchmm day five prompt “collaring” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Insecure Steve Harrington, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington

Bat divider -@popmilky

Also posted on Ao3

The problem with being the Omega half of an Alpha/Omega pair and also being deeply possessive of your mate and pack is that your bite doesn’t stick.

No matter how hard he clamps down, no matter how much he makes Eddie bleed, the bite is always healed in a matter of days. Too many years of evolution ensuring that Alphas heal at max speed, making it impossible for a bite at the already rapidly healing mating gland to stick around.

Every time he rolls over in bed to see his mark gone from his Alpha’s throat, like it never existed, Steve’s heart hurts just a little bit. Eddie can always tell from the bond, always rolls over instinctively and blinks awake, reaching for his Omega before he even knows what’s wrong. He always offers his neck right up again, willing to let Steve latch on and make him bleed no matter how much it hurts. He just wants to make Steve happy.

But after a while, Steve starts to give up. He rolls over a year into their mating to see Eddie’s neck healed once again and rolls back over. When Eddie wakes up and reaches for him, tilting his head up to offer his throat, Steve tells him it’s ok. He doesn’t want to hurt Eddie again when it won’t last.

Eddie is concerned and tries to assure his mate that he doesn’t mind. He loves carrying his mark and doesn’t care that it hurts every time, at this point it only registers as a dull ache. But Steve is adamant.

The problem is, the reason Steve has always been so insistent on marking Eddie is that ever since they got the hell out of Hawkins, Indiana, Omegas and Betas have been all over his mate. Steve has always known that Eddie is a hell of a catch. He’s sweet, caring, considerate, goofy, and still somehow 100% Alpha in the best way. He’s so authentically himself while still managing to be strong and capable in a way that makes Steve’s knees feel weak, and now that he’s not haunted by his reputation as an untouchable “freak”, he draws a lot of attention.

Steve can’t blame them, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Eddie always says no, kindly at first and getting more firm the longer they insist on “one little date” even after he explains that he is happily mated and not interested in a second mate. But Steve has been through some things. He’s been cheated on, he’s been left behind, he’s been the third in a relationship that didn’t really want him for more than a couple quick fucks and shared responsibility of the chores. Every time someone approaches Eddie, all he can think is “this will be the one. This will be the one Eddie decides is better than me.”

He thinks he’s got a grip on it. Thinks Eddie doesn’t know the extent to which this is eating him up inside. How much he’s worried Eddie will wake up and decide that not only does he not want Steve’s bite, he doesn’t want needy, clingy Steve at all anymore.

Until Steve comes home from work one day to find a long, fancy looking box lying perfectly centered on their coffee table. Everything else has been swept away, no half-empty mugs of coffee or sports magazines to be found, just a sleek black box. For a second Steve thinks it might be something sexy. They don’t use many toys, but it’s not out of the question.

But upon closer inspection, Steve sees that there is mat black lettering on the shiny black surface. Collar and Courting, it reads. With that, his knees fall out from under him. He knows that brand. Saw it in one of his Omega geared magazines that no one but Eddie knows he reads. Remembers how fixated he’d been on that article.

“Some say it’s old fashioned. Some even go as far as to say it’s an archaic show of status with no place in the modern age. Some say it’s the most romantic thing an Alpha can do for their mate. Love it or hate it, Collar and Courting is one of the last groups of leather artisans keeping the tradition of Alpha collaring alive.”

He thought he’d hidden it from Eddie, the longing in his chest, but he must have noticed. He always noticed. Hope surges painfully in his chest, his scent blooming. He��s almost afraid to open it, too scared of the slightest possibility that it’s not what he thinks it is.

When he finally musters the courage to lift the lid, his breath catches in his throat. Black, shiny leather stares back at him. More simple than he thought Eddie would go for, just a black band and buckle and a silver O right in the center. He doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him, isn’t aware of Eddie’s presence until he’s leaned over the back of the couch, speaking softly in his ear.

“You like it?” He asks, as if Steve could ever not love it. He turns around and throws his arms around his mate, headless of the couch between them.

“Of course I love it, you asshole!” He exclaims because really, what kind of question is that? Eddie laughs in his ear, climbing over the back of the couch instead of going around like the heathen he is. Steve loves him so much. They end up sprawled half haphazardly across the cushion, Eddie pressing noisy kisses into Steve’s neck until he’s a giggly mess.

When they finally calm down, Eddie sits them both up, looking deep into his eyes with that sincerity that always makes Steve swoon a little. “I’ve got one more thing for you,” he says like it’s a secret. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. It clinks quietly against the metal of his rings.

Steve drags his eyes away from Eddie’s deep stare and immediately feels tears pooling in his eyes. It’s a charm, clearly meant for the O ring on the collar. Small and simple, no long winded engravings, just Steve’s signature. The same one on his ID, on his social security card, on the mating certificate hanging proudly on their bedroom wall.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he says, voice muffled by the kiss he presses firmly to Eddie’s mouth. Eddie welcomes him the same way he always does, smiling into the kiss and pulling him in by the waist. Eventually, he pulls away, reaching for the abandoned box on the table.

“Come on big boy, don’t leave a guy hanging.” There’s mirth in his voice and joy in his eyes, but when Steve goes to pull the supple leather out the box, he pauses.

“Are you sure, Eddie? We don’t have to do this, I love you no matter what. I trust you.” He can see Eddie’s eyes dim with confusion, soft feelings of doubt seeping into the bond.

“What do you mean sweetheart?” He asks, reaching to lay his hand on Steve’s wrist. Comforting, always so comforting. Steve stares at the leather, this thing he wants so badly it hurts, but…

“I mean, I just know it’s kind of old fashioned,” he explains. “And I know you hate archaic gender roles. I just don’t want you to do this because you think you need to. Because you think I need you to.” Eddie is looking at him in that way that’s always so hard for him to read, even with the bond. Years of hiding from his father making Eddie excellent at masking how he feels.

“Listen to me,” he says, eyes back to that intense, earnest gaze that keeps Steve captive. “I love you so much, and there is nothing I want more than for every person on the street to know I’m yours. If I could go back and prevent millions of years of evolution so I could have your bite, I would do it in a heartbeat. I don’t give a shit if it’s traditional or non-traditional, I want this.” And now Steve is really crying. Big, fat, happy tears that Eddie wipes away with gentle fingers.

“Ok,” he says, wobbly but oh so happy.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, checking in one last time.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, firmer now. Sure.

Without another word, Eddie scoots back just enough to give Steve access, baring his neck the same way he used every other morning until Steve asked him to stop. Ready and willing for Steve to mark as his own. This time, Steve doesn’t hesitate. Brings the leather up, admiring how it looks against his mate's pale skin, and reaches around to secure it. It fits perfectly, Eddie must have had it custom made, the sap. Steve makes sure it sits low, leaving his mating gland free for scenting.

Wordlessly, Eddie passes him the little charm. His eyes are dark the same way they were when he bit Steve, like he’s trying to capture this moment in all its brightness. The metal makes a small snick sound as it settles into place, and then it’s Eddie’s turn to loose his breath as Steve tilts his head to press a soft kiss to the little tag. Finally, he pulls back, admiring the full picture.

Eddie preens a little under his gaze, tilting his head up just a little to show off his new jewelry. “Look good?” He asks.

Steve smiles, brighter than he has since he stopped trying to leave his mark. “Never better, baby.”

#march mating madness #omegaverse #collaring #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #fanfiction #I am very bad at giving my works titles if you can't tell

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brownsugarcoffy · 2 months ago

Text

The Vine Between Us (2)

Summary

Annie left the Mississippi Delta with a broken heart and a full-ride scholarship, determined never to look back. Now a celebrated professor in Chicago, she’s called home to care for her mother—and the last thing she expects is to run straight into him.

Elijah "Smoke". Her first love. Her first everything.

He disappeared the summer after graduation, leaving only unanswered calls and a goodbye she never got. Now he's back in town, running a moody, magnetic blues lounge with his twin brother, playing late into the humid Southern nights like he’s pouring his soul out just for her.

Annie wants to hate him. She wants to forget the way he made her feel. But one look from those stormy eyes, and she’s seventeen again—burning, aching, and lost in the man he’s become.

He left without a word. But now? He wants to finish the story they never got to end.

Characters: Annie x Elijah " Smoke" Moore (Modern AU)

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Mention of Abuse, Vulgar Language, Sexual content & more...

Chapters: PART (1) , PART (3), PART (4)

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! I really do appreciate it! Feedback is very much welcome, and if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know. Enjoy!

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The air seemed to settle, but Annie felt anything but steady. Her stomach churned. She gripped the red basket tighter, her knuckles pale against the handle. Pearline said something, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

“Elijah,” she murmured, not as a name, but a wound. One that hadn’t fully closed in nine damn years.

Pearline leaned on the cart. “Annie?”

Annie let out a short breath that didn’t feel like relief. “He looked right at me, Pearline. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t left me without a goodbye or a damn word.”

“You never talked to him since?”

Annie scoffed, tossing a box of cornmeal into the basket like it had offended her. “Not once. He didn’t write. Didn’t call. Nothing.”

“I thought Stack sent you letters?”

“He did. Two. That’s it. Told me they enlisted. Said they left the next morning after graduation. But Elijah? Nothing. Not even a ‘I’m sorry.’” Her voice was rising now, emotions climbing up her throat. “We were kids, yeah, but I loved him, Pearline. I thought he loved me. He let me plan out our whole summer together, let me sit there talking about the future like we had one—and all the while he knew he was leavin’.”

Pearline looked at her gently. “Maybe it was hard for him to say goodbye.”

Annie gave a sharp laugh. “You don’t ghost someone you love because it’s hard. You show up. You explain. You give them something—a note, a moment, a goodbye kiss, I don’t care. But he gave me nothing. He took the boy I loved and vanished like it never happened. And now he’s just… back. Lookin’ at me like we’ve only been apart a season.”

She paused, swallowing hard, then added, “You know what the worst part is?”

Pearline shook her head.

“I waited. For months. I’d check the mailbox like a fool. I'd look out the window every time a car slowed down. Mama thought I was sick. And then Stack’s second letter came. Told me Elijah got quiet. Said he wasn’t the same. Said to move on.”

Pearline touched her arm. “Have you ever written back?”

Annie shook her head, eyes glassy. “What was there to say? ‘Thanks for the crumbs?'"

The two stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the freezer aisle filling the space between their memories. Annie blinked away the sting in her eyes, gathering herself again.

“I don’t care how good he looks now,” she said tightly. “I buried him nine years ago. I’m not digging up bones.”

Pearline didn’t argue. She just nodded, pushing her cart toward the register. “Well… if you change your mind, I hear The Cypress Lounge got the kind of ghosts that sing when you listen real close.”

Annie watched her go, the ache still pressing against her ribs like old bruises. She wasn’t ready to see him again—not like that. Not when all she wanted to do was ask why and hit him in the same breath.

The screen door creaked open as Annie followed her mother up the front steps, grocery bags tugging at her fingers. The sun had started to drop, casting long shadows across the porch. Cicadas buzzed in the trees, a lazy hum that made the evening feel heavier somehow.

“You gon’ pout all night or help me put these greens in water?” Mama asked, setting her bags down on the kitchen table with a soft grunt.

Annie didn’t answer right away. She moved through the kitchen like she was underwater, setting things down without care, her mind still circling the moment Elijah’s eyes locked on hers in Bo Chow’s. Nine years, and he hadn’t flinched. Like he expected her to still be there, standing still.

“I saw Elijah,” she said finally.

Her mother didn’t look surprised. “I figured. Ruby called me from the parking lot. Said she spotted you at Bo Chow’s, lookin’ like you seen a ghost.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Of course Ruby nosey self did.”

“She was just picking up some turnips, and saw you ducking behind cereal like a sinner hiding from the deacons,” her mother said, with a knowing look. “Said he looked good, though. That was her exact phrasing—‘that boy aged like a mahogany tree and shame on him.’”

Annie scoffed. “Of course she’d notice that.”

Her mother started unpacking the collards, her hands working with muscle memory. “You still mad at him?”

Annie let out a bitter breath. “Mad? I was ruined, Mama. He left me like I was nothing. Like we were nothing. Didn’t say goodbye, didn’t even call. Just disappeared with Stack and never looked back.”

“Stack wrote you.”

“Elijah didn’t.”

Her mother nodded slowly, rinsing the greens. “You were young. So was he.”

“That’s no excuse. He could’ve told me. He owed me something.”

Her mother set the colander down, turning to face her. “You right. He did. But maybe he didn’t know how to face you. Maybe leaving was harder than you think.”

Annie shook her head, eyes starting to sting again. “Then he shouldn’t have let me dream about a future he never intended to give me.”

Her mother walked over and cupped her face gently. “You held on too long, baby. You let that silence become your whole story. Maybe now’s your chance to write a new ending.”

Annie pulled away, blinking back tears. “I’m not interested in happy endings. Not with him.”

Her mother didn’t press. She simply kissed her forehead and returned to the sink, humming an old blues tune under her breath. Annie stood still, the weight of the past pressing against her chest like a stone.

Later that night, after the greens were cleaned and stewing low on the stove, Annie sat on the porch with a glass of sweet tea sweating in her hand. The crickets were out now, and the breeze carried the soft scent of honeysuckle from the side of the house. Her mother was rocking beside her, shelling peas into a bowl like she always did when she wanted to talk without pressing too hard.

“You hear from that teacher fella lately?” Mama asked, keeping her eyes on her hands.

Annie took a sip, not looking her way. “Nah. I let that go.”

“That’s what, the third man this year you done ‘let go’?”

Annie gave a half-shrug. “It wasn’t working.”

Mama smiled faintly. “It never does when they start talkin’ forever, huh?”

Annie’s jaw tightened just a little, but she didn’t respond.

“They don’t measure up?” her mother asked lightly, but the words had weight.

Annie looked out at the yard, where the porch light barely touched the overgrown grass near the fence. “It’s not about measuring up. I just... don’t feel it. Not like that.”

Her mother was quiet for a moment, and then said, almost to herself, “You felt it once though. All the way through.”

Annie’s breath hitched just a little, but she forced herself to stay still. “That was a long time ago.”

Her mother nodded slowly. “Mm-hmm.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m not hung up on Elijah,” Annie said suddenly, a little too fast. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I ain’t say his name.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Her mother looked over at her, warm eyes sharp with knowing. “You’ve had good men, Annie. Kind ones. Smart ones. Ones who wanted to build something real with you. But you run every time they open that door.”

Annie looked down at her glass. The ice had melted.

“I guess I just ain’t the buildin’ kind.”

Her mother didn’t push. She never did. She just kept shelling those peas, soft click-clack sounds filling the quiet.

But Annie knew. She knew her mother saw the space inside her heart where Elijah’s ghost still lived. The part of her that had never healed right. Like a broken bone that fused crooked—strong enough to carry on, but always aching when the weather changed.

And no matter how much she denied it, or how many smiles she forced through new dates and fresh starts, that pain had made her cautious. Distant. Every time love reached out, she pulled away just enough to keep from bleeding again.

Her mama let the silence sit a minute longer before dropping another shell into the bowl and saying, like it was nothing more than a passing thought, “You know… Stacks used to light up like a Christmas tree whenever he saw you.”

Annie blinked, caught off guard. “Stacks?”

“Mmhmm,” her mother nodded, a little smile playing on her lips. “Even when y’all were just kids. Always hanging around the house askin’ where you were. But Lord, he was too busy chasin’ every girl with good hair and fast hips.”

Annie huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah. Stacks flirted with anything that moved. He was always trying to charm his way outta trouble.”

“Still, that boy looked at you differently,” her mama said softly. “Not like the others. And not just ‘cause of Elijah either.”

Annie shook her head, lips tugging upward despite herself. “Stacks was just a clown. Sweet, sure, but not serious. Not back then.”

Her mother gave her a sideways glance. “Maybe not. But you never did give him the time of day.”

“That’s because I only had eyes for one person.” The words slipped out before Annie could catch them, and she immediately regretted it.

Her mama didn’t press. She just reached for another pea pod, her voice gentle. “Funny how you still talk about Elijah like you seventeen.”

“I don’t,” Annie said, too quickly.

“Mmhmm,” her mother replied, which was her polite way of saying yes, you do.

Annie sighed and leaned back in her chair, watching the porch light flicker like it was thinking about giving up. Her heart felt tight in her chest, the weight of memories pressing in. She thought she’d buried that chapter of her life deep enough that even her mama couldn’t dig it up, but somehow all it took was one encounter at Bo Chow’s and her world was unraveling.

And now her mother was talking about Stacks like he might be an option, as if Annie still had something left to give.

“Stacks was always a better talker than Elijah,” her mother added, almost sly now. “At least he wrote.”

Annie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because her mother was right. Stacks had written to her, twice. Letters that came months after they’d vanished. Words that tried to explain what Elijah never did.

Her mama set the bowl down, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned to face her daughter. “That boy left a hole in you, baby. I know that. But I also know you never let anyone else even try to fill it.”

Annie looked away.

Her mother hesitated, then smiled faintly. “You remember how you used to love to walk barefoot in the greenhouse?”

Annie’s brows lifted. “Of course.”

“I saw you one night. Slipping out through your window. I got up to get some water, and there you were, tiptoeing like you were a spy or somethin’.”

Annie blinked. “You never said anything.”

“I didn’t have to. You were lucky it was me that saw you. If it had been your daddy...” Her mama shook her head, laughing under her breath. “He liked Elijah, sure. But he was no fool. He knew Elijah was still a boy—and boys have eyes, especially for girls they ain’t supposed to be out with that late.”

Annie’s cheeks flushed with memory. “You knew all this time?”

“I knew more than you thought. I remember the way you used to come home glowing like the moon had whispered secrets in your ear. And I knew it was only a matter of time before that boy either broke your heart... or tried to keep it.”

There was a long silence between them.

Annie finally whispered, “He didn’t try to keep it. He just left.”

Her mama softened. “He was young. Didn’t know how to be honest. That’s no excuse, but it’s the truth. And you’ve been holding that silence like it’s yours to carry.”

Her mama looked at her long and deep. “You may not owe him a second chance, Annie. But you do owe yourself a real one.”

After dinner, Annie helped her mother clear the table, both of them moving in a quiet rhythm honed by years of coexisting in the same modest kitchen. The clink of plates and the soft scrape of forks filled the silence between them. Her mother wiped the last of the crumbs into her palm and tossed them into the trash before speaking.

“Why are you so quiet over there, child?”

Annie gave a half-smile. “I’ve just been thinking.”

Her mother didn’t press. She knew Annie well enough to let her thoughts settle on their own time. But when Annie leaned back against the counter and said, “I might go out for a little bit,” her mother stopped rinsing the sink.

“Where to?”

“Pearline said she might stop by Cypress Lounge tonight. Thought I’d catch up with her.”

Her mother slowly turned off the faucet and dried her hands on the dish towel. “The lounge?”

Annie gave a small shrug. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” The sound carried meaning. Not quite judgment, but not surprise either.

Annie rolled her eyes with a teasing smirk. “And yes, I know who owns it.”

Her mother raised a brow. “Stacks and Smoke. That ain’t no secret, child.”

“They’ve probably done well with it,” Annie said, unsure why she felt the need to defend them.

“They always knew how to hustle,” her mother replied, her tone neutral. “Still... walking into their world again ain’t like passing through the produce aisle at Piggly Wiggly.”

Annie chuckled despite herself. “I’m not going there for them, Mama. Pearline will be there. It’s just a lounge. I’m grown.”

Her mother didn’t argue. She just gave her that long, knowing look that seemed to see through the years and right back to the girl who used to sneak out late at night to meet Elijah behind the Greenhouse.

“Well,” her mother said finally, “if you’re going, fix your hair. And don’t let that boy’s dimples undo all your common sense.”

Annie laughed. “You talking about Stacks or Smoke?”

Her mother smirked. “Don’t play coy. We both know which one made you lose sleep.”

Annie shook her head and grabbed her purse. “Good night, Mama.”

“Be safe, baby.”

As Annie stepped outside into the warm Delta night, the weight of memories pressed on her chest, but so did the thrill of seeing Cypress Lounge not as a symbol of the past, but a place where she might reclaim a little piece of herself.

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The Cypress Lounge pulsed with rhythm, low and thick like molasses. Laughter drifted out with the smoke, but Elijah was known to most as Smoke leaned against the brick wall out back, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The night air was heavy with humidity, but the quiet outside was a relief from the blues buzzing inside.

Only Annie and the elders ever called him Elijah.

He hadn’t heard his name said like that in over a decade, and somehow it still felt like it belonged to her.

He took a long drag, exhaled slow.

“You thinkin’ about Annie?”

Stacks’ voice broke the silence like a gentle elbow to the ribs. His twin brother, same face but always a little brighter around the edges. Stacks wore the same face, but with mischief tucked into the corners of his grin. Always had. Even now, older, sharper, wearing a tailored vest and easy charm, he was still the same boy who cracked jokes in the middle of a storm.

Smoke didn’t answer right away.

Stacks didn’t need him to.

They’d always understood each other without saying much.

But the truth was, yes. He was thinking about Annie. Hell, she never really left his mind. Not when they left town, not during all those long years in the military, not once in the ten years since.

He hadn’t said goodbye.

He hadn’t sent a letter.

He just disappeared.

It was the one thing he regretted. Even now.

Stacks had written to her. Twice. Checked in. Explained what happened, best he could. But Smoke? He hadn’t had the guts. Not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too damn much.

And now she was back.

Of course she’d still be beautiful. Of course the moment he saw her it’d feel like the world flipped upside down.

Stacks knew the history. He’d known it even back then.

He’d had a crush on Annie when they were just kids. Everybody knew it. But even at ten years old, Stacks had seen it. That look in Annie’s eyes, the one she only gave Smoke. And for all his wild boy charm, Stacks never got jealous. He just smiled, teased them both, and let it be.

Because if there was one person in this world Stacks would never betray, it was his brother.

And Smoke knew that. Always had.

Growing up with their father, who was mean and drunk more often than sober, had taught him how to anticipate pain. He’d learned how to take a hit before it landed. Learned how to stand between Stacks and a swinging fist, how to bite his tongue and swallow his screams. His father never touched Stacks. Smoke made sure of that.

Maybe that’s why he clung to Annie so hard back then. She was soft in a world that was bruised. Her laugh made things feel normal. She believed in him when he barely believed in himself. She saw past the fists, past the scars, past the silence he wore like armor.

And God help him, she was still the only girl who ever made him smile without trying.

He hadn’t seen that smile in the mirror since he left.

He didn’t know what it meant now that she was back in town, or whether he even had the right to say her name anymore.

Smoke crushed the cigarette beneath his boot and rubbed a hand down his face, like maybe he could wipe the memories away. No luck. Annie lived behind his eyes now. Every part of this damn city held her name in it.

Stacks leaned beside him, silent now, eyes cast toward the alleyway like he was watching for ghosts.

“You ever think about what it’d be like if we never left?” Stacks finally asked, voice low, thoughtful.

Smoke didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched the shadows stretch across the bricks, thick like ink in the heat.

“All the time,” he muttered.

“You ever regret it?”

Smoke tilted his head back. “You don’t?”

Stacks shrugged. “Some days. But I think we needed to go. To survive. Pops was gettin’ worse. I don’t think we woulda made it much longer.”

Their father’s anger used to thunder through the walls late at night. A bottle always in his hand. Hands that were too quick to swing. Smoke had learned early to stay ten steps ahead of him, not just for his own sake—but to protect Stacks. If it wasn’t for Smoke, Stacks would’ve taken the worst of it. That’s just who their father was.

So they hustled. Ran the streets before their voices even cracked—fixing radios, selling bootleg tapes, flipping whatever they could get their hands on just to put food in the fridge. They had dreams, sure, but hunger and fists didn’t care about dreams. They cared about survival.

One day, Smoke decided enough was enough. The military wasn’t just an escape—it was the only road that looked like it led out.

But it cost him Annie.

“She was mad,” Stacks added, voice softer now. “She wrote me back once. Told me she was done waiting.”

“I deserved that.”

“She cried in that letter, Smoke. You know how hard it is for a girl like Annie to admit she cried? She trusted you. And you disappeared.”

Smoke clenched his jaw, pain flickering behind his eyes. “I was gonna write. Every day, I meant to. But I didn’t want to give her false hope. I thought if I just cut it, it’d be easier for her.”

“You were trying to protect her.”

“Yeah. And I ended up hurting her more.”

Stacks gave him a look, one brother to another. “You gonna let her keep thinkin’ you didn’t care?”

Smoke turned his head, eyes sharp. “No.”

“You still love her?”

Smoke didn’t even blink. “Always did.”

Stacks cracked a smile, no jealousy in it, just understanding. He had known, even as a kid, that Annie was always looking at Smoke—even when she was standing right beside him. And he couldn’t be mad. Not when Annie was the only thing that ever made his brother smile like that.

Then he clapped a hand on Smoke’s shoulder. “Then you better fix it, big bro. Before someone else steps in.”

Smoke stared into the night, jaw tight. “She ain’t the type you just win back with flowers and apologies.”

“Then don’t give her that. Give her truth.”

Stacks stepped away, voice trailing off. “We’ve got a club to run. And you’ve got a woman to face.”

Smoke stayed where he was, staring at the stars, the weight of memory flashing in his mind. It was a memory of when he first spoke to her.

Smoke wiped down the kitchen counter, scrubbing at the sticky ring left by a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. Their father had stumbled in late the night before, angry and mean with nothing in his pockets but excuses and the sharp stench of regret. Now he was passed out in the back room, door wide open, mouth hanging slack.

Smoke tossed the rag in the sink and let out a breath. The walls felt like they were closing in.

“Yo, come on,” Stacks called from the hallway, already halfway out the door. “We hittin’ Mr. Gary’s before it gets packed.”

Smoke grabbed his white t- shirt, slid it on, and followed his twin into the humid Mississippi morning. The sun was bold overhead, baking the pavement, making everything shimmer like heat was trying to erase the whole town.

Stacks bounced down the sidewalk, full of energy, snapping his fingers and breaking into a loud, off-key rendition of the Ying Yang Twins.

“Wait 'til you see my—”

“Stacks,” Smoke warned, glancing around.

Stacks just laughed. “What? I’m sayin’. That song go hard. You just mad you ain’t got the vocals for it.”

Smoke shook his head, but there was a smirk trying to creep in. As usual, Stacks was showing out, dancing and spinning a coin between his fingers like the world had never hurt them.

They turned the corner near 12th and saw Mr. Gary’s ice cream parlor just ahead, the old hand-painted sign barely hanging on. The scent of sugar and waffle cones drifted out into the street like an invitation.

Stacks slowed. “Yo. Yo. Ain’t that the girl from math class?”

Smoke followed his gaze.

There she was.

Annie.

She was sitting outside the shop on the bench, one knee up, licking a grape popsicle like it owed her money. Two thick braids framed her face, and an old Saints jersey hung over her cutoffs. She looked like she belonged on a whole different planet—cool, unbothered, sharp-eyed.

“She new,” Smoke murmured. “Moved here from Louisiana.”

“She fine,” Stacks corrected, grinning. “Watch this.”

He sauntered ahead with all the charm he could muster, chest puffed like he was walking into a music video.

“Hey there,” he said smoothly, leaning against the bench. “You in our class, right? I’m Stacks. You probably noticed me already.”

Annie didn’t even blink. “Only thing I noticed was somebody always talkin’ when the teacher tryin’ to speak.”

Stacks froze, smile faltering for half a second. “Dang. That’s cold.”

“I’m from Louisiana. We say what we mean,” she said, then looked past him. “Your brother the one that don’t talk?”

Smoke, still a few steps back, raised a brow. “Sometimes.”

Annie gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Good. I like the quiet ones. They don’t waste your time with nonsense.”

Stacks laughed too loud. “See? She like you already.”

Annie cut him a look. “Boy, don’t flatter yourself. I ain’t said I liked either of y’all." Smoke walked up beside his brother, unsure of what to say.

Annie turned to him. “You got a name or you just go by ‘Shadow’?”

“Elijah,” he said, voice quiet. “But everybody call me Smoke.”

Annie licked her popsicle, then said, “Smoke, huh? You look like you don’t play around.”

Stacks jumped in. “He don’t. Always got that serious face like he solving algebra in his sleep.”

Annie stood up, brushing crumbs off her jersey, and walked between them like royalty on a mission.

“Well, nice meetin’ y’all. Don’t be weird next time.”

And just like that, she was gone, her braids bouncing with every step.

Stacks let out a low whistle. “Man... she really just...she got attitude.”

“She got presence,” Smoke corrected, still watching her walk away.

Stacks looked at his twin and shook his head. “You catchin’ feelings already?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Stacks grinned. “Me too."

Elijah brung himself back to reality as he heard Stacks calling his name from the side door of the lounge. He wasn’t the boy Annie used to sneak off with to the greenhouse under moonlight. He was the man who left without a word, but he was ready to write his wrongs.

TAGLIST:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @brattyfics @chrisevansmentee @margepimpson @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @bigjh @est1887 @tadjoa @thickmadame

#smoke elijah moore #elijah smoke moore #smoke x annie #sinners fanfiction #sinners #blackwriters #michael b jordan #wunmi mosaku #michael b jordan x black reader #michael b jordan x reader

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madsgotmadagain · 18 days ago

Text

Writing Love letters:Yandere! Marko x Reader

Summary: You, a hopeless romantic, start to receive anonymous love letters in your mailbox. How sweet!It becomes less sweet, however, when your secret admirer starts to admire you a little too closely. And creepily. And may or may not be human but hey whose to say-

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR: Stalking, feeling watched/paranoia, yandere behavior, blood, forced blood drinking/forced vampire turning, death of nameless characters, being held/pinned down, Marko cuts himself to feed you blood, mean Marko (he loses his temper, sort of apologizes?), cops being useless and snarky

If you catch any i may have not mentioned or tagged properly, let me know and I'll add them! I think this is mostly it though

Other important tags: Yandere/obsessive Marko, Italian Marko (uses of Italian pet names), reader uses she/her pronouns but body is not mentioned, oneshot, 8.3k words, this work is cross published on Ao3!!

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You thought the first couple letters were sweet, really. If anything, the first few were just the tiniest bit. They showed up in your mailbox one day alongside the other bills and ads shoved in there by your mailman. You figured whoever was sending them wasn't using the postal service, however. The letters were anonymous, no name or return address or even a stamp on the back. Just “mi amore” written on the back of the envelope, and a wax seal keeping it shut.

You didn't see them all until you got home from work that night though. Waking up late left now time to collect your mail before you scrambled off to work. It was all too perfect for him, though.

"A wax seal. How fancy,” You thought when you saw it. Flipping the letter back and forth before you walked back into your home with the rest of your mail. Tossing it all except for the letter onto the coffee table, flopping down onto your sofa. Despite the exhaustion from work that day, this little envelope was sparking your interest. Thus, feeling the all consuming weight of curiosity, you carefully lift up the seal and take out the paper inside. Feeling the toothy grip of sketchbook paper on your fingertips as you pull it out, starting to read.

.……..……..……..……..……..……..……..……......................

“Mi Amore,”

“Seeing you working on the boardwalk has become the highlight of my nights. Passing by you fills me with emotions I haven't touched in a long time. Seeing your smile as you deal with whatever customer is talking to you, even when they don't deserve it- Dio mio, what I would give to get you to smile at me. A real, genuine smile in my direction. I would actually die right then and there.”

“I'm writing to tell you I love you. You have become my sun, the light of my life, my purpose - Mio Sole, I am helpless to my heart. Impossibly attracted to you, struggling to hold myself back from trying to sweep you off your feet and take you right then and there. I need an outlet. So I thought, hey, letters.”

“I need you to know how crazy I am about you. Even if you don't know me right away, or don't feel the same right now, you should know. I would kill for you. I would die for you. And right now, I live for you, my love.”

“Forever yours,

Tuo ammiratore”

..……………………………………………………………………….

“... Oh, wow,” is all you can think to say. Your face flushing red, a small smile on your lips. You couldn't believe what you were reading. Sure, you had gotten a love note or two in school, but it was always the typical, ‘Do you like me yes-no-box’ note. Never had you ever received anything like this. A confession of pure, unfiltered admiration. It was so fantastical, a plot plucked straight out of a cheesy rom-com, or some modern day period film. And for a single, hopeless romantic, it was an absolute dream come true.

You had no idea what this would bring. You had no idea that, as you sat on your sofa, giddily re-reading your letter, making sure you hadn't misread anything, someone was outside your windows. Smiling to himself as he watches you, greenish-grey eyes bore into you, past your body, staring at your soul.

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And so, as time went on, you got more letters. Each as romantic and lovingly crafted as the next. You even got to learn more about your secret admirer; for example, he was a bit of an artist. Small doodles scrawled into the margins of the pages, little hearts and doodles of whatever he was talking about scattered around the poetic lines of devotion. Once he even stuck in a whole separate paper in the envelope; a portrait of you.

“I tried to draw you last night,” He explained at the end of his writing. “It came out alright, I think - better than I thought it would. You can only do so much when your only references are memories. Still, one day, I'll get to see you up close, and I'll find a moment to sit you down and draw you as well as I know I could.”

He told you small stories about him and his friends, who you learned he lived with, though details beyond that were obscured from you. You had no clue where they all lived, just the assumption that it had to be here, somewhere in Santa Carla.

He admitted at one point that he started telling them all about you. “I want them to like you too,” he had written. “Not in the same way, of course, but I want them to like you. And for you to like them. I don't know what I'd do if I introduced you all and you wouldn't get along. You're all way too important for me to give any of you up.”

You also learned that he wasn't one of your coworkers. Given you only really went on the boardwalk for work, you thought maybe your secret admirer worked alongside you. But after asking around, nobody had any idea what you were talking about, not letting out even the tiniest slip that could hint they were lying.

For the time being, you decided to just let it be. Reveling in the affectionate lines and messages thrown your way. Basking in the possibility of a blooming romance, positively smitten for someone you hadn't even met before.

But then things started to get a bit… strange.

The letters kept coming, yes, with their wax seals and poetic declarations of love. But alongside them, other sorts of lines were written. Small phrases or comments that made you read again, their context causing slight confusion or concern.

“I saw you dealing with some creep last night,” He wrote once. The words starting to indent themselves into the paper, signs that the author was getting heavy handed. “It took everything in me to not go in there and deal with him myself right at that moment. Make sure he never looked at or talked to you like that ever again.”

You remembered the guy he was talking about. Just another punk from a gang prowling the boardwalk, looking to start up trouble. Trouble just so happened to mean bothering you at work, trying (and failing) to flirt, looking at your body like you were a slab of meat. It was definitely uncomfortable, but you managed to deal with him fine enough until he and his gang left the store. Praying he'd move on and you'd never have to see him again.

And that's just what happened, miraculously. The punk never came back into the store. Hell, none of them did. After that night, it was as if they never existed.

You couldn't help but think about the letter when you walked past his missing poster. A part of you suspected if your anonymous admirer had anything to do with it - but you quickly brushed it off, chuckling to yourself.

No, it couldn't be, you insisted to yourself. People went missing all the time in Santa Carla, it was nothing new. The guy probably just got into some stuff he shouldn't have and shit went bad. Still, the idea amused you whenever you'd think it at the time. Your secret letter writer, a guardian angel, batting away creepy boardwalk men so you didn't have to deal with them.

If only you knew your guardian angel had fists and fangs coated in blood that night. Laughing violently as the punk’s screams muffled into choking on his own blood, then started to stop. Watching with glee as the life faded from his eyes, while the rest of his gang picked off the others. Really, he would've kept him around longer if he had more time. Make him really scream, break a few extra bones, rip off just a bit more skin- But the rest of the boys were already finishing up, and this guy wasn't going to last much longer anyways. Thus, he sunk in his fangs, sucking the delinquent of every drop of blood.

Dinner had never tasted so sweet.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Yeah, no, this was definitely getting weird. Like, really weird.

The letters frequency slowed a bit; you went from a letter a day to one every few days. You wouldn't really think about it too much if that was it. Unfortunately, it wasn't.You felt like you were being watched. Particularly, at night, though it didn't matter where. You'd feel eyes on you at work, walking to your car, driving back home - even your house wasn't free from the creeping feeling that you weren't as alone as you thought you were.

You tried to brush it off. Justify it as you just being too alert after that creepy conversation with the punk. But still, that was weeks ago, and you were still feeling eyes blasting into you everywhere you went. It felt like as soon as the sun went down, the eyes were back. Night was no longer just a time of day for you; it meant constantly being on edge, waiting for something - or someone, even - to take an opportunity to try something.

The letters weren't helping either. Small bits that made you tilt your head had evolved past just being peculiar. Now, the words on the page were just plain creepy, and definitely not helping your anxieties.

He talked about things you hadn't mentioned to anyone. Intimate details about yourself and your life you intentionally kept under wraps. Writing about your friends outside of work, about the places you drive past on your way home (you tried a new route the other day, the letters started mentioning the new shops and streets you drove past).

The letters you once saw as a comfort, a distraction from long nights at work, we're now furthering your fears. What started as a cute little way to work up the courage to talk to you morphed into what felt like stalking you.But it wasn't until this incident that you were positive that something was very, very wrong.

..……………………………………………………………………….

"Mi Amore,”

“I really missed seeing you at work yesterday.”

(You had called off sick the last few nights. Your fears got the better of you, so you told your boss you couldn't make it. She was disgruntled, but she took it, so you had been keeping yourself at home for a bit.)

“Walking by the place and not seeing you just- felt wrong. Hopefully by the time you're reading this, you're back to work and I'm seeing you normally again. Not that you not going to work is stopping me much."

"Regardless, just rest up, amore. You're going to need it once you're back in the swing of things. In the meantime, I'll just settle for having to take the ride out. But I do have to admit, you look really cute like this - wearing those baggy shirts and pants, your hair all messy and tangled, all sleepy all the time. Eventually I'll get to wake up beside you and see you all disheveled like that. Everyday. Forever. It'll be perfect.”

“Get some rest, amore,”

“Forever yours,

Tuo ammiratore”

..……………………………………………………………………….

You reread the last paragraph about ten times, confused and a bit anxious. You hadn't gone out in your pajamas since elementary school. Especially not to the boardwalk of all places. Where you worked, where people you worked with or god forbid your boss could see you? Absolutely not.

He shouldn't be able to describe your pajamas.

You tried to calm down a bit, think through this logically. He probably just assumed, right? I mean, plenty of people wear baggy clothes to bed - you weren't special for doing that. Especially considering right now, everyone you knew thought you were sick.

Still, the feeling of being observed still hangs in the air, definitely not helping your nerves. Trying to calm down, you walk over to the window, figuring some fresh air would calm your nerves. Maybe you knew you really just wanted to check for something. To be positive everything was fine and you were thinking too hard about a few dumb lines in a somewhat strange letter.

But it wasn't. You open your curtains, then your windows. Taking a breath, tired, half lidded eyes look over your yard. Moving them across the land, into the woods that surrounded your home.

That's when you see it.

It's only there for a few moments. You saw it, blinked, and it was gone. But it was there. Even but for a fleeting second, it was there.

A figure stood in your yard. A human figure, a person was in your yard, standing in the trees. Despite being covered in shadows, the pale moonlight managed to barely illuminate their face. Just enough for you to catch the knowing smirk on their lips and the dangerous glint in their eyes, which almost seemed to glow a sickly yellow.

Your heart stops, your skin paling as you quickly slam your windows shut. Running around your house, doing the same to the rest of them. Then drawing all the curtains. Then checking your locks.

That was the nail in the coffin for you. You called your boss again, asked to switch off the night shift. Again, she was annoyed, but she said she'd look into it. You may not get your full paycheck, though, since you were running out of sick days. You told her that was fine, and you'd be there once you got your new hours. You hung up.

Once you checked to see whoever was there wasn't there anymore, you calmed down a little. Enough to realize all this started happening after you started getting the love letters. That everything was getting creepier and creepier alongside them.

Thus, you stopped picking them up. At first, you wouldn't even touch them, letting the papers all pile up in your mailbox. But then they increased in frequency again, and it turns out letting mail build up wasn't practical when you still had bills and other letters coming in. So instead, you just threw them out as soon as you got them. Got all your mail, leafed through to find the important stuff, then tossed everything else in your garbage bin.

If you weren't reciprocal, he'd lose interest. That was the thought running through your head as you tossed envelope after envelope in the trash. That's what you thought when after a few weeks, the letters stopped coming.

If only you knew what you were doing.

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Marko was fucking pissed.

That's all he could feel as he wrote yet another letter; anger coursing through his veins. His grip on the pen so strong it felt as though it could snap in half at any moment. Considering the residue of dried ink on his fingers, it wouldn't be the first time tonight.

When you first saw him, he wasn't that upset. Easing you into his stranger ways of showing love was definitely the hardest part of his plan to get you to be with him. It made sense that you were a little freaked out. He just never thought you'd be this reactive.

You weren't at the boardwalk anymore. He and the other boys would walk past it on their way to cause havoc, and you weren't there. At first, he assumed you were sick. He sent his condolences for that. Went to make sure you were alright from a distance.

But days turned to two weeks, and you still weren't back. Eventually, Marko got up the courage to go inside and ask for you. And the cashier at the front desk (your work friend, he recognized), told him you weren't doing night shifts anymore. That you asked to be switched to the normal 9 - 5. Much to his confusion and slight betrayal.

Weren't doing night shifts? You asked to be changed? Excuse me? He thought he made it clear he wanted to see you at work. To you, he only got to see you in person at work.

He wrote to you about it. Vented his frustrations in the decision. Basically demanded you write something back this time, an explanation. Stuck it in your mailbox, along with several other letters you hadn't gotten yet (still faking sick, he guessed. You little liar.). And he waited. He waited a while. He waited until he got bored, cracked, and wrote another letter. Chuckling to himself as he drove to your place. God, look at you; cracking open his stubbornness with your own, baiting him into apologizing. God, he was whipped.

Then, he decided to hang back a moment after delivering your new letter; poke around a bit, see if anything interesting was happening around your home. It was night anyways, you were probably asleep. You wouldn't catch him. He had taken ‘poking around’ to mean, that night at least, you mean opening up your trash bin to see if you had thrown out anything neat. His usual smirk disappeared right off his face when he saw dozens of unopened letters staring back at him from the top of the bin.

You weren't replying because you were playing sick. You didn't know he wanted a response. Because you hadn't been reading his recent letters. You were throwing them away.

To say Marko was mad would be an understatement. He was livid. Fuming when he came back to the cave, quickly making his way to find a pen and paper. These past few weeks, he assumed you were just playing sick, but no. You were intentionally tossing all of his efforts and affections into the trash. You weren't even bothering to read them! You saw who sent it, and didn't even give him the light of day. After everything he said, everything he did for you, this was the thanks he got? The nerve! The fucking nerve you had!

“God damn…” he muttered, scribbling out the last few words before rewriting them. Not noticing the presence behind him until a hand is on his shoulder.

"Whatcha up to bud?” Paul's voice rings out throughout the cave, snapping Marko out of his rage-filled writing. Groaning, still upset, he turns to look at the other vampire.

"Writing to her,”

“Again?” Paul asks. Sitting down next to the curly-haired blond, tilting his head a little. “Didn't you, like, just get back from sticking one in her mail?”

“Took it back,” He huffed, looking back down at the envelope beside him. Then to the paper in front of him, glaring down at the words. “Changed my mind about some stuff. Got something else to say to her now.”

“Oh,” Paul starts. Sensing the tension in the air, he pulls out a cigarette, an offering. Marko's gloved hand pushes it away, shaking his head. “... did something happen? Your kinda-”

“I'm fine,” The shorter blond huffs. Finally setting down the pen as he reads over his paragraph, once, then twice. Satisfied, he stands up.

"You wanna come help me out with something?” He asks, back to smirking. Sensing the slight improvement in Marko's mood at the thought of this ‘something’, Paul nods. Watching Marko's smirk grow.

“Great, I'll go get David and Dwayne. Start up your bike. It'll be fun.”

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You woke at the sound of rumbling in the distance, confused and a bit grumpy. Glancing at the alarm on your nightstand, you concluded it was about two in the morning, which only added to your annoyance. What the hell is making that noise at two am?

It was bikers, you concluded. The sounds of revving and engines and wheels on the ground hinting at what was happening. Probably just some drunk bikers, going for a joyride too close to your house. Groaning, you just turn on your side, shove your pillow over your ears, and try to go back to bed.

But then the noises got closer. Then closer. Until the screeching of wheels and bike engines were ringing in your ears, and behind all of it, you could make out the howls of laughter from whoever was driving.

Your heart starts to race as you listen. What was happening? Why were these random bikers right outside of your house? You locked the doors before you went to bed, right?

A crash interrupts your anxious thinking; The shattering of glass. Followed by more hollering. Your blood runs cold.

Panic racing in your bones, you freeze. Listening with slight relief as you hear the engines and laughter fade into the distance. Unsure of what exactly just happened to you.

Cautiously, you move again. Rushing out of your room, making your way to where you heard the crash; the living room. Stopping, shivering when you see what was in there.

One of the large, main windows had shattered. Millions of tiny glass pieces litter across your carpet, and in the middle of it all, was a brick.A brick with paper tied around it.

You can feel yourself shake as you grab the brick. Pulling the string loose, you set the brick down on your coffee table, holding the paper in your hands as you make your way to the couch. Starting to read.

..……………………………………………………………………….

“Ok, that's it. I'm getting sick of your shit, (Y/n).”

The mention of your real name makes your stomach churn. Before this, he had always called you by a nickname, some term of endearment; mi amore, mio Sole, the whole shebang. The sudden use of your name is startling. Alongside the change in tone from the last time you had read from him.

“It was kinda cute at first. Seeing you all nervous, all jumpy - I liked seeing you squirm.”

“What isn't cute is ignoring me. Don't even deny it. I saw your trash.”

… shit.

“After everything we went through - everything I do for you - you think you can toss all my letters away? Like they all meant nothing to you? Like I meant nothing to you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You don't get to do that. You don't get to just walk away and pretend nothings been because I came on a little too strong and freaked you out a bit. I've been very clear about my intentions with you from the very start of all this; you're mine. I'm not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”

“I'd do anything for you. You know that. I would die for you, I've lived my life every night for the last months thinking about you. Hell, I fucking killed for you! And you wanna back out now? No way in hell.”

“Obviously, we need to figure this out. Now. I'm done waiting for you to ‘be ready’. We tried playing this your way. Now, it's my turn.”“If you have plans tomorrow night, cancel them. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk about this.”

“ - Marko”

..……………………………………………………………………….

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You're screwed. Your actually fucking screwed. You have a crazy stalker who knows where you live, he's pissed at you, and he ‘wants to talk’.You're dead. You're actually, legitimately dead. He's going to come find you at home tomorrow, and he's going to kill you.You stare at the floor once you're done. The glass is still scattered across it. It's a miracle you haven't gotten cut yet.

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"What do you mean there's nothing you can do?!” You say, glaring at the officer across from you. The man sighs, taking another sip of his coffee as he looks you over.

“ma'am, for the last time, we don't exactly have a lot of evidence to go off of-”

“What more evidence do you need?! My window got smashed in! With this brick! The guy's name is on the note attached to it, for fucks sake!”

The cop just scoffs again, watching you slowly inch closer and closer to snapping. You had come to the station once you got off work, the safety of the sun calming your nerves enough to leave home. Assuming you'd just have to tell them what happened, fill out some paperwork, and the cops would catch your stalker so you could sleep easy.

Unfortunately, you forgot that the Santa Carla police force is utterly incompetent. You've been here for hours, and literally nothing has changed.

“Ma'am, we already looked for Markos in your system, we looked the paper and the brick you brought in,” the cop starts, his own voice indicating he was also on his last nerve. “And we've got nothing. Nobody named Marko, and the only prints on anything of that stuff was yours. There is literally nothing we can do with any of this information except maybe question you.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that I shattered my own windows right now?!” You hiss out. Regretting it when the officer starts to glare back at you. Picking up a pen from his desk.

"Of course not. But I am telling you that unless it happens again, or you have more evidence, we have nothing to go off of. And as you can see,” He grunts, gesturing to the mountain of papers next to him. “We're a bit busy right now. Dealing with missing persons. Real threats to people. So I think you should see your way out so we can get back to work, Ma'am.”

And that was that. You stormed out of the police station, cursing the justice system as you made your way to your car. Unsure what to do.It was ten o'clock at night. You were tired. But the idea of going home was absolutely the question. He would be waiting for you there. That was absolutely not safe. But neither was staying here, a sitting duck if he discovered where you went. If he was serious about seeing you (as you assumed by his writing), this was the one of the most obvious places to look. So, you drove out of the parking lot, unsure where exactly you would go.

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Finally clocking out of work, the officer made his way to his car, cursing the name of the woman he was forced to speak with earlier. Sighing with relief once he was inside. Goddamn, that took way too long.

"God, women..” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. If that damn girl could just take no for an answer, he could be at home right now. Eating his microwave dinner, watching TV, going to sleep. That's all he wanted, but no. Good lord, did he regret his career choices. He signed up to solve crimes, but instead he was stuck leafing through inevitable cold cases and listening to random people complain about pranks.

As freaked out as she seemed, he doubted it was a real emergency. Just some punks she pissed off screwing with her, he decided. It would all blow over, just like every other crime in Santa Carla did.

Unfortunately for him, the officer never made it home to his microwave dinner. He never even started his drive home. Just as he took his keys to the ignition, the roof of his car was ripped off. The cop himself was lifted into the air, the sounds of screaming rippling through the empty parking lot.

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You don't know why you came here. You just drove wherever your instincts told you, and they took you here, to where it technically all started. Maybe it was the fact that the boardwalk was always crowded, the proximity to people a strange comfort.

Regardless, you're still not calm. The boardwalk was practically an all-night funfair, and it would eventually close. You didn't really know where you'd go after that; maybe you'd drive to a friend's house and ask if you could spend the night. Finally admit what you've been dealing with, get some actual help.

Sighing, you walk around, gazing into the windows of the various shops. The wood underneath you creaking as it always has, as it always will, forever. Carnival music floats around you, followed by laughter and then screaming.

Looking up, you find your legs have carried you over to the roller coaster. Watching the carts speed across the tracks, some people throwing their hands up, howling with joy. Others grip the steel handlebars until their knuckles turn white, eyes shut tight, maybe even trembling a little. Eventually, after enough staring, you find yourself walking into the line. Deciding to try and get your mind off of the letters and stalkers. Trying to ignore the paranoia haunting you.

Only to find that, once you reach the front, you need another person to even get on the damn thing. Apparently, going on carnival rides required friends now. Sighing, you roll your eyes, deciding to just go drown your anxieties in five dollar hot dogs and cotton candy, when a hand lightly grabs your shoulder.

“I'll ride with her. I'm alone too, anyways,” a voice pipes up next to you. Turning your head, your breath hitches at the sight of him.

He had curly blond hair, a small ponytail on the back of his head, not really serving any functional purpose. Greyish-green eyes and a smirk that would have anyone swooning, his manner relaxed. Hell, even his jacket had your attention; patches and pins and buttons and even fishing lures adorned the coat, eye candy for anyone who looked.

By god, he was gorgeous. Practically a living statue, like he was sculpted by pygmalion himself. Your cheeks flush, and you can hear your heart in your ears as he tightens his grip, looking at you before he lightly pushes you ahead. Before you know it, you're sitting next to him. Buckling up and gripping the bar designed to keep you in place.

“So, you come here often?” He asks, looking at you. Still smirking, giving his full undivided attention.

“Uh, yeah, kinda,” you manage to croak out. Trying to keep your cool, to not humiliate yourself in front of the hottest guy you've ever seen. “I work here.”

“You do?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks at you, still smirking. A voice rings over the speaker system, reminding people to fasten their belts and not be stupid on the ride as it starts to move.

Smiling, you nod. Brushing hair out of your face as you look ahead of yourself. Watching as the mechanics of the ride pull the carts up a hill.

“Yeah. At this little tourist shop by the carousel.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I think I've seen you in there a couple times,” He says. Still giving you that knowing smirk, sending a shiver up your spine. It was strange, almost familiar. Like you've seen that same face before. Before you can question things too much, he goes on. “Me and my friends are kinda over there a lot. Caught a couple glances at you in there sometimes.”

That lets you relax a little bit. He's familiar because you've probably subconsciously caught glimpses of him every now and again. Much less weird.

The ride keeps pushing up the hill. You can feel your cheeks burn as you listen, feeling a little silly. “Ah, that makes sense. You recognized me from just a couple quick looks?”

"How could I just forget the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen?” He asks, making you burst out in laughter. He seizes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulder, making your face somehow turn more pink. God, this guy, what was he doing to you? You were almost hypnotized by his charms, every move you'd brush off as cheesy and cliché feeling perfect in the moment. Every touch you'd be weirded out by a stranger doing not feeling creepy or perverted. Rather, it felt right, like his arm belonged on your shoulder. Strange, but for once, a good strange. And after the night's you've been having, you needed a good strange.

“Seriously, though,” he keeps going. Rubbing your shoulder a little, his other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know this seems sudden, but I feel like I just have to get to know such a pretty face. Let me get you a hot dog or something after this, yeah?”

Again, you're chuckling. God, this man was turning you into a giggling schoolgirl. It was so unlike you. “Already? I don't even know your name.”

He scoffs a little, looking into your eyes. “Sure you do, (Y/n). You just gotta think a little, don't you?”

His words make you pause, looking at him. Still smiling, though a bit confused now. Did you give him your name? You can't remember, your memory under the high of a hot boy flirting with you. “What?”

You watch as he throws his head back and chuckles, the noise coming out a bit more wild than the last few times. He looks back at you, but this time, it's different. The way he looks at you sends an all too familiar shudder down your spine. One you've gotten used to feeling when the sun went down; the feeling of being watched from the shadows. Except it's not hidden in the darkness anymore.

"God, you're really gonna be stupid tonight? Or are you just that Oblivious? It's Marko.”

“What?” The words slip past your lips again. The air grows more tense as your eyes go wide. Realization hitting you like a freight truck.

The ride stalls its movement as it reaches the peak of the tracks. You're high above the rest of the boardwalk, dangling on the edge of the drop. Marko just laughs again, each time he does it becoming more and more unhinged as he just smiles at you. Pulling you in a little closer.

“Hi Amore.”

The cart dives over the hill. You scream.

Marko just cackles, joining you with all too familiar cackling as the ride speeds on. You keep screaming in terror, watching him as you try to get as far from him as possible. Leaning onto your side of the cart, only for the speeding, winding turns to whip you both around into each other. As the wind blows against your face, your eyes water. You're not sure if it's from the ride or the fear in your body.

By the time it's over, your entire body is trembling. Marko just chuckles, re-wrapping his arm around you as he practically drags you out of the cart. “Aw, what's the problem, babe? Not a fan of roller coasters? You're shaking like a leaf…”

You don't reply, both because you already screamed your voice horse, and you're terrified of what he'll do to you if you do. He just keeps smirking as he helps you off. Ten minutes ago, his smirk was making you giggle and blush like a madman. Now, it was tainted. A brutal reminder that you just flirted with and rode next to your stalker, the guy who had been tormenting you for months before all this.

Before you can truly process what's happening, he re-wraps his arm around you, walking you away from the coaster. Rubbing your tense flesh, he keeps talking, almost as if he was taunting you.

“You're such a quiet thing, aren't you, Amore? Well, that's fine, I guess. Better for the moment, I think, anyways. Don't scream, don't try anything. I'm not gonna hurt you, you're fine. I'm just gonna take you home now, alright? We're just going home.”

His voice rings in your ear, whispering. You think he's trying to imitate comfort, but it just fills you with more dread. Holding you tight against him as you walk across the boardwalk. Back over to the carousel, across from your store, to the bike racks. He lets go for a moment, and you debate running. But he's already revving the bike, looking at you expectantly. “Get on, babe.”

It's not a request, and it's not an order. It feels closer to a threat. ‘Get on my bike or so help me god, i will hunt your ass down’. The expectant look in his eyes exemplifies this. Thus, slightly intimidated, you get on the bike. Begrudgingly bringing shaky hands to wrap around his bare waist, not wanting to touch him, but almost not wanting to fall off.

"I drove my car here,” you finally mumble. The only protest you've let out at this point, and you're starting to question why you've only just started. Was he somehow fucking with your brain? Maybe you were just too scared, too complacent. Marko just chuckles again. Taking a moment to rev his bike up loader, the motors screaming in your ears before he replies.

“You won't need a car where you're going, babe. Now hold on tight, don't fall off. I don't want to see your pretty little brains splattered on the ground.”

And as he starts to speed off into the night, you take his advice. Not wanting to have reckless driving on the fault of your stalker be the cause of your death.

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All things considered, this place was nice. The cave served as a much needed break after racing around the boardwalk. And the woods. And almost over a cliff. A part of you thinks he did that last bit on purpose, scaring you into grabbing onto him tighter as he cackled. Made you feel even more helpless as he took your hand and led you into what looked like, and what Marko mentioned to be, an abandoned hotel lobby.

You ended up on this stuffed couch in the middle of it all. Old and worn, yet simultaneously one of the comfiest surfaces you've ever sat on. Under different circumstances, this would've been the most comfortable you've felt in a while.

Unfortunately, you're only here because of him. And he's right there, next to you, staring at you with those piercing green eyes. You managed to keep some distance, leaning over the right arm of the couch while he leaned back on the left. After a moment, you feel a tapping on your shoulder, and glancing over, he's behind you. That damn smirk still plastered on his face.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks, breaking the silence that had fallen over you both once you were in the cave. A Chinese takeout box in his hands, holding it out to you.

Cautiously, you peer into the box, half expecting another cheap scare tactic, like for the thing to be full of worms and maggots. But no, it's just rice. Plain, unseasoned, white rice and a spoon. He chuckles as he watches you, like he's finding your apprehension to take food from your stalker amusing. “Aw, don't gimme that face. It's not like its poison or anything, babe. Just some rice. Here, look,”

When he speaks, he lifts the spoon and brings it to his mouth. Eating a bite before holding the box back out to you, sticking the spoon back in. “Only rice, amore. Leftovers from the other night, it's perfectly fine. C'mon, eat. Have some dinner. You know you should.”

Slowly, you wrap your hands around the box, taking it. Sticking the spoon deeper into the box before getting some rice on it, putting it in your mouth. A small wave of relief washes over you when it doesn't taste like anything was wrong with it. It doesn't last long, still feeling his eyes on you, and then he starts talking again. To your pleasure, he stands up.

"Thirsty?” He asks, walking off somewhere. His voice continues, a subtle reminder he's still too close for you to make a run for it. Sounds of things clinking together intertwining with his words. “I'd imagine if you're hungry, you're probably thirsty. Luckily for us, we never seem to have a shortage of drinks around here.”

He comes back a minute later, two glasses in hand. Handing one to you as he sits back down next to you.

Once again, you into your cup. The liquid was red and thick, almost syrupy. The longer you looked at it, the more uneasy you felt. Something about this all was just… so wrong. You got taken to an unfamiliar location, alone, with the guy who's been stalking you for probably months now, and you're sitting around having dinner with him. Like some sort of fucked up date night.

"Um, I'm fine…” You mumble. Thinking about every opportunity he had to do something to your glass.

Again, he just chuckles as he looks at you. “Geez, you're somehow both the most and least trusting person on the planet, babe.”

“Considering your current track record, I think I have a good reason to not exactly trust you right now.” You say, scoffing a little. Staring at your reflection in the cup, cringing a little. God, you looked more stressed than you had first thought. One look at your face and somebody could instantly tell something was amiss.

Too bad there was nobody around to look at you. Nobody but him.

“Okay, I guess,” he shrugs, sighing a little, leaning back into the plushness of the couch. “But seriously, it's fine. I have no reason to hurt you now. Trust me, if I wanted to, I would have already. You're here, and you're mine. So stop stressing and just take a sip already.” Once he speaks, he drinks, shutting his eyes as he swallows. A satisfied smile on his lips as he does so.

Looking between your cup and him, you sigh. Cautiously, you lift the cup to your lips, taking a sip of the mystery liquid.

The realization and regret sinks in almost instantly when the drink hits your taste buds.

Your eyes shoot open as you cough the drink back into your cup. Choking and sputtering as you drop the glass, watching the dense red liquid sink into the carpet. Marko's hands move to your shoulders, rubbing, looking at you. “Woah! Hey, hey, you good? What's wrong? Does it not taste good?”

“... what is this?” You ask, looking back at him. He blinks, staring at you, then shrugs.

“Uh, wine? Some random bottle I found back there with the others. Why?��

You shake your head, leaning out of his touch. He's pretty good, for a liar. There's no way he didn't know. The taste of it is too distinct, that tangy metallic taste on your lips- you shudder at the thought. “I know what blood tastes like, you freak.”

The words hiss their way out of your mouth before you can think. And by the way his confusion falls into dark realization, you're right. A deep chuckle rings through the room, and he grips your shoulders a little tighter. “Well, guess you can be smart when you actually think, huh? Damn, guess we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way-”

He's interrupted by your elbow shoving into his guts. As he groans, his hands loosening, you take the opportunity to stand up. Running back, away from him, towards the entrance of the cave. Your brain on auto-pilot, only thinking about easy ways to get away from him, from this total creep who just tried to get you to drink blood.

However, just as you get to the stop of the steep entrance out, a pair of hands grab onto your waist. Making you slip, pulling you back down into the fray. Ending up with you on the ground, and Marko overtop of you, sitting on your hips to keep you there. He's different now, though.

The grey-green eyes are replaced with yellowing orange ones, with dark circles around them. His nails grew longer, now closer to claws than normal, human hands. And when he smirks, seeing you below him, you notice something in his mouth. Fangs. Among his teeth are now sharp, pointed fangs.

The very same eyes and teeth you saw all those nights ago, staring at you from the trees.

“Oh, you must be feeling real fucking clever now, huh?” He asks, head tilting before he laughs. His voice is more gravely, almost like he's hissing out each word, and his laughter sounds closer to howling, like a wild animal. “Too bad you're too slow. But don't worry, amore. I'll fix all of that right here, right now…”

You try to get up. You really do. Yelling and flailing around your limbs. He just grabs your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head, laughing harder. Your kicking is rendered useless with how he sits on top of you. The same terrified, helpless feeling from the roller coaster returning.

You watch as he shrugs his free arm out of his jacket. The fabric falling off his shoulder, laying against his back as he raises his free arm. “C'mon, quit moving. I'm doing this for you, babe. For us.” He says, staring into your eyes, that damn smirk coming back. It's terrifying how quickly he can switch up, from being livid one moment and all cocky and smug the next. “I love you. I've loved you since the moment I first saw you. And unfortunately, my patience for your shit has run very, very thin.”

As he speaks, he brings his wrist to his teeth. And you're left to watch in horror as he sinks his fangs into his own flesh, ripping a gash into his flesh. Licking his lips as he pulls away, the red liquid already beading at the opening.

“I need you, Amore. I need you like I need the air I breathe. The night I live in,” Looking at you, he tightens his grip. The smirk widening into something more sinister. “The blood I drink. And soon, the blood you'll drink, too. Now open up.”

The moment you process those words, the fight all comes rushing back. You scream, thrashing your head around, desperately trying to buck him off and wiggle away. He just groans and curses under his breath, gripping you harder, shifting his weight on you to get closer to your face. Before anything else, it's clear this interaction is just annoying to him. Like your refusal and protests to him trying to shove blood down your throat is nothing but a minor inconvenience, a bug he has to squish, a chore he has to finish before he can leave the house.

“Goddammit, (Y/n), don't- Stop fucking squirming and just let me-” He says, his voice laced with venom as he continues to try, shoving his open wound towards your face. You keep avoiding it, eyes shut tightly as tears well in them. Scorning yourself for ever leaving the house tonight, for not burning the letters, for even opening the first one he ever sent you-

“- Gotcha!” Marko smiles wickedly as he thrusts his wrist into your open, screaming mouth. The blood is coming out faster, thanks to the gravity of your head on the floor. For a second, you think of bite him. Only to end up with a steadier stream hitting the back of your throat due to the pressure, making you gag. Tears flow down your cheeks as the warm, metallic taste flows into your mouth. A sick feeling forms in your stomach. You want to throw up. Needing to get this syrupy shit out of your mouth, out of your body.

He stays like that for a few minutes, mumbling and smiling to himself. “Yeah, there you go, there's my girl… It's much better from the source, right? You don't want that nasty bottled stuff, sitting out for weeks… Don't worry, from now on, if you want a drink, you can just come to me and we'll get you some…”

Eventually, he pulls his wrist from your mouth. A few moments later, he gets off of you, instantly pulling you to his side. Hugging you, holding you as you both sat on the floor. Tears run down your face, the screaming having turned to soft sobs. He wipes your face, much softer than before. It somehow is just as scary, but you think you'd grow used to that.

“Aw, c'mon, babe, don't cry, you're alright. Look, I'm sorry I got a little mean back there, I just - I got frustrated,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Like that will make any of what just happened any better. “...This is just something I had to do. I had to make sure you can really be all mine forever, okay? Can't have mio sole getting old and dying on me, right?” He chuckles, rubbing your shoulder while he hugs you.

You don't respond. He sighs, moving to stand. Picking you up with him, cradling you in his arms as walks deeper into the cave. “... You're just tired, you need to get some rest. Your poor body's gonna be put through the ringer pretty soon… Don't worry too much, babe. You'll like being a vampire.”

“Vampire?” You mumble, staring ahead as he brings you to a curtain. Pulling it away to reveal a mattress coated in blankets and pillows. Setting you down in one corner of it, chuckling a little.

“Yeah, babe, vampires. Wasn't kidding around drinking blood. And soon, you'll be, too,” he says, pulling a blanket overtop of you. You shiver at his words. Again, he just laughs a little. “Don't think about it too much right now. We can deal with it tomorrow. Just get some rest, love. You're gonna need it.”

And with that, he presses a final kiss to your head. Watching as your eyes grow heavy, your body tired and loopy. The rush of everything catching up to you, all you can think to do is pass out on the cushiness of the bed. Sure, whatever. You'll deal with all this in the morning.

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And Woo! There it is! Its done!

Thank you everyone who waited patiently after I announced this fic and read to the end! Sorry it took kind of long, i kept getting stuck and getting busy and overestimated how fast I could work 😭

Overall im pretty happy with this! Somehow dispite being a oneshot its the longest thing I ever wrote? Ive spent so long on it, I cant help but to not hate it. Sorta just happy I didnt give up halfway through lol

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!! have a good day/night! :3

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