#weird chanting please explain

[gargleblasted]

There is strange chanting coming from my back yard off in the distance somewhere. It's rhythmic. Ooh, also in g# major. In walz time. Huh. Anyways I'm chanting my gregories back at them. Fighting fire with GOD.

[reinreingoawayy]

— before i could kiss you again

part i | part ii | part iii

a longer version of this

sae itoshi x f!reader | slight(?) language | kissing

wc: 1.3k

it was never your intention to kiss the sae itoshi.

it was supposed to be a fun one-week vacation for you in madrid. but circumstances happened and changed when you accidentally met your ex. now, the fun you’re supposedly going to have turned into an unbearable nightmare of trying to run away from his obnoxious ass. you have no intentions of talking or making peace with him especially when the reason for your falling apart was because of a cheating incident a few months ago. many people would know that you give zero fucks about cheating, including him, so when he asked you to get back to him, you scoffed the life out of you and thought he was kidding. and now, you are kissing the most famous sae itoshi in re al’s home stadium, right after their big game against fc barcha, in front of all the cameras, even probably in all spain or even in front of the whole world.

you first met sae on a flight going to Madrid. it was a very rare occasion for you to get upgraded to business class, so when the flight attendant asked you if you wanted to move to a business class seat, you didn’t have to think twice and said yes. you were seated next to the magenta-haired man with weird hair physics who was wearing a black sleeping mask while an ongoing football game was playing on his big screen. before, you didn't know who sae itoshi was. sure, you've heard about his name, and how he is japan's greatest treasure, but it has never occurred to you to know more about him. you didn't know what he looked like or whatever. all you know was that he is, apparently, good at playing football and that he plays in a professional football league in spain.

so when you saw him play, you couldn’t believe your eyes. the man from the plane was the same man your coworkers were crazy about. and when he struck a breathtaking goal that opened the door for re al’s victory near the end of the game, and everyone was rejoicing in re al’s home stadium, you couldn’t help but also join the crowd. hell, you didn’t even know what was going on. when they started chanting his name, you saw him waving his hand up, hyping the crowd to make the chanting louder. there’s a burning passion in his teal eyes as he continues to hype up the people and as his teammates give him a supportive slap on his back.

it was a fleeting moment of exhilarating joy especially when you realized that your ex was just sitting behind you. you don’t even know why he was there right now. as far as you know, your ex never really cared about football, like you before, so you were confused about why would he be there. when you started walking away from your seat, you heard him call your name but you pretended you didn’t hear. he kept calling your name, it was getting annoying. you thought you were clear before that you would never ever give second chances to someone who messed up, especially when the issue was infidelity. when you reach the entrance to the tunnel, you finally face him.

“i do not give a fuck if you want to explain. you cheated, saw it with my own eyes, and that was enough for me. we’re done. now if you could please stop calling my name, there’s someone waiting for me,” you said, with annoyance traced in your voice with every word you spat. you don’t really know who would be that someone waiting for you, all you wanted was to escape from his obnoxious and ridiculous begging. you turned your back again, but this time you felt his hand, grabbing your wrist.

“can you please let go?” you asked. you tried to be polite and civil but it seems like he’s been pushing his limits already.

“please, here me out fi—”

“what’s going on here?” you both look at the owner of the voice and for some reason, you sense a relief in your veins. you removed your ex’s hand from your wrist and gingerly approached sae itoshi. he looks so much better up close with those teal eyes, intently looking at yours, deciphering what’s going on in your head with the way you look at him. he may or may not remember you because you barely interact during that flight except when he lends you his moisturizer because you forgot to bring it. it also looks like he just finished his interview since the cameras are still following him. you’re fucked, you thought. they’re still probably airing and other people may be witnessing what is about to happen.

“sae…i was just about to find you!” you said with a forced smile on your face. you continued approaching him and stopped when you are just one step away from him.

you prayed a million times of sorries in your head before you went ahead and held the side of his face, tiptoeing, before placing your lips against his. you heard audible gasps from the people, a lot of camera clicks, and a bunch of ‘oh my gods,’ when you kissed him. it was usually a normal sight for them to see a football player kiss their significant other but sae itoshi was different. he doesn’t have any dating rumors and has never been linked to anyone so it’s a surprise to other people to see him kiss someone—or rather to see someone kiss him—out in the open like this. he was unmoved when you kissed him and all you could think of was, ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ and was ready to pull away but you felt his hand on the small of your back and started responding to your kiss.

your head was spinning and spinning, your thoughts were incoherent, and for a moment, it felt like the world had gone still and silent. his lips were soft against yours and you’d be lying if you thought it wasn’t slightly addicting. you felt him pull away for a second, shifting his head’s angle before diving in again with his lips with renewed intensity. his kisses tasted like mint and strawberries, probably from the electrolyte drink he was drinking before. you felt his hand on your hips as your hand traveled to his slightly damped hair.

someone cleared their throat and pulled you both in reality. you quickly pulled away but stood close, not wanting to see what was waiting around you. and then a flash of light came flashing in and your heart suddenly felt like it was going to explode. he was quick you block most of your face with his hand on the second wave of flashing before making his body as your shield from all the camera shots. he took off his jacket before putting it around your shoulders, gesturing to his manager to accompany you out of the pitch and into the locker room. before you can fully exit the pitch, you look back and see him approach your ex, muttering some words. you’re not good at reading lips but you could’ve sworn he said something along the lines of, ‘…my girl.’

•••

the whole stadium was in chaos, but sae itoshi didn’t care. when you were already far enough to not hear the words he’s about to say, he made his way to your ex’s.

“please stop bothering my girl. i’m only going to ask once,” he said before leaving the pitch.

when he got to the locker room you were in, waiting, he closed the door and stood in front of you.

“i’m sorry—”

“i don’t need apologies. i need explanations,” he said, cutting you off.

you nodded.

“now explain, before i could kiss you again.”

•••

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ mr. supportive dad || matt sturniolo

the morning sunlight peeked through the white curtains, illuminating the toys scattered across the living room floor. matt sat cross-legged on the plush rug, letting his two-year-old, ivy play stylist as she tied his hoodie strings into what she proudly called “the perfect bow.”

“you’re gonna make me look ridiculous, darling,” matt teased, watching her tiny fingers fumble with the strings.

her big blue eyes glimmered as she giggled, completely ignoring her dad’s protests. “pretty, daddy! you’re sooo pretty!”

matt couldn’t hold back his grin. parenthood wasn’t something he’d ever pictured for himself back when he and his brothers were just three goofy kids filming youtube videos in their car. now, life was a chaotic mix of diaper changes, bedtime stories, and saturday morning cartoons—and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

he leaned forward, grabbing his daughter gently under her arms and lifting her into the air. she squealed with delight, her curls bouncing wildly. “alright, vivi, but if uncle nick and uncle chris see this, you’re explaining why your dad’s wearing bows,” he joked, pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her back down.

“bow good, daddy!” she insisted clapping her hands in approval.

the moment was interrupted by the sound of little feet pounding against the hardwood floor. his four-year-old son, max, came running into the room, clutching a paper plate with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was definitely more jelly than peanut butter.

“daddy, i made you breakfast!” his son declared proudly, holding out the plate like it was a michelin-star meal.

matt raised an eyebrow, inspecting the sandwich. it had uneven edges and visible bite marks all around the crust. “you made this all by yourself, huh?”

the little boy nodded vigorously, jelly smeared across his chin. “yup!”

matt pointed to the bite marks. “so… why does it look like someone took a big ol’ bite out of it?”

max froze for a second, then straightened up, his little chest puffing out confidently. “it’s a new design, daddy. i call it the bitey sandwich—it’s fancy.”

matt blinked, trying to keep a straight face, but a laugh bubbled out despite himself. “oh, the bitey sandwich, huh? that’s genius, buddy. you’re a regular chef.”

he beamed at his dad’s praise. “do you want me to make another one?”

matt ruffled his son’s messy hair, shaking his head. “nah, chef, this one’s perfect. a true masterpiece.”

before max could respond, the front door creaked open. matt’s wife stepped inside, arms full of grocery bags. she stopped mid-step, her gaze sweeping across the scene—matt with a lopsided bow around his neck, their daughter trying to climb onto his back, and their son wiping his sticky hands on his pants.

“i leave for twenty minutes, and this is what i come home to?” she said raising an eyebrow but smiling despite herself.

matt stood, scooping lily onto his hip. “we’re just a family of innovators,” he said with a shrug. “ivy’s starting a fashion line, and max is opening a restaurant. i’m just the supportive dad. isn’t it right kids?”

his wife rolled her eyes, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “okay, mr. supportive dad, maybe you can innovate your way into helping me unload these groceries?”

before matt could answer, max tugged on his sleeve. “daddy, can we play hide and seek first? please?”

matt glanced at the groceries, then at his son’s hopeful face. “alright, five minutes. but no cheating this time, max. last time you hid behind the curtains with your feet sticking out.”

max giggled, already sprinting toward the hallway to find a hiding spot, his sister hot on his tail chanting  “maxie no cheating maxie no cheating maxie no cheating!”

glancing at their retreating figures with amusement, he walked over to his wife and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “you know love, we’re raising some weird kids, no?” he mummered against her cheek. “you say that like it’s a surprise,” she shot back, grinning.

“i don’t know how you do it,” she said after a moment, leaning her head on his shoulder.

matt chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “do what?”

“be so good with them,” she replied her voice soft. “they adore you, you know.”

matt looked toward the hallway where their kids ran. “they make it easy,” he admitted. “’mean, don’t get me wrong—max’s jelly sandwiches are questionable, and vivi’s fashion sense is gonna ruin me. But at the end of the day… they’re my favorite people, along with you ofcourse.”

she smiled, snuggling closer. “makes the two of us actually.”

an; yes i named the son max after 4x wdc max verstappen what about it

taglist; @eirianna @thebasicbiatch @katamcauley @wxnyzie @lilmear-blog @vrlixlia @star-fuck-off @embonbon @idkversace @annawilk @r0nnsblog @weluvwbb @c1ydessturniolo @vintagebishx @maddie-bell @timmdmdm @happydiplomatshepherdspy-blog @crispycitrus @faith-f1 @escapentropy @florscons @carlossainzwho @luckylampzonkland @lewisroscoelove @mudryklover @rageshots @dontworryaboutit007 @chair-things @myangelbaby555 @sheesh1311 @f1lovely @silia1raf @blahbel668 @my-dinos-life-is-good @ssturniolo92 @lilly6110 @lou-larcher5 @arminluvrr @mxryxmfooty @gabri3la-sturns @bellsboops @f1-and-shiz @emely9274 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @unx100to @strnlslut @sweetobservationface @sarakpalsd @mattslovergirlie @shadowthesim

[mylovesstuffs]

even hell had a heart || lucifer!joshua

outline. you prayed every night not to fall in love with the wrong person, until—he showed up. he says your name like a forbidden prayer. “even your god can’t hate me more than i hate myself for wanting you.” you don’t kiss; just stare, and that feels holier than sin. /// svt 10th anniversary; a reincarnation love anthology

genre: supernatural au, religious/dark fantasy au, romance, slow burn, angst with emotional intimacy, psychological drama, forbidden love

pairing: lucifer!joshua × human fem!reader

content: bittersweet/hopeful ending, lucid-dreamscape/metaphysical elements, gothic spiritual tone, religious symbolism and imagery, prayers as narrative devices, longing and restraint, shadowed pasts and emotional healing, watching-from-afar/guardian dynamics, intimacy without physicality, dream visits and blurred reality, sanctuary as symbolism, mutual yearning and unspoken love, strong mother-daughter bond, confessionals and breakdowns, subtle faith crisis, psychological tension with metaphysical layering, suppressed desire, restraint over romance, near-kisses, forehead touches, temple kisses, somewhat possession imagery, protective lucifer trope, intimate physical closeness, reader finding comfort in the “wrong” being, shadow vs light metaphor used emotionally and spiritually

warnings: religious themes and christian symbolism, spiritual trauma/conflict, possession-like states (chanting, pressure, trance), mentions of past emotional and physical trauma (implied sexual trauma, abandonment), psychological horror imagery (dream sequences, altar bleeding, glowing eyes), mentions of self-doubt, crisis of faith, emotional breakdowns, mild sensuality (no smut but heavy emotional tension and intimacy), mentions of mental health (breakdowns, hallucination/delusion implications), light swearing/cussing, fire, blood, and dark imagery, angels vs lucifer conflict, reader's isolation and vulnerability, reader’s faith being shaken and questioned

a/n: this is the first installment of my series svt 10th anniversary; a reincarnation love anthology! i think i re-edited it to check for my usual silly mistakes… but honestly? i don’t remember anymore 😭 so let’s just call it partially proofread [because i truly don’t know if i finished or not]. i actually finished writing this a while ago, but then completely forgot about it and didn’t get the time to schedule this or the next parts properly. so here i am—posting it directly... please forgive any dumb typos or weird phrasing. i promise the next installments will be properly proof read [will try my best]���this is just my “i-did-my-best-but-my-brain-forgot” edition. hope you’ll still enjoy it despite everything!

Happy 10th Anniversary, SEVENTEEN! even though i’ve only been a carat for 7 months, it feels like i’ve known you forever. in this short time, you've become such a big part of my life—your music, your passion, and your bond with each other have brought me comfort and happiness in ways I can’t explain. thank you for giving your all for the past decade. thank you for being the light in so many people’s lives, including mine.

word count: 7,033 words

taglist: @i-am-confused-about-life @supi-wupi @shirebusking @ateez-atiny380 @jrinbb @thepoopdokyeomtouched @purploozi @reiofsuns2001 @xuhaosgirl @markoplolo @livelaughloveseventeen @dcrlingyou @chanranghaeys @https-seishu @mrsjohnnysuh @iknowimanicon @lavichyne636 [oranged marked blogs can't be tagged :(]

It all began on a day so ordinary, no one could have guessed how quickly everything would change.

The sky wore its usual color that neither blessed nor cursed the earth beneath it, merely watched, indifferent. You had just left the chapel, your palms still damp from prayer, from pleading with something higher than yourself to protect you from falling in love with the wrong person, again. Your footsteps echoed across the worn cobblestones as if the world were hollow, waiting to be filled with something that would either save you or break you, and when you saw him standing at the edge of the alley, half-shadow and half-light, everything inside you paused—breathed in too deep—then forgot how to breathe out.

A man, looking too good to be true, stood there like he had stepped out of someone else's legend, but ended up in your story, looking right back at you. It wasn't even a glance, or a curious flick of the eyes. He looked at you as if he was reading you line by line, like each breath you took was a word in a sentence he already knew by heart. The air shifted, slightly heavier, as if it, too, recognized him.

He didn’t smile right away; that came later. That devastating softness, the lift of lips that belonged on a saint but bled like a sinner's. At that moment, he only looked, as if he already knew you, as if he had seen your soul laid bare on an altar, trembling under the weight of its own guilt, and for reasons that would never make sense, your first thought wasn’t fear. It was familiarity. The echo of a hymn you once heard in a dream, sung in a language your body remembered but your mouth could never speak.

Your throat was dry, and you weren���t sure why. You took a step back, or maybe forward, you couldn’t tell anymore. And still, he said nothing, but just watched with his unwavering gaze fixed on you.

You swallowed. “Do I… know you?”

His head tilted slightly, just by a fraction, like he was listening for something only he could hear. A lie you hadn’t told yet? Then, finally, he spoke. “Your name,” he said quietly, as if it were too holy for the noise of the world, “it’s…” he stopped. You waited for him to continue and not leave in this space of suspense, but he looked at you like he was afraid of finishing the sentence. “It’s yours,” he said, finally. “But it sounds like mine when I say it.”

“What?”

He didn’t have to repeat it, and he didn't. The way he said your name, it didn't sound like just a sound. It was a remembering. It was sorrow and longing tangled into syllables that felt like a prophecy gone wrong. He only just said your name, it shouldn't be a big deal, but it was a big deal because it sounded like a confession. Like he wasn’t supposed to know it, like it had been carved into the walls of his ruin a long time ago and he had spent centuries pretending he had forgotten it.

You felt something curl in your chest. It felt very tight and ancient. “I never told you my name,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t have to.” He said it again, “yn,” like a prayer he wasn’t allowed to say out loud. He took a step closer, “I thought I forgot it.”

Your voice was a breath now. “And?”

“And I was wrong.” 

Something about the way he said it made your fingers curl into fists, like your body was preparing for a storm it had already survived once. “Who are you?” you questioned again, but he didn’t answer that. 

Instead, he asked, “Do you remember me?”

Silence stretched between you while you tried to think of something to say. You feel defeated even though you have no reason to be.“I—” you hesitated. The shape of the answer was in your chest, not your mouth.

And then that soul-fracturing smile finally resurfaced again. You didn’t know you’d been waiting for it. “I knew it,” he whispered. “You don’t know why yet… but you will.”

Your breath hitched that you didn't even realize you’d been holding it. Something inside you stirred like a shadow shifting beneath a locked door. You didn’t know this man, and yet, everything about him felt like déjà vu whispered into your bones. His presence was a verse you'd underlined in some forgotten scripture. You just couldn’t remember where. “You’re scaring me,” you said quietly, but your voice didn’t tremble the way it should have.

“I don’t mean to.” His eyes softened. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Then tell me who you are.”

He hesitated as a storm passed through his expression, it was grief, maybe, or regret, or something older than either. “I was someone who loved you.” 

Your lips parted. “Loved?”

He met your gaze. “Still do,” and he said it like it was a curse, like loving you had cost him lifetimes.

You took a step back, instinctively, but something tethered you there. Some invisible thread humming between you both that didn’t ask for belief. It simply was.

“I don’t—how?” You searched his face, desperately, for answers. “How can you say that? We’ve never met.”

He gave a slow, bitter smile. “Haven’t we?”

The wind picked up, brushing past you like it, too, carried memory in its folds. “You’re lying,” you said, “or I’m dreaming.”

“Maybe both,” he replied. “Maybe neither.”

Your hands were trembling now, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something else; you just couldn’t name it. You looked away, trying to steady yourself from whatever creepy shit he was spewing. 

He took one cautious step closer. “I waited. I waited longer than I knew was possible. And when I stopped waiting… I started forgetting. Not you though—but what we were.”

You looked up at him again, your voice brittle. “Then why now? Why remember me now?”

He paused before saying, “because you called me back.”

A silence fell between you again, which was thick, reverent. Your chest felt too tight, your thoughts too loud. “I didn’t call anyone,” you said, but it sounded unsure even to your own ears.

“Maybe not with words,” he responded, “but something in you remembered. Some part of you… still aches for me.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

A pause again as he looked at you like that was the final heartbreak. “Then let me earn it back.”

And in that moment, time tilted, something opened inside you, around you. Like the memory of something sacred being reawakened. Your footsteps faltered once, twice, and before instinct took over, you turned on your heel and ran.

The hem of your coat fluttered behind you, your breath catching in uneven gasps. Gravel crunched beneath hurried steps, and the distant glow of the main road flickered. Your heart slammed against your ribs as you glanced back over your shoulder, eyes scanning the path behind you to see it, empty. He’s not following you. You don't know if that makes it better or worse.

Your fingers, trembling and cold, flagged down the first cab you saw. The car jerked to a stop beside the curb. You threw open the door, nearly stumbling in as you rush inside.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“17th street, Park Road C,” you muttered, giving the address in a voice that didn't sound like your own.

The door slammed shut, and the cab lurched forward. Streetlights blurred past like holy candles left out in the rain. With fingers still shaking, you pulled out your phone and called your mom. She answered on the second ring.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was lined with surprise, then worry as you greeted her with a trembling voice. “Is everything alright?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you managed to speak out, “I’m coming over,” you said quickly. “I—I just need to be home. I’ll explain when I get there.”

“What happened?” she asked, her tone was turning sharp and maternal. “Your voice—are you crying?”

“No, I’m not,” you lied. “Just… I need to see you.”

You hang up before she could ask more, and the ride was quiet. Your mind was not.

Every time you close your eyes, you see him. The way he looked at you; like he knew your sins by name, like he forgave them anyway.

By the time the cab stopped in front of your mother’s house, you threw cash at the driver with fumbling fingers and left without waiting for change—you, who would argue over ten cents, but right now, none of that mattered.

She’s already at the door when you arrived, concern written all over her face. Her eyes took in your disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin, the way your chest rose like you’ve run from the devil himself.

“Oh, my baby,” she breathed.

You fell into her arms, and she immediately drew you inside. She didn't even ask—just took a towel from the kitchen, gently patting the sweat on your forehead, your cheeks. Her hands were cool, calloused from years of care. Her touch was the closest thing to sanctuary you’ve known.

Once you're seated on the old floral couch, she kneeled in front of you, still holding your hand. “Tell me,” she urged with motherly love and caution. “What happened?”

And you listen to her urge as you always do. You tell her about the chapel, about the man who looked at you like a psalm remembered, about the way he said your name like it had been carved into him, about the fear, the familiarity. The strangeness of it all.

She listened in silence, then, wordlessly, she stood, pulled out her Bible from the cabinet and sat beside you. She opened to Psalm 91, the same passage she used to read when you were afraid of thunder. “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty…” Her voice was steady, and each verse a balm poured over your shaking soul. “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day…”

You closed your eyes, your head rested against her shoulder. You wanted to believe the words, wanted them to fill the empty place inside you that opened the moment he looked at you. And yet… How did he know your name? You keep telling yourself it’s a coincidence. Some cruel trick of the universe, but the tightness in your chest refuses to ease.

The whole day, it lingered like the aftertaste of smoke in a holy place.

By evening, you asked her, “Can I stay here tonight?” Your voice broke on the last word.

Your mother, alarmed, cupped your face. “Of course. You never have to ask. But… what’s happening to you, sweet girl?” Her eyes searched yours. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You shook your head, unable to explain. 

Later, you retreated to your childhood room. Everything’s smaller now, dustier. The wallpaper faded, the bed too short, but the air smelled of lavender and old memories.

You begin your nightly ritual.

Knees to the floor, rosary between your fingers, beads sliding like rain through trembling hands. Bible open in your lap, the spine falling naturally to Isaiah 43.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine." You whisper prayers through clenched teeth, through breaths that shake and falter.

You mouth verses between silent screams. Words crash into the hollowness inside you like waves against cathedral stone. You don’t ask for peace; you ask for forgetting. You open your eyes, and he’s there.

Standing by the edge of your bed like he never left the chapel; as though time itself had bent backward to let him in. 

You freeze, trembling from the marrow outward, the chill crawling up your spine like a ghost pressing its lips to your nape. The blood drains from your face, your ribs forget how to expand, as the rosary drops from your hand.

You gasp, voice strangled with fear, stumbling back as your knees knock against the side of your bed. “You—how did you get in here?” Your fingers tremble as you reach blindly behind you, grabbing the Bible you had just been praying over moments ago. You grip it tight against your chest, its cover warm, as though your desperation had set it alight.

Heart hammering, you inch backward toward the window, hand groping for the latch, the scream clawing its way up your throat like a creature trying to be born. But then, something presses against you.

It wasn't a hand, or even air. An unseen weight pins your lungs. It isn't painful, but it's like there's an invisible palm over your mouth and another over your soul, and you can’t scream. Or move—which makes it worse. Because you’re a physics professor, for God's sake. You understand energy, pressure, forces, mass. But this is not science; this is blasphemy made manifest.

Your lips part to cry out, to mutter a Psalm, but instead, a voice you don’t recognize escapes your mouth, thy light hath no hold on He who knew it first…

Your eyes widen in horror. The words fall from your lips like black honey. Ancient, terrible, but beautiful. You try again, though the arch be sealed, I know thy name, oh First-Forgotten… Again, and again.

Every time you open your mouth, this chant, this liturgy from some who-knows-what age, pours from you. You begin to hyperventilate as your knees buckle. He takes a step forward.

His eyes… glow. Not metaphorically or symbolically. They glow. Red. No—deep, like the core of the earth. Anger so old it forgot what it was angry at; the color of damnation wept into velvet.

Your throat tightens, and you really, really think you’re going to pass out, what the hell is this? Oh God, am I dying? Is this a dream? This is not happening—this is not—this is not—you keep on spiralling inside of your head.  But the man in front, no, not a man—just watches you with something devastating in his expression; it didn't look like cruelty, not even satisfaction. Sorrow it was.

“You called me,” he says softly, voice like smoke, making it sound like it used to be a hymn but came from heaven with him.

Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, not sure if it's fear or faith that brought you down. You're still clutching the Bible like a lifeline and whispering prayers, but they melt into more of that cursed chant. You try to scream again, to call your mother, but your voice falters. Only silence comes, not even a whimper. Then suddenly, the pressure lifts. You inhale so sharply your lungs scream, and you look up at him, voice trembling, “Who… who are you?” You again crawl backward, the Bible shaking in your hands.

He tilts his head slightly, and for the first time, his expression shifts just faintly. A crack in the mask, something like nostalgia, like regret. “A shadow,” he says, “of what I once believed I could be.” His voice carries the weight of centuries, of battles lost, of names erased.

You hear wind in it, fire. Angels sobbing into the void. He takes one last look at you, and the light in the room flickers. You blink—and he’s gone.

The moment he disappears, your body collapses into a heap. You gasp for air as if it were your first breath in years. Your mother rushes into the room, footsteps urgent.

The moment you see her, the dam breaks in you. You crawl to her like a child, tears hot and fast as you wrap your arms around her waist, clutching her like the earth after a long fall. She holds you, shocked, and concerned. She crouches and cradles your face in her hands.

“Sweetheart, what—what happened? Tell me. What’s going on?”

But you can’t speak, so you only cry. She leads you to your bed, sitting beside you, pulling you into her arms like she did when you were small and afraid of the dark. She wipes the sweat from your brow with the hem of her sleeve, humming softly, her voice cracking seeing her daughter like this. Then she begins to tell you stories of childhood things. About the first time you prayed, how you��d cry if a bird fell from a tree, how you once said you wanted to marry the sky because it never seemed to lie. She holds you like you're her baby again; but you’re not. You’re a woman broken by something no priest ever prepared you for.

And as your eyes finally drift closed from exhaustion, and sore heart, you begin to wonder if you’re losing your mind. Because when you finally fall asleep…you dream of him.

At first, it’s alright, you are in a field of dusk which seemed colorless, shapeless. The air is thick and warm, humming with a strange music that you don’t hear with your ears, but your soul. Above you, the sky is full of stars, but they’re not still. They’re falling one by one, but it isn't even shooting stars. Each one descends with a long, echoing scream, a light extinguished mid-cry. You cover your ears, but it doesn’t stop the sound from crawling into your head.

When your eyes move around, you see, in the center of the field: an altar. Old stone, ancient, and cracked, but it bleeds. Blood, thick and glistening, seeps from its edges, trailing down like vines. You feel the earth pulse beneath your bare feet. You take a step forward, and the stars fall faster.

“This place is sacred, and yet, it suffers.”

You turn around to see the owner of the voice, and he’s there standing at the edge of your bed—but it’s not your bed anymore. You’re still in the dream, and the field has wrapped around you like a memory. He stands in shadow, half-light playing against his face. His eyes glow again, dim now, but the sorrow in them is still unmistakable.

“Why are you here?” you whisper, or maybe you don’t, maybe it’s only a thought, you’ve forgotten how to speak in dreams.

“To see,” he says, “if you still kneel.”

You do, but not because of him, because the weight of the dream, the altar, the stars—all of it presses down on you, compels you to your knees. You feel small, fragile, and very mortal, and yet part of something divine.

You look down and your hands are suddenly stained red. You know it's not your blood. “You were never meant to carry this,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But you keep praying like it’ll disappear. Like it isn’t written into you.”

You look up at him. You want to scream at him, you want to cry, want to reach out. “Why are you haunting me?”

He kneels, finally, before you, “because once,” he whispers, so close now you can feel the chill of his fall, “I believed in the light. I saw you.”

The stars crash louder, the altar shudders, the earth splits—and you fall. Falling into black. Into memory, and fear. Into the scent of fire and old books, of sanctuaries burnt and prayers unanswered. You scream, and wake up.

You're gasping, drenched in sweat. The room is dark, and your mother is not found to be in your room anymore, but the Bible still rests on your nightstand. And at the foot of your bed, a single white feather, charred at the edge.

-

He never meant to get close, meant to feel. It started with your voice; your whispered prayers in empty chapels, your trembling Amens in the dark, your quiet pleading to a God who never answered. He watched from the shadows at first, not behind walls, but behind time, just far enough to not be real, just close enough to ache.

You reminded him of something he’d spent eternity trying to forget. Grace. Not the kind sung about in hymns, but that bled, that knelt even when it didn’t have to, that forgave even when it was breaking. She still believes, he’d murmur into the silence of his exile. What a dangerous thing.

He told himself it was curiosity. When you wept in the stairwell at work, unseen by the world, you weren’t unseen by him. When your hands shook, lighting the Sabbath candle, and you prayed for strength with trembling lips—he watched from the other side of the veil. When you clutched your Bible like a weapon, knuckles pale and face wet from nightmare, he was already there, in the corner of your room.

Your pain mirrored something he thought he no longer possessed, a heart. And somewhere along the line, he stopped counting your sins, and started memorizing your smiles.

He sits now, cross-legged in the middle of a decayed cathedral, wings long burned to bone,

his hand holding the white feather from your bed. "Why her?" a voice hisses from the shadows.

He doesn’t flinch. "Because," he says, eyes half-lidded, "she prays like it’ll save her from me. And I keep hoping it might save me." He appears only when you break, not to offer solace, but to see if he still can’t stop himself from touching your name in the air. "She makes me soft in the places I’ve sealed with ash."

But it’s getting harder to stay away, because one night soon, you will kneel in prayer and say, please don’t let me fall, and he will answer without thinking, "Then stop calling for me, little light. Because every time you do, I come closer. And I am not your salvation. I am the thing your salvation warns you about."

He still stays, because even Hell, in the hollow left by Heaven, had a heart once. And its last beat might just be you.

-

By the time you realize what you were seeing, it was too late to pretend you hadn’t. He was there again, standing on the chapel stairs.

You froze mid-step, breath catching in your throat. The late afternoon sun bled amber through the high cathedral windows behind him, but casting no shadows across his figure. 

Staying still for a minute, looking at each other across the space, you dared to walk toward him. You stopped halfway, cautious, trembling, as if speaking to him might undo the very air around you.

“Why me?” you asked, voice thin and dry.

He turned his head slightly, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips. “Because you still kneel,” he murmured, eyes not leaving yours. “And I missed how that felt.”

You inhaled sharply, heart galloping in your chest. Frustrated, you looked around—half-hoping someone else might see him. Half-hoping you were just imagining it all again. You don’t even know him… but you know you should fear him.

There hasn't been a single day since that night in your childhood room that you haven't felt that sliver of fear lodged beneath your ribs. And now, seeing him again, tangible in the light of day, the fear twisted into more dangerous: fascination.

You swallowed, “Why are you so obsessed with kneeling? It’s not like I’m kneeling to you, I kneel to God.”

His smile darkened into something else, you take it as wicked, slow, and unbearably calm. He took a step closer with no shadow clinging to his boots like living things. “Do you think it matters who you mean to kneel to?” he says, “when the ground already belongs to me?”

His voice slid through you like warm oil over cold steel; seductive in sound, terrifying in weight.

“It’s not sin I tempt you with,” he remarked. “It’s understanding. I see you, entirely. And you’re still not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.”

Your breath hitched. His eyes flickered red, a molten glow blooming in their depths. You stumbled back, remembering all over again why you were supposed to fear him. “Wh-who are you?” you stammered. “Do you have a name? What… what are you?”

He stepped into a beam of stained-glass light, and for a moment, you could see the ancient exhaustion lining his face; the weight of centuries etched beneath flawless skin. “They called me Lucifer,” he said softly. “But you can call me Joshua, if it makes you feel safer.”

It didn’t. You blinked. The name itself felt like a trick. “You’re… a devil?” you whispered. “What the hell is a devil doing…” you trail off realising the situation you're in and that you shouldn't be talking like this right now. “What do you want with me?”

“I didn’t choose to fall for you,” he said. “But your prayers—they reach places they shouldn’t. You ask not to fall for the wrong person. And I… I shouldn’t hear that. But I do.” Your hands trembled, the air grew too thick. Your knees weakened. “What if the wrong one falls?” he added, voice nearly a breath. “And your beloved God just... lets it happen?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You backed away instinctively, stumbling through the chapel doors and collapsing at the altar, desperately searching for sanctuary, but even here, it felt compromised—tainted by his presence still lingering on your skin. You were scared, but not of damnation. You were scared because your faith wasn’t cracking from lust; it was breaking from the longing to be seen.

In days passed, he became your paradox. Your tormentor and your comfort. You felt him in flickering candle flames, in reflections that didn’t match your movements. On rooftops at night, watching, not interfering… most of the time.

A car swerved one night and missed you by inches. You knew it would’ve hit you, but it didn’t, because something, to be more specific —someone, stopped it.

At your weakest, when your hands shook too violently to lock your door or strike a match,

a warm whisper brushed your ear: that's enough, you did it.

You never told anyone explicitly; they’d lock you away in an asylum if you did. And besides, who would believe something so foolish, something that they can't make sense of?

You broke down in the confessional one rainy evening. You couldn’t explain why, just sobbed, endlessly, hands twisted in your lap, eyes clenched shut. You didn’t notice something passing through the wall. Didn’t feel the pew shift under someone else's weight.

Until his warm, impossibly warm hands wiped the tears from your cheek. His palm still radiated heat like a dying star. The scent of fire lingered, smoky. “You remind me of a time before,” he whispered.

“Before what?” you choked.

“Before I was only what they feared. Even Hell had a heart once.”

He wasn’t trying to drag you down, he was hoping, desperately, that you might reach back.

-

You let him stay a little longer in your room. You told him about your life, about your nights studying under dim lamps, about scraping your way through a system that wasn’t built for naive people, about the exhaustion, the loneliness, the little victories.He listened to your rambling unblinking. You could tell he already knew, but he let you say it anyway.

“You make me question everything I’ve ever believed,” your fingers brushed a physics journal lying beside your pillow.“The laws of motion. Time. Reality. God.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe I’m just a new variable,” he offered.

You exhaled shakily; not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

He reached out, fingertip just barely grazing your wrist. “Or maybe you’ve finally opened it.”

You looked at him, something tender stirring where only fear had lived before. He wasn’t just a nightmare with red eyes anymore. He was—broken. Human, in a way that terrified you more than horns and hellfire ever could. “Why do you come to me?” you asked.

His gaze flickered to the floor as if the question pained him. “Because you pray for peace,” he whispered slowly, “and I hope you find it. Before I ruin it.”

Your fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the back of his hand, so warm it bordered on scorching. He didn’t flinch, and neither did you, and before you knew what it meant, your forehead rested against his—your first true touch. It was innocent, reverent even. You could hear nothing but the clock ticking on your nightstand and your own heartbeat skipping like a frightened thing. He stayed there, unmoving, as though if he dared shift even slightly, he might break something sacred between you.

He fell for you in that silence; not because you feared him, or even because you saw him. But because you still knelt, still prayed, even when the world burned around you.

He was Lucifer. But around you, he was a shadow with soft eyes, full of restraint that cracked at the edges. “I can’t touch you without burning,” he let you know, voice tight.

“And yet you still try,” you whispered back, your hand trembling as you laid it on his cheek. You could feel it—the molten resistance under his skin, the air around him warped slightly like heat on pavement. You could see it in his eyes too, the agony of holding back, of containing a force that once defied the Almighty.

His forehead remained pressed to yours, until you leaned back slightly. He reached to keep you close, hands hovering at your shoulders, not daring to grasp. “Are you still scared of me?” he asked.

You swallowed. “Yes… but it’s not the fear of what you are—it’s fear of what this could mean. But it’s better. It’s better than the time I didn’t know you. Better than that first day on the chapel.”

He closed his eyes. “You always remind me of a time. You remind me of a time I felt grace.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you prayed, silently and internally. The words tangled with your breath as you pleaded for peace, for understanding, for something beyond this impossible intimacy. He stayed perfectly still, listening; not to your voice, but to your prayer. He wasn’t trying to damn you.

He began to visit you in dreams, but not with sin. With silence, and seeing.

And your prayers turned confused—full of contradictions, of longing for someone you weren’t meant to long for. He wanted redemption, but the closer he got to grace, the more violently Hell responded.

You had noticed it first in the mirrors, your own reflection watching you too long. The sound of wings, but not his—fluttering behind your ears when you knelt. The angels didn’t comfort you—they judged. That was cold, bright, cruel. They didn’t understand why you still let him near, and when they came, it wasn’t with harps or halos; it was with wrath.

The ground cracked under them, with wind and holy fire erupting in your bedroom. Your rosary shattered on the floor as they advanced. That’s when he stepped forward.

He didn’t flee, but stood between you and the divine, hand raised not in violence but in defiance. “I won’t let you harm her,” he growled, and the room trembled at his voice.

His fire didn’t scorch you, it instead shielded you arching over your body like a barrier, his wings unfurling in a storm of black smoke and crimson light.

Later, when the angels vanished with seared feathers and scornful eyes, you collapsed. “God never loved me like you do,” you choked.

He didn’t reply, but he looked ruined. He sat on the edge of your bed. “You don’t understand what you’re saying,” he murmured. “You’re asking to walk beside something that even heaven cast out.”

“And you,” you whispered, reaching for his burning hand again, “are asking me to walk away before you break me.”

His eyes flickered red, then human, then red again. “Yes.”

But you shook your head. “I would rather walk through fire beside someone who sees me than kneel in a church that ignores my ache.”

He stilled, making the universe held its breath, and in that stillness, he looked at you as though you were made of light he was never meant to touch. As though he could finally understand why angels fell: not for rebellion.

You were the temptation, and yet, you were tempted by him. The irony burned; you were falling—not into hell, but for it.

Joshua stood at the edge, between damnation and redemption, and neither path looked holier than the way your eyes held his. 

He moved closer, until there was no air between your breaths. Until his presence became heat, and that heat became longing. “You pray not to fall in love with the wrong person,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “And your God… not only didn’t answer—but made the wrong entity fall for you.”

His words struck deep. It wasn't with mockery, but a bitter kind of awe, as if even he couldn’t believe it. You looked him in the eye and reasoned, “At least it’s a wrong entity… and not a wrong human. For that, I do thank Him.”

That broke something in him, and in you. He touched your face slowly, hesitant, reverent. A hand that had once ended worlds now trembling to touch your cheek. His thumb brushed your lower lip, as if asking for permission he had never dared to take, and still, you didn’t pull away. You tilted your head into it; permission.

He exhales, ragged and stunned, like the contact burned him, and maybe it did. You don’t speak when his fingers trace the line of your throat. You just breathe as he studies your reaction like a man terrified of ruining what little good remains in his hands. “This is wrong,” he whispers. “You know that, don’t you?”

“But so was everything that hurt me before you,”

"You were never meant to be touched by fire like me."

“Then why,” you ask, your voice barely a thread, “does it feel like warmth for the first time?”

He leans in closer than close, and your lips don’t quite meet, but the air between you sizzles with the proximity. His breath is hot against your mouth, and when you close your eyes, you feel him flinch as if trying not to touch you, yet.

He’s trembling—not from lust, but from the sheer restraint of it. “I could destroy you,” he says against your lips. “Easily.”

You press forward, just enough to whisper against his mouth, “Then destroy me gently.”

And that undoes him. “Say it again,” he demands.

“Say what?”

“That you thank your God… for sending the wrong entity.” You smile, half-shattered and half-defiant. Something wild flickers in his eyes, something ancient and starving.

He lifts your hand and presses it to his bare chest. "Feel that?" he murmurs. His heart, thudding against your palm, which felt erratic and alive. "That’s for you. You, the one thing in this world I can't touch without burning, and still, like you said—I keep reaching." You are fully clothed, and yet you’ve never felt so bare beneath someone’s touch. And still, there is reverence. Always reverence. He touches you like a priest at the altar, like you are a sacrament he is forbidden to hold but worships anyway. “I never wept for heaven,” he confesses. “But you—you make me weep.”

You cling to him like an answer you weren’t supposed to find, and that was when the darkness crept in. It wasn't from him, but from the echoes of your past.

His breath hitched. “Don’t let me ruin you,” he rasped.

“Maybe I’m already ruined,” you said softly. “Or maybe you’re what kept me alive.” Your voice cracked at the edge of truth.

You remembered the nights you couldn’t breathe. The silence that swallowed you whole when no one came. The sharpness of words meant to raise you, but instead left bruises. You remembered the cutting cold of abandonment, the nights someone touched you when they shouldn’t have, the ache of a body that didn't feel like yours anymore, and the prayers you muttered into your pillow, prayers for sleep, for peace, for escape.

The world didn’t break you all at once. It did so slowly, cruelly, as if daring you to notice, and when the world forgot you, he didn’t.

You didn’t realize how you got back to breathing properly, how you started lighting candles instead of hiding from the dark, until you traced it all back—to him. To the nights he just sat there invisibly, to the moments his gaze, heavy and broken, told you you weren’t invisible, to the way he listened, even when you didn’t speak.

He never told you to forgive the world, he never asked you to stay. He simply healed. And it was that, that stitched you back together.

It was him. He was the answer your prayers were too broken to phrase. You gasp, not from fear but from remembering, and he sees it. He pulls back, alarmed, the heat in his eyes replaced with concern.

“You okay?” he asks while his eyes searching for discomfort or fear, and then forehead to yours again, grounding you.

Tears on your lashes now, you nod. “You brought me back,” you reply. “I didn’t realize it… but you did.” He presses a kiss to your temple, then your closed eyelids, like comfort; like home. But then he stiffens.

You feel the shift, and the warning. “I need you to walk away,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse. “Right now. Before I break you for real. I’m close… too close. And I can’t—”

Before, there were moments when he almost reached for you, when his hand would hover an inch from yours, trembling like the air between you were on fire, like touching you might scorch him but not touching you might kill him slower; and there were moments where you swore you saw tears, not fire, behind his eyes.

He never kissed you, never let you fall. Never let himself fall either. And that was the tragedy, pretending the view was enough. But God, if staring could be a sin, you were both damned tenfold.

You tried to walk away before he even asked for it, days and months ago. You blocked his number, even though he never called. You stopped looking in shadows, stopped waiting for something you wouldn’t get even though you wanted, started keeping your rosary closer, like faith could be armor thick enough to keep his memory out—but mid-prayer, your hands would shake, trembling open in the air, and your heart, traitorous and tender, would whisper his name before your lips could finish the verse, and you hated yourself for it. And then, then you’d lift your head and there he would be, sitting quietly, as if he had never stopped watching, as if you belonged to a story that wouldn’t let itself end.

I told myself I wouldn’t come back, he said back then, his voice was barely there, but your God… He still listens to me when I ask not to love you anymore. He just won’t answer.

And that’s when you broke finally and violently—you screamed at him, threw the nearest book, told him he ruined you, told him you hated him for making you feel like this, for making you question everything you thought was sacred, for pushing you into a place where nothing felt safe, not even your own faith.

He just looked at you like he’s been waiting for this; for the rage, for the ache, for the truth—and he looked at you like you’re his religion he doesn’t believe he deserves but still kneels toward. I hate me too, he said, and it’s not an excuse or a plea, it’s a confession.

He doesn’t say he loves you. You don’t say you love him. Because that’s not the kind of story this is.

Maybe in another world, if the devil had a heart and heaven wasn’t so far out of reach, maybe you would’ve been his salvation, and he would’ve been your first prayer, and you, his last chance at being saved.

-

Even your God can’t hate me more than I hate myself for wanting you, he told you once, not under the safety of night, but in the unforgiving clarity of day, when sins cast long shadows and truth had nowhere to hide. He said it with that maddening calm, like a man already condemned, no longer pleading for heaven, but still aching for a taste of light before the final fall.

You didn’t touch him then, not for a long time. But you stood too close, and shared silence the way others shared skin. He hovered, always, his hand never quite reaching yours, as if even that would be too much; a blasphemy neither of you could bear. And somehow, that restraint, that impossible ache wrapped in reverence, felt holier than the kiss you never dared to steal.

You tried to tell yourself that he was the test. The devil’s whisper clothed in tenderness. That his eyes, red not with fire but with sorrow, were the markings of your downfall. But what kind of demon stood between you and temptation, not pushing you forward, but holding you back, whispering, you don’t deserve this kind of ruin, even as his own heart splintered beneath the weight of wanting you?

Because he did want you. And you—shaking, stubborn, shrouded in your prayers and your guilt and your half-sung hymns—you wanted him back.

You began to learn the small things first: that he didn’t like loud noises, that he found church bells both agonizing and beautiful, that he sometimes stared at stained glass for hours, chasing memories he couldn’t hold on to. He flinched at kindness, laughed like it surprised him. He didn’t sleep, instead, he watched; you, mostly—and when he thought you weren’t looking, he wept without tears.

He had a heart, you realized. That was the cruelest part. Even hell had a heart, and it beat for you.

[hannieween]

killer | heartbreaker series | c.sc

Choi Seungcheol is a strategist to his core. And he thought it would be simple to steal princess from her castle. Well, he thought wrong.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) ✧ aus: gambler seungcheol, boyfriend seungcheol ✧ word count: 18.3k

↣ previous chapters – other fics – buy me coffee? ᨐฅ

₊🎧: heartbreak – minho | winterfall – dpr ian | flower-ed – i.m

₊ nsfw tags under the cut

✧ warnings: flashback chapter, this chapter is really long pls bear w me, smut with plot, reader has an abusive family, cheol is a bit possessive, a whole lot of drama i warned you, first times, corruption kink, oral sex (f), pussy stretching, body worshipping, multiple unprotected sex scenes, pull out method, a whole lot of exhibitionism: sex in public spaces; mentions of alcohol, couch sex, creampie, daddy kink, dom seungcheol, sub reader, big dick seungcheol, monsta x i.m makes an appearance (i love that man, let me be), pet names: love, baby, beautiful, angel (hers), daddy, babe (his)

✧ a/n: this is loosely proofread.

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part iii

six years before – (first year together)

The first time Seungcheol saw you, he swore he had never laid eyes on someone so beautiful. You were strolling around the party wearing a literal tiara on your head and a sparkly dress that played with his eyesight when you walked past him. 

The place was so packed with people but still, you had managed to drive the attention of nearby eyes to you only. When you danced with your girlfriends all in a group and started drinking out of a strawberry vodka, straight from the bottle.

"Birthday girl gets to drink first!" one of your friends chanted over the loud music. That was how Seungcheol knew that it was your birthday. 

Probably that explained the tiara on your head, he thought.

Although Seungcheol had found at last something interesting to hold his attention to, he couldn't help but think that it was a weird place for someone like you to be in. 

He sat at a round foldable table, a ragged green cloth covered it. Completely cluttered with red plastic cups, ashtrays, a lonely tequila bottle and packs of cards. 

Seungcheol had thought that the reunion for tonight would only be for the game. But upon arriving he immediately thought that the crowd was mixed, since on one corner you and your friends were getting blasted, another corner was occupied by the table he was sitting at. And between them, a lot of people who he didn't recognize.

One of your friends laughed loudly when you tilted your head back, mouth wide open while the other poured alcohol down your throat. But you closed your mouth too soon, spilling vodka on your chin and down your neck. 

"What the fuck?" Changkyun muttered under his breath, flicking the bud of the cigarette he was taking to his mouth to give it a long draw, winking one eye as he looked over his shoulder to your friend group. 

"Honey's girlfriend invited them," Seungcheol explained briefly, after being informed of the situation. "It's someone's birthday, I think."

"Mm," he nodded his head and exhaled the smoke slowly. "That would explain all the squealing." 

There was indeed a lot of laughter and squealing coming from your friend group. He noticed that you were probably just here for a pre-drinking session because it was a tad bit too early to be downing shots like that, unless you were planning to go elsewhere. 

You twirled around for one of your friends who apparently wanted to see your sparkly dress and when you did, you elicited a bunch of 'aws' and compliments from your girlfriends, making you blush and cover your face with your hands. 

Seungcheol smiled. Pretty. He threw his head back as he downed the last sip of soju from the bottle. Mind reeling, split in two between the game and the start of his new plan. 

When the game came to an end, Seungcheol collected his prize from the table and pocketed it with a nonchalant expression on his face. 

Changkyun clicked his tongue. "I'll get you next time, Coups." 

Seungcheol rolled his eyes when he heard his friend use his old nickname. "Sure you will, Kyun." 

He rose from the chair and followed his friend out the tiny apartment and onto the open halls of the building complex for a smoke. 

Seungcheol shook his head when offered the blunt. "I'm driving back home," he muttered and bent on the rails to prop his elbows over it. 

Changkyun sucked in a breath and blew the smoke slowly. It was quiet outside, the night had only begun and he could sense that the interesting part was just about to begin. 

"Hiii," a small chirpy voice broke the silence. Seungcheol looked over his shoulder and his friend did too. 

A girl, who Seungcheol vaguely recognized, waved her hand at the pair of unsuspecting men. 

"Hi," Changkyun replied first, the velvet lacing his voice almost made Seungcheol huff in utter embarrassment. 

"Me and my friends are going to this club and we'd like you guys to come with us," she breathed in some of her nervousness. "If you wanna come, obviously." 

Seungcheol remained silent and turned so that he wasn't giving his back to the girl. 

"We'd love to," Changkyun replied first, making Seungcheol arch an eyebrow inquisitively. 

"Great!" the girl replied with a small jolt and turned to run towards your friend group, who watched the whole interaction from afar. "Oh, we're leaving in ten!" 

Seungcheol sent his friend a glare. 

"Wha?" Changkyun squeaked and huffed. "You need to go out more, man. Meet people, girls, dunno." 

"I don't wanna babysit." 

His friend clicked his mouth. "Ayy, you're such a prissy ass," he reprimanded. "Nobody said you'll be babysitting. Have fun for once. Real fun."  

The smell of burnt weed had started to affect him, surely, because Seungcheol only shook his head and said: "Fine. But I can't stay long, okay? I have a game tomorrow morning." 

"I have a game tomorrow morning," Changkyun parroted, doing a poor imitation of Seungcheol's tone and then huffed again before tucking the blunt on his lips one final time. "Nerd." 

"Asshole," he retorted and rolled his eyes.

Seungcheol's friend was a bit of a player, as long as he had known him, he had never settled with one partner for longer than three months. Which, to Seungcheol's point of view, was whatever.

But to his friend, Seungcheol was a total loner.

"It doesn't hurt to do something different once in a while," he encouraged with a small smile. "You're in your head way too much."

"Mm," Seungcheol nodded and made no comment about it.

The only times he has been in these kinds of situations, had been solely because of his friends. He's not one to go out clubbing, if he wants to get drunk, he does it at home, which in this case would mean, his friends' homes, not at his parents.

So as soon as he followed Changkyun, and a group of girls down the packed, steamy, grimy club, he immediately wanted to turn around and leave.

But he felt dragged by his friend, who was eyeing him warning and knowing looks, making Seungcheol feel like a dick, because he totally was already planning an excuse to go home.

And for once, Seungcheol decided to relax. He didn't have any excuses to go home, and in reality, he did need to go out more, he did need to meet people, rather than staying secluded in his own little bubble.

Changkyun immediately found a place to sit, and to manspread, Seungcheol noted silently. His friend knew what he was doing, because as soon as they found a place to watch your pretty friends reunite around a table and dance, they slowly started flocking around him.

Seungcheol snorted and rolled his eyes when a girl sat between him and his friend in the small seat. It was inevitable, Changkyun always had that quiet alluring aura about him. Whereas Seungcheol was more closed off, which, to him, was alright.

He watched under the neon lights the group of girls progressively get drunker, sloppier, happier until the night reached its high and the energy started to decline rapidly.

He stopped paying attention the minute his friend started snogging the girl that made the invitation for them to come, and feeling like he had a window of opportunity to leave, he rose from the seat and snuck out of the club.

Once outside, Seungcheol exhaled the fresh air of the night and looked up at the dark, moonless night. Torn between going back and telling his friend that he was going home or simply pulling a disappearing act and going home.

"Watch your head, oh no, careful–," he heard someone let out a silly chortle. "Oh my god, your dad is going to kill us."

Seungcheol turned and saw you trying to get one of your friends in the backseat of a car. You had your friend wrapped in one arm and managed to get the door open with the other.

"Get in there," you laughed again when your friend started to put in some resistance, not wanting to leave for home. "Oh my god, this looks so bad, Chae please get in there."

Your friend laughed with you, giving up the fight and you closed the car door, waving your friend back as the car drove away. You exhaled tiredly, and drunkenly and slowly turned.

"Oh, hi there," you gasped, a bit startled by his presence. "Did you see all that?"

Seungcheol nodded silently.

"That was my friend's dad," you put in quickly. "Please don't think that I was aiding a kidnapping."

He couldn't bring himself to reply. He obviously saw the situation as it was and didn't interpret it in a wrongful way.

But he also saw in your eyes that you were quite drunk, the rosy colored cheeks and glistening eyes. You were trying to make him laugh, and he totally didn't get it.

"Are you–," you breathed and looked nervous again. "A friend of Kyun's?"

Seungcheol didn't reply again, not as quickly as you wanted.

"One of my friends has a stupid crush on him," you explained and brushed off with a hand. "I was just wondering because... well, I've seen you around campus."

He felt an eyebrow immediately quirk up before he could control himself. "You have?"

You put your hands on your waist and staggered a little bit. Seungcheol noted that you looked tired and, probably from wearing really high heels, and being drunk didn't help much with your balance either.

"Yeah, you're part of the soccer team, right? And you... you're always at the library too," your tone faltered a little by the end of your sentence and you looked away, clearly embarrassed.

Seungcheol couldn't help but grin a little when he noticed you were flustered. "I'd never seen you around," he admitted, enjoying the blush that intensified on your face. "You've been to my games?"

"I've watched you train... once," you stuttered, raising your drunken gaze back at him.

Were you... flirting with him? Probably. Seungcheol noticed that you looked nervous right away, but you were also drunk and that made you brutally honest.

That made him smile for the first time, your big starry eyes zeroed on his lips when he did that. "And... the library?"

"I'm always there too," you mumbled, bringing a hand to brush some hairs off your face.

The cold wind ruffled his hair too, and your hands held onto the sparkly fabric of your pretty dress when it threatened to blow your skirt. You giggled in utter embarrassment but he just thought you were cute.

And apparently, from your reaction and from your drunken comments, you thought the same about him too.

Seungcheol was the cute library crush you always found caught up on schoolwork at the library desks.

At first you thought it was nice that the sportsy, popular guy would mostly be found buried in essays, but once you saw that his popularity was something he didn't even remotely desired, you found him quite alluring.

And from the moment you noticed him, you saw him everywhere around campus. At the gym, the library, the café. Being that he was of the older generations, a lot of girls found him cute too.

"I probably should go back," you slurred after a brief moment of silence and pointed a thumb back to the club's entrance.

Seungcheol thought of anything to keep you there, but at the same time, he had nothing to say yet, he was just enjoying the dazed look on your face, the pinkish cheeks and the sloppy way you licked your lips.

"Happy birthday," he muttered with an honest smile.

You stopped in your tracks, looking completely flustered, you showed him a small frown, a question written in your eyes.

"Thank you."

You smiled sheepishly and he gave you a polite nod before you went back to your friends.

But that was the moment he solidified his plan.

The campus library was always cold. The windows were high in the ceiling, so what little sunlight they let in didn't help alleviate the morning chill either.

Seungcheol sat at one of the most secluded desks, buried in his thesis work. At the moment he was just reading and gathering sources, but he was aching to start writing it so he could just be done with getting his degree.

But it was undeniable that he was brilliant. Top of his class, excelling in his sports scholarship too. He kind of hated it too, he was eager to abandon this place once and for all.

But that morning was different. As soon as he settled in his usual spot, he kept alert to any signs of you, he wondered how you noticed him first and he never did you.

Until you came down to the library, an hour and a half later. You were unsuspecting of his watchful eye and that made him curious.

You wore a fluffy sweater and had put your hair in a ponytail, which swayed and bounced a little with your walk, which he noticed was delicate. Almost as if you didn't want to draw any attention towards you, didn't want to make a sound.

Did you know he was watching you? He couldn't tell, but honestly, he felt it was fair game now that he knew you had watched him more than once.

You sat at the far extreme, and it seemed like that was your spot too. As soon as you settled the book beside your laptop, you raised your gaze to his direction, much as if that was a bit of a habit of yours.

As soon as your gazes connected, you lowered your head, pretending to bury your nose in the book sprawled open in your desk.

Seungcheol couldn't help but stifle a smile when you noticed him and made a weak attempt to pretend you weren't looking his way. But he noticed.

The next hours went down that way, exchanging meek glaces at each other that slowly progressed to more knowing, subtle looks. But it ended too soon, when you checked your phone and realized you were late for a class, gathered your things silently, but swiftly and ran from the library.

The following morning, he decided to sit closer to your table. His usual spot was occupied that day so he saw it as an opportunity to sit on the table next to yours.

Sitting across from you, diagonally, he had a clear view from your flustered face upon entering the study section of the library and finding him closer to your spot in the tables.

But you sat in your usual seat anyway. Silently setting down your stuff, your laptop and notebooks and your obnoxious amounts of post-its and highlighters and got to work.

Ten minutes later you got up to find a book on the shelves. Seungcheol couldn't help but to steal a glance at you, but you appeared to be expecting it. Your gazes crossed again and now it was his turn to look away, completely embarrassed.

He looked down at his laptop's keyboard and pretended to type something while on the inside he was deeply and utterly flustered by you.

When you came back to your seat, Seungcheol didn't dare to look your way, not immediately, he thought it would only make his case way too obvious and scare you away.

But then, in his line of vision, he saw your pretty hand slipping a piece of paper on his table with your handwriting in it.

› hi there •ᴗ•

Seungcheol finally looked up, but you were looking down to your open book, very evidently pretending to be immersed in a page. He scrambled on his backpack for a pencil or a pen, anything, just so he could return the note to you.

› hi

He slid the piece of paper back to your table, but you made no move towards it yet, so he returned to his laptop.

Some minutes later, you slipped a new piece of paper. Now, insead of a written down note, you had drawn a three-by-three grid, a single cross on the top right corner. It was a game of tic-tac-toe.

In disbelief, he raised his eyes back to your still pretentious self and smiled. Drawing his zero on the top left corner and return the game to you.

Seungcheol suspected that you didn't want to make your game evident to respect the silence in the library and the students around you. So some thirty seconds later, you returned the piece of paper and copying you, he returned it thirty seconds later as well.

The game took about three minutes. It ended with you winning when you returned the piece of paper with your three crosses aligned and a smiley face.

› that was an easy win; you said in your pretty handwriting.

Seungcheol exhaled a smile softly.

› i let you win

› sore loser?

› or a gentleman...

You snorted quietly as soon as you read that, making Seungcheol smile embarrassedly.

› i appreciate the gesture, but i prefer fair play

His eyebrow twitched slightly.

› i won't go easy on you next round, then.

› bring it on.

You watched his hand twirl the pencil around his fingers a couple of times before writing down his response. The two of you had forgotten to stay discreet, exchanging looks as you passed each other the piece of paper.

› i will on one condition.

› which is?

› that if i win, you go out on a date with me.

› and if i win?

› you choose your prize.

You slipped a new piece of paper with a clean three-by-three grid, with your cross slotted in the middle.

And either you got sloppy or let him win because the game ended too soon with him winning. Did you want him to win? He wondered.

But soon you both hit it off effortlessly. Seungcheol would soon learn that you were kindhearted, sweet and really smart. One of the reasons why you were always at the library was to keep yourself top of the class, too.

He discovered that one of your aspirations was to dedicate your life to your studies, writing, researching and unraveling the mysteries of past lives, authors and their intentions. And he thought it was great that you were determined in your career.

After a number of dates of just you two going out to grab lunch after course hours, Seungcheol made up his mind. And that was that he really liked you, and wanted something more serious.

"Careful with that," one of his friends warned one night.

It was a big university, but word got around fast that the very popular Seungcheol had his eye set on you.

"Why?" he asked slowly.

"She's kind of royalty," his friend explained, which Seungcheol only replied by pushing his eyebrows up. "I mean, look her family name up, you'll see."

Reluctantly, Seungcheol did what his friend said with a snort. Only to find that indeed, your family was kind of royalty in the city.

Owners of one of the biggest enterprises in the country, your parents appeared to be two powerful entrepreneurs with a significant influence in the country.

There were a bunch of photos of them and you posing by their side, hiding your face from the cameras. Cold, distant to you, but oddly enough dubbed by the media as philanthropists.

And before Seungcheol scrolled for more, he stopped himself.

"I don't see why this should mean anything," Seungcheol finalized, rising from the bench inside the locker rooms.

And it didn't. Not at first, at least.

One night, after much preamble of sweet glances and shy touches, Seungcheol offered you a ride home.

As you slid on the passenger seat in his brother's car, you suddenly felt a very unfamiliar heat warm up your body. You hadn't been this close to Seungcheol in private. So far, your interactions had been kept public, and you hadn't so much as touched his shoulder.

So now that you were beside him, you took a moment to calm yourself. But your anxiety was almost palpable, you became quiet, and tried to avert your gaze from him as best as you could.

But it didn't help that Seungcheol was wearing a navy polo shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And god, he was wearing those jeans today too. His meaty thighs stretched the blue and thick fabric.

Seungcheol noticed your wandering gaze, but made no comment about it.

"Um, pull over here," you signaled him nervously.

"Do you live here?" he asked as he pulled over and leaned over his seat to look up at the tall building at the center of the city.

"Yeah, wi-with my parents," you put in nervously and fidgeted for the door handle and pulled it, opening the door to scramble out of the car.

Seungcheol tilted his head inquisitively and got out of the car as well, following you to the sidewalk. It was already dark outside, so he wondered if your parents gave you some kind of curfew.

"Hold on," he said, stopping you before you could run off to the interior of the building.

"Sorry, I just–," you breathed out nervously and mustered up some courage to look up at his big puppy eyes. "I've never, ever, done this before."

"Done what?" Seungcheol asked slowly, feeling a small smile creeping on his face.

"This, d-dates, dating," you stuttered a bit, which caused you to smile shyly. "I might have some moments of boldness around you but—I really like you, Seungcheol."

Seungcheol looked at you, the sweet girl that hadn't left his mind since that moment he met you, the pretty girl he already had concocted plans to win over, you were toying with the dainty necklace with your fingers anxiously and smiled.

"Call me Cheol," he corrected softly, offering a sliver of familiarity before he added. "I like you too. A lot."

You blinked at him, your fingers stopped fidgeting and your mouth parted a little. "Cheol," you nodded, smiling at him shyly.

"We can take it slow," he offered and pressed his lips into a smile.

His dimples showed on his cheeks and your heart twisted, making your breath hitch ever so slightly.

"But... that's the thing," you crossed your arms over your chest now, and he guessed it was to keep yourself from fidgeting any more. "I don't want to... take it slow."

Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. "Please elaborate," he mumbled with a goofy chuckle.

"I mean, we've gone out five times already and you haven't even kissed me," you babbled and he could see that you were beginning to be flustered.

Seungcheol pondered for a second. Why hasn't he kissed you yet? Well, it wasn't his indecision, really. He would've done it the first time you both went out together. But the truth was, he wanted to do things right with you.

"I didn't want you to think that I'm going too fast," he mumbled hesitantly, bringing a hand up to scratch a fake itch on his nape.

"Oh," you uttered and frowned. "In that case..." you trailed off, unable to find what words to say.

Your previous words you said hung in his mind, giving out the reason why you were almost jittery whenever he even so much dared to press the palm of his hand between your shoulder blades.

You've never had a boyfriend before. Not by choice, you've had a few crushes before, but nothing that ever went farther than just simple, innocent kisses.

But Seungcheol had awakened something in you. Something so unfamiliar that unnerved you to your bones. It was a warmth that made you feel hot under your clothes, it made your blood rush to your cheeks and twist your heart.

"Come here," Seungcheol said, opening his strong arms and pulling you in a comforting hug.

It wasn't a friendly hug, the purpose of it was to try and calm down your anxieties, to make you realize that he wanted to be more serious with you.

You stiffened under his embrace at first, but quickly wrapped your arms around his torso and rested your head on his shoulder, breathing in his manly scent, the cologne in his clothes.

The warmth feeling invaded you again when you felt his heartbeat against your own chest, when he appeared to be pressing his lips slowly on the crown of your head. Oh my god, you thought over and over.

When you felt like the hug had went over for minutes, you peeled off his body slowly and reluctantly, but suddenly stopped short

"Oh–," you gasped.

"What–," he muttered and looked down.

Your gold necklace had tangled in one of the buttons of his polo shirt, making you giggle shyly and brought a hand up to attempt to untangle the mess.

Seungcheol seized your hand, your eyes snapping to his nervously as his other hand came to cup your chin gingerly. Your eyes read his face, widening slightly when you saw it in his gaze—he wanted to kiss you.

His half-lidded puppy eyes swam over the features of your face, on your eyes, your lips and then back up. And you wondered what the look on your face might have been, because it made him smile softly.

You, in turn, looked flustered. And Seungcheol knew that you wanted this because your lips had parted in desire, your breath hitched at his touch. And your eyes, so telling of your own intentions.

Slowly, Seungcheol dipped his head to meet your lips with his own, keeping his hand on your chin to keep you in place. You swallowed hard the second you felt his wet lips on yours, pressing tenderly once, twice, until they locked slowly, moving against each other seamlessly.

Your eyes had fluttered close, as you let the man you've been crushing for months dominate the kiss, and that he did gingerly, almost lovingly. The hand that had seized yours slowly pressed his palm against your own, and you took the liberty to lace your fingers with his.

When the kiss ended he parted to look at your pretty eyes, moving the hand from your chin to brush the softness of your cheek and you leaned in to his touch, almost instinctively.

"Seungcheol," you muttered then, "Cheol, I have something to tell you."

You pressed your hand against the one that was cupping your cheek. And Seungcheol pushed his eyebrows up slightly, encouraging you to speak.

"I don't know how much you know about me, about my family, but it has scared some people off my life before and... I don't want that to be you," you muttered with a tinge of nervousness quivering your tone.

"I'm not going anywhere," he reassured, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead. "Don't think that for a second."

That was the start to your relationship with Choi Seungcheol.

And for all his plans of taking it slow, you both sure flew into first, second, third base pretty fast. Seungcheol was careful with you every step of the way, but sometimes he found you so hard to resist.

And it didn't help that your sex drive was just as high as his, or even higher.

The making out session had started innocently. Seungcheol had driven almost aimlessly out of the city until he found a perfect spot to park in a secluded area.

By this point, you were a month into dating. So you were pretty much still new to all things relating to intimacy. But at the same time, you were so eager for more. To go past brief touches and short make out sessions.

But there was something different about you tonight. Maybe it was that you were far from the city and the car was practically hidden from view and upcoming cars, deep into some trail in the woods.

Maybe it was that you thought he looked extra hot that night. Wearing a tight black long sleeve t-shirt. But you found Seungcheol hot, no matter what he did or wore.

You were pressed against the steering wheel of the car, straddling him in a very lewd manner. You've never gone this far, but it was exciting, it was taunting.

"Baby," he muttered against your lips, one of his hands was cupping your face while the other was kneading anxiously at the curve of your waist.

"Mm?" you hummed softly in his mouth, not wanting to pull away, you felt as though you were unable to.

"Is this okay?" he asked with a strangled tone. It had been some minutes since either of you had spoken. He cleared his throat and added: "We're not going too far?"

You had never gotten this close to anyone before. Your heart was beating so hard against your chest that you could feel your pulse at your throat.

"This is okay," you breathed, capturing his lower lip between yours and he groaned. "I want this."

"Want what?" he moved a hand from the side of your face to your lower back, eliciting a small moan from you. "Fuck," he breathed when he heard you.

"I want you," you whispered, pressing your lips on his jawline, then down his neck, daring to lick his skin.

His fingers clenched on your flesh, over your clothes and hissed loudly. "Baby, don't do that," he groaned.

"Don't like it?" you asked and finally peeled off him.

The look on your face was something Seungcheol couldn't get enough of. You looked flustered, hot and horny. Your lips were swollen from all the kissing, and the steamy conditions from the inside of the car made your skin dewy, making your hair stick to your neck.

"I do, I like it," he chuckled, feeling embarrassed. "I like it too much."

Your features took on a bolder look. "How much?" you asked with a playful tone, smiling a bit.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes at your playful question, feeling like he might explode soon.

But he only took your hand and guided it to the huge bulge pressing against his jeans, wordlessly telling you just how much he was driven insane by you.

It was a bold move, he knew it. Your eyes widened and a shudder invaded you, along with that warmth that begged you to move farther, to get more from this interaction.

You swallowed thickly. "You're..." you trailed off.

Seungcheol mimicked you and swallowed hard too. He removed your hand from his hard crotch and kissed your knuckles.

"Do you want to... do something about it?" you asked shyly and smiled to yourself.

"Like what?" he asked, now being playful with you.

"Do you want me to touch you?" you asked with a tiny voice, your shifty eyes averting from his.

"No," he replied, drawing your eyes back at him with a question written in them. "I don't want you to do that now, baby."

"Doesn't it... hurt?" you asked meekly and turned your gaze yet again from him.

Seungcheol smiled. "Not right now, but it will later," he replied simply, shrugging as if this wasn't the first time he's gotten blue-balled by you.

"Why does it sound like it's normal for you?" you caught right on, an eyebrow jumping up.

He pinched your chin with his index and thumb. "You drive me crazy, baby. You always leave me a little needy," he explained, but then realizing how he sounded, he added: "But it's okay, I'm not pressuring you to do anything you don't want to do."

"But I want to, Cheol," you repositioned yourself on his lap, scooting your crotch closer to his.

That made his hands snap to your hips, just when he felt a little bit of friction on his hard and clothed cock.

He stifled a moan. "What do you want, baby?"

You swore you went a little crazy every time he called you that. You bit your lip, looking at his big and dark eyes.

His hand cupped your chin again, motioning you closer so that he could kiss you on your lips.

"Mm? What do you want?" he egged you on, his voice low and pouring into your ears.

"Take me," you whispered between kisses.

A groan bubbled in his chest and deepened the kiss by swiping a line with the tip of his tongue on your lower lip. You moaned softly in his mouth too, and the sound might have sent him into a frenzy too.

"No," he groaned with a low guttural tone.

"Please?" you asked before he could even explain himself.

"Not here, baby," he started and pressed his body back on his seat, thus parting away from your lips. "You're not having your first time in my brother's car."

You blinked, looking a bit startled and searched his eyes.

"Don't you want to have your first time in a bed?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting at his question.

That seemed to cool you down from your frenzy moment and appeared to be considering it.

You nodded quietly. "With you," you replied with a certain tone of plea.

He blinked slowly, realizing that you had thought he was rejecting your advances. "Of course, baby," he replied with a warm smile.

You pressed your lips in a cute pout, and then you hit him with puppy eyes. "Can we... continue where we left off?"

"What do you want?" he asked again, his hands parked on your hips.

You fidgeted with the collar of his black t-shirt, shyly glancing at his eyes, then back to your hands. "Can you touch me?"

Seungcheol pressed his hands on the curve of your waist and nodded. "Where, baby?"

Your breath hitched audibly but neither of you made note about it. Borrowing a page from his book, you took his hands from your waist, and guided them to your breasts, indicating where you wanted his hands.

Your blood rushed to your face in utter embarrassment from how wet you felt already, your panties were pooling with your arousal and the second you motioned his hands on your breasts, over your clothes, you swallowed back a moan.

Seungcheol applied pressure to your tits, kneading at them softly, over the fabric of your blouse and bra. You knew that wasn't enough, you needed to feel him directly.

You dropped your forehead on his and breathed out your nervousness. "God, I'm so wet," you whispered and let out an embarrassed laugh.

Seungcheol groaned louder this time and closed his eyes fiercely. His hands flew from your tits and pressed you down on his cock by your hips.

"Fuck," he breathed, anxiously tightening his grip on your sides. "Can I feel you?"

You nodded desperately. "Yes, please?" you sighed a moan.

His hand sneaked beneath your skirt, realizing that you might've come prepared for this because you were also wearing a lace thong, as soon he would discover when the pads of his fingers grazed your clothed pussy.

"Baby," he called, making you pull back and lock eyes with him. "You can stop me if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"

You nodded and bit your lip in anticipation, looking down where his hand had disappeared beneath your skirt.

But a hand grabbed your chin gently to lift your gaze back at his. "I need to hear it."

"Okay," you replied.

He then searched for the hem of your thong and moved it aside to uncover your cunt to his fingers, where he ran the pads of his fingers, shuddering slightly when he felt the softness covered with your arousal.

"So wet," he whispered and swallowed back a groan. "You're dripping, baby."

You nodded and bit back a moan when his fingers exploring your cunt found your clit almost effortlessly.

"There?" he asked and you nodded. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"Good," you breathed immediately when the pads of his middle fingers rubbed your clit back and forth, pressing on the nub just the right amount to make you moan.

"You sound so sweet," he mumbled almost entrancingly, enjoying the look on your face when your eyelids fluttered shut and your lips parted a little, allowing a sigh to escape between them.

Your hands slid from his shoulders down to his chest and you leaned back on the steering wheel to give him ample space to continue pleasuring you.

Seungcheol put his free hand to use by hiking your skirt up, uncovering your lush thighs to his view. Under the weak moonlight, he could also see your pretty cunt, and he pushed your panties aside further so he could see just how wet you were.

"God, baby," he looked up, his darkened eyes finding yours. "You're perfect."

You were still biting your lip, unable to make a coherent response because his touch was nearly driving you crazy.

Seungcheol threw you a cautious glance, before dipping one finger inside your entrance, his mouth parted at the same time yours did.

"Cheol," you mewled when his finger slid in completely exploring your warm and wet walls.

"Is that okay?" he asked, dragging his finger out to then push it back in.

You nodded and then replied. "Yeah, okay," you babbled.

"More?" he asked, but it sounded like he was testing you.

"Yes, yes more, please," you whimpered desperately trying to get more so you could finally get the pleasure you seeked.

Seungcheol pushed another digit in, feeling your walls contract and that made him gasp. But wasted no time and started exploring your gummy walls, every ridge, every slippery fold.

You held onto one of his buff biceps, your fingers digging on his muscle quite harshly but not enough to hurt him.

"Relax, baby," he whispered. But there was no denying that he was loving every second of you getting off by just a couple of fingers. And not only that, him being the first to be doing this was also giving him a rush.

"It feels good," you gasped and looked at his eyes.

"Yeah? Do you like it if I do this?" he asked before curling his fingers inside you, the pointy tips of his fingers pressing on your walls in a very sensitive spot.

"God! Yes, that feels good," you gasped, your hips buckled on top of him just as he started to move his hand repeatedly, teasing that glorious spot inside you.

"Like that?" he asked with a strangled tone, feeling like he might come in his pants from just seeing you and feeling you with his fingers.

"Yes, yes, yes," you whimpered. "Don't stop—please? Please, Cheol, it feels so good."

Seungcheol felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smirk. "I'm not stopping, baby," he replied.

Your breath had started to hitch and the hand holding onto his bicep clenched hard and then went lax. You were close, but it was quite difficult to get to your much desperately needed release.

"Do you want to rub your clit?" Seungcheol asked when he noticed and you nodded. "Show me how you do it, baby," he instructed, not stopping his hand on your cunt, but only moving it to give more access to your fingers.

You lifted your hips a little, giving him the full view to your cunt as you reached your clit with your fingers and started rubbing. You mewled instantly at the motion of both your fingers and his inside you, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Are you close, angel?" he asked, when he saw the features of your face relax, moaning sweetly and looking almost angelical.

"Yeah," you gasped, a rush of bliss taking over you when he used that new nickname on you. "Mm so close," you moaned.

"God, you look so good like this," he whispered in complete awe.

"Cheol," you mewled. "I'm there, god, g–ah," your eyebrows knitted and your mouth opened, breathing in sharply as you came hard on his fingers, the orgasm was nearly mind-numbing, not only from how good it felt, but from how long you had been aching for this.

"So good, so good," you whimpered over and over as you came, eyes closed, enjoying every second of it.

Seungcheol also enjoyed the look on your face, the sounds you made, how tightly you squeezed his fingers with your warm walls.

By the end of your orgasm, you were panting, thighs trembling a little, and you leaned forward a little to get some support. Seungcheol used his free hand to cup your cheek, motioning you over to his lips.

You kissed him softly, still breathing erratically.

"You did so good, baby," he whispered on your lips. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you frowned. "Perfect, actually."

Seungcheol laughed and pressed his lips on your forehead.

You shuddered slightly when he pulled out his fingers from your walls and brought his hand up to his mouth to lick your arousal from his fingers, looking at your eyes as he got his first taste of you.

"Seu—Cheol? What are you doing?" you sounded alarmed as you watched him groan in approval and as if he were testing you, he pulled you for a kiss.

You tasted yourself in his tongue, the act so lewd that it had you whimpering again.

"You're so perfect baby," he muttered with a low tone.

He fixed your panties back in place and then your skirt, his fascinated eyes reveling at the sight of you on top of him.

You looked around for the first time in what seemed like hours, and realized that the windows had become obscured with a light layer of condensation.

The sight made you smile a little—it seemed just like in movies. And you were so, so in love with Seungcheol. It seemed fast, but you were also young and so willing to discover things about yourself at his side that time seemed to be unimportant to you.

You brought up a finger and started scribbling on the window of the car.

"I love you," your little message read.

Seungcheol felt something so strong in his chest that it almost robbed him of air. You shyly looked back at him, expecting a response, reading his face for any signs of rejection.

"I love you too," he answered vocally, cupping your face with his hands to kiss you passionately.

Some weeks later, after more taunting each other with heavy make out sessions. You found yourself pressed against the mattress of his twin bed. Nearly naked, only your matching bra and thong were covering your body.

Seungcheol had wished for an opportunity like this. Somehow he was struck by a miracle when his parents told him they would be out of town, so he knew that was his chance to prompt this proposition to you.

Which, of course, you agreed to.

Seungcheol was bare from the waist up, his body hovering on top of you as he slowly worshiped your body, both with kisses and with his sweet words.

You were nervous, utterly embarrassed as you pressed your thighs together, your breathing had turned erratic, pathetically loud to your ears as you watched your boyfriend kneel on the bed before your body.

"Spread your legs for me, baby," he instructed with a soft tone, running a hand on your knee, caressing your bare skin.

You pushed your knees up and parted your thighs slowly for him to slot his body between them. And before he could press his chest to yours, you snaked a hand beneath you to unclasp your bra and removed the straps swiftly.

"Slow down," he chuckled and leaned down to press his lips against yours. "We have time, don't worry."

"I'm nervous," you admitted with a sigh.

"I know," he replied and smiled sweetly at you. "I'm nervous too," he confessed but he didn't look nearly as nervous as you.

Though he was.

"But you've done this before," you countered, blinking at him confusedly.

"It's the first time I do it with you, angel," he replied, pressing his lips on your face, then littering your throat with more kisses.

"I want you to like it," you muttered with a tiny voice.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, breaking away from your neck to look at your eyes. "Baby, I'm going to like it no matter what. Relax, I got you."

Seungcheol waited until you gave him a nod with your head and continued loving your skin with his lips. You tried to ease your head into his pillows and you tried to do the same with your limbs, relaxing into the duvet of his twin bed, which you noticed, smelled like his clothes usually do.

"Don't worry about me," he muttered into your ear, making you shudder slightly. "I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Tell me what you like and what you don't, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered.

"You can close your eyes if you want to," he offered before pressing his lips on your cheek.

You decided to keep looking at Seungcheol as he moved your bra aside with delicate fingers, uncovering your breasts to his eyes and he let out a soft sigh that landed on your skin, making it prickle.

You suppressed a sigh, your hands instantly reaching out to hold onto his shoulders and neck when he pressed his lips against your chest, just above your heart, smirking to himself when he heard you swallow back a whimper.

You flinched quite dramatically when his mouth reached down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, loving the taste of your skin, the smell of your perfume with a pleased groan.

Your hand traveled up from his neck and toyed anxiously at the short hair on the back of his head as he moved to kiss and lick your other nipple.

"Baby," he reminded you gently.

"Good," you croaked. "That feels good."

"Do you want to undress me?" he asked, pulling back to his knees on his bed.

You nodded and sat up, getting his belt and undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. He stood up from the bed and you sloppily undressed him, chuckling embarrassedly at yourself throughout the process.

You looked up at the growing bulge beneath his black boxers and instinctively reached for the elastic band and pulled the last piece of clothing on his body.

You bit your lip harder than before when you saw your boyfriend wholly naked and standing in front of you. He was fully hard for you already, the pinkish red tip of his cock was glistening with precum at his slit.

All the times you imagined him naked weren't compared to the real beauty Seungcheol was. Your eyes roamed from his broad shoulders, his lean chest, to the soft hairs trailing down from his belly button and joining his pubic hair.

Seungcheol was big, but you had figured that out already. But seeing him fully bare was something else. He enjoyed the look in your eyes when you couldn't help but to reach out and touch his milky white skin.

The muscles of his abdomen tightened slightly when you ran your fingertips over the soft lines marking it and down his meaty thighs. Darting a look up at him, you trailed a fingertip down the shaft of his cock, his breath hitching slightly at the feeling. You gingerly ran the pad of your finger over the soft ridges below his cockhead and swallowed thickly.

Seungcheol moved decisively towards you, pressing a knee on the bed then the other, making you crawl backwards on the bed and lie back down on his pillows.

His fingers hooked on the band of your lace thong you bought solely for the occasion and slid them down your legs slowly and you lifted your feet from the mattress for him to get rid of the thong and finally have you completely bare and exposed to him.

"You're so, so beautiful, baby," he said with a sigh, his big expressive eyes marveling at your figure on his bed.

"Thank you, Cheol," you whispered bashfully.

You averted your gaze when he dipped his head and started grazing kisses along your tummy and tried to focus on the sensations, your skin prickling, heating up, the arousal shooting like a bolt of lightning inside you with each kiss.

The blinds on Seungcheol's room were slightly parted, blowing in with the wind that filtered through the open window. It was a quiet, windy night, and the soft glow of the moonlight gave you the opportunity to explore his bedroom with your eyes.

Until his lips reached below your belly button, making you jolt slightly under him.

"Your skin smells so sweet," he pointed with a low hum and raised his head to show you a smile. "Did you do that on purpose?"

You nodded. "It's raspberry lotion," you explained meekly.

Seungcheol smiled, circling a hand on your hip and slid down your skin and pressed his lips on the inner side of your thigh, making you jump slightly again.

"Easy," he breathed, littering your skin with more kisses as if wanting you to get accustomed to the feeling.

"That feels good," you slurred, closing your eyes when a shudder ran from your legs to your face.

Then he pressed his tongue on your inner thigh, really close to your pussy.

"God," you gasped, opening your eyes wide and propped your weight on your elbows.

"Tell me if it's too much," he mumbled, trailing more open mouthed kisses until his lips reached your mound.

Your breath hitched and nodded. "Okay," you whispered, reaching out to graze his scalp with the pads of your fingers, eliciting a low groan from the man who was between your legs, the first person to ever be this intimate with you.

"Oh my god," you breathed when he gently and so, so slowly pushed his tongue between your pussy lips, parting your slippery folds with a generous stroke with his tongue.

His hands came to angle your thighs open for him when your first instinct was to try and close them. He pressed his mouth to your cunt, licking your arousal from your entrance with a groan that you felt on your soft flesh.

"Cheol, babe," you gasped, watching him ravage your cunt slowly, making the most loud wet sounds when his pointed tongue glided between your folds and swirled around your clit.

"Babe, don't stop," you whimpered, your hips buckling against his face when his tongue started flicking your swollen bud. He blinked and raised his eyes to find yours.

And he didn't stop, not to speak, not to rest and even though his mouth was starting to feel tired, he was determined to make you come first like this.

"God—Cheol," you mewled, feeling a tingling wave rushing through your body, intensifying by the second. "Babe, I'm there, 'm–"

You sucked in a sharp breath, shuddering violently on his bed as your orgasm flooded your body in hot waves. Overwhelming sensations invaded you as you cried out, your voice sounding raw and lewd. You felt it everywhere, not just between your thighs.

He pressed his lips on your clit and on your mound as he removed his hands from your thighs, using them to support his body by placing them at your sides.

"Good?" he muttered as he lowered the lower half of his body between your legs, without pressing his full weight on you.

His lips looked slick and swollen, and when you reached out to capture them with yours, you tasted your arousal on his tongue, making you moan at how lewd the act felt.

"Great," you breathed.

Your eyes had a post-sex glaze look on them, still breathing heavy, you looked heavenly this way. And Seungcheol loved that he was the reason why you looked like that.

"God, you're so beautiful, baby," he whispered, pressing his lips on yours between each word.

"Cheol?" you whispered, dragging his gaze back to yours.

"Mm?"

"I want you now," you mumbled with a sweet tone.

Seungcheol read your eyes briefly, looking for any signs of uncertainty, before he leaned his weight on one forearm at your side, his free hand grabbed his fully hard cock and guided it to your core.

You sucked in a breath again, when Seungcheol glided his cockhead down your wet folds with a low groan before nuzzling at your entrance.

Then he slowly eased himself into you, the fiery discomfort at your entrance was immediate, making your muscles contract and the scrunch on your face made him pause.

"Talk to me baby," he instructed softly.

"I'm okay," you breathed. "Keep going, please, Cheol."

He mouthed a 'okay' and pushed inside you slowly, his hand came up to cup your cheek to hold your gaze, your eyebrows knitted and your mouth parted, and he felt himself mimic your expression as he sheathed himself completely inside your warm, fluttery walls.

Seungcheol watched your beautiful features as he dragged his cock out and pushed in again, slowly, making your walls ease around him, adjusting to his size, letting him fuck you slowly.

Small moans spilled from your lips as the discomfort dissipated and soon turned into a warm, sweet pleasure, making your eyes flutter close and sigh blissfully.

Each drag of his cock in and out of you felt deliriously good. Seungcheol was slowly driving himself mad with your moans, with the feeling of your warm throbbing walls around him, taking him so good he was sure that you were made for him only.

It also made him a little crazy to think that it was your first time feeling something like this, to have him claiming you before anyone else. He shuddered and dropped his head on the crook of your neck, failing to control himself.

"I need to put a condom on, baby," he groaned against you, lifting his head to look at you.

"No, please. Just a little bit longer?" you immediately whined.

"I might not last long," he admitted shyly. "You feel so fucking good."

"You-you feel good too," you blurted.

Your arms were encircling him by his shoulders, your wrists locked behind his nape. You hummed a sigh when his hips pressed against you, driving his cockhead into a spot that felt just too good. Your walls clenched and he immediately pulled out with a low groan.

"I'm putting it on," he murmured, kissing you chastely before pulling his body up and reaching for a condom on his nightstand. He opened it with his experienced fingers and slid the condom down to his hilt.

Seungcheol slid inside you again, the contact of the latex inside you created a noise when he started delivering precise thrusts against you again. Undeniable, it felt different with protection, but it still felt good.

So good in fact that when his thrusts picked up pace, you moaned against the crook of his neck, the feeling of being so close, open and vulnerable with him so intense that you were sure you were losing what little sanity you had left.

"I love you," you breathed against his lips.

Seungcheol stifled a moan and his hand cupped your cheek again. "I love you too baby," he responded, lips grazing against yours.

He came not a second after you with soft moans and calling your name as he pressed his hips sloppily against you until he was rendered breathless on top of you, head resting on your shoulder as he blinked back to reality.

Seungcheol was in love.

Time flew by and soon it was your first anniversary with him. Still in love, still making puppy eyes at each other. Your relationship moved almost seamlessly without any issues.

You both loved spending time together, whether it was going out together or just chilling at home. Seungcheol had moved out of his parents house and started renting a small one bedroom apartment. Freshly graduated, he wasted no time and started working, which was something he was aching to do.

There were little disagreements, but you always found a way to talk and work things out. It was like you were a team, facing every single challenge together.

On your anniversary, Seungcheol prepared a dinner to celebrate the year you had spent together. He placed candles on the table and seemed nervous before he led you inside his tiny apartment, covering your eyes with his hands, chuckling all the way as you stretched your arms out in case you stumbled and fell.

"Ready?" he mumbled in your ear.

"Ready," you replied and he uncovered your eyes.

There was a flower bouquet on a vase sitting on top of the table, which you noticed were your favorite flowers.

"This is beautiful, Cheol," you started and turned around to face him.

Only to find him on one knee, a small blue velvet box in his hand. The glint in his puppy eyes as he looked up at you with such adoring eyes as your heart clenched.

"No, stop!" you whined. "You're joking," you laughed as your eyes brimmed with tears that spilled onto your cheeks when he laughed with you when you told on his prank.

He opened the box, revealing his gift to you, which was a pretty dainty gold necklace with a heart locket.

"Happy anniversary," he said with his goofy laugh and rose just as you cupped his cheeks to kiss him lovingly.

The laughter and the sparkle in your eyes made it an unforgettable night for him.

A memory he would cherish for a long time.

second year

It was your twenty second birthday.

And soon it will be your second anniversary with Seungcheol. And it seemed hard to believe how fast time had passed you by, and how fast Seungcheol became the center of your whole world.

He was your partner through a world of self-discovery. Did you want to try new kinks? He was all in. Did you want to try weed or shrooms for the first time? He'd take care of you—or do it together in a safe space.

You had so much fun together that he wasn't only the love of your life, he was your best friend. And you were still so in love with him, it seemed like a dream, almost.

As the second anniversary rolled around, Seungcheol made it a little tradition to get on one knee to present you with jewelry. The second time he did it, your heart jumped again but you knew what his plan was, which was to get that joyful look on your face.

This time, you knew that if he presented you with a ring, you would've said yes.

third year

Choi Seungcheol is a strategist to his core.

At least, that's what a lot of people say about him. He doesn't like to think too much of himself, but sometimes, when he pays attention to what the people around him say, they say things akin to him being thoughtful, always scheming, always analyzing.

Seungcheol was a hundred percent sure about you. From the first anniversary together, he started planning the day he would get down on one knee and ask you to marry him seriously.

At this point you had been together for three years, and not one single day he doubted himself with you. There were some setbacks, money being one of them, but he could manage. The only problem was dealing with your overbearing parents.

Steal princess from the castle, that was the name of his little plan.

In fact, as your twenty fourth birthday drew near, he thought of the way he would carry out this plan. One day, when you were away with your parents' for a whole weekend, he knew this was his chance.

He pressed the phone to his ear and waited for the line to be picked up. Chewing on his lower lip, sitting on his sofa with one leg crossed.

"Hi mom," he smiled when he heard his mother's voice greet him. Then he started picking on the hem of his clothes with his free hand as he said. "I need your help with something."

"Are you alright, baby?" his mother queried immediately.

Seungcheol noticed how nervous he sounded, added to his sudden ask for help and put in quickly. "Oh! Yes, yes, yes, I'm fine mom. Don't worry," he chuckled awkwardly. "I was thinking of picking you up later this evening for coffee and... I want you to help me choose a ring."

Silently, Seungcheol looked at the ceiling.

"An engagement ring?" his mother asked, a tinge of emotion twisting her words.

"Yes, mom," he breathed in. "I'm proposing," he nodded and gulped hard, trying to swallow down the emotions that coiled in his throat.

His mother didn't need to ask if he was sure, or if it was too soon. Because everyone knew how much he loved you.

Everyone knew you were end game.

fourth year

Every relationship has its ups and downs. But everything with Seungcheol seemed to be so good that it made you think that saying was just a fabricated thing to persuade people to stay in their relationships.

That was until you got in for a master's degree in a prestigious university abroad. It was a really big thing for you, a dream come true, really. But sadly you didn't get the necessary support to accept the offer.

Of course you wouldn't get the funding. Your family name was related to wealth, so why should anyone give you the funding when you could afford it yourself?

However, your parents stepped in, offering their help to you under one condition. Their condition was that you had to break up your relationship with Seungcheol, and once you finished your master's degree you'd have to marry someone they approve of. They'd cover all the expenses, the tuition, everything.

You just had to break up with your boyfriend. Marry someone worthy of you. They said,

You declined.

"What happened, baby?" Seungcheol had spent the past hour holding you as you cried and sobbed uncontrollably in his shoulder.

You had tried to tell him what had happened, but every time you opened your mouth a sob would have you breaking down in tears all over again.

"Baby, you're scaring me," he warned for the nth time, but he waited patiently for you, he rocked your body in his arm gently and kneaded your back with his hands attempting to soothe you.

The two of you were standing on the sidewalk outside the building where you lived with your family. Seungcheol had waited so long for you to speak that he was now leaning against his old car.

When he saw your figure hurriedly come out of the building, he supposed that you probably were running to him thinking you were late; however as soon as he saw your crushed face he immediately got out of his car to hold you, knowing that you were about to break down in tears.

He initially assumed the worst, his mind went to any possible scenario that could have you in such a state, and he voiced his concerns while rubbing your back.

"Has someone passed away? Is someone sick?"

Or perhaps,

"You've been cut off again?"

Maybe, maybe,

"Are you pregnant, baby? Is that it?"

The last two were issues he knew he could help you figure out.

He'd done it before, once your mom got sick of threatening you with cutting you off the will and allowances, she kicked you out of her house. Seungcheol would let you crash in his apartment, whenever you needed it. And he'd secretly wanted you to move in.

And if in one in a million chance he got you pregnant, well... He was all in with you. Whatever you decided, he was all in.

"I g-got accepted," you sobbed, but most of your words got muffled in the crook of his neck.

"What was that?" he asked softly and you sensed him lowering his face to look at your head in his shoulder.

"I got accepted," you told him more clearly, swallowing your sobs.

"Baby, that's great. That's your top choice, right?," his soft voice was a bit closer now. "Why are you crying?"

Seungcheol was well aware of all the post-graduate applications you did the previous year, and you had some letters of acceptance but you were waiting for the letter of acceptance and it had finally arrived.

He didn't really care if you went to another country; he wanted you to fulfill your dreams. He could wait for you, that was the initial plan, to wait for you while you achieved your milestone abroad.

"I didn't get the funding," you replied. "I didn't get it for any of the applications."

Oh. Seungcheol knew that you needed the funding, otherwise you were pretty much at a loss. Even though you had many other options, it would be really hard for you if you wanted to break away from your family's nasty hooks once and for all.

"And my mom told me they can give me all the funding, everything," you continued, now speaking fast as if you wanted to get the words out before breaking in tears again. "But they'll do it only if I break up with you and marry someone else when I get the degree. They weren't even pleased that I got accepted, it's like they were planning this."

Seungcheol just listened, but he couldn't help but feel a mixture of rage and anguish at what he was witnessing. How could they do that to you? You were their daughter, why would they try to sabotage you at any chance they had?

He knew your parents didn't hate him. Hate was earned. He just wasn't what they thought was 'good enough' for you. They were just waiting for what they called your 'little fling' to end, hoping that you would move on to what they considered a more serious relationship with someone they thought was more 'suitable'.

And by that they meant, filthy rich.

Granted, Seungcheol didn't make one small fraction of the money your parents made, probably never will. But he took care of you, he loved you. Wasn't that enough?

But he couldn't give you what your parents were offering. He knew that. He wasn't ready for that.

"You should accept," he said suddenly, he even felt like he was betraying himself.

You stiffened, finally looking up from his shoulder. "W-what?" you sniffed. "Cheol, are you listening? We'd have to split-"

"Not really," he muttered, seeing you so broken made him want to cry too. "We can still be together. Your parents don't have to know."

You smiled bitterly through your tears. "I'd be married off to someone else, and then what? They told me they already talked with some other family. They can arrange a marriage 'cause they're crazy like that."

Seungcheol knew just how crazy your family was. They were the kind of family that would whip out a binding contract on you if you agreed to marry someone else. They made the kind of money to hire a PI to follow you around because they didn't actually know who their daughter was.

Your parents didn't like what they found, obviously. And they could pretty much pinpoint the exact moment in your life when you started to feel more free. Such things they mostly thought were 'acts of rebellion'. And Seungcheol was your partner in crime.

He nodded and looked heavenward. "I can't give you what they can. I just don't make the money."

"I'm not saying that, babe. Besides, I already declined my mom's offer," you mumbled through your tears and whiny sobs. "I'm not breaking up with you."

"So you're not following your dream because of how I'd feel?" he looked at you again. "Baby, this is not what I want for you. You know that."

Studying abroad has been your dream since you could remember. You made it your whole life besides being with Seungcheol, if there was anything you could ever do for your whole life, it'd be reading, writing. You were always buried in books.

He cupped your flushed face in his hands. "This is your future. This is yours long before I was. I can't be the reason why you don't follow through. I just can't."

Your eyes met his and knew he was being dead serious.

"I won't break up with you. That's my final decision."

He sighed, but not out of relief. He hated arguing with you. Having arguments with you happened rarely, but you were just as stubborn as he was—perhaps even more so, and often pushed arguments for hours until he was the one who eventually gave in.

"Can we at least consider what I'm saying?" he proposed in a gentle tone, trying to convince you.

"I'm not keeping us a secret either!" you countered. "That's crazy, Seungcheol. Are you serious?!"

He visibly flinched when he heard you call him by his full name. "It's not crazy, it's a possibility, a plan."

You inhaled deeply, feeling the chill in the air as your fingers brushed his dark hair. He recently had it trimmed short on the sides, so he looked boyish and younger, even. He looked just like when you met him.

You loved him. Your love for him wouldn't be kept a secret.

"We'll think of something else," that was your final say about it.

It is true that Seungcheol had grown a bit disdainful of himself ever since your parents had let on their thoughts of him. You didn't have to tell him anything directly, he could sense it. The cold shoulder, the glares, the offhanded comments.

They didn't have to be straightforward with him. Seungcheol also noticed it in the way your parents treated you; the constant threats, warnings, always cutting you off, the blackmail.

It was easy, from the minute he witnessed your parents talk down to you he knew he would never like them.

Well, the feeling was mutual.

That grew into dark thoughts in his mind, a sneaky internal voice that would feed into his insecurities, every dark thought inside him and these would get stronger each time he doubted himself with you.

Not feeling enough can be suffocating.

"Babe, you split your lip," you told him, offering him a tissue he could wipe the blood that was now mixing with his drool on his lips.

He had been biting off the skin of his lips. He did that absentmindedly as his thoughts took him to a dark path.

"Thanks," he muttered.

The tissue broke in his lip and stuck to the slit in his lower lip but he didn't seem to notice. That made you smile softly and reach for him to remove the bit of tissue from his broken lip with your fingers.

"Here," you whispered, and noticed Seungcheol's big dark eyes lost on your face.

He had been doing this for weeks now. Losing focus every now and then, he'd lose sleep and forget things. He did these things whenever he needed to say something but didn't know just how to get there, he always needed some prompting from you.

But you just couldn't bring yourself to initiate this time.

It was almost a month ago that you told him the news about the offer for you to study abroad. And about the offer your parents had made. You declined your mom's offer, but ever since then, Seungcheol had been acting off.

Your hand rested on his cheek, and he closed his eyes briefly to kiss your palm with his bloody lip.

"I love you," he mouthed, almost as if he couldn't bring his voice to enact itself.

"I love you too, babe," you replied, seeing his face contorted in pain and frustration was eating you up on the inside.

You had taken a job as a teacher's assistant at a school near Seungcheol's apartment. It was so near that you always visited his apartment after you were done with your shift.

So you practically lived with him in his one bedroom apartment. You had a bunch of clothes stored in the closet of his bedroom, a toothbrush, the books piling up in a corner were yours too. You occupied a large chunk of the desk with your computer, piles of papers from your job and pink headset sitting next to his.

The reason why you had taken up the teaching job was to start making some money for yourself, and possibly to make Seungcheol see that you could manage without the help from your parents, maybe then he'd ask you to move in with him.

Why hasn't Seungcheol just asked to move in with him? You hadn't asked him, but it would probably have something to do with your parents.

You knew he felt a certain kind of insecurity when it came to the lavish lifestyle your parents raised you with. But you couldn't care less in reality. You had him, that was all you needed.

So now your focus was that, your job and Seungcheol. You tried to forget about your MA acceptance letters. When you got the final letter of acceptance from all the applications you made, you were aware that you had a limited timespan to return one letter in agreement, but you haven't made a reply yet.

Seungcheol knew that, he was also well aware that you had only a few weeks to make your final choice and it was driving him crazy that you haven't made one.

It was like he was the one deciding on your future and he hated it.

He hated when your parents wanted to puppeteer everything in your life, they made choices for you most of the time and he hated watching that.

So now that you were choosing him over the biggest opportunity of your life, it killed him.

"Babe, stop thinking about it," you muttered, your heart palpitating hard at the mention of 'it'.

He blinked slowly and found your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "I can't."

"We have tonight," you smiled softly at him. "We can take our minds off for now, can you do that?"

He pressed your hand against his cheek briefly before grabbing it to lock your fingers with his.

"I will but only if you do something for me," he smiled slowly–a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

You knew that look. It was the look of someone desperately trying to feel something other than worry and finally coming face to face with their remedy.

You pushed your eyebrows up, and you knew what was coming. "No."

"Please baby, for me?" his eyebrows knitted and his bloody lip hung out in a cute little pout.

"I am not doing it!" you yanked your hand from his and stood from the couch of the living room of his apartment.

"Baby, you love it, every time!" he laughed as you walked off to his bedroom to get ready for the friendly reunion he was hosting that night.

"You are such a child, Cheol!" you bit back, rolling your eyes.

He was soon delivering kisses on your nape, hugging you from behind. "Please, baby. Please, you don't have to do anything, just sit."

"I'm not sitting on your face," you snorted as you sorted the clothes that you had brought to his apartment over months ago.

"Mmm baby, you didn't seem to hate it this much last time," he said, kissing the crook of your neck. "In fact, you sounded like you loved it."

"It was hard to relax," you confessed, your hands slacking on your sides when you felt his lips touch that spot on your neck. "I kept thinking that I was suffocating you."

"Angel, you know if that happens I'd die happy," he giggled. "Please? Before we go."

That was also something he'd been doing: drowning his worries with sex. So suffice to say, he's been fucking you almost everyday, at any chance he can get.

"We're late already babe," you muttered, his lips kissing your shoulder, ignoring the strap of your tank top.

"Jeonghan can manage if we're late, don't worry," he mumbled, while his hands dipped beneath your tank top, pulling it up to caress your skin at your waist.

When you made no reply, because you were too busy thinking that he'd been fucking you a lot these days, probably to quiet the voices in his head—you heard him sigh softly, and you turned your head to see him smile.

"We can do something else if you want to," he suggested in a soft tone.

"We're going to be late," you repeated but as soon as his hand slid from your waist and under your panties, you knew it was game over.

You dropped your head back on his shoulder when his fingers dipped on your sopping core. You heard him smile, and your head was now angled back so his lips found more skin on your neck he hadn't kissed.

"But you're so wet baby. You're dripping on my fingers. You planned to arrive at the party with your pussy all wet? What then?"

"I'd just wait for you to drag me to any corner where you can fuck me in," you replied, knowing that would elicit a chuckle out of him.

"Mm, but maybe I've spoiled you too much—giving you my cock whenever you want it, letting you come when you want to," his voice was low, like honey pouring onto your ear.

You shuddered against his body when his fingers circled your clit expertly. He knew you so well, knew every inch of your body, where you liked to be touched, how you liked to be fucked.

You moaned softly when he pinched your slick covered clit between his index and middle finger.

"I want you now. Do you want it baby?" he asked in a feigned sweet tone.

"I always want you to fuck me, Cheol," you whimpered, his fingers pressed on your clit and started rubbing circles on it.

"Will you be a good girl for daddy?" his other hand had already busied itself too, sliding from your waist under your tank top to find one of your already hardened nipples.

Your mouth parted a bit, feeling a bit lost on the swirls of his fingers on your swollen clit, and his other set of fingers teasing your nipples.

Seungcheol might be drowning his worries with sex. But so were you.

"Mmm yeah, I can be good," you decided.

I mean, you could be late for a bit. Han would manage.

They say hurt people hurt people. But how can you hurt each other and bring comfort at the same time?

You never saw that you were hurting, but in retrospect, it couldn't have been more obvious. And Seungcheol was hurting, too. Pushing troubles away with sex and alcohol, you brought comfort to each other to ease the pain that was looming close.

What was the purpose of this party? You didn't know exactly, and you didn't ask. But lately you've been visiting Jeonghan's apartment every at least twice a week, for a different party.

Now, what prompts Jeonghan to throw parties? You suspected that he was fully aware of Seungcheol's need for a distraction, and the reason why. So like the best friend Jeonghan was, he made a pathetic excuse to throw a party at his house.

Seungcheol introduced you to his best friend a month into your relationship. It was the first time he introduced you to one of his closest friends and he was so excited, as he said he just knew you were going to get along with his best friend.

And that you did. You met him and you instantly clicked with him. As the years went by, he turned into something close to a brother for you. He even called you his little sister in an endearing way.

"What took you so long?" Jeonghan asked as he opened the door to his apartment. "Wait. Spare me the details," he chuckled as he embraced you tightly. "Happy anniversary!"

"Anniversary? Is that what he's saying now?" you asked, and looked over your shoulder to see Seungcheol already being stolen away by his friends.

Although your fourth anniversary drew closer, you knew that Seungcheol might be putting that as an excuse now. Even if your birthday was before the anniversary, you were suspecting he wouldn't dare use it as a real excuse.

Jeonghan shrugged carelessly. "I don't fucking know anymore," he laughed, looking at your boyfriend in the distance. "It's a new excuse every week, is it?"

"Yeah, I'm beginning to think it is," you muttered, resisting the thought that it was getting serious.

Seungcheol had a desperate need to avert his worries lately, which had turned into party after party every week. But now he was just saying anything to bring his friends over to Jeonghan's.

"Listen, I wanted to be patient and wait for him to tell me what's going on but, I'm getting worried now," Jeonghan announced, sucking in a long breath as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"He's fine, Hannie," you said reluctantly. "He's going to be alright, he just needs to let it out of his system."

And by that, the way Seungcheol chose to let it out was by turning to his vices: sex, gambling, drinking.

He was usually a fun drunk. Loud, energetic, happy. He was quick to organize a party around so he wasted no time and had already sat at a table with his friends to play drinking games.

"Are you sure that this has nothing to do with you not taking the degree offer?" he asked in a soft tone as you walked to his kitchen where he was picking on his food prior to your arrival.

"Han," you whined, darting a look to your unbeknownst boyfriend. "I told you I don't want to talk about it."

Jeonghan had turned into something like your confidant as well. Almost everything that Seungcheol knew about you, Han knew as well. Almost everything.

His brow furrowed a little, and two of his lithe fingers pushed a strand of deep red hair back and tucked it behind his ear.

"Neither of you want to talk about it," he rolled his eyes with a goofy giggle. "I guess I'll just wait until none of you sorry asses can't hang on any longer."

You laughed. "I suppose so, too. We don't deserve you, Hannie," you mumbled, giving him a squeeze on his shoulder before walking to your boyfriend.

He was sitting on a foldable table in Jeonghan's living room. The table was covered in cans of coke and bottles of soju, but in the center of it was a pile of bills.

A small sigh escaped your mouth. You felt tired already and haven't been to your 'anniversary party' for more than two hours now.

Seungcheol had already downed almost two bottles of soju when he lifted his head and found you standing before him.

"Hi beautiful," he murmured with a content smile, his lazy eyes scanned you from top to bottom once and with his free hand he took yours, pulling you gently.

You understood what he wanted and moved to sit on his lap in front of his friends. His hand gripped you by the waist and continued to pay attention to the game of poker he was playing with his friends.

Your cheeks grew hot at the very public display of affection and dominance but deep down you knew that you liked it.

Four years ago when you started dating Seungcheol, you slowly got a grip of just how possessive he was and you found out that you liked it.

He'd let everyone and anyone with eyes know that you were off limits. You liked that he made hickeys on your neck and chest so whenever someone darted a look at your cleavage, they'd see the marks from him.

And with the red strapless dress you were wearing, everyone glanced your way. It didn't show a lot of cleavage but it made your tits look so good that it drove everyone's eyes to take a peak.

So when you sat on his lap in the middle of their poker game, you couldn't help but notice the glancing eyes from his friends. Seungcheol couldn't care less that people looked, that was something he knew he had no control over.

No one would dare to do something more than just look.

Your boyfriend always encouraged you to dress however you felt like. And you did, every time you felt you were dressing too revealing or too provocative he would reassure you that nothing would happen to you around him.

You wondered if his friends even knew they had taken the bait. You knew you'd create a distraction the moment you sat on his lap, your lush thighs crossed, a bored look on your face.

Poker was a game that deeply bored you. You knew how to play, and you always thought it was not a game for you. It took time, money and strategy.

By the end of the game, Seungcheol gathered the money from the center of the table, and with a chaste kiss on your mouth he patted your backside gently.

"You won, baby," he muttered in your ear, placing a soft kiss on your earlobe.

You frowned in confusion. "No, I didn't. You did," you countered.

"The game turned in my favor when you appeared," he chuckled, looking up at you with a glint in his eye. "You give me luck."

"I do? And what do I get?" you asked playfully.

He offered you the roll of bills that was still in his grasp. But then a knowing smirk appeared on his cherry lips. You could tell that his eyes were glazed, a sign he was a bit drunk.

"You know I'm not talking about money, Cheol," you quipped, playing with his soft dark hair with your fingers.

"Oh, angel. You are greedy," he laughed and slowly reached for your lips. And then he muttered: "Let's go home."

As soon as you crossed his apartment door, he was already turning you around using one hand to yank you by your arm. You yelped as your chest hit his frame, quickly being shushed by the drunk kisses that landed on your face.

You made no attempt to slow him down, his hands pushed you to the nearest surface he could lay your body in. Your back hit the soft cushions of the small couch as you scooted your body across it with a squeal in pure excitement.

Seungcheol pulled your dress down by the hem of the chest area, yanking it down made it tear open a bit and the smile that appeared on his face made you think that he'd been wanting to do that all night.

He pulled back with a pleased sigh, his large hands taking both ends of the tear made in your dress and pulled harshly. Another yelp came out from you when Seungcheol tore the fabric on your chest in two.

"Babe! That's the second dress that you destroy," you tried to chastise him, but you couldn't help but smile. You kind of liked to see him so needy for you that he had to tear the clothes off of you.

But being so that your strapless dress was padded around the chest area, your bare tits sprung out when he tore it open. His smile grew bigger as he dipped his head to lick your nipples.

He didn't give you a reply, he just placed open mouthed kisses on the underside of your breast while a hand wrapped the other one and gave it a squeeze, making you squirm and moan when he started sucking your nipple.

Your hands searched the hem of his black t-shirt, pinching at the fabric to pull it over. He didn't resist, being a bit drunk made him forget about staying in the domspace for a bit so he pulled back and with one movement of his arms he got rid of his t-shirt, scrunching it into a ball and chucking it across the room.

"You're so hot," you sighed, letting out a chuckle at seeing your drunk boyfriend on his knees and between your legs.

The corner of his mouth stretched a bit into a grin. "You are too, angel. So fucking hot," he bent down to kiss you, two fingers grabbing your chin as his tongue dragged across your lip, then he paused. "Everyone looked at my baby tonight, I bet they wondered what was under that little dress."

You chuckled, returning the soft drunken kisses he planted on your lips.

"But only I get to look, right baby? Only I get to kiss you," he muttered, and to make his point across he trapped your lower lip to suck on it, and then he whispered: "Only I get to fuck you."

"Yes, daddy," you smiled, watching him continue to practically make out with your tits. You let out a small moan when he turned to suck your nipples again. "I'm all yours."

He stopped and smiled, lifting his head to give you a sly look. "That's right, angel. You're mine," he muttered, his hands gathering the sides of the torn dress to break the bit that was still sown together, tearing it completely.

He got rid of your red thong quickly and threw it over his shoulder where you couldn't see them anymore. At least he didn't destroy them this time.

"You will always be mine," he muttered with a fond look in his eye as he dipped his head between your legs, holding one of your legs over his shoulder and the other in his hand, angling it open for him.

He ran his tongue all over your cunt, making you scream in pleasure and grab his head with your hands. The strands of his brown hair tangled in your fingers.

Whenever he got tipsy, he would do this. He'd eat you out until he got drunk in your sweet juices instead. So he would run his tongue across your wet folds and your pussy lips, dipping his tongue on your entrance to get a taste of you, humming, moaning with you.

"Fuck, daddy!" you cried out, squirming involuntarily under his body. You arched your back, trying with everything you had not to push your hips against his mouth.

But you just couldn't help it. You swayed your hips forward ever so slightly, your pelvic bone bumping his forehead a bit.

"Behave," he warned, throwing you a look before darting the tip of his tongue around your clit.

You sucked in a breath, feeling the pointed tip of his tongue start to flick your clit expertly, knowing that would throw you over your climax soon.

"I'm–f-fuck," you stuttered, your body already twitching. "Daddy, I'm close. Let me come, please?"

You heard him lick his lips and you glanced down to see him. "You can come all over my mouth, baby," he granted before dipping his head to tease your clit some more with his tongue.

None of you cared how loud you were. Seungcheol loved the lewd sounds he got out of you, especially when all he did was make out with your pussy. You felt your walls clench erratically as you came on his mouth, your fingers clenching around the strands of his dark brown hair.

You blinked at him as he rose from the couch, undoing his belt with one hand and you sat up to get the button of his jeans and zipper with hasty fingers.

A hand came up to cup your chin, his fingers grazing your skin softly, commanding your eyes to his. Your heart twisted when you saw his adoring eyes looking at you as you got him out of his jeans and boxers.

He had been doing that lately. His eyes would briefly linger on yours during moments of intimacy. It made your heart ache as if clenched in a tight fist.

Seungcheol undid the strap of his wrist watch and let it drop to the pile of clothes on the floor. He sat on the couch as you moved to straddle him.

The following movements were precise, too familiar. You knew each other so well that there was no need for pause. So you simply angled his cock for you to sink yourself into it with a blissful moan and started riding him slowly at first.

You looked down at his eyes.

Seungcheol got caught up on the features of your face again, almost as if committing himself to memorize every expression, the way your eyebrows knit together, the way your mouth parts, the glint in your eye when your gazes connect.

"You're beautiful," Seungcheol whispered.

A sharp feeling in your chest robbed you of words, swallowing hard you dipped your head to kiss him softly.

Your hands grabbed at his wrists when he started kneading at your thighs, caressing the curve of your waist as you rolled your hips on his cock.

He loved the sight of you, the steady sway of your hips on his cock, your tits bouncing on his face, getting tired and more aroused by the second, the sweet moans you made for him.

"So perfect," you heard him whisper.

You swallowed back a moan when you felt his hot mouth on the swell of your breasts, then suckling at your nipple and teasing the other with his fingers.

"Daddy," you mewled, fingers sinking on his soft hair. "Fuck, that feels good."

His free hand caressed your back and secured a spot on your butt, cupping your flesh gently as you seemed to be getting tired, your breath had hitched and he could see that you were almost about to tap out.

"Do you want daddy to help you come, baby?" he asked with a sweet smile on his face.

"Yeah," you breathed and bit your lip in anticipation.

Seungcheol repositioned your body so your back was now pressed down the couch, your knees hoisted up his shoulders as he sheathed his cock inside you with a moan from both parts, and he immediately started slamming his hips against you.

Soon the tiny living room would flood with the sound of your lewd gasps and the slapping of his skin against yours as he fucked you into his couch. He knew your body so well that it didn't take him long to find the sweet spot inside you that drove you a little mad.

"God, daddy! So deep," you groaned through gritted teeth.

His eyes were lost on you, he knitted his eyebrows when you did as you moaned sweetly, pleading for him to not stop, your teary eyes glazing over his face as you neared your sweet, sweet release.

"Daddy, I'm cumming," you whimpered with a high-keen moan. "Fuck-k, daddy!"

Your eyes spilled some tears when you screwed them shut, sucking in a breath and your walls tightened around him. Seungcheol came so mind-numbingly hard that he groaned loudly, fucking his cum deep into you, his eyes still lost on your face.

Mind spinning, he eased your legs down from his shoulders to press his chest against yours as he attempted to regain focus. He felt your heart beating against his, your soft breaths, his cock still wedged inside your fluttering walls.

He didn't lower his full weight on you, but he knew that if he didn't recover soon, he would fall asleep on top of you.

When you felt like he might be falling asleep, you tried to budge under him. "Let's go to bed," you muttered softly.

He hummed. "Shower first, baby. Y'know the rules."

He peeled away from your body and stood up from the couch, promptly hooking his arms beneath your body and lifting you up.

You let out a groan in protest, but didn't complain any further because he had a point. The wet sensation making its trail down from your core was enough to make you go along with him.

He started the shower while you were in the middle of the bathroom, which was more cluttered with your stuff than his.

"Come on," he muttered lazily as he extended a hand to you, stepping on the shower with him.

He cupped his hands to gather water and he poured it on your shoulders. "Is it too hot?"

You shook your head and he proceeded to clean your body.

Seungcheol looked focused as he gently covered you in soap. You practically beamed at him, no matter how many times he did this, you always found it endearing whenever he washed your hair and body because he did it with a lot of care.

"You're okay?" he asked, taking one of your hands to rub your arm with soap.

"I'm fine, Cheol," you cooed and lifted your other hand for him to repeat the same process.

He hummed and nodded with his head briefly, his eyes inspecting your whole body as he covered every inch in soap.

"Turn around for me, baby," he instructed and you turned your back on him, the gentle stream of warm water landing on your face as he washed your back.

His wet dark hair was sticking to his forehead as the gentle stream from the showerhead above you warmed your body. He hugged you from behind and pressed his lips against your cheek.

"I love you so much," he whispered, pressing his lips repeatedly on yours. "Go to bed. I'll be there in five."

"I love you too, babe," you muttered before stepping out of the shower to dry your whole body with a towel and prepared for bed.

You practically slumped on the bed, where you had a designated side, marked by the small pile of books on one of the nightstands.

Five minutes later, you felt the bed sink behind your body on the weight of Seungcheol's body. He quickly grabbed your body in his arms and hugged you tightly, pressing kisses on your naked shoulder.

You thanked the warmth emanating from his body as he cuddled you beneath the bedsheets and bed covers.

A moment of silence happened between you. It should've been normal, but something in you sensed that Seungcheol was trying to get something out of his chest as his lips pressed long kisses on your skin.

"Love? Are you asleep already?" he muttered softly.

You turned beneath the bed sheets to face him.

His eyes wandered from yours, and into the distance behind your back. His brow furrowed ever so slightly and you saw how he choked on his own words before he could even utter a single one.

"Let's sleep, okay?," you suggested, your heart dropping at the sight of him being so troubled.

He nodded, blinking sleepily at you.

You smiled and cupped his cheek with one hand, which made his brow relax and his hand came up to yours, pressing his cheek against your hand.

"I love you," he whispered.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing below your pillow.

You had but one message from your mother, detailing that her and your father were just coming back from their trip overseas and that they had just sent a driver to come pick you up because they were eager to see you.

You huffed. That was pretty much an euphemism for: 'We know you haven't been home since we left and we're not happy about it.'

That was pretty much like a routine for you, so you left your phone aside, just as a heavy arm circled your frame and pulled you closer to his.

"It'll be my birthday soon," you pointed with a small voice. "I'm turning twenty-four."

"I know, baby," he replied with a small frown, trying to egg you to get to your point.

"Maybe... I think it would be nice for us to start planning to get together–," you took a deep breath. "I wanna move in, with you."

Seungcheol allowed your words to sink in for a moment, not just for him but for you too, as if giving you a chance to elaborate.

"Would you like that?" you asked, shifting slightly on the pillow. "I mean, I practically live here already. And I'm making money, I'm sure we can manage..."

You could see the gears in his brain turning, his dark eyes reading your face over and over. His silence was unsettling and as the seconds went by, you started to feel nervous.

"What about your graduate acceptance?" he finally asked, his voice sounded almost like a croak, and you weren't sure if it was the raw emotion of finally touching the subject or the fact that you both had just woken up.

You shrugged slightly. "What about it?" your voice quivered slightly. "I can try next year, it's no big deal."

"No big deal, really?" he repeated slowly. "Baby, what are you even saying?"

"I can try again next year, maybe they'll give me the funding for the research next time," you fretted slightly beneath the sheets, an instant giveaway that you weren't sure of your own words.

"Why are you doing this?" he blurted, and the words sounded as if he wanted to ask for a whole month.

"Do what?" you frowned slightly.

"You're turning down this opportunity, your dream opportunity, why?" he asked.

"I just think that it might not be the best moment for me to take it," you mumbled, again, that tinge of uncertainty lacing your words.

"What?" he cringed. "You're joking, right?"

You paused, unable to give him a reply. Not because you didn't want to, but you didn't know what to say.

When you didn't say anything at all, Seungcheol sat up on the bed with a sigh. He rubbed his face and then brushed his hair through his fingers, a clear sign that he was getting heated.

"Cheol," you started, trying to get him to look at you. "If I go away right now, we're losing time together and I don't want that."

"You're telling me that you're turning down a once in a lifetime opportunity for us?" he asked, and you saw him shake his head slightly, but he was still not looking at you. "Can't we do long distance? Can't we take it up when you get back?"

The questions he was asking were honest and valid. But in your perspective, it was time lost.

"In a year and a half?" you pressed. "And you know we won't be able to do long distance, it will be nearly impossible."

"It will be better than you missing out on the opportunity to build and achieve your goals," he countered sternly. "I can't believe you're turning this down."

At that, he rose from the bed, throwing the duvet and sheets aside and opened his drawer to fish out his underwear and put it on silently as your mind reeled.

You sat up on the bed as he slid a pair of black sweatpants and turned to your direction.

"Say something," he urged.

"What do you want me to say, Cheol?" you started and shrugged again. "I've made up my mind. Why can't you just accept that?"

You rose from the bed too and copied his actions by finding your underwear and putting it on silently.

"I just want what's best for you," he said, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"At the cost of what we have?" you asked, knowing that you were threading on a dangerous path.

"Why does it have to be that way?" he asked, and you could sense the desperation in him just by hearing his voice. "Baby, this is your future and you're putting it on the line, for what?"

"For you, Seungcheol! For us!" you turned, your voice rang hoarse. You knew that it was wrong to raise your voice, it wasn't needed.

But you were in pain.

And he knew that.

"I don't want this," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"You don't want me?" you asked, your chest had started to heave in remorse and tears welled in your eyes.

He rolled his eyes in utter annoyance. "I want you to choose what's best for you and maybe right now the best for you is to follow your dream."

"What if what I want is to be with you?" you asked despite the feeling that maybe you were stepping on a line. "What if I tell you that I want to start a life with you?"

He ran his hands over his hair and his eyes rolled back again, but this time he just looked straight at the ceiling. "Since we know each other you wanted this," he shook his head slightly. "I can't believe that you just changed your mind in the span of a couple of weeks."

"But what if I have?" you sniffed loudly as tears ran down your cheeks. "What if I choose you? You don't want that?"

"I want you to choose yourself for the first fucking time in your life!" his words hung in the air between you two, but as soon as he uttered them, he looked like he wanted to take them back immediately.

But it was too late.

He was right.

But you couldn't give him that, you just couldn't see it at that moment.

He was right, but so were you.

You stood there, frozen. Feeling like an idiot. For four fucking years, all you did was choose him over everything. Half of your life was in that apartment; your wishes to move in with him and finally start your life far away from your family.

But now, you felt pushed away.

Seungcheol looked scared for a second, his mouth agape and widened eyes, as if waiting for your next move.

"Baby, I'm-,"

"I'm leaving," you declared, scrambling to get your clothes from your drawer in his bedroom. Hot tears blurred your vision as you tried your best to dress up quickly.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, just-"

"No, Seungcheol. Don't baby me."

"We need to have this talk," he insisted, chasing you all over the bedroom as you dressed up.

"There is nothing to talk about. I'm done. I'm taking my mom's offer."

"What? Just like that? I say one wrong thing and that's it?" he asked, his voice strung in pain and confusion.

This can't be happening, he thought over and over.

You scrambled desperately for your pants, anything to put on.

"No, you're right," you told him. "You're always right. I should choose myself. I am so fucking dumb for thinking I was doing the right thing by choosing you."

You didn't dare to look at his face, but you knew that it hurt. It hurt saying it and Seungcheol stopped chasing you in his room as you found a top to put on.

"Don't do this," he said as he tried to take your arm, which you yanked from his grip.

"Do what?!" you snapped, finally looking at his face as you finished dressing up. "Do what, Seungcheol? You are leaving me with no choice. So, do what, exactly?"

Your voice rang with rage and despair. And when you faced him, you probably conveyed those emotions in your eyes because Seungcheol's expression just broke.

"This! Not talking it out, trying to hurt me," he gritted. "We need to talk about this. Or else, you're going to leave to another fucking continent and where does that leave us, me?"

Your steps were determined as you walked away from him, creating a physical and emotional distance between the two of you. He stood there, a mixture of frustration and despair written on his face.

"I can't tell you that, Seungcheol," you uttered through a broken voice. "That's something you'll have to sort out alone."

His eyes narrowed and tilted his head to the side just slightly, shoulders slumping down in defeat.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his eyes searching your face frantically and in sheer disbelief.

"Maybe we're not ready for this, Seungcheol," you told him despite the crippling pain in your heart. "Maybe I need to figure things out by myself."

This was happening. Despite all Seungcheol's planning, scheming, despite all his love, you chose this. You chose yourself.

So he had to make his choice.

"So this is it?" he asked, his eyes dead.

Your head nodded, chest heaving. "This is it."

The silence between you grew heavy, so heavy that Seungcheol felt nearing a breaking point.

"I never thought we would end like this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Neither did I," you replied.

A broken sigh fell from his lips, choking up from the sheer pain invading his chest. "Is this what you truly want?"

"It is," you whispered.

You watched him swallow hard and then he nodded, balling his hands into fists, gritting his teeth as he accepted your choice, thus finalizing his.

Everything inside him screamed in pain, pleading with him to fight harder, to make you see what he saw but he just nodded.

He was letting you go.

The reality was, you and Seungcheol had given up.

It didn't feel real. The air was almost sickening, it made you dizzy.

With a last look, you walked away, leaving behind a piece of your heart and the remains of your first love, your first everything.

You left his apartment, slamming the door on your way out, tears blurring your vision as you hurried down the stairs. Your head was buzzing, and your chest hurt so much that you never noticed that Seungcheol changed his mind and followed you out the building.

But as soon as he saw you get in a black car, tinted windows and drove away, he knew he had lost you, you were gone.

And that you were, for two years.

✧ a/n: hiiiii ᨐฅ

i cried while writing this, and that's a first for me.

i hope this flashback chapter wasn't confusing haha. if it was, feel free to comment or send me an ask!

› so who do you think was in the wrong/right here? reader or seungcheol? i wanna know your opinions ‹(•⩊•)› i'd say they were both dumb and thought themselves to be undeserving of each other and threw it all away at the slightest bit of conflict haha

once again, this was loosely proofread, am sorry

if you liked reading this, please let me know? i'd appreciate a comment, reblog, like or even an ask! my ask box is always open and i love to know your thoughts on anything ૮₍｡´ᴖ ˔ ᴖ`｡₎ა

↣ i want to dedicate this chapter to @cvntrlseecvntrlvee, who kept the seungcheol brain rot alive and kicking, 💟

✧ READ PART 4 ✧ | JOIN MY TAGLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

toodles

© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[butterfreetamer]

I was inspired by this piece of art by @tomatoplantoo

Cross posted to AO3 here.

Only Playing Dead

Today was a good day.  Stan was lounging on the deck whittling away at a hunk of wood that he was hoping to make into a pig.  It’d been a long time since he felt like he’d been able to just relax like this, pick up a new hobby for no reason other than he wanted to.  It was calm, which was a nice change of pace.

That was until his brother came dramatically swooping onto the deck.  “Ah!  Stanley, there you are!  Great, you’re not busy.  I need you to come with me to the lab.”

Stan sighed.  He sets down his project and gets up to follow Ford.  He’d rather ignore whatever Ford’s got going on right now, but the chances of him leaving Stan in peace seem pretty slim.  “What’s up, poindexter?”

Ford bounces impatiently as Stan pulls himself out of the lounge chair.  “I finished setting up for an experiment that requires your presence!”

Stan rolls his eyes.  “That’s not ominous or anything,” he mutters to himself as Ford corrals him into the cabin.  “Why exactly do you need me?”

“Well…”  Ford hesitates for a second.  “There is a spirit that has attached itself to you.”

“A spirit attached…”  He takes a moment to process.  “Wait, Ford, are you saying I’m haunted?!”

Ford looks a bit sheepish and then admits, “To put it simply, yes.  Given its activities it appears to be benign or benevolent, but it is still wise to investigate these things.”

“Oh, holy Moses.”  He’s haunted, and he didn’t know.  “How long do you think this thing’s been on me?”

“Well,”  Ford muses as they enter the lab, “I’ve never seen one so firmly attached to a person before, normally an attachment like this would only be to a place or an heirloom or such, and attachments get stronger with time, so it must be… at least a few decades old.”

“You’re telling me a ghost has been on me for decades???”

“Yes, I suppose I am.  You know, it doesn’t seem reminiscent of any of the ghosts I researched back in Gravity Falls.  It’s truly an anomaly!”  Ford has the gaul to look thrilled at this.

Why is his brother like this?  “I’m glad you’re having fun but can’t we just get this thing off of me?”

“Give me a moment.  With a ghost this firmly attached, it’s easier to exorcise if we can see and trap it first.  Though, as I said, given its behavior I do not believe we need to worry.”

“Right, behavior that you’ve been keeping track of!  How long have you known I was haunted before you said anything?!?”

“Only a few weeks, I didn’t want to compromise the data while I was still testing hypotheses,” he rattles off dispassionately as he digs through some papers on his desk.

Stan dragged a hand across his face, a few weeks before telling him.  “You’re impossible, Ford.”

“Yes, yes,” Ford waves him off dismissively.  “Ah, here’s my notes.  This spell should make it visible to us.  Here, hold this.”  He finishes rustling through some jars and hands him a weird smelling collection of herbs and twigs that remind him of Ma’s incense.

Stan sighs holding the bundle and lets Ford guide him into a circle of ruins Ford drew on the ground.  “Should I be worried about any of this magic nonsense you got set up?”

Ford rolls his eyes as he lights some candles.  “Please, Stanley, do you think I’d do something dangerous without warning you?”

Stan shoots his brother a look.  “You really want me to answer that?”

Ford glares back.  “There’s nothing to worry about, at most there might be a flash of light as the spell completes.”  He gives the scene in front of him a once over and nods approvingly.  “Well, we’re all set up, just need to read the incantation.  Are you ready, Stan?”

“Go ahead,” Stan sighs, gesturing for Ford to continue.

Ford nods and starts chanting in latin or something, before he knows it there’s a blinding flash.

The light clears and his vision is back and Ford has a look of surprised glee on his face staring at a space right over his left shoulder.  “Why hello there!  That explains why the spirit was so attached to you.”

There’s a hiss from behind his neck.  He tries to turn and see what’s behind him but whatever it is clinging close to him.  “Holy crap Ford, what’s going on?”

“Oh, yes, um, let me.”  Ford fishes out a mirror from his pile of supplies and turns it to face Stan.

There blue, glowing, translucent, and hovering right over the back of his shoulder was a grumpy old possum.  “Shanklin?”  He reaches up to hold the little guy and he jumps into Stanley’s arms.  “Buddy, you’ve been here this whole time?”  As Shanklin burrows his nose into the crook of his elbow affectionately, he can definitely feel his little pal, even if he’s not quite solid.  There’s a chill where Shanklin touches him but he can’t help but feel warm holding his old pet anyway.  Stan does his best to give him some affectionate scritches even if Shanklin doesn't have much in the way of tangibility.

“Definitely a benevolent spirit,” Ford says brightly as he jots down some notes.

“Benevolent!” Stan exclaims in faux outrage, “Don’t insult Shanklin like that!  He’s a no good miscreant!”  Shanklin hisses in agreement.

Ford rolls his eyes fondly.  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”  He looks back to his notepad and hums thoughtfully.  “Now, we need to figure out what to do with him.”

Stan’s eyes narrow suspiciously, he clutches his ghostly possum protectively.  “What do you mean ‘do with him’?”

Ford furrows his brow as he continues writing in his notepad.  “Well, he’s going to need a more permanent solution for visibility and tangibility.  I can’t imagine it was good for him to go ignored all these years, we’ll need to acclimate him to interaction.  Some method of communication might be helpful, I wonder if we could make that opossum translator we tried to invent that summer?  I also need to make sure any defenses I have against supernatural interference won’t get in Shanklin’s way.  We should test the bounds of the attachment as well, make sure it’s not dangerous to either of you.  Do you think he’d appreciate a cat bed?  We could pick one up next time we’re at port.”

Oh good, Ford wants to keep him too, Stan thinks to himself, relieved he won’t have to argue with his brother about this.  As Ford sorts out the logistics of keeping a ghost as a pet aloud, he smiles fondly at the ghost that is settling into a nap in his arms.

Stan has his brother, his boat and his possum, it’s all his eleven year old self could have dreamed of.  Yeah, today is a good day.

[thepencilnerd]

Shadowboxing

summary: Chishiya's world is carefully constructed—until the night you see the stellar medical student in an underground fighting ring. The lines blur between the mask he wears and the man he really is, and you find yourself drawn into a reality that’s far more raw and dangerous than you ever imagined. word count (ch. 1): 1.8k genre: university!AU, OoC!Chishiya (not just his dark hair) x fem!grad student reader warnings: depictions of violence but nothing too graphic, fluff, angst, comfort, weighted discussions about mental health because it matters a/n: I watched Mirai e no 10 Count last night and am whipped for boxer Chishiya; complete fic here <3 full moodboards here ^-^

You were dozing off at your desk, the soft glow of your laptop casting a dim light over your cluttered dorm room. Piles of papers and books were scattered everywhere—typical imagery of a grad student. The remnants of snack wrappers and multiple mugs were piling up at the corner of your desk, and your eyes burned from staring at the screen for hours. You didn't even realize you had nodded off until a loud banging rattled your door. Startling awake, you heard the voice of Kuina on the other side, her shouts muffled but insistent. "Come on, open up! You can't spend all night cooped up in here!" she yelled. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you stood up. "I'm busy," you called back, though the exhaustion in your voice made it clear how true that was.

"Busy doing what? Staring at your laptop until your brain turns to mush? You need a break," they argued. You sighed, opening the door to find her grinning at you, eyes wide with excitement. "Please, I promise you'll thank me later. You need this."

"What even is this?" you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

"An exciting, thrilling night event! Come on, trust me! It'll be fun," she insisted, practically bouncing on their feet.

You gave her a skeptical look. "This better not be like the time you dragged me to that 'artsy' film screening that turned out to be four hours of experimental interpretive dance."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I swear, it's nothing like that. Just think of it as... an adventure. Something different for once."

You sighed, but the look on her face—full of energy and determination—made it hard to refuse, her unwavering insistence even more so. "Fine, fine. But if this turns out to be some weird cult meeting or something, I'm out."

"Deal!" she grinned, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you out of your dorm.

Against your better judgment, curiosity got the best of you, at least until you were led down a narrow staircase, the thudding bass echoing through the walls, and into a dark coliseum-esque pit: an underground boxing ring. The stench of sweat and adrenaline filled the room, a large crowd gathered around the makeshift ring, chanting and cheering.

The place was alive, buzzing with a sort of desperation you'd never witnessed before. The announcer had mentioned the winner's prize—a sum large enough to make a difference in someone's life, which only seemed to add to the intensity of the match. Kuina leaned in close, her voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "Okay, so here are the rules. The fighters are masked to keep their identities secret, and they're all wearing color-coded gear to make it easy to tell them apart," she explained, gesturing to the ring. "They fight until one of them is either knocked out or can't continue. The winner gets a big cash prize—enough to pay off debts or even start over somewhere else." You nodded, your eyes fixed on the fighters. The fighters were masked, their identities hidden behind color-coded attire and dark headgear, as they traded punches in the middle of the ring. It was chaos—raw, unbridled violence as each combatant swung for victory, fighting not only for pride but also for the significant prize money at stake. You could feel the desperation in the air, as if each punch thrown was driven by the promise of escape from something dire.

Your eyes were drawn to the fighter in blue. He moved differently from the rest—sharp, calculated, almost detached. His footwork was precise, each step deliberate, as if he was constantly analyzing his opponent's weaknesses. He circled his opponent, his body relaxed yet ready to strike at any moment, while the other fighter grew increasingly frantic, throwing punches that barely grazed the air. The fighter in blue waited, his eyes never leaving his target, calculating each movement. When he finally struck, it was with ruthless precision—a quick combination of blows that left his opponent stumbling. He delivered a final, powerful uppercut that ended the match, his opponent collapsing to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers, but he remained unfazed, his expression unreadable behind the mask, as if the victory meant nothing more than another task completed.

You shivered, more at the calm, almost indifferent way he stood victorious than at the raw physicality of it all. His physique was lean but muscular, built for speed and precision rather than brute strength. Sweat dripped from his brow, trailing down his neck, mixing with a thin trail of his own blood—he must have taken a hit. A faint smear of blood could also be seen at the edge of his gloves, likely from his opponent. 

Kuina was hyped after the fight. On the walk back to campus, she couldn't stop talking about how it was the perfect night for you to come, especially since the blue fighter was renowned in the underground scene. "He's the best, you know," she said, practically glowing with excitement. "No one can beat him. People come just to watch him fight. I can't believe you got to see him in action on your first time there!" You nodded absentmindedly, her words echoing in your mind. The best. There was something about him that seemed almost familiar, but you shook the thought away, dismissing it as nothing more than your imagination.

The next day, you found yourself at the library, surrounded by books that were supposed to be helping with your dissertation. The quiet was a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. As you scanned the shelves, you couldn't help but think how all the open access publications in the world couldn't save you from having to deal with what a traditional manuscript was—sifting through an actual physical book that felt almost as archaic as the medieval ages. You searched for a particular reference, balancing a stack in your arms as you leaned up to reach a higher shelf.

And that's when it happened—a shoulder knocked past you, sending your grip slipping and your books tumbling to the floor. You cursed under your breath and knelt down, trying to gather them up, feeling a sense of dread at how loud the clatter had been in the silence of the library.

Suddenly, a pair of hands reached down, helping you pick up the scattered books. You looked up, startled. A figure with his hood pulled up, his face partially obscured, was kneeling across from you, silently helping you collect your fallen stack. His movements were efficient, almost practiced, as if he was used to picking up after others, and there was something calm yet purposeful about the way he handled each book, stacking them neatly before handing them back to you.

You blinked, recognition tugging at your mind. He was familiar—the top student in the medical school, Chishiya Shuntaro. He had a reputation that was nearly impossible to miss, even in your circles as a doctoral student. Exceptionally intelligent, surprisingly aloof, and no doubt untouchable, he was the one everyone wanted to be close to but no one could approach. There were rumors, of course—that he was some kind of cold-hearted player, or a bored genius looking to kill time in his twenties. Stories about him lurked everywhere, each one more unbelievable than the last.

As he handed you the last of your books, his hood shifted, and you caught sight of a gash across his eyebrow. It was well-padded and hidden under gauze, but the skin around was raw and swollen, clearly fresh. The sight made you pause, your eyes narrowing as you pieced together the oddity of it—the hood, the attempt to hide, the injury. Your mind flashed back to the underground ring—the crowd's roars, the masked fighters, the way he moved, the precision of his strikes, and now this injury—it all started to line up. It couldn't be...

Chishiya met your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as if daring you to ask. There was a hint of challenge there, almost as if he was amused by the thought of you confronting him. He seemed entirely unbothered, as if the whole situation was just another game to him—a game where he held all the cards, waiting to see if you were bold enough to make the first move. The moment seemed to stretch, your curiosity battling with the tension hanging between you. But you stayed silent, and so did he. He simply handed you your books, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment, before he pulled the hood back over his head and stood up.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, his mind already shifting back to the secrecy he guarded so carefully. He knew he couldn't afford to let anyone get too close, not with the double life he was leading. But there was something about the look in your eyes—curiosity mixed with hesitation—that lingered with him. He shook the thought away, refocusing as he moved through the library, leaving you there with your heart pounding for reasons you couldn't quite explain.

That evening, you were back in your dorm, the events of the day replaying in your mind as you sat at your desk. The dim light of your lamp illuminated your scattered notes, and you tried to focus on your proposal, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Chishiya—the way his eyes seemed to challenge you, the fleeting brush of his fingers, and that mysterious injury. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something much deeper beneath his calm exterior.

Meanwhile, back in his dorm, Chishiya leaned against his desk, his eyes staring blankly at the wall. He replayed your expression in his mind—the way your eyes had widened in recognition, the hesitation that lingered there. He remembered seeing you in the crowd that night, the way your gaze had locked onto him after his victory. Even then, something about the way you looked at him had stood out, different from the others. And today, in the library, the way you caught sight of his injury—he knew you were connecting the dots. It was unexpected, the way you seemed to see past the mask he wore. Most people never got that far, dismissing him as either a prodigy or an enigma without much thought. But you had looked closer, and something about that made it difficult for him to brush off the encounter.

Chishiya exhaled sharply, pushing himself away from the desk. He couldn't afford to let his focus slip, not when there was so much at stake—his freedom, his independence, the fragile balance of the double life he had built. Any slip could mean exposure, and exposure would mean losing everything he had fought so hard to keep hidden. But still, the memory of your gaze kept creeping back, making him wonder if maybe, just maybe, someone like you could be a problem—or something else entirely.

[runningfrom2am]

could we get a blurb where rafe saves reader at a party?

it's gets a little handsy for her with some of his friends and one of them tries to go too far and rafe saves her?

thank you for this request omg!! i hope it lives up to your expectations (even tho its a little long to be a blurb oops-) and i'm sorry this took me so long!

get the fuck off her - r.c.

pairing: rafe x fem!kook!reader

wc: 2.4k

tags/warnings: angst, comfort, implications of attempted sa, intentional use of lowercase, violence (kinda), some generally triggering stuff so please if any of this is upsetting for you please go read something else!

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav/masterlists

"you're not funny kelce, has anyone ever told you that before?" you raise an eyebrow at your friend, talking loudly over the blaring music as you cross your arms over your chest.

"actually no, that's a first." kelce replies snarkily, mocking your posture. "you're lying though, babe- i know you think i'm hilarious."

you roll your eyes, a smile still present on your face. your pupils are blown, lids drooping slightly as you immediately forget the interaction and sway with the music.

"c'mon, you know you love me." kelce chuckles, stepping closer and placing his hands on your waist. you laugh, brushing his hands off smoothly.

rafe is biting into the rim of his plastic cup as he watches, previously enjoying a sip of whatever jungle juice someone had left on the counter. he's watching closely, and though you laughed it off, he knew you well- and he knew you weren't a big fan of being touched. kelce should know better too.

it's only a matter of minutes before it happens again, topper approaching the group and slinging his arm over your shoulder which you don't even process with the concoction of substances mixing in your bloodstream.

"rafe, man, your sister's a bitch, bro." topper whines, leaning into you further.

"that so?" rafe chuckles, watching topper's arm slide down to your back.

"yeah, she's leading me on, then fucking off and leaving me high and dry." he explains vaguely. "i bet you wouldn't do that to me, would you, sweetheart?" he says to you, hand sliding lower, lower, until his fingers reach the bottom of your shirt and the skin of your back.

"i don't think it's personal, top. have you tried talking to her about it?" you suggest, wrapping your arms around yourself, subtly holding the hem of your shirt down.

topper rolls his eyes, leaning closer to make sure you hear him as you lend him your ear. "i just hate talking though... don't you?" he says, lips brushing over the skin of your neck.

"you're drunk, top..." you laugh nervously, very briefly making eye contact with rafe standing across from you in the small circle you've created.

"hey, what'd he say?" rafe asks over the music, brow furrowed with the instant rush of sobriety.

you smile nervously at him. "nothing... he's just being weird." you chuckle, shaking your head and trying to move away. "i'm gonna go get another drink. i'll be back." you squeeze out of toppers grip and walk off through the crowd towards the corner where you hid your cooler.

you bop your head along to the mac miller song that started on your way over, humming along to the tune and laughing a little at other people chanting along to the lyrics. you quickly grab another drink out of the cooler before shoving it back in the mostly empty cupboard and closing it again.

"she's not gonna fuck you, bro. i'll tell you that right now." rafe shakes his head at his friend, taking another sip of the overly sweet drink.

"have you seen her? it's well worth the shot if the worst she can say is no." topper laughs, and rafe clenches his jaw, looking again over the crowd to try and keep an eye on you. "the best she can say is absolutely, and she's into me, i can tell."

"oh, can you now?" rafe mumbles, eyes landing on you at last as you close the cupboard and crack open your can. if you had any feelings for any of the boys you regularly hung out with, it was a secret to him. you were a puzzle to him, despite your friendly and sometimes flirty personality.

"yeah, but she's not gonna let me hit with you clowns around. i'll be back, or not." topper laughs, pushing back through the crowd in the direction of you.

rafe decides to let him go. you could make your own decisions, and clearly, you were going to say no, and topper would come sulking back in a few minutes after striking out. he watched as topper made it up to you, starting a conversation. you were laughing, and he figured that was a good time to let you handle yourself.

except for a few moments later, when he looked up from his conversation with kelce and another girl that appeared by his side, to see you with your back to the wall in a corner, topper standing over you.

"hey, i think we should get back to the guys..." you chuckle nervously, taking a step back and hitting the wall.

"why? i told them we'd be a while." topper smirks, hands once again finding your waist and sliding under the hem of your shirt.

"well i didn't, i said i'd be back and-"

"get that stick out of your ass, won't you? we're having fun." he insists, leaning down over you and brushing his lips over your jaw.

you bite your lip nervously, scanning the room to see if there's anyone near enough to talk to to pull yourself out of this situation. "top, please, i don't want to do this can we just head back?"

"i know you want to give me a shot, you won't regret it..." he mumbled against your skin, hands sliding up farther under your shirt as the sound of your heartbeat echoed over the music in your ears.

you panic, trying weakly to just push him off at this point and create any kind of distance between the two of you as his hands press into your skin. "please don't topper, you're drunk..." you say, but it comes out whinier than you intended. the disconnect between your mind and your body is showing, and you can see that as you're fumbling to get your hands to reach his shoulders just enough to get him to back off. you didn't need to, when a moment later he was pulled back with a force unforeseen by either of you.

"get the fuck off her, man."

it's rafe, and he's angry. you've seen him like this before, sure, but the look behind his eyes is new as he shoved topper away, dropping the grip he held on the back of his shirt. "rafe, c'mon." topper chuckles, adjusting his shirt and rubbing the front of his neck where the fabric had dug into his skin.

just as quickly, rafe's fist was gripping the front of his shirt again, getting face to face with him. "no, she was literally pushing you off and you didn't take that as a no?" rafe's forehead is almost pressed to toppers as he backs him into the kitchen island.

"rafe!" you shout, voice shaky as you try to get his attention. "let him go, it's fine."

rafe looks back over his shoulder at you, standing with your arms crossed tightly over your stomach. he sighs, dropping the fabric before turning to you. "you okay, y/n/n?" he asks, shaking out his fist.

you nod shakily, pulling your shirt back down from where it had ridden up with the disturbance.

"you sure?" he asks again, looking you up and down with concern drawn between his brows.

you continue to nod, looking around now for where topper had put down your drink when he took it out of your hand to back you into the wall. "i'm fine... just, yeah. it's fine." you chuckle awkwardly.

"no, it's not. come on. i'll walk you home, yeah?"

"rafe, c'mon, she said it's fine. she can stay longer." kelce interjects, having followed him over.

rafe throws his hands up in frustration as he turns to his friends. "shut the fuck up, kelce! i'll beat the shit out of both of you. seriously, i don't give a shit." he turns back to you. "c'mon, i'll grab your bag. lets get you out of here."

as rafe leads you away, you avoid eye contact with his friends, arms still crossed to quell your shakiness. rafe pulls your cooler bag back out of the cupboard and throws it over his shoulder before guiding you to the door. you're relieved to feel the cool sea breeze hit your skin, you didn't even realize how stuffy it was and how claustrophobic you felt until you got outside and you could finally breathe again.

"seriously, are you okay?" rafe asks again, feeling nervous that you only said it was fine before because there were so many people around. he's still tense, angry, but he's making an effort to seem calm since now he's alone with you.

"yeah, uh, yeah. fine." you nod softly, staring down at your feet as you make your way to the sidewalk. "just... a little shaken up, i guess."

rafe adjusts your bag over his shoulder, then proceeds to rub his hand over his forehead. "i'm sorry, that was shitty."

"it happens, unfortunately..." you laugh awkwardly, trying to shrug it off.

rafe looks down at you as you walk, still avoiding eye contact with him. "has top done that before? i'll go back and-"

"no! no, he's never done that before." you assure him. "i don't know, like, going to a party around a bunch of people you kind of know and kind of don't know is never... comfortable. it's hard to get comfortable and then when you do something like that happens and-" you laugh to yourself. "sorry, i shouldn't rant to you about this."

"no, by all means." rafe replies, urging you on. "you can tell me anything."

"thanks, but i think i'm done." you grin, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you walk.

"does that actually happen to you like... often?" he asks after a few moments of silence.

"not often, and its never been that scary- i guess?" you explain. "just sometimes, some guy will touch me or say something and i just get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is wrong and it's hard to shake. it sticks with you. more often than not if you say no they'll retaliate, either get mad or spread lies about you or whatever. so i just kind of.. freeze. when you don't know what to do, sometimes you don't do anything and you just have to laugh it off. it is what it is, i guess."

"right." rafe nods, deep in thought over what you had said. "so what i'm hearing, is that you never actually slept with devin?"

you laugh at this, tone still slightly wobbly. "i told you i didn't, remember?"

"ah, yes. you did tell me that." rafe remembers how sitting at the country club bar together just weeks prior he had asked you about this rumour and you denied it, shaking your head as you sipped on a virgin daiquiri. "i didn't really believe it anyways. devin's a prick." 

"he really is." you agree, looking up now at the sky. "thank you, by the way," you add, looking over at your friend now for the first time since you left. you're met with confusion in his eyes as he returns your gaze. "for, like, rescuing me."

"i shouldn't have had to. that was fucked." rafe shakes his head. "don't thank me, that's so... twisted. if topper could have gotten through his thick skull that maybe you're not into him-"

"he thinks i'm into him?" you laugh, eyes wide now.

"well, hopefully not anymore." rafe chuckles. "but knowing him, he still probably doesn't get it. i'll talk some sense into him."

"please do." you sigh. "he won't believe it from me, apparently."

"honestly, i don't think i can look at him for the next week." rafe admits.

"tell me about it."

another few moments of silence follow. "you know, you don't have to hangout with us. if we make you uncomfortable we can keep our distance."

"you're the only one who never has." you smile at him. "surprisingly." you add teasingly, bumping your shoulder against his arm.

"what's that supposed to mean?" rafe chuckles, already knowing it was a joke.

you just shrug in response. "you know, you're whole 'bad boy' rep you've got going on."

"i can still be cool and like... not make girls uncomfortable. that's actually kind of the point."

"that's a good point." you agree. "the girls do flock to you."

rafe rolls his eyes at this, smiling as he shakes his head. "not that... that's what i want. it just kind of happens."

"so you get it?" you giggle, feeling the shakiness you previously had finally slightly subsiding.

"well, no. when i tell them to fuck off they... you know, fuck off." he laughs.

"ah- what a pleasure that must be." you joke, stopping as you're now standing in front of your driveway. "thanks for walking me home. it was hard to breathe in there."

rafe stops too, looking down the long driveway to your house. "of course, anytime." he nods, looking at you for a moment before he realizes you're waiting for your bag. "shit, sorry..." he laughs, dropping it from his shoulder and handing it back to you.

"all good." you grin, taking it and putting it on.

"well, I've got to get going. i have a guy to beat up, so..."

as he turns away, you speak to him again. "rafe, don't." your voice is quieter now, and as he looks back at you he sees the tears welling up in your eyes. "please." you add, so softly he's sure if he didn't see your lips moving he wouldn't have heard it. "it'll just make it worse... i just want to forget about it."

"okay, hey, hey- i was kidding. i won't touch him." rafe is quick to backtrack, holding a hand out to grab your shoulder but he hesitates, dropping it again. "are you sure you're okay?"

that's when the floodgates open, and your hands are flying up to your face to cover it as you start to sob. the shock had worn off by now, and the reality of what could have happened was setting in. rafe didn't know what to do, looking around to make sure no one could see. "y/n... what can i do?" he asks, and all he wants to do is pull you into his arms and tell you how safe you are, that everything is okay, but he knows touching you probably wouldn't be wise.

you can't answer. you can hardly breathe as you feel your chest tightening. you try and laugh, wiping your eyes and looking up at him. you wish he wasn't seeing this. you shake your head, deciding to just sit down on the grass.

rafe sits next to you, tucking his knees up to his chest like you had, crossing his arms over top. "you're safe, y/n/n." he tells you, leaning his head on his forearms and watching you. "can i stay with you?"

at this you just move a little closer, leaning your forehead onto his shoulder instead. he freezes up, just for a second, before moving so he can brace his hand on the ground behind you. "I've got you. i'm not going anywhere..."

taglist: @bookishbabyyy, @madelynie, @whore-4-drewstarkey, @slut4drudy, @winterrrnight, @totalswag, @sadfury, @fullfledgedemo, @rafemotherfuckingcameron, @urfaveluvr, @chenslucy, @hxnnah-397, @s-we-e-t-t-ea, @tahliac11, @saccharinesammie, @ietss, @maybankslover, @redhead1180, @suzyheartsrafe, @wpdailyminimeta, @aegons-bitch, @rafegirly, @lovelyxtommy, @thelomlisrafecameron, @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles, @flonkertn, @whtvrrafe

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for lottie behind the cut; "a pocketful of Kons". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

. . . okay, so they were going to the Watchtower, Tim finds out literally on the Watchtower with his two-day go-bag hooked over one shoulder. Bruce literally did not even say they were walking into a disguised zeta tube until he activated the damn thing. Dick looks wry, his own go-bag over his shoulder, but also not all that surprised; Tim is definitely surprised, and also immediately mortified. Bruce brought them to the Watchtower? The Watchtower is full of people! People who will take one look at Stud and see Superman! See Superman and also almost definitely ask Stud’s name! 

And yes, obviously he’s going to need a fake one for him because secret identities exist for a reason, but the thing about being a Bat is, they use the fake names for their secret identities, because Bruce lives and breathes friggin’ 5D chess and is way more “Batman” than he’s ever been “Brucie”, so if anyone asks Tim will, in fact, have to tell them Stud’s actual name. Especially because he’s pretty much positive Stud will be a goddamn brat about it if he tries using a fake name for him anyway, given the other’s clear disdain for anything not a cape and S-shield. 

So yeah, the chances of at least one if not multiple of Earth’s greatest heroes looking him in the eye and asking him what his Pocket’s name is at some point in the next ten minutes are . . . not nonzero, put it that way. 

Tim seriously considers just finding the nearest airlock and hacking through the safety protocols in self-defense. 

Or maybe just the incinerator. There’s probably an incinerator somewhere on the Watchtower, right? There’s gotta be. 

Dick pats his shoulder sympathetically. Tim immediately feels worse, because if it’s that obvious how mortifying this whole experience is about to be for him, it’s going to be even more mortifying than that. 

“Codenames only,” Bruce makes a point of stating, not bothering to look back as he strides down the hall ahead, Cat all masked up and hidden under the fall of his cape. Which as a statement, obviously, is meant for Stud, but given how stubborn and contrary Stud’s been so far . . . 

“Please,” Tim hangs back to add under his breath as Dick heads after Bruce with Star and Red on his shoulders, Red in her own mask and Star not having bothered, for obvious reasons. Stud frowns, looking puzzled. 

“Rob?” he tries warily, still looking a little confused. 

“Right,” Tim agrees, resisting the urge to try convincing Stud to hide under his cape and just following after Dick and Bruce. Chances of Stud being willing to hide are unlikely, and it seems much more likely to annoy or upset him. So like–fight the battles you can win, and all. And avoid aggravating your tiny, unpredictable soulmate who isn’t actually Superman but sure does look like Superman. 

Tim really, really hopes that Stud is Supergirl, because that implies him being capable of turning into a form much easier to explain to his dad and also maybe at least not being just a guy, which is still something he doesn’t know how he really feels about. Even if it also implies Lex Luthor Junior being immediately relevant to the state of his love life. But he’s not really holding out much hope for that right now, considering . . . everything, basically. 

Though dealing with Luthor Junior might be better than dealing with the creepy cyborg guy, whoever he is. 

“Rob Rob Rob,” Stud chants happily to himself as he flies ahead to Red and she gives his head a pat, and Star flies over to meet him and gives him a big, body-squeezing hug, nuzzling into his curly hair as her own half-envelopes him. Stud crows delightedly and lunges into the hug to send them both tumbling through the air, and Star croons affectionately at him and swings him around as she hugs him harder, glowing sunlight-bright at the same time. Stud crows, and Tim hears Cat laugh lowly from inside Bruce’s cape. 

It’s–weird, sort of, Tim thinks for a moment, half-distracted and resisting the urge to frown to himself. The way the Pockets have been interacting, he means. Stud’s been aggressively flirty and boastful and constantly chattering on and on in Pocket-talk and is clearly trying to be charming while mostly being overbearing, which isn’t very much like either Supergirl or Superman and also should have at least Red annoyed with him, and most likely Cat too. 

Except Cat just seems to find Stud funny and Red sort of wryly accepts him, even though neither of them have much patience for anyone as loud and pushy and attention-demanding as Stud’s been acting. And Star flirts back with him a bit, but more playfully than anything else; she’s mostly treating him like she thinks he’s cute–like, cute like a puppy or a baby, not like another fully-grown sapient adult being. And they’re all putting up with behavior they usually wouldn’t tolerate from any man, for whatever reason. 

That’s . . . weird, yeah. 

Very weird. 

Tim frowns to himself after all, then immediately gets distracted by the mortifying experience of Stud zipping over to loop around Bruce’s head and chitter indignantly at him until Cat slips out of the shadows of his cape and purrs up at him. Stud lights up in unrestrained delight, then dives down and snatches her up to carry off back to Star and Red, crowing triumphantly as he does. Cat cackles and Starfire giggles and Red lets out a huffed little laugh of her own. 

Bruce at least ignores him and Dick muffles his own laugh, but Tim is still mortified. 

Stud looks back at him looking way too proud of himself, then chirps excitedly and holds Cat up in–like in display, almost, like he just won a prize or an award or something and is showing it off to him. Cat just chuckles indulgently and scritches him under the chin. 

. . . yeah, “weird” is actually not a strong enough word to go with here, probably. 

“Weird” is so not a strong enough word to go with here, in fact.

[mxnhoo]

like you! (n. rk) playlist

READ THE FIC HERE!

CAUTION this will contain spoilers from the actual fic, so if you haven't finished it, go read the actual fic first! (unless you don't mind being spoiled)

EXTRA NOTE lots of the scenes are actually inspired by specific song lyrics!

"Would it be a stress if I asked you to try again? I'll be patient I swear I'll even count to ten. One two three four five- fuck it."

✎ "Shut up! The countdown is starting!".

You choked out, not being ready to confess your very feelings.

"10.. 9.."

Fuck fuck fuck, you weren't ready!

"8.. 7.."

Fuck it. Fuck it!

"6.. 5.."

You didn't even have time to plan how you were going to say it!

Y'know what?

"4.. 3.." you chanted alongside with him, "Actually, y'know what? Fuck it! I like you!".

"In the midst of the crowds, in the shapes in the clouds, I don't see nobody but you."

✎ ..and as soon as he was about to call out for you, he heard it.

Your laugh.

He turned his head to the same direction and he spotted you. In his eyes, it was almost like a spotlight was shone directly at you from the way his eyes focused on you and you only. Ni-ki stared at you with his jaw dropped as he watched you laugh to another girl, the melody of your laugh sounding like music to his ears.

"No one's gotta know, just us and the moon 'til the sun starts waking"

✎ "Check this out," he finally spoke, breaking the silence between the two of you. He continued, "You mentioned once you wanted to see the ocean in the beach in the middle of the night..".

He cleared his throat, continuing further, "So here we are".

You remained silent, completely moonstruck by the view as you watched how the waves flowed, and hearing your silence, he was about to nag you for not thanking him until he saw your dazed look. He sighed, taking your dazed look as a 'thank-you', "You're welcome".

"You remembered," "What?" "You remembered that I said that.."

He smiled, "Why else would I bring you here?".

"Ooh, but this is all that I am. I only show you the best of me, the best of me."

✎ "Look, on a serious note, I feel like I'm not good enough for you, but I'll be better for you, I promise," he pulled away, holding your shoulders and grinning at you.

"I would love just to be stuck to your side, not with anybody else, anybody else. It's enough just to keep us occupied, please don't go."

✎ "Was I not the partner you wanted? Is that why you're like this?".

"Absolutely not!" you shot back immediately. "It's just.." you tried to find words to explain yourself without giving yourself away, "you look really ugly right now".

He scoffed, but instead of continuing the banter with him, he only sighed and patted your head, "There she is, welcome back".

You looked into his eyes and saw his soft gaze, causing your heart to skip a beat. You immediately frowned and sucked one side of your cheek, turning your body away from him. "You're so annoying".

"And you're weird as fuck. This is exactly why I 'shit-talked' you that day," he giggled.

"Hey! That was really mean!"

"How could my day be bad when I'm with you? You're the only one who makes me laugh, so how can my day be bad? When it's a day for you?"

✎ You were having lunch, laughing as per usual with the others when Ni-ki suddenly leaned into your ear and whispered, "I like you".

Your face immediately heats up and your chest tightens, your untensils dropping as you smack Ni-ki's chest for teasing you, "Shut up!".

He laughed at your reaction, finding you adorable as he leaned on your shoulder, "I love you, Y/N".

The others rolled their eyes and pretended to puke and gag, finding the whole lovey-dovey situation disgusting and you sighed, not being able to resist him.

"I love you too".

"You're driving me crazy but I like you! You're driving me crazy but I like you, oh! I don't like your eyes, nose, lips even your jokes, I like it, only me."

✎ He was rooted to his spot, completely in awe as his gaze was locked on you. You weren't even doing anything, you were just laughing, wearing your stupid black hoodie and being the dork you were, but it made his head spin.

If only you knew how you made him feel.

"Don't like anybody, tell me why it's different with you? Don't believe in love, but no one makes me feel like you do. I don't say it much 'cause I just always thought that you knew, oh. It's what you do to me, I'm wrapped around around your finger and I can't stop You know, I've got a soft spot for you."

✎ He sighed and leaned back on the bench. "Do you ever wonder why I haven't dated any of the girls you mentioned?".

"C'mon, if you're gunna reject me just directly say—" "Because I like you!"

Features of shock immediately took over your face, not believing what you were hearing. He.. liked.. you?

"I liked you the entire damn time! Even before we became close, okay?!" he ranted, his voice sounding desperate as he confessed to you.

"Remember that time I was 'shit-talking' you in the field?! Thankfully you missed out on the part where I said I liked you!" he continued, his anger spilling out.

"I was hanging with you and then I realised, I didn't think it was true - I was surprised when I found out I'd fallen for you."

✎ "From this, I feel like.."

You looked at him attentively, anticipating to his words.

"You like him. Love even," he broke the news and you shouted in shock, causing him to cover your mouth with his hands.

"No way! Me?! Loving that dork?! As if!" you denied, feeling your cheeks heat up as you grew more irritated for an unknown reason.

"You can believe what you wanna — but you definitely love him".

You pouted as your chest tightened, the weird feeling coming in again as you thought about him.

You? Loving Ni-ki?

I dunno...

Maybe.

"I'll leave my heart with your air, so let me fly with you. Will you be forever with me?"

✎ "What's so funny?! What, now are you rejecting me?!"

"Dork," you teased.

"What?" "You're a dork. A dork for me," you teased further and you watched as his face grew red.

"You never know how to shut your mouth!"

[astra-the-dragon]

Columbia University has just decided that it hates Jews, huh

oh nooooo I can't access the article what do I do

here follows many thoughts and clarifications, mostly for the goyim who follow me.

** part one: bunch of short clarifications

Jewish Insider IS a reliable source despite its right lean. This issue has been reported in several other places as well, and is in line with other reports of activity at Columbia.

yes, Professor Massad's full words are exactly as horrific and vile as the clickbaity title suggest. worse, even. the few tiny shreds of potentially-honest ideas are buried and tainted by the genocidal, antisemitic, rape-apologist, murderous content in it. oh, and he also claims that many millions of Arabs agree with him; I would imagine the average Arab does not support mass terrorism.

being "anti-Israel" -- sure. whatever. IFF you mean you're against our fascist government and brutal occupation; I sure am. if you're against our existence, you're pro-genocide.

supporting "Intifada" = calling for the murder of Jewish Israelis; often a call for the murder of Jews-in-general.

burning Israeli flags - I mean, lame, but you have the right.

hostility towards non-Israeli Jews for Israel's actions, even if you know for a fact that they are zionists and/or support Israel's existence as a Jewish homeland/country = antisemitism

hostility towards Israeli Jews for Israel's actions = I mean, okay, but please don't lump us all together. there are millions of us (out of only about 8 million!!) who are fiercely opposed to the war and the genocide.

pro-Palestine protests = quite valid. if only they weren't so often held at random synagogues, non-Israel-affiliated Jewish institutions, college Hillels, etc. And if only there weren't so many cases of calling for Intifada, systematically harassing Jews, and allowing antisemitic posters, chants, art, and people to be there. leftist antisemitism is real and strong and has harmed me and my family directly.

** part two: thoughts on the course and on the IDF

I don't mind a non-Jewish professor teaching about Jewish history. that's pretty cool, tbh. His being Arab is irrelevant to the issue. His being a raging antisemite is the problem.

it is more than weird for a class to try and link the 17th-19th century development of European Jewish culture and philosophy with 21st century middle eastern politics. I'd call it intellectually dishonest. It's like using the Federalist Papers to explain Hillary Clinton's politics without touching anything that happened in-between those two events. It's not "a reach", it's potentially disinformation.

While I have obviously not attended the class, I have observed this pattern many times when outsiders try to explain "zionism" and only show how grossly uninformed they are. eg: Jessie Gender's video on Zionism. Writing an essay on modern Zionism without so much as mentioning the Intifadas or Meir Kahane is like writing an essay on the modern Republican party without mentioning Reagan or Trump. What the fuck are you even doing.

confronting a current or past IDF soldier about what they've done against Palestinians = I'm not opposed to it; I myself have done it! But there is a big difference between telling someone they're complicit in a violent occupation, and saying something akin to "HOW MANY BABIES HAVE YOU SLAUGHTERED YOU PIG".

I myself was in the IDF; I am complicit in a violent occupation, and as an Israeli I cannot escape the fact that my tax dollars help fund a genocide. I am working constantly to heal the damage. When randos come up to me and accuse me of butchering innocent Palestinians, do you seriously think we're gonna get into an emotionally and intellectually honest conversation about the way a draftee non-combat soldier's work affects and is affected by their squadron commander's actions? Yeah, I didn't think so.

...any way. :/

[beauty-and-passion]

TMA - Chapters 141-150: Hungry? Grab a statement

Welcome back, everyone. Are you ready for Jon and Basira’s travel to save the world from The Dark?

I am not, but we’re already there, so let’s start.

<< Main Masterlist <- Previous post

_______________________________

MAG 141 - Doomed Voyage

Luckily for Jon, the title didn’t refer to his voyage to save the world, but to the last voyage of Mikele Salesa. And, well, I felt a bit sad for him: he was tired of this job, he wanted to get out of the business of delivering supernatural stuff.

But then there was this… camera with a broken lens? And something/someone betrayed him and his crew and he died? I’m sure we will find out what happened in future statements.

Jon got all these info, because he Knew the guy on the ship worked with Salesa in the past and wanted to Know from him. And Basira, apparently, wants to Know too! Is she getting influenced by The Eye as well? I wouldn’t be surprised: she’s in the temple of The Eye and works closely to its avatars.

Wait… WHAT?!

Are you telling me that all the people who told Jon their stories kept reliving said story in their dreams and seeing Jon? And you tell me that now in season 4?!

Sheeesh, off to a great start.

_______________________________

MAG 142 - Scrutiny

A woman is getting harassed by someone in the Institute. And Martin immediately has an idea about who could be:

Wonderful, so now Jon goes around doing creepy avatar things, not disturbing and worrying at all.

But hey, that’s another excuse for me to point out the details of another avatar’s business plan:

Searching around someone with a supernatural story

Creepily staring at them until they speak

Collect their story

Thank them because you might be the servant of a horror god, but politeness is still a must

Profit!

Congrats Jon, you’re officially part of the gang of avatars who make questionable business plans. Please, take a sit along The Web, master of questionable business plans.

This statement also confirms Basira’s words regarding Jon appearing in other people’s dreams. And that after talking about them, people are still haunted by the horrors they came in contact with.

We also get the wonderfully-not creepy-at-all image of a Jon who is “all eyes”. It screams “Watcher’s Crown” so. Much.

And it also explains some fanarts I saw years ago, of a guy covered in eyes.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

I KNOW, MARTIN. I KNOW.

_______________________________

MAG 143 - Heart of Darkness

I love that the tape recorder is a character. It’s always there (whether the other characters like it or not) and it knows when shit is about to go down, thus efficiently warning them. It’s a good guy… uhm… I mean, a good tape?

Thank god, Manuela Dominguez FINALLY gives us a clarification of what the heck happened with The Dark:

They were this close to completing their ritual. And it had some elements we already saw, like the human sacrifices, the feast and the chanting.

Manuela’s description of the world given by the Dark Sun is very fascinating: “A world of still and quiet darkness, where no heat touches and death cannot find you. You might wander beneath that empty sky of void forever and never see a light to guide your way.”. That’s such an interesting image! And it answers a doubt I had that, even in darkness, death can still find you. Apparently not: if a ritual is complete, I suppose the other Powers cannot interfere anymore? Is that why they never worked together?

Robert Montauk was tormented by The Dark cult. This explains the missing wife and it kinda explains the weird hearts-in-the-shed ritual thingy. It was bizarre, but at least it helped in keeping out the darkness.

Gertrude stopped the ritual, somehow. And not just by killing the people from Hither Green.

Speaking of that, that’s the second time Gertrude did something that “robbed” other Powers’ servants of something. The Desolation’s gang also lost something, when Gertrude went on Hill Top Road.

I mean, I know her plan is “throw shit in the ritual to stop it”, but maybe… who knows, maybe she also took something? Or made something incredibly specific? In both cases:

The avatar didn’t get any chance to do the ritual

The other servants started to argue and the group split

Could this be part of the dividi et impera strategy I theorized some posts ago? Not just to put Powers against each other, but servants too?

Also, we FINALLY get the confirmation regarding Maxwell Rayner: he’s dead. Now we can be sure he’s dead, he won’t pop out anymore, he’s dead dead. Thank god, this man was starting to become Schrödinger’s avatar: dead and not dead at the same time.

Okay, the Black Sun is still there. And looking at you can destroy you.

So, what’s Jon’s brilliant plan? To look at it.

I know, you expect me to say this is a stupid plan… but it actually makes sense. As I said in the previous post, The Eye’s power is to look at things, know and (metaphorically) shed light on them. And what happens when you shed light on something dark?

So yes, Jon’s plan was good and it worked great. He looked at it, he Knew it and destroyed it.

I also find it very relatable that, once Jon looked at this cosmic horrible thing, he found it beautiful.

Think about it: the universe is immensely dark and cold and it can kill us instantly and yet, we find it beautiful. The abyss of the sea is just as deadly and we can’t fight with the huge marine predators and yet, we still find the sea beautiful. The radiation is terrifying and can lead to a very painful death and yet, we are fascinated by it. Even goddamn black holes are one of the most terrifying things ever and we still consider them immensely beautiful.

That’s human’s nature: we are mesmerized by the danger and by things that has the potential to kill us, but still, we find beauty in them.

Helen is back! And she helped again! Helen, you’re officially a Good Gurl. Michael was a Good Boyo, you are a Good Gurl. I know you’re still part of the same sexless entity, but you need an affectionate nickname, so Good Gurl it is.

_______________________________

MAG 144 - Decrypted

A statement about number stations. From a guy who lives in the middle of nowhere, during a hot August - you know, that kind of hot that pushes everything down and drowns all sounds out.

I know this feeling, I pictured the statement too well in my mind… and yes, I immediately realized it was all about The Extinction.

Maybe it’s a bit too early, but I am incredibly fascinated by it. The setting of this statement was so simple and so effective, mostly made of heat, sun, long walks, music in the ears. And then, these ominous numbers, the pylon’s rusted corpse, that sense of dread. The rain, the destruction of the house and the annihilation of its inhabitants.

The characters are just a guy with a very old father. There’s nothing transcendental about them, just a guy dealing with an elderly person. It’s down to earth, it’s relatable. And it makes The Extinction stand out even more.

I really like this statement for the feelings, the sensations and the vivid images. There have been only a few statements that stuck with me in the past and I’ll gladly add this one to the list of my personal favourites.

So, right after making me happy with this statement, Mr. Sims decides to make me even more happy, with some bonding time between Martin and Peter:

The shade, Martin. The shade.

Martin trusts Peter regarding The Extinction. For now, at least.

But that’s enough, because his soon-to-be-new-father (unless he does something bad, which will lead to his death by my hands) is very happy and wants to give a gift to his favourite son:

Awww, he will pick someone to give some answers! Thank you, Peter, we need them.

Now I wonder: who will this new informer be? Robert Smirke? A revived Jonah Magnus? Elias, forced to do something in his life?

Poor Martin, always surrounded by shady bitches who want to keep their secrets for themselves.

Oh my gosh, he’s too precious. Now he’s even asking Martin’s advice on how to be a better boss (and person in general).

I still have very conflicted feelings about him, but when he does this kind of thing… he just melts my cold heart, okay? That’s wholesome.

_______________________________

MAG 145 - Infectious Doubts

Oookay, so we get more details regarding the Lightless Flame, Gertrude, Agnes and all that happened between them:

It turns out the weird magic circle in the woods mentioned in season 1 (that one with Gertrude’s photo and hair) was made by Gertrude to contrast the Lightless Flame

In turn, the circle helped The Web to tie her and Agnes together on a metaphysical level

That’s what forced the Fire gang to not attempt the ritual and wait, all while Agnes was “tied” to mortality - long enough to start to develop feelings for Mr. Barnabas

Arthur Nolan ended up losing his leadership position - and became the landlord of future Jane Prentiss

Well, that explains why Eugene talked about “a scar in reality” and interference of other Powers. And somehow, I’m correct: Gertrude threw a Power in the mix and that stopped the ritual.

Throwing shit in truly helps solve everything. Even if in this case, Gertrude accidentally threw herself via The Web. Still counts.

That aside, we don’t exactly know what the fuck did Gertrude do to Eugene. And Jon’s further research doesn’t really help: I mean, he found out Eugene left “a life-sized statue of himself, crafted from candle wax and sawdust, missing its head”? So… Gertrude turned him into a wax statue? How? And kept his head? For what, to expose it in her office? I think I’m missing something here.

Arthur’s words regarding the gods are very interesting too. It looks like Gertrude never truly talked to The Eye or questioned it. While feelings, wants and needs constantly washed over the Fire gang, without any further instruction rather than “just do it”.

Judging by what he said, we can assume some gods are more “collected” and less “emotional” compared to others. Maybe some gods are more needy and pushy, while others are more focused.

But assuming that, would mean the Powers are able to think. And Gertrude seems pretty sure they can't do it.

So… what’s the truth? Are these gods unable to think at all? Or are they just unable to understand the limits of human nature and the rules of our universe? Are there collected Powers and emotional Powers?

Only time will tell, I suppose.

Great, it looks like I asked myself more questions than Gertrude ever did. She never had “that stupid urge to try and understand and classify things that use logic and reality like weapons”, as Arthur said.

Could this be one of the reasons why she got killed, in the end? Was her voluntary attempt to not know that led her astray to The Eye? Or maybe she was just too practical and down-to-earth, to become the favorite avatar of a godly know-it-all?

_______________________________

MAG 146 - Threshold

Somehow, in this Babel of names, I remembered McKenzie. It was from MAG 27, so an eternity ago. And this time, we got the son, who played a years-long game of hide and seek with The Distortion: it even starred Micheal and Helen!

And when Jon went to the latter to get some explanations, all he got was “Well, that’s what we do when we have to eat”, which is… honestly, don’t know what else Jon expected. Maybe that she offered him a Snickers?

What I find very interesting is how Jon’s reply is not an indignant noise or some moral reprimand: he replies “yes”. Just yes.

It’s been so long, since Jon was a normal human being.

Still, he tries to find an explanation, to not let himself lose to the “avatar instinct” or whatever. He even asks himself if it’s The Web’s fault, because maybe they’re strong enough to control another avatar and make him do things he doesn’t want to, like eating.

His supposition is so unfounded, Helen literally laughs in his face.

I am sorry for Jon, but Helen is right. Jon was hungry, wanted to eat, didn't have any Snickers so he got someone. It wasn’t The Web. I know it makes weird business plans, but I doubt “Let’s force the avatar of The Eye to eat” is one of them.

However, this apparently nonsensical theory works for Jon’s colleagues, who kindly and peacefully treat him like a monster, call him a monster, shut him up and decide to investigate Hill Top Road because yes.

I hope Basira won’t get killed, in her attempt to be Gertrude 2.0 and the most practical person around.

_______________________________

MAG 147 - Weaver

Please, allow me to recap this hilarious, unnecessarily complicated plan The Web made:

Lure Jon on Hill Top Road.

Once Jon (and his gang) are in, lure them into the room where some stolen records are conveniently piled.

Leave a statement for Jon.

Give me a wonderful reminder of how funny Nikola was with her ��Elias, can I call you Elias?”, by opening the statement with: “Free will is a funny old thing, isn’t it, Jon? Can I call you Jon?”.

Tell a story about your supposed childhood and how you left your home to find a woman with a wooden loom and threads into her skin and spiders weaving them.

Season the story with 200 doubts and maybes and “What if this is what the Mother wanted?”, by making Jon question every single line he just read.

Suggest you may have lied about everything because what if this is what the Mother wanted?

Tell Jon to not go back to Hill Top Road.

???

Profit!

I liked Annabelle Cane before, I love her after this. She could’ve left a note in Jon’s office, telling him to not visit Hill Top Road. But no, let’s make a batshit plan to lure him to Hill Top Road, only to tell him to not come back to Hill Top Road. Pure genius.

_______________________________

MAG 148 - Extended Surveillance

Have I already said I love this man? His voice, the inflection, everything he says… he’s hilarious every time, even when he’s punched by an angry Basira.

So, Elias knew about Jon’s victims but, unlike his colleagues who blamed him for two entire MAGs, he doesn’t give a damn. Of course he doesn’t: giving a damn would mean doing something and we all know Elias loves doing nothing. My favorite lazy bastard <3

Ahahahahah, this man is incredible. Just like I gave stupid nicknames to everyone because they're funny, so he gives Basira a nickname just because he likes how it sounds.

Elias is truly the best character ever and I love him.

Oh, I missed him being a smug bastard. Elias, never change <3

What do you mean by “we still don’t really know what Elias actually is”? He’s the embodiment of The Eye. Or its favorite avatar. Same thing. I suppose?

Fine, I’m not sure either, but I thought it was obvious that he was extremely close to The Eye and had a special relationship with it. And maybe that’s why he can spend a lot of time without eating - unlike Jon. Because he has been an avatar for a long time. A… very long time, I suppose?

Okay, that’s actually interesting. If he’s an avatar, how long has he been an avatar? Before Gertrude became the Archivist? When he was still a stoner? Before that? Then why didn’t he become the Archivist? And why is he so good at controlling the “hunger instinct”? Does he have a hidden cabinet full of Snickers statements?

Greeeeeat, Jon is still pushed by this avatar hunger and cannot find a way to stop it. Maybe he could find a solution in some of Gertrude’s statements? I mean, if she was an avatar of The Eye too, maybe she also experienced the same hunger? And maybe she found a way to satiate it, without using innocents?

Or maybe she found out about Elias's secret stash of snacks and ate all of them, why not?

_______________________________

MAG 149 - Concrete Jungle

So, human trash human-shaped hunting humans in the jungle still counts as an expression of The Extinction? I suppose it makes sense. I find it just weird that it attacked Dr. Anastos: I thought The Extinction was more like The End, just wiping out everything and feeding on the survivors’ desperation.

But nope, instead some Stranger vibes. And maybe this makes sense too? If The Extinction is a new Power, it could be learning from the older ones how to express itself.

Oh no, a conversation between Martin and Georgie! As I imagined, he doesn’t like her the slightest and I’m pretty sure her being Jon’s ex is part of the reason why. But he also doesn’t really like how she judges the Archives and what they do from the outside, which is… well, understandable but also unfair.

I mean, she is right when she said the place is bad and they’re doing bad things. I said it since the beginning, when I still begged everyone to run away as fast as they could.

But it’s also unfair to condemn them all. Jon is doing questionable things, but he’s still fighting against them. Martin is working alongside an evil avatar, but he’s also trying his best to keep everyone safe.

Moral of the story: at least Martin didn’t unleash some evil Power after her, as I feared. On the contrary, it looks like The Lonely gave him the power of invisibility and being forgotten.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

_______________________________

MAG 150 - Cul-de-Sac

If the previous statement was about The Extinction but with some Stranger vibes, this statement is about The Lonely, but with some Spiral vibes. Maybe it’s just due to the endless repetition of houses and roads and doors but still.

Oh, great. And here I thought Martin was going to be seduced by The Web because of his love for the spiders. I was wrong: The Lonely IS Martin. Trying not to be a burden? Like, you know, getting everything on your shoulder so you can deal with everything and the others will be safe? And why tell yourself “I’m fucked”, when you can tell “I am doing it for everyone”?

Martin isn’t going to become an avatar of The Lonely: he’s already The Lonely. He’s probably just going to join it back.

Melanie’s plan is… questionable. And I have no idea if it can actually work. If it does, good for her: at least her conscience will be clean.

That’s a very clever point: what if everything is all part of a plan? The Eye’s plan? What if learning more about the rituals, the Powers, the avatars, watching them and stopping them and talking to them, gathering all this heavy, supernatural, “dense” knowledge is exactly what The Eye needs to ascend?

What if Jon doesn’t know anything about The Watcher’s Crown, because he’s already doing the ritual without realizing it?

If that’s the truth, I’m going to explode.

_______________________________

In conclusion

I am terrified and hyped. Jon saved the world from the Black Sun and he saved the world from The Unknowing, but will he save the world from The Watcher’s Crown too? And what about The Extinction? And Martin? Will my boyo come back from the war or look at The Lonely in its non-existent eyes and tell it “Sup”?

There are too many stakes and only ten chapters left. And you all told me they are the most insane.

I’ll brace myself, so brace yourself as well: the next reaction post is probably going to be extremely long and delirious.

Well, longer and more delirious than usual.

30 image limit, we will meet again very soon.

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

📌TAGLIST: @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24   @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake-and-crofters​  @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue​ @cynicalandsarcastic​ @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire @riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 ​​@arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @nevenastark @coldbookworm @boopypastaissalty @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @snixxxsmythe @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist @hehimejoshi

[cupcakewebkinz]

April Fools shitfic... No more explanation.

(Uhm this is full of nonsense so read at your own risk because I'm so not sure how to tag any of this)

There's wholesome Shellevision at the end, implied Ragebait, and a lot of ooc moments. It's a joke, so don't take it seriously please. Happy April Fools

It was a normal morning in Gardenview, well, that's what Shelly assumed as she groggily walked into the elevator to get her breakfast. She had a killer stomachache and her body was sore, but she assumed she had simply slept wrong so she just wanted to get some food and coffee and hoped it went away eventually. She yawned as she pressed the button to go to the cafeteria, then she just sat down beside the control pannel and leaned against the wall of the elevator, taking a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She felt like shit... She probably looked like it too, but that's okay, she knew she would be fine. Maybe. She looked over when the elevator opened earlier than expected and saw that she was on the right floor... Though she swore the cafe was further down than what it felt like. Maybe she's just wrong... She had no idea. She just slowly got up and walked out of the elevator, walking into the dinning area of the cafeteria. She looked around a bit before she decided she'd talk to people after she got food and just walked over to the counter to order, however she stopped near it as she started questioning her sanity even more. There were a bunch of child sized Rodgers, all staring up at Sprout, all chanting "we are the Rodgerlings, feed us research" as the strawberry man stared at them with fear. It was clear Sprout had no idea what to do, so he did what he could do and grabbed some educational cook books and threw them as far as he could, and the army ran off after them. Sprout sighed in relief before going back to his usual spot... So Shelly quietly approached and looked up at him. He looked back at her, then raised an eyebrow. She blinked a few times... Usually he was the first to greet her, but maybe he was tired?

"Good morning Sprout, uh, do you guys have any-"

"No. Go away. I'm not feeding every goddamn toon here anymore, I'm done. I would've quit if I could, but nooooo, I gotta pretend we're selling shit still! Go bother Cosmo or something, I need a fucking drink." He snapped, then he grabbed a bottle of rootbeer and turned away from her, making Shelly squint at him in pure confusion. What in Delilah's name was going on today..? Why was everything so weird..? She rubbed the back of her head as she slowly walked away, looking around to see if anyone could possibly have anything she could eat. She was so hungry... It felt like she hasn't eaten in months. She swore she ate last night though, and that Sprout was just fine last night, and that there was only one Rodger last night. She couldn't wrap her head around any of this... She soon realized that Gigi had a box of donuts in hand and walked over to her, wondering if she'd possibly share any of them. However, before she asked, Gigi just hissed at her like a cat and protected the box like it was her prized possession. That... Was honestly kind of normal, Gigi didn't like sharing her collections, but she usually was much nicer than that. Shelly decided not to question it as she raised her hands up to show that she didn't want to harm her, backing away from her before turning and just speed walking away. She looked around again, hoping to maybe find someone sane, and sighed in relief when she saw Goob. How could he possibly hate anyone? Maybe he'd share something with her, or explain why everyone was being a jerk, or maybe just give her a hug. However, when she walked over, he just stared at her in confusion.

"What? I don't have anything for you." He stated simply, then frowned at her when she silently asked for a hug. He just shook his head, so she lowered her arms and just hugged herself instead, sighing as she tried to hold back her tears. Goob even hated her... What did she do to deserve that..? She decided to look for Vee, maybe her partner was normal, maybe she'd be able to make her morning a little better! Yeah! She looked around as she walked away from Goob, looking for her partner to maybe just get some answers at least. Though when she found her, she froze immediately as she saw Vee laying across a table with plates balancing on her antenna, Glisten casually putting more on there while Yatta and Looey watched in amazement. What the fuck?

"I told you guys, I can balance things really well. I bet if I had a nose, I could balance more on there too. I'm just that good." Vee stated as she looked at the circus duo, though Yatta started clapping anyways.

"You're like, so cool though!! That's so cool!!" She replied happily, getting a head tilt from Shelly as she slowly walked over. What the hell..? Was she losing her mind..? They were not acting at all like themselves, Vee usually avoided Yatta like the plague, Glisten usually wouldn't be helping anyone do stupid stunts like this, Looey even was oddly silent and Yatta was so still- Shelly felt like she lost it, what was going on!

"Heyyy... What's going on over here..?" Shelly quietly asked, watching as all her friends just looked at her like they didn't know who she was. Even Vee was confused, and she was her girlfriend! Why would her girlfriend forget her?

"Why the hell are you here? Didn't you tell me you wanted nothing to do with me?" Vee snapped at her, getting a death glare from her immediately afterwards. Glisten soon followed, crossing his arms and just shooting her the nastiest glare imaginable. Shelly felt so heartbroken and confused, why would she ever say anything like that? She just shook her head and turned away from them, hugging herself as she quickly walked off and looked around for anyone else to talk to. She needed to figure out what the hell was going on... Why her own partner hated her... Why everyone hated her... Why everything fucking hurt so much. She found Finn talking to Shrimpo at a nearby table and chose to approach them, sitting down at their table. They both looked at her and smiled, which filled her with relief until she realized... Shrimpo was smiling. That shrimp never smiles... What the hell?

"Hey Shells, what's going on today? Finally done yelling at everyone?" Finn asked casually, making Shelly just stare at him like he was insane. What was he talking about..?

"Uh, yeah, I guess so, why is everyone so mad at me? I don't remember a thing..." Shelly admitted, getting a concerned look from the two as they looked at each other.

"I hate being the one to ask this, but did you hit your damn head? You were screaming at everyone and told Vee to fuck out of your life for kissing Glisten as a joke. You were definitely an asshole, even more than I usually am." Shrimpo casually stated, shoving the box of donuts he and Finn were sharing over to her for her to eat. She immediately shoved them back as she looked at the table, her body now shaking like a leaf, her hunger no longer there. She did... What? Before she could even ask, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she looked over at who it belonged to. It was Astro, looking absolutely concerned and confused.

"Shelly can we... Go talk in the hallway for a second?" He asked, and she just nodded as she quickly got up, hoping that someone around here was normal. She turned and looked at where Vee had been before they could even move... And she immediately spontaneously combusted upon eye contact. Looey was now sobbing, and Yatta just slowly blinked. What the fuck? Shelly must've asked that one out loud as Astro now was giving her a glare.

"Shelly Fossilian, watch your mouth." He warned softly, then he gently started leading her off, and she just silently accepted it. Though when they were in the hallway alone, Shelly moved away from him slightly, hugging herself again as she chewed on her lip, still praying to Delilah that Astro was sane. And surprisingly... He seemed to be his normal self, as he just looked at her with a concerned look as held her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"Shelly, I am so sorry this is your dream, I came to wake you up. Because I genuinely am concerned for you." He stated, and before she could ask, he punched her in the face.

Shelly shot up in her bed with a loud whimper, her body shaking horribly bad as she felt her face. No pain. She looked over at her side, her eyes filling with tears of relief when she saw Vee there, sprawled out and snoring in sleep mode. Shelly couldn't help but sit there and watch her sleep as she quietly cried a little to herself, wondering what the hell just happened. She looked back down at herself and took a deep breath after a bit, then looked back at Vee as she wiped her tears away on the sleeve of her pajamas. Vee just kept sleeping, having absolutely no clue what Shelly was going through, and she was planning on keeping it that way. Though her plan failed when Vee went to roll over onto her other side and promptly fell off the bed instead, quickly sitting up in a daze afterwards.

"Oh... Man, that was a weird dream..." Vee just mumbled to herself as she climbed back into bed and plopped back down, laying all sprawled out again simply because she found it comfortable, then she looked at Shelly, tilting her head a little bit afterwards.

"You doing alright, Fossil? You look like a wreck..." Vee asked quietly, and Shelly just nodded, smiling a little bit. She's just so glad Vee was back to herself... That dream was so weird and felt so real, she'll never be more grateful for one being a dream than that one. She'd also never talk about it... That was just, a bit too much for her sanity.

"Just a nightmare, I'm okay, I'm just glad you're here right now. Could... We just cuddle for a bit and talk about dinosaurs?" Shelly replied quietly, and Vee smiled immediately and sat up, holding out her arms for her. Shelly just flopped down against her, smiling a little now, getting all snug against her girlfriend as she was held tight by the other.

"Obviously you can Shelly, you can always talk about dinosaurs with me. You should tell me about Oviraptors again, since you got interrupted last time." Vee suggested happily, which made Shelly giggle and nod, happy to see the happy go lucky side of Vee right now. She knew she was so lucky to know about it... And right now, it was really comforting, even if Vee will never know about it, and instead would learn about oviraptors that night. Well, oviraptors and other dinosaurs, as she knew she couldn't go back to sleep. Not after that mess... Vee was thankfully very understanding and willing to listen to her ramble all night, even if she did fall back asleep while listening. Shelly didn't care, she was just glad to have her right there to distract her from... Whatever that was. Hopefully the next morning would be actually sane... And Astro never brought up what they both witnessed because she was sure she'd cry if he did.

[slashers-and-rats]

Can you please do some headcaonons on what it's like living with Billy? Does he ever leave the building? Does he leave the attic if everyone else is out? What's his favorite food? (Idk what canadians eat lol)

rat chat: this is gonna be a little long cuz i also wanna explain my own idea of how you even wound up in the house.

ok, so, my idea is that the entirety of the 2006!billy backstory happens. y’know, the usual stuff. bad childhood, fucked up situations, the killings, the being sent away- ALL OF IT HAPPENS. except, instead of the house being turned into a sorority, it gets passed around during the years that billy is away. it’s sold from person to person, it ends up in the hands of your grandparents, and after a tragedy you wind up having the house left to you in your will, along with a bit of money. voila, you have the house.

you don’t move in for awhile. the wound is fresh. instead, you work on moving the stuff out of the house and putting it into storage. during that time, you don’t even realize there’s an entire attic. billy knows that, though, and while you’re busy cleaning up the place to start living in, he makes the upstairs his brand new home. so, by the time you actually move in, he’s already there.

it’s hard at the start of you living there. after getting everything out, you gotta put all your stuff in. the house is old and creepy, and it feels like you’re being watched (duh). it’s weird. the first few nights are rough. it’s rough for billy too, of course. he had the house to himself for awhile, he had cleared out some of the cupboards while you were cleaning stuff out so he has a stash of food, he had liked wandering around when you weren’t there. now he’s stuck back up in the attic.

you go about living your life, or at least your new one. you maybe moved from a bit away and are looking for a new job in the area. you have some money from the will to keep yourself comfortable for a bit, but you still wanna get something steady. all the meanwhile, you’re exploring the new house and getting used to being there.

billy, on the other hand, is just watching you all the time. you’re his personal entertainment. sometimes you’ll hear creaks from the ceiling, but you assume it’s just the house settling. the thing is old, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. it’s when you start getting the phone calls that things get weird.

in the dead of night, when you’re lounging on the couch, you’ll get random phone calls by some freak replaying horrible things in your ear. he sounds like he’s in pain, ranting and raving about things you don’t even really understand. the first few times, you just hung up immediately when he started. he’d call and call and call, and you’d just pretend the phone didn’t even exist. then, after awhile, you would sit and listen. it stopped him from calling for hours after you hung up, but it would also be an hour of you listening to what sounded like this very hurt man SUFFERING.

you can’t say it didn’t strike some pity in you. he sounded pathetic, like a wounded, crying animal, and he just wanted you to listen. it was wrong in a lot of ways, but part of you felt… connected? like, this guys only way of working through his shit was reenacting it all to you. maybe, in some way, it was helping? you’d try to talk him through it and ask questions, but he never really responded. sometimes he’d try to, but he’d just fall back into the same chants and rambles.

during all this, obviously, it’s billy on the other side. he sits up in his attic, laying on his mattress, torturing himself. in my head, sex for billy is a punishment at this point in his life. he doesn’t see it as anything but a way to hurt him, and he’s obsessed with harming himself. he feels like he deserves it. so, while he’s talking into the phone, he’s jerking off like a mad man, and crying, and biting himself, and drooling everywhere. he’s a mess. and he believes he deserves to be. at first, you would say he’s being disgusting and gross, and he liked it because it made him feel shameful, and he deserved it. than, after awhile, you started trying to help him, and it confused the FUCK out of him. because all of his coping is punishing himself with reliving his own fucked up traumas, and now you’re sitting here like “have you tried… seeing a therapist?” and he’s like ????? i went to an asylum and they drugged me up???? is that enough??

it becomes a routine. at some point he tells you his name, sort of. it slips out during one of this moments. as well, you start piecing together his story a bit more, and it breaks your heart. you’re worried. in a fucked up way, you start feeling some kind of sympathy. this guy clearly has issues, he has no one to talk to, and here he is spilling all of his deepest secrets to you. at some point, you ask if he wants your help. he doesn’t know how to respond. you explain to him that he needs help, that he can be better, that it’s a good idea to find someone that cares about him that can get him support, and he just gets upset because that doesn’t exist for him. he’s alone, and your pity doesn’t change that. it makes him so upset, that for awhile, he doesn’t call.

during that time, billy just stews up in the attic. during the nights he sneaks down to watch you sleep. he likes you, in his own way. he likes that you listen, and he likes that you care, even if it’s from afar. but he doesn’t like that, in other ways, you just remind him that he doesn’t ACTUALLY have anyone. you’re a reflection of his own loneliness. because even tho you’re this person that seemingly wants him to feel better, you’re still just over a phone. you’d never ACTUALLY help.

well, that’s bullshit, because one day after weeks of not calling, you’re cleaning out some of the house and stumble upon the attic door. and it’s a surprise, because you didn’t even know you had an attic. a few minutes later, you’re climbing up and finding a very malnourished, sad looking man, who sounds exactly like the guy over the phone that told you all about his issues. who would’ve guessed?

at first, billy lashes out. he’s terrified. he can’t go back to the asylum, he doesn’t want to be on the streets, he’s already struggling enough. he’s scared. you’ve successfully cornered him. on the other hand, you’re baffled that the guy that has been talking to you has been in your fucking attic this entire time. you’re concerned, he’s freaking out, and you just try to console him and explain you’re not calling the cops and getting him removed. in a moment of panic, you say he can stay. it calms him right down. you ask if he wants something to eat, and to take a shower, and you manage to coax him out of the attic and down to the kitchen. one hot meal later, and he’s sitting at your dining room table. you’re very confused, but also after hearing all the stuff he would rant about, you’re kinda glad you found him. at least you could provide him some help? maybe? or maybe just get him to not call you at three in the morning before work anymore.

over the course of a few months, you two do start living together. he gets his own room. you offer to clear out the attic and let him have that space, but it’s clear it holds a lot of bad memories for him, so you give him his own room beside yours. you cook for the both of you, since he doesn’t really know how. he does do lawn work, he seems to like picking weeds and such, and he catches all the bugs in your house. he helps clean when he can, and you he helps you make grocery lists for when you go out on errands. he doesn’t like leaving the house yet, he’s just not very fond of large groups of people.

it’s not easy. he still has his moments. he doesn’t understand what sex actually is. it’s still a punishment. in the night, he’ll come to you, and talk like he did over the phone, and you’ll hold him and try to listen but it’s so hard when he’s clearly so hurt. during these times he gets handsy, and you have to explain to him that you aren’t there to fuck him, you’re just there to listen. billy likes that. a lot of the people in his life got off on his suffering, and yet you actually want to solve it. it feels nice, but at the same time it’s very confusing. he has a lot of conflicting feelings inside of him.

it takes a long time for you two to become something normal, and even longer for you two to actually connect romantically. first, he has to get to a point where he’s healthy. you help him get back on his feet, and support him through learning some new skills and the like. he supports you by taking care of the house while you’re gone, and cleaning up, and doing any yard work or things. he especially likes holidays, and when he gets to decorate. you two have movie nights often, and go through all the films he missed growing up. he loves talking about everything that happens on screen, and you find it endearing. you read to him a lot, and he likes listening and laying with his head in your lap.

he has a hard time keeping his feelings in, and that’s fine with you. you just work on boundaries. he knows not to touch you without asking. you guys are affectionate, since it seems to really comfort him to experience affection that isn’t… bad. whenever you get home he hugs you for a long time, and he likes to cuddle you while you two watch movies, and he asks to hold your hand when he’s stressed out. sometimes he tries to make a move, just so overwhelmed that he starts acting without thinking, and you just have to explain that you’re not ready yet. he knows, and he holds back. it’s hard, but he’s learning.

then you work on actually getting him out of the house. that’s the most difficult. he is not a people person. it starts with walks around the neighbourhood, and then little trips to the store or to pick up take out. that’s all he can really manage. he’s more of an indoor kinda cat, he doesn’t like… others. he likes you, though. it’s clearly more than just liking, he’s kinda obsessed with you. you don’t notice it, just thinking you’re doing what anyone would do for someone in need like that, but he is very very very in love.

i think the first time you actually realize it is on valentine’s day. you come home and he has the kitchen set up, and he used his few cooking skills to make you guys something. it’s a little confusing at first, but the way he’s looking at you, and explaining how he really appreciates what you’ve done… it melts your heart. he’s not talking like he used to, just talking about the nasty things he wanted to put you through, he’s genuinely voicing that he enjoys you as a person. don’t get me wrong, he’s still stuttering and patching words together, and a lot of it is him using lines from romance movies to explain how he feels, but it’s the thought that counts.

you two have a nice night. he doesn’t try anything. you guys just eat and watch some romance movies and cuddle on the couch. and before you head up for bed, you kiss him on the cheek and say it’s been a great valentine’s day. and he’s smitten. he just walks you walk up the stairs and that’s when he makes it his mission for you two to be together.

obviously, down the line, he learns what romance is and what sex CAN be. it goes from him just wanting to bone because it’s all his instincts tell him to do, to him wanting to make love with someone that he loves and it’s a way for him to connect with you. and while that takes awhile, it makes the connection a lot deeper. he’s been through a lot. being able to finally see sex as not a punishment, but a way to express your feelings towards someone is super cool. obviously, before that, he’s expressing himself in other ways, but billy enjoys the fact that he took this thing that used to FUCKING SUCK and make it into something good. and you helped do that.

immsorry this was so long and maybe didn’t make a lot of sense i love you

[ifbrd]

Okay I think I’ve brought this up before but I mentioned it to my brother last night and he justified my confusion so I’ll just share again.

In Gravity Falls, when Bill can’t take weirdmageddon out of Gravity Falls because of the “Gravity Falls law of weirdness magnetism” he asks Ford if he found a way to undo it, and Ford says “Of course! There’s a simple equation that could collapse the barrier…”

Ok so you’re telling me that a force of nature, similar to that of gravity can be stopped by math?????? How does that even work????????

Shout out to my brother’s response, I think he worded my confusion best:

“Yeah how does that even work??? Like you write the equation on the barrier and it just falls apart???? Or do you sit there and chant it like an incantation???”

For the love of all that’s holy if anyone can explain how the hell this would work please tell me!!

[yippeeometer]

May you do four corners for the ship headcanons?

i hate them

i need them exploded in a big bomb theyre soooooooo skrungle

first off everything is a group activity for them thats just the way it works. theyve perfected turning jobs like folding laundry and washing dishes and making them needlessly complicated to suit their codependency

thanksgiving ft nev threatening four losers bc theyve broken every plate in the house trying to make sure they can all take part in dish washing

dont lie to yourselves though they do suck. everything takes at least 8 hours to do thats just their way of life now. mostly bc ari wastes half their time playing devils advocate to everything new mex says to try and get him to physically fight him so he can impress colo. unfirtunately colo hasn't had a thought since the 60s and there is a second, more major issue in utah finally abandoning his peaceful ways and finally going apeshit.

oh and theyre losers. they just suck they never win the win to lose ratio of their lives is crazy. yet every time they get into another scheme new mex just goes 'oh remember how well we did last time' and they all collectively forget theyre idiots

many people think that what ut brings to the table is just pure kindness WRONG hes got endurance baby. he can put up with three people chanting 'say the f word' at him for hours and not even blink'

also hes not that pure fellas him and new mex are talking so much chisme it would make ur ears bleed. they try and explain it to the other two but theyre not well versed enough in brainrot to translate

coco and ari are getting sooooooooo cozy watching their subway surfers brainrot. yk ari is super duper warm and coco is sooooo cold theyre doing well together. they must do this in secret bc new mex has been thrown into violent rage at tiktok rizz party and quandale dingle.

they just stand there guys i dont know how to describe it to you. it would fill you with rage the way these four are so akward and strange in their weird little line

tell me they wouldn't fuck the slopes up though guys. tell me they wouldnt. theyre doing 360s n shit trying to show off (no one cares and it makes ari SO upset)

their house is such a nightmare new mex is sooo super scary and paranormal that utah has a priest on speed dial to sort out this shit. the closest they ever get to ut dropping the f bomb is when new mex starts bringing his collection of haunted aritfacts into the house and ari starts trying to piss off a ghost.

i hate them can someone kill them with a hammer? please? theyre such odd little bugs i just think the either a) completely matching outfits in slight color variations bc theyre all absolutely colorblind but no one can tell them or b) dressed for 8 different occasions in just 3 and 1/2 outfits is bizaree. strange guys.