#will ask people on discord about that tomorrow probably

[catboyieejeno]

gameboy :: p.js — one

genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more wc: 18.257k

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The red letters that flash across your screen read ‘Defeat’, illuminating your dimly lit room with a shy, red hue. The instant the word appears on your monitor, a voice blasts through your headset, erupting in emphatic complaints and protests. You can hear the clatter of a keyboard and mouse being shoved around on the other end of the receiver, and it takes everything in you to stifle your laugh. 

“We definitely could’ve won that!” the boy scoffs, “I swear, sometimes it feels like you and I are the only people with any fucking game sense.” 

“Wow, thanks for the validation,” you joke, instinctively queuing up for another match. Your eyes trail up to the little icon in the corner of the screen that glows green every time he speaks.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, and you imagine he must not look all that different from the little crying cat picture he set as his discord icon. The thought makes you snort, but he ignores you, stating, “I think this is my last game,” 

You nod even though you know he can’t see you, “same, I have class tomorrow,”

“First day of the semester for you, too?”  

You nod again. “Unfortunately. My days of gaming until four and sleeping until noon have come to an end.” 

He laughs, leaning forward in his chair as he realizes something, “You know, I never asked what you’re studying,” 

“Oh,” you blink, “Well, the first class I have tomorrow is just a random credit I needed, but I’m actually majoring in-” 

It takes less than a few seconds for your words to drown out into a muffled buzz, and the only thing Jisung can focus on now is the silky, smooth sound of your voice. 

He would never admit it, at least not out loud, but your voice makes his heart beat just a little faster. The way each and every word rolls off your tongue makes his breath hitch, imagination running wild at the thought of what your lips look like when they mold to form each syllable and sound. 

Every night like clockwork, Jisung finds himself rocking side to side in his desk chair, eyes hanging low and round lips curved up into a smile as he listens to you speak.

It’s so easy to talk to him, too. By now, you’ve lost count of how many nights the two of you rambled off in voice chats, watching shows or playing video games or simply oversharing the details of your lives. It’s only been a few months since you met in a game chat, on that night where he practically harassed you for your discord after you carried him up a rank in-game. You’re secretly grateful he did, though you wouldn’t let him know that; the two of you effortlessly became part of each other’s daily routine, and now, calls with you are his favorite way to end the night. Tonight is no exception.

Jisung begins to mindlessly swing in his chair as usual. He’s humming passively between your small pauses to encourage you to keep going as his hands automatically start caressing his torso. It’s a somewhat innocent gesture, or at least it starts out that way: his palms sliding across the ridges of his abdomen as he listens to your voice. It’s better than music to his ears, and it urges his long fingers to dance closer and closer to his waistband.

“–and I thought about changing it, but I think with an degree in Lit, I could probably get a career in–”

Lost in your voice, Jisung slips his hands into his shorts, holding his balls as he fully zones out of the conversation. He knows you’re saying words and forming actual sentences, but his social awareness has dwindled completely and he absolutely can’t seem to get past how sweet you sound, and how much sweeter you would sound under… different circumstances. He moves up to hold his dick gently and furrows his brows. Almost accidentally, his thumb brushes along the underside of his tip, teeth clamping the inside of his cheek and gnawing on it to ground himself. Just as eager as its owner, Jisung’s dick jolts in his palm, progressively swelling up until it’s flushing bright pink. 

“You’re into English?” He manages to stop daydreaming and hone into the conversation for a fleeting moment, just long enough to ask you that simple question and keep your attention off of his rapidly shifting breath.

He’s blatantly playing with himself now, ever so distractedly. It’s an autonomous act: the way the pad of his middle finger trails over his slit to collect a bit of the pre-cum that has begun to dribble out in pearly beads. He hisses, then quickly snaps his mouth shut in hopes that you hadn’t heard him. 

“Yeah,” he can hear your smile in your words, “I think I always have been. I used to read all the time and—I swear, if you say I’m boring, I’ll personally come over and choke you–” 

As he acknowledges reality for a quick moment, his pace falters. His brows pinch, and he feels confused as he realizes he can’t stop or even moderate his actions, despite the shame slowly beginning to wash over him. The more you talk, the harder he grows. His grip is getting tighter, his strokes needier… he must be losing his mind. With a gulp, he thinks to himself, what would you do if you could see him touching himself like this to you? Would you think it’s sick and twisted or would you offer to help him out? His head begins to throb as the room spins around him, but he really can’t seem to slow his motions. By now, he’s bucking his hips up and into his hand while the other covers his mouth, silencing the whines that threaten to leave his throat. He’s breathing heavily, praying to god you don’t somehow notice his perverted actions. Despite knowing that he isn’t thinking straight, Jisung can’t help the thoughts that continue to fog his mind, rampant and obscene. 

Could you hear the squelching of his hand pumping his cock, covered in his pre-release? Or the way he’s practically panting, reduced to nothing at the mere sound of your voice? He’s not sure whether or not his mic would even pick that up, but even so, the corner of his lips curl into a lazy smile as his mind continues down his twisted rabbit hole. 

In spite of not knowing what you look like, there’s no denying that he wants to give you all of him. He wants to feel himself buried deep inside your throat, your pretty voice vibrating around him as you choke on his length. He feels himself twitch in his palm and he subconsciously nods, picturing it's your walls around him instead of his own inadequate hand. Jisung huffs out once, fucking his fist wildly, picturing how much he’d like to feel himself bust inside of your warm, tight pus-

“Sung? Sung!”

“Huh? W-what?” As he yanks his hand from his shorts, the waistband snaps against his skin and he yelps out at the impact, “Sorry! I promise I was listening, it-its just, I got a little caught up with–” words are tumbling out of his mouth, before he can catch up to them.   

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Hurry, just pick your agent before the match gets–” but the timer runs out, and the lobby screen appears once more as you sigh, “–canceled...” 

Jisung glances down at his hand, separating his fingers and watching how the sticky pre-cum leaves webbed strings between each of his parted digits. His stomach is also wet, and the tent in his pants is growing increasingly painful with each passing second. 

“What were you fantasizing about, huh?” Oh, fuck. The teasing edge in your words makes his nerves tingle, and he throws his head back as you hum into your mic, “Hmm. Well, I guess it was more interesting than what I was saying. Can’t blame you though, the topic of school is boring me too, and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Also, that can’t count as your last game. I literally won’t allow it.” 

You queue up for another game and Jisung sighs, watching the timer on the screen tick away. The picture changes, and the two of you are prompted to start a game. A few kleenex wipes collect the mess on his hand and torso, and he settles back in his chair after tossing them, deciding his neediness will have to wait for now.

Bidding you good night is harder than usual tonight, but he knows you need to get to sleep—you mentioned you had an early class and he had his own, so his selfish urge to keep you talking until he came in his hand would, unfortunately, need to take a raincheck.

After logging off of his computer, Jisung drops his head into his hands with a sigh.

What the fuck even was that? 

A mix of shame and arousal take over him as his cheeks begin glowing a deep shade of red. He lets out a small scoff, shaking his head to himself as he gets up from his chair. His dick is still as hard as a rock, and he can’t help but feel flustered at the fact that he has, quite literally, blue-balled himself. 

With a towel swung over his shoulder and a clean pair of sleeping shorts clutched in his fist, Jisung walks up to the dorm’s nearest communal bathroom. He turns on the faucet, freeing himself of his clothes. The moment his boxers come down past his thighs, his length slaps against the skin below his navel, making him hiss out as he steps into the shower. The cold water, running down against his heated body, seems to be doing the trick of clearing his mind, that is, until his hands find their way to his stomach, rubbing the soap over it.

It’s so hard to expel the thoughts of you when they’re so intrusive and tempting, and Jisung lets his mind drift off once more, imagining how it would feel to be touched by you, sucked by you. All the soft noises you would make are weirdly familiar; he can practically hear them. His head falls back, lips caught between his teeth as he twitches and gives himself an experimental stroke, shuddering as his thumb glides across the slit of his sensitive tip. He clenches his eyes shut tighter, letting out a shaky sigh and letting the water continue to trickle down his body. He doesn’t know what you look like, other than your hair color which you mentioned the other day. Despite that, he still tries desperately to piece an image of you together behind his eyelids, picturing what your lips are like. And just like that, thoughts of you flood him, and he shudders at the vision of you on your knees, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, begging to taste him and take all of him. He longs to feel you swallow around him—to grab either side of your face and thrust into your needy mouth until the tears slip from your eyes and your pussy is dripping from the need to be fucked.  

Getting lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realize how loud he’s becoming and how fast his fist is working his dick. Jisung's highly anticipated release is only seconds away when a loud knock startles him, lunging him right back into his body.

“Yo, man! How long are you gonna take in there?” His friend and next door neighbor, Mark, shouts from the other side of the door, knocking again and ruining Jisung’s fantasy once and for all. 

The boy takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow, not trusting his voice to not crack otherwise, “Uh.. Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.” 

It takes everything in him to slow his hand to a stop and pry it off of his shaft, deciding that perhaps, he shouldn’t entertain his filthy thoughts any longer. He quickly finishes showering with another unnecessary interruption from Mark, then drags himself back to his room and gets into his bed, forcing his eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. The longer he lies there, however, the more restless he grows. 

His dick feels sore to the touch and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. Every time he adjusts his shorts or moves his legs, his balls throb from how full they are. Knowing he has class to get to the following day, he tries to convince himself that maybe he needs a release to get to sleep. It’ll tire him out, and then finally, he’ll be able to get some rest…There’s at least a bit of logic to that theory, or that’s what he tells himself, anyway. 

Against his better judgment that pleads with him to just shut his eyes and count sheep, Jisung huffs out and slips his hands into his shorts to begin touching himself for the nth time tonight. This whole time, he had been unknowingly edging himself and now he’s so, so undeniably and incredibly desperate to cum that it literally hurts. 

His free hand brings his phone up and unlocks it, thumb swiping quickly in search of the discord app where your contact resides, the little green bubble next to it signifying that you’re still online. He hovers over the call button, taunting himself with the idea of making a call to you at this time. One little click, and he’d hear your voice again. Just one click and he-

sung ᨐฅ started a call. Today at 11:54 AM

Shit, shit, shit. 

He rushes to hang up, but you’ve answered no more than a ring later. 

“Hello?” 

Jisung holds his rather unsteady breath, staring wide-eyed at his phone. His dick pulses in his palm that now rests still. 

“Sung?” 

As gently as possible, he lays the phone down on his puffed up chest, letting out his breath slowly so that you don’t hear him.

“I’m gonna assume you called me by accident… ” you sigh out in disappointment, growing quiet in uncertainty. For a second, Jisung is convinced you’re gonna hang up, but when you stay on the line, he peers down at the screen curiously. 

Your icon lights up green and there’s some shuffling on your end, presumably from you getting comfortable in bed. 

He hears you yawn and smiles fondly. 

“I’m tired,” you mumble, “are you asleep? I was actually excited that you called. Maybe it’s my fucked up schedule… or, maybe I’m just dreading tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know…” 

You’re speaking slower and quieter than usual, but you’re speaking, completely oblivious of the fact that he’s thinking of the dirtiest things that involve you, getting off while you think he’s sound asleep. 

“It’s always easier to sleep once we’ve talked so,” you pause, then sigh out jokingly, “I guess I'll just talk your unconscious ear off until I fall asleep…You don’t mind, right?”

God, no, he thinks.  

Jisung silently celebrates your decision with a pump of his hand, shuffling a bit to get comfortable as you go on about genshin and cats and other things he can barely pay mind to. It takes no more than a few strokes, shallow ones where he caresses the angry head of his dick to the velvety sound of your slurred and drowsy mumbling, for him to bring himself to come so fucking hard. 

His knees lock as his cock springs up in his clutched palm, spewing streams of white cum all over his stomach, chest, and thighs. The muscles on his abdomen ache from the way they contract, eyes and jaw shutting tightly as he challenges himself to remain quiet. The sheets aren’t spared from his thick load either, his nut dripping down the sides of his tummy to make dark, round puddles on his bed. His toes curl as he tries his hardest to not gasp out when the pleasure dissolves into sensitivity, digging his head back into the pillow with a hand clasped over his lips. 

A few minutes later, the blurriness in his vision is relieved, along with the ringing in his ears. You’ve stopped talking; instead, the receiver picks up your short and shallow breaths, as if you’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open. Cute.  

As he assesses the aftermath of his much needed release, he wishes he could snap a picture and send it to you, so that you’d wake up knowing this pathetic mess he made was all for you, because of you.

Alas, he can’t, and he hangs up once he’s completely sure you’re resting. With his eyelids feeling much heavier than before, he manages to toss his phone onto the nightstand before he, too, drifts off to sleep.

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The following morning, Jisung wakes up in a bit of a panic. The first thing that throws him for a loop is the fact that his alarm didn’t go off at all. He quickly realizes he forgot to set it amidst the activities of the night before. The second thing that strikes him is his own hand that rests on his stomach, stuck in some kind of damp, sticky liquid. In his half-conscious state, he lifts his fingers and his puffy eyes widen as he identifies the clear fluid that decorates his tummy as his drying release from the night before. 

“Ugh…” He grimaces, sitting up in his bed. His phone, which is less than half full of battery since he forgot to plug it in, blinks back the numbers 8:38 at him. Jisung’s eyes widen as he remembers that his first class of the day, of the semester, is at 9. 

“Fuck!” In a flash, his blanket is flung off of him and his legs are swinging over the edge of the bed. He moves to grab some tissues from his nightstand, making aggressively desperate attempts at wiping away his cum. When the Kleenex sticks to him instead, he digs around his drawers for a pack of wet wipes, snatching a pair of pants off of the floor at the same time and practically yanking them up his legs. 

Despite almost falling over, he manages to get them on and clean off his torso… for the most part. A random sweatshirt is tugged on over his head and he runs his hand through his hair a few times to tidy it before passively telling his reflection, this will do. 

Moments later, he’s rushing downstairs and outside of the dormitory with his unzipped backpack hung over his shoulder. He rushes to unlock his bike, cursing as he fumbles with the keys. Once he’s on, he starts pedaling to the Science building on the other side of campus, heavily dreading checking the time in fear it’ll read some absurd number and he’ll wind up being much later than he anticipates.

The breath that’s been caught in his throat all morning is only released when he steps through the door of the lecture room to see that the professor hasn’t walked in yet, and that the clock reads that he’s 6 minutes early.

Finally slowing his rushed pace, Jisung does a quick once over the room to scan the faces of his fellow students before taking his seat somewhere near the back. Thanking the heavens that his notebook and textbook didn’t go tumbling out of his bag in the midst of his previous hurry, he tugs them out, flipping them open and writing the date on the first page. His laptop, which is where he had planned to take notes on, sits in his dorm room where he left it on his desk. Everyone else has theirs out, but he’ll just have to bring his own next time. 

There’s a distant click, and the door on the lowest level of the lecture hall opens. Through it walks a relatively tall and slender lady, heels echoing rhythmically as she strides over to set her dark bag down by the podium. Her hair is tied back high and tight, so much so, that all of her features look like they're blending into her hairline. She looks like she’s somewhere in her mid-to-late fifties, and from the instant she walked in, the entire class went silent.

She clearly has a presence that commands attention and undoubtedly, she fits the visual profile of a strict college professor quite well, especially when she picks up the chalk and scribbles her surname onto the green chalkboard beside the larger projector screen.

“I’m Professor Hwang. Welcome to AST1002, also known as Descriptive Astronomy. If you’re here, that means you took AST1001 with Mr. Kwon last year. He has since transferred to a different department.” 

There’s no audible response, although some disappointment does flash across the faces of the students in the room, all of whom did have (and seemingly would miss) Mr. Kwon. Professor Hwang doesn’t seem to notice the lack of responses, and continues speaking as she pulls some papers out.

“Firstly, I’ll take attendance. Then, I’ll pass the syllabus around. I would like for you to note,” she pauses to place a pair of red glasses high on the bridge of her nose, “that attendance is mandatory for my class, and worth 20% of your grade. I’ll go over pop quizzes and weekly quizzes, as well as the initial class project, when each of you have a copy of the syllabus. That being said, I look forward to seeing you all here every class. Please call out when you hear your name.” 

As she starts to take attendance, Jisung takes the time to sigh into his hands, both exhausted and dreading the fact that he’d have to spend three days out of the week rotting in a lecture hall to attend a class he expected to be fun, or at the very least a break from his much more difficult core classes. By the looks of it, that’s no longer the plan. 

It’s easy to zone out quickly while his mind is still foggy, no doubt from the lack of sleep and the subsequent abrupt awakening that followed. He had just begun an attempt to read the syllabus when something made his ears perk. 

Immediately, his head snaps up in pursuit of a soft and airy voice that just responded to Professor Hwang. It’s so quick and in passing that he almost thinks he might have imagined it in his delirious state, but the way the hair on his limbs stands on end is unmistakable. His eyes dart around the room, hitting his classmate’s heads like targets, but there’s absolutely no way to identify the individual who just spoke. 

Could it be… No. No way. 

Jisung is no stranger to daydreaming about you, but he isn’t completely delusional. He knows the chances of being not only in the same city, but the same university and class as you are absolutely slim to none, so he stops that train of thought dead in its tracks. 

It does segway him into thinking of you, though. You’re obviously not here, so he wonders instead what class you are in at the moment. He tries to picture what you’re wearing on your first day of class, trusting you look more put together than him in his old hoodie that is slightly sticking to the dry cum on his stomach. Do you like your classmates? Your professor? He sincerely hopes you have a more tolerable one than he does. 

“Park Jisung?” 

With a slight cough, he spits out a weak “h-here.” and instantly grimaces, raising his shoulders autonomously as if he would get scolded for stammering so pathetically. The professor, to his relief, doesn’t even glance up from the roster. Then, he feels quite silly for even thinking he would get reproached for that to begin with. In his defense, she’s a rather intimidating woman, and his inner monologue is so loud and flooded with thoughts of you that he fears she may have heard it. 

She finishes calling for attendance, resorting to striding up and down the aisles as she begins to dissect the syllabus. In an effort to pretend he’s paying attention, Jisung glances down at the size twelve font on the page, skimming over the words without really taking anything in. During one of the professor’s paces, a pen she had resting on her ear slips and falls towards the ground with a slight clatter, and it seems a student picked it up for her, because there’s a slight mumbling, followed by a sharp “thank you,” and a very, very recognizable,

“You’re welcome, Professor.” 

His eyes widen at once. Alright, call him crazy, but now he thinks that it really might have been your voice. The familiar timbre, warm and delicate; a sound he’s heard for months on end and knows embarrassingly well… The thought of being in the same room as you out of sheer luck and coincidence makes his abdomen twist and his palms sweat so bad, he has to wipe them on his pants.

He hates that he can’t fully tell, in fact, he’s almost ashamed that he can’t; before today, Jisung would have sworn up and down that he knew your voice better than even his own, but you sound so far and so quiet that he can’t completely bet all of his marbles. Then, he quickly realizes calling it ‘your voice’ definitely makes him sound delusional, even in the safety of his own forgiving conscience. He decides to call it ‘the voice’ for now, at least until he’s a hundred-percent sure. 

An irritatingly long hour and half later, the only sound that continues to ring around the lecture hall is Professor Hwang’s monotone one, reciting each and every itemized assignment and rule on the never-ending syllabus. There’s less than fifteen minutes until class is over, and she shows no signs of stopping her dissertation. 

“As for the class project: In pairs of two, you will research a constellation extensively to create a presentation on its formation, who cataloged it, and the Greek myth that may accompany it. Please note that this is the first and last time we will talk about constellations in this class, since they are not cosmic phenomenons but instead, a mere roadmap to the objects and themes we will be focusing on. Consider this strictly as an opportunity to familiarize yourselves with another classmate and show me your interest and effort in the subject. That concludes our syllabus,” Thank God, Jisung thinks. 

 “Any questions?” She glances around at a hand that floats in the air, near the front of the room, “yes?” 

“Will we be able to select our partners?” 

“No. Partners will be assigned at the end of the week. Yes?” She calls on another hand. 

“As for the constellations,” Wait, that’s it! That’s the voice—that’s your voice, he’s completely sure of it!  “Will you assign those as well?” 

Jisung elongates his neck to try and peek over the heads in his way. It is you, he’s positive now, but you’re turned away from him, and he can’t fully make out which ‘back of the head’ is your ‘back of the head.’ The echo in the hall makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint who just spoke which means he can’t pinpoint you. For some reason, he finds himself slightly panicking, desperate to finally see you in person.

He follows Professor Hwang's line of sight as she answers that she’ll assign the constellations on Friday too, and finally finds you, seated between a few other students. A few more questions are thrown around, but his eyes never leave you, anticipating the moment he catches a glimpse of your face. 

Naturally, his first instinct is to approach you as soon as class is out, but when he sees you spin around to pick up your bag that hangs off your chair, he finds himself glued to his own flimsy seat. Feet stuck to the ground, legs not budging, and air hitched in his throat at the sight of you. 

You’re so, so much prettier than he could have imagined with whatever unoriginal features he tried to piece together in his lacking mind, and that fact makes him both exhilarated and completely nauseous. 

He’s barely been looking at you for a few seconds when he feels his insatiable cock growing fast in the confines of his pants, with no regard for its owner and the fact that he has to stand up within the next minute or so to exit the hall. Jisung curses under his breath, awkwardly rising to his feet when most of his classmates leave, his bag clutched tightly in front of his groin. He prays you don’t glance over, not even because he has a semi-hard on he’s failing to hide with dissimulation, but because he’s staring at you like some sort of freak and can’t seem to look away. 

There’s nothing he wants more than to come up to you and say hi and confess he’s the person you’ve been gaming with for months. He’s pictured it countless times before, you’d think he’d have it down by now, but your beauty is intimidating, and he simply cannot and will not make a fool of himself in front of you by greeting you with a raging boner. 

You walk out of the classroom and Jisung’s heart settles in his chest as he sits with his decision to stay anonymous for now. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

“She was obnoxious, you have no idea!” 

“My teacher wasn’t much different,” he admits, a small, knowing smile toying at his lips, “she seemed like a real bitch,” 

It’s later that same evening, and talking to you doesn’t really feel the same anymore. It’s much harder, because now, Jisung can vividly picture you, sitting in your chair with your hands on your keyboard and mouse. Every word you say, his imagination is right thereafter, picturing your pretty face clear as day in the forefront of his mind. 

The moment he got home, he fucked his fist until he came in his hand. It took about five minutes, and then he pumped another one out in the shower, (a much needed shower, at that) where he finally washed away the remains of the night before. 

After he had lunch with Mark and the other boys from his floor, they had invited him to play basketball. At the same time, however, he received a direct message from you, explaining you didn’t have any other classes for the day and asking if he could get on earlier. 

It’s a little ridiculous, but now that he’s seen you, now that he knows you’re so much closer than he initially thought, he can’t wait to talk to you again. And so he quickly came up with an empty excuse related to his studies, took the berating from his friends like a champ, and rushed upstairs to log into his PC and open up your chat. 

“Not only do we already have a project, but we don’t even get to pick our partners.” 

I know! He thinks. 

“Like,” you start, and he pictures the way your cheeks fill up with air as you let out a huff, “what if I get stuck with some weirdo?” 

Instantly, Jisung stops palming himself, letting his hand climb back up to the mouse slowly.

He probably shouldn’t let that innocent statement affect him as much as it does, but he can’t help it. He has the advantage, right? Or, at least it seems that way. 

When everything is laid out, he has the upperhand of knowing who you are—you haven’t seen him, yet… but what if you did see him, and he wasn’t at all what you were expecting? Or even worse, what if you got paired together for the project and you thought he was weird or the two of you didn’t get along? That option is far less likely, since there are well over fifty students in AST1002. 

“I don’t know,” you start, “I’m considering switching out of the class-” 

“No!” Wow. Good going, Jisung.

He catches his slip-up and quickly blurts out, “I-I mean, it might not be that bad! You should… at least give it a shot before you try to switch out, right?” 

“I guess you’re right… The add and drop period at my school is until next Friday, so I'll try it out until then.” 

Great! Perfect! Good save. The only problem now is: Jisung has a little over a week and a half to somehow convince you to stay in his class and at the same time, not completely butcher his introduction to you. Approaching you now seems practically impossible, but he needs you to stay in the class, even if it means he has to come up to you first. He can’t be bothered to care that his insistence is for his own selfish intentions, if it means getting to see you three times a week. 

“But anyway,” he clears his throat, changing the topic as quickly as possible, “how did your other class go?” 

“Much better than the first, the teacher let us out early once he covered the books we’d be analyzing this semester and attendance isn’t mandatory since most of the material is online or in the library. I think I’ll swing by there one of these days to see if I can get ahead on some of the assignments.” 

“Oh, so you’re a nerd?” You gasp and smack his character in-game a few times. He laughs, calling out, “okay, okay, truce! You’re not a nerd then, just an overachiever.”

“How so?” 

“We’re barely a day into the semester and you’re already trying your homework that I’m sure isn’t due for at least a few weeks,” 

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s right. With a bit of playful flirtation twisted into your tone, you hum out, “What can I say? I like to please.” 

One of his eyebrows perks up, “is that right?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He can hear your smirk through the screen, and now, he can vividly picture it, too. 

Jisung scoffs, backing away from your character so that he’s out of your sight. He cowers into a corner in game;  this way, you don’t notice how he stops moving when his left hand leaves the w,a,s,d keys to cup and rub his needy bulge. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Wednesday’s class is somehow packed and entirely uneventful at the same time. The first of Professor Hwang’s dragging lectures is so loaded that Jisung actually thanks the heavens that he remembered to bring his laptop. Otherwise, his notebook would have been about halfway full already, and his hand? It would have fallen off. 

On another relevant note, he’s struggling to stay focused because today, he is sitting much closer to you. Intentionally, of course. There’s still a few rows between him and you, but in this new seat, he can glance at you as often as he’d like without straining his eyes or stretching out his neck to make his gawking painfully obvious. He can clearly make out your smooth skin, along with other details he wasn’t able to notice before like your beauty marks and your dainty earrings. You’re paying unfaltering attention to the class for the first hour, but after the sixty-minute mark, you appear to have become bored. He catches the way your pencil starts doodling along the corners of your notebook and it takes everything in him not to snort when you scribble down a wonky looking cat. 

He’s so distracted by you, that every couple of slides, he glances back to the projector to see that the class is now on an entirely different topic than the one he last managed to jot down. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re a much more enthralling sight than quasars and supernovas. 

Halfway through the lesson, you decide to peel off your little black cardigan and hang it on the back of your chair, exposing your arms and neck and shoulders to him. Your hair is tied up neatly right after, giving him all the more to gawk at and envision. Jisung has to remind himself that he’s in a classroom just so that he doesn’t start fantasizing about how it would feel to grip your hair up in a similar fashion and fill your throat up with his dick.

With great difficulty, he directs his focus to the board instead, typing quickly into his laptop all the notes he manages to catch before the slide changes again and Professor Hwang’s narrow eyes can scan the room to see who’s paying attention. 

When the class is over, you start talking with the girl next to you, aimlessly reaching back for your bag. The gesture makes your cardigan fall, and Jisung has to fully bite his tongue to keep himself from calling out your name and giving himself away. He waits to see if you’ll notice, or if someone nearby will alert you, but neither one happens. Instead, you stand up, still engrossed in your conversation, and make your way towards the door. Instantly, he jogs down the aisle and between the seats to grab it and wordlessly hand it to you, but by the time he makes a move to head in your direction, you’ve already left. 

He feels disappointed at first, but the feeling quickly shifts into relief. Wordlessly hand it to you? Does he want your first impression of him to be awkward and borderline rude? No and definitely no. This problem has a simple solution—it’s a blessing in disguise; he’ll take your cardigan home and bring it to you on Friday and maybe, if his courage allows, he can introduce himself then. 

“Hey! I noticed you left your sweater here last class. I brought it for you. Oh, and by the way, it’s me! I’m @sung.ie. How did I know it was you? I can recognize your voice across a huge lecture hall.”

Yeah… he’ll think more on that later. 

With your cardigan clutched in his fist, Jisung sighs, making his way outside and towards his bicycle. He tucks the clothing item into his backpack and pedals back home, wondering how he’s going to manage to give it back to you since you always get to and leave class before him.  

He knows some of his friends and dorm-mates have their own class today, they had exchanged schedules during lunch a few days ago, which leaves him to hope and pray you’ve decided to skip your class and get online. As he parks his bicycle downstairs and locks it, he slips his phone from his pocket and opens discord, but your bubble remains gray and cold. You’re offline. 

Maybe you haven’t gotten home yet. He checks his phone again when he gets upstairs, and again when he goes inside his dorm, tossing his bag aside and crashing on his bed. He checks after losing a round of candy crush, and again after replying to a text from his mom. 

By the looks of it, you were in class, or at the very least, not available for the moment. Jisung sighs, pretending he’s not actually as disappointed as he feels. It seems a bit dramatic to feel the need to kill time until he gets to talk to you again so he resorts to doing physics homework—a short baseline his teacher assigned that wouldn’t be graded—and tricking his brain into thinking the former is not what he’s actually doing. 

When he pulls his bag off his desk chair to grab his laptop, your cardigan comes into view, and he pauses to look at it. He sits like this for a moment, wondering if he should fold it nicely on his dresser so he can remember to take it to you, but his hands act before his mind can catch up, reaching in and basically shoving the material toward his face. 

With his nose buried in your scent, Jisung inhales deeply, sinking into his chair as his legs grow weaker. The trace of your floral softener is the first aroma he gets, and then, the smell of your perfume peeks through, soft and sweet and very fitting for you. Once more, his treacherous hands are acting for themselves and he’s suddenly undoing his belt single-handedly. 

Once his dick, growing by the minute, is out and clutched in his palm, he finally retracts your sweater. With little hesitation, he wraps it around his erection and pumps once, throwing his head back in immediate relief.

It’s a fucking miracle that his room is the last one at the end of the hall, and that his next door neighbors, Renjun and Jaemin, are both in their afternoon lectures, because nothing would have been able to muffle the wanton moan that rips from his chest as he strokes himself with your scent. His hips are bucking up into the air, and in only a few minutes, he’s broken a slight sweat. His balls tighten from sheer sensitivity at the act of fucking something directly related to you. 

A cry of your name, followed by a few more pumps and he’s coming inside your mangled cardigan, his white release breaching the thin material. It seeps through it like light through a veil, gathering thickly on top before spreading into a dark, wet patch. There’s a shudder that passes through his bones as he sits back, burying his cock into the fabric and keeping it there until he’s given up every last drop. 

The only thing that snaps him from his post-nut bliss, is the distinct discord ring-tone that blasts through his headset. His computer monitor turns on as your icon appears and simultaneously, his heart and dick both twitch. 

“Hello?” With his output device swung over his head, he presses the green ‘answer’ button and speaks into the mic, hiding his slight shortness of breath with a yawn. 

“I’m so glad you answered,” you beam, and he does too, “I was worried I had called while you were in class or something,” 

As he speaks, he wipes the remnants of his cum off with your cardigan and puts it aside on his desk, tucking his softening (and still very sensitive) dick away into his boxers, “No, you’re good. I had a class earlier today but now I’m free.” 

“What a relief,” you sigh, “Would you want to have a little homework ‘sesh’ with me? I just found out the library doesn’t have any available labs. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate much with you but at least I'll be in good company.”

“Like an e-date?” 

“We can call it that,” you grin, then he pictures your expression becoming a gloom one to match your slightly sadder tone as you admit, “Sometimes I wish we went to the same school so we could meet up and study at a coffee shop.” 

He snorts, unable to help but crack a joke, “Like a real date?” 

Your laugh makes his heart swell slightly. When you reply, “Maybe,” it starts flipping wildly in his chest. 

God, you can’t even begin to imagine how badly he wants that. 

“That would be nice,” he agrees humbly, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “What class are you gonna study for?” 

There’s a pause before you speak again where you hum in thought, flipping through a few pages and shuffling through your bag. Jisung joins you, grabbing his laptop and school supplies, “I have a project for my astronomy class. It’s related to constellations and I wanna start researching them so that I can make an outline for the assignment,” 

He looks through his math notes with his brows furrowed down, “I thought she was gonna assign them on Friday?” 

Your icon flickers as you reply, “She is, but I want to—wait. How did you know that?” At your words and the realization of his untimely slip up, Jisung’s body goes rigid. He can only imagine the confusion on your features, and he’s quite relieved you can’t see the look on his. If his eyes were to open any wider, he’s sure they might just slip out of his head. 

“Oh, um,” he clears his throat mechanically, then gulps in an effort to lubricate it and keep his voice steady, assertive, certain. “You mentioned it on Monday, remember?” 

“Did I?” You didn’t, but he really hopes you think you did. “Probably,” At that, he lets out the air he’s holding, shaking his head slightly at himself for being so careless. 

“But um, yeah,” he starts before you can give it any further thought, “If she’s assigning them Friday why are you working on it today?” 

“Cause she’s also assigning partners on Friday, and I don’t really know anyone besides the girl who sits next to me and I doubt I’ll get paired with her. I want to make sure my grade is secured, you know? I’ve never liked group projects. I feel like all the work gets dumped on me.” 

He’s still not entirely sure what you mean to do, or how you intend to create a blueprint of sorts without knowing what it was for, and so he stops flicking through his page of notes to look up at his monitor and ask, “But if you don’t know which constellation you’re gonna work on, how are you gonna make an outline?” 

You ponder his question for a moment, then mumble out, “She didn’t mention a rubric or anything, so I figured that as long as I plan out the different sections and give the project a structure, half of the work is cut out, right? I can just assign parts at that point.” 

“You’re that kinda person in a group project? I’m sorry to whoever gets partnered with you,” He’s not sorry, not at all. He’s rather envious, actually, despite his attempts to sound indifferent or amusing. Being granted time to spend with you at your place or his, or at the library or the local campus cafe, would be a no less than perfect ice breaker. Jisung would make sure you never felt like all the research and assembling depended solely on you—in fact, he could see himself now, spending countless hours perfecting the details of his assigned part and inquiring about other suggestions to improve the project, just to impress you or at the very least, satisfy you. The reality that someone else would get to do all of that in his place is disheartening. 

You guys had rarely ever talked about school before now, since neither of you actually were enrolled in any classes when you started chatting, but now that it’s relevant, he feels like he understands a whole different side of you. You’re organized, and obviously very studious. Hell, you’ve been itching to get started on assignments that haven’t even been assigned yet. You’re responsible, dependable, funny, beautiful, and every time he thinks of you lately, he realizes that his innocent crush is slowly becoming an insatiable one.   

“Hey! I’d be very nice if it was you, you know. Show you some favoritism,” the corners of his lips twitch upwards—“But I’m also glad it’s not you,”—and fall down again. 

“What? Why?” He tries to not sound too offended. 

“I’d end up talking your ear off, Sung.” 

“I’m already used to that, don’t mind it. Kinda like it, actually.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He nods curtly, even though there’s a monitor and an entire school campus between you and him and he knows you have no way of seeing his gesture. There's a moment of silence that you spend taking a brief breath as a glow tinges your cheeks. 

With a stifled laugh, you open your mouth again, “I think it’s just because you like me that you tolerate my rambling,” 

“No.” He’s quick to clarify, “I really do like it.” He loves it. 

“And me?” your voice is much quieter, almost giving the impression that you’re shy in asking something so decisive and direct. Jisung, emboldened by your vulnerability, and the distance the screen puts between you two, answers with certainty. 

“I like you, too.” 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

 “The constellation project, as I mentioned during your first class, is a tool for you to acquaint yourself with your classmates. It will be due in 3 weeks, and you can check the syllabus for specifications regarding that. After today, there will be no changing partners or constellations so should you need any changes to be made, you have until class is dismissed. Listen closely as I read out the pairs for the project. I will not repeat myself.” 

The sharp tone he’s growing more and more distaste for by the day drowns out as Jisung glances over at you. Today, you’re sporting a bone-colored long sleeve and corduroy pants with half of your hair held back in a shiny clip. You look ravishing. Truthfully, he can’t really tell if you’re wearing makeup or not—although he concludes it doesn’t matter. Your features are soft and pretty nonetheless, and your cheeks have turned rosy from the dropping autumn temperatures. 

“Yu Karina will be partnered with Lee Heesung. Your constellation is Cassiopeia.”

When you walked into the lecture hall this morning, there was a hot coffee cup with the campus cafe’s logo on it clutched in your hands, which you sipped on while shivering. Taking your usual seat, you greeted the girl next to you, who Jisung now knew was called Yu Karina. 

The dark haired girl perked up when Professor Hwang called her name and waved down the aisle at who he can only assume is Lee Heesung, her partner, then whispered something to you. You looked over at the boy and back at Karina, nodding and giggling with her. 

“Jennifer Huh, partnered with Ning Yizhuo,” Professor Hwang referenced her other list, “Constellation: Cancer.” 

The two girls greet each other with a look and a smile, but Jisung pays little mind. He’s listening intently—for the first time—in anticipation of hearing one of your names be called. He doesn’t exactly know your full name, only a nickname he refers to you as, the one attached to your discord handle. Otherwise, pinpointing you that first day of class would’ve been much easier. 

“Park Jay and Lee Sohee, your constellation is Orion.” 

Sitting there, he realizes that in all the months you’ve talked, he’s never once asked for your full first name. Is that strange? What kind of friend is he if he doesn’t even know your name? In all fairness, you never asked for his, either, so he supposes it’s okay. Would have been useful to know, though, at times like this. 

After his small confession of ‘like’ on Wednesday, the two of you went on studying your respective subjects, with the occasional (and inevitable) distraction here and there. Admittedly, he thought his comment would be forgotten rather quickly. It wasn’t like he outwardly poured his heart out to you, so he figured you’d move on and just crack a joke or two about it later. There was a change, though; a strikingly obvious one to Jisung, who hangs on your every word like it’s a tether that keeps him from floating. And, even if he didn’t pay such close attention to you, there’s no way he could have missed the new flirtatious ambiance that flourished afterwards. Flirting with you is not uncommon by any means—the two of you playfully tease each other with frequency, but it’s nothing he’d allow himself to look into too much, for his own sake. 

That changed in the hours following his comments. All of Wednesday evening, the two of you went back and forth, feeding each other compliments in the form of banter. Again, he thought it would end there, but on Thursday afternoon when you logged on, he asked how your progress was going with the outline, to which you texted back, “I was thinking of you all day. Didn’t get around to doing much else.” 

It wasn’t the only message from you that nurtured his feelings, either. There were enough substantially flirty messages from your conversation that night, that he was able to scroll through them and reread them a few times before bed. 

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 6:49PM

hi did you smile when you saw my name pop up on your phone just now

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 8:22 PM

you’re so cute

i can barely think 

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 9:14 PM

i feel like my day doesn’t make sense if we don’t talk 

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 10:58 PM

i should get to sleep 

but i don’t wanna stop texting you

ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 12:02 AM

goodnight, sung <3 miss you til’ you’re back

Now, as he eyes you with a boyish, lovesick gaze, watching you doodle your stupid little drawings as you await your assignment, he finds himself praying for the courage to come up to you after class.

Professor Hwang calls your name next, something he only realizes at the fitting similarity of your nickname and the way your pen meets the table in alert to being called on, head lifting up and eyes blinking expectantly. 

“Your partner will be,” 

Jisung holds his breath, chanting in his head ‘please, oh, please let it be me,’

 “Lee Chan.” 

Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere, then. He ignores the way his heart sinks into the pits of his stomach, unable to help but observe your curious gaze as it looks around the filled seats. For a fleeting moment, you meet his eyes, but he doesn’t react or claim to be Lee Chan who you so evidently are in search of, and so you pass him and keep studying the aisles. After a few seconds, you find no one gazing back, even after you slightly stand to peer above the nearby heads that obscure your view. 

“Your constellation is-” 

With a cautious raise of your hand, you interrupt Professor Hwang gently, “Excuse me, Professor, but I don’t think my partner is here.” 

For a moment, her lazer-like gaze looks like it could light you on fire, a consequence of daring to interrupt her, but it softens only slightly as she realizes the truth in your statement, scanning the room herself and calling out for the missing boy. Upon receiving no call back, she thinks for a moment, then looks back down at her clipboard and crosses something out. 

“I did mention attendance was mandatory, didn’t I?” This she mutters to herself, “No matter. Instead, you’ll work with,” she gives the paper another once over, then clicks her pen and speaks, “Park Jisung.” 

In an awkward burst of both excitement and confusion, Jisung darts out of his chair. His knee hits his desk with a clang, and his laptop would have gone flying if it wasn’t for his quick hands that catch it before it can fall. The loud ruckus turns several heads in his direction, including Professor Hwang’s and more importantly, yours. 

Feeling an awful lot like a deer caught in headlights, Jisung blinks as the two of you make eye-contact, then he takes his seat again, very quickly by the way. “Uh, that’s me,” he announces, heat spreading across his face and eyes darting around, “Sorry.” 

Does he feel more sorry to his teacher and classmates for disrupting the classroom, or to himself and you for the absolute fool he has just made of himself? As much as he’d like to tear his gaze away from yours and cast it to the ground in embarrassment, it remains stuck on you, awaiting your impending reaction. 

You’re rather unsure how to feel, though given, a little surprised at the commotion. You offer him a small smile through pursed lips, and Jisung nods, willing with all his might for a hole to open in the ground beneath him and swallow him.  

“Thank you, Mr. Park, for your remarkably clear confirmation. Your constellation is Gemini.” 

You turn in your chair to face the front again, scribbling down his name in the corner of your notebook, as well as the constellation you’d been assigned.

“He’s cute,” Karina comments to you as you look over at her, and you finally let out a small laugh you had been holding in. 

“He is. Clumsy,” you snort, “but cute.” 

“We both got cute partners. We should meet up at the library later and all get started on the project together,” 

You nod enthusiastically, going back to your outline that sits at the ready on your laptop screen and making quick work of labeling the different sections evenly. If it wasn’t so obvious for you to spin around and steal a glance, you might have done so again. You’re certainly tempted to, thinking back to seconds ago and realizing you hadn’t really noticed him the last two classes. 

Jisung watches your exchange with his dignity at serious risk. He’s entirely unable to hear or make out what you’re saying to each other, and it makes his pulse pick up and his mind race. He considers many things as he watches the two of you talk: firstly, asking to change his partner, but then realizing that would be an awful idea. Once you knew who he was, how would you ever forgive him for immediately ditching you? Absolutely not. Cowering had gotten him nowhere so far. 

Then, he considers switching out of the class himself, and disappearing, never to reveal himself to you—but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Incapable of checking out of your life so quickly and denying himself the treat that is seeing you three times a week (and now, possibly more), he cans that idea, too. 

As Professor Hwang finishes reading off the list of names, he begins planning what he’ll actually say to you, as that conversation is just minutes away. There’s less than a half-hour left of class, which means he has to think hard and fast. 

As he busies himself with the grueling task of picking an appropriate and redeeming introduction, he doesn’t hear the new instructions from Professor Hwang, which are to find your partner and begin brainstorming, as well as exchanging schedules to set aside time outside of class to work on the presentation. A shadow falls over his desk and consumes his work space in darkness. When his curiously squinted eyes trail up to find the source, only to land on you, hovering above him with your things clutched in your arms, he grips his seat to keep from jumping out of it for the second time today. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

So much for having time to figure out how to approach you. His heart does a leap of surprise in his chest in place of his physical body, and he resists the urge to clutch it.

“No.” He replies shortly. 

With your unfaltering, kind smile still present on your face, you laugh softly and place your things down, introducing yourself. 

“You’re Ji-sun, right?” 

“—Sung.” he politely corrects you. When you don’t immediately react, he wonders if you had even heard him. He doesn’t put it past himself to have imagined that he replied to you, between his sweating palms and nervous jittering, and your pretty self sitting just a foot away, he’s barely keeping it together.  After a moment that feels infinitely longer than it actually is, you raise your eyebrows slightly, round lips parted to ask your question with a palpable hesitance. 

“W-what?” 

“Jisung,” he quickly replies, pronouncing the ‘g’ clearly and masking the way his eyes widen with a heavy blink that honestly, may not serve as any better of a guise. He pleads with himself to get his shit together but luckily, you don’t seem to notice. 

“Oh, sorry… Sorry, It’s just—nevermind. Hi, Jisung.” 

“Hi, Y/N.” He savors the way your name feels on his tongue but keeps his enjoyment brief. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” you start, lifting the screen of your laptop to reveal the very same outline you had started working on during your last call with him, “but I already made an outline. If you wanna scrap it and start all over, we can—” 

“No, It’s fine, we can use this,” when you give him an unsure look, he smiles reassuringly, “It looks brilliant.” 

“Thank you.” There’s a pause that is filled only by you clearing your throat, “Ok, I have a literature class right after this one on Mondays and Wednesdays. The rest of my classes are online, so I’m free at any time, really. I usually like to study at the computer labs in the library, it’s nice and private there and I find it much easier to focus. But if you don’t want to go there, we could always go to the cafe or the square for some fresh air. Oh, and either one of our dorm rooms works fine if you’re okay-” 

To experience your presence on a phone call is one thing, but to experience it in real life, with your clear voice so arresting and your silky, smooth lips within reach, is absolutely mesmerizing. He’s fighting the urge to glance down at your mouth, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to sustain eye contact, as lovely as he decides your eyes are. Another thing that is becoming exponentially harder, and more sensitive all the same, is his cock, springing to life with an eagerness to greet you. 

There’s a bit of panic that flashes across his features as he senses the strain it’s causing in his pants, and only when you look down at your outline does he dare to sneak a glance down at his own groin where as expected, a noticeable imprint was beginning to develop. In a desperate gesture, he slides his notebook over his lap, suppressing a hiss, and leans forward to pretend to use his own laptop. 

“Any of those work for me,” 

“Okay, great,” You notice the time and turn back to him. “You can just message me when you’re free.”

“Sure.” 

“And here’s my number—” you reach over, sliding the protective notebook from his lap and placing it on your desk, scribbling your number in the corner. Jisung immediately readjusts his hoodie, throwing the hem of it over his boner. Professor Hwang dismisses the class as you pass it back. 

“Call me whenever you’re free.” With a spin of your heel, you wave goodbye to him and rejoin Karina, who waits for you  at the door with her partner.

Jisung lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and looks down at the number you wrote. Beside the digits, written in very neat handwriting, might he add, sat perched on a wobbly branch a little black cat that he recognized from his hours of staring as one of your doodles. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The time is 4:33PM, and Jisung has drafted over a dozen messages on the iMessage app addressed to your number. None of them have exactly made it to you yet, courtesy of his thumb that keeps pressing backspace and wiping out any trace of a remotely embarrassing text. It’s the next day and no introduction or invitation to meet up seems like it’s good enough to send, though he knows that inevitably, he has to text you first. You left your number behind with the doodle that he has since stuck to the corner of his PC monitor, but you never took down his; so now, the ball is in Jisung’s court, and he knows that if he waits too long, you’d think he was avoiding you or the project altogether. 

Realistically, he knows a simple “Hi, it’s Jisung,” will suffice, but he can’t bring himself to send you such an unoriginal and boring message. After pondering for a moment, he then decides the best solution would be to do some research, and then call you with his findings—this way, his interest in the project would be clear, and he knows how important that is to you. 

At once, he peels your cum-stained cardigan off of his lap, though not before stealing a glance at the day’s new additions, and places it aside. He tucks his spent dick into his short and turns on his monitor, typing the name of the constellation into Google and investigating nearly every website he could find with any useful information. 

In the nicest handwriting he can manage, Jisung bullets a list of all the facts and history he could find on ‘Gemini’ within the hour, including the stars that make up the constellation, the myth behind it, and other relevant statistics. It isn’t until he has filled up an entire page front and back—partially—that he picks up his phone again and makes another attempt at contacting you. 

Feeling slightly more confident, he types up his message. 

To: 555-111-0205

hi, it’s jisung from astronomy. i did some research and i wanted to show you what i found. let me

know if you’re free to exchange notes. Sent at 5:52 PM.

Jisung rereads over his message for any flaws, though there’s nothing he can do about it now that it’s sent, anyway. After he deems it an okay first message, he takes a breath and moves to put his phone down, but it buzzes in his hand instead. 

Incoming call at 5:54 PM From: 555-111-0205

“Hi-”

“Hi! Sorry to just call unannounced but I’m walking to the library with all my stuff and I can’t really text. I was able to book us a computer lab for the next two hours so If you want, we—can you hear me?” 

He sits up straighter, “Yeah! Yes, I can hear you,” 

“Oh, good, so—wait, hello?” Your voice shifts in volume and proximity, as if you pulled your phone from your ear to check the call screen, then brought it back, “Oh, sorry. I-I thought I had accidentally called someone else… nevermind.” Instantly, Jisung realizes instantly that you must have recognized his voice. It makes sense, seeing as you’re used to hearing it specifically on calls. You seem to show no further suspicion as you continue speaking, though, but perhaps, he should keep talking on the phone with you to a minimum. 

“Do you think you can make it? Otherwise I can go work on my own. I saw your text and instantly booked the room. Sorry for not checking in with you first,” 

“I’ll meet you there,” He replies quickly, grimacing at the instinctual effort it takes to try and make his voice deeper. 

“Okay! Great. I’ll see you there, then.” You hang up, and then your text message comes through with the lab room information just minutes later. 

Jisung all but lunges out of his chair and rushes to face himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection. Besides his hair that looks slightly disheveled, he looks alright. He doesn’t want to make you wait long for him, so he quickly grabs his laptop and his notes, shoves them all into his bag, and flies out of his dorm room with the laces of his sneakers left untied.  

In the brightly, yellow-lit hallway, Mark and Chenle are popping out of their respective rooms, a basketball clutched under the younger boy’s arm.

“We were just about to come grab you,” Chenle starts, “Let’s play some ball. Jeno’s meeting us at the court,”

“Can’t,” Jisung shakes his head, “I’m going to the library,” he tries to not get offended at the way the two boys snort loudly in disbelief, looking at each other as if they’ve both had the same thought. 

“Yeah, right.” Chenle scoffs. 

With a blink, Jisung replies meekly, “I’m serious.” 

“Since when do you go to the library?” Mark brows pinch and he adds, “It’s the start of term. You’re already studying?”

“Since now, I guess. I have a project for a class so I’m gonna go meet up with my partner at the library, but I’ll catch you guys later.” 

“Alright, alright. Oh—remember there’s a party next week at Jaehyun’s frat for syllabus week.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” His answer doesn’t seem to fully convince Mark, Chenle, or even himself, but they seem satisfied enough, because they let Jisung go without any more pestering. He flies down the flight of stairs and out the front door of the dormitory. 

The cold September air is biting at this time in the evening, feeling particularly cool on the apples of his cheek, which glow from the light layer of sweat that develops during his jog over to the library. It’s a considerable distance away, which is part of the reason why he, in his two years of being a student at the university, has never seriously stepped foot inside of it. Studying in his room is much more convenient, but you seem to like the library, so the twenty-minute-walk there, or in this case, fifteen-minute-jog, will simply have to be adopted as a new way to get in some brief exercise a few times a week. 

More than likely, you have already arrived, and Jisung doesn’t want to make you wait too long for him, especially since there’s a two-hour time limit on the room and he intends to spend as much time with you there as he can. He wipes his cheeks with his gray sleeves and climbs up the stairs of the building quickly, swiping his student card at the door and stepping inside. 

The ceiling is massively tall, seemingly taller than when he once saw it during freshman orientation, and the endless rows of shelves are filled with books, ranging from thin, colorful novels to thick, leather-bound classics. It’s quieter than he expects it to be, even for a library, and he clearly can hear the pitter patter of his feet as he follows the sign labeled ‘Study Rooms and Computer Labs.’ 

The guy at the reception desk in this section seems to be a volunteer, his student ID and name tag shining on his shirt. He glances up from his book when Jisung approaches, nodding once. There’s an awkward silence that feels rather loud as Jisung fumbles with his phone, flipping it between his clammy hands as he searches for your message. 

“Computer Lab 4C?” 

Wordlessly, the boy nods again, then slides over a clip-board with a sign-in sheet clamped to it. 

It’s surprising to see how many lab spots are filled up so early into the term, names scribbled along the lines and time-slots. Your name stands out, partly because of your familiar handwriting, but particularly because of the empty line beside it, where he signs in before handing the clip-board back. 

“Down the hall, second door on your right.” 

It’s Jisung’s turn to bob his head once and the boy looks back down at his book. He makes his way down the hall until he reaches the correctly labeled door. His hand reaches for the handle, but he withdraws it. Should he knock? Or maybe send you a text? Or both? 

To: 555-111-0205

hey again. i’m outside :) Sent at 6:18 PM.

The door creaks open from the taps of his knuckles bumping against it, and he peeks his head in timidly, finding you sitting in one of the desk chairs, nearly hidden behind your laptop and a stack of books. You look up over the screen, eyes squinting in a smile. 

“Oh, I had left the door open for you,” you stand up, holding out a cup for him, “and I got you coffee… didn’t know how you liked it so I just got you the same thing I order,” 

There’s a fluttering in his stomach as he sets his bag down. There’s no chance he can manage to meet your eyes after such a gesture so he casts them to the ground instead, graciously reaching out to receive with both hands the drink you offer him, “You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, “but thank you. I’m sure your order is great,” 

“I wanted to! It’s just—I mean, I did drag you out of your room in the cold and on really short notice—A hot coffee was the least I could do,” you shrug, “One of my friends works at the cafe and I was there doing some work for my literature class before I got your message and I figured I’d grab us both something before I headed over here… Sorry, I’m talking too much. Here, sit down.” 

He’s not exactly sure what to say, so he takes his seat beside you in silence, but not without a small smile decorating his face. The notes he had taken down to show you are retrieved from his bag, as well as his laptop. There’s a low screech of your chair dragging across the floor, and he turns to find you’ve scooted closer and you're leaning forward with your cheek resting on your palm, eyes intently looking at his research. 

“It isn’t much. I’m sure whatever you found is much more substantial, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.” Jisung explains, sliding the paper over to you. As your eyes scan the page, you make a few comments along the lines of ‘Oh, this is a good point,’ or ‘We should mention this.’

You seem to be very carefully reading his work. Meanwhile, he takes advantage of your preoccupation to let his eyes rake over your person. 

The first thing he notices is that you’re wearing a different cardigan, and he suddenly remembers your black one is still on his desk, unwashed and covered in his cum. Your hair looks soft, and when you mindlessly swing it over your shoulder, he catches a whiff of your lavender scented hair wash, and it makes him gnaw the inside of his cheek. You’re not quite close enough for him to catch the perfume you’ve decided to wear tonight, though he can vividly picture the gentle florals that linger still on your cardigan. His eyes trail down, and it’s only then that he notices your skirt—or blatantly, the length of your skirt. Your smooth thighs are exposed, full and fleshy and pressed together, and he suddenly wishes they were wrapped around his head. 

“Jisung? You okay?” 

“I–Yeah, sorry.” It’s clear that you’ve noticed his staring, and he all but rips his eyes away in embarrassment, “I was just wondering if you were cold,” He gestures down at your legs shyly, pretending the content he’d written on the paper was more interesting the sight of your plush thighs. 

For a moment he expects some harsh comment or outburst, but you laugh instead, smoothing the material down a bit, “No, not in here, at least. And the walk over was short, so,” His lips are pursed and his cheeks are burning, but you spare him from any further humiliation when you reach across him to turn the page over and quietly gasp, muttering some surprise under your breath at how extensive his work is. “This is really good. We can use pretty much all of it.” 

Failing to hide his beaming at your praise, he snaps his head over to you, “You think so?” 

“Yeah, I mean—,” The screen of your laptop changes over to a page of notes, “I pretty much wrote down all the same things. I’m actually so relieved, I was worried I might get paired up with someone who wasn’t gonna contribute.” 

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t switch out of the class now, huh?” 

Distracted in the notes and in the taste of his coffee, he misses your quick, confused glance his way. Smoothly recovering before he notices, you slowly nod and present to him the layout where you had already taken the liberty to assign him his designated parts. Not that he expected anything else; it’s endearing to see his name labeled over specific sections, color-coded in a blue, bolded font. He wastes no time in pulling up the screen of his computer, exchanging emails with you so the two of you can get to work on the shared document.

The time passes quicker than he hopes, and he realizes just how much he likes spending time with you. Talking with you online is one thing, but sitting beside you as you sip your drink and hum mindlessly, fingers typing away or flipping pages in a book? Completely different game. He’s sure that if it wasn’t because he relieved himself earlier today, he might have popped a boner from the simple act of being in your presence. 

Every once in a while, you make an occasional comment regarding a point or two you thought was worth mentioning or adding, and he’d oblige, making a note of it and sharing his thoughts here and there. Occasionally, he manages to steal a look at your thighs, which he swears you’re bouncing and squeezing together on purpose, but for the most part he keeps his focus on the task at hand. 

Towards the end of the night, there’s a moment where your hands brush his as you point something out on his screen, and Jisung swears he’s never felt more like a teenage boy in his life. He practically flinches at the contact, failing to mask his awkward reaction and pretending he really meant to fix his hair.

Bidding you farewell is possibly the most difficult of the tasks this evening, even more so than pretending he isn’t completely infatuated with and aroused by you for a whole two hours. When you stand from your seat and walk with him out of the study room, and subsequently, out of the library and into the cold, Jisung faces another of his many dilemmas related to you. He’s not sure if he should offer to walk you back to your dorm, or at the very least halfway there. Perhaps, offering you his jacket would be appropriate, since your skirt wasn’t doing much of a job at keeping you warm. 

“You live close by?” 

“Yeah! Just a 5 minute walk,” you point your index finger, “In that dorm right over there.” 

Jisung nods once, then decides to indulge his impulses. “Here,” he slides his hoodie off with a little less coordination than he would’ve liked, holding it out for you to take, “so you aren’t cold.” 

He can’t tell if your cheeks are red from the temperature again or from his gesture, but he hopes it’s the latter. The moment you take his sweater, pretty eyes wide in thanks, he sucks in a breath. It’s much chillier now that the sun is gone, and he fights the urge to chatter his teeth when he offers you a lopsided smile. 

“T-thank you,” you tie the sleeves around your waist, covering your lap. 

 “I’ll see you in class?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod, flashing him a final grin before you spin on your heel to head home. 

The twenty-minute-walk-fifteen-minute-jog back to his room feels eternal. All of his hair is standing on end, but picking up his pace too much means that the icy wind, which has so graciously decided to blow in his direction, would just become harsher. His palms soak up the little warmth on his stomach, tucked under his t-shirt, as he alternates between speed-walking and jogging. The minutes drag on and on until finally, his building comes into view and he breaks into a run. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The following morning when he walks into his astronomy class, he follows his usual routine of checking for you in your seat and is almost distraught when he finds it to be empty. It’s not like you to miss a class, and he contemplates reaching for his phone to check-in on you. It isn't until he pans his vision over to his own chair that he spots you. You’re accompanied by Karina and her partner, Heesung, taking up the empty seats beside his own. 

On your desk sit two coffee cups like the ones from last night, and he pulls his lip between his teeth to hide the grin that fights to break out.

You look up when you spot him, and Karina and Heesung look up, too. 

“Hi…” 

“Hi! Jisung, right?” Karina extends her hand out and he takes it, nodding to confirm, “I’m Karina and this is Heesung.” He mumbles another small hello to the boy, who acknowledges him before looking back at his computer.

“Good morning,” you greet as he sits, placing his cup on his desk. “You never told me whether you liked it or not, but I figured you’d grow to like it eventually.”

“I-thanks but,” 

“I know: Didn’t have to, but I wanted to. So just say thanks, yeah?” 

There’s a familiar burning on his cheeks that always seems to make an appearance when you’re around, but he doesn’t bother masking it this time. 

“I wanted to ask you if you would be free to study tonight?” 

Instantly, he bobs his head up and down, and you book the study room on your computer just moments before Professor Hwang strides inside the classroom, her glasses on the tip of her sharp, pointed nose. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The frat house where the seniors stay is practically next door to Jisung’s dormitory, which is why when Mark, Chenle, and Jeno come banging on his door on Saturday night, he realizes he can’t use walking so far in the cold as an excuse to stay home. He also can’t use studying as an excuse anymore, since Mark had already caught him leaving the dorm a few times throughout the week to go study with you. That, and he ran into Jeno as he was entering the library just the night before. 

“You’ve been studying plenty,” they’d say, or “We told you about the party last week, no way you’re not going.” 

Anyway—the point is, he’ll have to endure tonight, despite his wishes to stay close to his PC for the chance that you’d want to hop into a game. He’d prefer to spend the night talking with you, but that’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. With a somber look on his face, he shrugs on a jacket and opens the door for his friends, who practically drag him outside. 

Jeno slings his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders as if to prevent him from fleeing, and the four of them climb down the stairs and onto the path toward the frat. If Jisung strains his ears, he can already pick up on the sounds of the party, even from here. 

“You think Chaewon will be there?” Mark asks no one in particular, but the boys all respond simultaneously with groans of distaste. 

“You dated her three semesters ago, why do you care?” Chenle starts, “isn’t she seeing Jungwoo now, anyway?”  

“That’s exactly why I care,” Mark grumbles, foot kicking a rock along the pavement. “He’s one of the RAs. If he’s there—” 

“He’s always there,” Chenle interjects, earning a glare. 

“—then she’ll be there, too.” 

“So, what happened with… what’s her name,  Minjeong? Why don’t you hang out with her?” 

“Nah,” He turns to Jeno, “She’s sweet and all, but I found out from Giselle that her and Chaewon are friends, so,” 

There’s a chorus of understanding, albeit a bit pitiful, “aah’s” and “oh’s” as the building comes into view. A few people are gathered at and around the entrance while others litter the parking lot with phones and solo cups in their hands as they wait for friends. Among them, and Jisung has to do a double take to make sure, he spots Karina, who waves someone down from the direction of the main courtyard. For a moment, he thinks it might be you who appears from between the treeline, but it’s Heesung who jogs over to meet her and he realizes how silly his thought was in the first place. 

In the months he’s known you, you’ve never once brought up a party. In retrospect, you don’t seem like the type to like partying at all. He can picture you clearly now, tearing through textbooks or novels for your literature class, or maybe even typing away to him on Discord and asking if he was online. 

He isn’t and can’t be tonight, and he’s very sorry about that, for the record. 

Maneuvering through the crowd of tipsy college students isn’t too difficult,and neither is their entry. The door is propped open, and Jaehyun, with his signature snapback that he wears backwards on his dark hair, calls them over from the drink bar. 

“First problem I see here,” he starts, “is that none of you have a cup in your hand.” 

“We’ve barely made it through the door, man,”  Mark laughs, clapping up Jaehyun and moving aside so he can greet the rest of the guys. 

“That’s no excuse, you should be sipping on something by now.” He waves his arm, “Take a look around, boys! This is what life is gonna look like for you guys next year—and the year after for you, Jisung.” 

Jisung gives a curt, disinterested nod amidst being handed some fruity, fizzy, white claw resemblant that probably wouldn’t taste much different from an Alka-Seltzer. He cracks it open upon being prompted to by Jaehyun, who initiates a “cheers” between the friend group. The moment the alcohol touches his tongue, Jisung grimaces, taking a few long chugs in hopes that the effect will kick in quicker and make the long night that awaits him a little less long. 

“Do you know if Chaewon is here?” 

Wordlessly, Jaehyun fixes his cap and points a single finger toward the couch, where Chaewon sits besides Jungwoo, leaning in to hear him over the music and giggling at whatever he says in her ear. The boys look over at the couple, then quickly glance back at Mark, whose face falls despite the fact that he knew to expect this. 

“Tough,” Jeno gives him a pat on the shoulder, “Hope you have better luck the rest of the night. I’ve gotta bounce,” 

“Yo, what do you mean bounce?” 

He gestures toward a girl standing near the beer pong table, who looks slightly familiar to Jisung, though he can’t quite put his finger on it, and smirks, “She smiled at me the moment we walked in. I’ll see you later, but I honestly hope I don’t.” 

The realization that his friends, in search of their hook-ups for the night, would eventually be abandoning him one-by-one kicks in just then, inviting Jisung to down the rest of his bubbly drink in one go. 

Mark rolls his eyes, “You ever notice Jeno is always the first one to get a girl?” His comment earns a few hums of agreement.

“I’m gonna go find Jaemin,” with his phone clutched in his hand, Chenle turns towards the door, “he just texted me he’s outside with Sullyoon and her friend.” 

“Wait, Jaemin is—he’s setting you up and not me?” Chenle only shrugs at Mark’s question, replying with a blunt and concise “yeah.” 

“I’m not a dog like Jeno though, so I’ll definitely see you guys later.” 

As if noticing he was facing the same unfortunate fate as Jisung, Mark turns to the youngest boy with a fearful look in his eyes. Jisung only shakes his head and takes a quick look around, “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone here, so…” At this, the boy sighs in relief, handing Jisung another drink in solidarity. The two lean against the counter as Jaehyun looks between them, snorting. 

“Mark, there’s so many girls here.” 

“I know, but—” 

“But Chaewon.” 

Mark nods, echoing Jaehyun in a quiet, maybe even embarrassed voice, “But Chaewon…” 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he adds sympathetically, “I’m caught up on my ex, too.” 

“Uh…” there’s a pause. “Which one?” This comment lands Mark a shove, playful, for the most part. He rubs his shoulder and hisses while Jaehyun, on the other hand, sloshes around the little liquid left in his cup and grabs the closest bottle of alcohol to him, along with whichever random mixer he finds first.

“The only one that really mattered.” He tilts his newly filled red cup back to drink from it, but his eyes peek over the rim and he pulls it from his lips to sigh out,  “Speak of the devil and she doth come,” he raises his brows and announces, “there she is now.” 

Following his line of sight, Jisung trails his vision toward the front entrance and at once, the sight makes each and every one of his limbs seize up. There’s a twisting and turning in his stomach that almost invites the seltzer he chugged to make a reappearance, and he’s pretty sure the color has drained from his face as he watches you walk inside the frat house behind Karina and Heesung. 

So many things go through his mind in such a short amount of time that he fears he may have had some sort of out-of-body experience or hallucination episode; it wasn't really you he was seeing, it couldn’t be. The way your skirt clings to your hips makes him grip his cup tighter within his sweating palm, and the lacy, corset top you’ve decided to wear, which shows off a tasteful bit of cleavage, causes him to swallow down the saliva that had pooled on his tongue. 

It was a more provocative outfit than he’d even seen you wear, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, he’s sure he would’ve instantly become bricked up. 

“And of course she’s wearing that shirt…” Jaehyun fixes his cap for the second time tonight and straightens out his shirt, “Alright, wish me luck.” 

It’s not like Jisung would have interjected anyway, he didn’t really have the grounds to, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought before Jaehyun headed in your direction with decisive confidence. Part of him hopes he was referring to someone else as his ex, perhaps even Karina, since there isn’t another girl in your immediate vicinity besides her, but his bit of hope is crushed as he spots Heesung’s hand intertwined in hers. Surely, Jaehyun wouldn’t be coming up to her if she showed up with someone to his party. It leaves him to reach his regretful conclusion just as his friend and you make eye contact, recognition flashing across your features, along with something else. 

Unable to torture himself further by watching your exchange, Jisung tears his eyes away and grabs another drink to make this very, very long night ahead of him somewhat bearable. He turns to Mark, who he didn’t even realize had been talking this whole time, but the loud music and the cloudiness in his mind muffle out his speech. 

“—I mean this just sucks! I guess we still have each other, maybe we can find some girls who—” 

When did you even date Jaehyun? You hadn’t mentioned him once in the months he had known you. And also, why  did you date Jaehyun? Not that there was anything wrong with him, other than his habit of cycling through girls every semester. Mark’s “Which one?” comment had some truth to it, but he would have never expected you to have been on Jaehyun’s roster. It takes him a second to remember that Jaehyun is still his friend, but even then, he can’t fight the bitterness that settles in his bones. What did he mean when he said that you were the only one that mattered? How significant was your relationship with him? There’s too many questions circling his mind, and it isn’t until he downs the fifth drink that they start to blur. 

Currently, he’s passing the time conversing with Mark and following him around the party, but more importantly, avoiding you in fear he’ll steal a glance and you’ll be locking lips with your ex. He spots Jaehyun by the bathroom a bit into the night, but thankfully, you aren’t near him. It’s in the middle of a beer pong game with Mark when he dares to glance around in search of you. 

First, he spots Karina and Heesung, making out on the couch where Chaewon and Jungwoo once sat. You aren’t near them. Then he spots Jaemin and Chenle dancing with the girls they had met up with, but you aren’t dancing, either. 

He’s relieved to find you aren’t with Jaehyun when he spots him, finding instead that his friend is flirting it up with a different girl who is certainly not you. The sight completely pisses him off, and somehow makes him feel immense relief simultaneously. Right around this time, he decides he’s had more than enough of the party. You aren’t here anymore, and Jaehyun’s face is making him fucking sick. Mark is slurring his speech enough that he wouldn’t notice if Jisung just slipped, so he does just that, though he does make sure to mention to Chenle that he’s leaving on his way out so he can keep an eye on Mark.  

Outside, the cold is unbearable. The previously crowded lot is empty for the most part, except for a few people puffing clouds of smoke into the air by a bench. Not even the alcohol in his system is enough to warm him up, so he can’t even imagine how a joint could be worth sitting outside for.

The only other person sitting outside is squatted down by the curb with their knees curled up to their chest. As the autumn leaves crack under Jisung’s feet, they turn their head around. 

“I told you I don’t wanna—Jisung?” 

Your big eyes widen in his direction, and you shoot up from the ground. Jisung’s brow lowers in concern and he notices the only thing you have to cover up is a flimsy cardigan. You and your damn, flimsy cardigans. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

“Sorry for snapping I—sorry,” you shiver involuntarily as a gust of wind blows through, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I thought you were someone else.” 

There isn't a sliver of hesitation before Jisung shrugs off his leather jacket and begins to wrap it around you, grumbling, “Are you crazy? You must be freezing,” 

“I’m fine—“ 

“This should help,” 

“But- Jisung, how many of your jackets am I gonna take—” 

“As many as you need to.” Your lack of a response makes him look back up to meet your eyes, round and much warmer than the rest of you was right now. He clears his throat, guiding your sleeves into the arms of the jacket as he jokes, “or until you bring your own.” 

You smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as the warmth engulfs you, along with the smell of him and some cheap cologne only a college student would buy. He’s tugging the collar closer to cover up your exposed neck and chest, eyes flickering down at your bare skin despite being well aware that you’re looking. Where this newfound boldness came from tonight, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that his boldness is always rather short-lived when it comes to you, and tends to appear and disappear like random spurts of energy—he’ll take advantage of it this once. Especially now that he knows you’re Jaehyun’s ex and the most he might even get to do is gawk at you, he intends to make it worth it. 

“You must be freezing now, though,” you start, “should we go somewhere warm?” 

“How about the library?” 

You laugh, looking at him in disbelief, “The library isn’t open at this time, much less on the weekend,” “Right…” 

“Wanna go to mine?” Your suggestion makes his breath hitch for a second, but he manages to respond with decent clarity. 

“You live by the library, though. That’s like a half-hour walk. I don’t think you’ll make it that far without turning into an icicle,” 

“Well, I don’t really wanna go back inside…” he knows why, so he offers something else. 

“My dorm is five minutes away. We could go there if you want, b-but if you’d rather go somewhere else—”

“Okay,” you nod eagerly, “let’s go.” 

As Jisung leads the way, speed-walking to beat the chill that spreads through his newly uncovered limbs, he turns his face to you, watching as you tuck the lower half of your face into his coat. 

“I don’t know if you want to work on the project or—” 

“God no,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I’m not that much of a buzzkill, dude.” You jog a little to catch up to his longer strides, “Besides, I have like three shots of Pink Whitney in me,” 

“Foul.” 

“I know. Can’t think about a project right now,” 

“I’ve had a bit to drink, too.” he admits.

“I can tell. You’re stumbling.” 

He snaps his head around, down to his feet, then back to you. “What? Am I?” 

There’s a small, stupid smile on your face as you shake your head. “No.”

He can’t pinpoint why this banter with you is so easy, why it feels so right. Or perhaps, he can, but regardless, his heart leaps in his chest as he scoffs, not fighting the shit-eating grin that spreads on his frosted cheeks. 

"It’s that building right over there,” he points.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was close,”

The two of you climb the stairs and he opens the main door for you, watching you sigh out in bliss as you step into the warmth of the hall. You bounce around in a cute way that once more tugs at his heart-strings, still looking all puffed up and adorable in his jacket that entirely engulfs your frame. He leads you up another flight of stairs and onto the floor his room is at, and once the two of you stop in front of his door, he pats his jean pockets. 

“Oh my uh- my keys are in the pocket of the jacket.” 

You mimic his recent action, patting around until you find his keys, holding them out for him to take. 

Somewhat awkwardly, he fumbles with them until he manages to fit it into the lock, opening the door with one hand. He gestures for you to enter his room with a small shrug, “Make yourself at home.” 

As you step inside, Jisung makes it a point to quietly thank whatever higher power compelled him to make his bed this afternoon. The rest of his room wasn’t perfectly organized by any means, but at the very least, his bed, which you now sat at the foot of with your legs bouncing, was neatly made. 

“You have your own room?” You mutter in surprise as you look around the small space and notice the lack of a second bed. The tall boy beside you just shrugs again, toeing off his shoes in the corner as he pulls the door closed. 

“Yeah, uh… I’m one of the RAs for the sophomore class.” 

“Wow,” you sigh, “I wish! I mean, I love sharing a room with Karina, but it’s nice to have space for myself sometimes.” 

“That’s why you’re always at the library?” 

You nod, sliding your palms across his duvet, “It’s nice and quiet,” your fingers move to grip and release the material, and he blinks harshly to erase the sight of that from his mind before it causes him to spiral. It didn’t prove to be very useful, though, because your still-exposed thighs move and press together, just as they did at the library, and his dick gives a little twitch in response.

“I’ll get you some clothes to change into, that way you’re more comfortable.” he decides, more for his sake than yours. You don’t answer, continuing to look around, taking in the details of his computer that flashes in a bunch of different colors. 

“You know I gave up extra storage in my bedside table to be able to keep my PC? I let Karina take it to her side of the room so I’d have space for my setup.” 

Rummaging through his drawers, he pipes up, “you game?” as if it wasn’t something he already knew about you. 

“I love it. I stayed here for most of the summer just because I had my computer here.”  

Jisung picks out a pair of sweats for you and one for himself, along with a t-shirt he knows he recently washed, then he turns, handing it over to you. “I’ll change in the bathroom down the hall and then wait outside. You can crack the door open when you’re done,” 

“Thank you, Jisung.” 

There’s a gentle sincerity in your tone that makes him wanna say “anything for you,” but he settles for pursing his lips instead, leaving to let you change before he can embarrass himself with any baseless comment you wouldn’t really get. The effect of the drinks still hadn’t completely faded, and he fears he’s capable of saying just about any of his stupid thoughts out loud right about now. 

You weren’t completely sober either, not by any means. The trashy vodka your ex offered you in an attempt to reconcile was as bitter as the end of your relationship with him, and it was flowing through your veins and giving you that light-headed buzz. You stand up and slip off your boots and Jisung’s jacket, along with your skirt. Your top requires a bit more precision, the lace getting twisted and tangled in your uncoordinated fingers. There’s little huffs and puffs of frustration that leave your lips during your struggle, and you’d almost consider asking for help if it wasn’t completely inappropriate. 

Finally, though, you manage to get it off and slip on the change of clothes Jisung has so graciously provided. They’re warm and they smell good, and they’re much more comfortable than your outfit which is now folded on Jisung’s gaming chair, alongside your purse. 

When you look up in admiration of his impressive keyboard, which looks to be custom made, and your eyes trail up to his monitor, you notice something on the corner of the screen. The mindless doodle you had drawn beside your phone number that day in class had been very carefully cut out and stuck onto his screen with tape. 

“You okay?”

His voice calls from outside, quietly as if not to disturb you even though it’s you who is occupying his room. 

“Yeah, I’m almost done!”

“I thought that she was gonna assign them on Friday?”

Sung had asked you that on call, in regards to the constellation project you mentioned you wanted to start working on. Not Jisung, Sung. Sung, who is not in your astronomy class and would have had no way of knowing when or even what your professor would be assigning. 

“You’re Ji-sun, right?” 

“—Sung.”

The nickname sounded very right coming from his lips, from his voice. You never gave his nickname too much thought, because truly, Sung could just be a display name. And if it is his real name, it could stand for anything: Sungmin, Sungwoo, Daesung, Ilsung, Jaesung… Jisung. 

And then, you recall the time you spoke on the phone—specifically, the time you had to do a double take at your screen to make sure you hadn’t actually called Sung. It was the first time you had spoken to Jisung on the phone, and it’s the only way you had even spoken to Sung… something about it seemed so, so strangely familiar. 

Could it be… 

“Alright, I’m done!” Your announcement comes after the realization that he’s been waiting outside for a few minutes already. 

“Coming in…” He warns, eyes still cast to the ground in case you weren’t decent. They slowly make their way up, and something flashes across his features at the sight of you. You try to ignore it, still preoccupied by your growing suspicions. His computer is on… meaning…

“Let me let Karina know I left… I kinda just walked out on her.” 

Jisung nods and takes a cautious seat on his bed a few feet away from you. 

As you open the discord app on your phone, you scroll to the top to find his contact and type out a simple Hi, clicking send with your heart beating faster than usual. It’s an impulsive act, but you can’t help yourself. If there’s even a chance… 

Instantly, his screen lights up and through his headphones you hear the familiar chime of the notification coming in. 

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

If it’s possible, Jisung’s face grows even paler than it already was naturally, and even more gloom than it appeared earlier in the night when he identified you as Jaehyun’s ex. All of his features are alert and in shock, watching as you spin around to face him. 

“Sung? Right? That’s you?” 

He’s struggling to read your expression, and it’s beyond obvious. The only change in his demeanor is the now tensed up shoulders and the redness that takes over the white on his cheeks. 

“I—” Are you mad? Should he apologize?

“Did you know all this time? That it was me, I mean?” 

He nods slowly, unable to find the appropriate words to say. 

Two things happen just then. First, your hand smacks his arm, hard. “You fucking idiot!” and Second, you topple into his arms, hugging him. Initially, his hands hesitate to wrap around you, hovering above your waist as you squeeze his neck. 

“You’re not mad?” He asks shyly. You shake your head against him, then lift off with your hands on his shoulders to take a real good look at his face. 

“No! I’m so glad, I thought I was going crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He shrugs again, a gesture he seems to do a lot around you. 

“Since when did you know it was me?” 

“Since I heard you speak on the very first day in class. I recognized your voice.” 

Your eyes soften at this small confession, and you look back towards his desk, “So, this is where you were this whole time while we played? This close? A twenty-minute walk away?” You shoot up from the bed and cross the small distance to the desk, swiping an index finger along the surface, then his mouse, then his keyboard, and all of his other equipment. Your eyes are beaming, looking around and familiarizing yourself with his things. All the things you wondered about him are now laid out in front of you, and it’s exhilarating. 

“I was so excited when I found out,” 

“You should’ve told me,” you repeat, still taking in his pictures and personal items, your profound curiosity surfacing within you. 

“I was worried about making a good first impression, you’re…” 

“I’m…?” you press, turning to him for a moment. 

“You’re really pretty in person.” 

In that moment when you turn away to hide your blush, with the words “you’re really cute in person, too” ready to spill from your tongue in a sweet and shy whisper, a small black pile on the corner of his dresser catches your eye. 

“What’s that—” 

“Oh nothing! It’s just—” 

“Is that my cardigan?” 

Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…

“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—” 

As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut. 

“Are these—” His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—” 

“Jisung.” 

“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”

“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?” 

“I-” 

“Were you?” You ask sternly. 

He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips. 

There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable: 

“Show me.”

*. * ·

taglist: @heartlvrrss @albedoloser @zp00ks @simpforarmihn @toroufriteh @quokkatss @jising-jisang-jisung @camstqr @tangerinehyuck @ma-riiii @minlvrpage @hancafe

there are some users that couldn't be tagged, as tumblr did not recognize their accounts. sorry :((

[beskarandblasters]

As Long As I Have You

Jackson Era!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Author’s note: My entry for the Space Sisters Discord Valentine’s exchange! Hope you like it @joels-shitty-puns ❤️

Summary: It’s yours and Joel’s first Valentine’s Day in Jackson and he wants to do something special. So he enlists the help of Ellie to distract you all day while he prepares his big surprise.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, very light angst, drinking, kissing, super fluffy ending

Joel Miller is not one for grand displays of affection. He shows his love in simple ways such as holding you tight as you’re lying in bed together or saving the last bit of coffee for you, things like that. So when it comes to things like Christmas, your birthday, or even… Valentine‘s Day he flounders, never knowing what to get you to show you how much he loves you. That’s exactly what’s happening now in what will be your first Valentine’s Day in Jackson together.

After he met you in Kansas City almost a year and a half ago at this point, you quickly weaseled your way into his heart, unbeknownst to him. He’s not one for love. He’s not one for caring about other people. His “relationship” with Tess was a business partnership turned sexual, with no strings attached (at least out loud anyway). But you and Ellie made him realize what he missed most in this cruel world; people to look after and love. And that’s why he wants to show you how much he loves you. 

He spends the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, planning out in his mind what he’ll do. It’s still winter so picking flowers is a no. There’s not exactly a mall down the street where he can buy chocolates or purchase a necklace. Fuck, what do people even do for Valentine’s Day? It’s been years since he properly celebrated. Maybe he can cook you a nice meal? He’ll want it to be a surprise but that’s hard to pull off when you two are basically attached at the hip. He’ll need help if he wants this to actually be a surprise. 

So he turns to Ellie. 

It’s two days before Valentine’s Day. He and Ellie are walking home from the dining hall while you’re at the stables tending to the horses, a rare moment where you’re not around so he can ask Ellie for a favor. 

“I need help,” he says.

“What kind of help?”

“Y’know… Valentine’s Day is coming up and-”

“Gross,” she snorts, turning and looking at Joel, expecting there to be an amused expression on his face. But to her surprise, there’s not. “But continue.”

“I want to do something special.”

“I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“I’m not but… she deserves something nice.”

“For putting up with your ass? Yeah, I’d say so,” she laughs, turning to look at him again. But again no amusement from him. “What do you need me to do?”

“Distract her while I make dinner all day.”

“Got it,” she nods, “Distract her how?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” he chuckles, opening the front door to his house. 

He and Ellie sit at his kitchen table, feeling full from a meal at the dining hall. It’s silent for a moment while Joel ponders what exactly he’s going to make for you. What kind of post-apocalyptic dinner screams romance? Well for one, he could ask Tommy for a bottle of wine from the Tipsy Bison. He could ask Maria if she’s got any spare candles to set the mood. And he can probably go out and hunt something, perhaps a deer or rabbit. Maybe pair whatever he catches with a side of roasted vegetables. It’s all coming together in his head. 

“Well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’m gonna go out with my friends,” Ellie says, getting up from her chair. 

“Sure.”

“What time do you need me on the day of?”

“Around noon so and have her back by dinner time.”

“Jeez.”

“I have to make sure I have everything right, okay?” he sighs. 

“Right right. Master chef Joel Miller is gracing our presence that day. Gotta make sure we’re all ready,” she jokes. 

“Alright. Alright. Get outta here,” Joel says, slumping down further into his chair as Ellie leaves. Tomorrow, he’ll ask Tommy and Maria about the wine and candles. But in the meantime, he needs a drink. For a man who’s fought clickers, crossed the entire country with Ellie, and took out an entire hospital of Fireflies he’s so nervous for something as mundane as a Valentine’s Day dinner. 

-

It’s the big day, Valentine’s Day in Jackson. Ellie asked you the day before if you could help her get her own Valentine’s Day surprise ready. Though, she won’t tell you or Joel who it’s for… 

But that’s beside the point. He’s gotta get going on his plan. The wine and the candles are secured, hiding somewhere in the house where he didn’t think you’d find them. His meal is ready to be prepared and cooked. And after he’s done with the food, he’ll tidy up the house as best as he can. As he starts his day he wonders what exactly Ellie has planned to keep you distracted.

-

“So what is it that you need?” you ask. 

“I, uh, wanna make a Valentine’s Day card.”

“Sure, that sounds like fun! Should we go back to Joel’s or-”

“No!” Ellie says a bit too loudly, “We’ll go to the dining hall.”

“Okay,” you nod, leading her there. 

Maria has a table set up in the dining hall with papers, pens, pencils, paint— practically whatever art supplies were left over from before the outbreak. But she also has some homemade paint made from plant and vegetable dyes. It's a special thing for the holiday that Jackson does every year to make Valentine’s Day feel at least a little bit normal during these trying times. 

You and Ellie sit across from each other, picking out what art supplies you want to use for your cards. You hadn’t thought too much about Valentine’s Day until Ellie brought it up. You just assumed you and Joel would spend the day together but you’re also happy to help Ellie out. It’s cute that she has a Valentine of her own even though she won’t tell you who it is. 

“So who’s the special someone?” you ask, folding a piece of paper for your card.

“A person,” Ellie says nonchalantly. 

“Well, we know that,” you snort. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

She nods, resigning back to drawing her card. You try to take a peek at what she’s writing but it looks like she’s drawing a few plants, no name written yet. You keep your card simple on the front, drawing a heart and writing “To my valentine, Joel”. 

But on the inside, you try your best to draw a silhouette of you and Joel sitting on a bench. The drawing is from behind and you’re resting your head on his shoulder. Ellie looks up from her card and steals a glance at yours. 

“He’ll love that,” she says. 

“You think?” you ask, holding it up to show her your progress. 

“I do,” she smiles, looking down at her card. Still no name written on it yet. 

You go to finish the inside, writing “Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel. As long as I have you, I’ll always be happy” followed by your name. 

You notice that Ellie’s taking an exceptionally long time on her card, painting the flowers she drew. She must really be trying to impress someone. Eventually, her card is done and you assume this is where you part ways. But she says, “Alright, let’s go to the stables.”

“S-Sure,” you say, a bit surprised. You rise from your chair and hand your cards to Maria, who’s letting you keep them at the dining hall to dry before heading to the stables. 

For some reason, you expect for this to be where Ellie gives her Valentine her card. But instead, you spend what feels like hours tending to the horses and the other livestock, giving the baby animals extra love. As you pet one of the new lambs, you wonder what Joel’s up to. 

-

Joel’s plan is going to shit. He burned the rabbit and the vegetables. He found a tablecloth in the closet, presumably from the previous owners of this house, but he spilled red wine all over it. And to make matters worse, he caught it on fire slightly with one of the candles that tipped over. But he put it out before it spread any further. 

The only thing that’s going his way is cleaning the house and even then, the kitchen’s still a disaster. You’ll be home in less than an hour and all he has is spilled wine, burnt dinner, a dirty kitchen, and a ruined tablecloth. 

-

“Alright we can go now,” Ellie says right around dinner time. 

“Okay. What now?” you ask. 

“We’ll go get our cards. And then you should probably go home to Joel.”

“What about you?”

“I’m gonna go… deliver my card.”

“Good luck, Ellie. I’m sure whoever it’s for will love it,” you tell her, looking her in the eye and putting a hand on her shoulder. She looks away and mutters a “thanks” before walking with you back to the dining hall. 

It’s packed inside, filled with all the couples of Jackson. You and Ellie grab your cards and prepare to part ways for the evening. But before she goes she blurts out, “Wait! I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” you say, facing her again. 

“There is no valentine.”

“Oh?”

“I lied. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I still had fun spending the day with you,” you reassure her. 

She sighs and says, “Just… When you go home it’ll all make sense,” before turning and walking down the street. 

You shake your head, wondering what sort of shenanigans she has planned for you at home. But you’re just excited to see Joel and give him his card. 

Except when you head inside, it smells… like something died in here. 

“Jeez, Joel. Did a bomb go off in here?” you joke, taking off your shoes in the entryway. 

He doesn’t respond and you don’t see him yet either. You take off your coat and grab the card from the pocket before turning into the kitchen to find Joel, sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. 

“What happened?!” you say, pulling up a chair next to him. 

“I just… I tried doing something nice for you but it all went wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I burned dinner. I spilled the wine. And the tablecloth almost went up in flames,” he says, gesturing to the mess before him. 

“Oh, Joel…” you sigh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your chest, “It’s the thought that counts.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “You just deserve something special.”

You pull back, look him in the eye, and say, “As long as I have you, I’ll always be happy.”

“You mean that?”

“Swear on my heart,” you say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it, “And besides it’s not a total loss… You didn’t spill all the wine,” you add with a chuckle. 

That gets a laugh out of him and he smiles for the first time today, a sight you’ll never get sick of seeing. He reaches forward and hands you a glass of wine before grabbing his own. 

“I have something for you,” you tell him. 

“Oh no, you’re about to make me feel worse,” he sighs. 

“It’s nothing crazy,” you say, holding up the card. 

He takes it in his hands and reads your note, admiring the drawing. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he says after a beat, setting the card down on the table. 

“Well now you’re just talking crazy,” you laugh, holding up your glass of wine to clink with his. 

He laughs too, holding up his glass of wine and tapping it against yours. 

“I love you,” he says, taking a sip. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

And for a moment, you two sit there, leaning against each other and enjoying the stillness. But eventually, you hear his stomach growling so you laugh and say, “Should we go to the dining hall? I was in there earlier and the food smelled pretty good…”

“Might as well,” he sighs, standing from his chair. 

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your temple before whispering another “I love you”. And with that, you two walk hand in hand, ready to enjoy your first Valentine’s Day in Jackson together.

Banners by saradika, dividers by cafekitsune

[gatheredfates]

SEA'S COMMUNITY COMPENDIUM

Earlier today, I made this post asking if people might be interested in a directory of active XIV roleplay communities/discords that got a bit of traction.

Given the response that post got, I put one together. Say hello to Sea's Community Compendium, a little side-project I'll (attempt) to maintain with the help of this community to serve as launch pad for roleplayers to get a feel for what kind of roleplay, events and communities exist.

All the information you need to know for the compendium is contained within the document, so I encourage everyone to have a read and get in touch with their server owners/fc leads to see if they'd like their content featured.

This project will not exist without people submitting to it. If no one contributes, then it won't be successful.

If you have any questions, suggestions, etc. my askbox/message box is open. If the project is successful, I'll post monthly reminding people it exists and encouraging them to submit their content. If not... well, I tried!

If you know of links to large-scale, publicly available discords (think the XIV Reddit Discord, hunts, etc.) or miscellaneous resources like lore guides, community blogs, etc. you can let me know via this post. For everything else, please read the document and use the google form created here.

I will start adding links and such tomorrow after I sleep so please don't hesitate to suggest something even if you think I probably already know about it (I probably don't).

[strawberryspence]

happy valentines day, to my lovely people. i’m not going to tag each person, but you know who you are. no, you will literally know because i am going to send it on discord. you guys are my favorite tiny lil humans in my phone. i hope this makes sunsets/sunrises a little better. (im also hoping that it heals some of the pain the original sunset fic caused) ♥️

-

Steve Harrington has always loved the sky.

To Steve, there was something so captivating about it, something so bewitching. There’s no start, nor end to it. He has always been fascinated at how vast, and free it is. More than anything, Steve loves the way it changes colors with the season and weather. Sunsets and sunrises, and the things they signify. Some people hate the way it makes them feel smaller, like they could get lost underneath it, but Steve loves it. As long as he’s underneath the bright blue sky, he is safe.

At the early age of five, Steve’s first memory is of his mother, sitting beside him in the garden. If other kids learned their colors through flashcards and crayons, Steve learned his first colors through the skies. A sunset is where he learns his first hue of orange, and yellow, and blue. She was the one who taught him colors and it’s one of Steve’s favorite childhood memories.

At thirteen, the sky becomes Steve’s only friend. His parents started leaving more often now, saying something about how he’s old enough for it. Steve loves it some days, hates it some days. Today, he loves it as he floats aimlessly around the pool. No one’s going to scold him that his skin has started to wrinkle, or that he’s wasting his time watching the clouds change into different shapes. Being under the big sky is a reassurance— that he may be alone in this big, dark house, but he’s at least not alone in this world.

At seventeen, Steve finds comfort in the night sky. He finds it as the moon watches over him and as the stars sparkle and dance against the dark. It’s the first time he’s ever loved someone and the first time he has gotten his heart broken. He doesn’t cry, because “Harrington’s don’t cry.” He’s never alone though. It’s always going to be him and the big vast sky. There’s more horror in the world, like 12 year olds that get experimented in labs, a girl getting pulled in his pool and to her death and monsters living under the ground he is laying on. But the big dark sky stares from above him and Steve feels a little better in the uncertainty. He’s being wrapped within its darkness, almost like a comforting hug from an old friend who understands.

At eighteen, Steve meets his soulmate. Not the sky, but Robin Buckley. The half of his soul, a friendship forged from scooping ice creams and drugs injected into their veins. Robin— Robin is the rain after a long drought, giving him another reason to live and fight. The mall burns down and there’s— there’s so much death and he wishes he could’ve done something more. Two nights after the fire, unable to sleep, Steve asks if Robin would lay beside him on the ground. They lay in silence as the stars wave their goodbye, and as the sun greets him hello, signifying a new day, a new beginning. Underneath that new brand new day, Steve and Robin finally fall asleep, secure under the sun and clouds and safe in each other's arms.

At nineteen, Steve meets Eddie Munson. Really meets him, while the world is ending. It’s the night after they come back from the upside down, Steve's sides are aching and they’ll probably go back to the upside down tomorrow. Nancy has a plan, because she always does and he wants to take a nap, or eat something, but he can’t. He’s paralyzed in the uncertainty and danger around them. He sits at the back of the trailer, away from people that could see him, and that's where Eddie finds him.

“I can’t believe you guys have been doing this for years.” Eddie says, disbelief apparent in his voice.

Steve shrugs, “I don’t either. They’re—“ He pauses, thinks about El who’s only 15 and has the weight of the world on her shoulders, thinks of Will who’s been through hell and death, thinks of Max who’s still grieving her dead brother only for it to be used to lure her into death.

He thinks of the kids, the kids who're all barely 15 fighting this entity, “They’re all too young for this.” He finishes.

Eddie stares at him and Steve doesn't like it at all. It feels like he’s being studied, feels naked under Eddie’s eyes. Like Eddie can see through him, see the broken pieces Steve has glued together for all of them.

“You’re young too.” Eddie answers back, gently kindly, “You, Robin, Nancy, even me.”

Steve shrugs, even though he knows it's true, “I guess. I just want this to end already.”

Eddie looks away, staring at the skies as it finally starts changing its hues, “Maybe after this we can all go on a trip.”

Steve hums, “Definitely. Maybe a beach. El’s never been to one.”

Eddie chuckles, a smile on his lips as he looks forward. They watch the sky change its hues, a new day rising right in front of them.

“I don't really like sunsets.” Steve turns to him, offended and ready to defend his oldest companion.

But Eddie continues, “I’ve always liked the sunrises more, you know? Sunsets are— endings and though they are beautiful endings, nothing beats a new beginning, a new slate.”

Steve stares at him, watching silently as Eddie smokes. Steve knows the sun is rising, and he’s never been one to miss it when it’s right in front of him. But there’s something about the way the sunlight is hitting Eddie’s face, the colors dancing on his skin and the colors illuminating his brown eyes, making it brighter.

It's lighting him up in ways Steve has never seen before and something awakens in him, his heart beating against his ribs like it wants to break free. It’s breathtaking, Eddie’s breathtaking and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

When the silence grows heavy, Eddie breaks it, “Plus I really like it when the darkness turns brighter.”

It’s the first time Steve has ever ignored the sky and with Eddie here, he knows it won’t be the last.

At nineteen, Steve learns that the sky could also be red. He doesn’t remember much, just Dustin crying over Eddie’s body as the red sky above him thunders on, menacing and cackling at their demise. They killed Vecna and the victory is so close— so close.

It’s hard to look up at the sky then, when they finally emerge from hell while he cradles Eddie’s body. Steve thinks that no clear blue sky, or no dark starry night, can ever give him comfort again, not until he finally knows that Eddie’s safe.

At twenty, three months after defeating Vecna. Steve is on some beach with his friends— his family and they’ve survived. There’s no more danger impending to happen, all gates burned and closed forever.

Steve has just turned twenty, and he has real friends. He sits there, sand against his toes, as he watches the kids play around the water under the golden glint of the sun. They finally have their chance to enjoy being a kid.

“Is this what you wanted?” Steve looks up. Eddie’s hovering above him, with a can of Pepsi in his hand.

He hands Steve a can and plops down beside him on the beach towel. Eddie’s shirtless and yes, Steve’s ogling him but there’s also a clench in his heart as he tracks the taut skin, and pink scars surrounding his whole body.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

Because they’re all alive, and safe, and the scars are there to be reminders of what they’ve survived. Whatever the horizon offers them, it’ll be okay.

Steve smiles at him, opening the soda in his hand with a hiss.

He stares at Eddie, holding out his can to clink it against his can, “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

At twenty-two, Steve moves to Boston with Eddie, Robin and Nancy. It’s a weird group. It’s his soulmate and her girlfriend, who was also his ex-girlfriend. On top of that, there’s Eddie. Eddie’s his best friend, but also the same man he’s been pining over for three years.

But they’re Steve’s family (aside from the kids) and he’d go anywhere if Robin asks. It’s the happiest Steve’s been in years, and he wouldn’t do anything like confessing to ruin the dynamic they’ve created.

Steve spends most of his days with Eddie, laid on their backs as they watch the clouds. Eddie makes him coffee in the early mornings, Steve never really understood why he’s awake to watch the sunset with him, but he’s there even if he hates waking up early. At night, Eddie watches as Steve outlines the stars for him with his finger, not knowing that Steve would climb the damn moon and take it in his back pocket for him.

It’s a conversation they’ve always avoided, whatever this thing Eddie and Steve had, the endless dance they do around each other.

Eddie’s almost death has always been hard for the three of them. There’s this overwhelming thought that— somewhere out there, somewhere far away— is a universe where Steve was too late, that Eddie died, that all he has is the tint of orange in the sky. A universe where Steve didn’t know that Eddie likes his coffee sweet, but doesn’t like ordering it because it doesn’t fit his image, where Steve didn’t know that Eddie snorts in his sleep and likes to wear socks under the sheets. A universe where the only thing Steve knows is the what ifs, the what could’ve beens.

It all comes out one day. The anniversaries have always been harder, not only were they far away from the kids, but the Vecna spring anniversary always hits them the hardest. It’s also Eddie and Max’s almost death anniversary, to make it worse. Robin plans it all out for them, they all call in sick that day, skip classes, just stay inside all day. Just watch movies, eat snacks, and stay wrapped in comfortable blankets. The four of them fall asleep in the middle of their fourth movie of the day, all tangled together and it’s days like this that makes it harder to ignore the fact that the four of them— are four halves from the same whole.

When Steve wakes up, Eddie’s not beside him anymore, Nancy and Robin still sleeping peacefully on the other side of the couch. The digital clock— they all can’t stand the silent tick tocking of a clock, reminds them too much of a grandfather clock, no matter how big or small— blinks at him, it’s almost 5:21 in the afternoon.

Steve knows it’s almost time for the sun to set, he charts it every weekend so he can take a few minutes to watch the sun wave her goodbyes. Steve swings the blanket on his shoulders and heads out to the balcony.

It’s not a surprise to see Eddie already there, watching the sky start to change colors, the sun impending to set in a few more minutes.

“Hey.” Steve slumps beside him, extending the blanket over to Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie snuggles closer to him, “Thank you.”

“You doing good?” Steve asks, not able to take his eyes off Eddie.

“Yeah. Just—“ Eddie sighs, “Today is hard. I talked to Wayne.”

“What did he say?”

Eddie shrugs, “All the sappy stuff. He was thankful that I am alive and here. That he loves me.” There’s a hitch in his voice when he says it, that makes Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Wayne’s right. You do know that, right?”

Eddie turns to him, his legs hugged closer to his chest and head leaning against his knees, “Is he though?”

Steve opens his mouth to say something when the words spring out of Eddie, “It’s been three years since I let Chrissy die and ran away from her dead body like a coward. She could be the one who’s living this life, alive and happy. I could’ve tried.”

Eddie lets his eyes flutter shut, and for a second he looks so fucking peaceful, “Sometimes when I remember her dying in front of me, I try to think of something else. Anything else. My mind brings me to different places. Chrissy where she gets to graduate. She wears this pink dress, with her blue eyeshadow. She’s happy.

Chrissy where she gets to go to Paris. She looks like the kind of girl that would want to visit Europe. She’s wearing a beret, with the brightest smile on her face. Chrissy where we get to be friends. She’s always been kind, maybe she could’ve lived with us, maybe she could’ve been my own platonic with a capital P.”

Eddie opens his eyes, brown eyes shining with tears, “And then I open my eyes. And I remember that she’s gone. And I am here. Why do I get to live and not her? She deserves it more than I would ever.”

“Eddie.” Steve hisses, “Don’t ever say that.”

Eddie blinks at him, tears rolling down his face. Steve swipes it off his face, in the gentlest matter, “You’re here because you are here. Chrissy deserved better, yes, but she’s gone. We couldn't have done anything about it. The life you have right now? You deserve it, Eddie. It’s always been meant to be yours. There’s nothing you could’ve done to help her.”

Steve cups his jaw, thumb softly drawing circles on his cheek, “If you really think she could’ve been your platonic soulmate, then she would want you to live your life. She would hate you for saying all this.”

Eddie chokes up even more, his voice shaky when he finally speaks, “Thank you for saving me that day, Stevie.”

He smiles, a lump burning against his throat, “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds, brown eyes staring intently at him. There’s a spark in his eyes that could rival the brightest stars, “I am in love with you, Steve Harrington.”

And right there, as Steve watches Eddie, the colors dance behind the love of his life, Steve says it back.

“I am also, insanely, in love with you, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie beams at him, moving closer to capture his lips into his. And if Steve had to describe the kiss, he would say that it’s exactly how he feels when the sun rises in the morning. It’s the feeling when the first hue of orange paints the sky. The feeling when the sun greets him once again. It’s a promise of new beginnings, captured with so much tenderness and adoration.

It’s comfort and skies and softness. It’s Eddie Munson.

When they pull away, Eddie moves closer, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder as they turn to the sky, waiting for it to change. Steve has watched maybe hundreds, maybe thousands of sunsets in his life. Together they watch as the day of the anniversary ends, with what Steve could only call the most beautiful sunset he’s ever seen in his life. Just before the darkness, it breaks into the most beautiful hue of pink.

Eddie starts shaking against him, a hand flying to block a gasp that comes out of him. Steve fights the smile forming on his face, his own eyes filled with tears.

“Hi, Chrissy.” Eddie whispers. Steve kisses the top of Eddie’s head to comfort him.

It’s a beautiful ending.

At twenty-six, Steve graduates with a Bachelor of Science, majoring in Atmospheric Science.

Steve never avoids the sky. He studies it now, and writes the weather news for a big Boston channel. He stops to point out random objects in the sky, and has a telescope set up for constellations. He drinks a hot cup of coffee every morning, watching as the sun rises.

Eddie is always with him in every endeavor. He works as a music teacher in the middle school near their home. On the weekends, Eddie plays in a bar, singing his own songs and playing his Sweetheart. He makes Steve a cup of coffee every morning, watching as the sun rises.

Steve lays in the grass with Dustin and Suzie’s son and teaches him how to cloud watch. Eddie will then pester them, and try to teach the kid D&D. Steve takes time to send reminders to Max and Lucas to wear a raincoat if he sees that it’s going to rain in California. Eddie will slip an umbrella on his satchel when Steve forgets, because he could only think of Max and Lucas and the other kids.

Steve talks to Will and Mike for hours, just trying to describe to them a weather phenomenon so Will could draw it and Mike could write it for their latest best-selling comics. Eddie teases Mike for it. It annoys Mike so bad that he slams the phone. They laugh so hard, their ribs ache. Steve knits El a gorgeous sky blue scarf, because he knows how cold it gets in New York. Eddie gets her a matching hat for it.

Wayne calls them, every other day, to ask how the weather is in Boston and Steve asks how the weather is in Indiana. Eddie will talk his ear off. They have Thanksgivings together, year after year, thankful for the life they were given.

Steve and Eddie spend a few summers in the guest room of the farm house Joyce and Hop bought in 1986. Steve stays and writes about the stars and the planets because the skies are so much clearer in rural places. Eddie stays and writes tunes and rhymes, sings and records it in the empty barn on the back.

They still live with Robin and Nancy, but they’ve moved to a bigger house now. Steve has his own equipment for sky watching in the backyard and Eddie surprised him with a sunroof in his office. They have a dog named Hetfield and a cat named Sabbath.

And more than anything, Steve loves sunrises. He wakes up early for it everyday. He’ll set the alarm early, wake up, tell Eddie that he doesn’t need to wake up with him. The next morning, Steve will always find the kettle hot, and a hot coffee waiting for him as his husband wraps an arm around his waist, face smushed on his neck.

They wait for the sky to turn from darkness and brightness and smile when the sun waves at them with hues of colors— different everyday.

It’s a hello, a how are you, a comfortable hug.

It’s a reminder of new chances and new opportunities.

And as long as Steve Harrington is in Eddie Munson’s arms, everyday is a new beginning.

→ the original angstier sunset fic and it’s siblings <3

[hederasgarden]

Interlinked - Part 2

Summary: Stepping in to help K is instinct, but what comes after is a choice, one that’s easy to make.  Pairing: Officer K x F!Reader  W/C: 3.9K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Violence, angst, loss of virginity and sexual situations. A/N: Thank you N and my Gosling discord girls for their help (@sashayazie, @ninjathrowingstork and @elusivewildflower)

Part 1

It starts slow, with dinners here and there and small gifts exchanged. Cakes and sweets for artificial flowers, until soon enough you have a whole arrangement of them in a small vase on your bedside table. Eventually, K’s over almost every night and in time you’re able to coax him into talking more. You learn about his job as a Blade Runner, reading into the things he doesn’t say. It’s a hard job and more often than not he comes home banged up.

Like tonight. K shows up at your door freshly showered with a nasty purpling bruise on his jaw that extends up into his hairline. He lets you touch his cheek and fuss over him, jokingly promising it's worse than it looks. You offer him a frozen bag from your freezer that you kept for such an occasion, which he presses to his face while leaning against the counter to watch you cook. You tell him about your day and catch him watching you with that little half smile he’s taken to wearing around you.

“How was your day?” You ask him once you sit down. 

“It was a day,” he replies evenly, pushing around the rice on his plate. 

You know then he doesn’t want to talk about it and you switch to discussing a humorous incident today regarding one of the children of your employers. After dinner you split the lone cupcake you were allowed to take home, enjoying how his eyes close and he sighs as he savors the buttercream frosting. The cake itself is a little stale but it’s still sweet and rich on your tongue. 

“I never had real sugar before I met you,” he says, licking the wrapper. 

“I sneak tastes at work all the time,” you admit, grinning. “Quality control.”

“Just doing your job,” he agrees, leaning back and resting his hands on his stomach.

Joking with you is a recent development and you love it. He always looks so relaxed, almost boyish when he does. Handsome too, another voice reminds you. You shake off the thought and move to take the plates as he follows you into the kitchen. These odd feelings have been happening more and more and you know what they mean, even if you try to ignore them. K is your friend- nothing more. You’re probably the only person who treats him like a human. 

You clean up together, conversation stalling though he doesn’t seem bothered by it. At the door you hug goodbye, savoring how tightly he holds you. The first time this happened he’d been so stiff and awkward you were sure you’d crossed some boundary but then, hesitantly, he brought his arms up. His hold was gentle, almost like he was afraid if he squeezed too hard you might disappear. Now it’s routine and more often than not he’s the one to pull you to him. As much you tell yourself it’s for K, you know you need it too. Before him, you could go weeks without touching someone else.

“I hope tomorrow is better,” you say as a goodbye.

He shrugs, one shoulder lifting as he steps into the hallway. Another smile for you and then he turns back to his door. Before he can make it there, one of your other neighbors, a big dark-haired man bumps into him purposefully. 

“Fuck off skinjob,” he growls, sparing you a disgusted look. 

He’s off down the hall before you can respond. K’s jaw tenses but he doesn’t say anything, disappearing into his apartment. It’s been happening more and more, people have noticed you’re spending time with him and they have a lot to say about it. Some of the warnings are gentle and shared with you out of real concern, while others are meant to intimidate or scare you. You ignore them all.

–

It’s Friday evening and clumps of snow float through the air as you trudge through the dirty streets. You’ve got real meat in your bag, ground chicken and some leftover sliced ham with a handful of potatoes and even a coveted batch of strawberries you’re excited for K to try. They’re a little mushy but still sweet on your tongue. You don’t see the man until it’s too late. He throws you up against the wall, hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs. You sputter and cough, the bag slipping from your fingers and falling to the wet ground.

“Stay away from the skinjob,” he warns you. He stinks, old beer and something rotten that makes your stomach curdle. “Humans and replicants shouldn’t mix.”

His grip on your jaw is painful and tears leak from the corner of your eyes. A second later the pressure is gone when the man is thrown on the floor hard enough that he coughs up a little blood and groans. K stands over him. 

“Stay down,” he warns the other man, turning to face you. His hand hovers beside your cheek and you blink rapidly to clear the wetness from your eyes. At your nod he touches you, rough fingertips skating over your jaw and up to your temple.  “Are you okay?” He asks quietly.  

You make a small sound, tapping your chest. “Just took my breath,” you whisper, seeing the way his hand shakes. “I’m okay,” you promise him. “Really.”

Behind K, the man gets to his feet, swaying and spitting blood. “I’m going to report you,” he slurs. “Get your ass retired.”

“Penal code 12, section 14B says I’m allowed to intervene between two humans when one is in danger,” K replies automatically, tone devoid of any emotion. “I am also allowed to use lethal force. Remember that next time.” 

The man grimaces and sways, anger twisting his face as he stumbles back to the street, muttering. You sag against the wall and K steps closer. His breath is warm over your skin as he leans in. The unnaturally quick way his eyes dart over your face and chest as he searches for any visible wounds is a reminder of what he really is, but you push that thought down and let him turn you around and inspect the back of your head. Even though it throbs, he assures you there’s no blood. 

“It’s cold. We should go inside,” he says.

You acquiesce and let him hold your canvas bag. He keeps a firm grip on your arm as you slowly make your way up the steps of the building. People watch you pass but you ignore them, tired and in pain. No one bothers you at least, and when you glance over at K you understand why. His normally blank expression is hard, meeting the eyes of anyone who looks at you with a challenging stare you’ve not seen before. In your apartment he helps you out of your coat and puts away your treasured groceries. After, he stands there, hands at his side. 

“Has this happened before?”

“No,” you promise him. “I think that man was just drunk and angry, looking for someone to take his frustration out on.” The blank expression on K’s face concerns you. You know what his next words are going to be so you speak before he can, moving the conversation to something less difficult. “I got some strawberries for you to try. Can you get them?”

A painfully long moment passes before he finally concedes and moves to the kitchen to retrieve the small metal container. He also brings a glass of water and two pain pills. You pop a strawberry into your mouth, savoring the sweet burst of flavor as he cautiously eats one as well. His eyes widen in surprise and he chews slowly. 

“Good, right?”

“Yes,” he agrees, accepting the second one you offer. 

You take the pills with the water and talk about the blackberries you snuck a taste of at work, how surprisingly tart it was. K continues to listen as you split the last of the strawberries and by the time you’re done you can see some of the tension in his body is gone. He’s leaning back against the couch beside you, legs spread and hands resting on his thighs. That night you let him cook dinner after he insists you rest. You supervise from the couch, noting how the back of his neck turns pink with each compliment you give him. 

–

The next week passes quietly and without incident until K fails to show up for dinner on Friday. That in itself is not unusual, his time isn’t his own and he’s often called into the station at the last minute, but he does always let you know. Hours pass without any word and your worry grows when you knock on his apartment and get no answer. Finally, nearing midnight, a message from him arrives. It’s short, just an apology and the promise to join you for dinner tomorrow. You know you should leave him alone but there’s a lingering, persistent worry that has you pulling on a sweater over your pjs and slipping into your shoes.

You peek outside. The hallway is empty this time of night, and you shuffle across to his door, knocking lightly. Eventually it opens but only a crack. K’s bloodied face greets you. He looks worse than the first time you saw him on the stairs and you can’t help the little sound of horror you make. He sighs your name and tells you to go home, but your hand shoots out to stop him from shutting the door.

“What happened?” You ask, alarmed. 

“Nothing. Just a nexus 8 that got the drop on me. I’m fine.”

“You're not fine, K. Let me help,” you urge. “Please.”

Several seconds drag by before he finally opens the door and you step inside. The bright lights of his apartment illuminating every scratch and bruise on his face. He never lets you see him like this, always patching himself up before he comes over. This is also the first time you are in his apartment and it’s hard to see how plain and spartan it is, completely devoid of any life.

K shows you where the first aid kit is and you set to work to clean him as he sits on the only chair he owns. You end up standing between his legs, tilting his head back to get a closer look at the wounds. He doesn’t react as you disinfect the shallow scrapes nor when you glue together the split skin on the side of his cheek. There’s more dirt and grime he’ll need to wash off on his own in the shower but for the most part you’ve cleaned and tended to his wounds. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” You question. 

He shakes his head, looking up at you. There is something in his gaze, some vulnerability you’ve never seen before that has you settling a hand on his shoulder to offer comfort instinctively. He exhales sharply and his hands come to rest on your hips. The skin of your chest tingles. You hold your breath when he leans forward and gently rests his head against your stomach. For a moment you’re frozen, feeling his body tremble against yours. Hesitantly, you touch the crown of his head, running your fingers through his short hair.

K makes a soft sound and rubs his cheek against your shirt. You repeat the action, feeling his hands slide around your back until he’s hugging you tightly, urging you closer to him. He smells of blood and sweat but underneath is a scent your brain identifies as simply him. It calms you and you stay like that, rubbing circles across his shoulders and scratching his scalp as he holds you close.

When he eventually pulls back to look at you, you stare down at him uncertainly. You’ve hugged him goodbye before and even taken hold of his arm when you’ve been out together, but this is something different. Intimate. 

“K…”

“Stay with me tonight,” he says so quietly you’re almost sure you’ve imagined it. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agree, the words slipping from your mouth before you’ve even processed them. You’d give him anything he asked for, you realize. 

“I need a shower first.”

You clear your throat and step away, watching him disappear into the bathroom. K’s quick, returning to you with damp hair and clean skin in a matter of minutes. You move back to let him pull down the bed, wrapping an arm over your stomach as you watch the muscles of his arm flex. There are a few more bruises and cuts that were hidden by his long shirt and you reach out to run your fingers over them.

He looks at you over his shoulder. “It looks worse than it is,” he assures you. 

You nod, unsure what exactly he wants. So little of K’s life is up to him that you’re always careful to make space for him to decide things. What to eat, when to touch and even what to watch on the evenings you sit in front of the tv with him. When you look up, K is watching you with those steady blue eyes.

“If you don’t want to stay…”

“No,” you promise him, stepping closer. “I… wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Just lay down with me. Sleep.” He says, climbing onto the bed and extending his hand. You let him pull you down with him, fitting his body closely behind yours. His breath is warm over the back of your neck and you feel his hand settle on your hip. “Is this okay?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you whisper, blinking back the sudden wetness in your eyes.

It feels good to be held like this, to have another’s warmth wrap around you. You’re not even sure when the last time someone touched you like this was. Surely your parents must have, when you were little, but the harder you try to remember, the quicker it slips away. You’ve been alone for so long, working hard to make a better life for yourself that you’d forgotten how much you needed to be touched like this. You close your eyes when K tugs you even closer, his loose grip turning firm and you inhale deeply, letting the smell of him settle inside you as you commit this feeling to your memory. 

“You’re so warm, soft,” he mumbles. 

Tentatively, you reach for the hand at your hip, linking your fingers with his. You wait for any sign he doesn’t want your touch as you slowly draw his hand up towards your chest. You rest both your hands near your collarbone and relax when you feel his nose bump against the back of your neck as he pushes himself closer to you. K exhales and his fingertips stroke the soft skin of your chest.  

“Lights off,” he says quietly, darkness flooding the room.

The only light comes from outside his window, hazy neons and dingy yellows. It’s cool in the room but his body chases away the chill and you settle more firmly into him. Sleep comes surprisingly easily, pulling you under with each drag of K’s breath behind you. 

–

The cold predawn light wakes you. It’s still mostly dark in the apartment but as you blink the sleep from your eyes you realize you’re facing K. He’s still holding onto you tightly but sometime in the night you must have turned towards him. He looks so peaceful, the lines of his face relaxed in sleep. This close to him you can see the fine wrinkles around his mouth and the dark circles under his eyes. Your hand hovers over his jaw, wondering how his scruff there would feel. Would it be soft like his hair or something rougher against your fingertips?

You withdraw your hand and bring it back against your chest, continuing to watch K. His pale pink lips part and the hand on your hip twitches, a brief warning before suddenly his bright blue eyes are watching you. He looks confused for a second before a faint smile pulls at his lips. You return it, your heart suddenly picking up at his proximity. 

“Morning,” you offer quietly.

K watches you, but the look on his face is difficult to place. It’s almost blank, though you can see something building behind his eyes, some of the emotion he feels escaping. The hand at your hip rises to your face to stroke your cheek and down the side of your neck. You swallow heavily and his fingers press against your throat, feeling the movement. When he grasps your chin, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip, you shudder and he does it again.

Your eyes rise to meet his, seeing the rapid way they move over your face, taking in every reaction. When they drop to your lips you know what he wants and oh, you want it too even if you’re scared. Of things changing between you or getting this only to lose if he decides this isn't what he wants. K shifts forward and his thumb pulls your lower lip down. You feel paralyzed, scared but full of so much desire too. You tilt your head up and he leans forward, your lips touching.

It’s so soft, featherlight pressure but it surges through your body all the same. You reach between the two of you to grasp his t-shirt, anchoring yourself to him. Even though you want more, your body trembling with need, you wait. K groans and that new sound from him makes your skin tingle. You whisper his name against his lips and then he’s really kissing you. There isn’t an inch of space between your bodies, your chest pressing against his. The kiss is intense and you lean back, letting him take control and pry your lips apart. He sucks your tongue and his hand slides down to cup your ass.

You moan and that seems to spur him on. He shifts you effortlessly onto your back, the weight of him pressing you into the bed. An unfamiliar ache blooms between your thighs and your legs fall open to welcome him closer. Your hips lift of their own accord, seeking out something you’re not even fully aware you want. All you can think is you never want K to stop, the feelings his hands and mouth pull from you are exquisite…

When K draws away you chase his mouth. He brushes the hair back from your face and stares down at you in wonder. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to do this with,” he tells you and oh, there’s so much in that he doesn’t say and your heart breaks for him. You rub his bicep and you blink up at him, your gaze unfocused. 

“I want you too,” you confess. “But… I’ve never-’ you start, the words dying in your throat. You’re embarrassed but he cups your jaw and watches you with a soft expression. Just like always, he seems to read what you don’t say. 

“That’s okay,” he promises you. “I know how to make you feel good. Do you want me to?”

You’re about to cross a line with him, one you know you can’t come back from. This isn’t just seeking pleasure and comfort, it’s something deeper. A commitment. “Yes,” you admit, lifting your head to kiss him again. He moans and squeezes your sides before crawling down your body. He pushes your loose sleep shirt up to reveal your stomach, trailing his lips over the soft skin he finds there before continuing further south. 

"I think about you all the time," he admits, kissing your thigh. "When I'm at work. When I'm at home. Even in my dreams," he continues, looking up at you through his golden lashes.

“I think about you too,” you confess, brushing your fingers over his head. 

You expect some fear or maybe anxiety but all you feel is safe and comforted when he encourages you to lift your hips and pulls down your underwear and pants. Your shirt and sleep bra comes next until you’re laid bare before him. He stares at you, brows raise with a look of awe on his face. He cups your breasts and then smoothes his hands down your flank. He pulls his own shirt off and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his toned body. His skin is littered with scars and bruises but he’s beautiful. You reach out for him, running your fingers along the line of his shoulder, feeling him shiver.

K dips his head, the touch of his mouth to your most intimate part beyond what you ever could have imagined. He draws pleasure from you as easily as you draw breath. You sigh and gasp, tugging on the short strands of his hair as he learns your body. You feel almost dizzy when the dam breaks and joy washes under your skin. He doesn’t stop until he has wrung every last drop and you fall back against the bed, breathless. He crawls up to kiss you, mouth warm and sure, anchoring you to him and this moment. 

It’s easy to open yourself up to him, to let him pour himself into you over and over again. Pain comes and fades out, each kiss and whispered promise makes your body soft and pliant for him. You draw him close, his jaw warm and firm as you map his face with your hands. Dawn breaks over the city, flooding the room with golden hues and K looks like an angel above you, haloed by light. 

You stare into his blue eyes as you climb higher and higher together. You don’t need words here, just him and the way he moves above you and inside you. He almost looks anguished as he strains and pants, pressing his forehead to yours. You hold tightly to him, eyes sliding closed as something beautiful unfurls inside and everything goes quiet. 

You come back to yourself slowly, encouraged by the soft drag of K’s hands along your sides. He stares down at you, the open concern on his face a surprise. “I’m okay,” you promise him, feeling his body relax at your words.

He draws away only to lay down beside you and rest his head on your naked chest. Just like last night, he rubs his cheek against your skin and you curl an arm around his shoulder, feeling a tremor pass through your body. Physically you feel calm and relaxed but your mind buzzes with a hundred different emotions and feelings. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” you begin, gathering the courage to say what you want. "But, I love you.” The words have lived inside you for a while and you know this is the time to speak them. It could be your only chance and you need him to know what he means to you. “You don’t have to say anything back… just know that I do.”

K shifts against you but he doesn’t speak. You squeeze your eyes closed and draw in a breath as your fingers continue to stroke his bare back. When you turn your head to look out the apartment window you see the dust particles caught up in the streams of morning light. You watch them float and fall, realizing K may never feel the same for you. Deep down, as much as it hurts, you think you can live with that. As long he knows he’s more than just a blade runner -or a thing- to you. He’s as human as any other man you know. 

You close your eyes and soak up his warmth and closeness. Even though you woke not long ago you're tired all over again, on the edge of sleep. You’re barely aware of the outside world, concentrating only on the feeling of K's fingers brushing over your hips.

"I love you too,” he whispers.

♡

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[satanicspinosaurus]

No Effort Without Error

Tags: hurt/ comfort, established relationship, post-game, Astarion X G/N Tav, they/them pronouns, bard!Tav, BDSM, kink negotiations, scene negotiations, sub Astarion, enthusiastic consent, collaring, accidental triggering, freeze trauma response, trauma spiral self-narration, confusion between abuser and partner, use of safeword, use of safeword by Dom, supportive partner, aftercare, use of mage hand to respect boundaries, Addams family reference, talking through emotions, author tried to do some themes or something, author’s happily married & wants you to know that having severe trauma doesn’t mean you can’t have a happy relationship, author/Tav believes in people’s ability to grow, Astarion is in process of agreeing, Tav started out as kind of a blank slank character and ooops I contextualized them, kissing 

Length: 4k

Rating: Mature 

Read on A03: here.

Summary: Astarion is accidentally triggered in a scene, after being really excited about trying something new, and Tav provides comfort as they reaffirm their relationship. I’ve tried to tag everything, but if you have questions please just shoot me a message. I’m always happy to try and help people engage with challenging media.

With thanks: To the wonderful @just-a-refrigerator for proof-reading this! It was incredibly helpful during writing to know I’d have a pair of eyeballs to comb this over before it went out. You are amazing and helped me grow as a writer. (And a general thanks to the Astarion Brainrot Discord Server. You all are feral and I love it.🖤)

•── ⋆⋅☾☆☽⋅⋆ ──•

A bard was a solid choice for a traveling companion, Astarion reasoned, if one’s goal was to start living again. He and Tav had spent only a short amount of time in Baldur’s Gate before hitting the road again. They were eager to find out what fortunes and wonders lay ahead of them as they chased a solution to the sunshine problem. 

Their time together since the Nautiloid crash had been enriching in more ways than just coin. Tav’s ability to entertain patrons and convince Innkeepers to allow the couple to stay for free was instrumental in  keeping them in finer beds. Astarion also never missed an opportunity to joke about Tav’s sword swallowing ability after the crowd finished cheering. In part because the bard never took it as an actual advance. 

Maybe that was what made it easy to be in their company. The understanding that one could play a role without it touching something deep or hidden in them. Sometimes, beautiful people just wanted to lay down innuendo without it being leveraged as a secret sign of trauma against them. Tav would just chuckle, as they did today, and escort Astarion to their accommodations. 

The door opened without protest. With a quick flick of the wrist, Tav was shucking off layers and handing them to the mage hand they had dubbed Thing. The little clawed creature didn’t seem to loyally return after dropping Tav’s weapons in the corner, instead cheekily hovering by Astarion and gesturing to help him with his coat. Astarion didn’t really buy that Thing was its own being, like the bard liked to claim. But the little helpful gestures it did touched him enough to have even the snippy vampire giving a polite nod of thanks as Thing ferried his coat away for him.

“What do you think of the room?” Tav asked as they pulled off their boots, eyeing them carefully for wear. 

Astarion looked around and shrugged. It was acceptable. Probably the best Inn this middling city had. “It has a private bath.” he eventually surmised. “And art that doesn’t immediately make me want to claw my eyes out.” 

Tav made a soft sound of acknowledgment. “I might drop off my shoes to the cobbler tomorrow, then. I do not like how this heel is feeling.” 

“We should offload some of the plunder,” Astarion added. “It’s been a while and I don’t want to risk anything.” 

The new bag of holding was a Godsend really, but Astarion wasn’t eager to overload it and send its contents into the Astral plane. Considering how sticky both of their hands were, it was a real possibility. 

“What do we even have in there now?” Tav asked. “Maybe just start with jewelry? I saw some sign in Elvish saying there was a jeweler’s when we came in today. They would give you a good price.” 

Astarion snorted. Tav was shameless about flirting their way to profit. They treated it like combat: sometimes, the pale elf would be irresistible and wildly effective. Other times, Tav would draw the spotlight to themselves and handle it solo. 

He retrieved the leather bag from the closet, and undid the closure with ease. He tipped over the enchanted leather, bidding it to dump all the jewelry it contained onto the bed. A hodge-podge of trinkets and amulets rained down. Rings so heavy they pressed into the sheets, a fine wrought golden belt of coins, and some uncut gems topped their little hoard of treasure. Astarion had already begun looking through the pieces when, after a small pause, the bag deposited a dog collar with a detailed metal tag onto the bed. 

Tav chuckled, “I suppose the bag thinks we could get coin for the tag.” 

They picked it up and turned it over in their hand. It was fine dark dyed leather, with matching lambskin on the interior. Something a noble would commission for a beloved pet. Perhaps a dalmatian, considering the use of contrast white stitching and its generous size. It had been a bizarre find, part of a cache they hurriedly pushed into the bag a few weeks ago. They had completely forgotten about it an hour later, when Astarion’s knife found the back of an Oathbreaker and failed to kill her instantly.

Astarion glanced over. “It won’t sell for much,” he said in a fairly measured tone. “Not compared to the rest.” 

The lack of lilt made Tav perk up and flick their brown eyes over to Astarion. A few months ago, perhaps, he would have busied himself. Made a show of checking over other items to hide from the thoughts that had bubbled up into his head. But things were different now. The two of them had history. Trust was building.Those thoughts didn’t have to live in the shadows anymore. 

It was clear he was thinking of other uses for it. 

“I suppose it would look rather dashing on me,” Tav offered.

They brushed aside a few dreads from their neck, enjoying the way Astarion looked over the exposed area with a specific type of hunger. But when Tav brought up the collar to loosely display it, the vampire paused.

“Of course, my dear,” he finally agreed. “But I thought perhaps- I could try it this time?” 

Tav lit up at the way a soft blush tinged Astarion’s ears. Neither of them had many direct restrictions on playtime. Both of them were fairly consummate omnivores when it came to that sort of desire. Between them, though, Astarion tended to default to being active and in control. But recently, his need to be in control had given way to a need to enjoy life. 

Tav nodded, letting a warm smile bloom on their face. “What are you thinking?” they asked, holding onto the collar for the moment. 

“We don’t have any other obligations for the night,” Astarion pointed out. “It could be…fun to have all my needs taken care of for me.” 

They had done that a few times, but in reverse. Astarion really could be quite sweet and giving when no one was watching. He was also shameless at times. He enjoyed forcing his love to eat from the ground, then pull the make-shift leash forward to allow them to use their mouth a bit higher up. 

“I would enjoy that,” Tav said. “Anything specific?”

Astarion was already tossing the other items back into the bag. He was eager, thinking of the last time he had allowed himself to submit to Tav’s creativity and generosity in bed. 

“Feed me, clean me, and bed me,” he listed out. “Tell me when I’ve been good but also don’t be afraid to pull me around by the ring on the collar if I’m not.” 

“Anything else if you are naughty?” Tav pressed. 

“No kicks,” Astarion added quickly. “I don’t mind a light spanking, but I don’t want to be back handed tonight.” 

Tav reached out and offered a hand for Astarion to nuzzle into. They noticed that the elf let his ear brush their hand, and they took up the implicit offer to gently stroke the base- delighting in the little shiver it caused. 

“You want to be my beloved pet tonight.” Tav summarized. “You want to submit and to be cared for and to feel how you are the center of my world.” 

They could feel Astarion beginning to melt into them, trusting the weight of his head into their hand. Tav kept stroking that delicate piece of flesh and delighting in how it made him hood his eyes in pleasure. 

“Unfair,” Astarion whined with no true complaint in his heart. “I think you’ve already started.” 

Tav chuckled, as if they were afraid too loud of a sound would spook their lover’s relaxation. “Don’t tell anyone- but I am quite fond of you. It is embarrassing really. It used to be a part time hobby, but I do believe I’ve gone at least to full time now.”

Maybe traveling with Tav was easy, because they brought laughter to Astarion’s world. From gallows humor to little moments like this- where the two of them brushed fingers together and laughed quietly about how absurdly cheesy it all was.

It was a sound that had begun to settle in Astarion’s bones. 

“Well, let me strip first, before you start,” Astarion eventually said. “Keep yours on for now.” 

Tav rolled their eyes as Astarion began husking off layers. “Bossy little thing,” they laughed, shaking their head theatrically enough their earring tinkled in agreement. 

“Oh, but think about how wonderful I’ll be, properly trained,” Astarion said as he struggled to unlace his pants. A clear bulge was making the task more difficult. 

“Might have to commission a matching leash then,” Tav mused. “I bet you would look so lovely crawling up to me.” 

“Ugh, stop winding me up. At least until I’m out of these damned pants,” Astarion complained like he hadn’t told the tailor to make them this tight. “Damn things look good, but I regret them every time I have to take them off.” 

Tav chuckled, but obeyed the request- delighting in watching his lover squirm out of very tight trousers on the ground, his thick thighs working against him half the time. There wasn’t an inch of Astarion they didn’t adore, but in that moment it was hard not to think about how deliciously long his legs were- how many wonderful options they offered for Tav to touch and nibble on. 

Eventually, smallclothes went flying. All that was left was one very excited vampire kneeling in front of Tav. The delicious blush on his chest wasn’t even remotely the only visual example of his excitement. But it was glorious to think how that tinge on his pale chest was only possible because Astarion was fed well enough. For Tav to realize that they were responsible for both the physical ability to do so and the emotions that inspired it. 

“What’s your word, love?” they asked. 

For a while the vampire had sassed them each time they had asked. But now it was just part of the game. It inspired anticipation. Like an orchestra tuning up to let the audience know the show was about to start. 

“Goose,” Astarion replied, preening under the nod Tav gave them. 

“Alright then, my pet,” Tav said, holding out the collar. “Just lean forward, let me collar you, and we will begin.” 

The lining felt pleasantly soft on Astarion’s skin. He helped Tav place it on him by eagerly offering his neck. The bard’s nimble fingers latched it, then slipped between Astarion’s throat and the collar to check for fit. 

The second that finger left, moving upwards with its friends to run through his curls with all the affection he knew Tav had for him, Astarion realized how cold the room was. 

“Look at you, my good boy,” Tav murmured. They focused on gently using their long nails to scratch at Astarion’s scalp in a way that usually sent tingles down his spine. 

His body did move- shaking on little of its own accord. The weight of the collar was pressing down on him, trapping him in his own skin and away from the moment. Something in his brain whispered not to blink, not to look away- something was coming. Something bad. He was trapped, but at least he could have the privilege of watching it hurt him. But only if he didn’t close his eyes. 

“Astarion?” 

The sound was a little muffled, a little nasally. He needed to respond, right? Those were his the rules. He had to obey in all things; he was his? Theirs? To have your name called was a direct command to look. He needed to look at him them. 

But Astarion couldn’t force his neck to turn, to face the situation. To realize the gravity of it all. The knowledge that pain would come, that it would be his fault because he still couldn’t look, turned the fine shivers into full tremors. 

“Alright. OK. This is OK,” came the voice. “I’m going to use ‘goose’. I’ll keep you safe Astarion. I promise.” 

Dissociation was a thing Astarion still struggled with. This was the opposite of that, somehow. He wasn’t far away, present but not here- safe in a manner of speaking by retreating into his own mind. No, he was nailed to the spot, trapped under the surface of his skin- forced to feel, to accept, but not to act. 

He was entombed in his own body. His only company was the fear of being left to suffer. 

“This needs to come off,” he heard, the voice sounding like it was coming through gauze. “I am going to use my hands to take this off you, Astarion.  You might feel it press on the back of your neck for a second.” 

The weight lifted away, the sound of the tag sickly singing as it was tossed to some other corner of the room. He was supposed to breathe, right? 

“Do you want me to touch you, Astarion?” 

The thought of being trapped, being forced to be complicit in his own abuse, sent a spark of anger up into his mouth. But it was fanned by a vague feeling that he could speak his mind without fear of being slapped down.

“No,” Astarion hissed. “Get away from me!” 

He needed space. He needed to feel he was at least as big as the body that trapped him.

“Of course. Of course love, I will not touch you until you tell me to,” came the calm response. “You are shivering. Do you want a blanket?” 

Was he? Astarion looked down. His eyes struggled to focus on a hand. His hand, he remembered as he flexed it. Yes, it was shaking. His gaze wandered up the arm his hand was attached to.The forearm was goose-fleshed. 

“Yes,” he decided. “I want to be warm.” 

The smell of familiar magic- rose oil and iron- filled the room. There were some assorted sounds- footsteps, pillows hitting the ground- and then a familiar shadowy hand presented a quilt it could barely hold in its claws. 

“Thing can help you put it on, if you want Astarion,” offered the bard. 

Astarion nodded. Thing T. Thing was a familiar, safe sight now. It was always gentle, as it was now, laying the blanket onto his shoulders but bearing the weight so Astarion could sort it out the way he wanted it- creating a barrier between him and the world. 

“Thank you, Thing,” he replied automatically. 

The room came back to him after a few minutes. It wasn’t exactly fair to say it left, but it took time for his brain to be able to accept and process the world around him instead of hyper-fixating on keeping himself alive. He had to consciously realize that there was ground for him to be sitting on. That the ground probably came with a ceiling as there was no free-moving air. 

Eventually, he realized there was also the gentle sound of a violin, singing a song. 

It was one with no words Just swimming melodies, occasionally crowned by a happy chord. It helped Astarion remember. He’d heard an elven mother humming it to her child a few moons ago, as the babe cried from the pain of teeth coming in. He automatically focused on it. Tav asked him if he knew it, and Astarion had responded honestly- all of that was lost to him now. But he liked how comforting it sounded. 

Weeks later, when Astarion was having trouble resting during the peak of the day while the rest of their temporary party laughed in the sun, Tav sat next to him and, without a word, began playing it. 

Maybe that was why traveling with Tav was so easy. They were confident of their own beautiful voice- able to hold a room and charm even frigid, scared hearts that had long since stopped beating to movement. But they were also comfortable around others' painful silence, welcoming it like an old lover- with an open heart and a compliment that was somehow always genuine. 

It had worn on Astarion for a long time, waiting for the bard to blink and finally admit they were in over their head- that the would-be savior’s reach had finally exceeded their grasp. But eventually, Tav showed him their own scars. He had lifted his hand to a small one on their right eyebrow and cheek. The first one. One that even Astarion’s clever eyes could barely see. 

Eventually Astarion learned they kept their eyes kind and open, not because they didn’t know what danger was, but in spite of it. 

Maybe that’s why it was so easy traveling with Tav. Because, somewhere along the way, Astarion had figured out their hero persona had cracks. Cracks they had delicately, skillfully tried to cover. Cracks he could help smooth out sometimes, when someone misgendered them or an enemy carried a whip. Cracks that, deep down, under the near unshakeable confidence performers have, Tav feared made them unlovable. But Astarion could say those cracks were nothing compared to their jovial spirit or clever eyes.

Astarion yearned for those warm, brown eyes. The kind that reminded him of dark soil deep in the forest, filled with all the richness and potential of creation. Speckled with a million curiosities that shallow people might miss by focusing on the strong cheekbones or soft lips nearby. He found them waiting for him, like always, hopeful they could be of any service. 

“I want you to touch me, Tav,” Astarion realized out loud. 

The bard laid their violin down and tapped the bed, offering the space. “It might do you some good to move your limbs,” they suggested. “But I am always happy to come to you.” 

Astarion looked at the ground. Yes, he could move. The walls weren’t quite so close to prevent that. The floorboards creaked in protest as he dragged himself and his blanket over them. 

He sank into the bed, deciding to lean on Tav’s shoulder. Maybe it helped a bit to realize this pinned down one of their arms- keeping them close, but less able to respond. It was grounding to remember that so many things were on Astarion’s terms now. Yes, because he was free. 

But also because Tav was gentle and would never deny him a single comfort. 

Little thoughts began to swim in his head- phrases he could pluck from the ether and begin a conversation with. I didn’t know, please believe me. I am sorry, please don’t punish me. Please don’t leave me. Please promise you’ll trust me again when I say I want this. Please tell me I am not broken.

Please, please, please- a choir of hungry ghosts that had long grown tired of asking to have not been hurt, and instead found smaller and smaller requests to be disappointed on. Until Tav came in with their bleeding heart, and fed them so graciously Astarion could begin to remember they were just specters he carried- and not him. 

Astarion didn’t have to bargain with them. He suspected they would always be there. But now he could let them rest and find other things to play with that would nourish his soul.  

“I really wanted it,” Astarion finally said, after his hand traced patterns on Tav’s thigh for a few minutes. 

“I know,” Tav agreed. “You’ve gotten very good at asking for things and letting yourself have them.” 

The bard paused and offered their palm. “May I kiss you?” 

They smiled when Astarion granted them the privilege of a hand, bowing their head to press a slow kiss on the back of his hand. 

“Thank you for being honest with me,” they said, not having moved an inch. Their breath was warm as they spoke, fluttering on Astarion’s hand. 

There was something about the way they said it, that Astarion instantly knew they meant after he had been collared. He frowned, not sure how to take it. 

Astarion didn’t want to think the truest core of him was scared. That if someone unearthed him, or that if he let someone dig deep, there would be only fear and broken things to find. 

“I don’t know if I want you to think of me like that,” he began. “Like some cold and timid person, half ready to cry when he’s finally, truly naked.” 

Tav sat back up, offering for Astarion to reclaim his resting spot on their shoulder or duck under and be held close. The elf chose the latter, enjoying the space between ribs and arms made strong by swordplay and silly acrobatics.

“I do not think of you like that.” Tav promised. 

Astarion accepted the answer- a simple negative that painted him as so many other wonderful things that even Tav’s silver tongue couldn’t explain. The bard was so trusting towards him, at times it was infectious. 

A thought tickled Astarion’s brain. 

“Thank you for using the safeword,” he mumbled. “It’s good to know that it’s not that I wasn’t being pleasing enough for you. But that…maybe me being truly hurt wasn’t something you wanted.” 

Tav showed their other hand coming slowly to join the other one- pausing, giving Astarion a chance to defend his space- to deny being boxed in, even by affection, if it was unwanted. 

“I hear vampires are long-lived,” Tav eventually said. “I would suspect that given our adventurousness, it will not be the last time one of us has to use it. Even if you never wanted to do anything like that again, I want you to know that you can always tell me to stop.” 

Astarion hummed, accepting the point. He chewed on it though, especially the last sentence. 

“I don’t think you exactly need a safeword for life,” he retorted. 

Tav laughed, clear and bright. “Your passions are too great, Astarion, to be content with what is laid at your feet. That is one of the things I love about you. You go for life’s throat, even if you might stumble in the process.” 

There was mirth in their eyes as they thought about some future Astarion couldn’t really see. “I just want you to chase it as hard as you can. You know I’ll be here to try and catch you when you ask for it.” 

They stayed like that for a while- Astarion enjoying the way Tav just breathed, their ribs slightly pressing into him with each breath. His eyes wandered, surveying the room. The way Thing rested in the corner, eager to be called upon. The happy trail of his own clothes strewn on the floor. The way the collar rested on the nightstand- far enough away to be safe, but precious enough to deserve a proper spot. 

He would have to think later if this was a failure or not. Something deep in his gut churned, insisting it was. Astarion wasn’t sure if he wanted to listen to it. But the way Tav held him in the moment, devoted and without reservation- he knew this was safe. 

Astarion leaned to catch his beloved's mouth, to taste their enthusiasm, their softness as Tav allowed him to devour them- trusting him to take the lead and find joy for them both in the fragile, uneasy moment. 

Maybe that was why traveling with Tav was simple. Because they knew their love was a verb, and not something that was found in a single heart. It was not something that could be tainted by a single word, or broken by even a terrifyingly, truly unintentional slight. 

It was something they did together- even if they sometimes accidentally stumbled in the process. 

One of them got to be the first person that hour to say I love you. And the other one got to smile and chose to say it back. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Author Notes: Thank you for reading this! As always, I would like to remind you thirsty folks to hydrate a bit if needed. :3 I’d also love to hear if you had any comments or thoughts about this piece. (Good or bad! If something didn’t hit, let me know.) Also- just curious if you HCed which person said “I love you first” (and why) I would love to hear about it. I do have a small follow-up planned thanks to our Discord talking about *boots* that will be in a similar vibe. And one about Tav having their own issues for Astarion to help them on! I didn’t plan to add another, usual character to my WIP list, but this they/them bard!Tav was super fun to write. 

[prolix-yuy]

Reflective

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Summary: His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you're partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Notes: Heeeeeeere's LJ! I'm back from my October hiatus just in time for a Halloween fic! Thank you again to @harriedandharassed for the prompt "How does Max Phillips handle not being able to see himself in the mirror?" I was grasping at something to write for Halloween and this prompt came at the perfect time.

This story will include horror elements such as violence, descriptions of blood and some graphic scenes. If that's not your cup of tea, scroll on friend! It was fun to go back to some of my horror writing roots, especially mixing it with the dry comedy of Bloodsucking Bastards. It's Max season babes, and I could not resist writing for this smarmy boy.

There is a part 2, which will post tomorrow. The Discord besties made an excellent suggestion right after I finished the story, and it was so good I needed an addendum. So without further ado, enjoy lovelies and Happy Halloween!

Cross-posted on AO3

If anyone asked Max Phillips what the worst part about becoming a vampire is, he’d probably tell them things like “not getting a tan” or “swearing off Italian food” or “always getting complaints about cold feet”. The last one was often followed by a lewd comment to get a pretty young thing in bed with him to prove it. It’s all farce, of course, clever little quips you’re sure he practiced just like you’d rehearse for a job interview. It gives you a funny little trill when you catch one of those lines again, because you know the truth.

He hates that he can’t see himself in mirrors.

Being Max’s executive assistant, you’re trusted with more than some of your colleagues. Well, that’s debatable, you’ve heard horror stories. But your friend Carla’s stories about her boss’ wife choosing his Peloton instructors for minimum hotness pales in comparison to your early morning runs to blood banks and private contracts with hospital cleanup crews. Max might not be a centuries old vampire, but he’s planning on getting there. You can’t live several lifetimes with a messy trail anymore.

Enter you.

The job listing had been normal enough: Executive assistant. Five years experience. Good references. Not squeamish. Discreet. It was the last three words that piqued your interest the most. You wouldn’t call yourself delicate, at least not for the things Max needed you to do. Your stomach turned when men wanted to stay the night, or your parents begged you to come home for Thanksgiving. Not so much when you had to bag a severed hand. 

When it came to the interview you almost walked straight back out of his office before saying a word. The moment you saw him you knew his type. Arrogant, self-centered, prideful, smooth with a customer and cruel in the next breath if you were in his way. You’d seen too many people like him, avoided working with them at all cost. He was young enough that boomer sexism probably wouldn’t be an issue, but you could smell the demand coming off of him. He’d be a yeller, a paperweight thrower, or worse require you to be on call 24/7. You clocked him in a glance and felt the claw of escape behind your ribcage.

And then Max Phillips did something that convinced you to reconsider just as quickly. He stood from his desk, ushered you in, looked you and your resume over for a moment, and spoke.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Max Phillips, Director of Sales, and I’m a vampire.”

The quick introduction, complete with another curious word at the end, made you bark out a laugh.

“What kind are we talking about? Emotionally, mentally…” you rattle off, tight posture relaxing just a fraction. If he was joking with you, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Oh you know, the usual kind. With the blood,” he says nonchalantly, baring his teeth dramatically when your eyebrows raise. 

“You don’t say.”

“I do, actually. And you want to be my assistant.”

The conversation flows, with some fits and starts as you realize he’s not kidding. He is indeed a vampire, tossed out like his zodiac sign. The questions he peppers off range from highly professional (tell me a time when you performed well under pressure) to unsettlingly irregular (do you know how to remove blood stains from silk?). You shoot the answers back just as quickly, waiting for the moment when either the charade will drop…or you’ll get the job. Because you want it now. It’s easily the most interesting thing you’ll do in your whole life. 

“I think that’s all I need,” Max ends abruptly, shuffling your resume into a pile with some others. Panic grips you, and you rush into your next sentence without breathing.

“Are there any concerns you have about my qualifications?” 

Max raises an eyebrow and smiles, one that is much too charming to be in its path too long. Casting your eyes down, you glance at the worn-out toes of your nice interview heels, bemoaning getting them out of the closet for another failed interview.

“On paper you’re perfect,” Max says, and being in the same sentence as perfect skitters up your spine for a moment. You bat it away peevishly. “I only worry that you don’t have the constitution for what I’m looking for.” You shift on your feet, pull one corner of your lip between your teeth while you think. It makes you miss Max’s too-long glance at your mouth.

“I’ve watched all of the Saw movies,” you finally say, meeting Max’s eyes with determination. It makes him bleat out a laugh. 

“Okay, not squeamish. Those are movies, though, and this is the real deal,” he teases. “Favorite vampire movie?”

“Let the Right One In,” you answer quickly, your face scrunching with regret seconds after. “Or Only Lovers Left Alive. I watched Queen of the Damned three times at a sleepover once. Have you ever seen Vampire’s Kiss? The one with Nic…” Max’s chuckle lets you trail off into silence.

“And you didn’t even say Twilight.”

You were signing employment paperwork the next day.

Most executive assistants put up with a certain layer of bullshit on a daily basis. Booking flights, picking up paperwork, schedule maintenance. You’d stood in line for four hours to pick up a previous employer’s new iPhone once. 

Max had very different needs. 

You were briefed on your duties in the privacy of his office. While he did reveal to you how many of his sales force were turned by his hand (or fang, you thought with a giggle), discretion was still a priority. He needed someone to go to his blood bank hookup a few times a week, take care of daytime activities when the sun beat down too hard. Body disposal on very rare occasions (so far only the one time) among all of the normal activities you thought you were signing up for. 

The one duty that gave you pause, made you tap your nail on the printed line, was close to the bottom of your orientation packet.

“You need me to ‘maintain your appearance’?” you asked, looking up at Max from across the shiny acrylic tabletop. He was lounging back in his chair, knee pressed against the edge of the desk and spread out with boredom. He rolled his head to his shoulder as you flipped the page around to show him.

“Oh that. Yeah, I need you to check me over, make sure everything looks sharp, especially if I’m going to a big meeting.” You quirked a brow at him.

“Can’t you just look in…a…oh,” you said, slowing to a molasses vowel by the end. 

“Yeah, mirrors and I haven’t been on speaking terms since Romania,” he sighed, one heavy thumb tracing the crest of his full lower lip. You tried not to notice the subconscious stroke. 

“So you need me to…be your mirror. Make sure your hair isn’t a mess and you don’t have spinach in your teeth.” You were rewarded with a sheepish nod from Max. “Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“What else is true about vampires? Or fake, I’ll take either,” you asked, crossing your legs and settling into the wildly uncomfortable modern chair. Max’s smile turned secretive, and that was the first moment you felt him brand you his confidant.

“The sunlight thing is a bummer. I miss the beach, and swimming in the ocean. Garlic just makes my mouth go numb. Inviting someone into your home has a lot more loopholes than you think. And the sign of the cross does jack shit.” You nodded, making a mental list of even more questions to pepper into everyday conversation.

“Why do you think that all is? Because you’re essentially…undead?” you prodded, getting another bark of a laugh from Max and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, undead is a little harsh. It’s more like…a virulent vitamin deficiency. If I don’t get what I need, everything starts to shut down.” Max pondered on this analogy for a long moment, looking at a dull mass-produced corporate painting. 

“But all the superstitions…like why are those true?”

Max shrugged, running his thumb along the inseam of his dress slacks in a way that pulled your eyes to his thick thighs.

“It’s not like there’s a manual for this. Half the stuff is supposed to be because I ‘have no soul’,” Max made finger quotes as he says this. “But mirrors stopped being silver backed ages ago and I still have to be careful when I go into the men’s room.” He shrugged, taking an exaggerated sip from his iced coffee straw. “I just know what works and what doesn’t, and you just need to help with those gaps, pretty girl.”

You almost choke on your tongue, shooting Max a warning look. He raises his hands in deference, but keeps a raised brow.

"Sorry, I call it like I see it. Can't have someone with poor taste in charge of my appearance."

"Yeah and if you don't want to walk in to a meeting with HQ with a Kick Me post-it on your back, you'll be mindful of that mouth of yours."

The crinkles around Max's eyes deepen, something knowing passing by, but he nods in acquiescence.

It’s honestly not as bad as you thought it might be. You could even call it boring. Max thankfully isn’t a paperweight thrower, though he does speak to most of his subordinates like they’re idiots. Never you, thankfully, he’s all smiles and winks and traded comments during your daily interactions. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Routine is your master, and you follow its pattern to the letter. It’s what makes you a great assistant. First thing in the morning is Max’s coffee order, set on his desk atop a coaster you provided when you saw the coffee cup stains. He whirls in, all noise and breeze, and you help him get ready for his morning meetings. A straightened tie - you can practically knot one blindfolded now - a quick sweep of fingers through his short hair, a pantomimed smile so he shows you his teeth. It’s all utilitarian, fast, not thrilling or intimate in a way you’d rarely been with a man. Of course not. That would be…unprofessional.

Lunch involves a teakettle, a blood bag, and a deep bowl that you use to warm his meal. All done in the safety and privacy of the kitchenette in his office. You pour the contents - a balmy 98.6 degrees by the time you’re finished - into a silver to-go cup, which he takes with appreciation when he bursts in. The first few weeks you left right after, but once you were more settled he asked you to stay while he sipped on his “lunch”. The conversation was always interesting, if not a little one-sided.

“You really don’t want to eat like, a salad or something? It’s just O-Positive Capri Suns for the rest of your life?” you asked, stabbing at some lettuce in your tupperware. Max laughed, a braying short one, and put his chin in his hand.

“You can technically eat cardboard and not be hungry, but it’s not food, pretty girl,” he replied, a shit-eating grin stretched across his broad face. You'd scolded him enough about the nickname that it's almost a joke now, except for how those words made you feel. His lips were a deeper red, and the sight plucked at something forbidden in your chest. Not disgust, more like morbid fascination. The sight pulled something primal to the surface, his tongue several shades darker when he licked an errant drop back into the lush cavern of his mouth. 

You are not allowed to be lusting after your vampire boss is your mantra when thoughts run rampant.

The afternoons tend to be boring, filled with schedule juggling or email management. Max is often occupied through to the end of day, so you’re left to your own devices. You have a lot of “guys” now, as Max calls them. A blood guy, a disposal guy, a law enforcement guy. It makes you feel important in a way other jobs have lacked. You spend your afternoons making arrangements, both professional and personal, for your boss. It’s when you get the bulk of your work done, but it’s also when you have to be most on guard. 

You see, Max has a few other “hungry” employees, and as the day grows long they tend to saunter by and watch you with barely veiled appetites. Brad in sales is the boldest, leaning over your desk and making a show out of smelling you with half-lidded eyes. Creepy. You’d told him off several times, but as he likes to say with just the right amount of douche, “I’m a closer baby, I always get the deal.”

In the metaphor you’re not sure what part of the “deal” you are, but you have no intention of finding out. Enough polite excuses and faked phone calls have kept him at bay, but you worry what might happen if he gets bolder, or gathers a few more vamps to sway your opinion. Is there a clause in your contract about not getting turned into a creature of the night? You should have checked.

The end of the day is often a quick affair. Max gets a debrief of anything important that came up, and what’s on the docket for tomorrow. Normally he packs up his suitcase with a little small talk, bids you a good night, and is off to do…whatever a vampire does when he’s off work. 

Today, however, the script has a few additions.

“What’s wrong?” Max says, movements slowing as he takes in your shaking hand placing an itinerary on his desk. You tighten, smile forced.

“Nothing! Just fine,” you spit out, which only increases Max’s suspicion.

“Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?” he asks, voice dropping to a low fuck-that’s-hot register. You swallow hard and will something, anything to come to mind.

“Just Brad being Brad. I don’t think he’s turned anyone in a while and he’s getting desperate,” you try to chuckle lightly, but Max’s eyes darken. He stands to his full height, shoulders straining against his jacket. Planting his hands on his hips, he pins you in his sight.

“Did he touch you?” This is a true growl now, and Max’s face changes into a terrifying mask, perfect teeth suddenly lengthening to points as he fights against the rush. Your mouth drops open, but only monosyllabic words come out.

“No. Safe,” you gasp, and the simple admission sobers Max. His jaw ticks, rolling his shoulders and jaw until the transformation recedes. You wish your heartbeat could slow that quickly. After a few steadying breaths, Max finally turns back to you.

If his gaze was electric before, it’s damn close to lightning when your eyes meet. The jolt pulses in your veins, and his nostrils flare briefly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, all smooth professionalism like you haven’t just watched him vamp out because a coworker was a sleaze. You nod once, grateful, trying to ignore the sweet friction taking a step back gives to your core. 

“Will there be anything else?” you ask, the customary end to your daily exchanges. Max gathers his briefcase, movements purposeful but fast. 

“Nothing more, enjoy your night,” he answers, slipping past you with a wave of copper and musk that can’t be hidden by his Hermès cologne. You echo the sentiment but wait to take a full breath until you hear the elevator ding.

The next day Max walks in like a goddamn gladiator, powerful strides and testosterone rolling off his wool jacket. You can sense him before you see him, sometimes wondering if that’s part of the power he wields.

“Good morning!” he booms out, coming to a stop in front of your desk. You type out the end of your sentence and turn to him, smile at the ready, when your eyes drop to a box in his hand. The smile twists to confused amusement.

“What’s that?” you ask as he places the box in front of you with a pat to the silk bow neatly wrapping it. 

“Happy six months of working here,” he says with more pomp than necessary. You narrow your eyes; it’s only been four, but his face is eager so you shrug it off. The bow is buttery soft under your fingers, and your heart rate ticks up rapidly. The box hinges open, and nestled inside is a women’s Rolex watch. 

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s stunning, the perfect mix of feminine and authoritative. Gleaming oystersteel and everose gold, diamonds circling the watch face laser etched with delicate leaves. It’s easily worth four months of your pay. Your mouth drops open in disbelief.

“Max, I can’t…” you start, but he places his palms on your desk and leans close, tilting his head to one side to favor your cheek with his spearmint breath.

“Wear it. No one will dare touch you, pretty girl. I promise.” His eyes are darkly confident, and the reassurance does ease the shock of the gift. 

“Okay,” you manage to squeak out. “Thank you, Max.” He nods once with a lopsided smile before returning to the usual routine of your day. While he settles in, you slide the ungodly expensive timepiece out of the box and onto your wrist. It snaps shut in a perfect fit, and the thought of Max demonstrating your wrist size to the sales person makes heat radiate in your cheeks. 

Miraculously, he was right. Brad spies you in the afternoon but one look at the watch has him about-face and leaving twice as quick as he came. At lunch the next day you ask Max about it. He smiles conspiratorially, leaning up against his desk to look down at you seated with your sandwich. You might have thought he was trying to cop a peek at your cleavage, but you had a turtleneck on today, and his eyes didn’t roam from your face.

“The sign of the cross doesn’t do shit…for me. I wasn’t a church-going kid, never got into anything organized. For a talisman to work, the belief has to be twofold. You have to believe it will protect you, and they have to believe it too. So if you want real protection against something out to get you, you have to know them intimately.” He pauses, thumb absently rubbing along the line of his bicep where he’s folded his arms. “If you both believe, anything can work.” 

“Like this?” you ask, lifting your wrist with a twist. A flash of something passes over Max’s face before he gives you a lopsided smile.

“You believe it protects you?” he asks, his voice dropping into a softer lilt. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You told me it did.”

“And they all believe it does, because I gave it to you.” An unspoken phrase hangs between you.

I’ll protect you.

“Could have chosen something less flashy,” you joke, needing to cut through the heaviness in the air. Max’s smile cracks his face, shaking his head as he moves to his side of the desk.

“Where’s the fun in that? You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

"And you're on thin ice, Max."

"My favorite place to be."

When it’s actually your six month anniversary, Max schedules a dinner for you. Private chef, live music, a beautiful venue. He told you to bring whoever you wanted, and his name dances on the bow of your lips for a moment. You thought hope might be in his eyes that you’d let it spill. But cowardice struck, and instead you brought your two sisters. They gush over the decadence.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to fuck you?” One says, forking another mouthful of the best chocolate cake you’ve ever tasted into her mouth. “This is like, fourth date level extravagance.”

“He’s my boss, god. Just shut up and eat.”

“I’m just saying, my husband takes me to the Cheesecake Factory, and while I will never say no to another round of Bang Bang Shrimp, this is above and beyond what anyone would expect from your boss.” 

Your other sister doesn’t say anything until you’re alone.

“Just…be careful. This could get really messy.”

Oh you have no idea.

You nod, folding your hands under your chin and looking out at the glittering skyline.

“I will, I promise. We just have a…different working relationship than anyone’s used to. But he’s never made me feel uncomfortable.” 

Quite the opposite, really. You’ve never been so comfortable with another person in your life. You’d given him floss picks and wiped shaving cream from behind his ear, smoothed flyaways and cupped his chin to inspect an uneven sideburn. He’d let you touch every part of him without comment, brushing lint from his broad shoulders and tucking inside-out pockets back into their rightful homes. 

In return, he treated you with respect. Apart from the nickname, which you won't admit you've come to enjoy, he treated you kindly and professionally. He was a womanizer, but not with you. You weren’t naive, he was definitely fucking plenty of women in the last few months you’d been working for him. Sometimes you saw the ghosts of them in his suitcase, or crumpled in pockets. Once you’d been ready to knock on his closed door but high, breathy moans held your hand at bay. Janet from Web Design left an hour later (impressive, though you’d never say it) and Max called you in shortly after, hands freshly washed and the heavy musk of sex combating faux floral notes of air freshener. Neither of you addressed it.

The difference, you assumed, was professional. He lauded your work, told you how much he appreciated how smooth you made everything for him. He wouldn’t want to fuck that up for a quickie over his desk. Or against the mahogany door. Or on the kitchenette floor, his reddened lips leaving sticky trails on your breasts. 

The blast of chill outside the restaurant sobers your thoughts. You send a text to Max, thanking him for the dinner and sending a couple selfies of you and your sisters. His return text is swift.

You deserve it, pretty girl. Looking gorgeous.

The wine loosens your inhibitions just enough to send a text back. 

What?

Instant response.

Guess.

Your hands start shaking too hard to respond, suddenly feeling much tipsier than you thought. Typing a hasty, “Thanks again, good night,” you get into the cab and spend the ride home regulating your breathing. Max doesn’t respond.

Minor issues aside - a rowdy employee or two, some tense negotiations, a race to the finish one month for sales - you like your work. You’re considering settling in, maybe not looking for the next big thing for a little while. The pay is good, the benefits are better than most, and you’re happy. For the first time in years, you actually look forward to coming to the office. And a tiny part of you that you hide away knows why.

The start of October is always a favorite time of year for you. Scary movies in abundance on TV, fall decor, and the excitement of heading into the darker months. Thanksgiving and Christmas are fine in their own rights, but Halloween is your personal favorite. You don’t add frivolity to your desk beyond a tiny pumpkin next to your pen cup, which Max eyes with a wry little smile, and a bucket of Halloween candy that anyone is welcome to dip into. It twists the mood just a fraction away from corporate dullness to corporate-appropriate holiday spirit. You even catch Max with his hand in the candy jar once or twice, waving a snack-size Twix or KitKat as he comes and goes. 

You do wonder if the childishness of the holiday is something Max dislikes. 

“It’s a little naive,” he bemoans, swallowing the dregs of blood from his insulated mug as you wash your tupperware in his kitchenette sink. Wordlessly you hold a hand out for the empty cup to clean. “Seeing everyone gallivanting around, pantomiming monsters, when they’re all too real.”

“More than vamps? Friends with any werewolves?” you tease, soaping up the sponge designated for Max’s lunches and scrubbing the congealed mess out of the lid threads. 

“Would you like to meet one?” he answers, a sing-song mockery of your own joke. 

“God no, I have enough supernatural shenanigans with you,” you laugh, washing your hands clean so you don’t smell of copper. You’re careful to slide the gifted Rolex back around your wrist when you’re finished, a ritual Max watches closely every time. Clearing your throat, you gather up your lunch bag and move to leave.

“Maybe a Halloween party would be good for morale,” Max says nonchalantly, voice stopping you in the door. You wrestle the smile off your face before turning back to him.

“Would you like me to arrange something?” you ask, failing to keep your expression breezy. Max flashes that conspirator’s grin that drums up excitement in your chest.

“Please.”

The office latches onto the party date, only a couple days before Halloween proper. There will be food, drinks, a few small prizes for best costume and raffles. You count down the days with mounting excitement, the spirit of the season making you bouncier, lighter in and out of work. Max teases you about it.

“So you’re not going to tell me what you’re going as?” he wheedles, watching you lay piles of paperwork in neat folders on his desk. You shake your head, clucking your tongue when you notice you’re one short.

“Half the fun is the surprise,” you call over your shoulder as you speed back to your desk and return with the final folder. Max doesn’t even pretend he’s interested in the documents. “What are you going to be?” His eyebrow cocks, shaking his head with derision.

“I’m a vampire, honey, I am my own costume,” he drawls, making you roll your eyes.

“So I should expect a cape with a high collar? Some dollar store plastic fangs? Hair gel?” you tease, making your hands into claws over the desk. “I vant to suck your blooooood!” you mime in your best Dracula impression, getting your own eye roll in return.

“If you’re not telling, I’m not,” he throws back, finally scooting forward in his chair and opening one of the folders. You straighten up, triumphant, and leave him to his work.

The day of the party greets you with excitement. You made the decision to go subtle, since you’ll be sitting in costume all day. Your coworkers would have time to change before the party, but you were organizing and didn’t have that luxury. So on went a sensible white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and sheer black nylons. Slipping them up your legs, you grind your lip between your teeth. The back seam of the nylons, paired with the black stiletto heels you found in your closet, turn the dress from something mundane to possibly recognizable. When you turn your back to the mirror, crossing your ankles prettily, one of the most recognizable movie posters in history pulls to the forefront. 

You could give Maggie Gyllenhaal a run for her money.

The last piece - an addition that turns the costume from seductive to silly - you tuck into the chest pocket of your blouse before leaving. 

The day passes quickly, Max calling to tell you he’s meeting with HQ through lunch and to get the festivities started without him. You usher in the caterers, laughing with your coworkers when they ask what your costume is. So far the cover story works, and they all enjoy the clever play on words. 

The party is in full swing, raffle tickets being handed out and drinks starting to flow, when Max enters. His voice precedes him, and it’s a good thing it does because if you didn’t have that brief moment to gather yourself your mouth would have dropped open.

It’s a perfect recreation of Gary Oldman’s Dracula costume. It’s so on the nose a laugh almost bubbles out if you weren’t breathless. He’s swathed head to toe in dove gray, save for the sharp shock of black around his neck, the shine of his shoes, the rich dark leather of his gloves. The waistcoat pulls tantalizingly against his stomach, a bright silver pin at the base of his throat. He’s slicked his hair into a side part, small blue-tinted glasses perched halfway down his curved nose. Leaning on the walking stick and crossing his ankles, he makes a sweeping “ta-da!” motion with his hand. Applause erupts, giving you cover to gasp in some much-needed air. 

“To All Hallows' Eve,” he croons, sharing secret looks with the team members you know are his brethren. By the time he catches your eye across the room you’ve finally comported yourself, smiling brightly at his nod. 

It takes him some time to get to you, fighting through the crowd of people wanting to rub elbows and make an impression. He gives them all their five minutes of fame in his presence, annoyance slowly ticking up with each stop. You keep busy organizing the raffle, handing out voting sheets (Max will certainly win best costume) and watching him out of the corner of your eye.

It’s at the first lull in your duties that Max slides up next to you, a warm hand on your lower back. It makes you jump, but settle quickly when his impressed smile comes into view.

“I think I know what you’re supposed to be,” he murmurs, coming to stand in front of you to get a better look. His brow furrows when his gaze lands on your breast pocket. “Hmmm, maybe not. So spill, what’s your costume?” he says, leaning on the cane and dragging his gaze up and down your body. Aiming for a carefree smile, you tap on the little calculator peeking out of your pocket.

“I’m someone you can count on,” you enunciate, the confusion and realization swirling in his eyes until a laugh bubbles out, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you came to the party as a pun,” he chokes out, both of you now giggling next to the bags of chips and finger sandwiches. When he finally gets control of himself he nods approvingly.

“Well, you might not win best costume with that…” You shrug, conceding, “but I’d give you the prize if you admit what you actually came as, pretty girl.”

Time slows to sticky seconds as Max inches closer to you, eyes sliding over your shoulder, tracing the curve of your neck, lighting for much too long on your lips. He knows, knows you wore the outfit from Secretary and for no one else but him. You keep your stare trained on his face. It’s not the first time you’ve considered throwing out professionalism in favor of hunger. It’s not like anyone else has been upholding your rigorous standards. Would it be so bad to let Max chase his desires with your body? To bloom underneath him, above him, around him? Would you like the taste of his mouth, coppery and thick? 

He’s close enough to be more than professional but not so close to be indecent, hot fingers tracing the band of the Rolex circling your wrist. Your mind blearily wonders if that’s when you let down the wall that kept him out. His eyes finally meet yours, a question in their depth, before his face contorts and he steps back quickly, a grimace painting his features.

“Are…” You swallow, mouth torturously dry. “Are you okay?” 

He nods, fighting on a smile and straightening with effort.

“Yes, sorry, I was…busy this afternoon, haven’t eaten yet.” He raises his hands in defense at your scolding glance, the tension back to a bare simmer. 

“Well go get a drink, I won’t announce the winners until you get back,” you say breathlessly, giving him a dazzling smile that he returns shyly. The tables are turned for once in your favor, and you savor watching Max on unsure footing. “Do you need me to heat something up for you?”

“No, I’ve got it taken care of,” he assures you, making his way to his office. A wave back at you is the last you see before he closes the door.

Finally able to make sense of what’s going on, you get back to the party, mingling with the girls you like from marketing and keeping tabs on the liveliness of the party. Max doesn’t return, the time to announce the costume winner closing in. You worry at your cuticles, his absence starting to toll on your mind. What if he was passed out in his office, weakening by the second? While you were out here with coworkers that had never given you a second glance?

Your resolve snaps, mother henning be damned, as you move to Max’s office. The din of the party muffles your voice, stepping close to listen at the door.

“Max?” you call, with no answer. Heart thumping, you test the handle. Locked. A quick trip to your desk has the spare key in your hand, ready to slot into the lock. 

“Max, it’s time for the announcement, I didn’t think you wanted to miss it,” you say, and this time you hear something. A low, pained groan.

The key slams into the lock, turning frantically as you whip the door open, two steps in with it shutting heavily behind you before you register what’s happening.

Max is not alone. And he’s…

He’s…

Oh fuck.

It’s easy not to see the monster when it looks like a middle manager. It’s easy to pretend the blood is a beetroot smoothie, or that the stains on his shirt are red wine. When Max makes it seem so dull, so boring, you sometimes forget he’s something strange and powerful.

But when you’re face to face with the truth, it all comes rushing to the forefront.

Max has Janet, the pretty thing from Web Design, spread out on his lap, her hands gripping the armrests of his chair. One hand is covering her mouth, leaning her head back to loll against his shoulder. The other is buried under her skirt, and from here you can see wetness shimmering inside her thighs. The lewd flexing of his forearm working her with those fingers you covet day in and day out almost distracts you from what’s actually happening. Almost.

Dragging your eyes up, you take in the true horror of the situation. You recognize the change, his face contorted with lines of deepening purple and red streaking his skin. The same that you saw when you told him about Brad. His mouth is latched onto Janet’s neck, red oozing around the seal of his lips. He’s groaning, swallowing thickly as you imagine mouthful after mouthful of her blood pouring down his throat.

The slam of the door drags Max’s eyes up, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when he sees you. Mouth popping off Janet’s skin, he growls your name, deep and drunken. The loss allows blood to spurt from Janet’s neck, thick droplets spraying across her bare legs, the carpet, his desk, staining papers you laid there just this morning. Your stomach churns violently, legs weakening as Janet thrashes against Max’s hold. He tears his eyes from you to look down at the mess, a rough, “shit,” falling from his blood-stained lips before he fits his mouth back to the ring of teeth. 

There is nothing darkly romantic about this now, no suave vampire lover sipping delicately from a young debutante’s neck. Blood sluices down to stain Janet’s pink top a deeper red, her face painted with rusty smears that gather between his fingers. Max pounds his fingers inside her, the telltale spasm of her orgasm accompanied by the liquid squeak of her flats slipping in her own blood. He withdraws, a sticky string of her cum trailing across her thighs. Pressing her flush to his chest, he sucks and growls and hums until Janet goes still, fingers falling away and body slumping. The pop of his mouth off the wound lets a dribble slip between the swell of her cleavage, more still smeared and dripping from his mouth. He sighs with relief, thick tongue lazily licking at the mess around his lips. He bands his arms around Janet and lifts, folding her face-down on his desk, legs dangling limply over the edge. Her eyes are sightless, blood smearing onto the Meyer report. 

A maddening thought - you’d have to reprint that - spikes through your consciousness.

Max stands, swaying slightly as he rolls his shoulders, finally looking at you trembling in his office. His eyes are blood red, human only in that he sees you with them. Realization flits across the face you barely recognize, smile going predatory. As if a body isn’t lying mere inches from him, he places his hands on his desk, leaning over to give you a sultry look.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he purrs, a sound that vibrates in two tones. It makes your fight or flight instinct claw up your spine. Specifically the flight part. The fight part is warring against the fiery arousal burning in your belly at Max’s slick mouth, the generous tenting in those gray pants, and the rabid desire in his eyes. Fear sharpens your pulse, and you know it would take barely anything to make you cum with a wail if he’d only touch you. 

“Can smell you from here, little secretary. Know you want me to devour that juicy pussy.” Max lengthens his neck, closing his eyes and inhaling with a satisfied moan. Flecks of blood dot the gray waistcoat, jacket abandoned in a heap on the floor. The black shirt hides the color but not the wetness of what Max could not eat. “I would, you know. I would eat you even if I was full to bursting. Let me taste you, pretty little thing. I want you on my tongue. I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll wash me clean.” 

He’s prowling around the table now, steps soft and light, and you’re a frozen gazelle with a tiger approaching. No, that’s too grounded, too finite. You’re a candle flame in the middle of an ocean, a moment away from being swallowed up. Your face is wet; you’re crying. You’re scared. You’re so aroused it hurts. You’re so in over your head you’re drowning. 

You can’t breathe. 

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Realization flickers over Max’s face and you watch him change. The veining and depth of his features recedes, eyes clearing back to soft brown as he slows his advances even further.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’m not…I’m not gonna hurt you.” He turns his palms up, keeping his distance as you struggle to let air back into your lungs. The first whoosh makes you so lightheaded you stumble back, falling to your knees. Max goes down to his knees with you, one hand outstretched but still too far to touch. You can’t stop shaking, taking in big gulping breaths. Max waits, a drip of blood from his chin shocking him into scrubbing his sleeve over his face. Most of the gore vanishes, but the pink hue remains. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never hurt you,” he tries again, scooting another pace forward. “I’m sorry, you were never supposed to see that. I fucked up, please…” 

His hand brushes your ankle and you know you’re going to be sick. Bile rushes up your throat and you scramble blindly for the trash bin. You make it just in time, emptying your stomach with retching sobs. A warm palm strokes your shoulder and you snap your arm out, head still hanging.

“Don’t touch me!” you rasp, and the hand is gone, letting you finish shuddering and coughing into the bin. When your stomach stops cramping you crawl away, ignoring Max’s concerned face in your periphery. You lost one of your shoes, picking it up from its topple onto the floor and holding it in your hand like a weapon.

“Please, look at me,” Max begs, and you finally take him in. He’s much more the Max you know, but so different now. Same hair you arrange for him, same soft-shaved face you touch more than you actually need to. Same brown eyes that look to you for guidance. But when you look closer you can see the film of blood on his teeth, droplets clinging to his eyebrows, and a never ending hunger in the depths of his eyes. 

You scramble to your feet, hobbling in one shoe. Max stumbles back up to your height.

“Pretty…?” he begs again, but you’re opening the door, striding out into the ruckus of the party. A couple people turn, eyes expectant until they see you. Confusion, or realization, turns them back around to ignore you. Heart thumping in your throat, fear pangs through your chest. Is there any blood on you? A quick inspection finds none, so it must be your haunted expression and disheveled appearance that inspires discretion. 

Unable to spend another moment in this building, copper still strong in your nose, you stuff your shoes in your bag and try to hurry out the back door. You need to get home, behind a locked door, maybe several. Somewhere you can think, get a level head, figure out what to do. 

Then Brad steps into your path, and your stomach plummets again. 

“Hey, where are you going? You haven’t announced the costume contest winner yet!” he laughs, blocking your path. Stepping to the side, you watch in dismay as he does the same. Again, but the other way, and he follows. Tutting, he nods at your Rolex.

“Seems like this is just an expensive gift now,” he bemoans, dunking you in clarity. 

You have to believe it will protect you.

Nothing can save you now. 

Only yourself.

Another step-dodge hides your hand diving into your bag, and when Brad grabs your wrist you swing your arm back and drive your stiletto into the side of his neck.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, hands coming up to staunch the dark blood seeping around the wound. Faintly you hear Max’s door open and the party drop to silence, but you leave the noise as you burst into the stairwell, racing to your car and away from the hell behind you.

Max stumbles out of his office as the door slams behind you, clothes sticking to his skin and mouth full of metallic tang. 

“Bitch put her heel in my goddamn neck!” Brad shouts, stomping up to Max. “Your assistant needs some fucking discipline Phillips.” He must have more to rant about, but two swift hands snap Brad’s head clean around and off, letting his body crumple to the floor. Max watches with disinterest, pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling long and deep before tossing the head to join. 

“Okay people, cleanup protocol,” he calls out, and the vampires in the crowd all look at each other. 

“Boss?” one of them says, making Max snap his attention to them in frustration. 

“You heard me, we’ll start relocation tomorrow.”

Max ignores the screams of his turned subordinates feeding on the human ones, his eye catching the glint of something on the ground. He kneels, heart sinking at what he finds. The Rolex, her talisman. Picking it up, he turns it grimly in his hands. Brad shouldn’t have been able to touch her, not with this. As long as she still believed it worked. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over the face, an errant smear of blood clouding the crystal.

You get the call on Sunday afternoon, a whole weekend spent locked up in your apartment and stressed over what Monday would bring. The unknown number is the district manager letting you know that your office is being outsourced, effective immediately. Do not return to the building, please ship company property back to HQ, on and on. Part of you is relieved to not have to step foot back there. The morbid voice in the back of your mind whispers that there’s more to it than cheaper labor. You let that voice fade in favor of relief.

With enough savings for a few months out of a job, you begin the search anew. HQ gave you a generic recommendation letter, which should be enough for your new employer. It would have been preferable to have one from Max, but thinking about what it might say gives you hysterical giggles.

Can warm blood up to body temp perfectly.

Handles high stress situations such as scheduling a body dump.

Looks into my eyes like she’s known me forever.

You force yourself out of this line of thought. 

Three weeks after you ran out of that building for the last time, you get an email.

From: mphillips@pge.com

Subject: Can we talk?

&lt;no body copy>

Your fingers hover over the keys, throat tightening. The hysteria died down after the first week, your trips outside cautious over the second, and finally a sense of calm had settled back into your life. Did you want to invite chaos back in?

To: mphillips@pge.com

Subject: When?

&lt;no body copy>

Your reply sends and moments later your inbox pings again.

From: mphillips@pge.com

Subject: Now?

&lt;no body copy>

Your face scrunches in confusion before the sharp buzz of your front door bell jars you out of your chair.

“Fucking…Max, give a girl a minute,” you curse, smoothing a hand through your hair and shrugging at your loungewear attire. Padding to your intercom, you click the button to activate the video screen. No one is standing on the stoop of your apartment. Confused, you press the talk button.

“Hello?”

“It’s Max.”

You’re stunned into silence before a smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re not visible on cameras too?”

“Ha ha, yeah I know, it’s great for a life of crime,” he drones out sarcastically, and even though you can’t see him you can imagine that mocking face.

A ball appears in the back of your throat. You missed him.

Buzzing him up, you wait at your door, leaning in the entryway. You don’t think he’s here to violently tie up a loose end, but you could be wrong. Your good judge of character has been suspiciously absent in the last eight months.

Three swift knocks and Max is standing in your doorway, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. You’d assumed he’d be in a suit, but this one is more casual, no necktie and his collar open. He’s wearing a cocky I-knew-you-missed-me face, but underneath there’s a current of worry, concern, and care that warms you.

“Oh, you never told me,” you say, holding the door open thoughtfully, “what are the loopholes for entering someone’s home without being invited in?”

Max’s eyes crinkle up as he rolls his eyes. There’s the man you’d been falling for.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Shit, that’s the first time you’d thought that.

“So in the movies it sounds so formal. Like ‘may I enter your home?’ and the other person has to say ‘yes, you may,’ but nobody talks like that anymore. You can just say come in, and that’s it. Or I can ask if I can come in and if you say yeah, that’s good enough. I’ve even had people tell me to come get a hug, or get out of the cold, and that worked too. Human language has evolved so much and…I am absolutely babbling like an idiot right now.” Max trails off and you stifle a smile behind your hand. It pulls a relieved one onto his face.

“I missed you,” you say, the words coming easier than you expected. Max’s eyes soften.

“I missed you too.”

You look at each other in silence before you snap back to the previous conversation.

“Oh, shit, right, yeah come in,” you stutter, Max crossing the threshold and handing you the sunny bouquet. The plastic wrap crinkles around your fingers, making for a good distraction as you move to put them in water while Max hangs his coat. 

It takes you a few minutes to snip the stalks and place them in a vase, and then a few moments more to ask Max if he’d like something (“whatever you’re having”) and brew two cups of black tea. Entering your little living room, you find Max sitting at one end of your couch, thumbing through a travel book. He puts it down to accept the tea, setting it to cool on the coffee table. Placing yours beside, you settle into the couch and try to think of where to begin. Thankfully, Max starts.

“I’m sorry you had to see any of that after all that you’ve done for me. It was inappropriate for me to feed at work, even more so to scare you. It was wildly unprofessional and I completely understand if you don’t want to be associated with me after that.”

You blink slowly at him, absorbing this carefully rehearsed apology. He waits for your response, damnation or salvation.

“Is Janet okay?”

You watch his face cooly as he struggles through a few different emotions. Confusion, incredulity, amusement, relief. 

“Yeah, Janet’s fine, I turned her. She’s moving to England, not as much sun.”

Silence slips between you before you break into giggles, Max following along as the tension unwinds. When your breath stops hitching you give Max a warm smile, picking up your mug to take a sip. 

“Sounds like HQ just wanted to sweep all this under the rug. Would it always have ended up this way, or was the party to blame?” Max shrugs, arm slung over the back of the couch and ankle resting on his knee.

“It’s different every place I go. Sometimes it’s longer, other times it’s only a few weeks. You made it easier,” he says, a blanket of fondness warming your lap. Tracing the lip of the mug with your fingernail, you sort through what you want to say next.

“Before the party…was something going on between us? Or is that some weird vampire thing to make humans easy to manipulate?” Peering through your lashes, you think you see Max blush.

“I can assure you I did not use my supernatural powers of suggestion on you. Only on difficult clients,” he laughs, tilting his head lazily onto one shoulder. “Yeah,” he adds quieter, face turning to his lap. “Yeah, there was something going on between us.” Slowly, giving you time to shy away, he reaches out to brush his fingers along the inside of your knee. A trill of excitement flutters through you. “I hope it’s still there.”

Just as cautiously, you reach out and let the tips of your fingers meet, his hand turning over to cup them in his palm. The softness of his skin entices you to stroke along his broad palm, the undersides of his fingers, until he moves to lace them with yours, joints stretching pleasantly around his larger ones. When you get the courage to look up he’s regarding you with quiet wonder, lips parted. You smile at him, eliciting one in response.

“I have something for you,” he says, voice tight as he digs into his pants pocket. It’s a smaller box than the first gift he got you, and you release his hand to take it. Sliding the top off, you’re treated to a delicate silver chain. 

“I don’t think the Rolex quite expresses what I’d like us to be now,” Max says, lifting the chain out of the box. It’s even more dainty in his hands, thick fingers struggling briefly with the clasp. 

“So you’re not asking me to keep being your assistant?” you say, pulse pounding in your ears so loud you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Put this on and I’ll show you what I’d like us to be,” he says, a soft challenge but no fire in his eyes. Instead there’s a question, one that you’d struggled with in the weeks following the party.

Could you handle this? 

Pushing up on your knees, you gently lift one leg over Max’s lap, settling on his thighs. His eyes widen, then that bratty smile comes back to grace his face. 

“I’m waiting Max,” you tease in a sing-song lilt. He lifts the chain to loop around your neck, fastening the ends together. It hangs cooly against you, sensation slowly disappearing as it warms to your skin.

“This will protect you, if you believe in it,” he says, and as he breathes the words he leans up to place a soft kiss to your collarbone, pressing the chain between his lips and your skin. “It will protect you from those with ill intent,” he continues, trailing his lips along the necklace as he places another kiss at the base of your throat, “because I will never let another creature, living or undead, bring harm to you.” Here he places an open-mouthed kiss on your sternum, a tentative lick pebbling your skin. “And it will protect you from me,” His mouth moves up the other side of your neck, peppering kisses along the way, “because I will never lay a hand on you that you’re not begging for.” 

You bury your hands in his short locks, scratching your nails along his scalp. The groan he lets out makes him circle you in his arms, sliding you down his thighs to sit tight against him. His breathing becomes erratic, and he rolls his hips below you.

“I’ll never…fuck, I’ll never drink from you. I’ll never bite you, I promise,” he growls, and now his mouth is hot and possessive on your neck, sucking and scraping teeth up to worry behind your ear.

“I like biting,” you whisper back, grinding lightly on him. “Only these teeth, though, not the sharp ones.” 

The dark chuckle he makes precedes him pulling you back, looking up at you with wide eyes and a damp mouth. 

“I still want you to be my assistant, though, I’m a mess without you,” he pants, eyes glittering with mirth. Shaking your head with a sigh, you dip down to capture the mouth you’d been coveting. He tastes like bitter tea leaves, coffee, and the primal coppery heat of blood on the back of his tongue.

It’s a taste you could get used to.

NEXT

[alyssajennwrites]

Fireworks ~ Quackity x Y/n

Quackity x f!reader

TW: Fireworks (Loud noises), cursing, fluff

Note: In 1st person. I’m sorry if your tall but for the sake of the story the reader is short. Also, it doesn’t really mention it but Y/n is around Quackity’s age (just wanted to say that so you didn’t get confused).

Remember: D/n = Discord name, S/n = Ship name, N/n = Nickname

Summary: Y/n meets up with the dspm gang for the first time. But things take a slight turn in the wrong direction when Tommy not only sets off fireworks, but when he also sets off Y/n’s fear of loud noises.

A/N: I know it’s not the Fourth of July but I’ve had this idea for forever so I wanted to write it.

Word Count: 2,015

༺𝓞𝓷𝓮 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂༻

“Happy Fourth of July everyone!” Tommy said through the discord as he and the rest of the gang streamed.

I am currently sitting in my room, waiting for Tommy to finish up. He said he’d be done in five minutes, he said that 30 minutes ago. Not gonna lie, he’s kinda a dick sometimes. He’s my best friend, but he’s just irritating sometimes.

I honestly shouldn’t have let him stream from my setup! I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, but I shouldn’t have let him.

“Tommy,” I whined, walking over to him and placing my head on his shoulder. “You told me you would be done 25 minutes ago.”

I gave him a pouty face while trying to get his attention. He looked over in my direction but didn’t look at me. He looked over at the chat.

“Chat! Stop spamming that! Y/n and I are not a couple!” Tommy said, well more as he yelled.

I looked over to see the chat spamming their ship name for us, S/n. When chat first started spamming it, about a year ago, Tommy had freaked out. But now he just yells for the fun of it.

I laugh and put on a headset, pulling the extra microphone over to me.

“Hey chat!” I say waving at the camera even if I feel like a complete idiot doing so. “Tommy? Why isn’t a game pulled up on the computer? Weren’t you playing on the SMP?”

“Well, Mujer Bonita, we don’t have our set up with us at the moment,” I heard Big Q say through the call.

Big Q has a habit of giving me nicknames but saying them in Spanish. At first, I couldn’t understand a word he’d say, but now I know bits and pieces.

“Oh? And why would that be?” I ask.

“You’ll just have to wait and see missy,” He replies.

“Well chat,” Tommy interrupts. “I better end this before Big Q and N/n get into another fight. You know the drill and I really don’t feel like repeating it but check the follow button and I’ll see you later. Bye!”

He immediately ends the stream, but doesn’t disconnect from the discord call. He turns to me, letting out a long breath.

“What? Why are you acting like you need to do something this minute but you don’t want to?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “Did you forget that you have a college essay due tomorrow?”

I hear a lot of, “Ooo,” coming from the boys still in the call. I laugh, at Tommy’s face.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down are you?” He asks, the corners of his mouth lifting up slightly.

“Do you really expect me to? You had 3 weeks to complete that essay and you put it off until the night before. I’m surprised you even finished it.”

“Tommy, the lady has a point,” Karl jumps in.

I smirk, triumphantly.

“Quit boosting her ego! You should see the look on her face,” Tommy says, somewhat annoyed.

The whole call bursts out laughing and I’m reminded of how much I want to meet them all in person. I’ve only met Tommy in person and he is currently staying over for the next couple of weeks. I really want to see them.

It’s weird, having people know you better than you know yourself. Especially if those people have never met you in real life. Like, take Karl for example, he knows every one of my favorite songs. Though that’s probably because I play and sing them nonstop when on a call with him.

“Alright, alright! Enough! N/n and I have to go. We’ll talk to you idiots later!” Tommy says.

Multiple byes and see ya’s can be heard from the call before Tommy logs off. That’s when he turns back to face me.

“Let’s go before we miss the party.” With that, he pulls me up and begins dragging me to the front door.

“Tommy where are we going?” I ask for about the third time during our little night drive.

“Y/n! I swear! If you fucking ask again I’m gonna turn around and we’re going home. And trust me when I say you’ll not be happy with that!” Tommy says as he takes a corner way too fucking fast.

I sigh, laying back further in my seat. I pull out my phone, opening Discord to find absolutely no messages from my main SMP friends. I frown, both confused and disappointed. That’s when I decide to get their attention.

See, the boys are very protective of me. Me being one of the only girls along with Niki has its perks. So, I text the main chat for our little group of friends.

D/n:

AAAHHHH SAVE MEEEEE

Big Q immediately answers this and I’m not surprised.

Quackity:

Woah! What’s wrong? Are you okay?

KarlJacobs:

You good?

Dream:

Fuck not again…

Tommy looks over when he hears me laugh at the boys’ reaction.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He leans over and looks at my screen. “Hey! Turn that off! No Discord during our trip!” He takes my phone again, placing it on the other side of him where I can’t reach it.

“Tommy… Give me my phone back!” I yell reaching for it.

“No! Get away!” He screams back at me.

“Don’t make me ask again Bitch Boy!”

Tommy playfully gasps, “Okay, now you’re not getting it back!”

I huff, sinking into my seat, defeated. My phone begins vibrating. Over, and over, and over, and over again.

“Damn girl, why do you have Discord notifications on?” Tommy asks, turning on my phone screen. “Holy shit! What did you say to them? I can’t read what they said because of your stupid Face ID, but I can tell that they’re worried.”

“Dude! Eyes on the fucking road!” I say as he drifts into the other lane.

~~~~~

The drive takes another 30 minutes before Tommy turns into a parking lot. I get out of the vehicle, looking around. There is nothing here. I see no party.

“Here you go. Please answer them before they start bugging me,” Tommy says, handing his phone to me and then leaning on the car.

I unlock my phone to see multiple messages from the boys.

Quackity:

N/n? You can’t scream and then not respond to us!

Mujer Bonita? Answer us, please!

Tubbo:

Y/n?

Y/n are you okay?

GeorgeNotFound:

Did she get kidnapped?

KarlJacobs:

No, she didn’t fucking get kidnapped, George!

It goes on like this for a while. So I keep scrolling to find this,

Wilbur:

Have you tried calling her?

Quackity:

No, let me try really quickly!

Wilbur:

You should have tried that first dipshit!

‘Quackity started a call’

’Fifteen missed calls from Quackity’

I sigh,

“Tommy! You took my phone and now the SMP is worried!” I say, playfully slapping his arm.

“Geez! Sorry, I didn’t want them to spill the surprise!” He said.

But before I could even question him, he dragged me towards the one bend in the road at the end of the parking lot. This bend was conveniently wide enough for me not to be able to see the other side.

“Tommy, I don’t like this,” I say, pulling my arm out of his grasp and backing up. “What is going on?”

“Just trust me N/n.” Right after he said that I could feel my phone vibrate.

I unlock my phone, finding that I had a message from Big Q.

Quackity:

Trust him Mujer!

I look up, confused, but either way, I hesitantly reach out my hand to Tommy. Tommy grabs hold of my hand and pulls me around the bend.

I stop short, gasping at the sight in front of me. There was a huge house like tent with lanterns everywhere. There was a walkway with torches lining the path. The tent was illuminated by what I guessed to candles or lanterns. The one thing that stood out to me the most was the crowd of people all talking outside of the tent.

I freed myself from Tommy’s hold and ran down the path to the crowd. As I make my way closer, I see one of the short males turn to face me. I gasp as I recognize the face, freezing when I recognize all the faces in the crowd.

“What…?” I say quietly. “How are you here?”

Tommy comes up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Happy Fourth of July Y/n.”

~~~~~

After many hugs and some tears. We all settle down. Me sitting next to Alex on the loveseat. Wilbur sitting on a stool with his guitar, strumming the tune to Your New Boyfriend. And everyone else sitting on the couches and chairs that surround the fire.

I look around at our group, there was Alex, Karl, Wilbur, Dream with a face mask on, George, Tubbo, Tommy, Philza, Niki, and Ranboo who also had a mask on.

They did it. They actually made a get together. And it is the best get together I could have asked for.

Out of no where, Tommy jumps up and yells,

“Time for fireworks bitches!!”

He runs outside, everyone else following. But as I stood up I realized, I hate loud noises. Tommy’s yelling is fine but, fireworks? I’ll have a mental breakdown.

“You okay mi amor?” Alex asked, walking back over to me.

“Mhm,” I say quietly, still looking at the wall.

“Hey…” Alex says quietly, using if hand to gently turn my head to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t laugh,” I saying, smiling sadly.

“I promise.” He sticks his pinky out for me to link with mine.

I laugh lightly, linking our pinkies in a promise.

“Okay, so…” I take a deep breath. “I’m scared of loud noises.”

Alex looks shocked at that. But he doesn’t laugh. He gives me a small smile and pulls me into a hug. But then suddenly he pulls away.

“How do you handle Tommy’s yelling and screaming them?” He looks worried, but I just chuckle.

“Oh, Tommy’s fine. I know that his yelling is all fun and games,” I reply smiling. “When I first met him though, I almost fell out of my chair because I jumped so hard when he yelled out his welcome.”

“Well, why don’t we go outside with the others?” He asks, stretching his hand out for me to grab.

I hold on, momentarily forgetting my fear. That is, until Tommy set off the first firework and I jump back. Alex immediately looks back to see me sitting on the ground, shaking. He quickly sits down next to me and covers my ears with his hands.

A look of worry, and guilt crossing his face. His hands were warm on my ears, and I couldn’t seem to make myself look away from his eyes. There was something about them that was mesmerizing.

We stayed like that until Tommy had run out of fireworks to light. Alex pulled his hands away from my ears as soon as he was certain that there were no more fireworks. He gently brushed his fingers across my skin, wiping away the tears that had broken free.

“I’m sorry, I should have stopped them sooner,” he whispered.

“It’s fine,” I whispered back.

“Hey! What do you two think you are doing on the ground?” Tommy called out from the distance.

Alex and I both laughed, helping each other off of the ground. We spent the rest of the night laughing and having fun. And Alex couldn’t seem to let go of my hand, but I’m not complaining.

“Wait, were you guys texting me from the same room? And were you in a call with Tommy from the same place?”

I never got an answer, I only got a bunch of laughter.

[squishious]

ok i'd apologize to you & everyone else for only blogging about myself and my friends tonight but actually that would be un-sincere because i love my friends so so so much and all of life is about love. anyway here's a long summary of css :

-1. the context: luna @hanjoonhwi got to know mika through me and @ramonapest and so she'd discover old stuff progressively and one day she found css and made it her whole personality (read: blog) because she did that often (for a while she was tomorrowlive because she loved live performances of tomorrow, etc etc etc) and so she saved the url cokestudiostardust or i did. and then we had the fantastic idea of both changing our urls to something super similar to each other for a little while just to confuse the 12 mika blogs here (a small group of which are commonly referred to as "the rodents" due to the existance of an almost-dead discord server that i would like to bring back alive and that you could probably be added to, where we discuss mika) ANYWAY sorry for the slight detour. so yes that was the plan. and then we were like wait we need to include rory (because we had a tiny groupchat called "mouaylor tshirts" <- more lore there but basically luna wanted a mika x taylor x louis collab and rory made a fake poster that i put on redbubble models and so we made a groupchat to discuss business and then ended up being besties). so yes back to the main story. we text rory and we're like hey do you wanna join us in this wild scheme? she was like what scheme? we said say yes or no because we cant tell you unless you're joining. she said yes and we told her everything and also she was moving that same weekend... so it was insane of her to contribute. but yes that's the end of this part

0. the prep: so we saved css url, and 2 typo css urls. picked an icon header and background colour for the blog (#facade pink) and then the point was to confuse people so we didn't want them to be able to scroll adn figure out easily which one is rory vs luna vs me. so what we did is we made rory (?) i think (?) post a link to the css yt video. then we each reblogged it privately to our blogs about 100 times in preparation and then didn't blog until the day of. the day of we unprivated all the posts, so basically if you wanted to see any posts before you'd need to scroll for so long. and we changed our urls (i dont remember who was which url) and icons and headers and colours and made our blogs only available on phone so you couldnt go to archive to figure out who was who. also we had the same blog titles (coke studio stardust) and bios.

1. phase 1: we basically went around blogging normally as if nothing happened, but also sending asks to common mutuals and each others mutuals (ex: "hiii squish!! how are you???") and all of us sending them, to create confusion. did that for about 24 hours. but the thing is we sent the exact same asks and reblogged all the same posts with the same tags. luna and i even managed to confuse rory's sibling and like long-time friend on here. a mika blog @grayskelly we didnt know at the time (but v knows) just joined us (same blog appearance etc) and became our immediate bestie, hence creating the famous and iconic @h-isforhome "big day in mika fandom" post (the first one in the image post you reblogged). also we followed any mutuals that we mutuals with 2 but not 3 of us (pretending we accidentally unfollowed) in prep for phase 2

2. phase 2: (my favourite phase) we "apologized" etc for our behaviour and said we are switching back. BUT we lied (celebrity apology video style), and what we did is switch to each other's!! blogs. so i was luna and luna was rory and rory was me. and it actually fooled people due to all the followings in phase 1 and it being practically impossible to go to posts pre may 15. this phase particularly drove people insane (luna and i were competing over who would lose the most followers, rory somehow was gaining followers). but yes basically we blogged exactly lik each other, tagging systems etc, spoke like each other (hashtag true bestiehood), and sent even more asks. the middle 2 pics are examples of such interactions after we finally switched back to the real us, making all the posts hilariously funny. one common mutual thought that was was going on was that we had logged into each other's accounts. another was like ahh i got you. x is pretending to be y and y is [etc etc], getting it all wrong and we were like ah yes! you got us! so true!. i think @thirteens-earring still hates us for may 16.... we were sending each other messages being like hi v this is rory! etc and v eventually figured out who was who but the whole time was sending us murderous threats + at one point luna was like hi rory this is v! to v, which was funny. anyway i think lizzie @dionysuswearsanorangetracksuit was the first one to catch on what was going on (like super early that day) and texted me and h about it but i made them promise they wouldn't explain to everyone what was going on.

everyone was like ah hahah ha hilarious right. you guys are done right. no really. you are done right. please please say you're done. and so, this is what we did after:

3. phase 3 prep: rory and luna collected the best posts through screenshots, i opened photoshop with a normal canvas size and started adding them and making the canvas bigger and bigger, ending up with a photoshop file of 16359x22200 pixels, it took me and rory 2 computers, 3 photoshop versions, and about 1 hour to export that as 4 pngs.

4. phase 3: on may 17 we changed all our blog titles to "phase 3", posted that image, and everyone was like hey guys. whats phase 3 whats going on pls explain. and to this day no one knows what phase 3 is <3 we will not say unless someone guesses

anyway if you've read all this thank you so much in indulging me and listening to me talk nonsense about friendship shenanigans (<- idk how to spell in english but i might have gotten it right). it was truly a wild time where rory was normal and luna and i were unhinged and drove rory into our unhingeness. i miss it incredibly and i wanna do more of that with you and them and all my little computer friends. or maybe we could jsut have a sleepover. idk but all i know is that if i knew you all in real life we would have the best laughs and the best times of our lifes and we'd just have so much fun. like if all of you bring this much joy in my life just by resharing the same posts as each other and replying to each other, imagine what it would feel like if we could all have a picnic or a roadtrip or just a day out at the mall even.... anyway this is getting sappy and i need to go to bed. ty for reading or sorry!!!!! now that we're friends i'll invite you next time we plan an international cyber-prank

HELLO OKAY !!!! apologies 2 my followers in advance but i need to immortalise this bc truly. this is the pinnacle of careful throughtful tomfoolery i'm very impressed

first off i'm all for the resuscitation of mika discord there really are sooo few of us on here !! mouaylor collab would be incredible and i need to see this shirts if they exist lmfao. also doing this while moving u are SO STRONG thats incredible !!!

anyways again the amount of thought that went into this.....the reblogged posts the turning off web view the following each others mutuals.....i would trust u to pull of a heist i think. sounds like a wild day and yesss would love to participate in international cyber pranks or sleepovers (or both simultaneously) w u all !!! truly i think that we'd have the most wonderful time if we knew each other irl the shenanigans and vibes would be unmatched <3 (i am living in constant fear of phase 3 now. its gonna haunt my every click on this site)

[violetsaffron5]

12 Days of Christmas (2022)

| Masterlist | Taglist | Ao3 | Social Media | Discord 18+ |

12 | Twelve Drummers Drumming

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader

Prompt: You attend a local holiday charity auction and bid on a date with a sexy CEO.

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: role play, breeding, oral, vaginal sex

“I’m going to save my bid for Gojo Satoru,” a lady at the table next to yours whispers. The group of ladies she’s with giggle and snicker at her hopes.

“I’m going to bid on Nanami Kento,” another lady says, taking a sip of her drink, “out of all of them, he’s husband material.”

A small smile forms on your face at the thought of Nanami being the only candidate being marriage material. But that’s neither here nor there tonight.

“Mine’s going straight to Geto Suguru,” a different woman this time, “he’s devilishly handsome.”

You can’t help but chuckle at their conversation and their silly little reasons for wanting to place their bid on the top three candidates tonight. And not one of their reasons has to do with supporting the local Christmas charity event this is supposed to be about.

Though, that probably shouldn’t be too surprising when the charity decided to auction off dates with CEO’s from around the city as a way to gain more money.

When the auction begins, you sit back in your chair and listen to the low rumble of people talking about each suitor as the bids start. The two ladies at the table next to you win their dates with Nanami and Geto respectively and you smirk, knowing the third lady is going to be leaving severely disappointed because there is no way on this planet, you’re leaving without your arm wrapped around Satoru’s.

You’ve brought enough money to be sure of it.

Satoru walks out on stage, so handsome in his tailored black suit, tie matching his azure eyes, flashing that infuriatingly perfect smile at the crowd as the bids begin again.

You sit back, biding your time, waiting for the last moment to swoop in and snatch him out from under some poor unsuspecting soul.

As he looks around the room, your eyes lock a few times, sending little flirtatious smiles to one another before you raise your own card, bidding four times as much as the highest bidder.

You win. Obviously you do, you knew there would be no competition at that price.

After the auction, you gather your belongings, ready to search for Satoru when he appears by your side, cocktail in hand.

You grin at him accepting the beverage as the woman at the table next to you scowls.

“Where’d you get the kind of money to throw it all at a charity event?” He asks curiously, motioning for you to wrap your arm around his and walk with him. You happily accept, turning just enough to the side to wink at the lady who still holds a frown.

“Inheritance. I recently came into some money and thought it’d be best spent doing some good for our city.”

“How admirable of you.”

It’s a lie. You know it, he knows it. Neither of you talk about it.

Stopping at a nearby table, the both of you drop off your empty cocktail glasses, and Satoru helps you get your coat on. It’s only a few minutes walk to your place from here, but it’s snowing out, perfect for a white Christmas tomorrow.

“Would you be interested in going back to my place for this date?” You offer, playing with the lapels of his jacket.

He chuckles, placing his hands on your hips, leaning in close, his breath on the shell of your ear, sending jolts straight to your core, “how about we go to mine, and I’ll show you a night you’ll never forget.”

You bite your lip and nod, quickly making your way out the door and down the road to his apartment.

As soon as you step foot inside the Tokyo penthouse, your back is against the door, his lips feverishly against yours. You waste no time in unbuttoning his jacket and slipping it off as he quickly unzips your dress and pulls it down, letting it pool on the floor.

He loses his clothes quickly after that, lips still latched to yours as your tongues dance together in the warmth of your mouth. He throws them haphazardly in the foyer before kissing along your jaw from one side to the other, nipping gently on your ear lobes.

You let out a shaky breath as he turns his attention to your neck, chest and stomach, bending down between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs to himself before placing a quick kiss on it, lifting one leg over his shoulder, and then the other, placing his hands on your hips so you’re perfectly balanced back pressed against the wall.

He licks a strip between your folds up to your clit, before sucking gently. You arch your back, grabbing your breasts to tweak your hardened nipples as he continues his assault on your clit.

Letting go of your hips, he easily slips two fingers into your slick pussy, finding your g-spot with perfect practiced ease. He’s always so good at this.

Satoru’s moaning, you’re moaning and you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a noise complaint next week when everyone comes back to work, but you don’t care as you rut your hips against his tongue to the best of your abilities.

You clench around him, your core tightening with your impending release as he gives a particularly hard suck, causing you to unravel, your essence pooling on his hand.

He groans, watching your slick drip down your leg, running his tongue up your thigh, before helping you move your legs from his shoulders, down to his waist.

And before you’ve recovered, he’s lining himself up at your entrance, thrusting his hips slowly and shallowly, letting you adjust inch by inch.

His hands are wrapped around your waist as you throw your head back once fully seated on his length. Satoru walks you over into the kitchen, placing your back against the marble kitchen island, pumping a few times before flipping you over.

He easily slips back in as he grabs your hands, holding them behind your back, other hand at the base of your neck, gripping tight.

“Gonna f-finally put a baby in you,” he stutters, snapping his hips to your plush ass watching the way it jiggles as you cry out. “You’re gonna be so fucking full of me.”

He’s the first to break the game. He always is and you don’t care. You never do when he’s fucking you this hard.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, tits pressed against the cool countertop.

“Gonna give me a little Christmas miracle, babe?” He asks, you know he doesn’t expect an answer, you’re nothing but yes and please right now anyway.

He lets go of your neck, to snake his hand between your legs, massaging your clit a few times and that’s all it takes before you’re exploding around him like a tsunami, trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s it, just like that,” he groans before he buries his cock in you as far as he can go, throwing his head back groaning every syllable of your name as he fills you with his seed.

He shutters, slowing his thrusts before placing his forehead between your shoulders, placing several small kisses, and then he’s pulling out, watching both your essence mix and drip down your leg.

He helps you stand on shaky legs, before picking you up and carrying you over to the couch.

Satoru sighs, holding you close on his lap, kissing your forehead several times as he grabs the remote for the fireplace turning it on, the heat enveloping your space in a matter of moments.

“Did you have fun?” He asks quietly, the crackle from the fireplace filling the quiet apartment you share.

“Pretending we don’t know each other so I can spend mass amounts of money to undermine women who think they have a shot with my husband, just so he can fuck my brains out? Absolutely.” You grin, pecking his lips, then cheek several times.

He asks this question every year, and every year you answer the same way. It’s your own little Christmas tradition, after all.

Taglist: @z33sblog @thisbicc @septembersums @septembersummer @nothisispatrick300 @km7474 @missyasma @arisucat @watyousayin @khadeejarh

[pebblysand]

HERE WE GO! WELCOME TO THE PAGE PALS PROJECT! THIS IS YOUR CONVERSATION STARTER FOR CHAPTER ONE. FEEL FREE TO SEND IN ASKS OR JOIN THE DISCORD FOR MORE!

HANDY LINKS/INFO:

chapter: i. out of sand (baby girl)

wordcount: 10, 157

playlist: notes here

castles FAQ: here

g e n e r a l t h o u g h t s:

I felt very emotional, beginning this chapter. There is a sense of finality in this project that I hadn't quite grasped before. This is - in all probability - the last time I read this fic. This is the last time I read this chapter. A chapter I have read dozens of times in the past few years - every time I was stuck, every time I needed to 'get back in.' Most of these paragraphs roll off the tip of my tongue when I read them out loud, because I've seen them so many times. And, I know that for you, reading this, this might not be the last time. Because you will go back, re-read this fic as many times as you like for as long as the internet exists. But I won't. That's not how my brain works, and I need to put projects behind me. To make room for new ones. And, so there is a sense of excitement, yes, reaching the end, but also a sense of grief.

If everything goes well, and if I do post the last chapter when I intend to, castles will have been four years of my life, almost to the day. COVID came and went, so did a couple of jobs, a relationship, a parent. I recently listened to an interview from Alexandre Astier where he described meeting someone in a supermarket once, who asked for an autograph for her husband. 'Ah, he's a massive fan,' she said. 'Though, to be honest, I never got into your work myself.' He was talking about how, for 'normal' people, people who aren't artists, someone else's art is just that: something that you like or don't like. But, for us, it's a part of ourselves. It's thousands of hours of work. And, sometimes, I wonder what castles says about me. What these thousands of hours have come down to. If I die tomorrow, which I hope I do not, this is one the things that I will leave behind me. And, so: what does it say about me? I mean: beyond the politics and the feminism and the quirky little interests. I mean: me, as a person. What do castles readers know about me? I'm not sure I even want to know.

t h e r e - r e a d:

I really enjoyed re-reading this chapter. It's funny to me how for you guys, depending on when you started the fic, you might have read multiple versions of this. I didn't make any big changes, nothing massive, but I did add a couple of scenes/lines here and there throughout the years, I'm curious to see whether you will notice.

in terms of the chapter itself, i think one of the things i like most about it is how it flows. it has that very distinctive castles prose to it, with the timeline that moves back and forth, the run-on sentences, the spiralling in and out of scenes. i recently got a comment on ff.net (lol) that said the chapter was messy and unreadable. and i think in a way, i like that. because frankly, if that bothers you in chapter 1, then you're probably not the right person for this fic, you know? i think chapter one serves its function well. a first chapter is supposed to be an intro, a taste of what you will read next, and i think it is perfect in that. it introduces the plot, the dynamic between the characters. it's long enough to signal that this isn't a fic where you'll read fifteen chapters in half an hour. i think you can read chapter one and tell if this is a fic you'll enjoy or not. and, that's what i want, really. that's what a first chapter should do.

having said that, i think there are two things i want to specifically dive into.

t h e h y p o:

early in the writing of castles, i used to get a lot of criticism about my version of post-war harry and ginny. particularly, there seems to be a subsection of the hinny-shipping crowd that basically thinks that harry and ginny would just meet after the war, scream at each other (or, that at least, ginny would be angry at harry for leaving her behind), kiss and make up, and pour their hearts out to each other about past events. specifically, these people believe that ginny is very good at weeding secrets out of harry, at getting him to talk, and thus the events of castles are not canon compliant with both of these characters.

i feel like objectively, it's not really my place to say whether that's correct. i think multiple versions of the same thing can be 'correct' depending on how you write them. but, if that's what floats your boat, if you have a very strong headcanon about this, then fine - by all means, go read something else (again, that's also the point of chapter 1). but i think this hypothesis sort of stuck in my head for a while, in light of the comments i was getting, because i couldn't help but wonder if that version of things isn't simply an idealised version of reality.

because, to read the books strictly: 1) ginny's anger at harry isn't obvious. you could argue it is there but she's actually quite calm in the break up scene. i am not sure she is that angry with him, especially when you think that she's just been through a war, lost a brother, etc. i think ginny is someone who knows there is a time and place for anger, and who is also incredibly strong and resilient. she still kisses him even after the break-up, after he's clearly decided to leave her behind , so i'm not sure she would lash out in these circumstances. additionally, 2) there's actually not that much evidence that harry and ginny talk to each other - ever. they're a hot and heavy thing, but they don't share much emotional stuff on screen. you can interpret the 'sunlit days' however you want, in the absence of further information, but it's not a given that ginny ever shares anything of importance about her past or her traumas, like what happened with tom. the one scene everyone always points to is the 'lucky you' scene, but that's a mutual understanding more than it is a conversation. she actually never mentions anything beyond very utilitarian details meant to help harry realise he's not being possessed. and, harry never canonically tells ginny about anything of importance in his life either.

and so what all of these comments drove me to do, a few months ago (i think i added this in september 2023) was to link that to the theme of those early chapters of castles. because one of the key elements of chapters 1-3, specifically, is this idea of the lifeline. of the way harry and ginny have spent months, at this point, idealising each other, idealising their reunion, for it to later come crashing down on them. and so i thought i would use the opportunity of chapter one to 1) try and address the 'criticism' above, and 2) make it fit within the world of castles. it led to this:

In his head, their reunion would have been something sweet, like her lips moving against his, the taste of the raspberry-flavoured lip balm she used to wear the year before. He would have confessed to all of his sins, to almost dying, to Hallows and Horcruxes, to the fear and the nightmares, to leaving her behind. ‘I’m sorry,’ he would have said. ‘I am so, so sorry.’  And, he would have tried to explain like he did last year, that all he ever wanted was to protect her, to keep her safe, and she would have yelled. Shouted at the top of her lungs in a rapid succession of angry jabs about what an arsehole he was. ‘I can take care of myself!’ she would have thrown back. ‘You left me!’  He would have looked to his feet. With time, he hopes that they would have fixed it. In reality, though, Ginny Weasley hands him a toothbrush that morning, as he sits back on his heels. Her stare digs holes into the side of his face and he wonders if, had he been Hermione or Luna (had he been a friend, still), she would have cajoled him. Handed him a wet towel for his forehead. Instead, she closes the door behind her on her way out. ‘You should shower,’ she says.

i love the sort of whiplash effect this scenes gives, of the fantasy v. post-war reality, which is obviously a massive theme in castles. and i also love the way it subtly signals that ginny might have changed (just like he has) throughout the war. because, obviously, she has, and we later find out why.

s e x a n d f u n e r a l s:

i cannot express how attached i am to that scene, and to that line in particular. i think there's a number of reasons for this:

first, it's the line that basically motivated me to start castles for real in 2020. i have said this before in other posts but i started drafting some sort of post-war hinny fic as early as 2007. i never finished anything, then when i was 17 (2010), i did a re-read and actually drafted something new. then dropped it again. and, that file transferred from laptop to laptop, from file to file for ten years without me touching it much. until covid came and i was looking through my drive, and i tenderly read what 17-year-old me had written back then, including this 'first time' sex scene which, to be honest, has mostly remained untouched in the final version of this. and, i remember finding it, reading it, and thinking the rest of what i had written was a bit cringe, but that one scene seemed to work. and then, i got to the (now famous) line: to him, the spring of '98 is about sex and funerals, and thought fuck, that's a good line. like, a really good line. and i didn't want to let it go to waste. and, so, four years later, here we are.

i think that line is a very good symbol of what this story is about. 'sex and funerals' - it's a metaphor for how life is about the good and the bad things. that they co-exist as one single entity, and that the beauty of what we do, of the way we live, resides somewhere in between. it's why i chose it as the summary back then, and why it is still the summary now. i really built the entire fic around that line. so, yeah, 17-year-old jo, you already had something going for you, darling.

l a s t l y:

a thought i had while re-reading (and please don't come at me for this), is that... this could have been a one-shot. like, it really could have. i finished chapter 1 and there's a sort of finality to it, isn't there? like, i'm glad i continued this fic, but part of me thinks that all i've been trying to say in the past four years actually is in this chapter. obviously, not as detailed or subtle, but it's there, you know? it could have been a one-shot, lmao.

but anyway, i'm curious, did you guys enjoy your re-read? did you notice the changes i made throughout the years? did you enjoy them? feel free to send me an ask or join the discord server to discuss. i'm so excited to get this discussion started and hear your thoughts!

[mrmcwigglyman]

A letter to E-Sekai

Rare semi-serious post because E-Sekai's first anniversary is tomorrow.

Hopefully this breaches Tumblr containment because I don't use any other social media.

When E-Sekai first debuted, I was at a really bad time in my life. For context, I went to college in late August, and for two months, I was slowly destroying my mental health because I wanted to stay, but couldn't handle it. I continued to sink deeper and deeper into depression until my mom came to take me home in late October. During the first months of my return, I was so dejected that I didn't want to do anything. I wasted all my time doing unproductive things on the computer, relying on it for comfort. My parents intervened and restricted access to my computer. Without my computer for comfort, I turned to watching VTubers on my phone, to the point of staying up all night trying to distract myself from the sadness of having to leave college. It was really unhealthy and non-sustainable, but I couldn't get myself to do anything else.

Almost exactly one month later, I found a debut compilation for Idol-EN's first generation, called E-Sekai. I was immediately interested, so I found their channels and subscribed to all of them. I especially liked Rin, for various reasons which I'll get to later, but I enjoyed watching everyone. Their streams got me to come out of my shell online. Before E-Sekai, I didn't use the YouTube account on my phone for chatting or commenting at all, because I didn't have a channel linked to it, but E-Sekai convinced me to make a channel so I could chat. One of the things about small to medium-sized VTuber agencies is that the streamers are more likely to see your comment as an individual. Whenever I got someone to laugh with one of my jokes, it made my day. E-Sekai made me want to be creative again. They got me through the grueling late nights of working at my coat check job. And they helped me try to get out of my depression. I actually know and interact with people on the Idol discord, and I discovered a lot more VTuber agencies because Idol gave me confidence to chat in many other VTubers' chats.

My life is still not perfect. I'm really anxious about any sort of change to my routine, such as getting a normal job, and I need to get better at taking care of myself. But E-Sekai and Idol in general still brings a lot of happiness to my life.

I want to take the rest of this post to say how each individual member of E-Sekai contributed to my life, and the group as a whole. I'm not good at writing these kinds of things, and I'm probably missing a bunch of what makes them all so fun to watch, but I hope this captures them well enough.

Yuko: The scream from her debut was ear-piercingly beautiful. Her hyperactive personality leads to incredibly fun moments. I'm still amazed by how much she loves her boo bros. She's the perfect blend of lewd, wholesome, and silly. In one of her karaoke streams, she got me to listen to the entirety of "A Little Piece of Heaven", which is my least favorite A7X song. Keep being the most neurodivergent in E-Sekai, Yuko! Wanau :boobropout:

Juna: The eel's art and Live2D streams were super comfy, but also very cursed. I celebrated New Year's along with her, and I still have the art she made for it somewhere. Juna's streams got me through the early parts of my coat check shifts. I love all the inside jokes the fameely has, such as "good riddance", "LIVID", banning Yogurt, and Golden Shower. And speaking of the fameely, they're the friendliest people in the Discord server, and I love to talk to them. Juna actually responded to my comments a lot, which boosted my confidence a lot. Also, one of my favorite moments was during the Seiso Stream when I tried to catch her off guard by asking her to pronounce "Featherstonhaugh." Always remember that it rhymes with "hand saw." Stay LIVID, Juna, and thanks for all the completely sane streams so far.

Rin: Rin is the one that I instantly identified with. She loves making silly powerpoints. She has a very particular taste in video games that I can never find anywhere else. Even before she mentioned she was ace, I could tell she was ace-coded. She has an incredibly broken sense of humor. The first (and currently only) VTuber merch I've ever bought was the skrunkly plush. And I don't really believe in fate, but I had to admit that there was one coincidence that was very convincing. While watching her debut slides, when she was introducing some of her plushies, I learned that I have a very personal connection to the name of one of her plushies. Her streams are incredibly creative and fun. Her powerpoint streams and skit streams are the funniest content I've seen in a long time. Her reactions to things that wouldn't normally be funny makes them funny, which is part of the reason I love the shovelware series so much. I can tell she works so hard behind the scenes to make all those things happen. Even though after the Shortsening her chat is sometimes unbearable to look at, I'm glad that she is a lot of people's first VTuber. I'm proud to call Rin my kami-oshi. Fun fact: The B emoji in my YouTube username, although I've used it before Idol, was specifically chosen for Rin, except now that the emoji is banned in her chat, I can't actually send my membership milestone chats because according to YouTube logic, my username counts as part of the superchat?? I'll probably change it to a small capital B instead someday. Anyway, Rin, I'm glad to be a member of the Princedom, and I'm so happy that you are able to reach so many people. Also, congrats for keeping up the Rin facts for a YEAR! *metal_pipe.mp3* *outro music*

Pochi: Pochi is an absolute gamer. The fact that she doesn't rage very often leads to some very comfy streams, even in frustrating games. She also does some cool themed zatsus, like the pet peeves stream. I enjoy her Minecraft streams a lot, and I actually got back into modded Minecraft because of her. Her redebut was so good and so creative, and I just think her "hello, I am puppy" t-shirt is hilarious. I often leave her streams on in the background because she is just so comfy. Keep doing what you're doing, Pochi! Wäf wäf!

Fuyo: One early series of streams that I enjoyed was Fuyo's Bioshock playthrough. Normally I don't like those kinds of games, but it was actually really interesting. I also remember watching her VTuber cosplay stream while waiting for a doctors appointment that I showed up an hour early for. I still don't know she got away with some of the games she played in the first week after debut. When I was waking up late because I was staying up late, Fuyo streams were what helped me wake up and get out of bed. Also I think I left the Nyan Cat stream on while I slept, which may or may not have been detrimental to my musical health. I look forward to the future, and I hope you are, too, Fuyo. Thank you for giving back my physical wallet, even if you kept the stuff inside.

I'm awful at wording things, but I really wanna thank E-Sekai for helping me out of a deep hole in my life. I know this is probably not gonna get more notes than my fucking Papa Louie Veggie Dog post, but on the offchance this reaches one or all of you... idk I'm all out of words, but I'm looking forward to another year of E-Sekai antics.

I also want to thank the rest of Idol for being just as awesome!

[alexandia03]

Tell me about...

Bitter are the wars between brothers

Okay, I was actually waiting for someone to ask about this one and now I am thinking how to talk about it without giving too many spoilers (I am the kind that tells you the entire planned plot when asked because I am that excited).

Basically, Bitter are the wars between brothers is the only semi-complete snippet I wrote so far (like it has 10 pages so far) and it focuses on the main conflict of the second part of Memento Vivere (when I finally get to the IF events), namely Xaden's fallout with his inner circle after a series of mistakes and neglect. RY never talked about how Xaden's friends might feel after he becomes obsessed with Violet and it angered me a little to see that Bodhi had to return to Basgiath with a broken arm (and suffered for months from it) when Brennan was basically there and could have mended him had he and Xaden not decided that saving his energy in case Violet needed something else was more important.

And because the people on the discord server already have access to it, why not give you a little sneak-peak?

“The bones healed wrong after the battle of Resson…” Brennan begins and I bite my tongue not to scoff. Yes, that much we already knew... Anyone with eyes could tell as much. Well, most of us, at least, judging by the bewildered look on Xaden's face, as if he just found out his favorite puppy died. “… so in that regard, the fall was rather fortunate if you want to see it that way, because it reopened the wound and once he regains enough energy for it, I should be able to properly put the bones back in place. Tomorrow, most likely. The mending today took a big toll on him.” And on Brennan himself, I complete in my mind with a scowl. Garrick frowns, his grip on my hand tightening almost to the point it hurts, but I know it is unconscious – and it actually gives me something else to focus on aside from the boiling rage in my chest. “Fortunate? You mean to tell me he lived with a broken arm… for six months?!” He all but shouts, his voice taking a dangerous tone as his hazel eyes moved between Brennan and Xaden, finally understanding why it was so easy for Bodhi to fall off Cuir, why he was favoring his left side. “How could you let it happen?” “Of course, we never meant to put Bodhi in such a position, but after Resson, we had to chance his fracture healing on its own as there were more pressing…” Brennan starts explaining and there is a slight grimace on his face, a prang of guilt. But I came to understand there is a difference between guilt and remorse. “Wait!” Garrick cuts in, his eyes widening even more, but his attention is now solely on Xaden who is uncharacteristically quiet. “You knew his arm was in such a bad condition?” Xaden doesn’t even look at Garrick as he opens his mouth to answer, keeping his eyes on Brennan instead. “You never told me the wound was that serious… You said it would heal in time and there would be no issues. Had I known…”

Or maybe two sneak-peaks because I am feeling generous <3

Anger. And it is pointed towards me like an arrow aimed to pierce my heart. “Fucking traitor. I guess I should have seen this coming.” Traitor? Traitor?! He can’t possibly be talking to me, right? He is probably talking to Brennan after he stopped him… – Fuck it! Who am I freaking trying to fool? He is talking to me and I can’t even lie to myself and say that I didn’t see this coming. “What did you just call me?” I growl, my hand itching to wrap around the hilt of my dagger, but I resist the urge. No, I won’t resort to violence, it’s not the moment and it certainly isn’t worth it. At least not yet. The bastard has the audacity to scoff and roll his eyes at me. “Drop the act. You have been sneaking between me and Bodhi for years trying to push him away from me. It ends today, Imogen. Gods, I can’t believe I have been so blind until now… it’s my fault I allowed this situation to get so far.” “Oh, you are at fault here for a lot, but like always it is easier to blabber about shit than to take responsibility for your fuck ups. You want to pin it on me now that you saw you can’t do it to Brennan? Be my guest, but I can’t take credit for how much you fucked things up with Bodhi, that is all you, asshole.” I bite back, that bit of patience and restraint I was holding on to up to this point finally snapping. Gods, this is truly not the moment for this, for any of this. This is not the time for this stupid argument, not now and certainly not in here, while Bodhi is in pain in the next room. It is not like Xaden will actually listen to logic either, so it is pointless anyway. So I do the only rational thing I can do right now – I turn with the intention of going to Bodhi’s room. “Oh, the fuck you are! I am not letting you anywhere near him to poison his mind with all this vitriol you have against me! Leave him alone, Imogen, I mean it!” Xaden all but yells, shadows extending to form some sort of wall to the door.

[wordsinhaled]

Oh I would love to hear more about "Morpheus is aware he has acquired somewhat of a reputation." 👀<3

ahhhhh okay so this is ... THE COFFEESHOP AU, the one inspired by the art by @levionok where hob is a barista and dream's a pastry chef, and in the same universe as tomorrow is a place we are together and this post

and... that is actually the only line i have written? oops... BUT i do have a lot of backstory that i've rambled to @ghostboyjules about on discord so i will paste that here!

i actually drew a tiny bit of art for it and it's tentatively called "when coffee dreams it dreams of chocolate"

so i was thinking about pastry chef/chocolatier morpheus in the coffeeshop au and that he probably got into Food and Cooking because it's like... random ingredients coming together to make something beautiful and he sees it as his creative outlet but he's awful at expressing himself still... so he's like, oh, okay, ingredients make Sense and are Precise and have Defined Results Every Time... and he's like a kinda creative type who reads a lot and pines after people from afar and his whole life everyone's just been like, "so that bloke morpheus is kinda weird or what???"

but then he gets to culinary school and people are like "oh. he has VISION" so he hides behind that a bit

and he sorta ages into somebody who can make it Look Cool but at his core he's still. just. just awkward as hell. blasting his goth and new wave music in his kitchen... expressing his feelings through pretty chocolates.... lurking through the bookstore. going to goth clubs just to Feel the Music

but in pastry school he can make beautiful things with ingredients and pour his love into them and all of a sudden people are like "oh, the 'hmm' is Vision and Genius" and it's easier to let them believe that than to be like "no, the 'hmm' is just me"

then hob meets him and is like "oh, he's a lil 'hmm' and i LIKE IT"

in this AU calliope became an event planner or something, or maybe even like an Actual Chef. they initially met in culinary school and were like oh, haha, your parents liked mythology too, huh?... and they were together and in love and married and had a restaurant together—some kind of bistro or something—but then they had like, clashing Visions and a huge falling out that made waves in the culinary world and kind of gave morpheus a name for being haughty and proud

so now nobody wants to work in partnership with him but they grudgingly respect him because his artistry is amazing. and calliope and morpheus actually do have a son, but calliope has sole custody

hence the anonymity, not giving hob his name at the coffeeshop, because morpheus moved and started over and now he runs his own bakery. but it just opened recently and he doesn't want scandal to follow him. he just wants to bide his time and remake his own legacy

i imagine that it's like, the kind of thing that is high-profile if you're in the industry but if you just own a random little coffeeshop you wouldn't know him type of deal

his bakery is a lil artsy place with murals on the walls that he also painted and he plays goth and new wave playlists over the loudspeakers and all the staff get to dress as counterculture as they want. he's a little insane, basically. and @valeriianz - sweet dream from the neighbors AU is TOTALLY a vibe... i imagine this place being a bit like that?

i imagine he also does stuff like encourage local artists to do street art on the walls outside, so at random hours of night there's just folks with spray paint and paint buckets and ladders, vibing and eating lil baked goods and "love my way" is blasting out the front doors and morpheus is sitting on the stoop just hanging

that's probably his shop opening party. he plans on it just being one night for opening but all the artists are so happy to do it and they ask him to consider making it a regular thing and he's like "...i will consider it" and then it becomes a once a month thing. (perhaps this is how hob finally sees him in his element - he invites hob to come to one of the paint nights and hob brings a ton of delicious coffee for everyone without being asked and totally falls (even more) in love. everyone raves about the coffee and asks hob to come the next month and morpheus is like "oh no... this is a Thing now..."

in the future, after they're together, hob can serve coffee at these art nights regularly and morpheus can know the healing feeling of having someone still want him and want to share things with him and collaborate with him even after truly knowing him

so before they know it hob is in the inner sanctum - up in the middle of the night while dream makes melted chocolate for dipped strawberries at the bakery, and hob sits on the counter reading him walt whitman

"you know, just because i make excellent coffee doesn't mean you don't need to sleep, love."

"i am in the midst of creation, hob."

"your sister won't like it if i let you keel over from exhaustion."

"my sister is not here."

"mmhmm, and i am."

(cue morpheus standing between hob's knees where hob sits on the edge of the counter. taking the book out of hob's hands with the hand not covered in melted chocolate so the book is safe from harm. hob taking hold of his other hand and carefully licking the chocolate from morpheus' fingertips

and in the end they do end up in bed, so hob counts it as a victory)

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

20 QUESTIONS FOR FIC WRITERS

thanks @whatislifewithoutangst for the tag!! Sorry it took me so long to complete

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

As of now, 43

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

Had to look at my stats for this but 126,184

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Star Wars. I would like to write in other fandoms but I find the transition to be a bit did; as well as the fact that I know my fics will suck when starting out and I’m not ready to face that just yet.

4. What are you top five fics by kudos?

1. Therapy Sessions with a Fox

2. Agony is a curse too well known

3. The ghosts are all that’s left to cling to

4. The Truth Inside is Different from the Lies Spoken

5. Just a Friend

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to. Sometimes I overthink on what to say so it takes me a while to respond but generally, yes.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ah geez. That’s like most of my fics. Probably Agony is a curse too well known.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I had to search but Collapsing Stars for sure

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, no. I’m grateful for that.

9. Do you write smut?

Not for publishing purposes. I like to keep my fics clean of that; however, on discord it’s free game lol (mainly with a friend)

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope. I like reading them but I doubt I’d be efficient at writing something like that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of fortunately.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No I haven't.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not any that are published. A friend and I exchange long writing pieces on discord when sharing ideas that it could be considered small fics and have ideas on co-writing a fic together but will that ever actually happen? Who knows. Depending on the concept, I wouldn’t mind being asked; however, I have yet to gather my nerve to ask other authors to potentially co-write a fic with me so once I do, we’ll see (it’s a goal I have for 2024 🤞)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Out of all the fandoms that I love, Drarry (Draco/Harry). That’s the first ship that got me into shipping and I’m too loyal to let it go. I still read about them to this day though now I’m picky on how I want their relationship to go.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Therapy Sessions with a Fox. I love the WIP but I started that fic when my mental health was in the drain. Every time I go back to finish it, it’s very hard to get into the mindset needed without spiraling; often times, an update only occurs when I’m in a bad mental state. So the possibility of ever finishing it is very low unless I spiral and for my sake, I hope that never happens again.

16. What's your writing strengths?

I’m not too sure. Probably descriptions of a scene. I tend to over describe the scene since I want readers to see it how I do in my head.

17. What's your writing weaknesses?

Probably dialogue or character descriptions. I tend to focus more on internal thoughts that I forget people speak out loud and don’t generally say what they’re thinking. Also I don’t like the overly descriptive language of characters in fics so I tend to avoid it and now I don’t really know how to describe characters without being too vague or overdone.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Eh, I personally don’t unless it’s a fake language I can bullshit and make my own grammar rules for.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter (on Fanfiction.net lol - you can probably still find them on there but beware: the fics suck!)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

When Tomorrow Comes, I’ll Bring You Home!! This is my only big fic and it was so fun to write within a deadline I gave myself and the encouragement I received from my friends on discord when sharing updates really helped push it forward. I would love to write another big fic like it because it was so rewarding and fulfilling in a way I never experienced before (at least within a fandom).

I really enjoyed doing this and thanks for reading. No pressure but I would love to hear your answers @ladyanidala @here-be-bec @dinogirl123 @oathena11-writes @hastalavistabyebye

[romaine2424]

Daily Blog June 27, 2023

Arg! I'd hoped to spend sometime planting the pretty flowers I bought yesterday but to my dismay I discovered an invasive weed was mixed in with my Shasta Daisies, which are just about to bloom. The kind of weed that attaches to your clothes and skin. Gloves came out and two hours later, I made a huge dent. Flowers tomorrow.

I had mentioned there were would be additional categories I'd throw into the mix and today I have one I've been anxious to get to. I'm going to call it Magical Elves. They are the people who help make fandom run. I mentioned @phoenixacid in an earlier post, who has been hosting @hd-fan-fair for ten years. This category will cover folks like her and that do even more...yes, even more...

What I'm reading:

On the Discord Drarry Fans Writers and Artists there is a channel for recs. I stole this one from there but then discovered I'd already read it. However, it was long enough ago that I don't remember all of the details. I think I read it when it first came out and before I hopped back into fandom in spring of 2021. The Ordeal of Being Known (146k) by @lou-isfake. I'm only on chapter 3 right now but I just love this Draco and his Oscar the Grouch house-slippers and his house-elf Timsy. The writing is so fresh and clever, I find myself smiling most of the time. Here's the summary, which I think gives you a flavor of the writing style I'm talking about:

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter. Features fuzzy cartoon slippers, devious house elves, 90s music, and lots—LOTS—of memories. Ron is annoyingly hot, Hermione sees right through you, Harry is a powerful idiot, and Draco is a reclusive masochist that would buy an entire city if it would make a kid happy. (And Pansy is "5'2, I wanna dance with you, and I'm sophisticated fun.")

Go read The Ordeal of Being Known on AO3.

Hit the Keep Reading!!!!!

Magical Elves:

The first person I want to highlight in this category is actually someone I've met in person at HP Cons and we've stayed in touch over the years in real life. *hugs darlin* You've probably seen @sassy-cissa's name as an author or maybe an email asking you about a fic for a fest but I'm betting most of you have no idea how much she's done for fandom for more than a decade and half, especially for Drarry fandom.

Let me list the ways in how awesome she is:

Current modding responsibilities:

25 Days of Draco and Harry (started in 2009) What 2009 ? Oh my! And do you know she reads each and every story posted for the fest and comments, too! HD Mpreg Fest – (started in 2011 – I've been modding since 2018) HD Fan Fair/Career Fair – co-modding since 2019)

Previous modding responsibilities:

Co-mod for H/D Erised from 2014 to 2018 Moderated the H/D Prophet from about 2016 to 2021

See that last one H/D Prophet. Take a look at the link just for a moment. Every Drarry WIP that was updated that week was listed, fests' status, drabble prompts, etc...Every single week. The prophet soon closed down after a few more months due to lack of participation (fandom had moved away from LJ).

Communities owned and/or Maintain:

On LJ: Slythindor100 and HarryDraco Mpreg On Tumblr: H/D Mpreg and Slythindor100

In addition, why yes there is more, Sassy writes, too, and beautifully! Sassy-Cissa (on AO3). Over 109 stories, mostly Drarry, some Hermione/Severus and a few Harry/Ginny...but as she put it....(but they usually end up divorced or Ginny dies). *snicker*

And she's on FanLore! And she also betas for some of the best.

So I know this is long but I just want folks to be aware of those working in the background, making our experience here in fandom enjoyable and filled with lovely content. They truly are magical elves. Sassy doesn't post much on Tumblr or on Discord but she does pop-in now and then. Next time you see her name, you'll now know who she is.

Tumblr Tidbit:

Did you know that you can edit the text below the Keep Reading line on your post and it will make the changes to all reblogs of your post. Edit above and sorry the reblogs will show the original. This comes in handy if you're making a Masterlist of works or something else that has lots of links or needs to be updated frequently.

Happy Tuesday and Sorry this was so late. My ancient computer decided to crash multiple times. Rom