#<- wrote these tags before . reading. am now back from reading

[winwintea]

encore

PAIRING ↬ actor!park sunghoon x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, romance, action, mystery, suspense, body swap au, supernatural au, musical theatre setting, everyone is pretty sus, sunghoon is a sassy king for like 5 seconds, he also breaks the 4th wall randomly

SUMMARY ↬ you aren’t giselle.

so why do you look like her? are you in giselle’s body right now? then where’s your actual body? and where in the world is the real giselle? is the lead actor who seems to be the only one to recognize you actually on your side? or will you get caught by the others and perish in a body that isn’t your own? so many questions and so little time.

WORD COUNT ↬ 8.1k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ my official enhablur debut 🥺🥺 (ignore the jay fic i wrote last year i’m pretending like it doesn’t exist) thank u @polarisjisung my love for encouraging me to post as well as beta read <33 we stepping out of the comfort zone with this one!

PLAYLIST ↬ fatal trouble - enhypen; marionette - red velvet; masquerade - chung ha; swan - miyeon; head over heels - abba; fairytale - alexander rybak; judas - lady gaga; mystery lover - taemin; encore - purple kiss

THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICED WAS THE SMELL.

It wasn’t the usual faint scent of your lavender body wash or the stale coffee from your tiny apartment. No, this was something richer, more expensive—like jasmine and vanilla, with a hint of stage makeup and something metallic. Your head throbbed as you blinked your eyes open, the world spinning into focus. 

You were lying on a plush velvet chaise lounge, the kind you’d see in old Hollywood movies. The room around you was bathed in soft golden light, the walls adorned with framed playbills and bouquets of roses. A vanity table sat in the corner, its mirror reflecting the cluster of makeup brushes, lipsticks, and a half-empty bottle of champagne. 

“What the—” You started, voice catching in your throat. That wasn’t your voice. It was smoother, more melodic, with a slight edge of authority. You froze, heart pounding as you stared at the mirror. 

The reflection staring back at you wasn’t yours. 

It was Giselle’s. 

You scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over the hem of a silk robe that definitely wasn’t yours. You gripped the edge of the vanity, leaning closer to the mirror. The face staring back at you was flawless—high cheekbones, perfectly winged eyeliner, and lips painted a deep crimson. You reached up to touch her face, and the reflection mimicked you perfectly. 

“No, no, no, this isn’t happening,” You muttered, voice trembling. You pinched her arm, but the sharp pain only confirmed this wasn’t a dream. “Okay, okay, think. You’re Y/N. You’re not Giselle. You’re… not Giselle. So why do you look like her?!”

You paced the room, mind racing. Someone had told you about a special VIP experience backstage. Which led you to wander into a locked dressing room, and then… nothing. Just darkness. And now this. 

A knock at the door made you jump. “Giselle? You in there? We’ve got a run-through in ten.” 

You recognized that voice. It was Sunghoon, the theatre’s lead actor and famous heartthrob. Your stomach churned. If anyone could tell something was off, it would be him. 

“Uh, yeah! Just… give me a second!” You called back, cringing at how unconvincing you sounded. 

The door swung open before you could stop it, and there he was—Park Sunghoon, in all his unfairly handsome glory. He was dressed in a fitted black button-up and tailored slacks, his hair perfectly styled. His sharp eyes narrowed as he took you in. 

“You’re not Giselle,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What? Of course I am! Who else would I be?” 

Sunghoon stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “Giselle doesn’t slouch. She doesn’t fidget. And she definitely doesn’t look like she’s about to pass out from panic.” He tilted his head, studying you. “So, who are you, and what did you do with Giselle?” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. You slumped back onto the chaise lounge, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know! I don’t know what’s happening! I’m not Giselle—I’m Y/N! I was just… I was just a fan, and now I’m… her!” 

Sunghoon’s expression softened slightly, though he still looked wary. He sat down beside you, keeping a careful distance. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. How did this happen?” 

“I don’t know!” You groaned, running a hand through your hair—err well, Giselle’s hair. “I was backstage, and I found this weird dressing room with a mirror, and then… bam! I woke up like this.” 

Sunghoon frowned. “The locked dressing room? That’s been off-limits for weeks. Jay said it was under renovation.” 

“Well, it wasn’t locked when I found it,” You muttered, glancing at him, eyes pleading. “You have to believe me. I’m not crazy.” 

Sunghoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re definitely not Giselle. She’d never admit to being crazy, even if she was.” He stood, offering you a hand. “Come on. We need to figure this out before anyone else notices.” 

You hesitated before taking his hand. “Why are you helping me?” 

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because if you’re telling the truth, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in this theatre in years. And if you’re lying… well, let’s just say I’ll enjoy watching you try to pull this off.” 

You groaned. “Great. So I’m stuck in Giselle’s body, and my only ally is a guy who thinks this is funny.” 

Sunghoon’s smirk widened. “Welcome to the show, Y/N. Let’s see if you can survive Act One.” 

Sunghoon leaned against the vanity, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if it might suddenly reveal its secrets. 

You were still trying to process the fact that you were now living in Giselle’s body—and apparently her life. Which you didn’t even know was possible. This is the type of situation you only read in stories or watched in movies. Not real life. You paced nervously, Giselle’s silk robe swishing dramatically with every step. No biggie, I’ve just swapped bodies with  someone! Perfectly normal Tuesday! Maybe if I fall asleep again I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream!

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Sunghoon said, his tone calm but laced with curiosity. “You’re Y/N. You’re not Giselle. You woke up in her body after messing with a creepy mirror. Did I miss anything?” 

“Uh, yeah,” You snapped, stopping mid-pace to glare at him. “The part where this is a literal nightmare, and I have no idea how to fix it!” 

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Right. Well, while you were busy freaking out, I was thinking. Giselle’s been… off lately. Like, really off.” 

You frowned. “What do you mean?” 

He shrugged, picking up a tube of lipstick from the vanity and twirling it between his fingers. “She’s been missing rehearsals, showing up late, forgetting her lines. And she’s been weirdly secretive. Like, she’d disappear for hours and then act like nothing happened. I tried asking her about it, but she just brushed me off.” 

Your eyes widened. “So you’re saying something was already wrong with her before I got… swapped into her?” 

“Exactly,” Sunghoon said, setting the lipstick down. “And now you’re here, which means whatever’s going on, it’s bigger than just you.” 

You scowled again, sinking back onto the chaise lounge. “Great. So not only am I stuck in someone else’s body, but that someone might be in some kind of trouble? Fantastic. Just fantastic.” 

Sunghoon smirked. “Look on the bright side. At least you’re stuck in the body of a gorgeous, talented star. Could’ve been worse.” 

You shot him a withering look. “Oh, yeah, because this is such a privilege. I’m living the dream.” 

Before Sunghoon could retort, your  eyes landed on something tucked under the edge of the vanity—a small, folded piece of paper. You reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly as you unfolded it. The note was written in elegant, cursive handwriting: 

“The mirror knows the truth. Trust no one.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You held the note out to Sunghoon, who took it with a frown. 

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he said dryly, handing it back to you. “Any idea what it means?” 

“No, but it sounds like Giselle knew something was going on,” You said, your mind racing. “Maybe she found out about the mirror and whatever… this is.” You gestured wildly at yourself. 

Sunghoon nodded, his expression serious now. “Okay, so here’s the plan. We figure out what’s going on, reverse whatever this is, and get you back to your body. But we have to be careful. If anyone finds out you’re not Giselle, it’s game over.” 

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to pretend to be a world-class actress and singer.” 

Sunghoon grinned, leaning closer. “Relax. I’ll help you. I’ve been acting alongside Giselle for months. I know her better than anyone here.” 

You peeked at him through your fingers. “And why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be the one behind this.” 

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch. You wound me. If I wanted to piss off and mess with someone, it definitely wouldn’t be Giselle. Too much drama. I already have enough trying to deal with her on a daily basis.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite the absurdity of the situation. “Fine. But if you double-cross me, I’m taking you down with me.” 

“Deal,” Sunghoon said, holding out his hand. You hesitated for a moment before shaking it, his grip firm and reassuring. 

“Alright, partner,” You said, trying to sound confident. “Where do we start?” 

Sunghoon’s grin turned mischievous. “First, we need to get you through rehearsal without blowing your cover. Then, we investigate the mirror and figure out who else might be involved in this. Sound good?” 

You sighed, running a hand through Giselle’s perfectly styled hair. “Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But what choice do I have?” 

“That’s the spirit!” Sunghoon said, clapping you on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get you to rehearsal before someone starts asking questions. And try to act like Giselle. You know, confident, flawless, and just a little bit terrifying.” 

You sighed, but followed him out of the dressing room, the cryptic note clutched tightly in your hand. As the two of you stepped into the bustling hallway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder. “What if someone here already knows?” 

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Then we’re in bigger trouble than we thought. But don’t worry. I’ve got your back.” 

You nodded, though your stomach was in knots. You couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into a role you were nowhere near ready for. 

The moment you stepped out of the dressing room with Sunghoon, the weight of Giselle’s life crashed down on you like a poorly rigged stage light. The hallway was alive with activity—crew members rushing back and forth, actors rehearsing lines, and the faint hum of the orchestra tuning up in the distance. You clutched the mysterious note in your hand, your heart pounding as you tried to remember how to walk like someone who belonged here. 

Sunghoon leaned in, his voice low. “Remember, you’re Giselle. You’ve got this.” 

You shot him a look. “You’re setting the bar a little high, don’t you think?” 

He smirked. “Just channel your inner diva. And try not to freak out.” 

Before you could respond, a voice called out from behind you. 

“Giselle! There you are!” 

You turned to see Jay striding toward you, his signature easygoing smile plastered across his face. As the owner of the theatre and Sunghoon’s best friend, Jay was the kind of guy who seemed to know everyone and everything. His sharp eyes scanned you, and you could feel the weight of his curiosity. 

“Hey, Jay,” you said, forcing a smile. Your voice sounded too high-pitched, too nervous. You cleared your throat and tried again, lowering your tone to match Giselle’s smooth, confident cadence. “What’s up?” 

Jay tilted his head, his smile never wavering. “Just checking in. You’ve been… different lately. Everything okay?” 

You froze. Different? Of course you were different—you weren’t Giselle! But you couldn’t say that. Instead, you forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Different? Me? Nah, I’m just… prepping for the big night. You know how it is.” 

Jay’s gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before he nodded. “Right. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” 

As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Sunghoon nudged you. “Not bad. But next time, try not to sound like you’re auditioning for a horror movie.” 

You glared at him. “Oh, shut up.” 

Your next encounter was with Yangyang, the theatre’s logistics manager. He was leaning against a stack of prop crates, scrolling through his phone, but his eyes flicked up the moment you approached. 

“Giselle,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. “Heard you’ve been spending a lot of time in the locked dressing room. Find anything interesting?” 

Your stomach dropped. How did he know about that? You forced a smile, channeling every ounce of Giselle’s confidence. “Just looking for some peace and quiet. You know how it is.” 

Yangyang’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Peace and quiet? In this place? Good luck with that.” He pushed off the crates and walked away, leaving you with the distinct feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. 

Sunghoon leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s always been a little too nosy for his own good. Watch your back around him.” 

You nodded, your nerves fraying with every interaction. 

Then came Soyeon and Yunjin, the theatre’s supporting actress and stand-in, respectively. They were huddled together near the stage, whispering furiously. As you approached, Yunjin’s eyes narrowed, her dislike for Giselle practically radiating off her. 

“Well, look who decided to show up,” Yunjin said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Finally gracing us with your presence, Giselle?” 

You swallowed hard, trying to channel Giselle’s trademark coolness. “Nice to see you too, Yunjin. Soyeon.” 

Soyeon smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We were just talking about how… dedicated you’ve been to the role lately. It’s inspiring, really.” 

The way she said “dedicated” made your skin crawl. You forced a smile, though your palms were sweating. “Thanks. I try.” 

Yunjin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, try harder. Some of us actually care about this production.” 

Before you could respond, Soyeon linked arms with Yunjin and pulled her away, shooting you a look that was equal parts pity and disdain. 

Sunghoon appeared at your side, his expression grim. “Yunjin’s never been a fan of Giselle, but that was… intense. What did you do to her?” 

“Me? Nothing!” you hissed. “I’m just trying not to get caught!” 

Your next interaction was with Belle, the theatre’s makeup artist and Jay’s confidant. She was waiting for you in the dressing room, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. 

“Giselle,” she said, her voice smooth but with an edge that made your stomach twist. “Jay mentioned you’ve been… distracted lately. Anything you want to talk about?” 

You forced a smile, though your heart was racing. “No, everything’s fine. Just prepping for the show.” 

Belle’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you were certain she could see right through you. “You know, if there’s something going on, you can tell me. I’m here to help.” 

The way she said it sounded more like a threat than an offer. You nodded, trying to look grateful. “Thanks, Belle. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

She studied you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Don’t forget—we’re all counting on you.” 

As she left, you sank into the nearest chair, your legs trembling. Sunghoon appeared in the doorway, his expression serious. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “No. Everyone’s so… suspicious. And Belle? She’s terrifying.” 

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, she’s not someone to mess with. But you handled it well. Just keep your guard up.” 

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is impossible. How am I supposed to keep this up?” 

Sunghoon crouched in front of you, his voice softening. “You’re doing better than you think. Just remember—you’re not alone in this. I’ve got your back.” 

You looked up at him, his steady gaze grounding you. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

He grinned, standing and offering you a hand. “Probably get caught in, like, five minutes. Now come on—we’ve got a mystery to solve.” 

After the nerve-wracking encounters with Jay, Yangyang, Soyeon, Yunjin, and Belle, you were starting to feel like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Sunghoon had disappeared to “do some digging,” leaving you to navigate the rest of the theatre’s cast and crew on your own. You took a deep breath, straightened Giselle’s silk robe, and stepped back into the fray.

You found Shotaro in the costume room, meticulously organizing a rack of elaborate gowns. He jumped when you entered, nearly dropping a sequined dress. 

“Giselle!” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “What are you doing here?” 

You raised an eyebrow, trying to channel Giselle’s trademark coolness. “Just checking on my costumes for the show. Everything ready?” 

Shotaro nodded quickly, but his hands were shaking as he adjusted the hangers. “Y-yes, of course. Everything’s perfect. Just like always.” 

You hesitated, then decided to push your luck. “By the way, have you heard anything about the locked dressing room? The one near the west wing?” 

Shotaro froze, his face paling. “N-no. Why would I know anything about that?” 

His reaction was so over-the-top that you almost laughed. Almost. “Just curious. It’s been off-limits for weeks, right?” 

He nodded vigorously, avoiding your gaze. “Yes, totally off-limits. No one goes in there. Ever. Definitely not me.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “Right. Well, let me know if you hear anything.” 

As you left, you could feel Shotaro’s anxious gaze burning into your back.

Winwin was Giselle’s supposed confidant, but the moment you approached him, you could tell something was off. He was leaning against a wall backstage, scrolling through his phone, but his eyes flicked up the moment you got close. 

“Giselle,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. “You’ve been… different lately.” 

You forced a smile, though your heart was racing. “Different? How so?” 

He shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I don’t know. Just… not yourself. You’ve been avoiding me.” 

You blinked, caught off guard. “Avoiding you? No, I’ve just been busy with the show.” 

Winwin’s expression softened, but there was something in his eyes that made you uneasy. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever’s going on, I’m here for you.” 

The sincerity in his voice threw you for a loop. Was he genuinely concerned, or was this some kind of act? You nodded, trying to look grateful. “Thanks, Winwin. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his loyalty wasn’t as unwavering as Giselle might have thought.

You found Woozi in the rehearsal room, hunched over a notebook and muttering to himself. He didn’t notice you until you were standing right in front of him. 

“Giselle!” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Just the person I wanted to see. I’ve made some changes to your solo. I think you’ll love them.” 

You forced a smile, though your stomach was in knots. “Changes? What kind of changes?” 

He handed you the notebook, his excitement palpable. “Just a few lyrical tweaks to better reflect your character’s inner turmoil. I think it’ll really elevate your performance.” 

You glanced at the page, your heart sinking at the sight of his intensely scribbled revision notes. “Uh, great. Thanks, Woozi.” 

He leaned in, his gaze intense. “You’re the heart of this production, Giselle. Without you, it’s nothing. Don’t forget that.” 

The weight of his words made you feel like you were carrying the entire theatre on your shoulders. You nodded, trying to look appreciative. “I won’t.” 

As you left, you couldn’t help but feel like Woozi’s obsession with Giselle’s performance was more than just professional.

Your final encounter of the day was with Mark and Heeseung, the theatre’s stuntman and stage control, respectively. They were huddled near the lighting booth, deep in conversation, but Mark’s face lit up when he saw you. 

“Giselle!” he said, grinning. “You’re looking… uh, great as always.” 

You smiled, though your nerves were frayed. “Thanks, Mark. What’s up?” 

He shrugged, his enthusiasm undimmed. “Just going over some stunt sequences for the big fight scene. You should come watch sometime—it’s pretty cool.” 

Before you could respond, Heeseung stepped forward, his expression serious. “Giselle, can I talk to you for a second?” 

You nodded, your stomach twisting. “Sure.” 

Heeseung pulled you aside, his voice low. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but you need to be careful. Not everyone here has your best interests at heart.” 

You blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “What do you mean?” 

He glanced around before leaning in closer. “Just… watch your back. Everyone here… They’re not as trustworthy as they seem. I’m worried about you.”

Before you could ask for more details, Mark called out, “Heeseung! We’ve got work to do!” 

Heeseung gave you one last meaningful look before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

As the day came to an end, you retreated to Giselle’s dressing room, your mind spinning. Everyone seemed to have their own secrets, their own agendas. The only person you could trust was Sunghoon—and even that felt like a gamble. 

You sank into the chaise lounge, staring at the strange note in your hand. “The mirror knows the truth. Trust no one.”

“Easier said than done,” you muttered, closing your eyes. 

You were still staring at the cryptic note when the door to the dressing room creaked open. Sunghoon slipped inside, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, closing the door behind him. “What happened?” 

You held up the note, your hand trembling slightly. “I talked to everyone. And by ‘talked,’ I mean I barely survived a series of increasingly suspicious and terrifying interactions.” 

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, taking the note from you. “Let me guess: Shotaro looked like he was about to faint, Winwin was weirdly intense, Woozi tried to rewrite the entire show, and Heeseung gave you some cryptic warning?” 

You blinked. “How did you know?” 

He smirked, leaning against the vanity. “Because I’ve been working with these people for years. They’re all… unique.” 

“Unique?” you repeated, incredulous. “Sunghoon, everyone here is either hiding something, hates Giselle, or is way too obsessed with her. I don’t know how she does this every day.” 

He shrugged. “She’s Giselle. She thrives on drama. Speaking of which…” He gestured to the note. “The mirror, huh? ” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” you muttered. “It’s the only lead we’ve got. We need to figure out what’s going on before someone realizes I’m not Giselle.” 

Sunghoon nodded, his gaze shifting to the locked dressing room door. “Alright. Let’s start with the mirror.” 

The two of you made your way to the locked dressing room, the hallway eerily quiet now that rehearsals were over. Sunghoon pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door with a soft click. 

“Where did you get those?” you whispered. 

He grinned. “Let’s just say I have my ways.” 

The room was exactly as you remembered it—dimly lit, with the antique mirror standing ominously in the corner. You stepped inside, your heart pounding as you approached the mirror. 

“It’s… kind of creepy,” you said, staring at your reflection—or rather, Giselle’s reflection. 

Sunghoon stood beside you, his arms crossed. “Yeah, it’s definitely giving off ‘haunted antique’ vibes. But why would Giselle be so interested in it?” 

You shook your head, your eyes scanning the room for clues. “I don’t know, but there’s got to be something here.” 

As you searched, your foot caught on the edge of a loose floorboard. You crouched down, pulling it up to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside was a torn page from what looked like a diary. 

“Sunghoon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Look at this.” 

He knelt beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he read the page aloud. 

“I made a deal with them. I thought it was worth it—the fame, the glory, the lead role. But now I’m not so sure. The mirror… it’s watching me. I can feel it. If something happens to me, it’s because of them. Trust no one.” 

You looked up at Sunghoon, your stomach churning. “A deal? What kind of deal?” 

He frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know, but it sounds like Giselle got herself into something dangerous. And if the mirror is involved…” 

“Then we’re in way over our heads,” you finished, your voice trembling. 

Sunghoon placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you. “Hey, we’ll figure this out. Together.” 

You nodded, though your mind was racing. “But where do we even start? Everyone here seems to have their own agenda. Who can we trust?” 

He smirked, his tone lightening. “Well, you can trust me. Mostly.” 

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “Mostly? That’s reassuring.” 

“Hey, I’m the one helping you navigate this mess,” he said, standing and offering you a hand. “That counts for something, right?” 

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “I guess it does. But seriously, I’ll kill you if you throw me under the bus.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Already noted. Now, let’s get out of here before someone catches us.” 

Back in Giselle’s dressing room, you sank into the chaise lounge, your mind spinning. Sunghoon sat beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos. 

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan?” 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know. But we need to figure out who Giselle made this deal with and what it has to do with the mirror. And we need to do it fast.” 

Sunghoon nodded, his expression serious. “Agreed. But for now, you need to focus on not blowing your cover. The show’s opening night is in two days, and everyone’s counting on Giselle to deliver.” 

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Great. No pressure or anything.” 

He chuckled, nudging you with his shoulder. “You’ve been doing pretty great already. You got this. And I’ll help if I can, remember?” 

You looked up at him, his steady gaze calming your nerves. “Thanks, Sunghoon. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

He grinned, his tone teasing. “Now get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” 

As he left, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Despite the danger and the mystery, you weren’t alone. 

You were backstage, nervously rehearsing Giselle’s lines under your breath, when Yunjin cornered you near the prop storage. Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.  

“You’re slipping, Giselle,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Forgot your blocking during the ensemble number yesterday. Missed your cue today. What’s next? Forgetting the lyrics to your precious solo?”  

You forced a laugh, though your palms were sweating. “Relax, Yunjin. It’s called acting. Maybe you should try it sometime.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “Funny. The Giselle I know wouldn’t need to ‘act’ like she knows what she’s doing.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “If you’re not up for the role, just say so. Soyeon’s been ready to take over since day one.”  

Before you could retort, Sunghoon materialized at your side, his tone light but edged with warning. “Yunjin, don’t you have an understudy rehearsal to prep for? Or are you too busy auditioning for the role of ‘villain’?”  

Yunjin scoffed, shooting you one last glare before storming off.  

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked, his hand brushing yours briefly.  

You exhaled shakily. “Remind me why Yunjin hates Giselle again?”  

He smirked. “Giselle stole her solo in last year’s production. And her ex-boyfriend. And, according to rumors, her favorite coffee order.”  

You groaned. “Of course she did.”  

Later, while Sunghoon distracted the crew, you slipped into Jay’s office. The room was eerily tidy, save for a stack of financial ledgers on his desk. You flipped through them, heart pounding, until a voice froze you mid-page.  

“Looking for something?”  

Belle stood in the doorway, her posture relaxed but her eyes cold. You dropped the ledger like it was on fire.  

“Just… admiring Jay’s organizational skills!” you said, forcing a smile. “Who knew spreadsheets could be so… thrilling?”  

Belle stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. “Curiosity is dangerous in a place like this, Giselle. Especially when it’s not your business.”  

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

She leaned against the desk, her red nails tapping the ledger. “Let me be clear: whatever game you’re playing, stop. This theatre survives because people stay in their lanes. You’d do well to remember yours.”  

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Before you could respond, she turned on her heel and left, her parting words slicing through the silence: “Stay out of the dark, Giselle. It’s easier to get lost there than you think.” 

That night, you met Sunghoon in the empty auditorium to compare notes.  

“Belle’s definitely hiding something,” you whispered, pacing the aisle. “And Jay’s ledgers had weird entries—large payments to ‘Anonymous Benefactors.’ What does that even mean?”  

Sunghoon frowned. “It means we’re dealing with someone who’s got money—and secrets. Did you—”  

A sudden clatter of scaffolding made you both freeze. Mark emerged from the shadows, his face pale.  

“Giselle? Sunghoon?” he said, glancing between you. “What are you guys doing here so late?”  

You plastered on a smile. “Just… rehearsing! You know how Sunghoon is about perfection.”  

Mark hesitated, his gaze lingering on the file in Sunghoon’s hand. “Rehearsing… with financial records?”  

Sunghoon stepped forward smoothly. “It’s method acting, Mark. Giselle’s character is a corrupt CEO. Very gritty. Very real.”  

Mark blinked. “Oh. Cool, I guess? Just… be careful, okay? Heeseung said there’ve been weird noises backstage at night.”  

As he walked away, you slumped into a seat. “We are terrible at this.”  

Sunghoon grinned. “Nah. We’re just… creatively challenged.”  

By the time you returned to Giselle’s dressing room, exhaustion and panic had merged into a dizzying haze. Sunghoon followed you inside, his usual smirk replaced by genuine concern.  

“We’re running out of time,” you said, sinking onto the couch. “If we don’t figure this out before opening night…”  

“We will,” Sunghoon interrupted, crouching in front of you. “But you need to breathe. Freaking out won’t help Giselle—or you.”  

You met his gaze, his steadiness anchoring you. “What if we can’t fix this? What if I’m stuck like… this?”  

He hesitated, then reached for your hand. “Then I’ll teach you how to hit Giselle’s high notes. And how to glare at Yangyang without laughing. And—”  

You snorted, swatting his arm. “You’re impossible.”  

“But you’re smiling,” he said softly.  

The moment hung between you, charged and fragile—until a sharp knock shattered it.  

“Giselle?” Jay’s voice called through the door. “We need to talk. Now.”  

Sunghoon squeezed your hand once before slipping out the window, leaving you alone to face the storm.  

The moment Jay stepped into Giselle’s dressing room, the air thickened with tension. He closed the door softly behind him, his usual friendly demeanor replaced by a chilling calm.  

“Let’s skip the act, Giselle,” he said, leaning against the vanity. “You’ve been digging where you shouldn’t. Ledgers. The mirror. Our deal.”  

You froze, your pulse roaring in your ears. Our deal. The words from Giselle’s diary page flashed in your mind. I made a deal with them. You forced yourself to meet Jay’s gaze, channeling every ounce of Giselle’s steel.  

“You think I’d forget our arrangement?” you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside. “I’m just making sure you’re holding up your end.”  

Jay’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I’ve held up my end. You’re the star, aren’t you? The spotlight, the adoration—all because of me. But now you’re sniffing around like a lost puppy. Why?”  

You crossed your arms, mimicking Giselle’s signature icy poise. “Maybe I don’t like being kept in the dark. The mirror, the payments to ‘Anonymous Benefactors’… What’s the price you mentioned in our deal, Jay?”  

His expression darkened. For a heartbeat, you saw it—the flicker of fear beneath his polished façade. “The price,” he said slowly, “is silence. You wanted the role, I gave it to you. But if you keep pushing, that mirror won’t be the only thing that disappears.”  

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Finish the show. Play your part. Or I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping into this theatre.”  

The door slammed behind him, leaving you trembling.  

You found Sunghoon in the prop loft, sorting through dusty set designs. The second you relayed Jay’s threats, his playful smirk vanished.  

“A deal for the lead role,” he muttered, pacing. “That explains why Giselle’s been so paranoid. But what’s the mirror got to do with it?”  

You pulled out the torn diary page and the ledger notes. “Jay’s been funneling money to someone—or something. And Giselle wrote that the mirror was ‘watching’ her. What if the deal wasn’t just with Jay? What if it’s… older?”  

Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “The theatre’s original owner disappeared decades ago. Rumor was he made a pact with some cursed object to keep the place running.” He grabbed your hand, urgency in his grip. “The mirror. It’s not just a prop—it’s the source. Jay’s using it to control things… and Giselle was part of it.”  

You stared at the diary entry. “If something happens to me, it’s because of them.” “She was going to expose him,” you realized. “That’s why she was acting strange. Jay found out, and he—or whatever’s tied to that mirror—swapped our bodies to silence her.”  

Sunghoon cursed under his breath. “And now you’re stuck in the crosshairs. If we don’t break this curse before opening night, you might be trapped like this forever… or worse.”  

Back in the dressing room, you and Sunghoon spread the clues across the floor: the diary page, the ledger, a faded newspaper article about the theatre’s cursed history.  

“So Jay’s the middleman,” Sunghoon said, tapping the article. “But the real power’s in the mirror. It demands a ‘price’—probably souls or some messed-up supernatural rent.”  

You grimaced. “Giselle paid with hers, didn’t she? That’s why she’s gone. And now the mirror wants… me?”  

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “Not if I can help it. We need to find the original pact. If we destroy it, maybe we break the curse.”  

You hesitated. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re already too late?”  

He turned to you, his gaze fierce. “Then we’ll burn the whole theatre down. But I’m not losing you to this.”  

The intensity in his voice made your breath catch. Before you could respond, a crash echoed from the hallway—the sound of shattered glass.  

Sunghoon pulled you to your feet. “Time’s up. Let’s move.”  

You and Sunghoon stormed into Jay’s office, the ledger and Giselle’s diary clutched in your hands. Jay looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable.  

“We know about the mirror,” Sunghoon said, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it. “And the deal. How could you do this, Jay? To Giselle? To us?”  

Jay leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You think I wanted this? The mirror’s curse has been hanging over this theatre for decades. I didn’t create it—I inherited it. Giselle knew the risks when she made her deal.”  

You slammed the ledger onto his desk. “Risks? You sold her soul for a lead role?”  

Jay’s calm cracked. “I didn’t swap her!” he snapped, standing abruptly. “I tried to protect her. But she got greedy. She wanted out of the deal, and threatened to expose everything. And then—”  

The door swung open. Belle stood in the doorway, her smile sharp as a knife. “And then I stepped in.”  

Sunghoon stiffened. “Belle?”  

She strode into the room, her heels clicking like a countdown. “Jay’s too sentimental. He couldn’t stomach what needed to be done. But me?” She laughed, cold and hollow. “I’ve been cleaning up his messes for years.”  

You stepped forward, fists trembling. “What did you do to Giselle?”  

Belle’s gaze locked onto yours, venomous and triumphant. “That night she tried to destroy the mirror? I caught her. And I gave her a taste of her own medicine. Why let her soul vanish when I could trap it somewhere… quieter?” She pulled a small, ornate compact from her pocket—a shard of the mirror glinting inside. “Like that nobody body of yours.”  

The air left your lungs. “You—you swapped us. You’re the one who put me here.”  

Belle smirked. “Guilty. Though I must say, watching you fumble around as Giselle has been delightful. Almost makes me want to keep you here forever.”  

Sunghoon moved in front of you, blocking Belle’s path. “Where’s Giselle’s soul now?”  

“Somewhere she can’t cause trouble,” Belle said lightly. “A body with no connections, no power. A nobody.” She turned to Jay, her tone hardening. “You’re welcome, by the way. I saved your precious theatre.”  

Jay looked away, guilt etched into every line of his face.  

Sunghoon lunged for the compact, but Belle jerked it out of reach. “Ah-ah,” she tutted. “Break this, and Giselle’s soul shatters with it. Along with your little friend here.”  

You froze, panic clawing up your throat. Sunghoon shot Jay a searing look. “You knew. This whole time, you knew.”  

Jay’s voice broke. “I tried to stop her, Sunghoon. But the mirror… it demands a price. If it wasn’t Giselle, it would’ve been someone else. Maybe you.”  

Sunghoon recoiled like he’d been slapped. “We were supposed to be family.”  

“We are,” Jay pleaded. “That’s why I kept you out of it. Belle’s right—I’m weak. But I never wanted this.”  

Belle rolled her eyes. “Save the drama for the stage. The show goes on tonight, and Giselle—or whatever’s left of her—will play her part. As for you two?” She nodded to the security guards looming in the hallway. “You’ll stay out of the way. Or I’ll make sure Y/N’s body ends up in the river.”  

Locked in a storage closet, you sank to the floor, trembling. Belle said she would let the two of you out soon. She just couldn’t have you telling others and needed you to learn your lesson, whatever that meant. Sunghoon paced like a caged animal, his usual composure shattered.  

“All this time,” he muttered, “Jay let her do this. He chose the theatre over us. Over everything.”  

You hugged your knees to your chest. “We can’t let her win. Giselle’s still out there—trapped in my body. We have to find her.”  

Sunghoon crouched in front of you, his eyes blazing. “We will. But we need a new plan. And we need to move fast.”  

You glanced at the door. “How? Belle’s got the mirror shard. And Jay’s under her thumb.”  

A slow, defiant grin spread across Sunghoon’s face. “Then we play their game. You go onstage tonight as Giselle. We’ll find the compact. And when the curtain falls…”  

“We destroy the mirror for good,” you finished.  

He nodded. “Together.”  

You hesitated, then reached for his hand. “Sunghoon… Thank you. For not giving up on me.”  

His fingers tightened around yours. “Always.” 

The theatre buzzed with the energy of a packed house, the orchestra tuning up as the audience settled into their seats. Backstage, chaos reigned—actors in glittering costumes darted past, crew members shouted over headsets, and the scent of hairspray hung thick in the air. You stood in Giselle’s sequined gown, clutching Sunghoon’s arm like a lifeline.  

“You ready?” he asked, adjusting his cufflinks with forced calm.  

“To sing a solo in French while secretly planning a magical heist? Totally,” you deadpanned. “What’s the worst that could happen?”  

Sunghoon grinned, though tension lined his eyes. “Don’t answer that. Just stick to the plan: distract Belle, find the compact, smash the mirror. ”  

“And try not to die,” you added.  

“Especially that.”  

You found Belle in the locked dressing room, her back turned as she polished the cursed mirror with a reverence that made your skin crawl. The compact containing Giselle’s soul glinted in her hand.  

“Leaving so soon?” she said without turning around. “The show hasn’t even started.”  

You stepped inside, channeling Giselle’s icy confidence. “I thought we could chat. Girl to girl. Demon to… whatever you are.”  

Belle smirked, snapping the compact shut. “Cute. But you’re terrible at bluffing.”  

“Good thing I’m not the one bluffing,” you said, nodding to the doorway.  

Sunghoon lunged, tackling Belle to the ground. The compact skidded across the floor as the two grappled, Belle’s nails clawing at his arms.  

“Traitor!” she hissed. “You’d choose this traitor over your own family?”  

“Girl, you are not my family. And family doesn’t sell souls,” Sunghoon shot back, dodging her swipe.  

You scrambled for the compact, but Belle kicked a makeup case into your path. Lipsticks and powder exploded into the air, coating everything in a shimmering haze.  

“Sunghoon.” you yelled, choking on glitter.  

“A little busy here!” he grunted, pinning Belle’s wrists.  

You dove for the compact, your fingers brushing its edge just as Belle wrenched free. She slammed into the mirror, her reflection warping grotesquely in the glass.  

“You want Giselle back?” Belle snarled, clutching the compact. “Then take her!”  

She hurled it at the mirror. The glass rippled like water, and for a heartbeat, you saw your body—Giselle’s soul trapped inside—staring back, terrified.  

“NO!” Sunghoon tackled Belle again, but the compact shattered against the mirror’s surface. A deafening crack split the air, and the room plunged into swirling shadows.  

You stumbled forward, grasping for Sunghoon’s hand. “The mirror—it’s breaking!”  

“Then let’s help it along!” he shouted, snatching a fire extinguisher off the wall.  

You grabbed a prop sword from the corner, swinging it at the mirror with a battle cry that was more terrified than terrifying. Flames emerged, stretching across the drywood flood, seemingly out of nowhere. The blade struck the glass just as Sunghoon slammed the extinguisher into it.  

The mirror exploded.  

You woke with a jolt, your head throbbing as if you’d been spun through a tornado. The world came into focus slowly—sticky theater seats, the murmur of an impatient crowd, and the faint scent of popcorn. Your hands flew to your face, your real face, and you nearly sobbed with relief.  

“Oh, thank god.” you muttered, staring at your familiar hoodie sleeves.  

Onstage, the orchestra swelled, and the curtain rose to reveal Giselle—the real Giselle—commanding the spotlight in her sequined gown. She moved with effortless grace, her voice sharp and clear, no trace of the chaos that had nearly destroyed her. For a moment, your eyes met across the auditorium. She gave the faintest nod, her gaze lingering with unspoken gratitude, before launching into her solo.  

After the final bow, you lurked in the shadows backstage, unsure where to go now that you were no longer the star. Sunghoon found you first, still in his stage makeup and looking like he’d fought a war.  

“There you are,” he said, breathless. “I’d recognize that bad posture anywhere. You okay?”  

“Fuck you.” You scowled, but couldn’t help but grin, holding up your hands. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and zero cursed mirrors. I’d call that a win.”  

Before he could reply, Giselle swept into the wings, her presence magnetic even without the spotlight. The cast and crew froze, sensing the storm in her eyes.  

“Belle,” Giselle said, her voice cutting through the silence. “You owe us all an explanation. Starting with why you trapped me in a stranger’s body and tried to bury the truth.”  

Belle stepped forward, her composure cracking. “You were going to ruin everything! This theatre survives because of that mirror—”  

“It survives in spite of it,” Giselle snapped. She turned to the stunned crowd, her tone softening. “Jay and Belle made a deal with something darker than any of us realized. They used fear to control us. But tonight?” She gestured to the shattered remains of the mirror, now being wheeled offstage by stagehands. “Tonight, we break the cycle.”  

Jay emerged from the shadows, his face ashen. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “To all of you. But especially to you, Sunghoon.”  

Sunghoon crossed his arms, his usual smirk absent. “Save it. You don’t get to play the victim here.”  

Giselle stepped between them, her glare silencing Jay. “You’re done. Both of you.”  

Later, as the crew dispersed and the theatre emptied, you lingered by the stage door with Sunghoon. Giselle approached, her regal demeanor softened by exhaustion.  

“Thank you,” she said, clasping your hand. “You risked everything to save a life you didn’t owe me.”  

You shrugged, awkward but earnest. “Just… try not to steal anyone’s coffee order ever again.”  

Giselle laughed, a rare, genuine sound. “No promises.” She turned to Sunghoon, her gaze knowing. “Take care of her. She’s braver than she looks.”  

Sunghoon saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”  

As Giselle left, you elbowed him. “Take care of me? You literally threw a fire extinguisher at a mirror tonight instead of using it to put out the fire..”  

“And you swung a prop sword like it was a pool noodle,” he shot back. “We’re a mess. But hey—” He nudged you, nodding to the stage. “You never did get to perform. Want to try that solo?”  

You snorted. “In this lifetime? Absolutely not.”  

He grinned, pulling you toward the exit. “Smart.”  

The theatre’s grand lobby buzzed with nervous energy as the cast and crew gathered for Jay’s announcement. He stood at the top of the staircase, his usual charm replaced by a somber resolve.  

“Effective immediately,” Jay said, voice steady but strained, “I’m stepping down as owner. Sunghoon will take over.”  

A ripple of surprise spread through the crowd. Sunghoon, leaning casually against a pillar, straightened up like he’d been electrocuted. “Wait—what?”  

Jay tossed him a set of keys, a faint smirk breaking through his guilt. “Don’t look so thrilled. You’ve been complaining about my leadership for years. Now fix it.”  

Sunghoon caught the keys, staring at them like they might bite. “You’re insane. I don’t know the first thing about running a theatre.”  

“You’ll figure it out,” Jay said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And… try not to burn it down.”  

As the crowd dispersed, Sunghoon turned to you, panic flickering in his eyes. “Help. Please.”  

You grinned. “Only if you promise free popcorn for life.”  

Later, as the two of you surveyed the empty auditorium, Sunghoon nudged you with his elbow. “So. Audition slots are open. You’ve already survived being Giselle—might as well try being yourself onstage.”  

You snorted. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick to not nearly dying in cursed mirrors, thanks.”  

He tilted his head, studying you with a sudden intensity. “You know… I never actually saw what you looked like before. Giselle’s body was all… Giselle. But you?” His gaze swept over you, lingering on your face. “You’re… distracting.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Distracting?”  

“Yeah. Like, annoyingly pretty. How am I supposed to focus on rebuilding this place if you’re just… standing there?”  

Your cheeks burned, but you rolled your eyes. “Wow, Park. That might be the worst compliment I’ve ever heard.”  

He stepped closer, his smirk softening. “I’ll work on it. But seriously—stay. Even if you don’t audition. The theatre needs people who aren’t obsessed with cursed antiques. And I…” He trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I need someone to keep me from setting fire to the prop room.”  

You laughed, the sound echoing in the empty space. “You’re hopeless.”  

“Hopelessly charming,” he corrected, grinning.  

“Debatable.”  

Before he could retort, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him. It was quick, impulsive, and left him blinking in stunned silence.  

“There,” you said, stepping back. “Now you can’t talk.”  

Sunghoon touched his lips, his ears turning pink. “…Okay, that worked better than I expected.”  

Weeks later, the theatre hummed with new energy. Rehearsals for the next production were underway, and Sunghoon’s leadership—though chaotic—had brought a fresh, unjaded spirit to the crew. You’d taken a part-time job managing schedules (and keeping Sunghoon from accidentally hiring a ‘magician’ for lighting design), but tonight, as you passed the old west wing, a flicker of light caught your eye.  

The locked dressing room door stood slightly ajar.  

Heart pounding, you pushed it open. The room was empty, save for one thing: the mirror, whole and unbroken, its surface gleaming like it had never been shattered.  

“Sunghoon!” you yelled, backing away.  

He skidded into the room, fire extinguisher in hand. “What? Where’s the fire—oh.”  

You pointed at the mirror. “We broke that thing! I watched it explode!”  

Sunghoon set down the extinguisher, staring at the glass. “Guess some curses don’t stay dead.”  

“That’s not comforting.”  

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Don’t worry. We’ve got time. And this time?” He kissed your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m charging the audience extra for our trauma.”  

You elbowed him, but couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, steering you out of the room. “Now come on. We’ve got a theatre to run… and maybe a sequel to avoid.”  

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i trieddddd i tried i swear i tried </3 to stick to tags <///33 but i ran out …. so here i am …… sorry dilly T_T

(disclaimer: read the tags before reading this… ok…….)

’sorry’ said very softly and quietly bc i feel u would probably yell at me for it </3 i’m actually not sorry at all i was hoping i’d have no choice but to stumble my way here :3c HHHHHHH there is just too much to say and too much to mention …… too much i love about this fic :’< ofc i have to start with . the infamous …… ”the sky’s blue because daddy’s eyes are blue!” <- SOBBED!!!!!!!!!!!!! TAT this whole moment was somehow even cuter than i remember it being LMAO i feel so lucky . to be able to experience it again :’3

i love . the moments jumping in time ….. how this fic is about gojo washing his daughter’s hair . but also so much more than that ….. it is his love manifesto. it is the weight of everyday moments translated into writing in such a beautiful way i cannot describe it…. it is gojo grappling with time and love and the fact not even the most beautiful things stick around forever (cough cough cough. u know who i am thinking of) but that they’re worth cherishing all the more because of it …… gojo is such a sentimental person. and that is a faucet of who is that i feel is hardly explored even though it is part of his ’core’….. to me. he is a man who can’t help but reminisce. who is only allowed the luxury of chewing on memories over and over again …… so for you to give him such a picture perfect life . in this. makes me weepy :’3

aughhh TAT just. when i think of this fic i think of bubbles . and sunlight. and markers and colours and sweet scents …….. something so lovely that i feel envious i can’t reach out and touch it. that i can’t see the bathtub or feel the water trickle through the gaps between my fingers. i know you were a little nervous about reposting this dilly but truly it is one of my favorite gojo pieces ever ….. and i do not even subscribe to papa gojo most of the time but when you write him like this i can’t help but think he was born to be a father (<- proof of your immense power) ….. i can’t help but feel that . if canon gojo tried to picture a life without sorcery he would see just a sliver of this scenery ….. a sliver of the sun. sobsob

back to the Actual Fic … (one of the reasons i try to stick to tags is . if i make it Here (what do you call it anyway ….. the main…. something ?? i don’t know. the promised land (to Me)) i always end up rambling and then i get off track …. forgive me…….) i just had the genius idea to screenshot my favorite quotes and leave them here . i will do just that :3c i really want you to Feel how much i love this fic ….. if at all possible …………… can you feel my love ………….

^ TAT …. his very precious girl . SOBBED. she is his all his and yours all yours ……………

^ THIS WHOLE MOMENT WAS SOOOOO CUTE DILLY i know i said it already but u just . capture gojo so perfectly PDHKDJDJD …… he is so silly and cute here 😭😭😭 also !!! sunshine ….. she is the sun latching onto the big blue sky …………..

^ gnarls and whines . as i read this …… sniffles… this is one of the quotes that just made me go. i love how dilly writes …. i love how i can practically hear her voice. does that make sense at all …………… :’3

^ THROWS UP BLOOD !!!!!!!!! your satoru carries the big blue sky wherever he goes ……. T____T such . a beautiful quote wahhh . and just so Him. i love the little peeks we get into gojo and reader’s love for each other ….. this fic is about their love just as much as it is about their baby. tho i guess she quite literally is their love personified ……….. anyway. something something satoru is atlas, he has no choice but to carry the sky on his own, but fluffy clouds and the glow of the sun make it bearable …. you know.

^ already mentioned it but You Know. obviously

^ THIS WHOLE SEQUENCE . ACTUALLY 😭😭😭…. i soooooobbed dilly i love . him . HE WANTS TO BE A GOOD PAPA …… the dynamic between him and his baby is also just sooo funny and cute he is a true girldad ………… i love them ………….,,,,,,

^ firefly of a husband …… quote that made me explode into pieces . and bits

^ GRRRRRR GRGR this made me cry . T_T UR WRITING DILLY!!!!!! ILL BE SICK!!!!!!!!!!!!! it doesn’t feel like enough……… yes, you know this ……..

^ and finally . this :’) as i was reading it was so fun to read lines that i have a vague memory of and others that i don’t remember at all ….. but i do remember this final line. because i remember just how Much it made me feel the first time around ……. just the perfect little cherry on top. the Point of it all.

i love this fic …. i’ll love it forever . in the same way i will love you forever and gojo forever and your writing forever ….. thank you for posting this my angel 🥺 i will keep it so close to my hear . forever and ever <3

THAT FUNNY LITTLE GIRL ♡ GOJO SATORU

he hopes this lifetime will be enough to love.

papa! gojo washes his baby’s hair, what could go wrong! jumping thru the timeline, multiple times. sfw, fluff. approx. two thousand word count. he is filled to the brim with love.

“daddy?” his baby calls for him, satoru, who happens to be sitting right beside her bathtub— criss-crossed legs, paying less and less mind to the cold tile floor that’s making his skin shiver, and more on what she has to say.

“yeah baby?” he’s just down the hall, but you’ve begun to pick apart how his voice, with every syllable, sounds so fond when he speaks to her: his very precious girl.

you hear the gentle hum she hums for a quick second, the mumbling, jumbling of her words as she sorts out what she wants to say and then, “why’s the sky blue?”

★ ‎

there’s a bathtub marker in her hand when she asks, the very same ones satoru was so incredibly persistent on buying at your last shopping store run—

“bathtub markers?” he hears the quirk in your eyebrow before he has a chance to see it, holding the pack of eight in his hand like it’s the greatest invention yet.

“yup! we need them!” he stands side by side with his mini me�� matching pairs of silly puppy dog eyes appear on their faces and a dramatic pout fixed to both their lips.

he whispers what he thinks you won’t hear, covering his lips behind the palm of his hand as he kneels to her side. “pst…” he hisses comically loud, “we need to say please, sunshine.”

“pease!” no please, (she’s much cuter about this whole ordeal than he is—) she nods her head as she swings her feet back and forth, fluttering without a sound.

could you guess what’s harder than saying no to her? satoru would vote it’s probably saying: goodbye!

your heart aches lovingly, too impossible to resist— “‘toru, it sounds like you want them more than she does.” grabbing the bundle of markers, you flip them to the side, skimming through its directions and their warnings.

“me?!” he says in the least dramatic tone he could possibly mutter, “are you denying our baby of an artistic future?” and then there’s a hand over his face again. he covers the gasping motion he’s currently molded into, “that she’s not destined to be the next picasso?”

“she’s three! how would you know?” funny grins paint over both your faces because it’s a bittersweet thought: her future, who’ll she be and what’ll become of her.

“there’s an artist inside that little heart, i can feel it.” he’s determined to stick to the skit, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing with a promising certainty for it all.

it’s even funnier when he knows he’s won too: when you hand over the markers to your baby’s pudgy fingers, he has that face plastered on. same one as every other time he’s won you over on something hilariously trivial.

“so honey,” focusing, you decide to actively ignore the cutest dimples on the corner of his smile, “what will you draw when you get home today?”

“f’owers” she points at the red marker, “more for you!” an obvious reference to the dozen roses she’s seen on the dinner table.

“you’re so sweet! i know you’ll draw me the prettiest flowers, my love!” you kiss the tip of her nose as tiny pearly whites form a cheeky smile in return— “ahem.” satoru follows slowly behind you both as you begin to stroll down the aisle again.

“and for daddy,” the coast is clear so you take the chance to stop and spread your arms as wide as you can, “you draw him the biggest, blue sky that matches his eyes!”

she giggles at the dramatics, your stretched out arms and satoru’s loving gaze directed toward you— she mimics these two things. “big sky ‘nd daddy!” and it’s true, your satoru carries the big sky wherever he goes.

★ ‎

“uhmm..” he thinks hard about it, rubbing the nape of his neck, setting his glasses down to the side— how exactly do you explain the color of the sky to a toddler?

he scoots in a little closer now, splashing sounds echoing around while she fidgets with the other toys in the bath, “so, the light from mr. sun is made of all the colors of the rainbow. do you know which ones?”

satoru picks out the markers in the same exact pattern he’s memorized— red, orange, yellow, green in her hand, blue, and the purple that seems the closest to violet.

she doesn’t sound very interested, yet. but you doubt it as long as there’s paddling turtles wound up and clicking across the bubbly water; her attention’s obviously elsewhere.

satoru uncaps the yellow marker first: forming one big, rigid circle against the shower wall that represents the sun— followed by streaks of all the other colors in his hands stretching away from it, representing light.

“like this,” he says, “all the colors of the rainbow.” he returns the green marker she had at first, happily holding onto the object again.

“but ms. earth,” a cake of blue forms as the felt tip rolls around in one spot, “likes blue the best. so, she makes her sky blue.” and with that, your baby blinks up at him like a doll— eyelashes pinched into the perfect curl, and he wonders if he’s only confused her even more.

“oh.” it’s funny how somber-toned she sounds— oh, the same tone you’d use after hearing the most unbelievable truth (or a lie!) the utter shock, the disbelief… that oh.

“just kidding!” he gleams brightly now as she watches. apparently, it had been enough to grab her attention even for the slimmest second.

satoru drops the markers back in the bathtub net where she had placed them, settling within her reach.

“the sky’s blue because daddy’s eyes are blue.”

and if he gleams, his baby does too, “i knew it!”

(he promises to explain himself to you a little later. surely, hopefully, you must forgive him and his little, white lie!)

“oh, you did?” satoru settles his knees as close as he can to the tub now, minimizing all the space he can as he reaches for the shampoo bottle on the edge of the tub, “isn’t my little girl so clever? yes, the smartest!”

she giggles, water splashing around as she moves closer towards her daddy’s arms— completely used to this routine by now, “mm, like papa.”

once he squeezes the bottle, he thinks his heart’s being squeezed too. watching chamomile-scented soap pour onto the palm of his hands, he smiles. “you think i’m clever, sunshine?”

“sometimes.” but she’s off in her own little world again, drawing on the wall with her favorite turtle beside her.

he supposes he will take what he can get.

with a gentle rinse to her hair, satoru begins to form a gentle lather along the crown of her head, “i want to be a clever daddy for you,” he says.

you know it comes with no thought, as if the words have simply fallen out and onto his tongue before they’ve finally reached his head, “a good papa.”

and it’s happened so frequently, he jokes with you about how she must have some sort of technique to pull out the honest truth from anyone— even without trying to.

“you just love her, satoru.”

★ ‎

amidst the grogginess of the morning and eyes closed shut, you tell him that much. it’s all you can grumble out when your firefly of a husband rises before the sun.

he claims it’s early morning clarity— when your mind is filled with everything and nothing. all you can do it spill your heart out. not much you can do to help it.

he loves this part of the day with you.

“i do. a lot.” he says in one lasting breath, just before shifting from being your big spoon to peek over at the baby monitor on his bedside table for the… nth time.

if she didn’t make him feel like his entire life was worth it, maybe he wouldn’t look at her so often. but she does, not even aware of it, with a leg dangling off the bed. plushies used for pillows rather than the pillows themselves.

it doesn’t scare him as much as it used to: the act of loving, and the acting of expressing it— the act of admitting just how much he does.

“she loves you too.”

★ ‎

with the soapy suds spilling over his knuckles, between his fingers and the strands of her hair, satoru notices something new.

he twirls a finger around the ends of her hair, strands strong and smooth— as he realizes they’re starting to curve around the shell of her ear on its own, when he doesn’t remember it doing that before.

and as he lowers his gaze, the soapy lather following along, he sees the longest strands of his baby’s hair are bound to meet the back of her neck. nape, ears and shoulders all meeting someone new.

satoru forgets that time goes by fast, especially when you’re filled with love to spare. “when did you start growing up so fast, sunshine?”

she shrugs.

the strength in his knees give out, landing him right back down onto the tile floor; feet tucked underneath his body. “it’s too fast.” he murmurs so lowly, you can barely catch on to what’s been said.

too fast to watch her go— but don’t say it out loud, satoru doesn’t have the heart to finish or hear the rest.

she’ll be able to say please, even without him asking her to. she’ll be able to pronounce her l’s until she loses her two front teeth. she’ll hold onto his hand, and he’ll hold onto her.

then, it’ll be time for school. and she’ll be leaving his side as a big girl now, with a lunch bag he’s packed and a slipping backpack over her shoulder— yes, inevitably, that’s going to happen too, just as he has before.

and if that’s right around the corner, then so is every other phase, inevitably— and the rest of her life from then on. it’s going to happen one day: where satoru’s baby is no longer a baby and he will have to let her go.

“‘toru.” he turns to you, towel in hand, pressing weight against the wall’s edge. “what’re you weepin’ about now, baby?”

your daughter turns to face him in a heartbeat, curious.

“crying?” voice trembling, he nudges his cheek into his sleeve in attempts to hide any evidence, big hands still in need of rinsing along with her hair. “who’s crying?”

stepping closer, you hang the towel over the hook before sitting right next to his side, “because you never cry, especially at random times.” you poke once at his ribs.

“you’re starting to get me, sweetness.” then, he dips his fingers into the water, bubbly foam parting ways from his skin. it falls down her shoulders when he rinses her off, all done with the bath, and having a little time to play.

you watch him for a while, trying to identify the cause and while trying to make small talk— you mention something without much thought, “her hair has gotten a lot longer now.”

his voice, it’s tinier than you’ve ever expected it to be, “i know…” a sniffle divides his sentence, a proper pause, “she’s growing up so fast.”

“ah… so, that’s what this is about.”

you rest your head over his shoulder, still feeling as in love as ever, “you’re cute, you know that?” he rests his in return. “we still have hundreds of days together.” you watch the way she draws on the wall, enjoying her happiness as if it were your own.

“it doesn’t feel like enough.” he says.

“i don’t think it’ll ever be enough.” no, it never will. “maybe we’re greedy like that, honey.” yes, you know this.

he knows he is. because there’s a bright sun in the blue sky with red roses to bring it all together, just like she promised.

“finished!” she looks back at you two, hands in the air in celebration of her brand new masterpiece being born.

“oh! they’re so pretty!” sweet enthusiasm in your voice, you give her all the attention in the world. “just perfect!”

you begin to ask her the little things, every detail you could think of and she could find an answer to, all while wrapping her in the warm towel you hung up earlier.

satoru’s gotten up from the floor too, taking it all in until she calls for him again, “that’s you, daddy.” she points at the blue on the wall as you carry her back to her room.

his heart screams though he’s no longer crying and he hopes this lifetime will be enough to love.

satoru hears your footsteps trickling further down the hall when your voice resounds again, “come on daddy, we need help picking out today’s pijamas!”

“pease, papa hurry!”

his heart screams though he’s no longer crying as he listens to the water flow down the drain, capturing her first piece of art on his phone, he has very little to say.

but if he had to say it and if his baby asked him to, satoru would confess: “i’m so happy. i’m so happy to love you.”

hello friends! this is a repost from my previous blog, mysugu. in the case you recognize this piece, that is (hopefully) why! thank you for reading this bit, (a second time?) he is so loved.

[nostalgia-tblr]

i nearly anon'd the thorki non-con fic out of SHAME but in two weeks it's become my third most clicked-on fic of the year, behind only a multichapter fic and a bit of angsty sifki porn lololol

[blushinggoku]

Recently I went into the DBS fandom wiki to read about the Goku Black/Future Trunks arc, because I haven't watched DBS past the Tournament of Power and the concept of Goku Black intrigued me so much. I'm so glad I didn't waste my time watching the episodes because Jesus

[ramonathinks]

matters of the heart — Nanami K.

summary: finding out your ex-boyfriend wrote a novel detailing your relationship isn’t how you expected this week to go and to make matters worse everyone on the internet now thinks your “character” is a total bitch. you decide to pay your ex a visit, but can you do that without succumbing to your natural urges? well, no!

tags: 18+(MDNI/blank blogs) slight porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), brief nipple sucking, daddy kink, creampie, i guess nanami is a bit toxic in this lol, nanami might also be a bit ooc in here

to the moaners: has this been sitting in the draft for about 3-4 months? yes! but happy birthday month, kento 😚. artwork by @/_3aem (twt); @ryomens-vixen (this was the fic I mentioned a while back) word count: 5.6k (yuck), I don't really like this

I’m going to kill him, that was the only thing on your mind once you closed out of the novel. Normally, your weekends were spent relaxing with a fruity bubble-gum colored cocktail but today was different. Shoko called your phone at exactly 9:26 am claiming it was time she divulged some news to you. At exactly 9: 28am, she sent you an online copy of a book titled, “Matters of the Heart” and told you it was nothing but a two or three hour read and then to call once you finished. 

The book had a slow start and it seemed pretty average, just any old love story. Lately, anything was getting published and it seemed that was the case here — wait, you paused your reading and sat up straight. No. Just no. Something just clicked for you which led you to completely start over from page one. 

The moment you finished, at exactly 1:01 pm, you grabbed a salmon colored low cut shirt and light washed jeans, slipped on your white shoes and hurried to get into your car. You didn’t need to call her phone because you were going to talk to her face to face; this situation warranted a real conversation. It was nothing but a 17 minute drive to Shoko’s house, so when you arrived at exactly 1:18 pm, her door was already open. “They’re bashing me, Shoko. Fucking bashing! How could he do this to me?” Were the first words that flew out of your mouth, holding your phone close to her face so that she could see the reviews. 

“Well, it’s not like anyone would know it’s you.” She yawned, handing you a cup of water – probably because of how crazy you looked – before she ushered you to a seat on the couch. A golden brown blanket was lazily thrown on the seat, which she hurried to move. You sat down and faced her with a look of what Shoko could only describe as pure sadness. She had seen you like this many times before, all because of one person. 

“You did.” You sniffled with an eye roll, you couldn’t help but feel uncertain. Reading this book only brought back more uncomfortable feelings towards the breakup and him. You thought that you were over him and the memories that the book produced made you question everything. One question remained which is: Why?

She giggled drily. “Hey, I read all his works. Pseudonym or not. He can’t hide from me. Plus, I know you both and everything that went on. I was there too, remember?” She mumbled the last part. “Maybe this was his way of coping?”

“It’s been years… and I heard he’s announced a sequel. Shoko, a SEQUEL! It’ll be released later this year.” You spoke in a shaking watery voice while she rubbed your back in an attempt of comfort. Your mind could only think of what the reactions would be to your character in the sequel… insecurities that you never knew were there flooded your mind.

“There was enough material for a sequel? I thought he covered everything…” Shoko rubbed her chin and looked deep in thought. You just stared at her, she couldn’t be serious. “Sorry, ignore me.” She shook her head ignoring your stare.

“Do I even confront him over this? A-and how would that make me look, like I still check on him right? I’ll look crazy and bitter… which apparently I am. Oh and I’m bitchy and a ‘total cunt’ as they’re putting online.” He didn’t know just how much you changed, he missed your growth. Rubbing your eyes, you ask:“Why did you tell me about this? What made you take so long… I just don’t understand.”

“Well, at first… I didn’t think you’d care.” Moving a strand of her nut-brown hair out of her face, she continued. “Then about a month ago, I decided it was right to tell you, just in case someone else pieced it together.”

“Gojo read it then, huh?” You mentally cringed at the thought. It was the only person you could think of who’d be so crude about it. He knew how damaging the breakup was for you but not as bad as Shoko knows. Now, you’re just grateful that she told you before he did.

“Yep, so I figured that I had to tell you before he did.” She clicked her tongue. “But let’s just calm down before you make any rash decisions on how to handle this.” 

“He wrote a fucking duality series about me, our relationship, our sex life and you want me to calm down? Are you listening to yourself? This is a serious matter. I am being called a bitch, a slut and more on Goodreads and multiple websites, reviews, etc. and he didn’t even have the audacity to give me a heads up. You had to call me.” You let out an unladylike snort.“Why couldn’t he stick to his mystery novels? Wasn’t he doing good at those?”

“Writer's block.” Shoko said in a singsong-like voice. “He hadn’t written a mystery book since you two broke up and then… he alerted his supporters he wanted to switch things up and then… that was that. Ladies loved it, a big hit. By the way, if you two were really fucking like that I need to se—”

“Shoko, now is not the time!” Your face felt hot all over, your mind racing. “I just can’t believe this.” You wrapped your arms around your body and squeezed, giving yourself one big squeeze. It was hard not to cry but you could feel it all in your throat. 

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think his intentions were to make you feel bad.” She hugged you to her chest, pressing a small kiss to the crown of your head. “I think he still loves you. I mean, isn’t this book proof? After all these years, he wrote about you.” 

“I’m sure he moved on by now.” You whispered, your eyes growing tired already and the day had barely started. “I just need to lay down. I need to rest.” Your mind seemed to finally grow calm and your breathing steady, a small hiccup now in your throat but with a gulp of water, you were better.

“Just stay here. I don’t trust you to be alone right now.” Shoko’s voice drowned out as sleep overtook you, you could only feel her warmth as she held you and honestly it was all you needed at this moment, Shoko always made you feel safe and you couldn’t thank her more than enough for that right now as you slept.

You were a light sleeper, it was always something that Nanami pointed out about you. He always said how he felt like he couldn’t leave the room while you slept even if it was to use the bathroom afraid to wake you. He knew how important sleep was to you and he’d risk having a bladder infection if you got all 8 hours that you required. Nanami was sweet and caring like that. 

You didn’t think you’d break up with him ever. He was the one for you and he always made that clear. He pampered you and even after the breakup – though you didn’t need it – he left you with a check for five thousand dollars, saying it was for his half of the lease for the next few months. 

The breakup was brutal for you. You almost quit working entirely. Shoko was the only person you’d confined into and the only friend you left to check in on you especially when you didn’t want to leave the house. She brought you groceries and helped you shower until you finally were able to get up again.

Though it was hard to believe, it was Nanami who broke up with you. You thought it was a joke, a cliche little joke. 

“Baby, I’m not joking.” His voice was quiet and husky, he spoke as if he was going to cry. “I just need some time to myself. I need to figure out if this is what I want. You don’t have to wait for me, you just keep on living your life and being happy. But… I think it’s time we let this go.” 

You didn’t cry in front of him. You didn’t cry when he packed his things up. You certainly didn’t cry when he shut the door, leaving his key on the table because you knew he was joking. He had to be. But when you called him and his number was disconnected and you were blocked on any form of social media… that was when you broke down and cried. 

It happened out of nowhere. You overanalyzed every aspect of your relationship for where you went wrong. You wrote down every conversation you could remember and dissected it word by word. You watched every video and picture you had of the two of you looking for a bit of regret or anything on his face. You read every text message, looking for malice. He said he needed time to figure out if he wanted this but he always made it clear that he did and even that he was looking forward to having kids together, you two had even gone ring shopping months ago. 

You didn’t sleep and when you did, it was only for 4 hours and sometimes barely that. Your heart had an ache in it and the tears wouldn’t stop. You could only think why wasn’t I enough?

When you opened your eyes Shoko was still holding you and a small smile grew on your lips. “Thank you Shoko.” You knew if you could count on anyone, it was always going to be her. She was the one who pieced you back together and made sure that life didn’t destroy you and you couldn’t help but to be grateful. 

“Of course. ‘M going to let you spend the night here, okay? Let’s get some takeout and watch your favorite movies, how’s that sound?” She knew the way to your aching heart like the back of her hand. 

“It sounds amazing!” You stretched your arms out wide, leaning off of her and sitting up. “Should we start with Uptown Girls or Legally Blonde?” 

It took two days before you confronted him. Shoko was adamant about not giving you his address and you were tempted to get it from her phone. But luckily, you wore her down, she was probably tired of you bringing him or his book in every conversation. So now you stood there, nerves washing over you in waves.

The mahogany colored door stared at you – mocked you – and you returned the glare before you knocked on it, hard. This was just a door and you were angry at the person behind said door, not the door itself. 

It was almost like he was waiting on you because the door unlocked and opened. He even stepped aside to let you in, quiet. His straw-colored hair was parted differently and he even looked taller or broader – you couldn’t completely tell – but he looked different… seemed different. The atmosphere around him made your stomach clench and it made you mad; why did it feel like only you suffered from the breakup? Here he was – strong and tall – and you were nothing or rather the same.

“You wrote a romance erotica novel about our relationship?” It was what you practiced saying before you got out of your car – making sure your voice didn’t tremble – this time, it didn’t. 

“Well, hello to you too. Even after three and a half years, you still like to get straight to the point.” He grinned, putting a hand on your back to guide you to a seat on his couch. “I must ask, what makes you think it’s about you?” He does a slight laugh and raises his brow.

“We have the same initials, almost the same name. Are you kidding me?” You retort, folding your arms across your chest. You tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling in your chest that occurred when you heard his voice after so long, hearing him and seeing that damned smile… your nose scrunched up.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know you kept up with me… with my books…” He muttered, glancing your way, a demure look in his amber eyes. “Should I be flattered?” Almost in an instant, he turned on a slight cockiness to himself, though his body language showed his nervousness – his thigh bouncing a bit and his fingers tapping on the couch handle. A light sense of relief filled your system knowing that you weren’t the only one being affected by this.

“I don’t.” You inhaled deeply. “Shoko told me about it and then, I checked it out.” Fiddling with your fingers and even picking at your nails, that was your tell all sign of nervousness and right now you were engaging in it more than ever before. 

“I wanted to tell you or rather, to ask you. I know you got the voicemails I sent last year…and then you kept dodging my calls.” He tells you, you could feel his eyes on you – or more so your fingers… the nasty habit that he had finally got you to stop all those years ago rushing right back in an instant.

“Writing a book to trash me and our relationship… to make you look like some sort of… ugh, like you’re so amazing and I’m just shit. Yeah, that certainly got my attention.” If you were coming off bitchy or rude right there, you couldn’t care less especially when there were worse things that you could’ve said or even could’ve done at this moment. You really wanted to slap him. 

“Is that all you got out of it?” He asks with his head low, almost as if he was admitting defeat or as if he couldn’t believe you came up with something so trivial. 

“Was there anything else to get?” You counter, shifting your body towards him. Maybe it was best that you sat down and actually listened to the author and his interpretations of his work.

“How about that I love you regardless of any flaws… how about I find your stubbornness and attitude sexy and how I knew this breakup would be good for you. I was holding you back. I mean, I heard you got promoted 3 times since we broke up… I just felt like I was changing you, hindering your growth. I needed to reflect on myself and this book helped that.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, yet another sign of his anxiousness. “Believe it or not, I still care about you. No matter what happened between us.”

“What happened? You mean when you decided to just leave? You could've told me everything you just told me and I would’ve understood better. We could’ve talked and came to a compromise. You don’t understand what you put me through after it.” You were close to tears but you straighten your posture and sniffled, it was best not to think about what happened before. “I just needed a bit of closure too, I guess that’s why I came. I just was caught off guard. You could’ve knocked on my door or something, forced me to answer… forced me to talk.”

He met your eye for the first time since you came over. “You wouldn’t have listened,” He huffs. “Didn’t I mention how stubborn you are? Plus, I meant what I said. I needed time to myself and I think we both did.”

“I guess…But Nanami, this book was too much. A letter would’ve been fine if you needed closure, don’t you think?” You see his lips quirk up a bit before he licks them, trying not to laugh it seems.

“My publisher got a hold of some of the documents where I was just going over things, writing here and there. She loved the idea… plus I’m in a contract for six books so I had to put something out soon, it had already been a year.” He told you, sitting his chin on top of his knuckles. “I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I was writing for fun… reminiscing about us and then later down the line, I realized I was writing because I wanted you to read it, I just didn’t exactly know how to get you to since you were very adamant on avoiding me, which is understandable. But regardless, I didn’t think it’d get on the bestseller list or for the reviews to get so harsh.” He admits, reaching for your hand before his hand froze in midair and he stopped himself, choosing instead to put it behind his head.

“Is there anyway you can stop the sequel from being published then… since you got my attention after all this time?” You asked, putting your most dazzling smile on, hoping to sway him. 

“I can talk to my publisher. Everything’s in print and materials are already done… but I’ll try to see if I can stop production.” His adam’s apple bobbles when he does a harsh swallow. “Are we… okay? Do you forgive me?”

The question made you pause. He always made it hard for you to not forgive him; it took one look or a smile and a small explanation and it made it easy to fall in love with him all over again, no matter what he did… it seems. But it made you ask yourself: Were you too easy? Did you really forgive him? It was thoughts like that swirling around the corners of your mind. You wanted to forgive him, he was just writing and telling a story… but it was your story, not just his. Using this for your attention when he could’ve written about anything else, he didn’t have to. Were you just ready to forgive him because you still loved him? 

You hadn’t realized how deep in thought you were until you felt the couch dip and even then, your mind was still spirling.“You don’t have to…” His voice brings you out of your thoughts, his body so close to yours that it was getting hard to breathe. He still smelled the same; citrus and woodsy and it was easy to get yourself sucked back in. 

“So you can write another book about my stubbornness?” You give a quiet giggle, scooting a bit away from him, seeing him frown from the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to fall back but he made it all so simple. It was easy and you were already falling back on him and you didn’t need that… Did you?

“Baby…” Your body buzzed and hummed, turning to him with wide eyes. “I’ll do anything I can to make this right. Anything for you to forgive me… If they can’t stop publication, what can I do to make us right?” He was doing more than a gaze, he was full on staring and from how close he was it was hard to avoid. 

“Nanami I–” You stopped yourself. You couldn’t really think of anything he could do but you could think of several unhealthy things you could do to ruin your progress on going over him. He had betrayed you and made you a laughing stock so why are you stuck thinking about forgiveness when you should be leaving.

“I never stopped loving you.” His fingers traced up and down your pants but his eyes stayed on yours. “I never thought about anyone but you… I never slept with anyone… it’s always been you. But, I understand what I put you through and I’ll apologize every second until you forgive me…” The blond man who you never saw shed a tear looked more than close to it. “But just please… forgive me.”

“I’m sorry, honest.” He tries again after being met with absolute silence. “Just… let me show you, okay?” His breath tickles your face for a second and when you look into his cocoa brown eyes, you feel everything you once felt again.

Memories of good times dulls out the odd feelings in the pit of your stomach – the confusion and pain – instead are replaced with joy. The trip to Malaysia where he rubbed sunscreen on your entire body and laid back to read a book and you watched as his eyes kept drifting to you while you played in the cerulean water; how you kept begging him to come in until he complied and how eventually in the early hours of the morning when you wanted another dip, he fucked you twice — once in the golden lush sand and another in the cool ocean water. 

His face is in your thighs and you couldn’t help but feel better, feeling his breath fanning so close to your pants covered pussy, your body felt scorching hot. He’s grumbling, “Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me show you how sorry I am?” 

You must’ve nodded because he was already unbuttoning your pants and helping you lay back, pulling your shirt up just a bit to see your perky tits – he must’ve remembered how you never wore bras unless you felt it was necessary, which was mainly work or any important events. 

He blew a bit on your hardening nipples before he took one into his mouth – playing biting them with a smug look on his face before he began licking around your areolas and kissing around the swells of your breast. He doesn’t say anything but he looks deep in thought as he kisses down your body, his fingers scraping down your sides as he works your pants and your panties all the way down. Bringing his head up for a minute, he looks in your face. “I love you.” He says it simply, heavy emotions swirling in his brown eyes.

Removing your pants and underwear completely from your body, he spreads your thighs and looks over your body – a trimmed low pretty bush sits between your thighs and it makes him smile, he always loved seeing the curled hair on your delicate lower lips. He spreads your pussy, watching the skin stretch with a deep smile on his face. You could feel yourself … the wetness leaking down under your body and it made you cringe, but the way he was staring at you made the insecurities vanish. “All this for me?” He takes a tentative lick before he slurps, clutching your hips. “I know you like to run… but I need you to stay put, got it?” It was hard for you to listen to him, your head already fuzzy and the thoughts swirling around were only about him, nothing more. 

Then your body bucks up, “Wait–!” A broken moan escapes your mouth when he presses a soft wet kiss to your clit. Nanami had always been gentle and very careful whenever he ate you out; making sure his tongue was wet enough and that he wasn’t too rough. His tongue was wide enough to make your back arch, your body leaving the couch when it finally hit your clit and he gave you no time to recover before he peeled back the hood, sitting the tip of his tongue there and rapidly flicked at the bud. 

Hearing the lewd squelching noises coming from the mixture of your cunt and his mouth made you close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. He spits before he licks it up and down your aching slit, nudging his tongue inside only slightly, much to your dismay. You’re gasping every second when more of his tongue slips in and out of your pussy; sliding a bit more each time and it makes your thighs shake. When he finally slips his entire tongue inside of you, curling it just enough that you can feel it everywhere, your legs attempt to close up around his head. “Please– ‘m so… soo–oh…” His fingers join in on the fun and in small sloppy circles he rubs your clit, pressing down on the pearl while his tongue continues flicking inside of you. The split second that you open your eyes, his are already on yours and it was that moment, that made your body tense up and for you to cum. 

It happens fast, clear sticky wetness leaks out of you and Nanami still tries to get more of it on his tongue, catching anything that drips and sucking on your folds. “Always so fucking good…” He mutters, spreading you again and smearing more of your slick on his face by shaking his head between your thighs, so that he’s completely covered in you. 

When he moves his head, embarrassment comes over you, looking at his wet face… even his forehead was wet and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby but… I’ll be right back, stay wet for me.”

Your heart hammers against your chest, lying there on this now wet couch. You didn’t come over here for this and yet here you are… about to get fucked and really, it was no turning back now. You’d been on dates with men after Nanami but they never lasted past the second date and you certainly hadn’t had sex in a while, but he made you come apart like it was nothing.  

But then again, Nanami knew your body… so of course this was a walk in the park for him. It honestly annoyed you right now, you couldn’t even make yourself cum half the time especially these last few years and now, barely an hour here and he has you right where he wanted you… bare and practically back in love with him.

Nanami came back with a fresh face and unbuttoned pants that he was currently pulling down. You clenched around nothing, your mind thinking only of the perfect dick that was going to be coming out of those pants. You licked your lips, this would be the first dick you saw in years and it was his. 

His drooling cock slapped his stomach and you swallowed, your mouth felt unreasonably dry. The length of his cock always impressed you, standing tall at seven and a half inches, he shakes with laughter which snaps you out of your daze. “Now let me look at you.” His whispers and even though he already saw you, both years ago and right now, you can’t help but feel hot all over again. He’s staring – drawing his eyes down every inch of your body –  focusing on your breast before getting to the stare of the show yet again. He smirks, laying you back down, pressing his body against yours to kiss you. 

Your breath was caught in your throat, his tongue still tasted of you and his hands cups your jaw. He’s gentle, his tongue moving around your mouth messily before he stops, saliva breaking apart when he does so. His fingers make a ghostly featherlight touch on your clit that makes you jump, the head of his cock at your entrance. He holds out his hand, close to your mouth. “Spit.” Gathering up some, you spit in the palm of his hand and stroke it along his length, huffing at the sensation. 

He pushes in, taking his time to work himself inside of you, a strained expression on his face. Hips pulled back, he focuses more on just the tip of himself fucking you, watching your pussy stretch with just the tiniest bit of resistance. Inching himself inside, you watch his torso flex and he groans, obscene noises plop and plap around the apartment, his heavy cock pushing in and out of you, your toes curling. 

“Pussy still mines, right? Didn’t give it away, did you?” You’re struggling to talk - to fucking breathe - your eyes rolling back and your jaw slacked but you babble out a soft ‘no’ which makes him finally thrust in you harder, completely bottoming out. You feel him in your belly, feeling full and embarrassingly wide with him stretching you out, his balls sitting on the crest of your ass before he moves. 

He moves you a bit, your bodies flush to each other and he moves his hips in harsh circles, his pelvis so close to your clit. His hands on your calves, he pushes your legs so that they rest on his shoulders, your knees touching your ears makes you tighten up and he groans above you.

“Nanami I-” You call out, eyes closed with pleasure shaking through your core, wetness slapping between the both of you. 

“Nanami? No, call me what you used to call me.” His hips slowed down, a whine escaping your lips. His cock dragging inside of your walls, pulling out slowly, awaiting your response. 

“Please…don’t slow down, Ken—” before the word even left your lips, his hand slapped your cunt, leaving your legs shaking a bit and your eyes snapping open. Drops of tears run down your cheeks and you sniffle, reaching for him… you couldn’t help but feel so small in his presence.

“Say it.” Then, you knew what he meant. A name that now feels foreign in your brain and even when it leaves your mouth, it comes out in a strange rattled whimper.

“Oh, oh… daddy, ‘m sorry. Please, keep fucking me. It’s so goooood!” He’s grinning before the words leave your mouth.

“Still my good girl huh? Always so fucking good for daddy.” He licks up your neck and it makes you tremble, your tongue lolling out a bit and he moves to suckle on it. “Did you skip over all those sex scenes or did you rub this pussy out to them?” He asks, his fingers digging in the back of your thighs. 

You choked out, sobbing, “I did, daddy… But I-I don’t want to remember everything.” 

“You don’t remember all the words I used to describe this cunt? This pretty pussy? That changed his life… my life? That made him always crawl back? That made him so fucking hard? The pretty words I used to describe you? To describe how pretty she always looked when he fucked her? How his heart felt like it was going to explode when she looked at him too long because he loved her so damn much?” He’s groaning in your ear, thrusting into you, his depth reaching your g-spot, your pussy spasming and begging for his cum at every word he uttered. 

Pumping himself inside, you could see the white creaminess that was on his cock, most likely because of you, he was constantly fucking the cream inside of you, your nails digged into his arms and he moaned at the feeling. Your stomach tightens and you move to push him away, “I’m going to c–cum!” You felt him throbbing inside of you, signaling that he was close too. “Please, cum inside of me… I can’t take it.” You couldn’t stand it any longer, it’s been years and you needed him to fill you up. He stopped for a moment, changing positions so that you’ll be sitting on his lap, grabbing your hips and forcibly bouncing you on his dick, dangerously slow. 

Wetness gushes on him as his tip hits you from a new angle, seeing the outline of him in your tummy, he’s stretching you again with each nasty thrust. Each drag of his cock making you go crazy and the aching between your legs continue, your body shaking and both of you moaning loudly and over each other. 

Finally, your orgasm rattled and shook your entire body, your pussy sucking him in, milking him for all he’s worth and it makes his body shake and he releases inside of you, trying to stay quiet as his body jerks up, unable to stop himself from fucking you through both of your orgasms.

It’s quiet for a while, just heavy breathing with you laying on his chest. “I love you too…” Your voice is scratchy and your face tear stained. He doesn’t say anything, his cock still pulsing inside of you.

“I know. I love you too, never stopped.” 

“Did you at least read the acknowledgements or did you just dive right in?”

“I never read the acknowledgements for books, thought you would’ve remembered that.” You watch him get up, walking around the living room, looking for something. You were both still naked and the entire room smelled of sex. 

“I did remember that and when you barged in my door, I already knew that you still hadn’t changed when it came to that. Here, read this part right here.” He brings you over a copy and you run your fingers around the softback cover with a small smile on your face; this silly thing had brought you both back together and right now you could give less than a fuck about those reviews. 

Feeling the spine of the book, you open it and can practically smell the scent of an unopened new book. Turning the first few pages, you go to the one page acknowledgment and read it aloud: “She might not read this book. But if she does, by chance. I hope she knows that I still love her.” You wiped your eyes and smiled. “You’re an asshole, you know?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I know baby.” Kissing the top of your head, he gets up and grabs his phone from the kitchen counter and you follow him. “I think I have enough material to write a third book now.” He grabs his phone and starts typing, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was deep in thought. Attempting to grab his phone he chuckles and uses his height to his advantage by standing taller.

Standing on the tips of your toes you snort, “Don’t even joke about that!” But a smile takes over your face and he can’t help but smile too. 

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Not the real deal.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Summary: Joel convinces you that there’s nothing wrong with a bit of grinding. Words count: 382, all dirty. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, cheating, implied but unspecified age gap, grinding, dry humping, I am not adding any more tags so as not to spoil a detail so you choose whether to read or not. A/N: no proofreading, English is not my first language and I'm sorry for any mistake. Look, I'm ovulating and I'm FERAL, this is why I wrote this. LOL

Thanks to anyone who will read this, I really hope you’ll like it!

You're straddling Joel with your panties on.

Grinding your pussy along his length flat on his tummy.

Whining, rocking your hips back and forth, your panties drenched in his and your essence.

Your hands cup your tits, your fingers pinch your nipples.

He’s hard against your core, hot, his velvety skin slides easily on the fabric, your clit more puffy and swollen with each stroke.

Warm waves make your body vibrate, rising from your tummy to your chest, setting your face on fire.

Again and again.

You can't stop, it's a vertigo that blinds your mind, it doesn't let you think about anything else.

“Just like that, baby, go on, take what you need” he groans

His big, calloused hands rest on the curve of your soft thighs, grasping and squeezing, pulling you down on his groin, his gaze moving from your half-open lips moaning his name and your tits bouncing before his eyes.

You want more.

You need more.

You move your panties to one side, you can't be bothered to take them off.

Your pussy aches and cries and screams for him.

His cock is cocooned in your folds, stiff and leaking precum, the veins of his shaft pulsing against your center.

You anchor yourself to his legs to bend your back slightly and find an angle that stimulates your clit even more.

He snarls like a feral animal.

Your hips continue their lewd dance, your juices mixing, merging, dripping onto his balls and your thighs. The tight, thin skin on his uncut cock retracts and covers his engorged, angry tip in rhythm with your thrusts.

Your muffled moans bounce off the walls as he urges you on with a broken, hoarse voice that seems to come from deep within him.

You come, throwing your head back, eyes shut.

His name dies on your lips, strangled by your wails.

“It's nothing,” he had told you, ”it's not the real deal unless I put it in you.”

You let yourself be convinced by his words, naive and willing.

You undressed for him. “You can leave your panties on baby, it's okay.”

You got on the bed with him. The bed you share with another person.

It may not be real sex, but this is a real orgasm. Wet, desperate, annihilating.

Your husband will be home any minute now. Yeah, your husband. The son of the man who is still between your thighs.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @thundermartini @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know and I’ll do it right away.

[sailorsoons]

Hello, Darling (c.hs)

Pairing: Vernon x afab reader

Summary: Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. After a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you. 

Word Count: 21,558

Genre: Supernatural, Friends to Lovers, Thriller

Type: Smut, Angst

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Explicit language, recreational drinking and smoking, crude humor, some of the members of SVT are a bit of an asshole in this - it is not a reflection of how I think of them, mentions of occult practices, a NOT ACCURATE spirit summoning/ritual, mentions of a murder suicide case/event, mentions of murders, light mentions of blood, mentions of infidelity, catching someone in a sexual act (not the main couple), Vernon is a bit of an asshole at times, mentions of insecurities/confused feelings, I owe Chan and Mingyu an apology for how I wrote them, sexual tension, some angst, sexually explicit content including thigh riding, oral (f. receiving), nipple play, a lot of biting and scratching, choking/breath play, vaginal fingering, a lot of spit and cum mentioned, unprotected sex, references to sub space, Vernon takes a dom role but it is not explicitly established, Vernon gets a little bit possessive, calls reader a slut a total of one time, some light finger sucking, reader is at several points annoyed with the women in this fic which can come off a lil bitchy, general creepy scenes in woods and in some dark spooky places. 

Additional Content Warning: It is implied by the end of this fic that Vernon is possessed to some degree by a spirit in this. I make zero distinction as to whether it’s Vernon or the spirit calling the shots or if there is even a difference/distinction between the two, which poses the fair question of consent in parts of this that I do not address or provide nuance to. The lack of clarification is due to the POV of this fic being entirely from reader’s perspective and she doesn’t have a clue what’s going on until the very end, and thus we are unable to unpack to what degree this character is or is not himself. If that lack of nuance bothers you, that is valid but this is not the fic for you. 

❀ A/N: This was an original request fill for my Haliween event on my first blog for @eoieopda. Thank you for letting me write you 20k+ of this Vernon :)

A/N 2: I AM NOT WRITING A PART 2 TO THIS ON PURPOSE. IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE AMBIGUOUS.

Reader Notes: This reader is never explicitly gendered as girl/she/her etc. so I have listed them as an afab reader.

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Cool wind lifts the pages of your book, threatening to flip them over. You press your fingers flat to the page, fighting to keep them from flitting over and losing your place in the story. There’s not much daylight left in the sky as the afternoon dies to make way for the evening, but you’re eager to finish the chapter, craving to unravel the mystery you’ve been working your way through the past week. 

Atmospheric sounds play in your headphones as you read. Your legs are crossed, book in your lap as you sit on the concrete wall separating the quad from one of the sidewalks on campus. Now that there’s a chill in the air, you crave being outside, finding the opportunity to sit wherever you can on campus to crack open a book before the sunlight finally fades. 

Flipping the page, you only get a split second warning of the shout you hear through your headphones before something hits you in the back of the head. You yelp, dropping the book to the ground as your headphones clatter from your head to the grass from the impact. 

Scowling, you swivel around to see Mingyu jogging over, his hand over his mouth as apologies start pouring out of him. A flush creeps up your neck as he approaches, his friends and fellow fraternity brothers watching from afar. Some of them are bent over cackling, the others have their hands on their head, visibly stressed from hitting you with their football.

Again. 

“I am so sorry,” he pleads, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Seungcheol threw wide.” 

“Maybe play on a rec field, then?” You snap, sliding from the wall, picking up your headphones and book. You kick the football toward him, irritated. “There’s literally so many other places you can play. Don’t you have a yard at your little frat house?” 

“It’s being used for float building for the Halloween parade.”

“Convenient.” 

For the most part, Mingyu isn’t so bad. He’s a little loud and obnoxious, but he’s always nice and he does seem to mean it when he picks up the football and apologizes again. It’s more than a lot of his fraternity brothers would do, though it’s not much now that they’ve managed to hit you twice with the same ball. 

Someone like Mingyu wouldn’t even pay attention to you if it weren’t for Vernon, though. As Mingyu retreats, the reason you’re even friends with Mingyu appears on the sidewalk, coming toward you with his hands in his pockets, hood pulled up on his head and headphones on. He lifts his chin in greeting to Mingyu, but Vernon’s brown eyes focus on you, his true destination. 

Vernon pulls his hood and headphones down when he’s within a few feet, jerking his thumb at Mingyu. “What did he want?” 

“He was apologizing for hitting me with the football. Again.”

“Again?” 

“Yeah. They hit me earlier.”

Vernon hums, displeased. He doesn’t say much, instead turning to lean against the wall, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets again.

The last embers of sunlight hit his side profile, stunning you to momentarily silence. In a halo of fiery light, Vernon looks like a god. His light brown eyes turn burnished gold, reflecting the dying sun. His hair is spun copper, strands dancing in the breeze as he watches the world around him. 

Not for the first time, you think that you understand why Helen of Troy inspired a thousand ships to come after her. Vernon’s face is the kind of thing you’ve read about in all of your mythologies and folktales for your Occult Studies major, so beautiful that it can’t be real.  

If Vernon notices you staring, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes watch the other members of his fraternity play football, one of them crashing into someone on a lawn chair. He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, wearing his second-hand embarrassment silently as he watches them apologize for the millionth time. 

Vernon is nothing like the rest of his fraternity. You’re still unsure why he even joined. It was something he had done his freshman year going into school, wanting to put himself out there and make friends. 

He certainly looks the part - he’s handsome and in shape from playing soccer in highschool, and he’s got good fashion sense for a college student. But he’s quiet and a little awkward, unsure how to navigate conversations with most people who aren’t in his immediate circle of friends and shy to an almost crippling point. 

It had taken Vernon seven weeks of being your lab partner before he finally spoke more than three sentences to you. For the longest time, you’d assumed it was because he thought you were beneath him. It wouldn’t have surprised you. Greek life on campus tended to stick with their own. 

Now, you know it was because he didn’t know what to say or how to start a conversation. You’d only managed to get him to talk to you when he noticed a song by Frank Ocean bleeding from your headphones, piquing his interest. 

Four years later, talking to Vernon is easy. Well, maybe not easy. You’ve got years of friendship between you now and you know what makes Vernon tick, but the butterflies you get when you’re around him and the way your heart swells when he does something so simple makes it a little harder. 

Like now, as day fades to evening and the world is awash in purple and gold, and he’s looking at the watercolor sky like it's the most fascinating thing in the world, completely unaware that while he’s in awe of the sky, you’re in awe of him. 

Vernon jerks forward, making you flinch. You have no idea what he’s doing until his hand is in front of you, smacking down the football that has been sent your direction again. You huff in frustration, watching as this time it’s Chan who jogs over to get it. 

“Are you all fucking serious?” You demand. He slows his approach, eyes darting to Vernon as though looking for help from his friend. Vernon says nothing, bending over to pick up the football and toss it to Chan. “I should shove that football up your ass.” 

“Maybe not the football,” Chan quips, catching it. He looks you up and down, head cocking to the side a little. His mouth lifts at the corner and there’s a glint in his dark eyes that makes you even angrier. “I’m open to other things, though?” 

“You’re so gross.”

“What? You’re hot when you’re mad.” 

“Go away, Chan!” You shriek, flustered and angry as you spin around to grab your things and storm off. You only get a few feet before realizing Vernon is still leaning on the wall. “Are you coming or not?”

He scrambles after you, nearly tripping over his own feet to catch up. Chan is snickering as he runs back toward where the others wait for him, yelling a trilling bye toward you and Vernon as you charge north toward the main campus parking lot. 

“He’s so annoying,” you gripe, shoving your book in your bag. Vernon hums, noncommittal. You glance at him. “Nothing more to add?” 

He lifts a shoulder. “It’s cause they think you’re hot, Lovecraft.”

You smile at the nickname, fondness sweeping through you. He’d started calling you Lovecraft your freshman year after learning about your major, deciding that it just fit. You like it - at least coming from Vernon, who understood Occult Studies was more than just spooky and magic and the metaphysical. 

“They think anything with a set of tits and a hole to stick their dick in is hot. I’m sure a blowup doll would blow their fucking mind.” 

Vernon’s mouth twitches at that. “You’d hate Chan’s room.”

“Don’t give me that visual!” 

His laugh is warm. He bumps shoulders with yours, grinning at you as the two of you walk. You feel the telltale sign of your traitorous heart beating extra hard at his closeness, your gaze shooting to the floor as you try to hide any evidence of your feelings that might lurk on the surface of your expression. 

Thankfully, Vernon never seems to notice. You’re glad that he doesn’t. You don’t think you’re very good at hiding how you feel, but he is equally bad at picking up on it, totally oblivious to the long stares and the way you fumble over your words when he gets too close. 

Vernon has that effect on a lot of people. His proximity to being attractive has always outweighed his inability to make small talk among the female population on campus. The amount of times you’ve watched girls openly flirt with him and whisper about what it would take to get him to crack was insurmountable. 

Autumn wind kicks up leaves at your feet. Neither one of you says anything as you walk, simply content to be together. It’s one of your favorite things about him, never feeling pressure to perform or to have conversation. Being with Vernon is just… easy. Natural, even. 

The parking lot is slowly emptying as the rest of the late afternoon classes end. A few unlucky evening class students pull in, slamming their car doors and rushing off to their auditoriums. Vernon’s car is easy to find and you let yourself in, sliding into the passenger seat like it’s yours - it kind of is. 

“Pizza?” he asks, engine humming to life. 

“Please.” His lips twitch in a soft smile as he nods, flipping on the radio. You hum, leaning forward and turning up the volume. “I love this song.” 

Vernon’s smile increases as you lean back, the sounds of Emotional Oranges filling the car. He rolls the windows down once he’s on the road proper, cool wind kissing your skin. You pull your feet up onto the seat, leaning toward the window as the fading twilight brushes past you. 

Outside the car, the world smells like pine. You take a deep breath in, loving the way the October air feels just right. Fall is always your favorite time of year, and with the music playing in the background, wind in your hair and Vernon drumming on the wheel, you don’t think there could be anything better in the world. 

Sal’s Pizzeria glows against the dark, a beacon of hunger and hope against the night. The giant pizza slice on the roof blinks rapidly, the neon a little bit broken. Gold light glows through the windows as you climb out the car, gravel crunching beneath your feet. 

A bell chimes as the door opens and a group of students pour out, laughing and carrying boxes. Vernon catches the lip of the door and holds it open for you, gesturing you to enter first. The smell of bread and warm air hits you in the face, your lips curving as you tell the girl at the host stand two.

College students and local residents fill the restaurant. The hostess leads you to a booth in the corner, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you hop-slide your way in. She hands you the menus, her eyes lingering on Vernon as she does, lips twitching when she asks if there’s anything else you need. When he doesn’t answer, you shake your head, shooting her a thin-lipped smile. 

She’s hesitant to leave but she does, casting one last look over her shoulder as she heads back to the stand. You look at Vernon too, studying him. He’s none the wiser, brown eyes scanning the menu even though you know he’s going to order the same thing. 

When the server comes, Vernon does as expected: orders a diablo pizza with a side of fries. You shake your head a little, asking for the white feta pizza, handing over the sticky menus. When the server is gone, Vernon leans back in the seat, sipping his coke as he drinks you in, wordless. 

You kick your feet up on his side of the booth next to him and he lets you, patting your ankle fondly when he sets his drink down. He has no idea how torturous that alone is, the simple comfort of his familiar touch enough to send your eyes averting across the room, trying to control your breathing. 

“What are the favorites and least favorites this week?” he asks, balling up the paper his straw came in. 

Favorites and least favorites is a game you like to play with him. It’s not so much of a game as it is a routine where you tell him your favorite piece of material from your classes and your least favorite. Most people dismiss your major as too peculiar for interest. No one knows what you’re supposed to do with Occult Studies but it fascinates you.

And Vernon, who has always had a keen interest in the goings on in your classes and homework. 

“We’re in the psychology of the occult module.” He nods, eyes fixed on you. “Mostly covering the psychology of community as it relates to the occult. We have sections on covens, clans, actual cults, sects and more modern mass followings.” 

“Hmm. So like… Twitter stans.”

You smile a bit. “Something like that. We covered the maenads in class today. Ever heard of them?” He shakes his head and you lean forward, elbows on the table. “They were women in Ancient Greece devoted to the god Dionysus and they were believed to be possessed by the god. They were said to have wild parties in the woods with one another where they’d do all manner of sordid things, all while under the influence.” 

“A Friday night for Chan.”

“Exactly. A lot of historians call them crazy and speculate they were raving mad, but if I was a woman under the thumb of men in Ancient Greece…”

“Shit, I’d get fucking crazy in the woods with my friends too.”

“Exactly. It was more about reveling in female companionship and being unfettered from the male-dominated societal norms.” 

The arrival of your dinner interrupts the conversation. Both of you lean backward, making room for the hot plates and Vernon’s basket of fries. You slide your feet down from his side of the booth, leaning to grab the red pepper flakes from the corner of the table. He grabs salt, immediately dusting his fries.

“Ugh, you could have at least let me have some first.” He looks up at you through his lashes, brows raised. “They’re already salted, Vernon.”

“Not enough.”

“You know, if you were haunted or possessed you’d never want the salt.” He gives a questioning hum. “Salt is used in purification rituals. It’s believed spirits hate it because it’s used in banishing spells and rituals. It’s why a line of salt keeps them out.”

“Good thing I’m hungry, not haunted.” 

You snort, taking a piece of your pizza from the tray. “Speaking of haunted, are we going to your Halloween party this weekend?”

“My halloween party?”

“You are in the fraternity, Vernon. Yes, yours.” 

He makes a face and tears into his pizza. You shake your head as he lets out a sound, huffing and tilting his head backward as he tries to deal with the too-hot food in his mouth burning him. “Ya,” he says around the slice. “I guess so.” 

“What are you going to wear?” He raises a brow at you, swallowing down the hot bite. You pout, sagging in your seat. “Dude, you have to dress up. You can’t just go in a black shirt and a baseball hat.” 

“Why not?” You kick him under the table and he winces, ducking down to rub at his shin. “Shit, fine. Okay, what do I go as?”

You grin, picking up your appropriately cooled pizza. “Leave it to me.” 

-

“This makeup itches,” Vernon mutters, looking up at you through long lashes. You hush him, putting the finishing touches on the black line down his mouth. “Couldn’t I have gone as something easier?”

“What is easier than black jeans and a jacket you already own, huh? Stop talking, I’m gonna fuck up this line and this makeup is perfect so far.” 

It’s true. You’ve outdone yourself on turning Vernon’s face into a skull, taking inspiration from American Horror Story for the costume. Vernon is a low effort kind of person, so getting him into costume is a lot easier when all it requires are clothes he already owns and makeup that you have to do anyway. 

Stepping away from him, you admire your handy work. His eyes are painted black, hollowed out for the skull. His dark hair is slicked back, the perfect skeleton. He looks… good. Painfully good, which makes you nervous and turn away quickly, heart flipping. You’re not sure what it says about you that Vernon staring at you while painted as a deadly skeleton makes your heart race but… it does. 

“How do I look?”

“Terrifying,” you admit, turning back to him. “But good.” 

He grins and if it were anyone else but Vernon, you’d be terrified. Maybe you did a little too good of a job. 

“What are you again?”

“One of the witches from American Horror Story Coven. Close your eyes, I’m going to use setting spray.” 

Darkness blankets the sky by the time you’re both scrambling down the steps and into an Uber. The driver does a double take when they see Vernon, eyes watching nervously in the rearview as you give him the address. 

“That’s at a closed down gas station.”

“Yep,” you agree, leaning back into the seat.

The driver mutters something about fucking college kids and fucking holiday but otherwise says nothing about the questionable location. He doesn’t need to know that a mile from the abandoned gas station is also an abandoned farmhouse notorious for unsanctioned parties and being distinctly haunted. 

Haunted isn’t your favorite thing in the world. You didn’t like to mess with ghosts, despite your area of study. You were infinitely more interested in the intersectionality of occult studies and modern culture and society and less enthused about the idea of drinking stale beer from a foamy tap in the middle of a murder house. 

If the driver thinks there’s anything weird about other people being dropped off at the gas station - you’re sure he does - he says nothing, ignoring the two of you as you get out of the car and dive into the night air. Vernon is close behind as you take a few steps away from the car, eyeing the old gas station.

The windows have long since been broken and cracked, foggy with time. The stations are stripped of their labels and stickers, just white residue left behind and no pumps. A few people lounge around the building smoking, dressed in a variety of halloween costumes. 

Nervous, you look up at Vernon. His smile is small and he juts his chin toward the dirt road that leads through the woods. Nodding, you both fall into step, sand and gravel crunching beneath your feet as you go. Vernon recognizes a few people associated with his fraternity and others, throwing a casual wave or a nod as you pass by people.

Music echoes down the road. It’s a little less foreboding in the dark trees when you can hear Michael Jackson’s thriller coming down the way and the dull roar of voices. The bend in the road straightens out, the line of trees giving way to flat land. 

The farmhouse is pretty, even in old age. It’s two stories, glowing from within from all of the battery lanterns and lights being used to light the party. A generator roars somewhere behind the house, light flooding the yard where people mingle and crowd the kegs. 

A chill slithers down your spine as you enter the yard, the broken gate doing a poor job at keeping trespassers out. Even with the lighting, shadows dance as you navigate through people, the strange anxiety crawling up your throat worsening as you near the house. 

Vernon pulls the sleeve of your dress so that you’re closer to him, his fingers steady and calm as he leads you up the steps where you can clearly hear Mingyu’s howling laughter inside. 

Bright light fills the house. As do a crush of people and beer pong tables, the abandoned home turned into a raucous display of drinking and debauchery. If you weren’t so distracted by the wave of people pushing you into Vernon’s arm, you might be impressed at how much you could forget the farm home was abandoned because someone had been murdered here. 

“I need a drink,” Vernon announces, continuing to pull your arm after him as he plunges toward what used to be the kitchen.

It’s where you find Mingyu dressed as a lifeguard - and loudly yelling directions. He blows his whistle shrilly when he sees you and Vernon, pointing at the two of you and spitting the whistle out of his mouth to scream, “NOT WET ENOUGH!”

“What a weird way to offer drinks,” you mutter. Chan, who seems to be on lifeguard assistant duty - while dressed in a horrid felt dinosaur costume - scrambles to get you drinks, spilling rum as he tips it over into a cup. “No ice?” 

“There’s not a fridge,” he pouts, shoving the cup in your hand. His eyes drink you in. “Are you a hot goth or?” 

Instead of answering him, you roll your eyes and turn to Mingyu, who blows the whistle again. Both you and Vernon wince, the latter throwing back his drink to chug it all before thrusting the cup back at Chan. “That’s gonna get real tiring.” 

Mingyu comes around the corner of the old island countertop, pumping his fists in the air to the music rattling through the house. “Vernon you look fucking sick!” He and Vernon do the little hand-clap-to-half-hug men do. Mingyu turns to look at you, eyes dark. “Are you like, a hot goth?” 

Your smile is plastic as the whistle around Mingyu’s neck. “Sure.” 

Mingyu, dancing and moving toward the living room, reaches out to you. “Come dance with me! This song fucks.”

“Decidedly not!” 

“Go ahead, Lovecraft!” Vernon urges, pushing you toward the obnoxious lifeguard with a shit-eating grin as he imitates Mingyu’s voice. “This song fucks.” 

Before you can chastise him for egging his fraternity brother on, Mingyu has you sucked into the dancing crowd, throwing his hands in the air as he swivels his way through the crowd. You try to knock back as much of the lukewarm drink as you can, cringing at the burn of cheap rum and not-iced coke. 

Bodies pressed in. Mingyu is close to you, a hand going to your waist. You frown and look over your shoulder, eyes scanning for Vernon. You know he’s probably lingering on the edge of the crowd, watching you with a smirk over the rim of his cup as he watches Mingyu roll his hips toward you.

“Mingyu,” you snap, turning back to him when you don’t find Vernon. “It’s the Monster Mash, it doesn’t require grinding.” 

“I mean, if you wanna graveyard smash…”

“You’re all insufferable! All of you!”

Still, you sway back and forth, trying to stomach finishing the rest of your horrid drink. It takes an effort, but shaking your head at Mingyu and judging him silently gets you most of the way through it until Soonyoung - dressed in the same tiger costume from last year - crashes through the crowd into the pair of you, thrilled when he realizes who it is he has slammed into. 

“Hot goth!” he screams, pointing at your outfit. “Where is your other half?” 

You don’t have to ask what Soonyoung means and both the drink and the accusation have you flushing. You shrug a shoulder, eyes surveying the party. Before either of you can find Vernon, Joshua appears at Soonyoung’s side, leaning to his ear to murmur something. Soongyoung’s face lights up and he grins at you, grabbing you by the wrist to yank you through the crowd. 

“Hello?” you demand, pulling your wrist from his grip. “Have you heard of asking?”

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“The last time I heard that was promptly followed by you showing me that stupid peach tattoo on your ass.”

“First of all, that tattoo is amazing.” He heads to the stairs, which you eye warily. “Second, Vernon is already upstairs, come on. You like weird ghost shit, you’ll like this.”

Without waiting for a reply, Soonyoung thunders up the stairs. You cringe, waiting for a foot to go through a dry plank and send him falling. It doesn’t happen, though. Tentatively, you creep up the stairs after him, eyes glued to each of the steps as you go. 

It’s colder upstairs, the windows in the rooms open to the elements. You shiver, looking down the hall to Soonyoung heading into a bedroom. You tentatively follow him, stopping at the threshold of the doorway to survey the people inside.

Vernon is one of them, back pressed to the wall near the window, his eyes focused on his boots in front of him, hands tucked into his pockets. A girl next to him dressed as Red Riding Hood is leaning close, speaking to him rapidly. Nothing on his face indicates he’s listening. Then again, his expression is hard to read while painted as a skull, mystifying and dark as you follow Soonyoung down the hall. 

Soonyoung goes straight toward a pile of things on the floor next to Seungcheol’s feet in the corner of the room. The president of Vernon’s fraternity pays Soonyoung no mind, eyes totally focused on the pretty fox in front of him, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

Suddenly, the room feels too intimate for you, like everyone is a couple tucked away. You have half a mind to go back downstairs when Vernon looks up at you, dark eyes zeroing in. His face is ten times more intense with the skull paint, pinning you to the spot. 

Everything dulls to the background for a second. You don’t dare breathe, too afraid to shatter the moment as he stares at you, unblinking. His eyes glitter in the darkness of the room, two amber pools reflecting the moonlight. 

Joshua enters the room behind you, shattering the spell as you step out of his way. You turn back to Vernon, clearing your throat. He pulls a hand from his pocket, beckoning you over. Mouth dry, you obey, skittering over toward him quickly as you observe the materials that Soonyoung is sifting through in the corner. Candles. Matches. Salt. A bell. 

“Soonyoung,” you say sharply, slowing your step. “Why do you have ritual materials?”

He looks up at you, his grin wide. “Told you that you’d like this.” 

“What is this?” You turn back to Vernon, who shrugs one shoulder. 

Hesitantly, you take the unoccupied space next to him, casting the girl at his side a cursory glance. She observes your costume. “Are you a hot goth?” 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, head thunking against the wall as you watch Soonyoung stand, materials in hand. Vernon coughs next to you, trying to cover his laugh. You glare at him sidelong and he says nothing, but his skeleton mouth is screwed up in a smirk. “What is he doing?”

“No clue.”

Soonyoung walks over to the bedroom door, looking down the hallway before shutting it. You fight a shiver, disliking how quiet the room becomes, cut off from the rest of the world. The window near you is the only source of light, and the only one shut on the second level of the abandoned home. 

“What time is it?” Soonyoung asks Joshua.

“11:45.” 

“Perfect.” Soonyoung spins, eyes falling on you. “Want to talk to a ghost?” 

All eyes turn to you in the room. You open and close your mouth, confused. “What?” 

“Do you want to talk to a ghost? Like someone who died?” 

Your eyes drift to the candle, bell and matches in Soonyoung’s hand. A tingle spreads over your skin and your spine stiffens. “Soonyoung that better not be to invite a spirit in.” 

His grin grows. “Come on, you are the ghost major or whatever. You should be thrilled to do this.”

“Occult Studies. And that doesn’t mean I fuck with the unknown or make a mockery of the dead. We’ve been over this.” 

“It’s basically the same thing, come on. You learn it all in class.” 

“No.” 

He pouts. “You’d be best at it, though. Rumor has it that when the veil is thinnest, you can talk to the spirit that haunts this house.” 

“The murderer? Or the murdered?” Soonyoung shrugs. “I doubt either would be very happy a bunch of drunk college kids are trying to bother them. My answer is no.” 

“Ugh. I was kind of counting on you doing it.” 

“Do it yourself.”

“I don’t study ghost shit!”

“Occult! Studies!”

“Ghost shit,” Soonyoung assures the room confidently.

“I’ll do it,” Vernon sighs, pushing off the wall. “Leave her alone.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes are alight as Vernon steps toward him. You reach out to grab his wrist, pulling him back. “Don’t.” 

“It’s fine.”

“Vernon.”

His eyes are soft when he looks at you. As soft as the terrifying makeup allows, anyway. “It’s fine, Lovecraft. Let me. He’ll stop asking.”

“I’m right here.”

“We know,” you and Vernon say in unison. You feel warm, chewing the inside of your cheek before nodding. You drop his wrist and turn to Soonyoung, eyes hard. “Give me that, you’ll do it wrong. Tell me what the mythos is.”

“What math? You need math?”

“The story, Soonyoung. What is the fucking story of this house?”

“Right. Apparently some dude murdered his girlfriend in here and then hung himself in that closet.” He points to a door you didn’t see when you walked in, dark and far away from the window. “Legend says at midnight, ring the bell three times and step into the closet with a candle. If the candle blows out, the spirit is with you. If it doesn’t, it didn’t work.” 

Grabbing the items from Soonyoung’s hand, you look at Vernon. “When you’re done, ring the bell three times again and say: Thank you, I dismiss thee. Go in peace.” 

“Thank you,” Vernon repeats gently, taking the bell from your hand. “I dismiss thee. Go in peace.”

“Everyone else take candles,” you direct, voice rough with irritation. You glare at Soonyoung and Seungcheol in particular as you shove candles in their hands. “Stand in the four corners of the room. Did you bring sage, Soonyoung?”

“Bring what?”

“Of course not, why would you?” Everyone starts moving to the corner of the room, using matches to light their candles. The room feels unnaturally cold now, despite your long sleeves. Turning back to Vernon, you say, “It’s probably a stupid rumor.”

“Probably.”

“If your candle goes out, just ring the bell, say the words, and dismiss it.” 

“Right.” 

“You don’t have to do it, Vernon.”

His mouth kicks up at the corner. “I’m not worried, Lovecraft. You are.” 

Letting out a breath, you give a laugh that’s only half-there. You are nervous. You don’t like the idea of inviting a spirit into Vernon’s space, and though Soonyoung’s little ritual doesn’t really sound right, you’re not going to correct him. 

Still, you feel unsettled as you light your own candle and then Vernon’s. He cradles it in his hands as you escort him to the door. Tucked under your arm is the canister of salt. Crouching down, you pour the salt in a thick white light in front of the door, careful to ensure that there are no breaks and that it covers the entire entryway from corner to corner.

“Be careful when you step over it and when you open the door,” you instruct, standing up. The candle in your hand flickers unsteadily. “Don’t break the line. The idea is that if Soonyoung’s stupid summoning works, the spirit can’t get through the salt.”

“Banishing and all that,” Vernon recalls with a smile. Your heart flips. “I remember.” 

“Come on, you only have a minute!” Soonyoung calls eagerly. 

Shooting him a glare that silences him, you turn back to Vernon. “Ring the bell three times. Thank you, I dismiss thee. Go in peace.”

“Got it.” 

Unsettled you shuffle back from the door a little bit. You don’t go to a corner of the room like you’ve asked everyone else, unwilling to totally leave him by himself. Heart hammering, you hold your candle in front of you, cradling the warmth like a second heart. 

Vernon is unbothered. You can see it in the loose set of his shoulders and the way he sighs, already tired of Soonyoung’s antics. The party downstairs feels a million miles away as you watch Vernon stand in front of the closed closet door, looking up at it, unimpressed.

“It’s midnight,” Joshua whispers from the corner. 

Vernon doesn’t make any sound that he’s heard Joshua, but he lifts the little bell in his hand. It’s a hand bell, the wood grip worn and cracked. You wonder where Soonyoung got it from, having half a mind to ask him when the first clear ring of the bell disrupts your thoughts. 

The note sings through the air, your blood turning to ice in your veins. It feels like your pulse is throbbing in your neck as Vernon rings the bell hard a second time, the sound chasing the echo of the first. The third ring feels like a tremor in the air, warbling as Vernon quickly sets the bell on the floor, careful not to extinguish his candle flame. 

You hold your breath when he sets his hand on the doorknob. No one makes a sound as he twists it open. He pulls on the door and it comes away with a silent swing. The darkness on the other side is gaping, like there’s no back to the closet, just a wide hole of nothing. 

Vernon doesn’t seem to mind. He steps over the line of salt carefully until he’s in the middle of the closet, pivoting to face you. The orange flicker of his candle casts a haunting glow over his skull face. You swallow down a brief moment of fear before he winks and leans forward to pull the door shut.

For a long moment, there’s nothing. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, the thudthudthud so loud you swear everyone else in the room can hear it. No one moves, everyone fixated on the door. The silence is so piercing that your ears start to ring, the sound of the party completely unreachable over your mounting anxiety. 

“Well?” Soonyoung whispers somewhere behind you. “I guess it didn’t work.” 

Vernon begins pounding on the door. Someone screams behind you followed by a bunch of curses. You leap forward, heart in your throat as Vernon screams something unintelligible on the other side. You drop your candle, completely throwing caution to the wind as you grab the doorknob and twist. 

It doesn’t move.

“Vernon?” you ask, voice spiking with fear. “Let go of the doorknob, let me turn it. Vernon!”

The pounding doesn’t stop. He is screaming in a way you’ve never heard before, his fists rattling the door against the frame. You shriek his name back, yanking at the door frantically, your panic mounting as he screams and- 

When the door opens, you nearly fall backward with the force of it, stumbling over your feet. Soonyoung steadies you, to your surprise. You hadn’t realized he had left his corner of the room to help, his hand warm and firm. 

Vernon stands on the other side of the door, mouth pressed in a firm line. 

“You fucking asshole,” Soonyoung swears, throwing his unlit candle at Vernon. Vernon laughs, dodging it. “You fucking suck.”

“Yeah, well don’t ask me to do stupid shit.” Vernon steps out of the closet, eyes dropping to you. His mirth is edged with something sharp, a glint in his eyes that is wholly unfamiliar. “I was kidding.”

“You fucking asshole!” You screech at him, slamming your hands into his chest and knocking him back a little. He smirks and says nothing, letting you hit him a few times. “Why would you do that to me? What is wrong with you?” 

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, you sound really fucking sorry.” Anger sours your mouth. Turns your words to poison. Your throat tightens up and you feel the telltale sign of tears, equal parts livid, embarrassed and offended that Vernon would do such a thing. “Fuck you, Vernon.”

Someone laughs awkwardly as you storm off. Vernon calls your name but you ignore him, bolting down the hall and down the stairs. The wood creaks uncertainty under your feet but you don’t care. You want to be anywhere but here, the hot lick of embarrassment burning your heels as you go. 

You blow past Chan on your way out, his bleary eyes following you. “Nooo,” he whines. “Hot goth, come back to me!”

“Shut up, Chan!” You scream, slamming down the steps as you go.

People nearly dive out of your way, swiveling to watch the wake of your wrath as you leave the party. You ignore them, not wanting anyone to see the hot tears that spill over as you hit the dirt road, boots crunching. 

It’s hard to tell what’s worse. The fact that Vernon had played a joke on you he knew you wouldn’t like, or the way you had panicked and lost all resolve to be the one in charge. Both feel awful, but the sting of Vernon’s joke is the sharper of the two, cutting you to the quick.

Vernon has never dared to do something like that in your entire friendship. You have no idea why he did it now. Was it because he had an audience? Was he drunk? Was he actually like the members of his fraternity he associated with? 

You had no idea, which only made things worse. Above anyone else, you thought you knew Vernon best. But perhaps, you didn’t know Vernon at all, which was far worse than any sort of haunted spirit you could imagine. 

-

The next morning, you don’t hear from Vernon. It makes your blood boil, a nasty feeling forming in the pit of your stomach as you put your phone on Do Not Disturb. You put on a big set of headphones, blaring music to keep you sane as you set about cleaning your apartment furiously. 

It’s an okay distraction. The lull of clinical cleaning is nice and the music soothes the sting that nips at your heels like an incessant hound. When you run out of things to clean, though, you’re forced to face the fact that it’s nearly evening and Vernon still hasn’t said anything to you.

You don’t want to text him first. Your pride is wounded from the night before and you’re shocked he hasn’t apologized - he should apologize. The silence only makes you angrier, and with nothing left to clean in your apartment, you decide to think of all the things you’re going to say to him when he does finally reach out to you. Because you’re not saying anything first. 

Vernon’s radio silence makes it nearly impossible to sleep. You toss and turn in bed, unable to get comfortable, checking your phone and social media. It’s difficult to remember the last time you went over twenty four hours without hearing from Vernon, and the realization forms a pit in your stomach.

Maybe the silence was good. Maybe you were too reliant on his friendship, the one constant that you had grown far too fond of. Maybe he was into that girl last night, making a show of you because he wanted to make her laugh or maybe he was just putting you in your place.

The insecurity wars with your logic that Vernon wouldn’t do that. He’s never had a history of that kind of behavior before, and though he might tease you on occasion, you have never been the butt of his jokes or the target of his humor. 

Jokes like that aren’t even Vernon’s style. He doesn’t like cruelty, and that’s what pretending to be screaming for help was. It was cruel, and strange and it hurt. 

What hurts more is the silence continuing into a second day. By the late afternoon, though, the hurt has morphed into something else. You sit on your couch, staring at the phone on your coffee table. Your pride was begging you not to text him, but your worry was starting to chip away at you. 

Heaving a sigh, you pick up the phone. The tap of your nails against the glass screen is loud in your quiet apartment, the final rays of sun melting through the blinds while a candle burns on the counter. 

[You 5:14 PM]: So are we not talking? 

Setting the phone down, you immediately start making dinner. It doesn’t matter that you’re too early. You’re nervous waiting for his text back, which makes you feel ridiculous. Then you feel ridiculous for feeling ridiculous, validating yourself that it is totally okay to have feelings and be nervous.

“God,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m exhausting.” 

By the time you’ve had dinner and watched a full episode of Alice in Borderland, Vernon has said nothing. Worry eats away at the lining of your stomach. You pause the show and pick up the phone again, dialing his number.

On the other side of the line, the phone rings. And rings. And rings. 

You hang up when you get the automated voicemail, frowning. It’s all strange, and a nagging feeling tugs at your nervous system but you can’t put your finger on it.

Just as you set the dishes in the sink, your phone starts to ping. You’re grateful no one can see you in your apartment as you lurch to the phone, picking it up and unlocking it to see if it’s Vernon. It isn’t, but your heart starts to thud when your group chats with other friends and classmates in projects flood with the same rumor over and over.

A dead body had been found on campus. 

Vernon doesn’t live on campus, but it doesn’t stop you from calling him again. And again. And again. When the voicemail turns on a fourth time, you seethe into the phone, fingers gripping it so hard it feels like it’ll break. “Call me back you fucking asshole! Someone died on campus and you’re not answering and I just need to know it’s not you. Fuck!” 

Time passes and you get so desperate you do the one thing you didn’t want to do unless it was dire circumstances. You hit dial and bring your phone up to your ear, pinching the bridge of your nose to prepare yourself for when Mingyu answers the phone. 

“Am I dreaming?” he says by way of greeting. “It was the life guard costume, right?” 

“Mingyu, it wasn’t a costume. You were shirtless with board shorts.” 

“But it worked, right?”

“Have you heard from Vernon?” 

“Nah, why?” 

“Like you haven’t seen him at all since the party?” 

“Mmm. I don’t think so.” There’s a muffled sound on the phone like he’s trying to cover it when he yells, “Chan, have you seen that fuck head Vernon?” You wait impatiently, holding the phone further from your ear as Minguy yells. “Chan hasn’t seen him either.” 

“Isn’t that weird? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him.”

“Nah, I mean we never really see him. Usually he’s with you.”

“Right. And he isn’t with me, I haven’t seen him since the party.” 

“Well have you checked his apartment?” You hesitate. “Helloooo?”

“No.”

“Well. Do that. He’s probably sleeping or some shit, who knows.” 

“Great. You were so helpful,” you deadpan.

Mingyu sounds genuinely happy when he says, “I’m so glad!”

You hang up the phone before he can say anything else. 

Chewing your nail, you stare at the wall, mind racing.  Mingyu has a point that it’s normal for them to never see Vernon. He is usually with you, or he’s solitary. There is little in between. He also has a point that most of the time if you were looking for Vernon, you’d just swing by his apartment. 

The thought of seeing him again makes you want to curl in on yourself, but your concern weighs out. You get dressed and grab your keys, trying not to let your fear of what you might find there keep you from leaving. 

Opening the door to your apartment, you get one foot out the door and then slam directly into Vernon. You reel backward, eyebrows shooting up as he steadies you by the elbow, equally surprised to see you as though he wasn’t at your doorstep. 

“Easy there,” he greets, a half smile on his face.

Vernon looks totally normal. He definitely doesn’t look like he was murdered, and he’s dressed in his usual jeans, plain black shirt, and a backwards hat. For a second, you just stare at him, totally shocked and utterly relieved he isn’t dead.

Then, the anger comes. 

You slam a hand into his chest, cursing at him. “Where?” Slap. “Have?” Slap. “You?” Slap. “Been?” 

He takes the blows in stride. His chest is firm beneath your palm, heart beating steadily. Alive. And now that you’ve established he’s not dead, you feel so much anger ripple through you that you don’t let him answer before you’re pivoting on your foot and storming back into your apartment.

The sound of the door closing behind you followed by his shuffling as he takes his shoes off tells you he hasn’t left. A small part of you curls in satisfaction with the domesticity of his arrival, but it is blotted out by the hurt and rage at the surface of your emotions.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. It isn’t as eloquent as your practiced rant, but it’s something. “You better explain yourself. And quickly.”

Vernon’s dark eyes connect with yours, simmering. You feel your heart lurch as he slinks over to the kitchen, never taking his gaze off you. The back of your neck tingles. Vernon never keeps this much eye contact and it’s both thrilling and unnerving. 

“I want to apologize,” he murmurs, pitching his voice low. You watch with trepidation as he reaches out to gather your hand in his. He folds your fingers under his, pulling your hand to his chest. Your breath quickens, pulse throbbing as he cradles your fist to his chest, his heartbeat steady. “I fucked up. I wanted to fuck with Soonyoung but I did it at the expense of you, and for that I’m deeply sorry.”

Warmth spreads from his hand to yours. You don’t know what to make of the apology - it’s so unlike him. Vernon has no problem apologizing when he’s wrong, but he’s usually not so confident, so well spoken. You stare and stare, that pitless gaze of his pinned on you. 

“I just…” You chew the inside of your cheek. “You really hurt my feelings, Vernon.” His hands tighten around yours and he tugs a little, pulling you closer. It’s harder to think when you’re this close, fingers wrapped in his. “You really scared me and then you vanished for nearly three days. Why did you do that?” 

“I wasn’t feeling well and I slept most of the days away. Honestly.”

“You weren’t feeling well?”

He gives you a look. “I see the skepticism. I’m serious, I just… wasn’t myself. I tried to rest and I didn’t hear my phone and I’m sorry. Really.”

Vernon’s apology settles around you like a weight. You watch him, contemplating what to do next. He doesn’t look ill, his gold skin as flawless as ever, his rosy lips tucked under his teeth as he watches you, waiting. His heart thuds under your palm, his thumb absently brushing back and forth over the top of your hand.

Breathing becomes difficult. Vernon isn’t overly affectionate, but the way he presses your hand to his chest now sends you down a dangerous path. The desire for him bubbles just below your surface and you’re terrified it’ll boil over, exposing everything you’ve ever thought about him.

“Alright,” you say softly, pulling your hand from his. He lets you. “Don’t ever do something like that to me again. It was scary and I felt stupid. And I thought you were dead.”

“Why?” 

Gesturing to the couch, the two of you plop down, seemingly back to normal. You’re still a little off kilter, but you report back to Vernon what your classmates had been saying. He grabs your remote and turns on the news, settling close enough to you that your thighs brush against one another. You shoot him a questioning look but he’s fixated on the TV, leaning forward to press his elbows into his knees.

The reporter on the news confirms the body of one of your fellow students had indeed been found on campus. Names and details were not yet available, but they were interviewing students about whether or not they felt safe on campus. By the second interview, Vernon was turning off the TV and leaning back.

“Freaky,” you murmur, tapping the arm of the couch. “Weird timing, right?”

“How so?”

“We just had a Halloween party in a weird murder house.”

Vernon goes silent. You turn to look at him, eyes searching. He stares at you, again the eye contact unsettling. Even though it feels like your Vernon sitting next to you, there is an edge to him that’s new. You don’t know what to do with it, shifting in your seat a little.

“Forget the murder house,” he says eventually, flicking his fingers in dismissal. “That party sucked and I’d rather forget it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyeing him as he looks out the window. You swear he’s agitated, but you can’t pinpoint why. “Me too.”

-

Someone sitting down roughly next to you draws your attention away from your essay, barely audibly over the sound of Current Blue playing through your headphones. You raise a brow as Vernon slings his belongings on the table unceremoniously, uncaring how loud he is in the library.

You glance around, seeing that he’s attracted the attention of a few people at nearby tables, some scowling, others blushing. When you turn your gaze back to him, you see his mouth moving as he divests his bag of its contents, but you can’t hear him. 

Pulling your headphones from your head, you ask, “What?” 

“Can you help me with my organic chem assignment?” 

“I hate chemistry.” 

His mouth twitches as he opens his laptop. “Right, but you’re good at it. You’re the smartest person in school.”

Again, something nags at your instincts. You can’t pinpoint it, examining Vernon more closely. He looks totally normal, dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, and a jean jacket pulled over it. He’s without a hat today, his hair falling in messy strands over his brow as he sets up his area to study.

Sensing your gaze, he turns to look at you, eyebrow raised. “What?” 

“You seem different.”

“Different how?” He types on his computer to start bringing up his chemistry homework. “Different as in going to fail organic chem without your help?” 

“Oh shut up. I’m obviously going to help you.” 

His mouth is wicked when he grins. “Good.” 

When Vernon looks up at you, the world stops a little. His gaze today is fathomless, dark eyes smooth like the surface of a lake with no end. You tip into that gaze, letting yourself drown in it for a moment. Normally, Vernon would break eye contact by now, easily distracted or unrealizing that he’s got you stuck on him. 

Now, he doesn’t do that. He looks right back at you. Heat crawls up your neck and your breaths quicken. For the first time since you’ve known him, Vernon looks at you like he knows everything inside your locked-tight heart. 

You lick your lips and his gaze dips to your mouth. Inside your chest, your hummingbird heart hammers, threatening to break free. The corner of Vernon’s mouth tilts upward as his eyes meet yours again, and you watch, completely frozen, as he leans toward you. 

Vernon is so close you can smell the spicy cologne on his skin. It’s heady and makes you dizzy, and you watch, totally lost as he wraps his hand around the leg of your chair and tugs hard. You yelp, startling a few people around you as he yanks your chair next to his, your thighs pressed together. 

“What are you doing?” you whisper harshly at him, throwing an apologetic look at the people you’ve disturbed for a second time. 

“How are you going to help me from over there?”

“You could have asked me to move my chair.” 

The problem isn’t that he moved your chair. Not really. The problem is how close he is, leg pressed against yours and elbows touching as he shrugs and turns his computer screen toward you. The problem is how at ease he is with you nearly on top of him, his lazy smile making your thoughts tangle and your breath quicken. 

This Vernon is still the one you’re used to but there’s something about him that keeps you on edge. Keeps you looking at him when his hand brushes against yours to grab a pen, or when he leans back and puts his arm across the back of your chair, idly playing with the hood of your jacket.

It’s almost like he’s flirting, and you spend half the time stumbling through his homework, barely able to assist him in a meaningful way because you’re busy decoding the subtle touches and the light teasing. You feel yourself blush more and look the other way to collect yourself more in the hour you help him than you have your entire friendship, unsure what’s happening or how to handle it. 

Homework completed, Vernon stares off into the distance, his finger twisting in the string of your hoodie absently as you try to write the rest of your paper. It’s nearly impossible to concentrate like this, the intimacy more than you’re used to. 

“You’re very distracting today,” you comment as you reference a text to the right of your screen. “Are you aware of that?” 

He hums. “This is hardly a distraction. I could try harder, though.”

You cut a glance at him. He seems utterly serious, any sort of mirth nonexistent in his expression. There’s just that shadowed gaze, that spark of something right where you can’t reach it. You abruptly stand, surprising him as you knock his arm away from you and clear your throat. 

“I need a different text. It’s downstairs, though.” 

“I’ll come with you.” You raise your brows and he shrugs. “I’ve got nothing else to do.” 

“Sure.” 

Without another word, you pivot on your heel and nearly run for the far set of stairs that lead to the subterranean level of the library where all the old texts and books exist. Vernon follows you at a casual pace, still totally at ease despite the fact that you’re obviously unraveling.

You have no idea what his sudden interest in you is and it’s making you unspool, thoughts wild and racing as you reach the stairwell that leads down. 

Damp air greets you as you start down the steps and it smells like wet carpet. You cringe, hating every time you have to come here. It’s always poorly lit and damp, not at all what one would expect from a library trying to keep books from molding. But no one really comes down here anyway, only the history majors and people like you, who require weird books long retired from the main shelves.

It’s eerie in the old stacks. There are lamps above head casting a burnt orange glow over the green, shag carpet but otherwise it’s nearly impossible to see in the shadowy parts of the room. You certainly could never read a book down here. 

Vernon is silent behind you but you can feel him, his gaze burning into your back as you navigate toward the last set of rows. As you approach, you hear a sound, stopping you dead in your tracks. Vernon crashes into you, nearly knocking you over but his hands grab you, steadying you and holding you close to his chest. 

For the first time today, you’re able to ignore his nearness in favor of straining your ears for the sound you heard, a small whimper, perhaps. You hear it again, distinctly human. Your heart starts to pound as you remember that just the day before there was a body found on campus, mind racing with thoughts as you stand rooted to the spot, Vernon pressed against you.

Craning your head, you look up at him. His expression is unreadable as he looks at you through long lashes, face shadowed. There’s a soft bang, like someone knocking something over. He looks over your head and back at you, shrugging his shoulder as if to say your choice. 

Slowly, you move forward. Vernon keeps close, his heat radiating behind you like a furnace as you creep through the last few rows of shelving. As you near the third one, you stop and peer around the corner, eyes trying to adjust in the shitty lighting. 

What you see has you snapping back around the stack, mouth dropping open. Vernon, curious, leans around you to peer around the stack. He raises his brows and steps backward, mouth pressed in a firm line to conceal his laugh. 

In the next row over is a girl you vaguely recognize, naked from the waist down while someone who is very much not her boyfriend, pumps their fingers between her legs. Slapping Vernon’s chest you point toward the door, silently screaming at him to turn around and hightail it out of there. 

Vernon, for a second, bites his lower lip and wags his eyebrows at you, suggestive. You glare and shove his chest. He goes easily, grinning at you playfully as he turns on his heel and heads back up to the main floor. 

When you reach your table, you drop down in the chair, totally shocked. Vernon drops down next to you, laughing. “Listen, when the urge hits, I guess.”

“I guess,” you agree sharply, shaking your head. “That was not her boyfriend, though.”

“No shit?” 

“Yeah. She’s dating some dude in Sigma whatever.” 

Vernon’s gaze turns sharp and his eyes trail back toward the far side of the library, resting on the stairs. “Interesting.” 

“Not really. That seems to happen a lot among you Greek lifers.” 

“I would never do that.” The severity of his declaration has you looking up from your notebook. Vernon’s expression is cutting, his jaw flexing. “I would never participate in infidelity. Ever.” 

“I didn’t mean you, Vernon.” 

“I’m not like that.” 

You soften a little, guilt tugging at you. So often you remember that Vernon isn’t like a lot of the people around him and grouping him in is unfair and insensitive. 

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

He nods once, turning from you to pack up his stuff. Somehow, you can’t help but feel like you’ve said the wrong thing. 

-

“Oh shit,” Vernon mutters. You look up from where you’re flipping a grilled cheese in the pan. He holds his phone out to you from where he leans against his kitchen counter. “They found another body. Same MO or whatever as the first.” 

“No way?” 

Putting down the spatula, you grab his phone from him where he has the article pulled up. Sure enough, there’s been another murder on campus. Your eyes drink in the details, similar as before: student victim, stab wounds, message written on the wall. 

“What is the Hello Darling Murder?” you ask, more to yourself than Vernon. “It’s linked here as a reference to these being copycat murders.” He says nothing. You read out loud, “The Hello Darling Murder is a case of a murder suicide that happened in the same town in 1979. It was the town’s first violent domestic crime in years, and drew national media attention for the gruesome crime scene in which a message had been written on the wall in blood.” 

Vernon makes an amused sound. You look up at him sharply, staring. He has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor with a mildly bemused expression. You kick him and he looks up at you. “What?”

“Why are you laughing? That’s not funny.”

“The way people sensationalize murder is weird.” 

“I mean, I agree. But what is funny?”

“It’s not funny as in funny ha ha,” he clarifies. “It’s funny stupid. The media is going to sensationalize this and turn it into an entire thing.” 

“Yeah, well. That’s their job.” 

Off put by his dark mirth, you turn back to the article, reading further. You skip over the old murder, more interested in the details of the two new ones. Your heart seizes in your chest when you see the name and picture of the second victim, stomach roiling. 

He sees your expression, pushing off the counter toward you, hands shooting your arms. “What? What’s wrong?” 

In any other scenario, you’d be overwhelmed by the sudden care and affection. Now, you just turn the phone toward him, showing him the photo. “It’s that girl from the library. Her name was Sidney. She’s the one I told you was cheating on her boyfriend.” 

Nothing registers in his face when he looks at the phone, his hands still resting on your arms lightly. He looks away from the screen and at you instead, a sharpness to his gaze that’s there so often you’re starting to grow used to it.

“You’re burning the grilled cheese, Lovecraft.” 

-

Mosquitos nip at your skin as you walk down the narrow path between trees. You slap your hand against your neck again, muttering under your breath. Vernon chuckles next to you, keeping his pace even as you struggle to step over a fallen tree branch. 

You hate the woods at night. It’s not your first time going to a bonfire deep in the woods off campus, but you don’t know why you keep coming back. Tripping over another branch, Vernon catches you by the arm and steadies you, stopping to make sure you’re okay before he lets go.

Scratch that. You do know why you keep coming back. For as long as you’ve been friends, you’ve been Vernon’s permanent plus one to all of his parties, formals and events, even if both of you hate going. It’s become a weird obligation to show up at things like this as a pair. 

They aren’t always terrible, you have to admit. When Mingyu isn’t absolutely hammered, he’s mostly tolerable to be around. Soonyoung isn’t bad either, though you’re still pissed off at him for the Halloween party incident, unwilling to talk to him. 

But nights like this where you have to trek out into the middle of the woods using your phone’s flashlight to navigate, you sort of loathe your unspoken oath to attend with Vernon. 

Instead of focusing on the distaste and the inherent anxiety the shadows of the trees give you, you let Vernon help you slide down a ditch and climb up the other side. His fingers are firm on your wrist, not quite holding your hand but keeping you connected. 

Your skin is warm and tingles when he lets go, deeming it safe enough to let you walk yourself. It’s easier to see now, too, the orange light of the massive bonfire casting a circle of orange glow that only grows as you near the party. 

Party is perhaps too strong of a word for it. There can’t be more than twenty people in the small clearing surrounding the roaring fire the Soonyoung tends to, foldable chairs and coolers arranged in a circle. Chan is trying to roast a marshmallow and failing, the white snack immediately catching fire and singing in the heat of the fire. 

Mingyu whistles when he sees you, catching your attention to wave you over to a pair of seats by him and Chan. You make your way there, navigating through groups of people clutching plastic cups and stepping over various sizes of coolers. 

The heat from Soonyoung’s inferno is nearly unbearable, making you cringe back as he adds something that cracks and pops, sending bits of orange ash floating toward the sky. 

“Jesus Christ, Soonyoung!” Seungcheol complains from his seat where a girl sits on his knee. “Enough, it’s fucking hot!” 

“Sorry,” Soonyoung answers, sheepish. 

Backing your chair away from the fire a little, you sit down and curl into the folding chair, accepting the drink Vernon hands you before moving his chair closer to yours and sitting down. A shiver ripples through you at the cool can in your hands. You crack the top and take a sip, trying to cool down from the blast of heat you’d taken while passing the fire.

Mingyu turns to you and Vernon as Chan pops a burned marshmallow in his mouth, the two of them immediately launching into discussions of the murders. You shift uncomfortably in your chair, listening as they recount the details in the news mixed with the rumors on campus. 

So far, two bodies have been discovered and linked together. The authorities don’t want to call it a serial killer, attempting to avoid a media craze and inspiring the killer to go on a spree, but denying the murders are connected is impossible.

You’re unsure what the victims have in common. The first had been a male senior who was in the business track, discovered by the dorms near the lake on campus. The second had been the girl you’d seen in the library in her apartment off campus, and Sidney had been in the education track and a junior. 

Neither of them were friends. You don’t go to a large university, but there are enough students that it’s normal to have a ton of people that you don’t know. From what anyone can tell, there was nothing the two victims had in common.

Except that they’d been murdered by someone who had left a bloody Hello Darling written at the crime scene.

A chill sweeps over you as Mingyu mentions the Hello Darling Murderer. It was the same story as before - a man had murdered his girlfriend in the 70s, a shocking and violent domestic crime that had unsettled the citizens and local university. He’d promptly killed himself after that, leaving only a bloody Hello Darling on the walls.

Authorities didn’t even know who the blood had belonged to - it took them so long to realize the couple was missing before they did a wellness check that by the time they investigated, they’d been dead a week. 

Vernon snorts at that and mutters something about the ineptitude of law enforcement. You cut your eyes at him. Though you agree, Vernon is usually the last person to make degrading comments - or comment at all really. 

Not for the first time in the last two weeks, you can’t help but sense that honed edge to him he has now. You’ve attributed it to him moving with more confidence, talking to people directly and making actual eye contact. You don’t know where the sudden swell in self-conviction has come from, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t look good on him.

Still, it’s got you a little uneasy, trying to adjust to this version of him. 

The topic shifts to football and you find yourself tuning everyone out, sipping your cider and staring at the fire as it warms your feet. More people arrive and drag chairs up. Someone hauls a few kegs into the firelight, cheers going around the fire.

Vernon stands and holds his hand up for your empty can. You give it to him wordlessly and he heads to get you a refresh, tossing the trash into one of the trash bins.

Turning to Mingyu as he goes, you ask quietly, “Has he seemed different to you lately?” 

“Who?”

“Steve Jobs,” you deadpan. “Vernon, obviously.”

“I don’t think so? He’s around a lot more lately and actually talks to us.” Mingyu pauses, thinking as he cocks his head to the side. “I mean, I guess that is kind of weird for him. He also actually goes to places with us now.” 

“Exactly what I mean.”

“Hey! We are friends, you know?” 

You hum uncertainty, your attention trailing back to Vernon. You observe him, noticing all the little details that are different. He stands a little bit straighter, inserts himself in conversations where he didn’t before.

Now, he stands near the keg, nodding along to something the girl next to him is saying. They’re standing close - you realize it’s the same girl from the Halloween party that had been talking to him, except this time, he’s talking back. 

Vernon leans in close to her and says something, making her laugh. He bites his lower lip a little, watching her with half-lidded eyes. Your stomach turns a little, eyes glued as he brushes her arm when he reaches for the cup that Joshua hands him. 

Turning away from them, you tune yourself into Chan’s conversation, needing a distraction. You try not to count the minutes until Vernon returns. When he does, the girl is with him. He drags a chair over so she can sit on the other side of him. 

It’s close, their knees touching when he sits and hands her the drink he was holding for her. He turns and holds out your drink to you, which sloshes a little when you snatch the cup from his hand. He arches his brows but you say nothing, taking a large gulp and turning your back on him to ask Chan about football instead. 

“You watch football?” Chan asks cryptically. 

“Sure. Go Green Bay Ravens.” 

He stares. “Packers. Green Bay Packers.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey, I’m not arguing with you. In fact, if you want to tell me what’s what more often-”

You scoff. “Shut up, Chan!”

Stuck between Vernon flirting with the girl next to him and Chan and Mingyu being - Chan and Mingyu - sours your mood. You try to lose yourself in your cup, going mute as you stare at the fire. Vernon hardly notices the shift in your mood, leaning in to the girl as they chat. 

You can’t help but notice everything about them. It’s impossible not to see the way she leans into him, bumping shoulders when she laughs. He lets her, watching her with a gaze you can only describe as hungry. The grip on your cup tightens as he knocks their knees together when he shifts in his chair, leaving it pressed against hers. 

It reminds you of the way he’d behaved in the library with you, brushing against you on purpose, making his words come out in a playful pur instead of what you’re used to, and seeing him do it with her now makes you snap. 

You stand abruptly, drawing the attention of Chan and Mingyu but not who you want. 

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Need company?” Chan offers. It seems genuine, but you give him a sharp no before you’re walking away, sticks snapping underneath your boots as you go. 

Chill air licks your face as you get further from the fire. There are plenty of people dispersed throughout the general area, some people pulled far away for intimate conversations, others pulled away to pass a joint in a circle, the pungent smell chasing you as you pass them. 

Away from the smoke and the noise, you feel like you can breathe a little more. You find a fallen tree, thick enough to sit on. You test your weight on it first before deciding it’s safe, swinging your leg to straddle it and look off into the dark trees.

There’s just enough light from the silver moon above your head and from the distant fire to feel safe. Wrapping your arms around your middle, you hug yourself and close your eyes, breathing in deep. The fire smoke isn’t strong here, the air clean and crisp.

Opening your eyes, you look at the sky. This far out in the country, you can see the stars. Out of habit, you start mapping out all the constellations you know, eyes tracing Orion the Hunter. You skip over to Andromeda, counting each star before moving to the east to spot Cassiopeia. 

It reminds you of the time you taught Vernon all the different constellations. He’d been a silent and attentive listener, watching as you’d pointed them all out while sitting on a bench at the park. You’ve caught him drawing them more than once in his chemistry notebooks, little dots of perfect constellations memorized. 

An ache you’re familiar with fills your chest. It’s the same ache you had when you realized you had feelings for him but didn’t want to tell him. The same ache you had when he’d hurt your feelings on Halloween. The same ache as when you’d seen him actually look back at someone who's interested in him, for once. 

Crying seems silly, but suddenly you have the urge to, throat twisting as you stare at the sky and try to puzzle out the direction your friendship has gone since that night. As you sit on the tree, a prickling sense of awareness creeps up your spine, tugging at you. 

Looking around, you see nothing. You can generally see in a good circumference, but the sudden instinct that something or someone is watching you drives you to get off the branch, hitting the ground with both feet to stride back toward the fire. 

As you go, your foot gets stuck in a tangle of tree roots again, making you stumble. You curse, bending down through squinted eyes to untangle your foot. Your fingers are a little cold and shaking, anxiety creeping up slowly as you pull the weeds and roots away from your shoe. 

Something snaps behind you. Your fingers freeze, head whipping around to look for the source of the noise. Again, you see nothing but your heart is hammering. You don’t dare to breathe, holding your breath as you strain your ears to hear anything else. There’s only crickets and an owl in the distance, no more snapping branches.

In that moment, it occurs to you that you’ve decided to wander out in the woods at night and alone after two recent murders. The stupidity of your actions land like a blow.

Turning back around, you wrench your shoe free and stand up, nearly colliding with Vernon who leans backward to avoid smacking into you as you shriek in surprise, stepping backward. Vernon’s hand darts out to grab you, catching you and tugging you forward into him before you can lose your balance fully.

Heart hammering, your fingers dig into his biceps, keeping yourself standing as you hiss, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing? You’re wandering out in the middle of the woods while there is an active serial killer in town.” 

“Oh please, like you noticed.”

He frowns. You drop your hands and try to step away from him, eager to put some distance between you. Vernon’s grip on you tightens though, keeping you where you’re standing. “I’m here, I obviously noticed.” You snort derisively and his grip tightens a little. “Is there something you want to say?”

You open and close your mouth, scowling at him. He’s never so direct you’re unsure how to approach the question. So you try for a little bit of honesty. “I wasn’t having fun.” 

“Okay, so let’s leave.”

“You look like you were having fun.” 

Silence hangs in the air. Vernon’s face is indecipherable. Then, “Are you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Your response is so fast that it even sounds practiced and hollow to you. It’s hard not to wince, hoping that as always, he doesn’t see through your cellophane defense. Vernon’s touch drops from your biceps to your wrist, delicate. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, instead staring at the buttons on his jean jacket. 

“I noticed you were gone.” His voice is gentle, a low purr. You dart a quick glance at him to see the intensity of his gaze. It makes you squirm, unsure how to respond. “I always notice when you’re gone.”

“Alright. Well.” 

“I notice everything about you.” 

The way he says it is a soft whisper. A promise, a suggestion. Again, it feels like Vernon has discovered your loose thread, tugging lightly on it. If he tugs again, you think you might unspool all the way, showing him everything you don’t want him to see. 

It feels like he wants to, and that’s what scares you more. That suddenly he’s looking at you like he wants to see past the veneer of your words, like he’s ready to look inside. You hear the double meaning. It’s so terrifying that you look away from him, ready to hide. 

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper. 

“I’m not. If you’re not having fun, let’s go home. I came here with you.” He tugs your wrist. “Come on. You can’t be walking around out here alone with a killer on the loose, Lovecraft. I’ll be forced to fight them off.” 

The tension fades. You let out a breath and laugh, looking at him skeptically. “Yeah? You’re going to fight for me?” 

His grip on your wrist tightens. You wonder if he can feel the speed of your pulse under his thumb, the way it hammers when he smirks. “Yeah, I am.” 

-

Sal’s Pizzeria isn’t your favorite place to do school work. It’s too loud and bright, the promise of food is way too distracting for you to focus for much longer than a few minutes at a time, and usually your fingers are too slippery with pizza grease to type properly. 

You only have a narrow window to finish writing your paper before going to the bar for Jihoon’s birthday. You barely know him, but he’s someone Vernon is decently close enough too that you feel obligated to attend. More importantly, you’re finally almost done with your paper you’ve been working on for two weeks, eager to celebrate hitting submit. 

“You know that dude who was killed first was a rotten cheater?” 

The girls sitting behind you catch your attention. Your brows knit together and you turn your head a fraction to eavesdrop, eyes unfocusing on the words on your screen. There are four of them behind you that you don’t recognize but assume go to the same school as you, based on the attire and the backpacks. 

“Yeah! Sam told me about that. Apparently he was sleeping around with a bunch of freshmen. Maybe his girlfriend found out and went all psycho killer on him?” 

“Ew, how scummy. But what’s with the hello darling message shit? Can you say weird?” 

“I know, right?” 

Their words give you pause. The first victim had been someone known for his infidelity too? Turning back to your screen, you pull up your web browser and type in Hello Darling Murderer to the search. The original murder from the 70s hadn’t given you much thought beyond assuming someone was being a copycat, but now you feel something nagging at you. Something you’re missing. 

All of the top stories are of the recent murders. You amend your search to the 70s and get older articles and links to podcasts covering the initial incident. Clicking on a story from a reputable journal, you start reading in detail about the first murder and his victim, skin prickling as you go.

As an Occult Studies major, a lot of people think you’re into murder mysteries. In truth, you’re not. They have little to do with what you study, and you’ve spent countless times telling people that occult and people obsessed with true crime are two totally different things. You have no idea why they’re lumped together so often, but on more than one occasion you’ve had to explain you’re not interested in serial killers or their stories.

Except now. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you unwind the story of Thomas Ellswater, who had apparently murdered his girlfriend at the time before promptly killing himself. The initial investigation hadn’t dug up much, assuming that it was a case of domestic violence gone as bad as it could. 

But the journalist who had written the story had other details. Accounts from family friends that detailed Elsswater’s girlfriend, Maya, unhappy with their relationship. One even insinuated that she had been cheating on him for a long time, though with who, they were unsure. 

Further down in the article, you stop. Read the paragraph again. Look at the picture of the house. A sickly chill coats your skin as you lean forward, taking in the details of the house. You’ve seen it before, though your memory of it at night surrounded by floodlights and full of drunk college students makes it almost unrecognizable when you see it on the screen. 

Thomas Ellswater lived in the same house that you’d partied in on Halloween night, where Vernon had played that horrible prank in the closet. Thomas or Maya had been the haunting spirit Soonyoung had been attempting to summon.

And now someone was killing in the same exact style.. 

The server bringing you two trays of pizzas and a basket of fries breaks you from your trance. You close the article, a sick feeling in your stomach as you try to piece together the puzzle. Was it just a spurned lover who was paying homage to someone who related? Or was it a serial killer poking fun at the MO?

Vernon crashing into the seat across from you startles you. He gives you a grin, eyeing the pizza in front of him and rubbing his hands together. Rolling your eyes, you grab the red pepper flakes and salt, passing the latter over to him. 

“So I learned something weird today,” you venture, pulling a slice of pizza from the tray. 

“Tell me,” he answers over a mouthful of pizza, once again burning himself. You roll your eyes, shaking your red pepper onto your slice. “What is going on in the world of occult today?”

“Actually, not occult.” He gives you an appraising look, popping some fries into his mouth. “What, no salt today?”

He pauses, looking at the basket of fries. “Nah, I need to cut back on the sodium.”

“Good idea. Anyway, it’s about the murders.” 

“Do tell.”

“The girls behind me said the first victim was known for cheating.” 

“It’s college. Apparently there is a lot of that.” 

“But remember that day we saw Sidney in the library? She was cheating too.” 

“Right.” He rips into his pizza, gaze sharp as he looks at you. “So this town is full of a bunch of lowlife fucking cheaters.”

You flinch at his vehemence, leaning back in your seat. Vernon drops his gaze, tearing into his slice in silence. “Sorry,” he says after swallowing. “I’m hungry.”

“Right. As I was saying, I looked up that Hello Darling Murder.” 

He pauses, gaze flicking to you. “And?”

“And it was ruled as a case of domestic violence gone wrong, but there were some people who think the Maya Caravalo was cheating on Thomas Ellswater, who killed her.” 

“I’m sure cheating is the leading cause of crimes of passion.”

“In the house that we were in on Halloween.” 

Vernon frowns. “Ah. Weird.” 

He doesn’t elaborate. You watch him as he chews on more pizza, shoving fries into his mouth on occasion too. He seems totally at ease - and more normal than he’s been in weeks. You watch, mildly disgusted at the way college men eat. 

“That’s all you have to say?” You ask. “Weird.”

“It is weird.” 

“Kind of an insane coincidence.” 

He becomes still, only his eyes moving as he settles his inky gaze on you. For a second, you can’t help but think he looks a bit like the cat who ate the canary, eyes glittering. “So tell me what theory is in that pretty head of yours, Lovecraft.” 

Ignoring the way your heart leaps at him calling you pretty, you sigh, picking at the wooden table with a thumb nail. “I don’t really have one. I just think someone came across the original murder and thought I could write that at my crime scenes. I don’t study criminology, I can’t figure out motivation.”

“You’re the smartest person in school, Lovecraft. Try.” 

“I guess… I don’t know. The new killer was probably cheated on recently, came across what happened in the 70s, and has been taking out their rage on other adulterers because they feel some sort of kinship with Thomas. Maybe like finishing his work or ridding the world of a common enemy.” 

Vernon hums. “Maybe so. Do you think they deserve it?” You look at him sharply, mouth downturning. “The victims. Do you think they deserve to be killed for their infidelity?” 

“I don’t know that anyone is deserving of murder.” You chew the inside of your cheek, watching Vernon’s face for any sign of what he’s thinking. He’s totally closed off, a blank canvas. “This is why I’m in Occult Studies and not law, Vernon.” 

He gives a wolfish grin. “Touche. Come on, eat your pizza. We have a bar to go get drunk at.” 

-

The bar in question is teeming with people. You’re immediately overwhelmed, squeezing your way between chairs, tables and people as you navigate to your group of friends. Vernon keeps you close, his arm encircling your waist as pulling you to him as you go. 

He either ignores or doesn’t notice the sharp look you give him. Instead, he’s focused on keeping the two of you attached, shouldering his way through the crowd, the press of his fingers on your hip dizzying and steadying at the same time. 

At the far back of the bar, an entire section of people associated with Vernon’s fraternity crowd from wall to wall. Vernon manages to get you onto a stool at the bar top, shouldering one of the pledges off the seat with a narrow-eyed look. You raise your brows at him and he winks, leaning his elbow on the bar top to order you both drinks.

Spinning to face him in the stool, you give him a quick once over. You’d been so engrossed in your murdery mystery findings at the pizzeria that you haven't really looked at him until now. He looks good, dressed simply in dark jeans and a dark, long sleeve shirt that shows how broad he is. Has he always been that broad? 

Vernon catches you staring. “What are you looking at?” 

“Nothing.” 

He grins, accepting drinks from the bartender and sliding one over to you. You burn under the full weight of his attention as he pops his straw into his mouth. “Tell me.” 

“You look nice tonight.”

“You look nice every night.”

“Oh shut up.” 

“What?” he laughs. “I mean it.” 

“Whatever.”

Spinning in the chair again, you place your back to the bar, facing the crowd to watch people. Vernon is content to stand next to you in silence, both of you sipping your drinks as you observe the people around you. Someone jostles him a little closer, his arm shifting to lay across the bartop along your back. 

Heat creeps into your cheeks and you try to remain breathing normally. Vernon leaves his arm there, pressed against you but not exactly wrapped around you. There is a distinct difference, but this is still new. Still confusing. 

People who recognize you both come up and say hi. You keep the conversation polite and short, especially when you see the girl who has lingered at the last two parties slink toward you, her eyes only for Vernon. 

“Hi,” she yells over the crowd, totally ignoring you. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight!”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m friends with Jihoon.”

The girl opens and closes her mouth, lips pursed at that. You sense the serrated edged to Vernon’s words, casting a glance his direction. He’s not looking at her, eyes instead scanning the crowd. Uninterested. Even you know she didn’t literally mean she wasn’t expecting to see him - it was just a conversation starter. 

Using the opportunity to sip from your straw to hide your laughter, you have to admit you’re a little relieved to see Vernon missing social cues again. It’s more him, a Vernon that you're used to. Maybe a little meaner than usual, but this is closer. 

“Right,” the girl says. Her eyes flicker to you for the first time. “It’s his birthday, right?” 

“According to the giant sign in the corner and all the balloons, yes.” 

Okay, maybe it’s not entirely normal Vernon. Usually he isn’t so callous. In this case, you don’t mind, watching as she tries to puzzle out how to keep the conversation going. Vernon decides for you, turning from her to press his mouth close to your ear. 

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, breath hot against you. “I’m gonna greet Jihoon really quickly.” 

All you can manage is a breathy, “Alright.” 

Vernon finishes his drink and pushes off the bar, fingers dragging against you as he goes. He ignores the girl standing and watching, her eyes darting from you to him until he vanishes in the sea of bodies. Without Vernon there, she has nothing to do. She tilts her chin up, sucking up her pride and turns on her heel to walk a direction distinctly not the same way as Vernon.

Alone at the bar, you swivel in your seat to order you both another drink. You assume Vernon is drinking a whiskey coke, hoping that’s right as you flag down the bartender. While you wait, someone slips into the spot next to you. You turn, thinking Vernon’s already back only to find someone you definitely don’t know. 

“Sorry,” he shouts over the loud voices and music. “Did not mean to get in your personal space, this spot was way smaller than I thought it was.” 

“That’s okay! Getting a spot kind of sucks.”

“No kidding.” He grins at you, turning his attention back to trying to get anyone to take his drink order. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to notice me?” 

“About seven years.”

“Yikes. I’m Seokmin, by the way.” You give him your name and he grins. “What brings you to this shit hole ass bar?”

“A friend of a friend's birthday. You?”

“A friend of a friend's birthday indeed.”

A bartender finally comes over to take Seokmin’s order. He leans forward to shout over the crowd, his shoulder knocking into yours. You don’t mind - he’s nice. He looks over at you, a question on his face. “You like tequila?”

“No!”

“Let me rephrase - want a shot of tequila?” 

“She doesn’t.”

Vernon slides behind you, his palm pressed flat to your back. You startle, looking up at him in surprise. He isn’t looking at you, his eyes zeroed in on Seokmin. You slide Vernon’s drink toward him, eager to dispel the sudden tension thrumming through him.

“Whiskey and coke?”

He looks down, eyes rounding out a little as he softens. “Mhmm. Thank you.”

Drink in hand, Seokmin turns to you both and waves. “Y’all have a good night!”

When he’s gone, Vernon leans against the counter again, his tone flat as he says, “He was nice.”

“He was, but what do you sound bothered by ?”

“Maybe I am.” 

“Why?” 

He lifts a shoulder. Instead of answering you, he picks up the lime in his drink and squeezes it, stirring it with his straw before taking a long pull straight from the rim of the glass. 

You nudge him. “I’m going to say this again: you’ve been different, lately.” 

“Different how.” 

“I don’t know. You talk more. You’re a lot more engaging. You’re a little…” 

“A little what?”

“Cockier?” He hims, eyes dropping down to your mouth. “Like that,” you point out, voice a little weaker. “You do that now, and you didn’t used to.”

“I always did. I’m just a little more obvious about it now.”

Tension crackles between the two of you. Your mouth feels dry as you watch him, reading the minute expressions of his face. Finally, when you can’t unpuzzle him, you say, “I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell if you’re coming onto me or if it’s some sort of game to you.” That makes him frown as he sips his drink again. Your fear and frustration clash, wrestling for dominance. “It makes things confusing.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I’m happy to clear things up.” 

You grip your glass, trying to keep your fingers from quaking. This moment feels like it’s all or nothing. Vernon puts it out on the table so easily, leaving the option to you. Either you can ask for clarity, or keep playing this new game of cat and mouse. But you have to decide. 

“I would appreciate it if you did,” you say eventually. 

Vernon nods and finishes the rest of the drink. He sets the glass down before he leans forward, hand going to the underside of your chin to lightly tip your face upward with his knuckle so he can press the world’s most gentle kiss to your mouth. 

You freeze. When he doesn’t pull away, lips soft and warm, you sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. He feels you relax, mouth curling in a smile against yours. He steps into your space without breaking the kiss, finding the space between your legs as his lips press firmer to yours. 

Vernon smells like his cologne and something distinctly him. It makes you dizzy, and the way he tastes like whiskey and lime makes the room spin. When he pulls away from him, you feel like you’re going to fall from the stool, leaning toward him. 

His hands grip your thighs, squeezing generously as he leans in and drags his mouth to your ear. “Does that clear things up?” 

“Actually, no?” 

His groan is throaty, turning into laughter as he buries his face in your neck. Your hands tentatively settle on his waist, a little hesitant. “I always said you were the smartest person at school, but maybe not.”

“Hey!” 

“Come home with me.” He feels your delay, laughing. “Come home with me because I like you. Is that clearer? Because I want you to come home with me, and I don’t want anyone else here.” 

Your heart goes bolting like a rabbit, running in circles. Vernon pulls away from you to study your face. You watch him for any sign that he’s kidding, that he doesn’t mean it. You find none. In its place, you only see honesty. Hunger. Fiery desire burning at the surface. 

“Really?” Your question is small. Vulnerable. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He tugs on your thighs. “I’m not playing games with you. Come home with me - I’ll prove I’m serious about you. You are what I want. I just had to be sure.” 

Lightheaded and heart slamming, you let Vernon pull you from the seat and lead you out of the bar. 

-

Vernon’s apartment on the north side of town is a place you’ve been a million times. You recognize all the cars in the parking lot, and you know exactly what building and floor belongs to him. You even recognize his neighbors come in mat that you’ve always hated. 

He catches you staring at it with distaste now, laughing as he shakes his head and inserts his keys. “You and that mat.”

One hand works the keys into the door while the other is stretched behind him, fingers linked with yours. Your hand is warm and your heart is still racing as he gets the door open, pulling you inside the dark of his home. 

“They could be inviting anything in,” you assert, a little breathless as he pulls you to his chest. He kicks the door shut, the frame rattling as it slams. “You should never have a doormat that just welcomes whatever shows up at your door inside. You could end up with a vampire in your home.”

“A vampire, huh?” Vernon ducks his head towards your neck, lips skimming your throat. Your fingers twist in the hem of his shirt, eyes fluttering closed as his teeth scrape against your pulse point. “Sounds scary.” 

“It is. There’s nothing to disprove that vampires exist.” 

Vernon bites down and you whine, melting into him. His laugh vibrates through his chest as his tongue presses to the bite mark, soothing the pain. His mouth closes over the spot and he sucks gently, sending a shiver through your body. 

“I promise the only thing biting you will be me.”

The full weight of his words hit you between the legs. You feel like putty in his hand as he navigates you to the island counter in his kitchen. He presses your back into it, careful not to jam you too harshly against the marble. 

Heat licks through your stomach as Vernon steals your lips in a kiss. It’s different from the gentle one he gave you at the bar. This one drinks you in, pries you open and lets you spill out into him, all the feelings and bottled thoughts you have free for the taking.

You get lost in him, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him close, fingers sliding through his hair. He moans and you respond, curling your fingers to scrape your nails against his scalp. His hips twitch forward, pinning you between him in the counter as he sucks your bottom lip harshly. 

“Be careful,” he warns, a hand drifting from your chin to your neck. He doesn’t wrap his fingers around your throat, but his hand rests there, heavy and wanting. “I’m trying to be gentle.” 

You steal a kiss, nipping his bottom lip sharply. “Don’t be.”

His resounding groan makes you dizzy. His kisses become rough and heated, using his tongue as much as his teeth. He presses you hard into the countertop now, the marble digging into your back as he nearly folds you in half with the weight of his body. 

It feels like the air has left the room. Vernon is the only thing you need to breathe in, fueled by the way his tongue licks into you, the gentle squeeze of his hand at the base of your throat. His fingers press against your pulse, not enough to cut off any airflow but enough to send a bolt of pleasure and thrill through you. 

“You have no idea,” Vernon pants, pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your jawline. “How long I’ve waited to do this. I could have had you this entire fucking time, but I held myself back.” 

His thumb presses under your jaw, angling your head to the side. With more access to your throat, he peppers you in bites and kisses, tongue soothing each sting. “I have wasted so much time,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Being a fucking coward.”

“Don’t say that,” you gasp as his other hand presses between your legs. The ache in your cunt is already throbbing, and he does nothing but make it worse by adding pressure but doing nothing more. “Please don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” He pulls away from you. Before you can complain, he gives you a quick kiss, tugging you toward his room. “I shouldn’t have waited until I had a little… encouragement to do this. I’m going to give you everything you want, love.”

A quiver slithers down your spine at the shortened version of your nickname. The new endearment hits home when you see the way he looks at you, the want and desire more unrestrained than anything else you’ve ever seen on his expression. 

Hand in yours, he pulls you into the bedroom, spinning you to sit you down on the edge of his bed. You look up at him through your lashes, admiring the shape of his face and the way you can just barely see his freckles in the soft glow from the nightlight in his bathroom as he slots himself between your knees. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Vernon whispers, voice like velvet. He slides a finger under your chin, tilting your gaze even higher as he watches you, eyes blown. “I’m entirely devoted to you and you only. You know that, right?” 

Vernon’s thumb pulls at your bottom lip. You open your mouth on instinct and he growls low in his throat. He pushes his thumb past your swollen lips, pressing down on your tongue. You taste the lime from earlier and the hint of salt on his skin, closing your mouth as you suck gently. 

“Fuck,” he swears, thumb pressing harder. “You really have been a little slut for me this entire time, huh?” 

Hearing Vernon say it in that deep, whispered voice of his does something to you. There’s a note in his voice you’re unfamiliar with, a dangerous edge that you want to lean into and cut yourself on. So you nod, lashes fluttering as you bat them up at him. 

“Yeah, thought so.” He pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it spit-slicked down your chin. “Lay back on the bed for me, love.” 

You do so immediately, shuffling backward so that you can lean back. The sheets smell like him and you tilt your head to the side, nuzzling his comforter a little. You try to ground yourself, feeling a little staticky as he kneels on the bed, mattress dipping. 

Vernon plants a knee between your legs, leaning forward to cage you in with a hand on either side of your head. His kiss is all consuming, any sense of delicacy gone. You let him devour you, your hands pulling at his belt loops to bring him closer.

He’s not close enough, never close enough. 

Having him like this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. He’s familiar, the scent of him and the warmth of his skin and the little sounds he makes but he’s also entirely new. He is rougher than you imagined, sharper than you thought. He drags his blunt nails over your collarbone as he pulls your shirt away from your neck, giving his mouth access to litter your skin with kisses. 

Your hands slip under his shirt, curious as you press the pads of your fingers into his stomach. You feel the muscles flex and he hums low in his throat, enjoying your exploration as you slide your hands around the perfect taper of his waist to the small of his back. 

Vernon slides his knee higher, pressing it directly to your clothed cunt. You twitch against him, a questioning sound leaving your lips as you breathe in sharply. 

“Go ahead,” he mumbles against your chest, one pulling sharply at your shirt. You hear the seams rip and you don’t even care. “Take what you need, love.” 

The rawness of his words fucks you up. You do as he says, rolling your hips against his thigh for any sort of pressure and friction. It helps relieve the tension a little, but not nearly enough. Your breathing turns ragged as he harshly bites and kisses his way to your bra. 

Yanking hard, he rips the rest of your shirt. You let out a throaty laugh and he looks up at you, eyes like burning coals. “What’s so funny, hmm?”

“I did not expect you to be able to rip my shirt.” 

“Oh?”

The dangerous note in his voice makes your hips stutter and stop. He runs the tip of his tongue around the soft curve of your chest, watching you all the while and fuck. If you’d realized that this was the type of Vernon you’d get, maybe you’d have been braver sooner. Because this Vernon is something else, confident and cocky and ravenous. 

“Want me to rip this too?” He teases, teeth pulling at the cup of your bra. Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath, a little overwhelmed. “Say the word.”

“Maybe salvage some of my clothing, Vernon.”

“Fine. I will not salvage you, though.”

You believe him. Nothing about the way Vernon peels your bra off of you is gentle. Nothing about the way his hand cups your breast, squeezing before he lowers his mouth to give a generous suck to your nipple feels like he has your survival in mind. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let Vernon have his way. It feels like he’s peeling you open layer by layer, plucking every string connected to your pleasure that he can find.

His mouth is a weapon, tongue lazily circling your pert nipple until you’re whining and squirming under him. He laughs and drags his tongue to the other side of your chest, licking his way to your peak to tease you further. 

“Shit,” you whisper, one hand leaving his back to tangle in his hair. You don’t know if you’re pulling him away or pushing him closer - maybe both. “Vernon.”

His teeth scrape your nipple and you whine. He shuts you up by closing his mouth around you, sucking sharply. When he pulls away with a loud pop, you let out a shaky breath. 

“You can barely keep it together,” he observes. He placed closed mouth kisses on your stomach as he descends, pulling his knee from between your thighs. “What are you gonna do when I eat you out, huh?”

Flushed and embarrassed, you cover your face as his tongue licks the skin above your jeans. “Cat got your tongue, love?” 

“You - you’re - ugh!”

He chuckles, popping the button of your jeans. “I’m ugh?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Vernon tugs on your jeans. You try to lift your hips to help him, but your thighs are like jelly already, turning you useless. He coos at you, pressing a kiss to your hip gently. “I got you.” 

Unsure if he means about your inability to get out your fucking pants or he understand what you mean, you let him peel them down the rest of the way. His hands skate up your calves, squeezing and firm as he sinks to his knees on the floor. 

Bracing yourself, you brave a look between your legs where he presses your thighs open gently with his palms. Veronon’s eyes are on the apex of your thighs, entirely focused on where your underwear stick to your folds. He licks his lips, hand brushing up and down your thighs. 

His gaze flickers to you. For a moment, the two of you just stare at one another. You feel overly exposed, naked from the waist up, cool air pebbling your spit-slicked chest. The weight of his gaze presses you down like a physical thing, but it’s comforting. Warm. Reassuring. 

The air is charged between you as he keeps watching you while he drags a hand up and between your legs. He presses a thumb between your folds and you whimper, feeling the way he prods at your aching entrance, only the thin fabric keeping him out.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asks, thumb slowly dragging up the damp patch to your clit. He digs in sharply, pressing firm enough that your pleasure spikes and your hips pop off the bed. He hisses at you and smacks your thigh, making you lower your ass to the bed again. “Everytime we were together, did you get like this?” 

It takes effort to rasp, “Sometimes.”

Vernon hooks his thumb in the side of your pants, pulling. The fabric peels back achingly slow, cool air hitting your cunt and making you whine. He hums thoughtfully, placing the fabric to the side.

“Like what times?” he questions, blowing cool air against you. You thrash and he laughs, pinning you down by the hips. “I’m curious. Elaborate for me.” 

“Umm.” 

It’s the only word you can get out before he renders you speechless, the flat of his tongue sliding slowly up your pussy. You go boneless, breath stuck in your chest as his tongue lazily circles around your clit and drags back down. He repeats the motion, the slow-soft brush of his tongue driving you insane instantly. 

“You’re not elaborating,” Vernon notes. He presses a kiss that is far too sweet for the moment to your bundle of nerves. “I wanna know all the times you were with me where you felt like this. Go on.” 

“I don’t,” you breath catches when his tongue curls through your folds. He’s soft and slow as he licks you, a lazy smoothless to it that makes you see stars. “Know how to speak when you’re doing that.” 

“Should I stop?” 

“No.”

“Try,” he murmurs, dipping his tongue in your dripping entrance. “I want to know.” 

Fuck. Trying to pull together any coherent thoughts is like wading through thick water. You’re distracted by the way Vernon’s mouth closes on you, sucking gently. He takes his time, fingers pressed into the meat of your thighs as he keeps you open, enjoying you fully. 

“I - shit - I guess sometimes when we go out,” you manage. “I like when you wear your hat backwards.” 

He flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit, making you clench, toes curling. His mouth is wet and warm, closing around your throbbing bundle and sucking gently. Your hips lift but his grip is firm, keeping his mouth to you. 

When he pulls away, the suction is audible, a string of spit and arousal connecting his lips to your pussy. “Taste so fucking good,” he whispers. You think it’s more to himself than you, his tongue carving through you again. “Tell me more.” 

“Halloween night. When you were in skull makeup.”

His tongue starts circling your clit again, the indirect stimulation driving you wild. Your hands tangle in the sheets, sweat slicking your skin as Vernon works to firmer motions. You realize he knows exactly how you like it, gentle to start, working you to firmer motions, a little hungrier. 

It makes him all the more lethal, the way he can just figure you out like that. “Yeah?” he asks, sucking harshly against you. “Wanted me to fuck you like that?” 

“God, yeah.”

“You should have asked. I’ll fuck you however you want.” 

“Didn’t think you liked me.” 

Vernon is too busy to answer, increasing the attention of his mouth. Your hands slide down to his, nails digging into the tops of his hands where he holds you. He lets go of your hips in favor of linking your fingers, pressing your clasped hands to the mattress. 

His name drips from your mouth, eyes falling shut as you sink into the pleasure deep in your stomach. He makes little sounds of pleasure, grunting and groaning as his mouth becomes more fervent. You feel yourself toeing the edge of an orgasm, so so so close.

He can tell too. He finds a harsh rhythm, pulling you closer and closer to your high with each sharp suck of his lips. You twist in his grip, fingers squeezing his so hard you think you might break his hands. You don’t, feeling your breath catch and hold as you come hard, thighs squeezing as you writhe on the bed.

You draw in a ragged breath, desperate for air as he kisses your cunt once. Twice. His slick mouth presses against your thighs, teeth dragging against soft flesh as he mouths his way to your knee. He gives you a moment, letting you pant against the sheets. 

Fabric sticks to your skin as you wiggle against the bed. He stands up, crawling up you again to find your mouth. You lean forward, catching him in an open-mouth kiss that is more tongue than anything, your taste heady in the heat of his mouth. 

“Turn over on your stomach for me,” he groans. His hands squeeze your side as he gives you room to follow his direction. You do, but not without his help, your orgasm making you a little clumsy. “Can you get on your knees for me?”

“Maybe?”

“I’ll help you in a second.”

Instead of moving, you lay slumped on the bed, fully intending to let him do the work. You turn your head to watch him pull his shirt off, revealing firm, tan skin. Vernon is beautiful, the sleek lines of his body reminding you of a painting. He kicks off his jeans before shuffling back on the bed behind you, looking down and snorting.

“Didn’t want to move like I asked?” You shake your head. He pats your ass lightly. “Come on, darling. Help me get these panties off or I will rip them off.” 

Huffing, you do as he says. He does lend you his strength hauling you up by the arm as you lean up on your knees. The room is cold, making you shiver but he presses your back to his chest, mouth dusting kisses over your shoulders. 

Vernon’s fingers dance along your sides until he’s pulling your underwear the rest of the way down your thighs, helping you kick out of them. When he’s got you full naked, he presses your back to him, crowding your space as he angles your head to kiss you slowly. Fully. 

Behind you, his cock presses firmly into your ass. You push back against him, putting pressure against his shaft. He hisses, biting your shoulder harshly. 

“Careful,” he growls, teeth at your neck. “Or I won’t be very nice.” 

“Want you, though.”

“You’ll have me when I say you can.” 

One of his hands slides up to your neck, gripping your throat lightly. He pauses, leaning to catch your gaze. His eyes are round and soft. Honest. Open. “This okay?” He questions gently. He gives a little squeeze to indicate what he means. You nod eagerly, reaching a hand to close around his, making him press harder. “Fuck you’re perfect.” 

You lean your head back against his chest as he holds you by the throat, one of your hands dropping to his elbow, the other reaching behind you to sink your fingers in his hair and tug. The sound he makes is feral, the hand he has placed on your waist dropping between your legs, fingers pressing between them. 

“Oh,” you squeak, feeling his deft tough on your clit. His movements are aided by your earlier release, fingers circling smoothly as he squeezes your throat, thumb pressed perfectly, to make it just a little harder to breathe. “Shit.” 

“Can you tell me a safe word? Not gonna go hard, just wanna know if it becomes too much.” 

“Maenad.” He snorts and you huff. “I just wrote an essay on them, don’t start.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Alright. Just please use it if it’s too much - any of it. If you can’t talk, pat my arm, alright? Just wanna do this right.” 

You nod, so in love with him it takes all of you to stop yourself from blurting it. 

Vernon shuffles behind you, letting you tilt forward a little. The hand between your legs leaves and he instead brings it behind you, prodding at your pussy with his fingers from behind. You let out a loud sound and you can almost feel his grin as he presses a finger into your heat. 

He’s slow at first, the same way he was with his mouth. He explores what you like, testing the way his fingers drag against your walls combined with different grip strengths on your throat. You feel light headed. The room spins as he finds a rhythm that draws the most noises from you, that makes you clench down on his finger the most. 

All of your weight is against the hand around your neck, barely able to hold yourself up as he presses another finger in. This time, his fingers prod right against that soft spot inside of you, making you see stars. He must realize he’s found it, because he starts finger fucking you in earnest. 

The grip on your throat loosens a little, careful not to keep you short of breath for too long as he works your cunt with his hand. His lips find your shoulder, peppering you with light kisses that are delicate and butterfly soft in comparison to the way his fingers fuck into you. 

“Vernon,” you whisper, only able to think of his name. “Vernon vernon vernon.”

“Doing so good, darling,” he whispers against your skin. He kisses his way to your ear, sucking the sensitive spot on your neck. “So fucking good for me.” 

His words hit below the belt. You shudder in his hold, letting him drive you toward another release. You never imagined Vernon to be talkative in bed, but he is, his voice like velvet. Just like that. Perfect for me. There you go, come on. 

Everything about him is perfect, driving you to mania. His grip on your throat tightens suddenly, sensing how close you are to your second peak. Your breath quickens until you can’t breathe, going mute against him as his fingers press hardly into that spot over and over and over.

A high-pitched ring winds in your ears. You hold and hold and hold and when Vernon lets go of your throat, a gust of air flooding your lungs, you shatter around his hand. You collapse backward against him, head knocking into his. You don’t even care, twitching and gasping against him as his hand stills. 

For a few moments, you just lean against him like that, sweaty and lost and in a dream. Slowly, you become aware of his pounding heart against your back and the slick between your thighs. Vernon’s mouth is pressed to your shoulder, waiting patiently as you blink a few times, the room swimming into view.

“Hi,” he murmurs, watching you with shadowy eyes.

“Hi,” you croak, voice rough.

“Good?”

“Very.” 

“Want to stop?”

“No. Unless you want to.”

His gaze darkens. “I don’t.” 

“I want more. I can take more.” 

He lifts his head and presses a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re perfect for me. Do you know that?” 

Reverent hands help you lay back against the pillows. Vernon touches you like you’re something delicate - not because he thinks you’re fragile, but because you’re something important to him. Valuable. You see it in the way he looks down at you, taking a moment to drink you in. 

There’s something else there too. Something edged with a knife, a little wild. Covetous. There is something in the way Vernon grips your leg briefly, a language he’s trying to communicate to you with touch. 

Mine, it says. Mine and no one else's.

With hooded eyes, you watch him peel his briefs off. Your eyes shoot to where his cock hangs heavy, beads of precum dripping at his tip. You reach a hand up toward him but he shakes his head, careful as he shuffles toward you.

“Later,” he promises. “I like touching you.” 

“I want you to feel good.”

“You make me feel good. Seeing you unravel makes me feel good. I like seeing how much you enjoy me touching you.”

You can tell he means it. His lips are swollen and soft when he kisses you. You open your legs open for him, letting him settle between the softness of your thighs. Vernon runs the head of his cock through your messy fluids, earning a whine for you.

“Sensitive?” he asks against your lips, nose nudging yours. You nod and you feel him smile. “Sorry.”

“Feels good,” you assure him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Want more.” 

“Greedy thing.” 

“I’m Your greedy thing.”

Your words have the desired effect. You feel a shiver ripple through him, Vernon’s grip on your leg turning to iron as he opens you up wider. He presses his cock into your entrance slowly, pausing just as the tip pops in. You throb around him, whispering his name - begging him to keep going. 

Vernon’s grin is sharp as he sinks in further, the slide tortuous and wonderful and so much as he finally finds home, hips pressed as far as he can go. He stays like that, tangling your tongue in a messy kiss as he sits there, fully seated in your heat. Your pussy spasms around him, pressed open to the max. 

“Feels so good,” he whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “I’m going to come embarrassingly fast.”

“So do it.” You wrap a leg around his waist, your hips tilting upward. Both of you moan at the angle change, so close to breaking. “I wanna see it.” 

Instead of answering, he nods. He drags his hips backward slowly before slamming back in. He punches the breath out of your lungs with each slide home, the stroke slow but deep. Your head falls to the side, breaths rasping as he sets a steady, slow pace. 

It feels good, your legs curling around him to keep you close, hands tangle in his hair to keep him tethered to you. His hair is damp with sweat, your fingers curled in the strands, tugging a little. He seems to like it, making a needy sound in his throat that has you grinning. 

“Mine,” Vernon whispers to you, words muffled by your neck. “You are only mine, darling. You will only ever be mine. You were made for me. No one else.”

“No one else,” you agree. 

His hips move faster, a little messier. You egg him on, legs squeeze, cunt spasming around him. He lets out a feral sound, driving himself further to his orgasm. He drags you with him, another swell reaching you. Vernon can tell, chasing it like a predator, pinning you down and slamming his cock into you until you’re melting around him again, vision blotted out. 

Vernon comes to the sound of his name on your lips. His movements become sloppy until he can’t go anymore, holding himself above you, trembling. Carefully, he drops next to you, pulling his cock free. You feel your joint fluids run down your leg, but you’re too tired to care. 

Reaching for him, your hand finds his chest. He wraps his fingers around yours, holding your palm to him, his heart thudding wildly under your touch.

“For you,” he mutters. “Only for you, darling.” 

You fall asleep like that, hand pressed to his chest.

-

Waking up in Vernon’s bed is not new to you. You’ve fallen asleep numerous times at his apartment or stayed the night after going out, but you’ve always had the bed to yourself, Vernon opting to take the couch. 

The bed is empty now, but still warm. You stretch as you roll over in his sheets, groaning as you feel the soreness between your legs and mostly everywhere else. Pressing your hand to your chest and shoulders, you feel all the tender places Vernon mapped his affection with tongue and teeth. It makes you smile fondly as you lay in bed alone for a minute, breathing in the scent of his room.

Slowly, you peel yourself from his bed. With an awkward waddle, you make it to the bathroom, flicking on the light. You shield your eyes at first, going about your morning routine and washing your face to try and feel human again. 

On your way out, something catches your eye. You frown, walking back toward his laundry hamper where you see brass glinting in the light. You reach for it, pulling the bell from the tangle of his clothes. It has an old wooden handle with cracks, a little hand bell used for-

Well. Used the night of halloween. You have no idea why Vernon still has it, the memory of that night like poison in your mouth. You toss it back into the hamper on top of another shirt that catches your eye. It’s one of his dark green t-shirts, but the collar is stained dark brown.

Curious, you pull it out, shaking the shirt out in front of you. It’s mostly unmarked, save for the spatter of something dark brown and dried. You run your finger around the edge of it, puzzled. It looks like dried blood, but you can’t recall any injuries he’s suffered recently. 

You take the shirt with you into his room, tossing it on his bed as you get dressed, stealing sweatpants and a hoodie. Grabbing the shirt again, you trail out toward the kitchen where Vernon is making breakfast, the smell of bacon crackling in the pan.

You grin, leaning against the doorframe for a second to watch him. He looks so at ease, flipping pieces of bacon while he sings to some seventies song you don’t know the name of. 

Pushing off the wall, you head toward him. He catches you in his peripheral, turning his head and smiling at you. “Hello, Darling.” 

The nickname gives you pause. You slow as you come around the corner of the counter, stopping completely as the endearment pricks you sharply on the back of your neck. Vernon goes back to flipping bacon, singing along a song you vaguely know, but don’t know why Vernon does. He’s never liked music from the 1970s, and-

Your ears start to ring. Several things occur to you at once. 

The memory of Vernon screaming and banging his fists against the door, begging for help. You’d been so afraid that you ripped the door open, crashing through the line of salt. 

Vernon, sharp and confident, the new edge to him as he interacts with people, a little harsher. A little darker.

Nah need to cut back on the sodium had said when you asked about the lack of salt on his fries.

The way he’d called you darling the night before, whispering it against your skin. 

70s music that Vernon has never listened to since you’ve known him.  

The bell sitting in the hamper used to call a spirit on Halloween. 

In the house that belonged to the Hello Darling Murderer.

Brown stains - like blood - on his shirt. 

Carefully, you learn toward the middle of the counter, watching Vernon like a prey skirts a predator. With trembling hands, you gently grab the salt from where it sits next to the pepper. You hold your breath, trying not to draw his attention as you unscrew the top of it, placing the metal lid on the shirt to keep it quiet. 

With as silent steps as you can manage, you cross to the other side of the kitchen where you’re out of his line of sight. Tipping the salt over, you pour it across the tile from counter to fridge, eyes darting between the barrier of white and the man standing in the kitchen humming. 

Your heart hammers. 

Your hands shake. 

Salt shaker empty, you set it on the counter and take a few steps back. It’s an unbroken line of salt, and though it doesn’t trap him in the kitchen, at least it’s there. 

Vernon turns around with the pan of bacon. He sees you and his humming stops, cocking his head to the side. He notices the empty salt shaker. Frowns. Looks at you. Looks at the ground where you’ve drawn a line of salt. 

For a second, he just stares at it. His eyes flick back up to you, warm and brown but narrowed. 

“Why is there salt all over my floor?” 

“Cross it.” 

“Huh?”

“Step over the line of salt.” 

Silence stretches between you. He remains standing in the kitchen, pan in hand, music playing in the background.

When Vernon doesn’t move, you can see everything so clearly. 

Vernon hadn’t been joking when he slammed his hands on the door begging for help on Halloween. A sick feeling roils in your stomach as you remember the panicked screams, the way his fists hammered the door. 

Your next words come out as a hiss. “Cross the line of salt, Vernon.”

He looks at the salt and purses his lips before sighing and setting the pan down on the stove. He tosses the rag from his shoulder and shakes his head, striding over to the white line you made against his tile. He stops in front of it, looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if to say really?

“Well, do it.”

Vernon looks down at the salt. Looks back up to you. Down at the salt. 

And then he laughs. 

“Fuck, you really are the smartest person in school.” He sighs heavily, a gaze darker than anything you’ve ever seen on his face as he stares at you. “You know I can’t cross that line of salt, darling.” 

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy @gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries @archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersona @beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen @mingumis @kimsaerom

PLEASE NOTE: IF YOU DO NOT SEE YOUR TAG HERE, TUMBLR WOULD NOT LET TAG YOU AND YOU'VE BEEN REMOVED FROM THE TAG LIST.

[deeplyshalllow]

Classic Fiyeraba fic recommendations

So, with the new movie coming out, I've seen a lot of requests here for people to write Fiyeraba particularly happy Shiz era stuff, and like guys, guys, I did not spend my formative teen years in the Wicked fanfiction.net section for people to act like the amazing fics there don't even exist.

So here is my list of the fics and authors so great that I remember it over a decade later

Obviously, given we have never had a situation before where people know act 1 but not act 2, there will be spoilers and act 2 stuff in a bunch of these, but please check them out.

(a few of the authors I know are still around tumblr I've tagged, but feel free to tell me if you want me to take it off).

Authors in no particular order:

Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic - Honestly just read anything this woman wrote, I think if anyone said Fiyeraba fanfic this would be the first name I think of - bonus that a lot of the stuff is easily digestible fluffy oneshots

Merina Thropp @merinathropp on Tumblr - Writes beautifully, I remember getting very excited when she uploaded new fic. I particularly remember her Fiyero's Shiz era twitter fic and her extended As Long As You're Mine fic

HC247 @a-partofthenarrative on Tumblr - Writes such lovely fluff and I think double digits on alaym fics! Particularly remember her Once Upon a Kiss series and Masquerade. She mostly writes POTO stuff now but I see occasionally get an alert in my inbox from her.

alinaandalion - another fantastic Fiyeraba writer (god there are so many) I particularly remember her for her A Drop in the Bucket series, which are a lovely series of Fiyeraba oneshots.

CrazyBeagle - one of the people on the Wicked section who has made the transition to real life friend. But I knew her for her fics before we became friends. To Feel is post musical fic which is a lovely realistic continuation of Fiyeraba's journey. Unlimited is a modern retelling of Wicked which I really enjoy though I have been told multiple times it will never be updated no matter how much I threaten.

Scandalacious Intentions @scandalaciousintentions on Tumblr - Candy is the other Wicked friend who has become an irl friend (and I am most certainly the only person who still calls her Candy). She is much better known for her Tonks/Lupin stuff, but I always loved what she wrote for Wicked. Witchy Woman was her first Wicked fic I still very much enjoy it.

Girlscout4ever wrote ever so beautifully. Cheap Rented Room is such a fantastic expanded ALAYM.

ElphabaROCKS - wrote a lot of very good Fiyeraba fluff

Vinkanwildflowerqueen @vinkunwildflowerqueen on Tumblr - I imagine a lot of you know her already as she is still writing! She writes a lot of very good Fiyeraba au fics

Fermantoso - one of the funniest writers in the section! Chasing Elphie is the one I remember best, au but funny and sweet.

Danderson - slightly more bookverse than a lot of the other writers here but still great fics!

Kaylle - There are Nights, is always the one people (including me) remember as it's one of the most beautiful pieces of fanfiction on the Wicked section, but all of her work is lovely.

Lost Ozian - Well known for her humour, The Fiyero User Manual springs immediately to mind, my favourite is actually her serious au fic Different

Me - debated whether to add this, but I was also part of the section back in the day, and I know people enjoyed my fics too, though God knows I've improve my writing in the last decade and a half - in terms of Fiyeraba my strongest were probably A Moment and Living. Perfect Together is unquestionably the best fic I wrote for Wicked, although it's more Flinda.

Individual Fics:

Like a Swan on a Lake - this fic was actually well after my time but I happened to read it and I love love love it! AU of Fiyero if both girls defied gravity together and it does such a good job of showing his intelligence

Broccoli - I remember this one being very sweet Shiz era Fiyeraba

According to Plan - funny fic, fun twist ending

Sincerely, an annoyed Shiz student - not strickly Fiyeraba but you should read it. It is a very fun parody.

It's a long way to fall - This was actually the fic I created a fanfic account for, because I hadn't realised you could anonymous review! A fun arranged marriage AU

Please, please add to this list if you have other recs, mine are about 10 years out of date. Also apologies if I've missed any out as there's so many good ones and it is 2am.

[anomaly-hivemind]

Whore Convention ☆ Ghostface, Michael Meyers, Jason Voorhees, Pennywise, Jeepers Creepers, Slenderman, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Albert Wesker, and Pyramid Head x Reader | Kinktober Day 9

Summary: Part two of horror convention (part one), reader uses their VIP pass to have some fun at different stations.

Word Count: 2673

Tags: free use, gangbang, rough sex, overstimulation, mask kink, cum as lube, fem reader,, degradation, spit-roasting, creampies, convention, non-human characters, non-human genital, size difference, size kink, large cock, manhanding, spit as lube, face fucking, semi-public, multiple orgasm, vaginal fingering, monsterfucking, double penetration. Anal, tentacles, bukkake

It's that time of year again, it was time to go to another horror convention. You have been to a couple of them, all very entertaining in their own right but this one feels like it's going to have a different vibe at least according to your friend. She had gone to her first convention last year and swore that it was the best experience of her life and even changed her forever. ( her words). She gave you her VIP ticket because something had come up and she couldn’t make it. So she begged you to go, like literally begged and you were sure she would have cried if you said no. Saying that this opportunity could not be wasted just because of her and that quote on quote someone needs to have their holes filled in her place, which you are sure is some random euphemism she made up or something.

You had nothing better to do on a near Halloween weekend, nothing you cared about that is. You put on a nice cosplay from Jennifer's body. You were wearing a very purple cheerleading outfit, its skirt wasn't incredibly short and the top even though it was long-sleeved was a bit too small so it was a bit cropped. But that's all alright because you look good and a few people recognized the DK on the shirt.

You looked down at your VIP pass to see the location and the time. As well as a cute little skull on the corner. It was on the furthest corner of the building you were in but you still have time to buy or look at a few things before you walk over to that event spot. All you got were a few posters for your room, you even had time to put them back in your car.

===============================================================================

You walked to your Vip event spot in the convention building. It didn't seem like there were a lot of people over here beside you. A person leads you into the room and you go and sit in the small crowd. The spokesperson you assumed got on the stage and spoke into the mic.

“May our lucky vip please come to the stage” the woman spoke and everyone waited For someone. You also look around for a moment wondering who it was but no one came to the stage.

“um if you have a skull of your pass you our lucky vip… could you come on the stage.” You looked down at your card… and noticed that you had a skull. Well shit.

You reluctantly get up and head to the stage, after you were sure that no one else was gonna get up and then confirm once with a door staff that you were in fact the person they were talking about. While they shoved a paper for you to sign, you didn't bother reading much of it and just wrote your signature. It was something like a consent to participate in the event and you didn't want to be kicked out so you didn't hesitate.

You look out in the crowd, now feeling like there were more people now that you weren't among all of them and a bunch of them were in hardcore cosplay.

“Now look at you all pretty up for our little event.” the woman said and could you hear her southern accent. You smiled and thanked the woman.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Well why don't you pick a set of crowd goers. Doesn't matter how many.”

You assume this was some kinda cosplay contest and you got to pick. You picked A secluded few people who looked like they were straight from the respective franchise.

They all came up to the stage one after the other. You had to pick the Creeper, it almost gave you chills looking at him, the fit was spot on. Then you picked a Pennywise because you love a good clown. Purely for nostalgia you picked the few creepypasta you saw that being Eyeless Jack and Laughing Jack, you were sure that the slenderman had mechanical tentacles that even looked wet. Then your guilty pleasure of yours from all the mask wearers Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees and Pyramid Head and lastly you picked the Person who basically Could be his doppelganger Albert Wesker.

You shiver now they are all in front Of you. They were huge, like unnaturally so and you can't tell nor see any stilts. It makes A nervous sound come out of you as you have to look Up at most if not every single one of the men In front of you.

“Well that's a hefty pickin’s you've got.” The woman said before snapping her fingers a few times. Quick moving staff brought up some kind of privacy curtain. It made you confused. You looked at all ten of the people you had selected and just stood there.

“Well make sure you get a wheelchair after the event but don't keep your guess waitin’” she smirks.

“What?”

“You sighed the paperwork right?”

“Uhm yes?”

“Oh then your good, have fun being fucked and sucked.” with those words the spokeswoman ran off stage.

Your eyes widened as you realized what you had signed you for, that being to your consent form for some sex event your friend was supposed to be at instead of you. A shaky breath leaves your lips, you really picked a group of strangers to fuck you. A group of men who were all taller and bigger than you. What was most shocking to you though was the fact that you weren't fully opposed to all of it, if not a bit nervous. But you were down for it in a slightly whorish way.

Up close you couldn't help but look at how detailed each Of these men looked, if you were delusional or something like that you may assume right away that they were the real thing, but that was a completely crazy idea. Right?

Ghostface was the first to make a move on you. Practically ripping your shirt off and it falls to the ground then stealing your panties which you don't think you'd be getting back anytime soon or at all for that matter. You felt like the main character a porno being topless with just a mini skirt and shoes on. All of them were muttering pleased comments for the most part.

“What a willing whore” Wesker said, and his voice caused you to shiver in delight from how spot on it is. Actually they all sounded like their canon voices at least the talkers did. You didn't get much time to be shocked or think about it, when a tendril brought you to your knees. It felt slimy and wet and you couldn't help but touch it.

Jason bends your ass up as rubs his fat fingers between your folds. You bite back hiss, it was too much fiction too soon. Who noticed and pulled away for a moment . The Creeper smirks before moving near Jason and spits on you. You feel his thick saliva sliding down your lower lips and a bit down one of your legs. Jason moves his fingers back against his folds, this time with much ease. You could feel your arousal start to make way now.

The one with The blue mask stands in front of you while unzipping his pants. His cock jumping for your attention, you wrap A hand around it. You cover it in your mouth’s moisture and give it a few strokes, effectively coating his gray shaft with your spit. You open your mouth to get ready to take him. You look up at him as he grips your face and shivers his cock into your mouth. You gagged around him as the rough actions but try to avoid biting him. He was so distracting that almost didn't register Jason pushing two fingers into your walls. His fingers were very thick and it caused you to moan and Eyeless Jack's cock.

“Going a bit easy there” the scratchy voice of the monochromatic clown laughed out.

You weren't paying attention to what the clown said because all you really could think about was how good Jason was making you feel. You could feel your orgasm jumping to make a first appearance everytime you would feel the hockey masked man’s knuckle constantly brushing at your clit. Eyeless Jack was getting sloppy with his thrust and you knew he was getting closer and with you hollowing out your cheeks to help he started to topple over with pleasure. His cock throbbed a few times before shooting his load into your throat forcing you to swallow the cool liquid.

You were falling into your own peak and you could feel it becoming one with your senses, your eyes closed tight and your legs shaking as you fell past the teerting edge. You wanted to curse out as your orgasm gets cut short when Jason gets pulled away by another person, effectively ruining your orgasm. You let out a whimper, but it didn’t take long for the hole to be filled, you get shrouded in the shadow of the muscular pyramid head. You looked back at the beefy man and shivered. He was huge, very potential to be seven feet tall. He plunges his cock into you, and a scream, even with how wet you were he was large and stretching you out. Your eyes watered and a part of you felt like you could die.

“That's what I like to hear” Pennywise chortled with sadistic amusement.

Pyramid head was rough on you, completely focused on himself and made sure that you were taking him fully with each thrust. It was as if you were mush and you didn't think you could be overwhelmed so fast but you were, and if slenderman’s tendrils weren't holding you up, you'd surely collapse on the stage floor. The tentacles were kneading and groping your breast with a slick texture that was cold on your skin. He was moving with little mercy but even passing the hurt it felt good to you. You could feel him throbbing inside you, it almost felt like you had a lower heartbeat because of it. You wanted to use one of your hands to touch yourself up. It gets taken and occupies hisdick.

“Sluts worry about others first.” Ghostface spoke using your hand to stroke his cock.

You moan, feeling your eyes roll back when a new contender moves in front of you. You look up at them, it was Jason; your gentle giant that had done some help, loosening you up. You open your mouth for him, your tongue hanging out ready to take him. He pushed his thick length into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around him and started to suck him off. It was the mix of Pyramid head getting ready to fill you with his seed, sucking off Jason and jerking off Ghostface. It was a complete sensory overload and you don't know if you'll make it to the end of it all. It was a mix of muffled groans and your also muffled moans.

You feel the borderline hot cum filling you up and trying to push past his cock. He makes sure to pull out of you as slowly as he could as if he didn’t want to leave Pennywise the first to take his place and quickly while wiggling his fingers before coiling around his hips. His cock felt like he was shifting inside you. It has ridges that were scratching at your walls pushing cum deeper into your cunt. He was thrusted into you into you wildly; he was giggling wildly with each movement.

Slenderman comes up from behind you. A slimy tendril prodding your tight ring of muscle. He circled around the outside spreading slimy fluid before he pushed in the wriggling limb. As he pushed it deeper into your rectum. The circumference widened. It stretched your whole beyond what you believed it could. He was literally in your guys right now, but it felt good. You moaned around the cock in your mouth with it pushed and wiggled around you.

When he slipped out his tentacle you thought it was over but then he thrusted in two of the appendages into your anus. You yelped around Jason and small tears sprang in your eyes. Surprisingly though, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would.

Jason fills your mouth with his gooey essence, happily. Then after him cums Ghostface, coating your hand in its sticky substance. The domino effect causes you to have yet another orgasm and as you clench around Pennywise swells up a bit before filling you with his rainbow clown Jizz.

They leave you a cum dumped mess with slenderman’s appendages rocking in their pendulum pattern. You felt like you were going to pass out but your holes still had a guest to attend to. Wesker and Myers go for your mouth and cunt respect. Weaker pulls your hair back as he pushes his cock into your hole and Michael was basically throat fucking you.

The Creeper and Laughing Jack then made you stroke them off. You felt like you had been thoroughly passed around and anyone Who had you before was jacking off as you got used like a fleshlight. You have another climax and you were sure everything had gone dark for a few seconds but the bounce of that seemed to matter, to the men of the mattered.

“An Excellent whore to take all of us” Wesker let out a groan as he slammed his hips into you over and over. You felt like we're going to cum all over again. His words make you shiver a bit and you start to clench around him, he slaps your ass like a silent approach. Michael was holding your face with a tight grip as he would take slow strokes all the way out of your mouth before ramming back down your throat. It was causing gag reflects a bit as he ruts his hips into you.

The tentacles pumping in and out of you sped up, the tendrils rubbing against you and each other. It felt like ripples coming through them before warm fluid filled your anal cavity. The semen kept coming and coming it’s like it was almost never ending until finally he pulled the tentacles out leaving you back entrance gaping and puckering. The cum poured out like a water leak, dripping down your ass and legs. You glanced down to see the black viscous liquid creeping down your legs.

You felt like you may have choked to death if you went breathing through your nose. The Creeper was looking at you with a hungry gaze as he started to thrust into your hand. Michael started moving faster, taking shorter strokes between your lips before he let out a hushed breath of pleasure. You almost coughed up the amount of thick fluids that had filled your mouth at once, you managed, then he pulled away. Laughing Jack was tracing patterns into your skin as he let out stroke him at your decided pace. You hold his slender cock in your hand in a firm grip, he was already leaking cum before a strong spray hits you in the face.

You could hear some groans and muffled heavy breaths from the men surrounding you. Their hands stroked themselves with vigor. Seemingly all at the same time they blew their loads onto you, painting your bodies with an array of hot cum. All which coat your skin with different levels of thickness and temperatures. Some were stickier than others, some watery. Different colors and smell. They all were panting, you included when the spokeswoman came back with a towel and your promised wheelchair. You had no energy, barely any to get up and put your close back on.

Your friend was right, this was a life changing experience

[hwajin]

☆°. — 2024; in fics !!

since the year is coming to an end (and spotify wrapped finally came out) i wanted to make a short, personal tumblr wrapped, shouting out my fav fics i've read this year; to both recap AND animate other ppl to read them as well!! it's not a ton, but it's the fics that stayed with me the most <3

one shots

☆ ; 22 strokes ; @cb97percent || MYYY fav piece of short erotic literature this year. i've grown out of reading pure smut/ porn without plot and i get soo bored scrolling the smut tags lately, but god THIS was absolute perfection. personally, for me, good smut is when i'm reading more than just nasty fucking; and this definitely delivered. i also remember the visuals so well, like the first sentence i read i was instantly pulled into the same view i had when i first read it!! 10/10 would reread it a million times and not get bored!!!

☆ ; starry night ; @astraystayyh || AHHHH i remembered the feeling i had while i read this INSTANTLY like it catapulted me right back!!! like this is JUST the romantic shit i LOVE and yearn and long for, and reading it tore my heart APART i loved it so so much omg. i kept remembering this one shot from time to time when i visited museums OR looked at my starry night print above my bed!! i need to reread this fully next time i see a van gogh hehe

☆ ; wherever you are ; @hyunverse || god i remember this hurting me just in the right places and then flicking my heart back again. friends to lovers will always be my fav genre of anything EVER but the little twist added to this made this fic SOOO unique and fun?? like the way it's written in parts i enjoyed SO much, the continuous timeline of them growing up together, the writingggg??? this one shot inspired me to a fic of my own (which i've never finished </3) and i feel like that says enough about how much it affected me 🫶🫶

☆ ; the snow falls apart, we fall apart ; @/astraystayyh || i sobbed over this one. SO so much. the time where 'long for you' came out was so crazy because everyone wrote their hearts out and this was amongst my favourites i've read. the visuals are so impressive because i (once again) remember this one shot so vividly before my inner eye, like i remember laying in bed and reading this, close to tears and everything. the longing and unsureness and the unspoken love in this has haunted me for soooo long it all came right back when i saw this fic in my reblogs. i wanna reread it so bad actually especially since it's getting so cold and grey now 😭

serieses

☆ ; super bored ; @straywrds || okay. OKAY. mari, you're already fucking know what i'm about to say because i am annOYING when it comes to this series; but it is, no lying, the best i have ever read. if this was a full on novel i wouldn't even question it a second, and it would be no doubt one of my favourites. when i scrolled through my reblogs to check what fanfictions had struck with me i already knew super bored would be included because it would have been ILLEGAL not to. it was also the only piece i knew by heart, with no need of rereading a first sentence to remember the feeling i had when i first discovered it; i only need a quick glance at blue hydrangeas and frogs for the feelings to come back. or when i think of paris. or when i listen to this and this song (je l'aime à mourir was my most listened to song this year... like hello). like this piece has struck me SO incredibly deep and i so so hope that you know that!! (i doubt that you don't.... i was and still am in your asks about it like a leech jfjejd) like i truly and genuinely don't believe that there's another reader who loves super bored as much as me, the way my throat formed a clump when i skimmed over the tags i wrote!!! i miss the universe so so much, i hope (without any intended pressure, of course) that you get the time and motivation to finish it at some point, even if it's in 10 years time!!! after yapping so much i wanted to truly thank you for writing and sharing this piece with us; i hold it dear to my heart, every single day <3

[nowanderers]

xavier x reader —ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: smut, oral (f! receiving), thigh fucking, cum on panties

wc: 1.2K

tagged: @luckylittlepaw

artist note: i needed a change of pace after what i wrote for sylus. ones written for the other men can be found here.

things did start off innocent. 

you’d both planned for a nap, drained from last night’s mission and the 2 am return home. you’d both yawned through the afternoon. declarations of sleepiness passed both of your lips— though for xavier that’s typical. 

those sleepy intentions died the moment his cock poked your ass. your bedroom, now anything but a quiet environment suitable for sleeping. the incessant squeak from your bed frame and xavier’s light gasps overshadow the swishing of the smooth bed sheets beneath your frenzied movements. 

warm puffs of jagged, short breaths tickle your bare skin as you feel xavier’s head rest against the back of your neck. caught between two strong arms, you press your hips into him while he ruts against you. his cock feels hard and heavy tucked between your plush thighs. the fat tip firm as it rubs along your damp, thin lace panties in wanton need. 

he’s holding you close to his chest so lovingly– contrasting the depraved way he rolls his hips. when xavier’s pace picks up your body floods with more heat. you pant in dire need of cold air to fill your lungs, feeling parched. skin on fire under the thick blanket that conceals you both. tearing it off, you shiver from both his teasing cock and the cool air nipping at your skin. your sweaty bodies stick together like glue as you move in tandem. you push back into him, hips tilted as you chase after the tiny ghosts of friction that torture your clit. pussy undeniably sopping wet with need– ready for more than this.

xavier’s gentle hands move away from your waist in favor of touching your stomach. his fingers softly caress their way to your chest, sending a flurry of energized butterflies straight to your cunt. he covers your tits with his large hands and he gives them both a squeeze that has your eyes rolling back. he’s close. his slowly bruising and ravenous grip on you is the leading indicator.

the man only ever got rough with you minutes before cumming. his fingers dig into your skin as he uses your chest as leverage while he fucks your thighs. every sound he let out sent you reeling. his labored breaths build until he’s moaning so softly in your ear. the wet slide of his cock between your legs becomes sloppy as his hips buck and stutter into a desperate rhythm. you feel the heat against you before you realize he’s cumming. spurts of his cum hit your thinly clothed center and you mewl from the hot sensation. he ruins the sheets and your underwear, smearing his load all over the lace fabric.

eventually, xavier’s breathing evens out. you’re still snuggled together in the middle of your bed, cum trickling down your thigh. “what happened to feeling sleepy?” you ask with a lazy smile stretching on your lips as his arms coil around your waist. he kisses along your neck and draws you closer into his hold– as if he could get any closer to you at this moment.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he answers simply, voice dulcet as the words brush against your skin. shifting, he lets go of you while he continues further. “i read somewhere that helps.” 

you feel the mattress dip and you turn to see him moving farther down your bed. “what are you doing?” you ask, catching his attention. finding your cluelessness kind of cute, xavier smiles and reaches for your hand, giving it a tender squeeze thereafter.

“helping you fall asleep.” 

xavier settles between your legs without another word. he gives your hand another loving squeeze before leaving it to lie alone on top of the cold sheets. your gaze follows his movements as he adjusts you until your thighs flank either side of his head. 

pretty, glacier-blue eyes gloss over your body with a fleeting glance before lingering on the messy scene at your entrance. his steady hands spread your legs wide, exposing more of you to him. sticky and cum soaked, your panties clung to your center. they outline your pussy so hotly that his eyes burn with desire. slowly, he slides the fabric to the side. you watch with bated breath as he leans down and licks a teasing fat stripe through your delicate folds. he sighs against you, saturating your dewy pussy with his spit as he repeatedly drags his skilled tongue through your cunt. he groans at the taste, pausing to savor the sweet essence on his lips before diving back in for another lustful lick that has your toes curling.

xavier doesn’t do the same thing long enough for you to get used to it. he flicks his wet tongue across your clit before sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, teasing every nerve ending on its surface. after he pulls a string of shaky moans out of your chest, he slides the warm muscle all across your pussy, cleaning up every bit of your wetness with the eager slurp of his lips. enjoying himself, his eyes fall closed and he releases a peaceful hum that strokes all the sensitive points within you. he laps at you keenly, trying to work out what you needed most– the answer was all of it.

with every deep, lingering lick across your slippery wet cunt, you sink further into a bliss so heavenly. warm, fuzzy, and gingerly carving you out from the inside. 

xavier has such a sinfully drawn-out way of eating you out. slow, sinuous, but impactful, like he had all the time in the world. he moans against you, languidly shaking his head back and forth along your folds while he sucks your clit between his lips, tongue flicking against it in his mouth. 

“oh.” you whisper.

he always got this into it. the sensation ravaging your body with every sound that’s muffled into your cunt. his fingers bite into the skin at your thighs as he presses his face closer, using them as handles while he sloppily makes out with your sweet pussy. he groans again, rendering you speechless. all you can do is shake loose the mangled syllables that catch in your throat as his mouth pushes you closer to the edge. the sounds flowing past your lips want to be words, instead settling for half-formed pleas and whines that stretch on into oblivion. 

xavier brings all of his focus to your throbbing clit, swirling his tongue around the aching bud nonstop while you hold his head firmly in place. you can’t help but cry out as his ministrations successfully shut your body down. a couple of deliciously rough licks later, your cunt trembles through a gushing wet orgasm– lips framing his name through a debauched noise that’s hard to categorize. loud. uncontrolled and erotically charged. the love child of a moan and a scream.

you’re walked through your high by the subtle drag of xavier’s tongue. the heat of it ebbs and flows, coursing beneath your skin before all the raw pleasure in your body fizzles out. until you’re left with this mind-numbing sleepiness that has your eyes half-lidded. 

you remain splayed out, breathing through deep inhales and exhales while he lays soothing kisses along your inner thighs. his lips travel up your torso and across your chest. even now, you can feel the emotions that he’s able to wake up within you with each kiss he presses into your skin. you smile weakly at the love that flourishes in your chest. the thick blanket from before covers your body once more. 

one last gentle kiss is placed on your forehead and soft words that you can’t discern barely reach your ears. far too sleepy as you near the precipice of a phenomenal nap.

[simp-ly-writes]

What Would You Do?

─────── · · A The Comment Section (spin-off / pt.4.5)

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: In this standalone part, everyone finds out how Spencer seems to know you better than you know yourself and the comments go wild over it. It's still recommended that you read the series for the full effect.

─ · · TAGS: standalone, gender-neutral pronouns, social media au, attempt at comedy, light swearing, fluff, mutual pinning.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | PART ONE | PART FIVE

─ · · A/N: thank you so much to the wonderful @sserendiipiity for this idea and sorry it took so long to write this! All original images belong to their owners, my work is my own. Asks are open for Smosh!

─────── · ·

Being in front of such a small crew was refreshing besides the hundreds of workers you were starting to get used to for your up-and-coming movie entrance. Still to this day, you didn't know how you landed such a part with all of your acting history coming from youtube but nevertheless as Courtney called you all to take your positions; a newfound anxiety found its way into your mind. This episode was solemnly focused on you and how well your fellow cast members and friends knew you.

Soon the heat of a thousand LEDs made you start to sweat as you smiled at the camera and introduced this weeks episode, "Hey guys, welcome to what would (name) do. And here today I am with my friends Trevor, Amanda, and of course, Spencer. Yes, we have been reading your comments everyone-"

The crew in the background began to laugh as Spencer shook his head with a small smile, foot taping yours from underneath the table as you waited for everyone to finish. "-and Spencer and I will be going back to our regularly scheduled content together. But thats besides the point! I am going to be reading these question cards that I totally wrote and your goal is to guess my answer. So if I said, 'Who do you think if the last person I messaged?" You all would answer..."

Putting the cards down quickly and going for your phone, you rolled your eyes at yourself for seeing who, as always was at the top of your history. Head now in your hands- knowing how quickly the fans would clip this next moment. Courtney began to count down behind the camera, voice trying to hide her giggles as everyone knew the answer right away.

Picking yourself up and trying not to make eye contact with anyone at the table, Courtney didn't even get a chance to hit one as both Trevor and Amanda have already flipped over their boards, arrowheads pointing towards Spencer with large grins strapped across their faces.

"And why do you think its you Spencer" you ask, not even having to look to look as you stare into the camera with a straight face. "Because we are each others conscious?" Spencer answers matter-of-factly, the smile he sends you breaks your character as you announce one point each before moving on to the next question.

"Okay, If I could learn any skill and be super good at it, what would it be?" You take a second after reading the card, unsure of your own answer as you look around the room for any ideas. Peering down the table, everyone seems to be writing a lot as you tap your marker lid against the table. Courtney begins to count down once more as Trevor rapidly erases his answer and writes down a new one as you raise your brow curiously before marking down your own.

"Let's see these answers, because I am unsure myself."

Trevor goes first out of the line, "I had a few ideas but I think I remember talking to you about being a better driver... that or being a quicker reader."

"I completely forgot about that- I would agree, being able to read and remember scripts super quickly would be awesome. Let's see what everyone else wrote down though, Spencer?"

"Well I said that you want to learn everything about music. I know that you always have wanted for some groups to make one more album or for others to pick up their sound. But what if you could make your own music just how you want it to sound?"

"Fuuucckkk, thats so good!" you moan out, trying to imagine everything you could make before your eyes flash back open in horror. You clasp your hands over your mouth before throwing your head back laughing as Spencer shoves your shoulder, "Not in front of the cameras!" He points dramatically at every single one as you grip his shoulder trying to calm yourself as he two joins your laughter.

Amanda had erased her answer by the time you two caught your breaths as Courtney asked off-camera why. "This game is what you kids would say, rigged. Like what am I going to say thats topping thing one and thing two here? But I was going to say skateboarding," Amanda responds in a lighthearted tone.

"Skateboarding?" Trevor asks, eyebrow raised as you nod your head, curious to learn the answer. "I don't know! I just thought it would be something cool that you would like to be really skilled at."

"I mean... it would be pretty cool. I could be all Tony Hawk Skate Park all around the office," you voice, picturing a future video idea before giving points out to Spencer.

─────── · ·

The video continues as expected, your fellow cast mates mocking annoyance and play-fighting amongst one another as Spencer nails question after question, often answering better than the answers you come up with for yourself about yourself.

At some point, Amanda and Trevor had tackled Spencer to the ground, begging him for answers as he held his hands, glasses askew as you sat and watched from your chair, tears stringing down your face as you hunched over, your stomach hurting from laughing so much as Courtney yelled for break, you all taking your fourty minutes to grab drinks and snacks at the cart.

"You do know how crazy the comments are going to be underneath the video, "OMG I ALWAYS KNEW SPENCER AND (NAME) WERE MARRIED'" Amanda mocks in an obnoxious girly tone as you shake your head, knowing her words to be all true true as Spencer leans down and steals a bite from for sandwich. You glare playfully at him as he turns around chewing, going to find Alex to ask how the other shoots are going back at Smosh Games.

"Well, its better than the hate. I thought I was actually going to get fired or killed if we didn't release that video soon enough," you respond a bit tensely as Trevor flicked your forehead. "Hey, none of that, (name). We all would've made sure it never came down to that."

Amanda nods in agreement as Spencer rejoins you both. He places his chin on your shoulder, asking you quietly, "How're you doing?"

"Better," you respond with a small smile, taking in his equally tired expression as you ask him the same question. He hums out positively before leading you both back in front of the camera.

As soon the red dot starts to flicker in your face once more and before you can finish the question, Amanda had already stood up, chair screeching against the floors as the table shook from her enthusiasm as she screamed out her answer. "Describe what you think I would wear tomorrow-"

"SOMETHING OF SPENCERS AND JEANS, where are my points?! Take THAT SPENCER!" Amanda dances for the camera, fingers flipping the man off as you hide behind the board, giving her the point as no one else bothers to answer.

─────── · ·

"And for our second to last question today..." you all were starting to grow loopy. After a full day of shoot after shoot, you all started screaming out random things at one another, sometimes without context and the outline of a gameshow had gradually turned into a shouting fest. "...Fuck, Marry, Kill-"

"SPENCER, SPENCER, SPENCER," Alex shouted from off-camera, chest raised proud of his throw-back answer to an earlier episode as Amanda wheezed out, Trevor throwing his board for the bit, "that was going to be my answer too!"

Spencer's ears had flared bright red as he started off into the distance. You hide your face in your hands once more, shoulders rising and falling with silent laughs before managing to read the rest of the actual question left.

─────── · ·

By the end of the shoot, Spencer had one as he raised your hands together cheering before taking a bow to the crew and then the camera. "Well, to no one's surprise, Spencer won todays episode but I have to say, you all surprised me with your answers. It feels so good to know I have all of you as my friends. And to all of those watching at home, be sure to check back in the next few days to find the new content we have cooking up. Bye!" You all wave towards the camera's before the screen shuts of to black.

─────── · ·

A few weeks later...

🔔 Smosh Pit just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

What Would (name) Do?

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] Like 132k | Dislike | ... 8.29M subscribers 430k views 1 day ago you'll never guess who wins this episode! click to read more

3,333 Comments

username01 1 day ago The team was COOKING on this video. username11 1 day ago Well, this is one way to shut us all up and goddam it I'll take it all! username44 1 day ago Anyone else had to pause this video multiple times to look at the camera in their room and scream BC this was TOO much for little ol'me to handle. username13 12 hours ago "You'll never guess who wins," - yeah right. ▼ 50 replies ↳ username88 4 hours ago IKR? The bigger shock would have been if Spencer was banned from participating hahaha. ↳ username20 12 hours ago Kinda feel like he should've been. I mean the cast was taking it great but it must get kinda annoying how he knows every answer. Some even seemed like (name) didn't even know themselves! ↳ username54 30 minutes ago This is concrete evidence to the (yourshipname) case, these two idiots belong together. username73 12 hours ago I am salivating over all of the edits I know will come from this video. Where is @ (yourshipname)updates when you need them? ▼ 1 reply ↳ (yourshipname)updates ✓ 10 hours ago I am here and am happily overworked! We are eating good folks! username52 30 minutes ago Trevor and Amanda pinning Spencer to the ground with (name) cry-laughing in the background was not a meme format I thought I needed. I can't wait for the next Who Meme'd It!! username14 1 day ago "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer" - Alex Tran 2024 username02 just now I honestly thought they would all be quicker to name Spencer as (name)'s lest message. Like whenever they are not actively filming I swear I see them smiling at their phones in the background of videos. username05 23 hours ago (name) and Spencer: try not to fall in love. difficulty? impossible. username66 15 minutes ago Amanda calling the game "rigged" was so good. BC let's all be real here, this was fan service at its finest and i'm not even upset about it. username70 1 day ago The fact that they kept (name)'s: "Fuuucckkk, thats so good!" in is shocking to say the least. These edits about to be straight WILD. username23 14 hours ago There's literally to much to comment about, I am going insane. username80 1 hour ago "SOMETHING OF SPENCERS AND JEANS, where are my points?! Take THAT SPENCER!" Amanda has confirmed what we all believe people, let us all thank her in the comments below \/ ▼ 44 replies ↳ username54 30 minutes ago Yes, thank you dear Amanda!! ↳ username90 30 minutes ago I love confirmation bias. ↳ username54 just now I love how Spencer wasn't even mad. Like bro was damn smug about that fact while (name) was blushing so hard thinking none of us would ever catch on XD

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I am kinda obsessing over (name) and Spencer...

─ · · TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios

[ivenhae]

AFTER LIKE

Pairing: Hot nerd?Karina x fem!Reader

cw: cursing + kissing, slight skinship

📗: karina being a nerd doesn't have any significance lol just for the plot of rina in glasses🫣, reader is shy and karina is kinda cocky? slight height difference (reader is short), reader calls rina a stupid nerd, basically fluff but a bit of angst if you squint? let me know if there's something else💋

Mentions of Yujin from IVE and Heeseung from ENHYPEN.

Inspired by: After like - IVE

💌: i was listening to after like by ive while scrolling through pintrest when this rina pic showed up, so now you know why i wrote it😋🫶 this my first writing work🥹(i literally do not have an exam today and i literally did not stay up writing this instead of studying🙂‍↔️) im sorry for suddenly bombarding this lmaooo but i hope you like it! please let me know if you would like to be tagged in my future works, thank you! -love, unika🩷

Divider credit: @cafekitsune ♡

read HEESEUNG ver!

또 모르지 내 마음이

저 날씨처럼 바뀔지

날 나조차 다 알 수 없으니

Who knows?

My mind might just change like the weather

Even I don't know myself.

New years eve, what was so special about this thing anyways? It's just another year after all... Karina thought, swirling the pen around her fingers as she studied or rather just stared at the book on the desk. Her mind wandered back to her orignal thought, you. She closed the book, huffing in frustration, you must be in that party that you were going on and on about earlier, your eyes twinkling in enthusiasm as you described the dress you were planning on wearing later, "shit..." She mutters under her breath as she remembers the picture you showed her, a mirror selfie of you in that pretty baby pink, spaghetti strapped dress that stopped just above your knee. The dress was modest, just like you but it was enough, enough to drive a man or a woman crazy. "You have to wear that blue dress rina!" She remembers the way you chimed looking up at her with those doe eyes as you tugged on her sleeve like a damn puppy then she saw your face fall when she declined, "Can't Y/n, I have..." She trails off getting lost in your eyes for a moment before she catches herself, clearing her throat as she shakes her head "I have to study" That cute pout on your face as you huffed before starting about how she should enjoy herself and that it's new years eve, which she didn't pay any attention to because she was too busy staring at your cute face. "what am I even doing?" She mumbles as she finds herself standing in front of her closet, that blue dress peeking out from under all the pile of her other clothes.

그게 뭐가 중요하니

지금 네게 완전히

푹 빠졌단 게 중요한 거지

That doesn't matter

What matters is

I'm into you right now.

God, why did she have to be such a coward? She thinks, her hands gripping onto her dress as she stands outside Yujin's house. The feeling of her heart beating rapidly and the sound of the loud music from inside only adding to her nervousness, she had been to her friend's house countless times for countless parties, then why is she so nervous today? "Oh? Aren't you a little too early?" Karina's met with Yujin's sarcasm as she walks in the house, she rolls her eyes as they hug, Yujin pulls back before taking a look at Karina, "You look good! But girl you're so late! I thought Y/n said you had to study or something" Karina sighs, "Yeah I..." Karina trails off, she takes a deep breath before continuing "Yujin, I think I'm gonna tell her..." She says softly, looking at Yujin as if asking her if it's a good idea. Yujin gasps softly "Really? Don't tell me that's the only reason why you came here..." Yujin gives an aww expression as she looks at Karina. "You know what? She hasn't been enjoying herself at all today and I think...its because you weren't here" Karina tilts her head, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously, "Really? You...you think so?" Yujin flashes her a smile as she nods, "Yup and it's new years eve! Don't you think it's the perfect time to tell her how you feel? And it's..." Yujin takes a look at the time on her phone before turning to karina "It's almost 12..." She says softly, Karina's eyes widen slightly, she turns to look at the stairs then back at Yujin who just nods at her, patting her back softly, Karina mouths a 'thank you' to Yujin before making her way up the stairs. She steps out on the rooftop, her eyes scanning among the people to look for you, oh. There you are, and ofcourse you're with Heeseung. He has a hand on your waist as you have yours on his shoulder. The beating of her heart is faster than the loud song playing as she watches you with him, she stays there, the ache in her chest only increasing, but then she sees him leaning closer to you and it's her final straw, something inside her snaps and she's already making her way past the crowd, striding towards you.

아마 꿈만 같겠지만 분명 꿈이 아니야

달리 설명할 수 없는 이건 사랑일거야

Seems like a dream but it’s definitely not

Can't explain it, it must be love.

"What?" "I said I'm leaving!" You place a hand on his shoulder as you repeat, trying to make yourself audible over the loud music. "Huh? It isn't even 12 yet Y/n!" He places a hand on your waist unconsciously as he leans in, almost yelling so that you could hear him. "I know but...the person who I was dressed up and here for isn't even here...I...I feel stupid" You say, you don't know why you told him that, but you did. Heeseung looks at you with an arched eyebrow, as if waiting for you to explain further, you sigh stepping back slightly before looking up at him, "Karina! That...stupid stupid nerd who just can't seem to understand my stupid stupid hints! I'm always trying to look good so that she sees me... trying to drop hints and make her realise that I like her but she just doesn't understand! Just being there... looking so...so pretty!" You huff, a soft pout on your lips, Heeseung chuckles softly shaking his head before his smile fades slowly "Y/n-" "No it's okay!" You shake your head as you start stepping back slowly. "I'll just go home and spend this stupid-" You pause as you bump into someone, before you could turn to say sorry, you feel hands grabbing your waist. "Just exactly how many times did you say stupid?" You gasp softly as you hear her soft voice and feel her warm breath on your ear, moving back slightly as you turn around, there she is, wearing that stupid blue dress that you love so much with her stupid glasses, the sound of Heeseung clearing his throat behind you brings you back to reality, "Uh yeah, that's what I was trying to say, you two can talk I'll just..see you guys after midnight, I guess" Heeseung walks away but none of you move, just standing there and appreciating each other. "Stupid nerd huh?" Karina breaks the silence, a smirk on her face as she tilts her head to the side, oh she's giving you that cocky expression that makes you feel the butterflies in your stomach "I...I didn't mean it like that..." "I know" karina sighs as she moves closer to you, her fingers gripping on your chin gently as she tilts your face up, making you face her, "You look beautiful....did you mean it angel?" Angel? Fuck. "That you're a stupid...no! Ofcourse-" She chuckles softly, cutting you off, "No, That you dress up all pretty...for me? That you like me?" Your eyes widen slightly as you look away, "Nuh-uh, look at me angel, I need to know, please." Your breath hitches at her words as you slowly turn your gaze towards her again, "I...yes..." You whisper softly and she lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding until now, she leans in, her fingers still holding your chin as her eyes bore into yours through her stupid glasses, "Guess I am a stupid stupid nerd that I couldn't even understand that a pretty pretty girl like you liked me too huh?" Wait. Did she just said, too? "Too? r-rina..."

방금 내가 말한 감정 감히 의심하지 마

그냥 좋다는 게 아냐 what's after 'Like'?

Don't try to doubt what I just said

It's beyond like, what's after like?

As if on cue, the music suddenly dies down, "Everybody! Time for the final countdown!" Someone yells as the countdown begins 10...9...8...7... You both turn to look at each other again, Karina swallows, her eyes flickering to your lips then back to your eyes,

You and I

It's more than 'Like'

L 다음 또 O 다음 난 yeah, yeah, yeah

"I like you Y/n and fuck, I think it's more than like" Your breath hitches yet again at her confession, 6...5...4...3... You somehow find your courage, arms wrapping around her neck as you look up at her,

You and I

It's more than 'Like'

What's after 'Like'?

"What's after like?" 2...1... Karina's hands cup your face as she leans down, capturing your lips with her own in a sweet kiss, your arms tighten around her neck, pulling her closer as you both get surrounded by loud cheers and fireworks, as you finally pull away, her thumb brushes on your cheek softly, an adoring smile on her face as she looks at you, her voice a soft whisper, "Love"

-likes and reblogs are very much appreciated 🫣🩷

© ivenhae - all rights reserved, do not copy or steal.

[parfaitblogs]

waiting room ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he breaks up with you, and your life slowly falls apart. so obviously you should see him?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: implied alcohol reliance? lots of nothing happening not even a gun to my head could get me to write action... do not read if emotionally stable because i sure wasn't when i wrote this. word count: 1.9k a/n: i never write in second person so if there's a cheeky she her they them somewhere in this ignore it!!! i do not know what i am doing!!! probably not proofread enough. also no happy ending i hate those let the people cry i say! i haven't posted my writing in like three years be nice...

also posted here on my ao3 !

"Hey."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Horribly awkward silence.

Your eyes darting around a bar that you found all too familiar, with decor that you could paint on a canvas with your eyes closed, and such a distinct smell that you could imagine it from miles away. You didn't think you'd ever forget the way the air moved in this bar, or the sound of the same three bands singing every Friday night on repeat. You knew all the words to their songs by now. And the bartender knew your name, embarrassingly so. 

And even over the sound of patrons talking, and the clinking of glasses and every other overwhelming sound that drove you crazy, you felt like you could hear your heartbeat slamming against your chest. Your lips chapped, never wetting no matter how many times you produced the saliva in your otherwise dry mouth to lick them. Hands wrapped around an ice cold glass that did nothing but numb some part of your body, to accompany the numb feeling in your chest. 

You looked better than you felt, but he was knocking both parts of you out of the park. Maybe that's why your mouth was so dry. You'd tell yourself that it is, at least. He's too attractive to talk to. But you could talk to him. You did talk to him. All the time. About everything, and nothing. Because that's what you two did. 

And yet; the awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat, and it prompted you to take a sip of your drink, mixed alcohol falling down your throat and leaving a burn that shouldn't comfort you, but did. You didn't pull a face at the taste of it the way you used to, and you found yourself wishing that part of you that you despised was back. 

Maybe he would tease you for it again.

"How's work?"

The words felt foreign on your lips. It wasn't really what you wanted to ask him, but every inquiry you had died on your tongue before you could ask them, nothing feeling good enough. 

"It's good," he answered, eyes studying you in a way that made you want to shrink into nothingness. 

"That's good," you said, and you saw the small twitch of his lips — brief, before they fell back into their natural downturned shape. 

It was almost comical how much silence sat between you two. Two people who would talk until people around them were groaning and regretting asking them a question, falling silent in the presence of one another. 

He cleared his throat again. Maybe you should offer him some water, but then you realised this wasn't your house and he was fully capable of getting his own water. And everything else in the world.

"How's work for you?"

"It's good," you answered, half-heartedly, because you really didn't know. You hadn't been in months. 

You didn't really realise a breakup would affect you this much. You had always been good. Good at putting emotional turmoil on pause for your busy life. You never considered the possibility of putting your busy life on pause for emotional turmoil. 

But then Spencer Reid left you. You never considered the possibility of that happening either, until it did. 

"Is it?" he asked, and you watched his body shift slightly in his seat, almost leaning closer to you. 

And unfortunately, you can only pretend in front of the man across from you for so long. "No," you said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm not going." Your voice was embarrassingly quiet, but you knew he heard you, because his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and his lips parted for a second. It made you want to take the words back; to lie again. "I got laid off a week ago."

He slowly nodded his head in recognition — that would explain your sudden request to meet. "I'm sorry."

You could imagine a million things you knew he'd be saying the words for, but not one part of you really believed it for any of them. So you only nodded your head, gaze dropping from him to the glass in front of you, the paper straw disintegrating in the liquid — something you weren't used to; you would finish drinks too quickly for that to happen. 

You didn't come here to mope. You do that every other Friday night. You didn't need to do that tonight, when the man you were spending your nights sobbing and your mornings numb over was right there with you.

"How's your mom?" you ask instead, lifting your head back up, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

"She's okay. Same as usual," he said, and you nodded your head. Short answers seemed to be the only thing you guys knew how to do. "How's yours?"

"Good," you answer, because the question doesn't really have the same weight as it did when you asked him; he only did it to be courteous. "She misses having you over."

That brought a small smile to his face. "I miss being over."

You can come back, you want to say, but you know that isn't true. 

You don't know how much longer you two sit in silence before he breaks it with a sigh that, if you didn't know better, you'd think was irritated. But it wasn't; simply exhausted. 

"Why did you want to meet me?" he finally asked, and your lips parted, before shutting again, because you're not too sure the answer is something you're allowed to say aloud. 

You say it anyway.

"I missed you."

You watched his facial features soften, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and that only seemed to bring more nervous energy to you. 

"You shouldn't," he said, and if your heart had anything left for him, it probably would have cracked again. 

You knew that you shouldn't. You had told yourself to get over it a thousand times before. Your go-to mantra was grow up. But you couldn't. Your brain wouldn't let it go and your eyes could just never stay dry for long enough to think it's finally over. It was almost pathetic. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding your head, slowly, and you were pretty sure tears were welling in your eyes, which felt even more pathetic in front of him. 

"I'm sorry."

This time it was you to apologise, and you knew he didn't believe your apology either. Not when you didn't even know what you were apologising for. Missing him, meeting him here, ever even dating him in the first place.

"It's okay," he said, instead, and you watched him exhale shakily, his lips rubbing against each other — usually a telltale sign he didn't want to be wherever he was any longer. That broke your heart too. 

Words died in your throat as you abruptly stood up, the stool you were perched atop wobbling slightly with your sudden movements. 

You stared at him for another moment, committing his face to memory, before you nodded your head to him in acknowledgement, pocketing your phone. You forced a smile, and left. 

Maybe not the best move you've ever done in your life. Not the move you wanted to do. But certainly the smartest. 

Because the second the cool, early fall air hit your skin, so did your tears, and you found that even ordering an Uber was difficult through blurry vision. So you decided to walk. Walk where, you didn't know. Away from the bar. Through the people-filled square; people as drunk as you wished to be, people out with friends and partner's, to have fun. People having a much better night than you, clearly. 

You heard your name. And something in you screamed to not turn around, to not give in to the caller. Probably the logical part of your brain. But your heart ignored it, and you halted in your tracks, turning to see him walking towards you, eyebrows furrowed in so much concern you think you'd crack further than you already have. Maybe if you split yourself down the middle it would finally stop hurting. 

"I miss you too."

Four simple words that could be heard even over the mixed songs playing from the clubs around you, even over the beeping cars and the chattering people. 

"Please don't lie to make me feel better," you croak, and you're acutely aware of the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm not lying," he breathed out, and you were far enough away from his body to see his hand twitch. For whatever reason you didn't know. "Sweetheart, you're breaking my heart, here."

Oh.

You swallowed down a sob, swiping another set of falling tears before they could get too far down your cheeks.

"Spencer, please," you said, so desperately that you wanted to shoot yourself. "I shouldn't have asked you to meet."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, and your heart stuttered in your chest, because he was telling you things you shouldn't do. Again. "Not that I—" he cut himself off with a sigh; frustrated, this time. "Not that I didn't want to see you, because I did. You're the only person I want to see recently. But I was getting better, and I know I've ruined all that by being here with you tonight."

I was getting better. The words echoed over and over in your brain. If he was just as bad as you were, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe you aren't as pathetic. 

"I hate this," you settled on, fidgeting awkwardly with your fingers. 

He didn't respond for a few too many moments, and it had you wanting to take back your words. He rubbed his eyes with another sigh. 

"I'm not going back on my decision," he said, and you didn't need to ask what decision; you had an idea, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

But you did anyways. "Which decision?"

"Breaking up with you."

You were silent for a few moments too. "I'm not asking you to—"

"—No, but you want me to," he cuts you off. "And I'm telling you I won't. You know why I did it. That trumps whatever feelings I have for you."

Have.

"I don't know why," you said, shakily. You did. He gave you a reason, and if you had to explain the breakup to someone, you could tell them why. But the ongoing conflict in your brain confused you anyways. 

"Yes you do," he answered, his jaw tensing. When you shook your head, and went to respond, he cut you off, stepping closer. "I can afford to lose you. I can't afford for the world to."

He had said something similar the day he left. Something about a fear of you dying. Something you had tried to reassure him of, failing to do so clearly. 

"What about me?" your voice cracked and you cursed it.

"It will get better."

You could've cried all over again, in the middle of the square. Everything always for the better. Never for the right now, for the things you both wanted. But for the everlasting fear Spencer had in his brain, that you didn't know how to help. 

"Apparently," you replied, sniffling as you took a step away from him. "I think I should go."

If he wanted to protest, he didn't show it. He simply nodded his head, lips parting in a silent exhale. 

And so you did, with wet cheeks, and a quiet, "Goodbye, Spencer."

loml (part 2) ♡

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[crossbackpoke-check]

the world at its beginning, dustin pearson // mosaic, linda pastan [Link to IHL’s Solar Bears connects NHL Draft prospect to Orlando] // Goin' high: Hughes chooses No. 86 with Devils // twice your size, declan mckenna // jeff bassett // blue is beautiful amy but the story is so the '90s, farrah field // what it means to be alive at the time of the resurrection of the dead, michalle gould // Quinn Hughes impresses youngest brother Luke with All-Star play // mozart songbook, joan larkin // siblings, paul klee // closeness lines, olivia de recat // andrew hancock // brother's keeper, young the giant // jason e. miczek // michigan athletics // "he ain't heavy, he's my brother", the hollies // luke hughes can follow brothers as first-round pick at 2021 nhl draft // genesis (from music for the dead and resurrected), valzhyna mort // jack hughes once had his braces 'ripped off his face' in a moment of sibling rivalry //

After Abel, Dante Émile // sportingnews // Cain, José Saramago (trans. Margaret Jull Costa) // Dave Sandford // Kin, Clan and Community in Proto-Indo-European Society, Birgit Anette Olsen // ESPN // Wikipedia // ESPN // Jeff Vinnick // Genesis, Valzhyna Mort // Puckprose // I Cast It Away, My Body, William Bearhart // Puckprose // Cain slaying Abel, Abraham Bloemaert (1590) // NHL // Clive Baker // Puckprose // NHL // Murder Ballad in the Land of Nod, Traci Brimhall // Freep // The Changes of Cain: Violence and the Lost Brother in Cain and Abel Literature, Ricardo J. Quinones // penticton western news // The Book of a Monastic Life, Rainer Maria Rilke (trans. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy) // "A Brother Named Gethsemane", Natalie Diaz // NHL // NHL // Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581, Ilya Repin (1883-1885) NHL // Brothers, Dan Pagis (trans. Shirley Kaufman) // Fox News // NHL // NHL // Wikipedia // Fox News // NHL // Cain, José Saramago (trans. Margaret Jull Costa) // Allaboutthejersey // Allaboutthejersey // Jewish Literacy, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕) # wc: 5.9k

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

You were never drinking tequila again. Ever.

The tequila bottle sat empty on your coffee table like evidence from a crime scene, mocking you with memories of last night's social media bravery. Your Grammy awards caught the morning light, their gold surfaces throwing judgmental sparkles across your living room walls. You'd really done it this time - slid into Aurélien Tchouaméni's DMs like your verified check mark gave you the right to disturb his peace at 2 AM.

Your manager Carmen sat in the armchair across from you, tablet in hand as she went through tomorrow's flight details to Madrid. But your attention kept drifting to your phone, to that cursed Instagram conversation where you'd actually typed out "hey, random question but would you maybe want to be in my music video? no pressure lol" - asking him to star in your video for "So Into You," a song that lived in that dangerous space between confession and plausible deniability.

“Earth to lovergirl,” Carmen's professional tone carried just a hint of amusement. “You good? Or still having flashbacks to drunk-texting one of football's finest?”

His response still sat there in your DMs, casual as anything: “The song that's breaking records? I'd be down. Though I have to ask - any particular reason you thought of me? 😉”

You'd screamed into three different pillows after reading that.

“I still can't believe he said yes,” you mumbled, sinking deeper into the couch as Carmen scrolled through your embarrassing Instagram activity history with restrained glee. The evidence was damning: every single post liked within seconds, story reactions that probably made you look unhinged, the way you'd set notifications for his account months ago after that first video blessed your FYP.

It had been innocent enough at first - a clip of him in a post-match interview, fresh taper fade catching the stadium lights. Something about the way he carried himself, that quiet confidence wrapped in genuine humility, had you hitting that follow button before the video even finished. The way he'd laugh with his whole chest in interviews, how he could switch from intense focus on the field to the sweetest smile off it - you were gone before you even realized you were falling.

Your best friend had watched your descent with barely contained amusement. “Not you making a whole Tumblr shrine," she'd cackled one wine night, scrolling through @tchouamenithoughts. “Day 43 of manifesting Aurélien Tchouaméni to ruin my life’? Girl...”

“Listen,” you groaned now, watching Carmen pull up the same account on her phone, “we all cope differently.”

“Cope? You wrote a whole chart-topping song about how he 'controls the game like he could control your heart.' That's not coping, that's down catastrophic,” she said, maintaining her composure even as her eyes danced with mirth.

She wasn't wrong. You'd lost hours to The Bridge episodes, team interviews, even compilation videos of his best plays. You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up hot and bothered from dreams featuring that TCHM chain of his dangling above you, his knowing smile as he– nope. Not going there. Not when you were about to meet him in person.

Your phone lit up with a text from an unknown Spanish number:

“Looking forward to finally meeting tomorrow. Been keeping those 2AM DMs for motivation during training 😊 - AT”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, showing Carmen the screen. “He saved the messages.”

“Of course he did,” she said, checking something on her tablet. “You really think he didn't notice how you watch every single one of his Instagram lives? Even the 3 AM ones after matches where he's just vibing to Afrobeats in his gym? Those thirst traps?”

The way he moved to those beats had no business living rent-free in your head like it did. Neither did the way his eyes got soft when he talked about his family in interviews, or how that dangerous half-smirk would appear after a particularly clean tackle. You'd documented it all on your Tumblr, built whole theories around his personality based on how he interacted with teammates, analyzed every public appearance like it was your job.

“What if he found it?" The thought hit you suddenly. “The Tumblr account?”

Carmen's composed expression cracked slightly with a knowing smile. “Girl, if he has, he still said yes to the video. What does that tell you?”

You didn't want to think about what that might mean. Couldn't let yourself hope that maybe he'd noticed you too, that perhaps those quick likes on your Instagram stories weren't just courtesy, that the way he'd immediately responded to your drunk DM meant something.

Tomorrow you'd be in Madrid. Tomorrow you'd see if that confidence you'd analyzed in countless videos translated in person, if his smile was really as dangerous as it seemed through a screen.

“Make sure you pack some lingerie,” Carmen said as she gathered her things, a slight smirk playing at her lips. “Just in case those Tumblr manifestations worked.”

You buried your face in a throw pillow, but your heart was already racing at the possibility.

**************************************************

The Madrid morning sun painted the makeup room in ethereal hues, casting everything in a dreamlike glow that did nothing to settle your nerves. You sat still as the artist perfected your look - soft glam that highlighted your warm brown skin, each baby hair laid with precision, curls falling in a carefully crafted cascade. The "effortlessly gorgeous" aesthetic you'd aimed for had, ironically, required a 5 AM start.

“He's here,” your assistant's voice cut through your reverie, and your heart performed a gymnastics routine worthy of Olympic qualification.

Here's the thing about Aurélien Tchouaméni - all the 4K footage in the world, every professional photograph, every high-definition broadcast couldn't capture what he was in person. The way he commanded space wasn't something a camera could translate.

He had to duck slightly entering the room (had he always been that tall?), the morning light catching him like it knew exactly what it was doing. The fitted white tee and designer jeans he wore were deceptively simple, the kind of casual that required serious thought. That signature "TCHM" pendant caught the light as he moved, the diamond Cuban link chain you'd written dissertations about on Tumblr proving worthy of every analysis. You'd watched enough matches to know his height, studied enough footage to know his build, but something about him actually being there, all 6'2" of him absolutely dominating the space, had your carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble.

“So," he said, that dangerous half-smile playing at his lips as he approached, “you're the one who slid in my DMs at 2 AM?”

The ground could swallow you whole any minute now. His French accent in person was a weapon that should be classified as illegal. “Listen, about that–“

“Nah, don't apologize," he laughed, the sound rich enough to drown in. "It was cute. Especially that part about my ball control being 'unfairly hot.'”

"Please tell me you're joking," you groaned, but you couldn't help smiling. His presence was magnetic - that quiet confidence you'd analyzed through screens somehow even more potent in the flesh.

"Three fire emojis and everything," he grinned, and you noticed his taper fade was fresh, clearly done for the shoot. The chain caught the light again as he leaned slightly closer, shortening the considerable distance between you. "But for what it's worth? Your voice is unfairly hot too.”

Your cognitive functions ceased entirely. The proximity brought his cologne into focus - something expensive and intoxicating that absolutely wasn't helping your ability to form coherent thoughts. The height difference hit differently in person, requiring you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“Five minutes to places!” the director's call pierced through your haze, saving you from having to remember basic language skills.

The shoot itself was a study in sweet torture. For the first time in your career, you found yourself flubbing takes - missing cues, getting lost in moments. You, who prided yourself on one-take perfection, needed multiple runs at the simplest scenes. But how could you focus when he kept looking at you like that? The way his eyes would drift slowly down your body between setups, how his hands would rub together - a tell you'd seen in dozens of post-match interviews when something particularly caught his interest. But then again, Aurélien was known for giving everything his complete attention. You'd watched enough footage to know that.

He played his role perfectly - too perfectly, really. Each take had him hitting his marks with the same precision he showed on the field, but there was something else there. Something in the way his hand would linger just a moment too long when helping you up, how his eyes would catch yours in the monitor playback.

“Last setup!” the director announced, and you silently thanked whatever higher power was listening. Your heart could only take so much.

“So," Aurélien said during the lighting adjustment, his voice dropping to a register that did dangerous things to your pussy. “Since you're such a football fan now... maybe you'd want to come to my match this weekend? VIP seats?”

Your heart stuttered. “Yeah? What if someone recognizes me?”

"Let them," he smiled, and that chain glinted again as he shifted closer. "Maybe I want people to know, especially about that DM.”

You couldn't help laughing despite your burning cheeks. "You're never letting that go, are you?”

"Never," he agreed, then added more softly: "But I'm glad you sent it. Been trying to figure out how to slide in your DMs too, especially after seeing all those likes on my gym posts.”

You looked up at him (way up - seriously, the height difference was doing things to you), catching that dangerous glint in his eye. “Oh….”

"Front row seats," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Right behind the bench. That way I'll know exactly where to look after I score.”

Your heart did another full gymnastic routine. “Pretty confident about that goal, huh?”

"I'm confident about a lot of things," he smiled, and that chain caught the light once more as he leaned down slightly. “Like how good those likes looked on my notifications.”

You were going to pass away on the spot. But then his hand found yours, and that smile softened into something more private, more real. “Sure I’ll go.”

Maybe drunk you had known exactly what she was doing after all.

******************************************

Thank god for these VIP seats because the view? Immaculate.

Grandpa Ancelotti finally put Aurélien in his rightful position and oh my god, watching him command the midfield in person hit so different. TV did not prepare you for this. At all.

The way his orange kit stretched across those shoulders when he'd gesture to teammates? Criminal. And those calves? You'd seen them in videos but in person they were actually unreal. The entire package was just unfair - whoever said football kits weren't flattering had never seen Aurélien Tchouaméni in one. His body was sculptural, all lean muscle and perfect proportions, like god really sat down and took extra time crafting him specifically to ruin your life.

You watched him talk tactics with Jude, all authority and focused energy, and the way he carried himself on the field had you feeling some type of way. His whole demeanor shifted during matches - all business and pure power. The intensity in his eyes when he'd call out positions? Yeah, you were definitely going to need a glass of water.

When he made that assist - a perfect pass that had the crowd screaming - you jumped up cheering before remembering you were supposed to be playing it cool. But how could you when he glanced your way during the celebration with that smile?

Every time he'd body someone off the ball, the way his muscles flexed with the effort... Lord have mercy. You'd really thought writing a song about him was peak down bad but watching him work in person? Your brain was absolutely short-circuiting.

During a water break, he caught your eye and adjusted his shirt - a move you'd seen in countless matches but this time it felt deliberate, just for you. The stadium lights hit his dark skin just right, making him look like he was literally glowing. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut glass.

The final whistle had you watching his post-match routine like you hadn't already memorized it from videos - the handshakes, the quick interviews, the way he'd run his hand over his fresh fade when downplaying how good he was. But then he looked up at your spot again with that private little smile and yeah... you were absolutely screwed.

Because watching Aurélien Tchouaméni absolutely own the soccer pitch? That wasn't just attraction anymore. That was straight up ruination.

You made it to the designated area and only had to wait around 30 minutes before Aurélien showed up, fresh from the shower, dressed casually but still somehow managing to look like a walking problem. A clean black tee stretched across his chest, showing off the definition of his arms, paired with dark jeans that sat just right on his waist. And the way his chain rested against his collarbone? Yeah, this was dangerous.

“You waited long?” he asked, a lazy smile on his lips as he approached, exuding the kind of confidence that came naturally to him.

“Not really,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

His eyes dragged over you in a way that felt intentional, like he was cataloging every detail. “Good. Would’ve hated to keep you waiting.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could overthink it, he tilted his head. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he said, nodding toward the exit.

You followed him out, keeping pace as he led you to his car — his matte black Lamborghini Urus. Of course. He opened the passenger door for you, stepping back just enough to give you space but still managing to be close, like his presence was a gravitational pull.

“You good?” he asked, one brow lifting as you hesitated before getting in.

You nodded quickly, sliding into the plush seat, inhaling the faint scent of leather and his cologne —clean, expensive, and entirely him. He shut the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side, settling in smoothly before starting the engine. The deep purr of the car filled the quiet, and when he rested one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, your eyes traced the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers flexed slightly.

Yeah, this was setting you off.

Aurélien drove with an effortless confidence, maneuvering through Madrid’s streets like he’d done it a million times — which, of course, he had. As he looped around the Bernabéu, he nodded toward the stadium. “You should come back for a tour.”

Your head turned sharply toward him. “What?”

He glanced at you, amused by your surprise. “You liked watching me play, right?”

Like was an understatement. Watching him on the pitch, commanding the game with precision and strength, was one thing. But now, seeing him here, driving through the city with that same quiet control, his jaw flexing as he focused on the road, his fingers tapping against the wheel — it was too much.

You were obsessed. Fully.

Your crush was sitting mere inches away, effortlessly charming, looking stupid good behind the wheel, and here you were, acting all timid. No. You needed to snap out of it. Because if you didn’t make a move now, when would you?

“You like tacos?” His voice cut through your thoughts as he stopped at a red light, glancing at you with a knowing smirk.

Of course, you liked tacos. But right now? Food was the last thing on your mind.

Because tomorrow night, you’d be on a flight back to LA. Who knew when you’d see him again? Your lives were on different continents. And after everything —after DMing him, after him actually showing up for your video — didn’t you deserve this one night?

Your heart pounded as you turned toward him fully, a slow smile curving your lips. “Tacos can wait.”

Aurélien’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that sent heat rushing through you. He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Oh? And what are you in the mood for?”

The way his voice dipped on the last word made your breath hitch. He knew exactly what you meant. And judging by the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, he liked where this was going.

“Maybe we can go back to your place?” you suggested, trying to sound casual despite the thrum of anticipation running through you.

He hummed, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was weighing his options. “For something to eat…or?”

“Definitely or,” you giggled, the boldness surprising even yourself.

Aurélien let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Alright. So, UberEats later. Sounds good.”

Your stomach flipped at the ease in his tone, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Then his eyes flicked to you, warm and dark with something unreadable, and he bit his lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment was soft, unprompted, and it caught you off guard. Your chest tightened, heat creeping up your neck. “Thank you.”

He didn’t rush the drive, taking his time maneuvering through the streets, letting conversation flow easily between you. He asked about your time in Madrid, what you’d done so far, if you liked the city. And the whole time, his voice had that smooth, rich quality that made every word feel like it was meant just for you.

When he finally pulled up to his house — a sleek, modern place with clean lines and warm lighting —you barely had time to take it in before a low bark caught your attention.

Ocho.

The Belgian Malinois trotted toward the door as soon as you stepped inside, his dark eyes locked onto you with curiosity. Aurélien placed a reassuring hand on your lower back, his touch warm and grounding. “Let him sniff you first,” he murmured.

You extended your hand slightly, letting Ocho inspect you. The dog’s ears twitched before he gave a small huff, seemingly satisfied.

Aurélien grinned. “Good boy.” Then, switching to French, he said, “Va dans ta chambre.” (Go to your room.)

Ocho obeyed immediately, padding off toward what you assumed was his designated space.

“He’s well-trained,” you noted, impressed.

Aurélien shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Had to be. He’s my best boy.” Then he turned to you, his gaze softer now. “You want anything to drink?”

The fact that he even asked — so polite, so sweet —made your heart squeeze a little.

You shook your head. “I’m good.”

Still, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and a water anyway, tucking them under his arm before reaching for you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Come on.”

As he guided you upstairs, his lips found the side of your neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin as you walked. His goatee tickled, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

By the time you made it to his bedroom, you were already gripping his arm, steadying yourself against the dizzying effect of his touch.

Aurélien smirked as he nudged the door shut behind you. “Still thinking about tacos?”

Not even a little bit. “No.”

He placed the Gatorade and water bottle on the bedside table then Aurélien’s hands were warm against your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you in. His lips found yours, soft at first, tasting, teasing, savoring. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, his lips moving against yours in a way that had your heart thudding in your chest.

But then his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your hips, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier — needy. His tongue met yours, stroking, claiming, pulling soft moans from your lips that he swallowed greedily.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of your mouths working against each other, the wet slide of tongues, the occasional breathless sighs escaping between kisses. His fingers trailed up your back, making you arch into him, pressing your body flush against his. The heat between you was dizzying, his scent — fresh, clean, and something uniquely him —wrapping around you like a drug.

Your hands roamed, exploring the hard planes of his back, the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. He groaned into your mouth when your nails scratched lightly at his nape, the sound vibrating through you and making your thighs clench.

His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under the hem of your top, pushing it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to strip it from you. Then he went for your bottoms, peeling them away, leaving you in just your underwear. His dark eyes roved over you, taking you in, heat flickering in his gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands were back on you, caressing, exploring, like he needed to feel every inch of your skin.

You didn’t hesitate, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He let you pull it over his head, and your breath hitched when you got a full view of him — his abs looked even better in person, all taut muscle and definition, a masterpiece carved in 4D.

Your fingers traced along the ridges, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

Aurélien groaned, low and deep, his head tipping back slightly. “You’re really testing my patience, bébé.”

You smiled, dragging your fingertips lower, teasing along the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers worked at the button, then the zipper, easing the denim down his hips. He helped, pushing them the rest of the way until they pooled at his feet, leaving him in just his Aime boxers.

Your breath caught.

He was hard.

The thick outline of his length strained against the fabric, the sight making heat pool low in your belly.

Your hands ghosted over his erection, barely grazing him, but it was enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hips jerking slightly at the contact.

You muttered an apology, but he just shook his head, eyes dark with heat. “It’s okay, bébé.”

Then his lips were on yours again, stealing the breath from your lungs, guiding you toward the bed. You barely registered the feel of the mattress beneath you before he was pressing you down, his body hovering over yours, his heat surrounding you.

And from the way he looked at you — like he was about to ruin you — you knew you were in for it.

His hands skimmed down your body to unclasp your bra then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness. His gaze roved over you, hungry and heated, before he lowered himself between your thighs.

His mouth found your skin, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your navel downward, making you shiver in anticipation.

And then — oh.

Aurélien’s lips, his tongue, the warmth of his breath against your pussy had you gasping, your fingers tangling in his curls as he worked you over with a skill that had your thighs trembling.

He was deliberate but messy, completely focused on you, his lips wrapping around your clit while his tongue moved in slow, devastating circles. When he slipped two fingers inside, curling them just right, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

“Tu prends si bien, bébé,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you whimper. His fingers stroked inside you, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and your hips bucked instinctively. He just chuckled, holding you in place as he kept going, kept building you higher, until—

And then he pulled away.

A whimper of protest left your lips before you could stop it, and he smirked at your pout, his thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth like he was savoring the taste of you.

“Be right back,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your inner thigh before moving toward his dresser.

You pushed up on your elbows, watching as he pulled out a condom, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down. Your breath hitched at the sight of him — thick, long, and impossibly hard.

Aurélien caught you staring and smirked. “Like what you see?”

You swallowed, your cheeks heating. “Obviously.”

That made him chuckle as he rolled the condom on, then returned to the bed, his hands guiding your legs further apart as he settled between them. One arm reached behind you, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under your lower back, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal.

His lips found your neck as he nudged himself against your entrance, teasing you with shallow strokes, making your body crave him even more.

And as he finally, finally pushed inside, a deep moan left your lips, because — oh. Oh.

This was happening. Your crush, your fantasy, your dream — was now your reality.

His thrusts were slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you, but it didn’t take long before the teasing gave way to something deeper, more urgent. He kissed you through it, all tongue and heat, swallowing your moans as his hips found a steady rhythm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with pleasure. “So wet for me.”

The chain around his neck swung forward with every movement, the cool metal brushing against your skin, dangling just above your face, and god, he looked beautiful like this — face twisted in pleasure, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, dark eyes locked on yours like he never wanted to look away.

“Tu es si belle,” he groaned, dropping his head to your neck, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your throat before moving lower. His tongue flicked over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched off the bed, hands tangling in his curls as you whimpered his name.

Aurélien pulled back slightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he released you with a wet pop. His eyes met yours, dark and full of intent.

“Turn over for me,” he said, voice like gravel, thick with desire.

You swallowed, your body already obeying before your mind could catch up. He sat back, watching you get on all fours, his large hands smoothing over the curve of your ass, squeezing each cheek once before dragging up your spine. The way he looked at you, eyes burning with hunger, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then he ran a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply before gripping your hips and lining himself up again.

And when he pushed back inside, deeper than before, a broken moan fell from your lips.

“That’s it, bébé,” he murmured, his fingers digging into your skin as he started to move, slow at first, teasing. “Taking me so well.”

His pace quickened, the sound of skin on skin filling the air, along with the low, guttural groans spilling from his lips. His chain swung again, the rhythmic clink of metal adding to the mix of sensations that had you spiraling.

“Feel me?” he rasped, dragging a hand up your spine to fist your hair gently, pulling just enough to make you arch. “So deep inside you. Fuck.”

You whimpered, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe with how good he felt, how he filled every inch of you like he was made for this.

“Talk to me,” he urged, voice raw. “Let me hear you.”

“I’m—” Your words broke off into a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“Yeah?” he taunted, a smirk in his voice. “Right there, huh?”

You could only nod frantically, your body trembling as he picked up the pace, chasing both of your releases. His angled his hips once more and that made you let out something primal.

“Damn, yes fuck me back,” he crooned just before you felt his lips touch the middle of spine. You shivered at the sensation, moaning out his name like a prayer.

“Aurélien….”

He rocked into you harder, faster and it made your toes curl. He was relentless and you loved every second of it. The sounds you both were making was the perfect lullaby of lust and pleasure.

“Mm…shit….Aurélien.” You couldn’t stop from moaning his name and judging by the way his hands gripped your hips each time, you could tell that he liked it.

Soon, you both were pushed over that edge, moaning as your orgasm overwhelmed your entire body. After awhile, you felt him slip out of you and then the bed shifted as he moved to throw out the condom.

Your body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, limbs heavy, breath slowly evening out. You were probably a mess — hair wild, lips swollen, body still flushed with heat — but Aurélien? He looked unfairly good.

He was leaning back against the headboard, his chest still rising and falling steadily, dark skin glowing under the dim light. The chain that had been dangling in your face minutes ago now rested against his collarbones, catching the light with each small movement. He reached over to grab his Gatorade, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip before setting it on the bedside table.

Then, he turned to you, dark eyes scanning your face, something soft in his expression. “You want some?”

You shook your head, not because you weren’t thirsty, but because you couldn’t stop staring at him.

His lips quirked slightly. “You must really like me.”

The way he said it wasn’t cocky or teasing — it was knowing, like he’d been piecing it together all night. And maybe he was right, because you couldn’t help the dopey-ass smile that spread across your face.

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head before exhaling through his nose. “I like you too. Wish you didn’t beat me to sliding in the DMs first, though.”

You lifted a brow. “You really mad about that?”

He made a little face, scrunching his nose slightly, which was unfairly adorable for someone who had just rearranged your insides. “Not that much,” he admitted. “But I would’ve liked the chase.”

You scoffed, rolling onto your side to face him. “The chase? What are you, a lion?”

That made him smile, a real one, warm and lazy, like he was letting his guard down completely. “When a guy likes a girl, he usually asks her out first,” he said simply. “You were in my likes, I was in yours… I was about to slide through, but yeah, you beat me to it.”

Your stomach did a little flip.

He reached out then, running a hand down your arm before linking his fingers loosely with yours. “But I’m gonna do the rest, okay?”

Your breath caught, your heart stumbling in your chest. This was Aurélien Tchouaméni, your crush, your dream, and now, here he was — holding your hand, looking at you like this wasn’t just some one-night thing.

“Okay,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers lightly.

His smile widened, and then he tugged you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before settling beside you, keeping your hand in his like he wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon.

You couldn’t help but stare at him — at the strong lines of his face, the sharp jaw softened by the faintest hint of stubble, the fullness of his lips, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks when he blinked. He was so beautiful.

“What?” he murmured, catching you staring.

You shrugged, biting your lip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

How crazy it was that you were here. That this wasn’t a dream. That your crush — the man who dominated the midfield with an effortless cool, the one you’d written lyrics about, the one you’d been too shy to DM for the longest time — was lying next to you, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“About how wild this is,” you admitted.

Aurélien chuckled, his dimples flashing as he turned onto his side, propping his head up with his free hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I mean, this time yesterday, I was just hoping you’d even notice me at the game. Now I’m in your bed.”

That smirk made a reappearance, but his voice was soft when he said, “I noticed you way before the game, bébé.”

Your stomach flipped. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “You think I wasn’t watching whenever you posted on Instagram? When you DM’d me?”

Your face warmed. “You didn’t answer right away.”

He grinned, teasing. “Had to make you sweat a little.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Wow, so you really are a lion.”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” he mused. Then, more seriously, “But I was always gonna answer.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. Like he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel good. Like, in some way, he’d been waiting for this too.

You swallowed. “And now that I’m here?”

Aurélien’s eyes darkened slightly, but there was something tender in his gaze as he squeezed your fingers. “Now,” he murmured, shifting closer, “I’m making sure you come back.”

Your breath caught, and before you could think of a response, he kissed you.

It was slow this time, unhurried, like he wanted to take his time tasting you. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating rhythm, deepening the kiss little by little until you were completely lost in it. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did. Maybe this wasn’t just for tonight.

Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

Aurélien pulled back just enough to search your face, his lips still brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm as he studied you with that knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

“That song,” he murmured. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

Your heart stuttered.

For a second, you thought about playing coy, maybe teasing him a little, but what was the point? He already knew. You could see it in the glint of amusement in his eyes, the confidence in his voice.

You sighed, defeated but grinning. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “It’s about you.”

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head like he’d known it all along. “I knew it,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You should write another one.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Another song?”

“Mm-hmm.” His fingers brushed down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. “One about tonight.”

Your breath hitched at the implication, at the way his voice had dipped lower, rougher.

You bit your lip. “Might have to.”

Aurélien grinned. “Good,” he murmured, kissing you again. “Make it a love song.”