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disorientasyon · 20 hours ago

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Beneath the Surface

D-16 is desperate. Due to his inability to transform and his easily-exhausted condition, he can't quite hold down easy security mech jobs. When he receives a strange idea to apply to the Iaconian Archives through a dream, he finds himself meeting the eccentric head archivist, Orion Pax. Pax though… He knows more about Dee than the mech could possibly ever imagine.

Me: You can't keep writing fics that only a few people will understand Also me: well watch me do exactly that

So uh yeah, this came about because we talked about the Primes being eldritch beings over at the OPMeg server and I just went ham with it lmao. Plus, I should write about OPMeg considering that was the whole point of me writing fanfics in the first place lmao.

Also, because I cannot be stopped, D-16 is still a Primatronus child here. Optimus, on the other hand, is Alpha Trion's child with another Prime who I shall not name cause to be fair he was not mentioned here at all lmao.

So yeah, enjoy me going crazy in this fanfic because I needed to write this (even though I should be resting because it's the weekend lmao.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63873463

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Megatron.”

D-16 jumped, helm snapping upwards to meet blue optics glowing from within the darkness of the head archivist’s office. The chill - which seemed to emanate from the archive’s very walls - sunk deep into his frame, but he refused to shudder as he took a single step forward. His yellow optics stared straight ahead, forcing down the popups in his HUD that screamed ‘danger.’

“Thank you, head archivist, but my designation isn’t Megatron.” He stopped in front of the barren metal desk, a part of his processor wondering why the head archivist would not have any datapads on it. He let out a small vent. “Were you… expecting anyone else?” A momentary spark of fear jumped within his spark, which was ridiculous since Dee knew that he would have to compete with other mechs for the job position.

But it had been astroweeks since his last freelance security work, and he needed a stable full-time position. It was all he could do not to break down and beg.

And he would rather offline than suffer that indignation.

“Huh? What are you—” The head archivist cut himself off, and an awkward silence engulfed the room.

Dee tried not to fidget as he turned his helm slightly to the side, wishing that the room had any light source. Unfortunately, as the secretary had mentioned, the office was nearly covered in shadow - the only source of light filtering through the door panels that led to the hall, and the head archivist’s blue optics that seemed to scour his entire face.

“Oh, right… Sorry, so much information, you know?”

Dee didn’t know what the head archivist meant, but he laughed along with him when the other mech chuckled.

“So! D-16… Hm, I still think… Well, you’ll get used to it later. So, D-16… No… Okay, I’m going to call you Dee.” Before he could protest, the other mech continued on. “Congratulations, you’re hired!”

Dee felt his fans kick up, his processor trying to catch up with the other mech’s words. He didn’t understand what just happened, but he wasn’t going to ruin this. “R-really? Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll work twice as hard as any other security mech—”

“Oh, you don’t have to push yourself, Dee! I want you to be comfortable with me— I mean, comfortable in the job.” He heard a noise from within the darkness, those blue optics disappearing momentarily as the head archivist shifted. “It’s a full-time job since you’ll be my personal security, but I promise that you don’t have to do anything, just stand there and look— Uh, I mean, stand guard beside me.”

“...Personal security?” He felt his spark sink inside his chassis.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a hard job. I rarely leave the archives so we’ll mostly stay here—”

Dee supposed he should have expected the catch.

While he was desperate for full-time work, he couldn’t handle full-time personal security. After looking through many job applications, Dee has come to understand that such work usually meant that he had to stay near his employer. To any other mech, a full-time job that had live-in benefits would be a dream, but that was not what Dee wanted.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think I’m fit for this position.”

“And I’ll be a great conju— boss. Wait what?”

Dee let out another vent, turning his face away so that the head archivist wouldn’t see his embarrassment.

It was his own fault.

Who decides to send their resume because of a dream they had?

It was just an incredible coincidence that Dee had sent his resume at the same time that the head archivist was searching for security personnel, but Dee should have looked through the job requirements instead of impulsively sending a message.

This is why he planned because he didn’t want to embarrass himself like this.

“I can’t, sir. I’m sorry, I… I sent my resume on a whim without checking the job requirements. I really can’t do this. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Without another glance behind him, Dee tried to quickly rush towards the door panels.

It was times like these that he felt so uncomfortable in his own frame.

It didn’t help that his pedes were beginning to hurt after running through the archive to file forms for the job. Pair that with the long walk from the Kaon district to the main center of Iacon, and Dee’s frame was beginning to suffer from exhaustion.

Before the door panels could slide open, a blue servo slammed itself against the wall beside his helm. Dee jumped back, weapon systems nearly activating before he realized that it was only the head archivist. With his back turned to the door panels, he felt trapped though he could tell that the head archivist was at the same height as him. Those blue optics stared straight at him.

Maybe he felt fear because despite being close to the door, Dee still couldn’t see the head archivist’s frame, as if the shadows were cloaking him—

“You’re perfect for the job though.”

Dee would have laughed at how the other mech whined, but his spark was thrumming too much in his chassis.

He choked out, “I’m flattered, sir, but you don’t have to lie. My resume warned you about my… condition. It’s a good offer but I can’t do this work for the entire solar and lunar cycle. And… I can’t move to the archives to accommodate you. My carer—”

The head archivist must have known about his condition. Dee had no choice but to put it in his profile.

This was why he could never hold down a full-time position for too long.

Who wanted a security mech who couldn’t transform and easily exhausted?

But the head archivist should have already known that.

The closest excuse he had, and it wasn’t an excuse because Dee would never have agreed to any full-time job with a live-in position even without his condition, was that he didn’t want to leave the home that his carer had raised him in.

Terminus may not have been Dee’s real sire or carrier, but he could not abandon the old mech and the memories they’d had. The old mech may have offlined cycles ago, but Dee refused to leave their home.

The reason he was so desperate for work was because the rent was due, and he needed the shanix.

He was sure the head archivist could pay him well, and the live-in benefits were great, but that wasn’t what Dee needed.

Slowly, as though forming from the shadows themselves, a face neared his.

Dee could feel his cheekplates rush with energon.

The head archivist was… pretty.

His voice box let out a small burst of static as he glanced away. “I’m sorry, but I need the job to keep my carer’s house, and if you need a security mech that’s with you constantly then I can’t—”

“But your house is so faaaar.” The head archivist whined, and Dee’s optics widened as the other mech used his other servo to cage him in. “I want you to be comfortable but I can’t have you making that trip every solar cycle. How am I going to impress your creators if I let you suffer that way?” “What?” The fear had given way to confusion now. He reached a servo to grasp at the other mech’s arm, wanting to push the head archivist away from him. “Listen, I don’t know what this is, but if you think you can intimidate me.”

As soon as his servo wrapped around the other mech’s arm, a jolt of electricity surged through his frame, and he let out a scream. He felt his frame shudder as another presence made itself known inside his processor. Servos grasped at him, and no matter how hard he tried to summon his cannon, he couldn’t get his weapons system to activate.

“No, no, I already ruined our first meeting… It’s okay, Optimus, you can still turn this whole thing around.” He felt himself be lowered gently onto the ground, the head archivist’s frame settling right on top of him. “If you remember this later, please don’t tell your sire what I did. I haven’t quite mastered scrambling processors, but I promise this won’t hurt… I hope… Primus, I hope it doesn’t.”

He felt cables latch against the sides of his helm, and Dee let out a scream.

The last he heard before his systems shutdown was the head archivist crooning down at him.

“It’s okay, Megatron. I’ll take care of you.”

—

Dee scrolled through the datapad, though the words didn’t register in his processor as his yellow optics kept flicking towards Pax.

Sunlight poured in from the windows, brightening the head archivist’s office, though if asked Dee might say that the sunlight was nothing compared to Pax’s bright smile.

He turned his gaze away as soon as those blue optics looked up at him, embarrassed to have been caught staring. It was difficult not to though, not when Pax was only a table away from him.

He let out a vent, which he really shouldn’t have because that made Pax jolt from his seat, his own datapad nearly flying from his servos.

“What’s wrong? Do your pedes hurt? You could go back to your quarters if you want—”

“Pax, I’m your bodyguard.” He rolled his optics, placing his own datapad on Pax’s desk. He leaned his back against the soft back of his chair. “And we haven’t moved from your office since we got here. I’m fine.”

It endeared him, really, that Pax despite being his employer - though Pax insisted they were friends - cared so much for his comfort. In his previous work experiences, he had to stand by his former employers for joors on end. At the end of most solar cycles, he could hardly feel his pedes by the time he went home. Pax had refused to let him stand when there wasn’t a reason for it.

Dee had protested the plush chair that Pax had ordered specifically for him, but that was short-lived.

All it really took for him to agree was Pax suddenly carrying him and gently placing him down on said chair.

Now, he didn’t doubt that Pax couldn’t handle himself. But Dee was a bulky mech, and he really didn’t expect Pax was capable of actually carrying him.

He did not want a repeat of that incident again.

“If you say so, Dee.” With great hesitation, Pax sat back down, blue optics still focused on him. “If you want a break though—”

“I’m fine.” He could feel an ache starting in his processor. Dee can only hope that Pax dropped this. Once Pax got started on something, it was difficult to stop him.

If he wanted Dee to rest more, he would insist until Dee finally went into recharge.

If he wanted Dee to have a meal with him, he’d insist until Dee was eating energon with him at the roof of the archives.

If he wanted Dee to sell his carer’s house and move in with him then—

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you…” He glanced up, and Pax’s cheekplates lit up with energon as he realized how that sounded. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about your condition and—”

“Pax, you’re one of the most brilliant mechs in Iacon, but you’re not a medic.” Dee laughed, shaking his helm as he lowered his optics. “I appreciate it but you should stick to being an archivist.”

A part of him did not want Pax anywhere near the medical bay.

For the sake of Cybertronians everywhere, Orion Pax should never become a medic.

Sweet as the gesture was, and Dee could feel his spark thrum at the thought of it, Pax could spend his time researching on much easier subjects.

There was nothing he could do for Dee.

Dee had never felt comfortable in his own frame.

Since he’d first gained sentience, a part of him always felt wrong.

Terminus had loved him despite it but Dee could never erase the unbearable itch deep within his frame and buried underneath the wires. It was within his code.

There had always been something terribly wrong.

The countless medics that Terminus had managed to scrap enough shanix to send him to couldn’t find the source for his condition.

There had been nothing like it in the medical databases.

Bots who couldn’t transform did exist, but that usually happened due to missing or malfunctioning t-cogs. Dee’s was completely fine, but no matter what he did, he was just unable to turn into any other alt mode.

As for his unexplained exhaustion and aching pedes if he stood or walked for far too long, they couldn’t find a reason since most of his systems were in perfect working order.

They didn’t know how to fix him.

Dee had spent a long part of his life accepting that.

It didn’t make his life easy, but it made it hurt less.

He was created differently, and he learned to live with that.

“Okay, but Dee… Just hear me out.” He shook his helm, breaking away from the thoughts in his processor just as Pax slid his datapad towards him.

Dee caught it, optics scanning quickly at the screen before he gave Pax a disbelieving look.

The head archivist gave him a cheeky grin, as though what he just showed Dee wasn’t the craziest theory he’s ever heard in his life, and Dee has had to talk to many medics in his life.

“Merformers.” He could feel his processor begin to ache. Maybe he did need that break. “Pax… merformers are… myths. I know I told you I’m a fan of the Prime mythologies but this is—”

“Oh come on! Just think about it, Dee!” Pax suddenly lunged forward.

Dee couldn’t help but jump, though he didn’t leave his seat.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but think that Pax moved… weirdly.

As though the metal of his frame was… shifting in ways that no mech’s frame should move. He was quick in ways that sometimes made Dee need to process that Pax had moved at all.

“Just read it, okay?”

He let out a vent, trying to ignore Pax’s pout, but it was too late.

He glanced down at the datapad in his servo, shaking his helm. Why did he feel so compelled to do what Pax wanted? They had only known each other for a few astroweeks and yet…

Dee’s yellow optics followed the sharp sketches of merformers on the datapad.

He did know a few facts about them, mostly because he was interested in the Prime mythologies and his favorite among them was Megatronus - who had been described to be a leviathan.

“Okay, Pax, but I am not a merformer. There are no such beings like that in Cybertron.” He laughed, the sound seemingly captivating Pax who had moved past his table and had settled right next to Dee. The chair he had ordered was big enough to fit two mechs, a fact that Pax exploited since if he could help himself, he would insist on sitting right next to Dee all the time.

The head archivist grinned, blue optics seemingly brighter than the sunshine as he settled his chin against Dee’s shoulder pads.

“I don’t know, Dee. I think you’ll find that some myths are based on history.” He tried to keep his optics on the datapad, but it was hard when Pax was leaning against him.

His processor felt fuzzy.

“Just trust me, okay?” He could feel Pax’s grin against the side of his neck cables. “I know.”

He didn’t know why, but he felt his optics shut down as he slowly began to fall into recharge.

“...Dee? OH, NOT AGAIN!”

—

“Ughhh, it’s so unfair!” Optimus let out a vent, his frame collapsing against the metal table as he closed his optics.

The lunar cycle had begun, and the entirety of the archives had settled back into darkness. Aside from a few of the security mechs that roamed the premises and Megatron who had gone to recharge far too earlier than intended, Optimus was completely alone. Carefully, he felt his frame begin to shift, releasing the cables and wires that he was forced to tuck inside too-tight metal during the solar cycle.

The cables quickly latched onto the ground and onto the walls, his processor whirring happily as he felt himself be connected once again to the archives - and to his carrier, Alpha Trion.

‘Patience, Primeling. I adore your energy, but I warned you not to get so attached so easily, not when Megatron is still unaware of who he is.’

“But how could I not? I know him!” ‘In the dreams, my Primeling. Dreams he does not remember yet.’

Optimus let out a groan, feeling the top of his helm unlatch as the wires in his processor latched onto the metal table.

It wasn’t great to be his Cybertronian alt form, but he doubted that Megatron - or Dee as he apparently went by - would react calmly if he saw Optimus’ real form.

No, he could save that for when they were closer… like maybe when they were conjunxes…

‘Primeling, you will have to wait a few more cycles for that. Then there is the matter of Prima—’

“Megatron adores me, I’m sure his creators will feel the same.”

Especially since Optimus would be bringing him back to them soon.

He enjoyed the few astroweeks he had spent with Megatron, but he knew it couldn’t last long.

It was a coincidence really.

Optimus hadn’t even meant to stumble into Megatron’s dreams, but as his carrier had been tutoring him on entering Cybertronian’s processors, he had been drawn to Megatron’s immediately.

Alpha Trion’s presence had been with him, and it was his carrier who had realized who Megatron really was.

While his carrier couldn’t do anything for Megatron, Optimus could.

It had taken a long time, but Optimus had finally managed to get Megatron to remember one dream, to convince him to come to the archives so that Optimus could watch over him until he could bring him back to his creators.

But since it had taken so long, Optimus had come to… know Megatron through his dreams.

How could he not love him after a lifetime spent within those dreams?

Which is why it would be so difficult to let Megatron go, now that everything was prepared. Optimus had found a good route to get Megatron into the energon lake. It had taken a few processor scramblings but he got the path cleared. By the time the senate realized that there had been a breach, it would be too late.

Optimus can only hope that this time the senate didn’t decide to take Megatron out of the lake because they got lucky the first time, as his carrier said.

The senate was lucky they hadn’t woken Prima or Megatronus (or even both!) when they had removed Megatron from the smaller lake inside the mountain Prima was currently in.

“You don’t think Megatronus would wake up once I…”

“He will, but he will not harm you. He will return to stasis once he understands there is no immediate threat.”

“So can I introduce myself—”

“Let them have their reunion, my Primeling. You have spent your time with Megatron, and you will have more time.”

Optimus rolled his optics, a frown settling on the dermas of the face he wore during the solar cycle. His real face was hidden underneath the wires and cables, and it didn’t quite have dermas.

“After so many cycles of waiting. I can’t even visit him in dreams after this because his creators will be there.” He let out another vent.

“Cycles will pass by quickly. Until then, there is much information to be archived and processed.”

At least Optimus had that to look forward to. It was his life’s passion, his very being.

That’s why he enjoyed playing the role of head archivist even if he didn’t really need to.

His carrier had chosen to become Iacon’s archive, and Optimus could have remained within the walls himself, but he wanted to understand the Cybertronians closely. It was why he’d created and used his Cybertronian alt even if it felt wrong.

He wondered how Megatron could live like that, living underneath a frame that wasn’t right.

But, he’d never had the chance to know his real form.

At the thought of it, Optimus felt his wires rattle against the floor and the walls.

“What’s wrong, my Primeling?”

“I’m just thinking of Megatron.” He could feel himself shudder, and if he didn’t contain himself, it could cause a major disturbance among the databases. Optimus tried to force himself to calm down. “It must hurt, right?”

“Yes, and so it is necessary he be returned to where he belongs.”

Optimus could understand why his carrier was insistent about it.

Aside from the Primes being close, even after millions of years under stasis, his carrier had a secret that Optimus knew - though Alpha Trion probably never wanted him to know.

When Optimus had first emerged, a Cybertronian had found him hiding deep within the archives, a sparkling seemingly abandoned.

He had nearly been taken out of the archives before his carrier had realized what was happening and had… intervened.

He wondered what his life would have been like if his carrier hadn’t saved him in time.

Would he be like Dee?

Optimus shook the thought away, immersing himself instead on the limitless information within the archives.

This was why he needed to bring Megatron back.

Even though he hated that he’d have to be away from his future conjunx - a fact that Optimus had decided would happen a long time ago in one of their many dream adventures - it was the right thing to do.

Besides, when the solar cycle comes that the Thirteen Primes are awakened once more from their stasis, they’ll have eternity to spend together.

And maybe by that time, Megatron can finally love him back.

—

The stars greeted him as he opened his optics.

A haziness had sunk into his processor.

He could hardly feel his frame.

The floor beneath him shifted, as though the ground itself was moving.

A familiar face blocked out the night sky.

“Pax…?”

“You’re supposed to be in recharge, Megatron.” The other mech let out a soft vent, reaching down with a servo. He felt the chill of it against his cheekplate, and Dee couldn’t help but lean his helm into it. “I wanted this to be a surprise but… it’s my fault, you got used to the processor scramblings.”

“What…?”

Pax leaned closer, servos reaching for his arms as he felt himself be hauled up and leaned against the side of… his optics reset, and it took him a while to realize where they were. Even underneath the darkness of the lunar cycle, Dee could see the moving waves as the large body of energon they were on shifted.

“Don’t freak out! I mean, you should be happy, you’re finally going home!” Pax went on as a fear began to settle in Dee’s spark. “Well not yet, but once I get you into the lake then you’ll be okay!”

“Pax, no— What are you doing?!” He could feel the strain in his voice box as the other mech began to push him backwards. Stray splashes from the energon lake hit the back of his frame, and… Dee can’t lie, it did feel familiar but—

“It’s okay! It’ll be okay!” Pax’s voice wavered, his blue optics - bright, always so bright in the darkness - widening as he continued to push Dee off the boat.

Panic and rage began to settle in, but like before (Before? He didn’t know why but he’d done this before, right?), he couldn’t access his weapon system.

“I’ll miss you, Alpha Trion said it might take cycles before we meet again but I’ll wait for you. Maybe then you’ll remember all those dream adventures we went on.” Pax grinned, and this time Dee could feel the lake fully against the top of his helm.

Pax’s servos were latched onto his waist plates.

All he needed to do now was let go.

Dee choked out more static, his voice box whirring wildly as he struggled to grasp onto the side of the boat. “PAX! P-PUT ME DOWN! This isn’t funny! I don’t.. I don’t know how to swim!”

Because this had to be a joke, a sick joke.

Pax wanted to test his ridiculous merformer theory and Dee just had to go along with his stupid antics.

But this wasn’t stupid anymore.

Instead of being apologetic, of feeling ashamed for pushing Dee into one of his crazy schemes again, Pax only smiled down at him.

“You do. You always did.”

Then, as if to apologize, Pax leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss against the side of his helm.

Then he let go.

And all Dee felt was the cold energon engulf his entire frame.

It was…

Comforting.

As he sunk deeper into the lake, large blue optics emerged from the deep gloom.

#transformers #transformers one #megatron #optimus prime #d-16 #orion pax #opmeg #alpha trion #megatronus prime #merformers #paxd #a bit of primatronus here too but not really cause Prima doesn't show up and Megatronus barely shows up too lmao but it is implied

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pccyouthleader · 2 days ago

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A little one-shot in honor of Aurora’s birthday!

@e-vay @evayart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Birthday Escape

Aurora was putting the finishing touches on her evening attire when the doorbell rang. She looked at the deep purple jogging suit and comfortable sneakers in the mirror and tilted her head. It wasn’t exactly what she had expected to wear when Shadow asked to take her out for her birthday. But she knew he had a reason for the suggestion.

“Tiny?” called Sonic from downstairs. “The Faker- I mean - Shadow’s here!”

She rolled her eyes and laughed to herself. Her dad couldn’t help but get a dig in whenever he could. Aurora grabbed her shoulder bag and headed for the stairs.

After kissing her parents goodbye and promising to be back by midnight, she slipped out the front door. She was anxious to learn what Shadow had planned for the evening. He stood leaning against the porch rail with his arms crossed.

Aurora’s heart did a little flip-flop as her eyes took in his perfect smile, his long, lean form, and the alluring look he reserved for only her.

“Happy birthday, Light,” he said in a low voice that always sent tingles up her spine. “Are you ready to go?”

“I am - but can you tell me the reason for the comfortable dress code?” she asked with a grin.

“You’ll see,” Shadow responded, leading her to his motorcycle and helping her on behind him. After donning her helmet, they set off in the direction of town. It was nearing 4 o’clock and the sun was just beginning to sink in the sky.

In town, Shadow pulled his motorcycle into a parking lot next to a nondescript building with a glowing neon sign.

“An escape room?!!!” Aurora squealed, bounding from the bike. “Shadow, I can’t wait!” No wonder he had suggested the comfy clothing!

“I thought it might be something you’d like to try,” he said, pulling her helmet off as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

Once inside, they approached a tall desk with a bored-looking teenager seated behind it.

“What theme would you like?” Shadow asked Aurora as they studied the information board. Her eyes settled on a title written in old-fashioned letters. “Let’s do ‘Mystery in the Haunted Mansion!” Aurora suggested.

The teenager piped up. “I’m sorry - that one is reserved for parties of four or more people.”

Shadow glared at him, then walked up to the desk. After reaching in his jacket pocket, he slid something across to him. “You were saying?”

“Um… I was saying, ‘Right this way!’” The teenager scrambled off his stool and started down a dark corridor with doors on either side. Shadow and Aurora fell into line behind him.

“What gave you the idea for an escape room?” Aurora whispered to Shadow.

He gave a sly smile. “It’s a great way to hone your sleuthing skills.”

“I’ll always be the Nancy Drew to your Sherlock Holmes,” she said, slipping her hand in his.

Shadow looked at her quizzically. “I don’t know what that means.”

Aurora gave a soft laugh as she remembered the stack of detective novels Eggman had secretly given her each birthday since she was able to read. She still wondered where in the world he had gotten them.

The teen stopped at a door at the end of the hallway and began going over the rules of the game in a dull voice. “Once you enter the code and press the button at the end, the game will be over and the door will unlock,” he said. “You have an hour to complete all the tasks and win the game.”

“Let’s do it!” said Aurora, itching to get started. She and Shadow walked into the room, and the door closed behind them with a thud. The second the door lock clicked into place, the lights dimmed and a message appeared on a screen with the backstory.

The game commenced, and together Shadow and Aurora found clues, solved riddles, and examined evidence until they were certain they had solved the case.

“The only thing we have left to do is enter this code and we will have won!” Aurora said, thinking it was the quickest hour she had ever experienced.

“Wait a minute…” said Shadow, looking at the clock counting down near the door. “We solved all the clues in 15 minutes!”

“But how?” Aurora asked incredulously.

“Well, when you play with the Ultimate Lifeform…” began Shadow, stifling a laugh. Aurora shot him an amused glance.

“So that means we have 45 minutes left…” she said.

“Locked away in a small room…” Shadow added.

“All by ourselves…”

They looked into each other’s eyes, drinking in the realization.

“Wanna make out?” Shadow said with a smirk.

Aurora gave him an amorous look. “I thought you’d never ask…”

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #aurora the hedgehog #shadora stories #shadora #shadowxaurora #shadowxaurora?#aurora belongs to e vay

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v00do-d0ll · 2 days ago

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Batman x The Ghost Whisperer AU

I don’t know how many of you know or remember this early 2000’s show called The Ghost Whisperer. It was essentially this woman (Melinda) who could see ghosts and whenever she comes across one, she’ll try to help them move on instead of being stuck roaming around on earth. so she would help them “relay messages to their loved ones” so they can go to the other side.

So hear me out on this, Jason has just died maybe 2 months prior, and Melinda is in Gotham for some reason and she finds Jason.

I also took some creative liberties with this. In this AU Jason isn’t mad at Bruce, and he doesn’t get resurrected later on.

[ Angst w/ a bittersweet ending ~ 3,573 words ]

•

So Melinda is in Gotham for what ever reason and she just happens to walk past the gates of the manor. And as she’s passing them she see’s a kid that looks about 15 just standing in front of the gates.

“Hi, I think I’m a little lost. I’m looking for the train station.” She asks, the teen turns his head towards her with shock on his face. “You can see me?” he says with disbelief in his voice.

“Oh. You’re a ghost..” She says a little sad because he’s only a kid. “Yes, I can see you. I can see all ghosts.” She turns to look at the mansion the boy was looking at before. “Is this your house?” She asked and in the smallest voice the boy replied, “It was..”

She could see the sadness in the boys eyes as he said it. It was always sad seeing kids as ghosts, so she decided that she would help this soul move on.

“What’s your name?” She asks. “and without looking away from the manor he’s says “Jason.” Melinda nods. “It’s nice to meet you Jason, I’m Melinda. You’re actually the first ghost I’ve seen in this city, Which is odd. I was expecting to see a lot more, from what everyone told me about Gotham.” She says. “Yea, she told me that everyone that dies here just goes straight to some sort of after life. She said that since so much pain and suffering happens here, she doesn’t hold onto people’s souls. She lets them go.” Jason says

Confused, Melinda asks “who’s she?” “Gotham.” Jason says. “Ever since I died, she speaks to me. Tells me things so I’m not so lonely.” Melinda just stands there in shock so Jason continues, “Gothams an Eldritch City, she’s alive. Has been for hundreds of years. Apparently I was one of her favorite birds.” He says with a proud smile on his face. Melinda is not sure what to make of the information that Jason has told her, but not being to put off by it because she sees ghosts after all. “How does she talk to you?” Melinda asks. “She doesn’t take a form to speak to me directly. but it’s just little whispers in the wind, I can feel her presence in the air.” He answers. “Why did she hold onto you then?” Melinda asks. “She said that since I was her favorite bird, she didn’t want to let go of me yet.” Jason says as he shrugs.

There’s a short silence between them for a moment before she wonders why Jason’s just standing outside his home instead of going in. “Is there a reason you haven’t gone inside?, you know you can go see them right.” She says softly. Jason looks at her, taking his gaze away from his home. “I’m scared.. but, I miss my dad. I want to see him again and my grandfather too. I miss them but I’m scared to walk in. I’ve kind of just been watching them from afar.” Jason says.

“I could help you.. I could relay anything you want to say to them for you.” She says. Jason just looks at her so she squats down and softly says “I’ve helped other ghost like you before.” “What do you mean?” Jason questions, “I help ghost who have unfinished business, finish that business so they can move on and go to the other side.” Jason snorts looking away “Unfinished business huh.. that seems about right.”

Melinda noticed that there was a lot behind Jason’s eyes, like he was recalling something. “Jason, if you don’t mind me asking. How did you die?” Jason freezes with a haunted look in his eyes but doesn’t say anything for a long while. Eventually he looks at her again with the same haunting look on his face and whispers “I was murdered.”

Melinda gasps, not saying anything for a while. Just taking in that information. “Does.. does your family know where you are?” Jason nods and points past the manor. “They buried me in the back yard next to Bruces parents in the rose garden. It’s really pretty.” He whispers, a sad look on his face. They stay silent for a while.

“Would you like me to go with you and help you talk to them?” Melinda asks. “Yea.” he says softly. “I’ve been.. dead for about two months now. I’ve had time to deal with the fact that I’m-.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m.. I’m ready to go.” He whispers the last part. Turning to look at Melinda. “I just want to see them one more time.” She nods her head at him. She hesitantly reaches her hand out offering it to the boy for any sort of comfort she can give him. He takes it and she has a feeling that this boy has been through more than she could imagine but she wasn’t going to pry. Some things just weren’t for her to know.

They walk up to the manor together hand in hand and she knocks on the large door. It doesn’t take long for the door to open and to be greeted by an older man.

“May I help you?” The man asks, Jason squeezes her hand and says “That’s my grandfather, Alfred.” “Are you Alfred?” She asks. He looks at her assessing what she could want. “Yes I am, and you are?” He says. “My name is Melinda, I’m here on behalf of Jason..?” She says

Alfred stops. Eyes going wide, then he gives her a dark look. “I don’t know what you are trying to do. But I suggest that you do it elsewhere.” He says anger in his voice. “I know this sounds insane but please, I need to speak to both you and..” she turns to look at Jason because she doesn’t know the boys fathers name. “Bruce” Jason says. She turns back to Alfred, “Bruce. I need to speak to you and Bruce. It’s important.” She says quickly. Alfred looks at her for a long moment not saying anything. Just assessing her, trying to deduce if she’s trying to trick him.

After a while he lets her in. “Follow me.” He walks them down a corridor into a sitting room. “Please stay here while I go get Master Bruce.” Alfred says still eyeing her. Once he’s gone Melinda turns to Jason. “This is a beautiful home.” she says. “Yea, it’s huge right. My favorite room is the library. Me and B would sit in the little book nook that’s in there and read together.” Jason said with a small smile on his face. “What kinds of books do you like?” She asked him. “I really like Jane Austin books. Specifically ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Bruce would read that to me if I couldn’t sleep. I’d have a nightmare and crawl into his bed. He’d stay awake reading that book to me till I fell back asleep.”

As he recalls the memory you could see how much love he had for his father. “You sound like you love him a lot.” She said. “Yea, he’s done a lot for me. He adopted me from the streets. He’s emotionally constipated as fuck though.” He says with a laugh, “But I know he cares. He shows it in different ways.” He says looking out one of the many windows with a smile on his face as he says it.

Before she could ask anything else, she heard foot steps coming their way.

When she looks up she sees Alfred and what she assumes is Bruce, and he looks like he’s been through hell. He has dark under eyes like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His skin looks sickly pale. He’s running his hand through his hair to tame it. Over all he looks like a man that’s world has just been taken from him.

Jason inhales sharply “Jesus B…” Melinda turns to look at the boy. “I never got close enough to tell how bad he was doing..” says Jason. Bruce walks up to her, a stern look on his face. “How do you know my son.” Bruce says, no room for pleasantries in his voice, startling her. “My name is Melinda, I have a gift that allows me to see ghosts. I was walking past your gates and I saw him.” She says. Bruce stills, anger forming on his face. “You expect me to just believe that. What, did you think I’d just take your word for it. What do you really want.” Bruces says his voice rising and he gets visibly angrier.

She turns her head towards Jason. “Tell him, ‘Robin gives me magic’. He’ll know what it means.” Melinda turns back towards Bruce and Alfred, and quotes the boy. Both men freeze. “What..” Bruce says. “Jason told me to tell you, ‘Robin gives me magic’. He’s here with us, he said you’d know what it means.” Bruce and Alfred just look at each other. “Ms. Melinda you have to understand that we can’t possibly believe this. Saying that Master Jason is here with us, how could we possibly believe you.” Alfred questions.

“Jason told me that his favorite room here is the library, and that’s where he and Bruce read together, in the little nook that’s in there.” She says. Both men look at her with confusion. “How could you possibly-.” Bruce starts but Melinda interrupts him. “He said that his favorite author is Jane Austin, and that when he has nightmares.” She stops and looks Bruce directly in the eyes. “He climbs into your bed and you read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ to him until he falls back asleep.” She says.

Both men don’t say a thing. They don’t know how to react.

“Melinda.” Jason says. She turns her head to him, Bruce notices she’s looking at something that’s not there. “The night Bruce met me. I was trying to steal the tires off his car, and I hit him over the head with a tire iron.” He laughed at the memory. “It was also the anniversary of his parent’s death that day.”

Melinda looks at Jason with a confused look but complied. “Jason said that the night he met you it was your parents anniversary of the day they died, and he was trying to steal the tires off your car, he said he hit you over the head with a tire iron.” Bruce looked completely shocked. Backing up a little bit to grab onto Alfred’s arm. “How- how could you possibly know that.” Bruce asked quietly.

“Jason told me. He’s here too. I promise I’m not lying to you.” She says. “I’m here to help him move onto the other side. Souls that are stuck here have unfinished business, and I help them. He told me he misses you and Alfred.” As she says this Bruce turns around in disbelief. “He’s just been a ghost this whole time.” He asks. “Yes, apparently the only one as well.” Both Bruce and Alfred are confused by that. “What do you mean, ‘the only one’.” Alfred asks

“Apparently Gotham can speak to Jason now that he’s a ghost, and as he explained it to me. Your city is an Eldritch one. It’s alive and has been for a really long time. But Jason said that it doesn’t hold on to peoples souls because there is so much suffering in this city. So she lets them go.” “She explains. “Then why didn’t she let Jason go? He’s just been wandering Gotham for two months alone?” He asks with such desperation in his voice. “Jason said it’s because she told him he’s her favorite bird.” She sees a dawning of understanding wash over Bruces features as he starts crying, still desperately holding onto Alfred.

“I’ve.. I’ve never seen him cry before..” Jason says tears in his eyes as well. “He’s the stoic type you know. Keeps everything on the inside. I was always a little scared he didn’t like me as much as his first kid. For a long time I thought he was gonna try something with me, cuz you know. Why would some rich guy just adopt me; a street rat.” He says still watching Bruce. “But the longer I was here, the more I realized he just wanted to help. My biological dad was abusive to me and my mom, and she was a drug addict. I came home one night and she had overdosed. My dad left a while before that. So I was living on the streets for a while before Bruce found me.” He says watching his father fall apart.

A breeze comes from somewhere, Jason turns his head like he heard something. He turns back to Melinda, tears in his eyes. “Can you tell him something for me.” He asks, she nods her head. “Will you tell him that Gotham says she’s sorry for not being able to protect me.” He looks down before continuing. “She can help those who she chooses, but because I was outside of Gotham when I was-.. when I died. She couldn’t help me. She’s been wanting to apologize for a while but can’t talk to Bruce like she can me.” He says with a shaky breath.

Melinda turns her head down to try and collect herself, and failing. “Bruce.” She says with tears in her eyes, and a catch in her voice. “Jason said that Gotham is sorry for not being able to protect him. She can apparently help those she chooses but since he wasn’t in Gotham when he passed.” She had to stop for a moment, watching as understanding dawns on Bruce and Alfred’s faces. “She couldn’t help him.” She whispers.

Bruce turns into Alfred, collapsing into his embrace. Sobbing into the man. Not being able to catch his breath. Melinda, tears streaming down her face turns away from them to give them a moment. Looking back at Jason shock still evident on his face. Watching the tangible proof of how much his father loved him. He walks over to Bruce and stands in front of them, Just watching.

“He’s in front of you Bruce.” Melinda whispers. Bruce turning his head to look, Still seeing nothing. Tears running down his face. Then Bruce speaks, “Jason. Jason I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to save you. I was trying. I was trying so hard to find you. I was right there when- when you. When it.” His breath catches in his throat. Jason looks at him like he just learned something new. Fresh tears roll down Jason’s face. “I was almost there. I almost had you. My son, I’m so sorry.” He says, sobbing into his hands.

Jason turns his head to Melinda. “Tell him it’s okay. That I forgive him, it’s just good to know he was looking. I didn’t know he was right there before-.” Jason stops. “Tell him that I love him, and that the past 3 years were the best of my life. That being his Robin was the magic my life was missing.” He smiled. “And tell Alfred that his hot chocolate could cure anything. And that I love him too. And I miss cooking with him, and making fun of Bruce for being a disaster in the kitchen.” He laughs as he wipes his eyes.

As she relays what Jason has said, she watches as the emotions that reside on their faces. “He also said that he misses making fun of Bruce for being terrible in the kitchen.” Both Alfred and Bruce laugh a little at that.

Another breeze comes in and Jason freezes this time. He looks shocked. “What is it Jason.” Melinda says. Bruce and Alfred turn to look at her with question.

“Gotham said-“ he stops for a moment. “Gotham said that she would make me tangible for a while before-.. before she lets me go.” He whispers. Melinda gasps. “What, what is it. Is something wrong?” Bruce asks with worry. Alfred putting a hand on Bruces shoulder.

“Jason said that Gotham told him she would turn him tangible for a moment before she lets him go to the other side.” She tells them. Both of them becoming more alert. “What?” Bruce asks. “I’ll be able to see him?” He says. “Yes.” She says in disbelief. “I’ve never seen that happen before. Usually I’m the only one that can see-.” She’s interrupted by both Bruce and Alfred gasping as they turn and see Jason standing in front of Bruce. Bruce is stunned as he moves his hand up to Jason’s cheek. When his hand touches his face, he inhales sharply, and pulls Jason into him to hold him close. Jason clings onto Bruce, both crying into each other. Alfred holding them both with a hand in Jason’s hair.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Jason. I love you so much.” Bruce says into Jason’s hair. Holding onto him tightly. “It’s okay Bruce. It’s okay.” He whispers. Jason turns his head towards the hand Alfred had in his hair. “My boy, are you alright?” Alfred asks, tears in his eyes. “I’m okay now Alfie.” Jason said softly. They stay like that for a long while, holding onto each other because they knew. This was not permanent. Jason couldn’t stay with them.

As they hold each other a bright light shines behind them. Bruce and Alfred look up at it. “What is that.” Bruce asks. “That’s the other side. It only shows up when.. when a soul is ready to move on.” Melinda says. Bruce and Alfred freeze. Not wanting to let him go. “It’s okay Bruce, I just wanted to see you guys again.” Jason says. He looks up into Bruces tearful eyes. Bruce put Jason’s face into his hands and kisses his forehead. “Are you sure Jaybird.” Bruce asks, resting his forehead on Jason’s.

“Yea, Bruce. It’s okay.” Jason whispers. He turns to look at Alfred, He lets go of Bruce to hug the man. Clinging to him, “Alfred. Take care of him. We both know that he won’t.” He said. “I will, and I shall miss you immensely Master Jason.” Alfred pulls away to look him in the eyes. “I love you my boy. Don’t ever forget that.” Alfred says with conviction. “I love you too Alfie.” Jason says and hugs him again.

When they pull apart, he hugs Bruce one last time. Bruce holding his son in his arms for the final time, not wanting to let go. But he knows he has to. It takes everything in him to let go. Tears still running down his face, and Jason wipes them away. Looking him in the eyes and whispers. “Love you, dad.” Bruce gasps, more tears falling. Not caring how he must look. Resting his forehead on Jason’s again looking him in the eyes. “You are my son. Don’t ever doubt that for a second okay. I love you so much Jay.”

They pull apart and Jason walks over to the light. He turns around to look at his family just one more time, and smiles. He looks over at Melinda. “Thank you, for helping me see them again.” He says. “It was my pleasure Jason.” She replies, eyes red rimmed from her crying.

And Jason finally walks through to the other side.

There’s a long silence before anyone speaks.

“Is. Is that it. Is he just.. gone?” Bruce asks in a whisper, Melinda nods her head. “Yes, his soul has laid to rest. Jason’s at peace.” She says wiping the tears from her eyes. Watching both Bruce and Alfred look at the spot Jason was just in. She could feel that this family was different somehow. A lot of the things that Jason said didn’t completely make sense to her.

But that doesn’t really matter does it. All she needs to know is that Jason was loved, and will be remembered and missed desperately.

Clearing his throat Alfred says. “Thank you Ms.Melinda, for giving us this opportunity to see our boy again. And I apologize for our earlier rudeness.” as he walks closer to her. “It’s not a problem. I’m just glad I could help him.” She says with a small smile. She looks over to Bruce who hasn’t moved since Jason walked to the other side.. “Will he be okay?” She asks still looking at Bruce. Alfred sighs looking at his son with sadness in his eye and responds “I’m not sure yet. But either way, I will be with him until he is.”

Melinda gives Alfred a small smile and takes that as her cue to leave. As Alfred is walking her out the front door he says to her, “Before you go, I would like to tell you even though Jason’s passing has taken it’s toll on Master Bruce and I, it was a gift to see, and hug Jason once more. What you do for people is a goodness that this city rarely gets to see. So I thank you again, Ms.Melinda.”

“It’s not a problem Alfred. Take care, and tell Bruce that Jason truly does understand how much he loves him. Even if he can’t show it normally.” She says

“Will do, have a good night Ms.Melinda. Thank you.” He says.

“You too Alfred.” As she walks away, She realizes she definitely missed her train. but was worth it to see a family reunite, even if only briefly.

The End

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static-blossoms · 5 months ago

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Hey Mouthwashing community, please know I’m saying this in the nicest way possible, I’m not targeting anyone in particular, and I absolutely do not condone harassment towards others regarding this.

Can we please not call Jimmy a narcissist/narcissistic in an insulting way? It’s something I’ve noticed in the fandom not only on here but on other platforms as well, and it’s really uncomfortable to see. You can hate a character without resorting to using mental disorders as an insult.

#(again I repeat do NOT harass anyone who has happened to call Jimmy anything along those lines)#(I’m only just trying to get this out here to inform people)#(we all agree to not use mental disorders as an insult yeah? so let’s not do that)#my post #mouthwashing #Mouthwashing game

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chartreuxcatz · 1 year ago

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American: “Hey has anyone else had this experience?”

Non-American: “Have you considered that not everyone is American? Do you know that your experiences are not universal? This post is disgustingly American-centric, you stupid ethnocentric nationalistic fat racist-”

#Meow.#head in hands #Bro I’m sure dealing with everything being Americanized or made with primarily Americans in mind is frustrating.#And I know there are genuinely people who seem to think that America is the only and/or best country in the world #Idk why you gotta take that out on some random guy talking about a specific store tho #Gonna be real it can get a bit discouraging when I’m trying to be considerate of others just to get shut down #For being dumb cuz idk. School never made me memorize the list of which companies are American exclusive and which have locations globally?#‘Uhhh yeah Americans‚ we still have Kmarts open in Australia. The world doesnt revolve around you <3’ shut the fuck up #Is it that unreasonable? To be like ‘woah I didnt know that store was still in a different country. They’re all shut down around here!’#Is expressing surprise at newly acquired information a USAmerican only thing?#do YOU guys keep up with which stores are closing in other countries?#is that the normal thing to do?

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paterday · 2 years ago

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👁👁

You uh getting some ideas for Aura and Omen?

Don’t look at me with those big ol eyes I’m SHY

Here’s an image of. The silly for your troubles

that being said.

#I’m writing this all In the tags #cuz I hate being looked at #so I think I’m going with the idea that omen steals aura and then goes awol(??? is that how you spell that)#ANYWAYS some time before that her brain gets a little bit fucked up #so like the part of her brain that processes information from the eyes is a leetle bit messed up #so she can’t. really see very well even tho her eyes look fine #which causes her to become kinda well known for occasional friendly fire #cuz she just shoots what moves and looks unfriendly shaped #THEN. she is sent with a group to go to this planet and retrieve the aura ai #and she’s the first one to find it #idk what I want to happen here but in some way she gets Aura inside her head #and Auras like hey man ur brain is kinda fuckedup. want me to like. do something about that #so she’s able to give omen back her full vision via managing the signals #nd Omens brain is the only thing keeping her from going full on rampant and exploding (how does this work. fuck if I know I’ll figure it out #later. problem for future me :o) )#ANYWAYS they have this very symbiotic relationship but also it’s like very. codependent #so two fucked up ladies :)#and aura really doesn’t want to die so she’s fine with this whole thing.#her main purpose was to just keep people alive #and she failed that. so she’s gonna try her damn hardest to keep her new human alive #(insert the mind meld fuckery here)#is this deeply embarassing for the me? yes. but I am trying to be so brave about it

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devils-yui · 2 months ago

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Reposting this from a friend bc I think it is VERY important to know of this, and for immigrants, and other possible victims of the ICE Raids happening right now

Here’s to also a very huge edit, from the list of very helpful people who have been reblogging and providing more info.

I’m not as well informed but I will be relaying the information and tagging each person who added onto this post:

@onthedriftinthetardis -

The phone number in the first photo is ONLY for Orange County, California!

Look up your local ACLU affiliate here

@6feetunderwater -

It always makes me nervous to see a reporting phone number passed around without any links to verify it, so the number in the first pic can be found on the site for the Orange County Rapid Response Network, which is "an interconnected system of non-profit and grassroots organizations, civil rights attorneys, law school clinics, and individuals working together to respond to dehumanizing immigration enforcement activities and policies in Orange County"

@geekerypeekery -

The second warrant is not fake, but is an administrative rather than judicial warrant, and has no constitutional authority to bypass Fourth Amendment protections - in other words, it does not entitle the bearer to enter and search your home. It simply authorizes agents of the issuing department to contact you. Always ask to see the warrant before opening your door!

In addition to the ACLU links, try contacting the National Immigration Law Center https://www.nilc.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Warrants-Subpoenas-Facts.pdf

@american-anger -

The phone number listed here is specific to Orange County in California, but you can look up other California counties here:

CALIFORNIA RAPID RESPONSE NETWORKS

@beaniebaneenie -

Unpleasant reminder: within 100 miles of the border (which is home to 200 million people and virtually all major cities in the US), ICE does not need a warrant to enter your home, your car, to search anything, or even to arrest you.

You are not automatically safe just because they don't have a real warrant.

The best and safest thing you can do is learn to have escape routes- quick ways to get out of the house or area you're in if you find out ICE or CBP are around. Those of us who do have documentation? Time for us to step the fuck up.

Film any interaction. Every interaction. If you're able, step into the conversation and be a Karen/Kyle- weaponize your privilege for Good. If you get asked about people? Use positive but vague statements so you a) cannot be caught in a lie, and b) do not give any information away.

"I don't know them that well, but I don't tend to socialize much. They seem great to me."

"I can't remember the last time I saw them."

"Maybe they speak another language, I can't remember details. But I picked up Duolingo during the pandemic and tons of other people did too."

"I'm not sure."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Even if you're somewhere the 100-mile Exception doesn't apply and a warrant is in fact needed? I don't expect ICE and CBP to play by the rules for long, if at all. I fully expect this to get ugly, and fast.

Cheeto has already declared an emergency of national security at the border, and is mobilizing the military to have jurisdiction over a huge swath of the country. It's essentially tantamount to martial law. And it's only been four days.

Gear up for a long, hard fight. This is gonna be a marathon, not a sprint.

— I am leaving all of this as an edit because on the off chance someone does find the posts that have these people specifically reblogging, I don’t want it to be too late. So I’m comprising it all here

Here are a few other people’s reblogs I thought were important:

Thank you @onthedriftinthetardis @6feetunderwater @geekerypeekery @american-anger @beaniebaneenie @bunnychiffon @dubiouslynamed @trisockatops @witchy-disaster for contributing and helping me make this a more well-informed post. Thank you so much

#this is from another friend who’s in Cali rn #but reblogging this could be beneficial #support #boost!#trump #donald trump #politics #ice raids #immigration #immigrants #immigration enforcement #news #california #long post

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joetastic2739 · 3 months ago

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Someone accessed my Gmail 2 days ago, compromising my linked accounts like Twitter and YouTube. Here's how it happened, why I fell for it, and what you can learn to avoid making the same mistake:

The scam I fell victim to was a cookie hijack. The hacker used malicious software to steal my browser cookies (stuff like autofill, auto sign in, etc), allowing them to sign in to my Gmail and other accounts, completely bypassing my 2FA and other security protocols.

A few days ago, I received a DM from @Rachael_Borrows, who claimed to be a manager at @Duolingo. The account seemed legitimate. It was verified, created in 2019, and had over 1k followers, consistent with other managers I’d seen at the time n I even did a Google search of this person and didnt find anything suspicious.

She claimed that @Duolingo wanted me to create a promo video, which got me excited and managed to get my guard down. After discussing I was asked to sign a contract and at app(.)fastsigndocu(.)com. If you see this link, ITS A SCAM! Do NOT download ANY files from this site.

Unfortunately, I downloaded a file from the website, and it downloaded without triggering any firewall or antivirus warnings. Thinking it was just a PDF, I opened it. The moment I did, my console and Google Chrome flashed. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I immediately did an antivirus scan and these were some of the programs it found that were added to my PC without me knowing:

The thing about cookie hijacking is that it completely bypasses 2FA which should have been my strongest line of defense. I was immediately signed out of all my accounts and within a minute, they changed everything: passwords, 2FA, phone, recovery emails, backup codes, etc.

I tried all methods but hit dead ends trying to recover them. Thankfully, my Discord wasn’t connected, so I alerted everyone I knew there. I also had an alternate account, @JLCmapping, managed by a friend, which I used to immediately inform @/TeamYouTube about the situation

Meanwhile, the hackers turned my YouTube channel into a crypto channel and used my Twitter account to spam hundreds of messages, trying to use my image and reputation to scam more victims

Thankfully, YouTube responded quickly and terminated the channel. Within 48 hours, they locked the hacker out of my Gmail and restored my access. They also helped me recover my channel, which has been renamed to JoetasticOfficial since Joetastic_ was no longer available.

Since then, I’ve taken several steps to secure my accounts and prevent this from happening again. This has been a wake-up call to me, and now I am more cautious around people online. I hope sharing it helps others avoid falling victim to similar attacks. (End)

(side note) Around this time, people also started to impersonate me on TikTok and YouTube. With my accounts terminated, anyone searching for "Joetastic" would only find the imposter's profiles. I’m unsure whether they are connected or if it’s just an unfortunate coincidence, but it made the situation even more stressful.

#youtube #scam alert #scam warning

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readwritealldayallnight · 5 months ago

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When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

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helaintoloki · 27 days ago

Text

Back to You

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: mild language, pining, fluff

notes: my bucky and yelena brain rot is off the charts which is how this came about

summary: Yelena’s interest in y/n forces Bucky to confront his feelings for her as the Thunderbolts take refuge in her home

“I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Well, this is definitely more interesting than whatever I had planned today,” you respond jokingly as you finish stitching closed the gash on Bucky’s pectoral. “I will say, if I knew I’d be having company I probably would have tidied up a bit around here.”

Both yours and Bucky’s gazes turn to the group of beaten down misfits that occupy your living room at the mention of company. The amount of people taking refuge in your home made it appear almost comically small, but you weren’t exactly new to having to take care of super heroes- or in this case antiheroes- on a whim like this.

Before Thanos and the Blip, you had been a good friend of Steve’s. As his neighbor across the hall who also happened to be a nurse, he tended to treat your apartment like his own personal health clinic after a particularly grueling day of protecting the city. You welcomed him in without question of course, and after some time he had begun bringing friends in need of patch jobs with him. This was how you met Sam and Natasha, and eventually Bucky. You were enthralled by the turmoil swimming in his eyes and his reserved nature, and your gentleness and willingness to help a total stranger like him with no reservation had stuck with Bucky forever.

You lost touch with them all after the Sokovia Accords debacle and being turned into dust for five years, but once the work of the infinity stones had been reversed and you were able to attempt a life at normalcy, Bucky and Sam had returned right back to your doorstep.

In the years that passed, you and Bucky had been able to form a close friendship. It didn’t happen without growing pains throughout the process of course, and it took time for the super soldier to open himself up to you so intimately, but you’d been able to reach a point where Bucky could come to you for anything and vice versa. So when he’d called five minutes before his arrival asking to seek shelter in your modest home, you immediately agreed without question.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” you inform him after smoothing out the bandage on his chest. Looking out to the rest of the group, you hold up your first aid kit and ask, “Anyone else need some TLC?”

You’re met with silence to which Bucky offers you a comforting pat on the shoulder before hopping off of your counter. The group looks more exhausted and defeated than anything, and he convinces you they’ll probably be fine.

“Well, in the meantime, would anyone like breakfast? I think I have some pancake mix around here somewhere,” you murmur absently, and this gets some heads to finally turn.

“Pancakes… would be nice,” Yelena offers with pursed lips and a shrug, trying to be inconspicuous as she obviously snoops through your things.

“Do you have eggs?” John voices tiredly. “I could really go for some scrambled eggs.”

“Eggs and pancakes… anything else?”

“I cannot have eggs without bacon,” Alexei notes thoughtfully only for Bucky to roll his eyes.

“You don’t have to cook all of that,” he tries to assure you only for you to shake your head in response.

“It’s really no problem, I’m just glad I went grocery shopping yesterday.”

You give Bucky a reassuring smile before disappearing into the kitchen, allowing him the chance to finally walk over and snatch the frame Yelena had been scrutinizing behind your back from her grasp.

“What are you doing?” He retorts in annoyance before setting it back down on the shelf. “We’re guests here, you can’t just touch all of her stuff.”

“She has a photo of my sister,” the blonde rebuffs defensively, “I have a right to touch it. Why does she have it?”

“Before she was my friend, she was Steve’s friend. He introduced her to Natasha, and they became friends too. Good friends.”

“Hmm,” she replies thoughtfully, finally easing up a bit as she takes in the information. “If Natasha considered her a friend, then I will too.”

“Yeah, I think she’s good on friends right now,�� Bucky scoffs. Yelena raises a brow at his annoyance before a coy smile begins to form on her lips.

“Are you threatened by me, Barnes?” She prompts with a laugh, only doubling down when she notices the aggravated tick of his jaw. “Because it’s okay if you are, I understand. I mean, she is a beautiful woman, and I can see how much you love her-“

“Hold on a minute, what are you talking about?”

“Surely you cannot be this stupid,” Yelena affirms with a teasing smile that soon falls at Bucky’s flustered demeanor. “Or maybe you are.”

“I don’t love y/n,” Bucky says defensively, voice hushed to avoid any prying ears from listening to their conversation. “She’s just a good friend.”

“Well, if she’s just a good friend then you won’t mind if I go talk to her and tell her how much I love what she’s done with this place,” Yelena states plainly with a mischievous smile as she makes her way towards the kitchen only to be stopped by Bucky grabbing onto her arm.

“Don’t,” he warns with a scowl. From his spot on the couch, Alexei laughs.

“You are smart to stop her, Barnes,” he notes proudly, “my Yelena is quite the lady killer.”

“What’s the harm, Barnes? You obviously do not want to date this beautiful woman who has opened her home to us, so why can’t I?”

“If I admit I love her will you stop?” Bucky begs despite the clear aggravation in his tone. With her hands raised in surrender and lips pulled into a small frown, Yelena suspends her march towards the kitchen once Bucky finally relinquishes his hold on her arm. “Thank you.”

“Life is short, James. Do not let her sit and wait for you forever.”

Bucky lets out a long exhale through his nose at her words, and despite how much she annoys him, he knows she’s right. Bucky loves you and has always held a deep sense of admiration for the selfless woman who had taken him and Steve in without question despite the fact that it would get her into trouble with the government. You were one of the first to show him genuine kindness after spending years under Hydra’s thumb, and he’d never be able to forget that. You are his light in darkness, his saving grace, his confidant, and that’s why he’s so hesitant to fully bring you into his world by asking you to be his partner. Being friends keeps you at an arm’s length from the dangers of his life, but being the one he comes home to after a high stakes mission puts you in a whole new light to his enemies, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to put you through that just yet.

“Breakfast is on the table!” You call out from the kitchen, and Bucky watches with a wry grin as every person in the living room moves their aching bodies hastily into the dining room to get a chance at scoring some of your pancakes. You meet him shortly after and present him his own plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon to enjoy in peace away from the rest.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind so I figured you’d want to eat out here,” you explain with a careful smile before joining him on the couch. “You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know if these guys are up for this,” he admits almost dejectedly, casting a glance towards the dining room where the Thunderbolts sit loudly bickering over the syrup bottle.

“Hey, as long as they have you there with them, I think they’ll be okay,” you comfort reassuringly, reaching forward to give his arm a tender squeeze.

“I really doubt that, but thanks,” Bucky responds with a weak chuckle, “you keep me sane.”

“It’s my speciality.”

A comfortable silence washes over you then as you meet each other’s tender gazes and enjoy the rare moment of peace shared between you both. Bucky longs to just pull you into his arms and hold you, but he resists and instead returns to enjoying his breakfast.

“We’ll be out of your hair as soon as they’re done eating,” Bucky reassures you only for you to give him an indifferent shrug.

“That’s fine, but can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?” You prompt with an innocent smile, catching poor Bucky off guard as he momentarily chokes on his pancakes.

“What?” He splutters, fist thumping on his chest to help the food go down.

“I mean, maybe I’m reading it all wrong, but I feel like sometimes you look at me like you want to kiss me,” you explain simply, “and I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“That obvious, huh?” He sighs with a bashful smile before setting his plate down on the coffee table.

“Yeah, well, that and also Yelena might have told me something on her way to the dining room,” you offer with an apologetic laugh.

“Oh, god, what did she say?”

“Something along the lines of if you never man up and decide to tell me how you feel that I should give her a call.”

“She’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles irately, but his tone softens as he looks to you in remorse and continues, “but she’s right. You deserve to know how I feel about you.”

Smiling, you move closer to the super soldier so that you can curl into his side and rest your head upon his chest. His arms immediately come to wrap around your figure as he kisses the crown of your head, prompting you to let out a content sigh.

“We can figure out all the details when you get back from saving the world,” you assure him, “but just know that I love you, and I’ll be here waiting for you to come home.”

“Home,” Bucky sighs wistfully, already mourning your time together as he thinks about having to leave you behind. “I can promise you this- nothing is going to stop me from coming back to you.”

You look up to meet his tender gaze and are pleasantly surprised when he leans down to press a careful kiss to your lips. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you savor the moment you’ve been longing for ever since you met Bucky, and by the way he kisses you as if you are the air he needs to breathe, you think it’s safe to assume he feels the same.

His heart is yours, and as you tenderly embrace from the comfort of your couch, you can rest assured that to Bucky, home is where you are.

#mel writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #mcu #yelena belova #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#mcu x reader #mcu imagine

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nezuscribe · 4 months ago

Text

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo drabble #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk drabble #satoru x reader

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yanderenightmare · 1 month ago

Text

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: boyfriend Katsuki's strange guilty pleasure, harassment, nasty online comments, noncon ideations, online pervs

♡ FEM reader

“I’m borrowing your laptop, Kats!” you call.

He’s in the bath, so you’re not sure he heard you, but also, you don’t think it’s any big deal. You’ve been a couple for years now, and living together has only brought you closer. Besides, it’s not as if you’re going to snoop or anything—you’re just going to check something real quick while you charge yours.

You rethink it when you have to write in his password. Maybe it would be better to just wait for your own machine to get ready—it’s not as if you’re in a hurry or anything. But then again, at the same time, it doesn’t hurt to give it your best guess.

Right on the first try—your name and birthday. Though you appreciate the gesture, he really should see into getting something stronger than that. The information he is privy to through his work is quite sensitive, after all.

But anyway. Onto the task at hand. You click into the browser. It’s already got some tabs open.

You don’t mean to let your eyes wander, but it just can’t be helped. Katsuki sits before this thing, sometimes for hours during the day. Of course, most of it is surely work-related, writing incident rapports and profiles and the like. But this page right here… you don’t know… something about it seems strange.

“Some type of forum…” you mutter to no one but yourself. Katsuki had never struck you as the type to neither read nor partake in other people’s banter. Again, you’d promised yourself you weren’t going to pry, but it only takes a few seconds to read the comments—it’s over before you can stop yourself.

I bet she’s a squealer, like a really cute squealer

I wanna tie her up in an abandoned building somewhere no one will hear her scream

Same, but not on the bed though, on the floor and take her like a bitch

I‘m sure dynamight fucks her every day, i know i would!

Dynamight’s such a lucky guy I hate him

You blink reading through the comments—completely having forgotten what you were doing in the first place. Who are these people? What are these comments about? You keep scrolling, eyebrows knit, and then you see it—your name.

She looks like the type of girl that lets her man fuck her anywhere he wants whenever he wants

I’d literally kill for an hour of having her alone. And I’d make good use of that hour. Make her dump that blond asshat to be with me.

If she were my girlfriend, I’d keep her leashed to the bed with a collar. Can’t have other guys looking at her when she’s mine.

I’d only feed her cum. Trust me, she wouldn’t go hungry.

You’re eyes are fully wide now. Are all these chats about you? What’s Katsuki doing in a place like this? Reading all these sick comments as if he isn’t your boyfriend.

“Hey!” A shout knocks you out of your trance—and startles you enough that it very nearly even knocked you off balance.

“What’re you doin’ on my computer?” he asks in accusation while taking hurried and thundering steps toward you—still wet from his shower, wearing nothing but a white towel around his lower half.

“Uh,” you struggle to find your voice, heart hammering in your chest, head spinning—feeling both caught red-handed and the exact opposite. “Uhm, nothing—I just—”

He rips the laptop off the desk, angry eyes staring at the screen—then quickly going round.

His face pales. You can practically see the goosebumps as they rise in a rush across his skin.

He swallows thickly, jaw-locked—doesn’t even dare look at you as he asks the question, “Did you read?”

You almost consider saying no but decide against it. This wasn’t something you could just ignore. No, you needed an explanation. Who knows? It might be completely innocent.

“Some of it…” you confess.

He shudders, and then he places the laptop down again, slowly, soundless. He rests his hands on the table and leans his weight on them, head bowed, voice small.

“I just… I… It’s, well…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking for the words.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Katsuki is nervous. But you suppose it’s for good reason.

“It’s not what you think, okay?” he declares, finally looking at you.

His face is something unfamiliar—riddled with this guilty anxiety you’ve never pictured before—frazzled. It’s completely odd.

“Okay,” you say calmly. You don’t know if you’re angry or not yet. You know you probably should be, but the look on the man’s face is making you feel sorry for him.

“I don’t agree with any of this,” he insists, gesturing to the laptop.

“Well, yeah, I sure hope so,” you say, although the question still remains, “But why are you on there then?”

“It…” He’s blushing—profusely—bright vermillion-tipped ears and apple-red cheeks. He looks away again. “I don’t know…”

I don’t know is an excuse you’ve never heard come out of his mouth. In fact, excuse or not, it’s a phrase you didn’t think him capable of. But look at him now, using it the same childish way a kid would after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You better not lie to me, Katsuki Bakugou—or I know someone who’s sleeping on the couch,” you finally find your strict tone. He’s crazy if he thinks this is something you’ll just forget about.

He sighs and then he falls into his desk chair, back hunched, hiding his face, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you close, nuzzling his head against you, mumbling under his breath, “It’s sick, and it makes me sick…”

You wait, giving him the time to figure it out.

“But it…” he continues. You feel his hands tremble just a bit before he confesses, “It makes me feel good.”

You’re not sure you understand, and so you ask for clarification, “What makes you feel good?”

He sighs again, and this time, his voice comes out dark and lusty, leaving no room for confusion, “To know that I have something everybody else wants.”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist ♡ ALL masterlists

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stllmnstr · 4 months ago

Text

starlight

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: soulmates au, university au

word count: 13.4k

warnings: swearing, angst (but a happy ending because I’m not a monster), soulmate lore, copious amounts of pining and yearning and sighing

soundtrack: crying over you - honne, beka / a world alone - lorde / this is me trying / invisible string / daylight - taylor swift / spring day - bts / so far away - agust d, suran

note: this was another find in my old drafts that I spent a couple of days editing/rewriting. I have very much been in a jungwon mood these days, and it was fun to venture into some more angsty stuff that I haven't written in a while. happy reading! ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

There’s a word for it. Something that’s whispered behind closed doors, shunned like a bad omen you can’t quite shake.

Glitch. A cruel twist of fate. A failed soulmate match.

Something you’ve been marked as since the countdown on your wrist ticked to 00:00 two long years ago and left you lonelier than ever. Something you’ve been fighting since destiny carved itself into your skin with a dull, lifeless shade of gray.

But fate is a funny thing. And love, as you’ve learned, is often found in the most unexpected places.

or,

fate, with all of its cruel, incandescent scheming, leads straight to yang jungwon.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The overhead fluorescents in this particular lecture hall always manage to leave you with a pounding headache that even a strong dose of Advil can never quite seem to mitigate.

“And with time, these bonds only strengthen. Until a point is reached after which both parties would experience immense pain were they to be physically separated, willingly or not.”

Well, it’s either the lightbulbs or your professor’s droning.

Today, his words are slightly muted where they reach your ears, as if you’re underwater. Drowning in a topic that’s been beaten to death a million times over.

Still, this is information you should be taking in. Or, at the very least, jotting down notes of, since it’s all but guaranteed to appear on your final exam. But no matter how much you will yourself to focus, you can’t get your mind to cooperate.

After all, it’s bad enough that you’re forced to be here in the first place.

Sociology 112: Intro to Soulmate Theory. An absolute joke of a class.

The very foundation your society is built around. A nagging reminder of the grayscale deficiency that stains the skin of your left inner wrist.

Subconsciously, you tug the left sleeve of your shirt down a little further. There’s no need, not really. You made sure that your mark was fully covered before you left your dorm room this morning. Just like every morning.

But long standing habits are rarely broken, and the last thing you need now is another reminder of what makes you different. What makes you wrong.

At the front of the lecture hall, your professor pushes forward in that same, monotonous stupor. He’s either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that some of his students may be affected by his lecture on more than just a purely academic level.

Staring straight ahead, you distract yourself by scanning your professor, eyes taking in his appearance. At the very least, it will make it look as if you’re paying attention to what he’s saying.

With the signature graying hair most men in their mid-fifties carry, a pair of rather plain, slightly round eyeglasses, and neutral button-down appropriate for most professional settings, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about your professor.

Like most people, he gets up in the morning, selects a plain shirt from his modestly sized closet. He enjoys a cup or two of black coffee before embarking on his morning commute to campus, leaving ten minutes earlier than strictly necessary, because he’s convinced it helps him avoid the worst of the morning traffic.

His life is one of normalcy, you imagine. Nothing that most people would find especially enviable or extraordinary.

But when he reaches up to point out an example on the lecture slide, the left sleeve of that beige button down lifts, just slightly.

You only catch a glimpse, a tiny fraction of a look, but you see it all the same. The glossy, shiny, red 00:00 inked into his skin.

You resist the urge to scratch your wrist. He clicks forward to the next slide. Life goes on.

“As per the syllabus, you’ll be completing projects with an assigned parter on a topic of your choice. Although I encourage you to consult a variety of resources and include several points of view in your project, the only firm guideline is that your topic relates to soulmate theory.”

Several points of view. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, right. In your experience, any arguments against the traditional soulmate model are scoffed at. Met with nothing but anger and ridicule.

Although it makes for a miserable life, it does make for a simplistic assignment. Assigned partners are usually the bane of your existence, but no matter how incompetent this one is, you’re sure it will be easy enough to meet up once or twice in the university library and regurgitate common sentiment on how the soulmate system is nothing short of a wondrous gift to humanity.

Glancing at the clock as your professor officially dismisses class for the morning, you suppose you do have something to thank the heavens for. He’s wrapped up fifteen minutes early, which means you’ll have enough time to grab a coffee before your shift.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and once again checking that the fabric of your left sleeve covers your wrist, you slide your laptop into your bag and stand up from your seat.

No matter what particular strand of bullshit this class dragged you through, today will be a good day. Or at least a comfortingly neutral one. You’re sure of it.

With one final scan of your desk, you head to the exit at the front of the lecture hall without a backwards glance.

And in the very back corner of the lecture hall, tucked neatly out of both sight and mind, Yang Jungwon exhales a long sigh before gathering his things.

…..

“Oh, you are an absolute angel.”

Playful frown tugging at your lips, you ask, “Why is it that you only praise me when I come bearing gifts?”

Jake’s too engrossed with taking a long sip of the matcha latte you just handed him to concern himself with giving your question a real answer.

Despite his inclination to be most forthcoming with compliments when they’re a payment for caffeine, he’s hands down your favorite coworker. He’s genuinely kind, easygoing in a way that makes even the longest of shifts pass quickly.

Setting your bag down, you slide into the seat next to his, turning on your desk computer. “Any new applications to process today.”

“Nothing yet.” Jake glances at the empty inbox to confirm his answer. He shrugs, adding, “This time of year is usually fairly slow, though. We tend to get the most applications at the beginning of the semester and around the holidays.”

“Right,” you nod. “That makes sense.” Times when people are fresh on campus, away from home and exploring a new environment for the first time. And times when people are lonely.

It’s something you understand well. After all, you had been part of the latter group when you submitted your own application.

Last year was your first year of university, and although the numbers on your wrist had already faded to a dull, matte gray by the time you enrolled, living on campus put you far away from your support system for the first time in your life.

Even then, you avoided it as long as you could. It hurt something in your pride, felt like admitting a weakness, admitting a flaw. But the truth could only be avoided so long and on one cloudy afternoon in late fall, the loneliness crossed the line from painful to unbearable.

So, with a rain jacket pulled tight around your body, you made your way to the Student Support Center on campus and sought out help for something you’d been grieving in private for the better part of a year.

It had still felt like shame, to disclose the details of your condition. To tell another person about the cosmic cruelty etched permanently into the soft skin of your left wrist.

And then it was done. Your secret belonged to someone else, too. Pain was shared, and over time, started to feel less like a cut and more like a bruise.

It still ached when you pressed on it, of course, but you felt lighter. Able to breathe a little easier.

But even with all of the support, all of the work you’ve done to feel a bit more like yourself, pain is still a shadow that lingers at your heels.

Even now, months later, sitting next to a friend, you suppress the urge to tug at your sleeve again.

You’re able to see your actions for what they are now. And you suppose it’s the same thing – injured pride, a deep sense of shame, that has you wearing long sleeves even as the last days of late summer cling to the air with stifling heat.

It’s not as if your unfamiliar with the failure etched into your skin. You know what you would find, what everyone would see if you were to wear short sleeves for once.

A dull, matte gray 00:00. A reminder of what could’ve been. What should have been, if the universe had just been a little kinder to you.

Even as days and weeks and months pass you by, you still remember when there was a different number displayed there. One that got smaller with each passing second. One that, like your professor’s, like everyone else’s, glowed a bright, glossy red.

Just like everyone else, you were born with red numbers on your left wrist. There was no sign then, at your birth, that you were different. That you were a glitch.

Just like your family, just like your friends, just like every stranger you passed in the street, your number was normal. In fact, it was enviable. Mostly because it was so much smaller than average.

As a child, you’d reveled in it – the comparatively short length of your soulmate countdown. It wasn’t unusual for people to have to wait well into their twenties, thirties, or even forties to find their soulmate.

But a quick calculation had revealed that your countdown would tick to 00:00 just after your seventeenth birthday.

It feels stupid now, like some sort of cruel joke, that you ever thought of yourself as lucky.

You still remember it as if it were yesterday. Two long years ago, at the delicate age of seventeen. On the precipice of a life-changing revelation. A moment that was meant to mark the beginning of your forever. Your happy ending.

The air was clean that day. Lingering with the fresh scent of the earth after a rainstorm. Rebirth. A sign of something beautiful to come. Dew and humidity clung to you like a second skin as you raced towards the neighborhood park that had been haunting your dreams for the last few weeks.

Soulmates and the bonds that connect them aren’t magic, not exactly, but there was still something divine about it, the cosmic energy that sang to you. That told you that this particular park was where your life was destined to change. That it was where you were going to meet your soulmate.

The other person who felt the same gentle tug towards you, whose wrist was stained with a matching countdown, set to tick down to 00:00 at the very second your eyes locked with one another.

Your heart was racing, nearly beating out of your chest. Your fingertips thrummed with it, that overflow of energy that didn’t come from you but belonged to you all the same.

And like everyone else, your timer ran out.

He was there. He was there, and you knew it was him without having to say a word. Across the park, under the shade of an old sycamore tree, you could see it, feel it in his eyes.

Your soulmate.

Handsome and a year older than you, if you had to guess. A perfect stranger that you felt like you already knew. That already understood you without the need for words.

You had been too wrapped up in it, in him, to notice the one striking oddity. Because unlike everyone else, your completed countdown, that ever coveted 00:00, didn’t remain that gorgeous, shiny red.

No, while your eyes were locked on his, heart singing with unfulfilled dreams and visions of a future you’d never have the privilege of knowing, it had faded to that same dull gray that mocks you now.

It wasn’t the color that you noticed. It was the burning sensation that finally had you tearing your gaze away from him and landing on the skin of your left wrist.

Confused, your brow drew together as you tried to make sense of it. As your mind spun, searching for a plausible explanation.

And when you finally found it in you to look up at him again, the wrongness of it all began to sink in. The way he walked toward you with slow, reluctant steps. The way his mouth pulled tight at the corners, as if he wanted to prevent any words from escaping.

The wedding ring wrapped around the finger on his left hand. The already occupied space you thought would belong to you one day.

It was an accident, he told you. Even then, his voice had been steady. He wasn’t pleading for your forgiveness. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need you.

It was nothing more than a drunken mistake between him and a girl he met at university. One that he wasn’t serious about, but damage had been done nonetheless. A single night that was meant to be a blip, a passing moment in time, but had turned into a child. One that the two of them had already made the decision to raise together.

A child that had made them both decide to forgo the fate written on their wrists and forge a new life on their own.

It hurt, he told you, to see you, to know that he was causing you pain.

But one glance at him confirmed for you that his hurt was different from yours. For one, he could still speak, could form words with that same, even cadence that felt like knives embedding themselves into your skin.

You had wanted to beg, wanted to scream until your throat was raw. It was him. It was him. He was supposed to be yours, and you were supposed to be his. Wasn’t it the same for him? Didn’t he feel it too?

But his mind was made up and you knew better than to plead with a man who had fought and forsaken destiny itself.

It wasn’t your fault. He had told that day, and you’ve heard it countless times since then. From your parents. From your closest friends. From your own tear-stained reflection in your bedroom mirror.

But blame with nowhere to go always had a way of ending up on your shoulders, and empty reassurances never stopped your mind from spinning with painful possibilities on sleepless nights.

What if we had met sooner? What if he had never met her? What if they never had a child?

Or even worse,

What if I found him again? Begged him to reconsider? Convinced him to leave her?

In the end, it was pointless. Fate had been written and then rewritten. Would in a tight string and undone in one fell swoop. The stars had aligned and shifted and still remained so terribly out of reach.

There was nothing you could do, nothing to be done.

But it didn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. It was always loudest in the quiet moments, but it never truly left. It didn’t matter where you were – in class, with friends, surrounded by people, or completely alone. There was always an overwhelming sense of loss, of loneliness that followed you wherever you went.

So last fall, when the burden of it felt too heavy to bear alone, you’d bitten the bullet and applied to your university’s support program for glitches. Although, of course, none of the staff dared to use that word.

It’s where you first met Jake. And the bright red number on his wrist still ticks evenly, he had a friend once, one that shared a fate similar to yours. One who let the loneliness consume her instead of accepting help.

Even though it wasn’t through firsthand experience, Jake knew the pain of a failed soulmate match intimately. And after a handful of weeks, you’d found genuine friendship in him.

After a few months of attending support groups, he was the one who suggested you for an open position on the support team. It was him that thought you might find a renewed sense of purpose, a distinct kind of empathy for the other students on campus with stories like yours.

You’re grateful beyond words for him, for all of it. For the people and the friendships and the small moments that remind you that life is worth living, even on the hard days. Even when you’re forced to sit through classes on soulmate theory and pretend like long sleeves are nothing but a fashion statement.

So you’ll take his compliments with a smile, even when they come at the expense of a matcha latte from his favorite campus cafe. You’ll take the hard days and the good days and all the little moments in between.

He knows it too, even if you don’t say it with words. Even if all you ask is, “The matcha’s good?”

But something in you still smiles, still feels a little lighter, when Jake turns to you with a grin and assures, “Of course.”

…..

If there’s one place you still find to be painfully devoid of optimism, it’s your damn Intro to Soulmate Theory course. Although it’s an important element of existing sociological systems and objectively relevant, it presses on your ever-lingering bruises more than just about anything else in your day-to-day life.

As if that weren’t enough, it’s a morning class. Which means you’re already in a dreary mood as the clock ticks painfully slow through yet another monotone lecture.

Thankfully, your professor’s cadence is beginning to slow, a surefire signal that class is drawing to an end. Again, you glance up at the clock, a spark of pleasant surprise flickering through your mind. Could you really be so lucky as to get out early two classes in a row?

At the front of the hall, your professor scans his notes one final time. Nodding slightly, you really think he’s about to let you go ten minutes ahead of schedule.

But then his eyes pause at the bottom of the page, a reminder he missed the first time.

“Before we wrap up for the day,” he says, and you suppress the urge to groan audibly. “As I mentioned last class, you’ll be completing your next assignment in partners.”

That’s right. You’d almost forgot. Ugh, as if the disappointment of a full length lecture hadn’t been bad enough.

“The instructions, rubric, and due date can all be found on your syllabus, and as always, you’re welcome to email me or attend office hours with any additional questions you may have. I’ve already taken the initiative to place you in pairs, so please listen for your name.”

Glancing down at his notes again, he reads out the first pair.

“Kim Sunoo and Lee Heeseung.”

As he moves through the seemingly endless list of names, you begin to tune out. Have there always been this many people in this class? Admittedly, this is not a lecture that often commands your attention, but it seems like something you should have picked up on.

A minute later, spurred by the sudden sound of your own name, your attention snaps back into focus.

“... and Yang Jungwon.”

Yang Jungwon.

It’s a name you’ve heard in passing, maybe. But it’s not one you’re familiar with.

Standing as the list draws to a conclusion, you begin to look around the emptying lecture hall. You figure it might be easiest to exchange information now, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to find him with everyone else trying to do the same.

Sighing, you decide to try for a minute or two before just resorting to looking up his email on the online class list later and sending him a message there.

Ultimately, it’s him who finds you.

“___?” At the sound of your name, you spin around, looking back over your shoulder.

His presence, like his voice, is unassuming. Still, as your eyes land on who you assume must be Yang Jungwon, there’s something about him that makes you want to keep looking.

Dark hair falls over his forehead, framing equally dark eyes. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and oversized jeans, the attention doesn’t seem like something he’d seek out. Even now, he doesn’t quite match your gaze.

“Yeah,” you affirm, somewhat breathless. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Just Jungwon is fine.” He smiles, but it’s a tight, strained thing. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s pressing forward before you have time to linger on it. “Do you want to go ahead an exchange information now? I’ll get my final training schedule this afternoon, so I can message you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be able to meet up.”

Well, he seems competent enough. Or at the very least, willing to put in effort. It’s more than you can say for most of the assigned partners you’ve been given. And it’s pleasant surprise in a string of disappointments and what is surely going to be a miserable project to work on.

“That sounds good,” you nod, reaching for your phone. You open a new contact before handing it to him to fill out. As he types, you watch a strand of hair fall over his eyes. He doesn’t bother to brush it away, even as your fingertips itch with the sudden urge to.

Instead, you busy yourself with asking a question. “Training schedule?” you echo his earlier words. “Are you an athlete?”

If he’s put off by your probing, he doesn’t show it. Steady as ever, he continues typing. “Mhm,” he hums. “Taekwondo team.”

“Ah,” you nod. “That’s cool.” Accepting your phone back, you type your name into the newly created chat. “Here, I sent you a message with my name, so you have my information, too. I work in the afternoons, but I have a pretty consistent schedule. Once you have your training times, we can figure out when we’re both free.”

Glancing at the message that comes through on his end, Jungwon confirms, “Perfect.” Hiking his bag a little further up on his shoulder, he pauses for a moment before turning his gaze towards the door at the front of the lecture hall.

In the time that’s elapsed, most of the other students have made their way towards it. The room is significantly more empty than it was a handful of minutes ago. Still, Jungwon lingers for a moment.

Finally, he looks back at you. This time, he does meet your eyes.

You know it’s nothing but the overhead lights. The same obnoxious fluorescents that always give you a pounding headache. But reflected in his dark, searching gaze, they almost look like starlight.

“I’ll see you around, then,” he says before turning towards the door.

And if you let your gaze linger just a little too long on his retreating back, you’ll be grateful that no one is paying you enough attention to notice.

…..

Your dinner is cleaned up, skincare is completed, and the events from your day are blurring into a sleepy sort of haze when his first message reaches you.

9:36 pm Yang Jungwon I got my final training schedule. Looks like I should be free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after 4 if that works for you?

Double checking your work schedule, you type a reply.

9:38 pm You I work on Tuesdays until 6 but I can do Thursday at 4.

9:39 pm Yang Jungwon Let’s plan on Thursday then 👍 Meet you at the library? I’ll reserve a study room on the first floor.

9:40 pm You Sounds good, see you then!

With the semester well underway, Thursday is quick to roll around. Other than a quick wave and a small smile towards him during your last shared lecture, you haven’t had any contact with Jungwon since your last messages.

Even though it’s still only early afternoon, you’re already feeling the weight of a busy day weighing on you when you arrive at the library. A handful of minutes before four, you’re working to locate the study room Jungwon just sent you the number of.

Navigating your way through frazzled study groups and overworked, overcaffeinated upperclassmen, you finally find it with a few minutes to spare. Pulling the door open slowly, you’re half surprised to see that he’s arrived even earlier than you.

Early and straight from practice, you assume, if his still slightly damp hair is anything to go by. Freshly showered, the faint smell of his shampoo reaches you where you slide down into the seat across from him.

“Good call on the study room,” you add after your initial greeting. “I always forget how packed the library is once the semester really gets going.”

“Right?” Jungwon agrees. “I have a friend who swore by them last year, and now I’ll never go back.

“Letting you in on the study room secret,” you grin, pulling out your laptop. “That’s a true friend right there.”

“Yeah.” Something in Jungwon’s gaze softens as he nods. There’s a distinct fondness in his eyes, one that makes you think there’s a story there. One about more than just study rooms. “He is.”

When you finish settling in, you pull up your course syllabus again, clicking on the link to the assignment guidelines. “So,” you start, scanning the page one more time, “the instruction seem pretty straightforward. It looks liek we just need to pick a topic within the realm of soulmate theory and discuss recent research or developments.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you suppress the urge to tug at your left sleeve. Eyes honing in on the screen in front of you, you force yourself into a practiced state of detachment. The one you always revert back into when discussing this particular topic.

“I don’t know if you have a topic in mind already,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty much open to anything.”

Across from you, Jungwon’s teeth start to worry at his bottom lip. He hesitates for a moment, the room suspended in silence before he ventures, “What about –” Shaking his head slightly, his words die on his lips. “Never mind.”

Looking up at him, you frown. “Is there something you’re interested in?”

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head again. “I doubt there would be any recent research, anyway.”

“Okay,” you concede. Part of you wants to push further, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Instead, you type in a quick search. “I just pulled up some recent research topics, and it looks like there’s been development related to countdown colors and location based soulmate matches.” Ignoring the sudden slight burning sensation on your left wrist, you fight to maintain an even tone as you ask, “Do either of those sound interesting to you?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment, considering. “Maybe location based matches?”

Exhaling, you release a breath you hadn’t been meaning to hold. With a small nod, you tell him, “That sounds good. Let’s look for publications to reference today. We can divide them between us before we go and then take notes on them separately. We can meet up again next week at the same time to start an outline, if that works for you. We have a little over four weeks until the final paper is due, so that should give us a decent start.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “That works for me.”

Returning to your computer, you fight the urge to steal small glances at him as he does the same. In the minutes that follow, a silence settles around you. It’s not horribly awkward, but you still find yourself itching to fill it with something.

Finally, you bite the bullet. “Would it be okay with you if I put some music on? Just something instrumental.”

Glancing up at you, your eyes meet. Again, you’re not sure how he does it. But tucked away in a library study room, his gaze reflects the lights above you in a way that looks all too much like starlight. “Sure,” Jungwon nods.

Forcing your gaze back to your screen, you navigate to your study playlist and put it on shuffle. The first handful of notes spill into the silence, a calm piano melody that cuts through some of the stagnance.

A handful of classical pieces and a dozen journal articles later, Jungwon breaks the easy rhythm the two of you have fallen into. “Clair de Lune,” he names the tune that has just begun to weave itself around the room. A small smile turns the corners of his lips upwards. “This is on my study playlist, too.”

You offer him a matching smile in return. A soft thing. A shared moment. “You like this song?” It makes sense. A boy with stars in his eyes listening to a love letter to the moon.

“Yeah,” he nods. The quiet melody sings through the air, floats around tentative glances, delicate breaths. Lands lightly on two sets of shoulders. “You know, you’re better than I am. I always end up turning on my regular playlist and then singing along to the songs instead of actually working on anything.”

That earns him a full blown smile. “Believe me,” you lean in like it’s a secret. Something meant just for the two of you. “I do that more than I probably should, too.”

A shared grin later, the two of you are back to your own laptop screens.

Even though it’s your study playlist that continues to filter softly through your speaker, you find yourself distracted for a different reason.

It’s all too easy to imagine.

Jungwon, alone in his room, eyes sparkling even as he fights off the clutches of sleep. A song playing through his speaker. An old favorite, maybe, or perhaps something he heard on the radio and hasn’t been able to get out of his head since. One that he sings along to softly, assignments lying untouched on the desk in front of him.

…..

Despite your newfound fondness of your project partner, you’re sure that Intro to Soulmate Theory will continue to be your most dreaded class until the end of the semester releases you from its twice-a-week morning monotony.

The universe, as always, seems determined to prove you wrong, though.

Just as your professor steps into position behind the podium at the front of the lecture hall, a person slides down into the usually unoccupied seat just to the left of yours.

Startled, you glance up .

“Jungwon?”

“Hey,” the boy in question smiles. Switching to a whisper as the professor begins his lecture, he adds, “I’m glad I made it on time. I thought for sure I was going to be late.”

Sliding his bag off of his shoulder, he pulls out his computer and finishes settling into the seat next to yours. Then, he sets something on the desk in front of you. “I brought this for you, by the way.”

Eyes landing on the iced coffee in front of you, you can’t find it in yourself to do anything but stare for a moment.

“I noticed you have one sometimes, in this class.” With your silence, Jungwon suddenly seems unsure of himself. “I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I just guessed based on color. And I mean, light brown can be just about anything with iced coffee, so I hope you like it. I probably should have just asked, but…” he trails off, and you don’t think you imagine the light dusting of pink that settles across his cheekbones. “But I thought it would be nicer as a surprise.”

“I – thank you.” The fondness that’s been growing since your time together in library study room begins to swell again.

You glance at him, and your heart gives a strange, unsteady lurch. Not entirely unpleasant, but disquieting all the same. For a moment, it feels like something bigger. Something more.

Something you haven’t felt since a humid afternoon in a neighborhood park that you’ve been trying to forget for a long time.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Jungwon shrugs, but his cheeks retain their color. “I was stopping by the cafe anyway.” He gestures to the coffee on his own desk, proof of his claim. “Besides, it’s what a partner’s for.”

“Well, thank you,” you repeat. “I –”

“Again,” the sound of your professor’s voice, suddenly sharp, cuts through your words. “I’d like to give a firm reminder to you all that my lectures are not an appropriate place to carry on side conversations. Feel free to exit the room and forfeit your attendance points for the day if you are unable to refrain.”

Thoroughly cowed, you shrink back into your seat as a few wandering pairs of eyes land on you.

At your side, Jungwon shakes with a silent hint of laughter.

Despite the humiliation of essentially being asked to shut up in front of an entire lecture hall, the sight is enough to have you smiling.

And when the two of you part ways an hour later with matching smiles and a promise to see each other again Thursday afternoon, your heart feels lighter than it has in ages.

…..

When Thursday afternoon comes, it finds you and Jungwon tucked away in the same study room, sitting across from one another, laptops open, and outline for your project halfway formed.

This time, the drinks that sit on the table in front of you are courtesy of your wallet. The iced coffee Jungwon brought you a few mornings ago wasn’t your usual order, but it is what you’re sipping on now. You can’t quite decide what you enjoy more: the taste or the sentiment.

Either way, you have a feeling that a tradition of sorts may be blooming.

You can’t say that you mind. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t matter that it’s small. It doesn’t matter that it’s just an unexpected coffee to help a study session pass by just a bit faster. It feels nice, to be considered. To be thought of. It feels… special.

With the same instrumental study playlist filtering through your laptop speaker, the two of you exchange a smile when Clair de Lune begins to play.

With startling clarity, you realize that you enjoy this. It’s pleasant. A project that you were dreading with dragging feet has become something you look forward to.

And you’re sure that it’s because of him.

Despite the fact that you’re poring over research that would sting like a slap to the face under any other circumstances, Jungwon’s presence has a way of soothing the ache. Even as you scan over another promising article detailing the current research on soulmate matches in various geographic regions, you find yourself fighting smiles. Stealing glances.

All Jungwon is doing is sitting next to you. Occasionally trading mindless conversations with you. But that’s enough to keep the reminders of a tragic fate lost to decisions and circumstances out of your control at bay for the time being.

You’re not sure what it is, not sure why it seems to reach you somewhere that’s remained untouched for years, but the more time you spend with Jungwon, the more you start to like it.

That odd sensation that almost feels like butterflies in your stomach. The stilted rhythm of a heartbeat that almost feels like it’s running a little faster, skipping a step every now and then.

The warmth that sits high on your cheekbones and heats almost like a flustered blush whenever he catches your eye for a little too long.

A million little almosts. A thousand little possibilities. The lingering ghost of a hundred somethings you thought you lost along with the dead countdown on your wrist two long years ago.

But you don’t let yourself voice these thoughts. You’re afraid to even let your mind linger on them for too long.

If it does, you’re worried that it will twist and tarnish whatever is taking flight into something ugly, something rotten. Will convince you that this glimmer of peace you’ve found is living on borrowed time and will only bring a future of misery in its wake.

Because the semester will end, the class will finish, and your project will be submitted.

Yang Jungwon will become nothing but a moment in time. A blip on a radar. A distant memory that you hope you’ll reflect on with fondness.

Time will continue on with its incessant march, and the countdown on your wrist will still be that ugly, faded, gray.

It doesn’t matter if the moments that pass between the two of you feel like almosts. Your fate was already written and unraveled by another man who didn’t want you.

You’re a failure. A glitch.

Pretty words and sideways glances and unexpected gestures imbued with kindness won’t change that. Won’t fix you.

Yang Jungwon will move on from this project, from this class, from you.

The countdown that you’re sure must tick bright red on his wrist will continue to get smaller and smaller, and you will be nothing but a forgotten memory.

You’re not sure why it’s so upsetting, here in the sanctity of the study room. Not sure why this series of truths you’ve always known is suddenly so devastating. But something about the way they swirl in the recesses of your mind had you flailing, desperate for air, for distance, for space.

Out loud, you choke out a halfhearted excuse about stepping out for a moment. The concern that immediately flickers across Jungwon’s features barely registers in your panic induced stupor.

You need to go. Need to get away. Need to find somewhere to be alone and away from all of it, from him. You can’t breathe –

“___?” You hear your name. You know it’s him. Hear him ask gently, “Are you okay?”

But it’s muffled. It’s all wrong.

In your haste to escape, you knock over the gift, your gesture of goodwill in the form of coffee you bought for Jungwon.

You watch, horrified, as it falls in slow motion. Hot, dark liquid spills over the table, narrowly avoiding his laptop and class notes.

Of course. Of course you ruined this, too.

“It’s okay,” you think you hear him say as he reaches for a spare napkin, dabbing at the growing puddle. But it’s not. It’s not.

He reaches for his bag, pulling out another handful of napkins from the front pocket. Instinctively, he rolls up his sleeve, the left one, to wipe up the rest of the excess liquid.

That’s when you see it. The inky 00:00 on the inside of his left wrist.

It’s not red. It’s not shiny. It doesn’t make sense for him. A boy with stars in his eyes should have love on his skin.

But even as you blink again, it remains unchanged. It’s a dull, muted, lifeless gray.

A reflection, a twin, a copy of your own.

A moment too late, his eyes fall to the skin of his wrist too. With the practiced reflexes of a trained athlete, he’s pulling it down just as quickly as he rolled it up. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen the truth.

Shared pain. Shared shame.

It grounds you. Reaching out a hand, you take a few napkins from the top of the pile.

“Here,” you offer, voice unbearably small. A million questions swim in your mind, none of which you’ll ask. “I can help.” Hollow words and a hollow sentiment. There’s nothing you can do for him, and he knows it just as well. As luck would have it, spilled coffee is the least of your shared concerns.

Nonetheless, the two of you wipe up the remainder of the spill in silence, a gentle piano melody still weaving its way around the space between the two of you. It wraps itself around both of your stained wrists, threads an invisible string between two lost souls, two shared fates.

Finally, after long minutes, you are the first one to speak. “It didn’t get on your computer, did it?”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. He reaches an outstretched hand towards you, taking the soiled napkins you still hold before discarding them in the trash can. “Just the table.”

“That’s good.” A moment passes. Two. And then, “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You’re not sure what you should be apologizing for. In the end, you take the easy way out. “I should have paid better attention to where your cup was. You can finish mine, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” Running a hand through his hair, Jungwon explains, “I usually only drink it hot.”

“I can get you a new one –”

“Really,” he insists. “It’s okay.”

And it is. You can tell that he’s not upset, not about the coffee. But the tension is still there. Has yet to vacate the room. Has yet to drain from the tight line in his shoulders.

You saw it. You have the sinking suspicion that he knows you saw it.

That puts you at a crossroads. You can act as if nothing has happened, pretend that you saw nothing and do your best to return to your project.

But you’ve had friends and family tiptoe around you for the last two years, and it never left you feeling anything but empty. Even more unwanted, more of an anomaly. More of a glitch.

You don’t want Jungwon to feel those things. Don’t want him to feel as if he has to carry all of his pain by himself. So, you try your best, in a steady voice, hiding the shake in your hands underneath the cover of the table in front of you.

“You know,” you nod towards his arm, taking great care to keep any sign of judgement clear from your voice. “I actually work at the Student Support Center. I know it’s rare, but there are lots of people and resources there dedicated to helping people that… struggle with soulm–”

“I think we should just work on the project.” Jungwon’s lips are tight, drawn into a thin line. Avoiding your gaze, he sinks a little further into his chair. Even with his eyes trained on the floor beneath him, you can see the tension in his jaw, the uneasy tapping of his fingers against his leg.

The way he tugs at the sleeve that sits over his left wrist makes you want to press matters further, to push just a little more until he knows that he has you on his side, but you’ll respect his wishes.

You may have shared moments between the two of you, but you don’t know him, not really. The boundaries he sets are not yours to push. The lines he draws are not yours to cross.

The last thing you want to do is increase his discomfort, even if you have the sinking feeling that you’ve already done just that.

“Okay, yeah.” You take a deep inhale. “I overstepped. I’m sor–”

But Jungwon just shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it.”

…..

But you do.

You worry about it when you head back to your down nearly an hour later, after bidding him a goodnight that was still riddled with tension.

You worry about it as you prepare dinner, accidentally leaving the stovetop on long after you’ve finished cooking.

You worry about it as you try to fall asleep, unsettling thoughts of Jungwon suffering from the same pain, the same shame you’ve been hiding for the last two years. Distantly, you wonder how long it’s been for him.

You worry about it when you arrive at your next Intro to Soulmate Theory lecture, two coffees in hand.

Your worry turns to dread when long minutes tick by and still, the seat on your left remains horribly unoccupied, coffee going cold where it sits untouched on the desk.

You worry when you arrive at work, the handful of messages you’ve sent still unanswered no matter how many times you check your phone.

10:47 am You Hi Jungwon, sorry if this is annoying but you weren’t in class today and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay

10:58 am You I’m really sorry about the other day at the library. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

1:32 pm You Hey let me know when you see this. I just really want to make sure you’re okay.

You’ve typed and deleted a million more, unsure of how to best approach the situation. You’re not close to one another, not really. You’re not even friends. You’re project partners, and not even of your own volition.

You can’t seek him out, because you don’t know where he lives. Who he talks to. What his schedule is.

The whole situation has you feeling a bit helpless. Your shift passes in an absentminded blur as you try to piece together some kind of solution, some way of making sure he’s okay.

In your daze, you hardly notice that the clock has ticked all the way to the end of your shift. Jake finds you, an apologetic smile on his features.

His voice sounds far away, muddled as he asks you for a favor, asks if you’d be willing to pull a double tonight since the person on the evening shift just called out sick.

Usually you’d be hesitant, but right now you’re desperate for a distraction. Something to take your mind off of the fear that gnaws at your gut.

But through the fog in your mind, you’ve forgotten one thing. In your old schedule, evening shifts were always your favorite. Primarily because they’re significantly slower than the daytime ones. Back then, the reprieve had been welcome, and you’d used the extra time to finish up assignments between tasks.

But now, every agonizing minute feels like an eternity.

And it’s an especially slow night tonight. From your office seat, you watch as the light rain showers outside turn into a torrential downpour. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the fact that no one will be visiting tonight. No one will want to leave their home in weather like this.

In the silence, you’re left alone with your thoughts. Again, you check your phone screen, hoping that sometime in the last three minutes since you last checked, there will be a notification to ease your worries.

But there’s nothing. The only thing that stares back at you is the time and the faint outline of your own reflection.

Frustrated, you set your phone back down. There has to be something you can do. You’re halfway convinced that you should just go through everyone on your class list and send emails until someone knows something when the sound of the chime that hangs above the front door to the center rings out against the silence.

Peering over your computer, you frown. Maybe Jake forgot something.

But as the person draws closer, a familiar shape begins to solidify. And it’s not your favorite coworker.

“Jungwon?” It’s him. You’re sure of it. Even if he looks more like a drowned cat than the boy you share a study room with.

Your brow furrows, a strange mix of confusion and relief coloring your features as you stand from your seat. A million emotions flicker through your mind, running too fast for you to fully keep up. Annoyance that he’s been avoiding you and your messages. Confusion as to why he’s here now. And above it all, cold, sharp relief that he seems to be okay.

But then you let your eyes scan him, falling from his dark hair to his soaked sneakers.

He’s absolutely drenched, down to the bone. Rain soaked hair falls over his eyes, stray drops streaking over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Dripping from his dark eyelashes. His clothes, usually baggy, cling a bit closer to his frame with the added weight of precipitation.

And his eyes. His sparkling, shining eyes full of starlight.

They’re frantic now, imbued with a panic you recognize all too well.

“Jungwon,” you repeat, letting your strides eat up the ground as you close the distance that separates you.

He’s shaking, you realize. His entire body trembles. Without thinking, without even really meaning to, your hands reach up to smooth some of his dark, wet hair away from his eyes. Your touch only intensifies his shivering.

He stands, motionless, dripping on the floor. He still can’t match your gaze, has yet to breathe a single word to you.

“You’re shaking.” You can’t help but state the obvious. Removing your hand from his temple, you reach for his hand. It’s cold, too. Raindrops melt against your skin as you touch your skin to his. Finding no resistance, you envelop his hand in your own.

Tugging slightly, you pull him into a nearby room, stopping only to grab a warm blanket. Guiding him gently into a chair, you drape it over his shoulders, let it cover his entire body beneath his neck.

Stepping away from him, you begin to brew a warm cup of tea. After another minute of silence, you hand it to him wordlessly.

You watch him take a tentative sip. His fingertips are red, evidence of the lingering chill in his bones, where he wraps them around the mug.

A million questions bubble in your throat. You breathe life into none of them. Silence settles around the both of you. Not entirely unpleasant, but brimming with something heavy.

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. It could be minutes, could be hours. Could be something not bound by the rules and restraints of physics at all.

But soon enough, the mug is empty. Jungwon sighs.

“I just,” he finally breathes, and you feel your heart clench in your chest. Seizing like his pain belongs to you. His voice is ragged, scraped raw. And so, so quiet. “I couldn’t be alone.” There’s a tremble in his fingertips when he adds, “Not tonight.”

“You’re not,” you assure him, shaking your head as you step closer. After a moment of consideration, you slide down into the seat next to him. “I promise you. You’re not alone.”

Jungwon closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall. You watch as his throat works around a swallow.

“Okay,” he finally whispers.

You mean it. He’s not alone. You won’t let him be. Not for the remainder of your shift. Not when the early traces of dawn start to streak in through the windows, clouds parting in the morning sky as the rain releases its grip on the world.

Not as the sun starts to peek its head over the horizon, painting the sky in pastel watercolors and the promise of a new day.

Even then, it’s just the two of you. Jugwon’s head it still against the wall. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not sleeping.

You don’t move until he does. Until he asks in a small voice if you’ll meet him at the coffee shop the two of you have started to become regular at.

Until you honor his request with a nod and a promise to see him again in an hour.

…..

The coffee shop is mostly empty this early in the morning. You watch, sipping absentmindedly on your iced coffee as a handful of patrons come and go, moving about their day blissfully unaware of the way your world feels a bit like it’s spinning on its axis.

But you feel distant from them, too.

The corner table you and Jungwon occupy feels private, secluded. A bit like the study room you’re also well acquainted with. A fitting place for revelations.

After a minute of baited silence, Jungwon begins all at once, coffee warm between his hands.

His match was supposed to be in a park, too.

It’s interesting – the research you’ve been reading on location based matches supports claims that soulmate bonds prefer open air, areas surrounded by nature. Ironic then, that both of yours should end like this.

Jungwon’s fate was set in stone later than yours. His match failed a year ago. Exactly a year ago. Today is an anniversary for him, a terrible reminder of your shared fate, shared shame.

It was supposed to be in a park. His favorite one. A place he went often, a place he loved. He hasn’t been back since.

Not when that eerie, cosmic, magnetic pull of destiny tugged at him until he was sitting on a bench, next to the rose garden that had just begun to bloom.

Not when his breath stopped the second she arrived, and he knew, he knew that it was her. He was looking at his destiny. His soulmate.

But she wasn’t looking at him.

Not when he stood up to greet her, to meet his future with a wide smile and a fresh bouquet of wildflowers just as the shiny, red numbers on his wrist drew closer and closer to zero.

Not when he watched, a distinct sort of dread building in the pit of his stomach, as someone emerged from the opposite side of the garden. He wasn’t carrying wildflowers, but he did hold a single, ruby red rose.

Not when time ticked on, revealing with every steady, agonizing second that this stranger had the same intentions, the same plan.

The same countdown. The same fate.

Not when he watched, motionless, helpless, as this stranger met her first.

Not when he watched in abject horror as both of their faces lit up with smiles. When she took the rose from him with care in her touch and love in her eyes.

Not when he looked down at his own wrist, vision blurring as tears began to gather in his eyes, as bright, shiny red faded to a dull, lifeless gray.

Not when he was a failure, a miscalculation. An unfortunate needle in a haystack of success stories. A glitch.

Not when he watched the woman that was meant to be the love of his life fall into the arms of another man and leave him standing there alone. Lonely. Forgotten.

Not when his fingers began to shake so bad that he couldn’t maintain the grip on the bouquet.

Wildflowers stained the earth beneath him in a garish array of too bright colors, and he knew, even then, that part of his heart would be left there to die, too.

Even now, in the seat across from you in the cafe, you can see the toll it takes on him.

So you strain for a fragment of twisted comfort in the only way you know how. A reassurance that this particular cruelty is not his alone. That somehow, in an unlikely twist of fate, your paths crossed.

Laying your left arm on the table between you, you slowly drag the bottom of your sleeve up. Only an inch. And only for a moment.

It’s not a lot. Against the tides of his own agony, it’s nothing at all. But for now, it’s enough.

…..

There’s an odd sort of balance, a distinct sense of comfort that comes from the simple act of understanding. Of being understood.

It’s not quite as easy, as lighthearted as it was before, but you and Jungwon are quick to fall into a new kind of simple rhythm with one another. One that saves space for the intricacies of your shared pain and shame while still keeping them at an arm’s distance.

It’s not solace. But it is something.

You’re off tiptoes and on solid ground. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel the need to constantly check the length of your left sleeve. At least, not when you’re with him. You don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t hurt to sit through hours of lectures on soulmate theory every week.

You don't have to explain any of it. Jungwon just gets it. He already knows.

But when you meet him for your next Thursday study session, two coffees in hand, Jungwon’s eyes aren’t sparkling with their usual stars. There’s something different there now. A kind of fire you haven’t seen from him before. One that glimmers with determination.

As you slide down into the seat across from him, he skips all pleasantries and says instead, “I think we should switch our project topic.”

It takes a concentrated effort not to knock over the coffee you set down in front of you for the second time in the span of weeks. “What?” At this point, your outline has long been finished and you’re well into writing your report. The thought of changing topics with barely a week left until the submission deadline is absolutely ludicrous. “Why?”

Jungwon doesn’t miss a beat. “I think we should do our project on glitches.”

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped.

Glitch. It’s a word people usually tiptoe around, whisper behind closed doors. Not meant for respectable society and certainly has no place in a university research paper.

You don’t even take a second to consider. “No.”

“What?” Now Jungwon is the one who looks surprised. Brow creasing, he presses. “Why? I mean, we’re both gl–”

“I said no.” You can’t hear him say it again. Features falling, Jungwon’s confusion begins to mingle with hurt at the sound of your sharp rejection. This might not be something that you’re willing to compromise, but your intention was never to hurt him, either.

Sighing, you explain, “Look, I’m just not comfortable with it. Besides, we’ve done so much work on this topic already. It doesn’t make sense to switch so close to the deadline.”

Only a fraction of what you’ve said seems to resonate. After a pregnant pause, Jungwon echoes. “Not… comfortable.” His tone is flat, as if your words are indecipherable to him.

He doesn’t continue, but you can tell that he has more to say. Can sense the words bubbling on his lips, begging to drip from his tongue. This is already a sensitive subject, and it’s made even more so by the way he tiptoes around it.

Across from him, your cross your arms across your chest. “I can tell that you have something else to see.” You don’t mean to be combative, don’t mean to start anything. But annoyance is starting to creep in. It’s dragging dread along with it, like an old friend, like a dangerous reminder.

“It’s nothing.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I guess I just don’t…” He trails off for a moment, deciding how best to tread treacherous territory. “How can you not be comfortable? I mean, you’re a glitch like me. Aren’t you curious at all? About why we glitched? If there’s anything we can do to fix it?”

And there it is. The lingering fear you’ve been working for two long years to overcome. The deep, aching insecurity that beneath it all, this is all your fault. That something is fundamentally wrong with you. “Fix me, you mean.”

Jungwon frowns. “I mean, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m more curious about what kind of solutions there are.” He presses on, oblivious to the way every word sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. The way every syllable pierces like a knife against your skin.

He’s not overflowing with hopelessness where he sits across from you. No, he’s enthusiastic as he tells you, “I did some research the other day, actually, and there’s this one scholar who thinks that all glitches happen for a reason. He thinks that you can still meet your soulmate and get your countdown to turn back to red if–”

“Stop.” Your voice is too loud, too sharp, too much, for the scant space of this small room. “Please,” you’re whispering now, but Jungwon flinches all the same. “Just stop.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows draw into a tight furrow. You thought he understood, but he doesn’t. He still doesn’t get it. He tells you as much. “I don’t understand why you’re so against it. I mean, we finally have a chance to look into why we gli–”

“I said, stop.” Jungwon looks as if you’ve pushed him. Dumped ice cold water over his head and left him out to dry.

But now he’s angry, too. There’s an accusation in his words when he says lowly, “I thought you would understand.”

And you do. You know how flowers wither when they’re left to die without any water. You know how love blossoms and blooms and dies all within the span of a single breath. You know what it feels like to carry a constant reminder of your most intimate pain seared into your skin, your soul.

There was a time when you wanted to be fixed, too. When you would have given anything to have a second chance at that day in the park two years ago. When you were sure if you could just do it again, you would walk away with a different fate. A red countdown. A soulmate.

But the longer you spent with your grief, the more you realized that it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t matter. The maybes didn’t matter. The almosts didn't’ matter.

You can’t reverse time. You can’t turn back the clock until your countdown glows red again. You don’t get a second chance at that afternoon in the park.

All you get is the life you have now. And you can grieve for what you’ve lost. Part of you always will. But if you spend the rest of your life lingering on it, obsessed with it, trying to fix it, then that’s all your life will be.

You won’t just lose a soulmate. You’ll lose yourself, too.

You’ll lose new friendships and favorite coworkers and every goal and dream you’ve ever had. You’ll lose quiet moments in secluded study rooms, trading smiles and sharing coffee. You’ll lose every shred of happiness in search of something that never really existed.

Sitting here now, across from Jungwon, you’re not just angry. You feel stupid, too. Ridiculous for ever thinking that maybe, just maybe, butterflies bloomed in the pit of his stomach when he looked at you, too.

That maybe, just maybe, when he matched your gaze, your eyes turned ordinary things into starlight, too.

But even with gray on his wrist and pain in his heart, the distance between the two of you has never felt wider.

Jungwon won’t even match your eye now. He aims for the heart instead. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who I thought would understand. Who knows what it’s like. To lose the only thing in life that really matters.” His voice is small, but it’s teeming with frustration, with misplaced anger. There’s an unmistakable fury in his eyes when he finally lets his gaze land on yours. But you know him now, even better than you thought. You see the pain just as clearly. The confusion, the hurt.

And where he expects to find an apology, or perhaps some sort of agreement, he’s met only with a rage to rival his own.

“Fuck you.” It’s barely decipherable under your breath, but he catches it, even if just barely.

“What?”

You double down. “I said, fuck you, Jungwon. How dare you. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt, the only person that this stupid fucking system screwed over?” And now your anger has been let loose, the floodgates opened. It rises, ebbs and flows like waves against a shore. Weathering over all the sharp pieces and jagged edges that time hasn’t yet managed to erode. Spills over onto the table like his forgotten coffee from weeks ago.

“Why do you think I work at the support center? Why do you think you’ve never seen me in a short sleeve shirt?”

You’re angry and you’re hurting and you understand his pain. But it’s worse this time. You don’t know why his determination to fix his failed soulmate match stings like rejection. You can’t figure out why it burns in a way that’s all too reminiscent of that afternoon in the park two years ago.

You feel it all, under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch, an ache you can’t get rid of. You don’t know why he didn’t just stop when you asked him, why he won’t just listen to you.

“At least you get to wonder what might have happened.” You don’t mean to do it, to throw his hurt back in his face. To compare pain, to stack your scars against one another and measure them like there’s a winner in this game. “I met my soulmate. I met him and talked to him and fell in love with him and he still didn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what some scholar says. You can’t fucking fix that.”

You’re standing before you know it, heading to the door before you mean to. But you can’t stay here, can’t watch him look at you like that. Not when every word that passes between you opens wounds you’ve spent ages trying to clean.

Not when you know that none of it, even the parts you’d hoped you’d remember fondly, were ever done intentionally. He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to give you butterflies or look at you with starlight in his eyes, and that only makes it worse.

You’re already beneath the doorframe when you find it in yourself to add, “You’re hurting and you’re lonely and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve that pain, and you never will. But I refuse to do this again, to spend the rest of my life thinking there’s something wrong with me. That it’s my fault, that I can fix everything, fix myself, if I just try hard enough. My matched glitched.” You still can’t quite say the word without flinching. “I’m a glitch. But I refuse to let that be the only thing I am.”

When the door shuts behind you, it echoes, even in the crowded hallway.

Your footsteps feel too heavy as they eat up the ground between you and the front door of the library. The late autumn air feels too cold as you walk back to your dorm, enveloped in the quiet of the evening, mind screaming with misplaced rage.

The silence of your dorm room is too loud as you sit alone in it.

And the mark on your wrist is too gray, no matter how you look at it.

…..

Jungwon is antsy.

Even with the space of a day between him and your argument, he’s brimming with a sort of uncontained energy that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t find a way to channel it.

Taekwondo practice helps, albeit only slightly. Physically, at least, it grounds him. There’s a solace to be found in the repetitive motion of his well aimed kicks.

He welcomes the familiar ache in his muscles like an old friend, sweat building on his brow as he lets the calm, flowing energy guide his powerful movements.

But even after two hours on the mat and a long, overly warm shower, Jungwon’s thoughts are still spinning in circles, still doing cartwheels through his mind. He needs to talk, needs to process everything that’s happened, everything that he’s feeling.

But save for one person, he’s not sure who to go to.

It’s then, the last member of his team still towelling off in the locker room, that he realizes that under any other circumstance, the first person that he would want to reach out to, to spill his heart and guts and soul out to, is you.

It’s been weeks, a handful of days, a smattering of hours, since you became a name in his mind. A person with an identity other than the pretty girl that sits in the sixth row of the lecture hall, and yet.

And yet.

Jungwon is suddenly overcome with the urge to reach for his phone, to send a message, make a phone call. His better judgement stops him before he can.

Mostly because he has no idea what he would say. An apology is in order, surely. He still sees the look on your face against the backs of his eyelids. The way pain etched itself into your features, the way your shoulders never quite relaxed after he suggested the topic change on your project.

He’s not sure if this is even something that can be remedied with words, but he is absolutely certain that he never wants to see that look on your face again.

So an apology it is, then. But for what, exactly?

If he’s honest with himself, he still doesn’t fully understand.

He let his anger, his frustration, his pain get the best of him, yes, but it was more than that. He’s not sure why you seemed so personally affected by the idea of exploring research around soulmate glitches. Why that word seemed to eat at you so much.

So he lets his confusion carry him to the only place where he thinks he just might find an answer.

The Student Support Center looks different in the daytime. Jungwon still feels that nagging sense of discomfort as he forces his feet through the front door.

His shame feels most prominent here, in a place where admitting that he needs help still feels like weakness to him.

Swallowing his pride, he forces his footsteps forward. The desk he found you at a handful of night ago is empty. But the one next to it is occupied with another student, a boy. One that looks a couple of years older than you, if he had to guess.

He smiles when he sees Jungwon, offering a generic greeting before he takes another look at him.

Jake, he thinks it must be, if your descriptions are anything to go by. Another person that Jungwon has begun to become familiar with in the past few weeks, albeit only by your secondhand account.

And you must have done the same for him, because Jake is quick to mask his shock with something careful, guarded.

“Hi,” he repeats, standing from her seat. “I’m Jake.” Looking him over once more, something akin to a sigh escapes his lips. “You must be Jungwon.”

Jake, as it turns out, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He understands why you like him so much.

In a matter of minutes, a fairly abridged version of your last library session has been reconstructed, laid bare in front of eyes that know you best.

Jake is silent for a moment, turning over thoughts in his mind before he finally says, “It’s not my story to tell.” Jungwon figured as much. “But I think she would, if you asked.”

Jungwon nods. It’s permission. From an indirect source, maybe, but hope flutters through his chest all the same. He has a goal now, something to work towards. Something that he hopes will fix whatever has shattered between the two of you.

There’s a brief pause before Jake speaks again. “What I can say is that she’s done a lot of work to move on. To find meaning in her life outside of the number on her wrist. To stop feeling incomplete, like a burden, like a problem to be solved.”

And I threw those fears back in her face, Jungwon realizes, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut.

The despair must play out on his features, because Jake is gentle when he says, “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I do know how it feels to grieve for what could have been. It’s easier, sometimes, I think, to let that consume you. To spend your life trying to get as close to that lost future as you can, even though you know it will never be quite right. Even though you know you’re chasing ghosts.”

Jake folds his hands across his lap, lacing his fingers together.

“She made the decision to let those ghosts rest, to let that part of her life go. To find something else worth living for instead. For the small moments, maybe. For joy, for love. All those things that she still gets to feel.”

That you still get to feel. Jake doesn’t say it, but Jungwon hears it all the same.

“Those things that nothing, not even fate, gets to take away.”

Jungwon glances down at his wrist. It’s covered, but he can feel the ever present weight of it. Of the gray mark that he knows, deep down, will never fade. Will never change.

And for the first time in a long time, that truth doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

“I…” Jungwon isn’t sure how to wrap his gratitude in words. “Thank you.” For telling him. For helping you. For being here. “For all of it.”

“Of course.” Jake smiles. Lets his fingers fall to his sides as he stands, brushing invisible dust from his lap. “Joy is even better when it’s shared, no?”

Joy is even better when it’s shared.

For the first time in a long time, Jungwon smiles. A real smile, a face-splitting, toothy, uncontrollably wide smile. One that hurts his cheeks and reaches all the way to his eyes.

It’s still there when he’s walking back to his dorm.

It’s still there when he sits down at his desk, reaching for his computer and turning on the last playlist he was listening to earlier, just for something to fill the silence.

After a handful of moments, a familiar melody begins to lilt through his speaker.

Clair de Lune. It’s a tune he would know anywhere. It reminds him of moonlight, of starlight, and everything in between. It reminds him of long study sessions and stolen glances and tentative whispers.

It makes him smile even harder.

Looking at the computer in front of him, Jungwon thinks fate just might be a tangible thing.

He feels it in the back of his throat first and then the base of his nose. The telltale stinging sensations that always comes at the first sign of tears.

He lets it. Welcomes it. Allows them to fall.

Alone in his room, hard, long sobs wrack his entire body and leave him gasping for air. Sorrow and grief and anger and joy all tangled together in one.

Because Jungwon is done mourning himself, the ghost of a life that has haunted him for the last year. The future that was never his to begin with. The weight of possibilities that time cannot undo, that sheer will alone cannot change.

Joy is even better when it’s shared.

And he thinks he’ll start with himself.

…..

The knock on your front door is unexpected. And it comes just too late at night for you to feel comfortable opening it without a second thought. Footsteps padding as silently as possible towards the entrance to your dorm, you run through the short list of people you think could possibly be knocking at your door at this hour and come up blank.

Against your better judgement, you undo the latch, opening the door slowly as if that will be enough to deter any unwanted visitors.

Thankfully, the sliver of space doesn’t reveal a threat. But it does have your brow furrowing in confusion.

“Jungwon? How did you–”

Explanations for how he found your address are not at the top of his priority list. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, words tumbling out all at once. “I don’t…” A pained expression crosses his features. “I’m not good with words, and I don’t always know what the best thing to say is, but I’m sorry. I never should have said those things about you, about us. I – we’re not glitches.” He pauses, frowning. “I mean, we are, but that’s okay. We’re okay. There’s nothing to fix, and I’m sorry that I made it sound like I think otherwise.”

He trails off again, jaw working as he swallows the lump in his throat. “I… You have to know that I think the absolute world of you, ___. I would never, ever want to say or do something that makes you think otherw–oof.”

Jungwon’s words die with the sudden impact of your head against his chest, arms wrapping tight around his torso. Shock renders him immobile, just for a moment, before he’s melting into your touch. Returning your embrace as his arms twine around your back, fingers settling against your spine.

It’s all there, wrapped up in this moment. A solid foundation. A warm place to land. Things that futures can be built upon. Things that can breathe life into possibilities, into almosts, into maybes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his neck.

“For what?”

“For everything you said.” You melt a little further into him, and Jungwon hopes that he never has to move. “For being here.”

You mean it. He knows it.

He lets his cheek rest against the crown of your head. You feel the movement of his jaw when he tells you, “It’s the only place I wanted to be.”

He means it. You know it.

…..

epilogue.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You know,” Jungwon rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips, too. “The more you keep asking that question, the less inclined I am to answer it.”

Huffing, you argue. “We’ve been walking for thirty minutes.” With still no destination in sight, mind you. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation.”

“That’s what the coffee was for.” Jungwon’s smile turns into a grin, one of those real ones that lights up his eyes. That has starlight reflecting in them. One that has you returning a smile o your own, despite your complaints. “To distract you from the physical labor.”

“Well, we can’t all be on the taekwondo team.”

Jungown just rolls his eyes again. “We’re almost there. I promise.”

And despite it all, you believe him. Because it’s been six months since you were first assigned as project partners and nearly two since your shared class ended. And he’s still here. Still a permanent fixture in your life. Still responsible for so many moments you’ve come to look forward to, so many memories you know you’ll cherish forever.

Because despite the gray numbers on your wrists, you’re both dressed for the activity. It’s nearing winter now, but it’s unseasonably warm. With the physical exertion included, it’s weather that calls for short sleeves.

Because there’s no one else you’d walk thirty minutes towards an undisclosed location for.

Because there’s no one else that understands you the way he does, not just from shared circumstances, but also as a result of effort. Of honest conversations and the genuine desire to listen. To learn you. To know you like the back of his hand.

Because to him, you’re just you. A person capable of joy and anger and grief and love and all of the beautiful, wonderful, messy things that comes with being a human. You’re not a failure, not something to fix. Your identity isn’t constrained to the gray mark on your wrist.

Because you think you might love him for it.

Because you know that you do.

And when you finally arrive at the small neighborhood park ten minutes later, the only thing you’re thinking about is how beautiful the lake looks bathed in the glow of afternoon sunlight.

Later, sprawled on a picnic blanket underneath the shade of an old sycamore tree, overlooking that same lake, you’ll turn to him and whisper some nonsense about recent studies claiming that soulmates often find each other surrounded by nature. Particularly in the presence of a body of water.

Jungwon will roll his eyes, will brush a strand of hair away from your forehead while he tells you that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all a bunch of nonsense anyway.

His smile will be soft, as he hands you the small makeshift bouquet of wildflowers you hadn’t noticed him collecting on your journey here. You’ll tuck your favorite one behind your ear before you lean back against his chest.

And it will feel a little bit like coming home, like resting after a long day, like basking in the first rays of sunshine as winter finally releases its grip on the world and blooms into a glorious spring when he intertwines his fingers with yours and whispers against the shell of your ear that he thinks you’re beautiful.

Fate is a funny thing, you’ll think as his breath tickles the skin of your neck, sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

And no matter how many nights we’ve spent berating it, cursing it, resenting it, I’ll always be glad that it has led us to this. Or maybe, you’ll wonder as he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of your cheekbone, the space between your eyebrows.

Maybe we led it. Grabbed fate by the collar and forced it to bend to our whims like that masters of destiny we are.

Whatever it may be, I’m glad that it brought me here.

To joy. To love.

And most of all, to you.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. As always, I love hearing your thoughts. All the best ♡♡

#jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fanfic #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff

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luvmila444 · 1 year ago

Text

SWEET RELIEF - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: Chris can’t help but get a bit worked up while on a tutoring study call with you, when you realise what he’s doing, you only pushing him further to the edge.

content warning: male masturbtion; dirty thoughts; praise kink

word count: 2.8k

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Chris was a little embarrassed with how fast he had picked up the phone call from you, not to mention the blush that had spread across his cheeks and his quickly paced heartbeat when he heard your sweet voice ring through the speakers.

“Hey, Chris!” You smiled as you spread your small pile of assessments and study papers across your desk to get yourself prepared. This had been a regular thing on Wednesdays and Saturdays for the past two months. You guys would set up a phone call together as you would help him study as Chris was falling behind in class…a lot. You guys had to do it over the phone as both houses were always so busy due to Chris’s brothers and your family always occupying your living spaces, making it difficult to have privacy and quiet to help him focus and bring his grades up. Therefore, you resulted in two easy phone calls across the week, which Chris always enjoyed a little too much.

Chris loved that you could never see him and what he was doing at the sound of your voice over the phone. The sweet ring of it through the speakers. The way you ramble so passionately about the work. Yeah… he definitely liked having the privacy of his room for these calls more then he’d like to admit. Although he can never help but imagine what you looked like, what you were doing. Fuck… he’s been on the call for no more than ten second and he’s already getting himself worked up.

“Chris…?” He heard you voice agin. Fuck that voice.

“Yeah... I’m here, hey y/n.” He couldn’t help the smile that rose onto his lips hearing hear giggle at his slow usual response.

“Okay well glad you're here,” you say readying the paper you had recently got giving by your teacher, on to the top of the pill of books you had been working on, “why don’t you fine the paper that mr Hudson gave us today and we will work through that one today, yeah?” You say cutely but trying not to talk so fast so Chris could take in the information.

“Yeah, yeah sure…” he buries his way through his overflowing piles of unfinished homework to find the paper that was given to him today by his teacher “why did he give us the paper today, anyway?” Chris huffs, flipping to the first page that you wanted to start working on.

“I have no idea, it’s not like we don’t already get enough work given to us on Mondays and Fridays, but now on Wednesdays too? It’s getting a bit intense at this point!”

Chris hums in agreement, loving the way you get worked up about things. However, once you were done with your small rant, you let out a sign that was so quiet only the most observant person would notice it, lucky for you, Chris was that person. As you made the noise Chris felt a familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach, just imagining you making that noise in a very different scenario…

“Did you see jenny today?” You interrupted his quickly drifting dirty thought, referring to girl who passes every class, not using her smarts but her body instead, fucking her way to good grades.

“No, why? What was she doing this time?” Chris asked slowly, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and suppress his dirty thought of you.

“Woah I’m surprised you didn’t see her! She was practically pushing her tits out of her very tiny top to try and get out of this paper…. practically had all the guys drooling,” you huffed. You’d always been quite jealous of Jennifer. She could literally get any guy she wanted and could always get out of these stupid papers. It was irritating to people like you who tried their very hardest in their schoolwork and seem to go zero appreciation for it, when all jenny does is gossip, do her obnoxiously babyish laugh and pop a tit, therefore having the whole classroom wrapped around her finger. It was pathetic.

“Nah, guess i don’t really care that much about her,” Chris was very aware of Jenny’s usual inappropriate behaviour, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you all through that class. He was sat near the back of the class, so he had a good view of his surroundings and could easily see you sat a few rows in-front of him, at the perfect angle so her couple see you left side perfectly. Chris simply couldn’t understand how anyone could pay attention in that class knowing that you were in there, not jenny but you.

Your short denim mini shirt that accentuated you ass and hips so perfectly and highlighting your legs. However, to keep yourself warmer and seem more modest, you through a knitted sweater over the top, making Chris’s eager to rip it off and see what you hid beneath the layers of warm wear. God, if there was nobody else in that classroom, he would not hesitate you lift you up on the desk and kiss up your legs to your perfect thighs and up your body. He would make sure to take perfect care of you, bring his lips underneath your sweater and bring his hand to you perfectly round and covered tits.

Full, he could barely take it anymore. He could feel his harder member quickly growing underneath his get sweats, but he didn’t want to stop. No… he couldn’t stop himself.

“Huh, thats surprising, i could’ve sworn that the guys next to me literally had dribble on his chin, it was crazy.” You laughed.

Fuck that laugh. Chris brought his hand up to his crotch and felt where he had grown harder just thinking of you. He began to palm himself, trying to relieve the growing soreness between his legs.

"We should get started now." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I you barely understood what was going on it that class."

"Uh, yeah." Chris coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What did you want to start with?"

You voice begins to drift into an explanation of what was said at the beginning of the class, only worded in a simpler way, yet Chris could barely take in any of this information. You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Chris furrows his own for an entirely different reason.

He continues to palm his dick through his pants while your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants beneath his hand. Christ, i can’t actually be doing this right now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, quickly responding to what you were saying with a hum and an "ah, that makes makes more sense."

Chris doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much breathier, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, teasingly licking at his cock, as your devious eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head.

“So thats basically the first part,” you continued to explain, unaware and completely oblivious to Chris’s hand rubbing at himself on the other end of the line.

He won’t do more. He can’t, this is just so wrong of him Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak, and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy. His breathing had grown heavier, but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions.

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask, feeling as if Chris wasn’t getting everything he needed out of your words. He had to spare a glance at his incomplete work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need.

His cock was now rock hard, it was torturous. His mind began to glaze over with lustful thought of you “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, pulling his cock, which was now leaking with drops of pre-cum and the tip was a bright rosy, red, much like his cheeks.

He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you edge him and make sure he’s extremely overstimulated as you milk him dry. Chris’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm. His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Chris becomes lost in your tone as his cock twitches.

“Chris?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure.

“Yeah?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling.

“Are you…okay?”

Your question makes him halt, much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”

“You sound… i don’t know, out of breath?” You say, behind the line trying to think of why.

“Really, you think?” He hums with a small smirk on his face enjoying the uncertainty in your tone and how innocent you mind must have been. You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Chris’s lips. You had to be mistaken, as it had almost sounded like one full of pleasure that could have only been as a result of one thing...

Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…

“Chris.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again.

“What are you doing?”

Chris curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying obviously. Being tutored s-so well... by you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s wanting to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm, attempting to stop himself from stuttering his words, but he just couldn’t help it.

“You’re sure you’re good?” You asked unconvinced, as a small smirk rose to your lips.

“No. No, I’m all good, i swear.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly begun to stroke himself again, his cock angry.

“Ah huh, yeah…okay,” you knew what you were going to do, this was going to be fun. “Did i tell you how good you looked today?”

Chris’s eyes opened, looking at his phone slightly trying to keep a steady pace of his raging cock but if you were going down this road of compliments, he probably wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters pathetically, somehow unaware of the game you were playing.

“Well, you did, your hair…wow. I could just run my hands through it! How do you always get it looking so soft?” You paused momentarily, hearing Chris’s surprised whimper. “Sorry thats kind of a goofy thing to say…sorry.” You were basically just teasing him now, the basic matters of the studying gone.

“I- no i don’t think its goofy. a-at all…” his words are broken up by that heaving panting.

“God. really? You’re so sweet chris…wow,” You hum, making Chris’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke.

“R-really?” His eyelids began to feel heavy again, wanted nothing more but to see the darkness and use it as a canvas to paint his dirty images of you in his mind.

“Yeah, i mean you’re the literal sweetest” you hum lightly, “you always make sure i havea seat in class, you listen to me when i speak and when i help you i study, you defend me in-front of your friends! You’re so sweet! Such a sweet, good boy for me” you were practically grinning at this point.

Chris could have sworn that your words could have sent him spiralling over the edge.“I a-am?” He asked, almost to clarify that this was real, that you were actually saying this to him.

“Well of course, and you’re always so busy as well, yet you always make time for me in your busy schedule. You must be stressed a lot of the time. I could always help you…relax sometime, relieve some of your…tension.” You had lowered your voice now in order to have a more seductive tone to your voice now.

Chris chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My tension…?”

“I mean, yeah… i could alway give you a massage, rub you down, you know I’ve been told I am very good at giving…massages.” It was becoming blatantly obvious what you were doing now but Chris must’ve been blinded and in a lustful haze because he still seemed to be completely oblivious to what you were doing. Continuously pumping his dick eagerly and chasing his release.

The thought of you sat on top of him, rubbing all down him in order to relax him was definitely doing the opposite effect and only working him up more. Fuck. He had almost come from the thought of you taking care of him. the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm.

“You’d do that for me?” Chris whined, only imaging what else you would do for him almost sent him over the edge.

“Of course, i would baby, you would tell me where it feels good before i drag my hands down your body…” Chris let out a pathetic whimper at not only the simple thought but at the nickname as well. Baby? Baby??! Oh, my lord he was going absolutely feral at this point, “however, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.”

Chris moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?”

“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be, okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable— “

“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.”

You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear chris’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.”

Chris nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?”

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release.

“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making chris’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.”

At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.”

“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through chris’s body.

“W—what?”

“Come to my place, i know yours is always super hectic.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm.

“Fuck…yeah that sounds good, i-if you’re happy then s-so am i…” he was no biting his own lip so hard he could’ve sworn he was drawing some blood. He now had his back so far arched up off of his bed and was practically fucking up into his own hand.

“See, again, you are alway thinking…of me,” oh he was definitely thinking of you, thats for sure, “you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you. He watched as the white strings of cum coated and stained his dark shirt.

“Fuck” he let out a relieved groan, now not even hiding the action that he had just did.

“Maybe next time we study i should just jerk you off instead,”

Chris’s eyes widened at what you had said, before realising how blatantly obvious what he was doing was. You giggled once again hearing Chris’s heavy breathes, pleased to know that it was you who had pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want to me,” Chris let out with a deep breathe.

Oh, you certainly would…

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A/n : thank you so much for reading, this is literally my 3rd time trying to post this because I keep making mistakes 😭😭I really hope you enjoy and if there are any more mistakes pls lmk

ily my angels 💞 (especially @gamermattsgf)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

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