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kurooh · 2 days

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PLAYING DANGEROUS ★ N. KENTO

⊹ ₊˚. OCTOBER 4TH. seven minutes in heaven doesn’t seem like all that until you end up in a tight closet with an officer who’s had his eyes on you all night.

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, everyone is above 21, oral sex [m receiving], deepthroating, light role play, alcohol, crying, light satosugu, wc is 3.1k

xoxo, juno ★ this was bootyhole but it was the first fic of the month 💔 next week will hopefully be better

🎃 LIFE OF THE PARTY MLIST.

since you’d arrived to the party with your friends from jujutsu tech—shoko and utahime—you’d felt someone’s eyes on you. as you stood with a red solo cup in hand, talking with your friends, you’d gotten goosebumps a few times on your rather exposed skin . .

the three of you had chosen to dress as the plastics from the mean girls, some costumes more showy than others. shoko had opted to wear karen’s mouse costume, with some black tights to match the look better. utahime wore gretchen’s black cat costume, the black suit loose on her and adjusted to cover her collarbone area more to her liking. between the two of them, you were the star of the show — pink bunny ears glittering on your head, tits pushed up and over the hem of the top, the bottom part of the suit tight on your ass and cut high on the sides of your thighs. honestly, you really hadn’t meant to wear something this revealing; there were issues with shipping and handling, resulting in a smaller size of the costume arriving just before the party.

“girls!” utahime whines, looking left and right at the people drinking and dancing. “what should we do first? it’s too loud over here!”

“what?” shoko calls, even though the three of you are standing right beside one another. “utahime, i can’t hear you.”

you and shoko share a giggle when utahime stamps her foot on the ground, grabs your wrists, and tugs you over to a sitting area, away from the music. your drink nearly sloshes over the rim of the cup and spills onto your chest. someone dressed in a police officer costume shoots you an indistinguishable look just as you save it. their eyes are an olive green, the rest of their features hidden by the party lights and their costume. once you sit down altogether, utahime lets out a huff.

“i said, what should we do?”

“drink and dance,” you answer immediately, tossing your cup back and taking a swig of your drink. it stings a little as it goes down. what was it again? some kind of fruity concoction with all kinds of liquor mixed by the frat boys from inarizaki college or something.

“but that drink is nasty!” she complains, wrinkling her nose as you offer her the cup.

“i need a smoke break,” shoko sighs deeply, fumbling around in her pocket.

“shoko, we’ve been here for less than fifteen minutes,” you remind her, patting her arm before utahime launches into an anti-smoking lecture. “at least wait a little longer, then i’ll come with you.”

she rolls her eyes, squeezing the box hard as she pushes it back into her pocket. “fine. let’s get some drinks and try to dance then, yeah?”

the three of you shuffle back to the dance floor, pushing past the drunk people and couples making out to get to the table of bottles.

“want me to mix you something up, utahime?” a jujutsu tech student whose voice you’ve heard before is mischievous and teasing. judging by the way utahime slams the bottle of vodka down on the table, it’s definitely that gojo she’s always ranting about.

“get out, gojo!” she snaps, extending her arm and pointing towards the other side of the crowd. he disappears into the crowd with a cackle, and the three of you return to pouring and filling your cups. you take a gulp of your drink, pulling the cup away from your lips with a gasp, surprised by the burn in your throat and slightly sickening after taste.

“you alright?” comes a deep voice from behind you, and a person is offering you a sealed bottle of water. you turn quickly, almost bare ass brushing against a strong body.

“y-yeah, thanks,” you say appreciatively, looking up into the face you’d seen earlier. at this point, you’re sure that this is a man you’ve seen somewhere before; maybe you’d heard about him from utahime and shoko?

you shake the feeling off, flashing the officer a smile before turning away to invite your friends onto the dance floor. it takes utahime some time to warm up, taking careful sips from her drink and sticking close to shoko, who sways lightly to the music, probably thinking about her upcoming smoke break.

as you dance, spinning occasionally to the music, you can’t seem to stop noticing that officer from earlier. he’s always standing in a corner somewhere, or he’s talking to his friends without focusing on them, clearly caught up with you and your costume.

“shoko!” calls a relaxed voice you manage to hear over the music, and then all three of you are walking over to the sitting area again. “been calling you for a while, c’mon now.”

“what’s up, geto?” she asks tiredly, tugging her cigarette box from her pocket and catching the lighter he tosses her.

“well, i—”

“knock it off, gojo,” the tall officer pushes gojo from earlier off him, sending him tumbling into geto. his dark hair is long and neatly arranged to go with his costume.

“suguru!” gojo shouts, clearly drunk as he clings to the front of geto’s costume. “thank goodness you caught me, nanami’s being so rude! i just suggested we could play seven minutes in heaven.”

“is that right?” he laughs, nudging gojo off and sitting on the couch, then gesturing for the police officer to take a seat too. gojo sits down quickly, much to the officer’s obvious disdain.

“idiots,” utahime huffs, shaking her head and making her cat ears wiggle. she looks over to a smoking shoko and fans the plumes out of the air. “don’t you agree?”

“of course, utahime,” she replies, nudging you lightly. she introduces you to the men, who all wave politely, besides the officer, who carefully looks at you.

“nanami’s not a big fan of parties,” gojo says, sticking his tongue out and rifling around for a beer bottle on the floor. he comes back with something half full and sucks the remaining liquid down, then triumphantly places it in the center of the coffee table.

nanami looks to the side, the brim of his cop hat obscuring his eyes. “i’m not interested.”

“come onnnn, nanami,” gojo whines, staring hard, blue eyes wide open in an effort to convince him. “you probably won’t get picked anyway!”

you stifle a giggle at that, and nanami looks away further, crossing a leg over another. but he can’t resist looking from the corner of his eye when gojo spins the bottle and it lands on his friend beside him. geto smiles softly as a drunk gojo yanks him over to the closet nearby, then pushes him inside first.

“those two,” shoko shakes her head, taking a drag on her cigarette. “gojo’s so embarrassing when he’s drunk.”

“uh, hey,” you rise from your seat beside the girls and awkwardly sit beside nanami, who graces you with eye contact that makes you sweat all over. “i just wanted to say thanks for the water when i was choking earlier.”

“it’s no problem,” he says politely, slightly glancing down at your chest and the rest of your body although he fights hard not to.

your cheeks warm and you clear your throat, folding your hands on top of your thighs. “so, you’re from jujutsu tech?”

“i am,” he affirms, making no move to say anything more.

you really hope you don’t get nanami in the game. a few minutes later, gojo and geto come back from the closet, laughing hysterically.

“did you desecrate the closet so we don’t have to play anymore?” shoko asks sarcastically, putting out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray that utahime holds for her.

geto can’t stop cackling, gasping between each one and gripping his chest. “oh my god! satoru got in the closet, tripped, and banged his head on the wall so hard he—”

everyone starts to laugh and geto struggles to finish his story while gojo takes a seat beside nanami to listen. “h-he made the lightbulb fall down and it broke, so now it’s just dark. we spent all the time cleaning up the glass for you guys.”

gojo claps his hands loudly, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck. “ahem!” he clears his throat obnoxiously and points at the coffee table and beer bottle. “nanami, ‘s your turn.”

“i said i’m not interested,” the officer bites, and gojo groans loudly, annoyed.

“convince him!”

everyone but nanami collectively laughs, and geto starts up with that lighthearted and breezy tone of his. “nanami, i’m sure you’ll end up having fun.”

shoko offers a smile, “i don’t like parties any more than you do and yet i’m playing.”

“fine,” he grumbles, snatching the beer bottle from a cheering gojo and putting it down on the table. glass moves against glass as nanami spins it hard; it goes around the table a few times before slowing on utahime, who desperately chants no no no! to everyone’s surprise, including your own, it stops on you.

you look up from the bottle and nanami does too, then you both slowly stand and start to walk over to the closet. you’re trailing behind the officer and looking back nervously.

“good luck,” shoko salutes you, taking a shot from utahime’s cup in your honor.

“thanks,” you nod, slowly following the officer to the closet, padding along the floor silently. a chill pinpricks down your spine as he holds the door open for you, allowing you to walk into the dark closet first. nanami shuffles in beside you, clearing his throat as his body brushes against yours.

“hi,” you say, swallowing nervously. it’s loud enough for nanami to hear, and he raises an eyebrow in the dark. “ah, i didn’t expect to end up in here together.”

“you’d rather be with gojo?” nanami scoffs, sounding insulted although he softens at your frantic response.

“oh my god, no! absolutely not, i was thinking of shoko or something.”

nanami genuinely laughs, leaning back against the wall with a tired sigh. “he forced me to come along, you know. i wanted to stay in the dorms and watch movies or something.”

“well, now you’re here,” you say, hands smoothing over the front of your costume. “might as well play the game, huh? this is supposed to be seven minutes in heaven.”

“i don’t mind talking,” nanami answers, shifting his body. there’s a metallic jingling sound that comes from his waist, which piques your curiosity.

“what’s that?” you ask, nodding towards his waist. he can’t see you, but understands you nonetheless.

“oh, they’re handcuffs,” he pulls them from their holder and swings them on a finger. “supposed to go along with my costume, i guess.”

“do they work?”

“i don’t know, i haven’t tried them.”

your body burns hot as the words leave your mouth, “put them on me and let’s see if they do.” where is this suggestion even coming from? you couldn’t blame this on the drinking, not when you’ve maintained sober conversation for as long as you have.

nanami laughs loudly, before realizing how serious you are. “shit, you’re serious?”

“i am if you are.”

“if we can’t get these off, it’ll be hell to explain,” nanami warns, before you turn around and offer your hands. the cool metal goes onto your wrists easily, clicking as he locks them. now he’s the one swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry as he realizes the dirty implication. you’re close enough to see each other even though it’s dark, and his olive eyes catch yours for a single moment.

“i swear i’m a good girl, officer,” you tease with a glossy pout, leaning in close enough to his face that he can smell the sweet scents of your lip product and perfumed skin. nanami’s quick to play along, even against his better judgment. you’re real pretty and easy to get carried away thinking about . . he can’t help but feel his cock squeeze in his pants.

“typically good girls aren’t in handcuffs,” he clicks his tongue, fighting back a smile.

“these are tight, officer,” you whine, turning around and pressing your ass into him rather confidently. nanami’s breath hitches in his throat and he allows himself to ghost his fingers along your wrists and the cool metal that binds them together.

“i’m afraid i can’t let you go.”

“no rings on your fingers?” you ask, segueing into a question about his status before you push him further. “ever thought of messing around with a bunny girl?”

“no, work is my focus,” nanami replies smoothly, choosing to let himself enjoy the moment. “and no, i didn’t, not until i met you.”

you giggle, pushing against him. “i need a yes or a no.”

“yes,” he groans, hips twisting against your body; you feel his hard on through ironed pants, pressing into your bare thighs. “wait a minute, you’re the one in cuffs here. you should be begging me to let you go.”

“i don’t need my hands to show you why you should let me go.” your voice is flirty and unashamed, words practically dripping with a sweetness so intoxicating he’s giving in without another word.

“you’re fucking filthy, aren’t you? go ahead and show me why you should be free, girl.”

it all happens fast — before he can register just what’s happening, you’re on your knees in front of him, tugging at his belt with your teeth. he’s extremely impressed, watching through squinted eyes as you tug on the leather and get it out of the buckle.

“a little help, officer?” you lean your head against his thigh, bunny ears slipping back and off your head.

“i thought you didn’t need your hands,” nanami challenges, undoing his belt and letting it hang from his pants. “the rest is all you, princess.”

with your teeth, you tug on his pants and then yank until the button’s undone. you bite down on the zipper and pull it down, then grab onto the hem of his pants and pull it to his knees, all with only your mouth. by the end of it, nanami’s left panting, heaving for air to the point where he has to unbutton his shirt.

you’re good, aren’t you? nanami is speechless.

his gray boxers are next, tight on his hard cock and outlining it deliciously. as they come off, his cock bounces out and almost hits you in the face. you audibly gasp, saliva pooling in your mouth.

is it possible for a dick to look this delicious?

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you assure him, slipping out of character for a moment as you look up at him genuinely. “your cock just looks so good.”

“show me what you mean.”

as you go in towards his tip, he tenses and lifts his cock expectantly, clearing his throat wordlessly. his balls are rounded nicely and feel heavy as you take them into your mouth with a moan, sucking lightly at them and running your tongue along the sensitive skin.

“that’s a good start,” nanami huffs, hips nearly bucking into your face.

from there, you run your tongue along the underside of his cock until you’re at his tip and taking him inside your mouth in one fluid movement.

“god— fuck,” nanami chokes on his words, groaning loudly and biting down onto his lip to quiet himself immediately afterwards. “shit, take it deeper.”

sticky slick pools in your underwear, and you clench up hard the second his palm touches the back of your head and pushes forward forcefully. you’ve got stars in your eyes and so does he as his cock presses deeper into your throat, tip hitting the back of it and making you choke.

“a mouth like this,” he tosses his head back and it lands with a soft thump against the wall, “deserves to be thoroughly fucked.”

nanami’s fingers twist in your hair tightly, and he holds you in place as he fucks his cock down your throat. you choke, tears making your eyes glassy, and you shake a little as you look up at him.

“you can take it.”

even though his cock is absolutely stuffing your throat and blocking off your air supply, his words are trustworthy. you’d made it this far, hadn’t you?

your throat bulges from the size of his cock, stretching out to accommodate his size eagerly. something about being used like this is fulfilling, in a way; it’s rough and satisfying in the best ways possible.

above you, nanami tears his shirt open further, buttons flying every which way from the force. he’s groaning, body sweltering with heat and muscles taut with tension and focus. it’s almost primal, the way he yanks you up by the hair and uses your throat, chasing the orgasm like a dragon.

“fuuuck,” he lets out, watching as tears and mascara rush down your cheeks and make dark tracks on your skin. “you’re a real good girl—hey now, stay still.” you gurgle something, bubbly spit rushing down your chin and dripping onto your chest.

“don’t worry, princess,” his voice is gravelly as he reassures you, his eyes rolling back while yours close in preparation. “i-i’m gonna cum soon, okay?”

nanami feels you open your mouth wider, hears the clink of the handcuffs as you push closer to him. he can feel the cum fill his cock with pressure as it rises to his tip; he pounds out his orgasm in your throat, hips banging into your face and stuttering when he finally falls over the edge. he’s too deep for you to taste the cum, and you only feel its warmth as you greedily swallow it all, moaning quietly at the sensation. his cock leaves your mouth with a pop, a glossy string of spit connecting his tip with your lips.

“don’t look at me like that,” nanami’s voice is shaky as he lifts your chin and closes his eyes when he sees your face, “it makes me want to fuck your throat again.”

“do you get it now, officer?” you rasp, throat sore. “feeling better?”

“yes and yes,” a breathless laugh and he’s leaning in to give you a kiss. nanami’s lips barely brush against yours when you’re both startled by the bang of the door slamming open.

“we totally forgot about you guys!” gojo shouts, before seeing what’s really in front of him.

#kurooh’s kinktober 🎃#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #kinktober

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theshift · 2 days

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The Halloween Party Part 1

Nate and his friends never planned on getting body suits. It all started as a prank—something fun to shake up their usual routine. The four of them had been close since college, and every year they threw a big Halloween party, trying to outdo the last. But this year, the competition was different.

It was Kyle’s idea to look for something new. He had always been the thinker, the one who researched every little detail, and while searching online for costumes, he came across an ad. The website was weird, with a retro, almost haunted house vibe. The tagline read, "Become anyone you want this Halloween. Live the fantasy, but beware what you wish for."

It seemed like a joke.

Nate was skeptical when Kyle showed him the site during their usual Thursday night hangout at the local bar. The other guys laughed it off, but Kyle, always the one to overthink things, insisted they at least check it out.

“Come on, what’s the harm?” Kyle said, leaning over his beer. “The reviews say it’s legit. People are calling it the best Halloween costume ever.”

“I don’t know, man,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels... sketchy. What if this thing is some weird scam?”

“I’m with Jack,” Adam chimed in. “This is how we end up on some horror show. Dudes buy cursed costumes online, end up possessed. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

But Kyle was persistent. “Look, even if it’s fake, it’ll be fun. It’s like, what, fifty bucks a suit? We’ve spent more on dumber stuff.”

Nate, who always loved a good laugh, finally agreed. “Alright, let’s do it. But if this turns out to be one of those cheap rubber things, I’m never letting you live it down.”

So they each picked a suit from the site’s gallery. The options were simple—choose a body, become that person for a night. The only thing that bothered Nate was the little disclaimer at the bottom of the page: "These are more than just costumes. Wear at your own risk."

But who reads disclaimers seriously, right?

---

This wasn’t just about the Halloween party—it was about outdoing themselves. Each of them had something to prove. Nate loved being the center of attention and always felt the pressure to keep things fun and spontaneous. Kyle, ever the planner, wanted to prove he could find something new and exciting, a challenge that no one else could top. Jack was the protector of the group, usually calm and steady, but deep down he liked to be part of the action. And Adam? Well, Adam lived for moments like this, where they could push boundaries and laugh about it later. They were all looking for a thrill, a way to break the routine.

But beneath all the excitement, there was something more. Nate couldn’t admit it, but part of him wanted to see what it would be like to be someone else—anyone other than the carefree guy he pretended to be. And then there was Kyle. His crush on Kyle wasn’t new, but it was something he kept buried deep, hidden behind jokes and sarcasm. Maybe this night, behind the mask of someone else, he’d finally be free to feel whatever he wanted without consequence.

The group wasn’t just donning costumes; they were chasing after their own hidden desires, looking for a way to be something more, something different.

The suits offered that chance.

Nate stood in front of the mirror, the body suit draped across his bed like a shed skin, waiting for him to step inside. He didn’t know what to expect—none of them did—but the whole idea seemed ridiculous enough to be fun. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking down at the suit again. It looked so realistic, more like someone peeled a real person’s body off than a Halloween costume.

The group chat was already buzzing.

Kyle: You guys putting your suits on yet? I look ridiculous.Adam: Can’t be worse than what I’ll look like. Nate, you got yours on?

Nate grinned, feeling a flicker of excitement. He grabbed the suit and held it up. It was heavier than he expected, the material feeling warm and soft, almost like real skin. The face was that of a handsome mixed-race man, with dark brown skin, sharp cheekbones, and a long, thick beard. Nate hesitated for just a moment before unzipping the back and slipping one foot inside.

The sensation was… surreal.

The suit gripped his body, clinging to him as if it were alive. As he pulled it up over his legs, his calves and thighs expanded, muscles growing beneath the suit's surface. His breath hitched as the transformation crawled higher, his torso broadening as his abs tightened and his chest filled out, pushing against the form-fitting suit. His skin darkened, warmth radiating through his body like the suit was seeping into him. Nate flexed his hands as the material stretched over his fingers, watching his pale skin turn rich brown.

It felt... right.

His reflection in the mirror was almost complete, but there was something so strange about seeing a different face staring back at him. With a deep breath, he lifted the suit's face over his own, feeling the cool, smooth material mold to his features. He pressed the edges down until they sealed seamlessly, his hair tucking itself under the suit. The sensation of the beard growing out felt like a soft tickle, but when he ran his hands over it, it felt real, thick and textured under his touch.For a moment, Nate stared at the stranger in the mirror—a tall, muscular man with rich brown skin, thick facial hair, and dark eyes that didn’t look like his own. It was unsettling. The small voice in his head whispered, This isn’t you.

He pushed it aside and snapped a selfie, sending it to the group chat.

Nate: Damn, look at me. Didn’t know I’d look this good in a beard. Kyle: Bro, you look amazing. Adam: Wtf, man, I look like a bouncer at some underground club.

Nate chuckled as the next image came in.

Kyle had turned into an early 40s white man with a thick, grizzled beard, his face rugged like he’d just come off the farm. He wore a plaid shirt and denim overalls. Nate felt a familiar flutter in his chest, but quickly buried it. He didn’t need his crush on Kyle surfacing right now, especially not tonight.

Then came Jack’s picture. He looked like an army soldier, all serious jawline and military cut, his posture straight and intimidating.

Jack:This is... different. I’m jacked, though. Adam:You’re always jacked, man. Nate:How about you, Adam? Show us.

A moment later, Adam sent his photo, but instead of the serious picture they expected, he was lounging in a jacuzzi with bubbles everywhere. The sight of him, a massive Middle Eastern man, submerged in foam with a serious look on his face, took everyone by surprise. His caption read:

Adam: Just out here living my best life.

Nate burst out laughing, sending a quick reply.

Nate: Bro, you're out of pocket for this one.Kyle: Seriously, man? We’re over here getting ready and you’re in a damn bubble bath?Jack: What even is this?

Adam responded with a crying laughing emoji, clearly loving the attention. The mood in the group chat was light and playful as the rest of them fired off jokes.

Adam: I figured if I’m gonna look like a bouncer, I might as well relax before we host the party tonight. Kyle: Yeah, well, you’re gonna need it once we see you in person. This is weird through text.

Nate grinned at his phone, the playful banter easing the nervous excitement that had been building up since they put on the suits. This was exactly why they were doing it—to have fun, to laugh, to push the limits of a normal Halloween night.

But deep down, Nate couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was about to take them somewhere unexpected.

Nate grinned and grabbed his jacket, adjusting to his new body. The sensation of his muscles stretching under his clothes felt so foreign, like wearing a costume that hugged too tight, but the more he moved, the more it felt natural.

---

The four friends finally gathered near the entrance of their own house, standing in a small circle as guests mingled around them. The decorations were set, the music was pumping, and their costumes—no, their new bodies—were getting plenty of attention.

Nate’s breath caught for a moment when he saw Kyle up close—he looked like a rugged outdoorsman, the kind of man who could chop wood and build a house with his bare hands. Nate’s heart beat faster, but he quickly pushed it down, smirking instead.

“Damn, look at us,” Nate said, trying to sound casual. “We actually look good, and no one’s going to recognize us.”

Kyle laughed, a deep, hearty sound that wasn’t like his usual voice. “Yeah, speak for yourself. I look like I should be herding cattle.”

“You look like you should be running a militia,” Adam chimed in, his voice gruffer now, fitting his massive new form. He flexed, showing off his biceps. “What about Jack over there? Dude looks like he’s fresh out of basic training.”

Jack shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not complaining. Could get used to this.”

---

The party buzzed with energy as people moved through the dimly lit house, the pulsing music providing a backdrop for conversation, laughter, and the occasional scream from a well-timed prank. But for Nate, it all faded into the background as he stood next to Kyle, catching glances he couldn’t quite control.

Kyle leaned in a little closer, his now broader frame brushing against Nate’s arm as he scanned the room, eyes sharp and focused in a way that made Nate’s pulse quicken. There was something different about Kyle tonight. He’d always been the calm, steady one of the group, but the way he carried himself now felt different—bolder, more confident. Nate couldn’t tell if it was the suit or something else, but it made it hard to focus on anything but the heat between them.

“You alright?” Kyle asked, his voice now a low, gravelly rumble. “You’re quieter than usual.”

Nate forced a laugh, hoping it sounded casual enough. “Yeah, just… taking it all in. You really pull off the farmer thing, man.”

Kyle smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that sent a flutter through Nate’s stomach. “Thanks. You’re not looking so bad yourself.” He gave Nate a slow once-over, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, and Nate could feel the tension humming in the air between them.

There was something about the way Kyle was looking at him that Nate couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the costume. It was the confidence, the way he stood, how close he leaned in when he spoke, like the space between them was shrinking.

“You know,” Kyle said, his voice softer now, almost teasing, “I never thought I’d say this, but you make that beard work. I don’t even recognize you.”

Nate’s breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but feel the flush of heat rising to his cheeks. He wanted to play it cool, but something about the suit made it harder to hold back. The part of him that was always cautious, always afraid of saying the wrong thing, seemed quieter tonight.

“Yeah?” Nate replied, his voice a bit lower than usual. He felt bolder, more in control of the words leaving his mouth. “I could say the same about you. You’ve got this whole… rugged thing going on.”

Kyle’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, but Nate caught the small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not the only one thinking that.”

There was a pause, the kind that felt loaded, the kind that stretched just a second too long, and Nate wasn’t sure whether it was the tension between them or the transformation creeping in, but he found himself stepping closer, his body moving before his mind could catch up.

“Wanna go upstairs?” Nate asked, his voice more confident than he felt.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Lead the way.”

They moved through the party, brushing past costumes and decorations, heading upward to Nate’s room. Nate felt hyper-aware of every step, the weight of Kyle’s presence just behind him.

Once inside Kyle and Nate each sat across each other on Nate’s bed. Kyle tilting his head, studying Nate with a gaze that felt heavy and searching. “You’ve been different tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Not just the suit… but you.”

Nate’s heart raced, and for the first time, he didn’t want to dodge the truth. He didn’t want to push the feeling down or hide it behind a joke. The suit had stripped away that fear, made him feel more like himself—like he didn’t have to hide.

“Yeah,” Nate admitted, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe it’s the suit… or maybe it’s just easier to say things when you feel like you’re someone else.”

Kyle’s eyes flickered with understanding, his gaze dropping to Nate’s lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again. “I know what you mean.”

The moment lingered between them, the pull undeniable now. Nate’s hand twitched at his side, tempted to close the gap. Kyle’s breath was steady, his gaze intense, but there was a softness in his eyes that Nate hadn’t seen before. It was a side of Kyle that was new—less controlled, more open.

And then, as if the suit had emboldened him beyond reason, Nate reached out, his fingers pulling Kyle’s head for a warm and passionate kiss. They kissed passionately for a couple minutes, savoring the moment while they each explored their new bodies. Nate with his new hands reached down Kyle's crotch as he could feel his bulge starting to poke his leg. “I can help with that,” Nate boomed in his new voice. Kyle without hesitation unbuckled his pants and pulled out his new girthy cock. Nate immediately got to action as he used all his might to savor Kyle’s cock slide down his throat. “Ahhh fuck man.. I think I’m about to…” Kyle’s voice trailed off as he moaned in ecstasy. Nate felt the gush of cum rush through his mouth, some of the juice landing on Nate's long beard. Afterward, Nate got up to clean himself in the bathroom, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He chuckled, running his fingers through his new, thick beard. “Might need to trim this thing,” he said, half-joking. “Can’t be catching strays like that.”

From the bed, Kyle laughed, watching Nate with a playful glint in his eyes. He admired Nate’s transformed physique. “Yeah, but you’re pulling it off,” Kyle teased, still lying comfortably on Nate’s bed. “You know I see something else poking out from over here too….” Kyle added. Nate couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Nate sauntered over to the small couch in the corner of his room, sitting down with an exaggerated sense of swagger, spreading his arms along the backrest. He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, giving Kyle a knowing smirk. The suit had him feeling powerful—more than just physically, but in the way he spoke and carried himself, like a man who was in complete control of any room he walked into.

"Y’know," Nate began, his voice deeper, smoother, as if he was slipping into a role, "I don’t think I’ve ever felt more... in charge." He chuckled low, staring at Kyle like he was inviting him into the performance. “Feels like I could get used to this. Big man, big beard—what do you think? Call me the boss around here?”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, smirking back, intrigued by Nate's sudden shift in attitude. “I gotta see it to believe it.”

Nate leaned forward, his grin widening, clearly enjoying the persona he was building. “Oh, I’m just getting started, let me show you then.” He gestured toward Kyle with a lazy flick of his hand. “All right, farmer boy… come on and get on your boss’s lap.”

---

Its spooky season everyone, wrote this on a whim. Not sure where it will lead. If you have any idea or other ideas you want to see shoot me a DM. - The Shift

#male body swap #male transformation #male body suit #male shapeshift #malebodysuit #maleshapeshift #malebodyswap

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aquaticmercy · 19 hours

Text

Almost Kisses

Summary : Bucky's kisses have become a daily part of your life together, but it wasn’t always that way.

Paring : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her)

Warnings : very slight mention of food and mild cursing

Requested by : @buckys-wintersoldier

Word count : 1.8k

Note : This one was very fun! I was listening to Work Song By Hozier while writing this, so it's safe to say the song served as a bit of inspiration, too. I did say it would be >1k word blurb but I have once again got over the limit.

Requests are open!

Kissing you had become second nature to Bucky. Every morning when he woke up, every night before bed. It was part of his routine, it felt as natural as breathing. He kissed you when he passed you in the kitchen, when you laughed at something ridiculous, when you weren’t paying attention. He kissed you just because he could.

It was hard for him to remember a time before that, but once, kissing you had seemed impossible.

The first time the thought even crossed his mind, you were standing outside his apartment door, trying to get his attention. Sam had called you, worried about him after days of radio silence, days of ignoring texts and phone calls from both him and his therapist.

Sam could get through to Bucky on most days, but on the really hard ones, when the weight of his past pulled him under the covers and refused to let him go, there was only one person who could reach him. You.

Somehow, Bucky had imprinted on you in a way he never had with anyone else. Sam wasn’t stupid— he knew that Bucky was down hard for you. Hell, everyone who ever saw the two of you interact knew that Bucky was in love with you. Everyone except you.

Because love had to keep you blind like that, at least for a while.

"Bucky?" Your voice was soft that day, muffled by the door separating you from him. You knocked again, gentler this time. "I brought you pizza. Just cheese, no toppings—your favorite." You paused, like you were waiting for signs of life, anything, but the silence was deafening. You lowered your voice, a whisper now. "I cut off the burnt bits, the way you like it."

The door creaked open, just a sliver of light pouring in from the apartment. Bucky's figure stood in the shadow, his frame filling the doorway, but his voice was small and frail. "Extra cheese?"

"Of course, Buck." Your lips curved up knowing you’ve essentially made it in. You slipped inside the moment he stepped back.

That night, you didn’t leave his side. You pulled him out of the dark waters he had drowned himself in. He told you about his nightmares, the memories that wouldn’t let him breathe. You listened, laughed when he cracked the odd dark joke, and cried while exchanging stories. Minutes blurred into hours, and eventually, you fell asleep beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

That was the night he realized what you did to him. You didn’t just pull him out of his pit of despair— you made him feel alive. Electric.

The next morning, you took a shower, borrowing one of his shirts since yours were dirty. Seeing you in his oversized clothes twisted something inside him, drove him insane with wild thoughts— he almost said something, but bit his tongue to stop the flow of words that would have been unstoppable. When you hugged him goodbye, he held on just a second too long, his arms tightened around you, hesitating to let go and wishing he could stay in the safety of your embrace forever. And for just a heartbeat, he stared at your lips. He almost gave in, almost kissed you right then and there, but he shoved the thought away at the last second. Why would you ever want to kiss someone like him?

The second time he almost kissed you was at the ice rink in Central Park. It was the holiday season, and this year Bucky realised that he didn’t need to spend it alone anymore. He invited you out, convincing himself it wasn’t a date— just two friends hanging out, doing friend things.

You were hesitant, admitting you couldn’t skate and that the ice never seemed to agree with you, but he insisted.

"You can hold onto me," he teased, though he left out telling you how much he wanted you to. Just to feel you close. Just for you to embrace him again.

"Buck!" you squealed when he picked up speed, your hands clutching his jacket tight around your fist in a death grip. "You’re going way too fast!"

He laughed, slowing to a stop in the middle of the rink. The moonlight between trees shrouded the two of you. You stumbled into his chest, your fingers curling into his coat. For a second, you didn’t move. You stayed there, taking in his scent. "What would I do without you?" you murmured into his chest, voice barely above a whisper.

In that moment, he realised that you weren’t just his friend out of pity— You made him feel wanted. Needed.

His hands found your cheeks, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. He could almost taste how your lips would feel— soft, warm, perfect. His breath hitched, his body taking control. But then, just as quickly, he put his logical mind back in the pilot seat. He pulled away. Why would you want to kiss someone who’d been broken as many times as him?

The third time he thought about kissing you, he could’ve sworn you wanted it, too. You were on one of your usual runs and morning coffee— your ritual together. It happened once or twice a week when he wasn’t whisked away to some strange land for a mission.

Bucky always slowed his pace to match yours. He didn’t mind since he could spend those extra moments near you.

After the runs, you’d get coffee together. He talked about everything—his life in the 40s, his family, Steve, his friends from school.

You gave him pieces of his humanity back with every conversation. With you, he felt more than a soldier— you made him feel more organic. Human.

He felt that, for once, he was more interesting than the winter soldier.

He then talked about wanting a small pet, maybe a dog, or a white cat.

"What, am I not companion enough?" you had teased.

His ears burned, and the super soldier found himself stammering. "That’s not what I meant."

You laughed as you brushed coffee foam off his facial hair. The briefest touch and his heart started racing out of control.

He could've sworn you leaned in just slightly, almost instinctively. He wanted to kiss you. He needed to. But again, he pushed it down, convincing himself that the two of you were just friends.

The day after, he found himself lying on the couch, thoughts spiraling. He couldn’t stop thinking about you— your lips, your laugh, your touch. He didn’t know what to make of it. The feelings ate away at his sanity, and they wouldn’t go away. For the first time, he asked himself the question he was too afraid to ask: was this how it felt to be truly, deeply, and desperately in love?

Then came the knock.

He opened the door, and there you were, looking as tired as he felt. Your hair was a mess, your clothes crumpled, and you looked like you haven’t slept since he saw you yesterday, but you were still so goddamn beautiful. You had this infectious wild energy, like you were on the edge of discovering the secret to world peace.

"I’ve been thinking all night," you said, stepping inside the gap he had open. That was how welcome you felt in his space, how comfortable he was with you. "If I’m wrong, this is going to be so embarrassing, but— three times. You almost kissed me three times."

Bucky blinked, caught off-guard.

"That night with the pizza, when I said goodbye," you continued, pacing around the room in deep thought. "The ice rink. And yesterday at the coffee shop." You held up three fingers at his face, your hands trembling slightly. "Three times is too much to be a coincidence. Three times is too much to just accidentally lean in. Please, tell me you’ve thought about it. Tell me you’ve wanted to kiss me because—" You stopped, looking into his beautiful eyes. "Because I’ve thought about it too."

Your voice was shaky. Bucky had never seen you so vulnerable, so uncertain. So hopeful.

"This is so embarrassing," you muttered, your voice now barely a whisper. But before you could say anything else, Bucky closed the distance between you. He grabbed you by the waist and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate rush. All the hesitations melted away from the tension in his muscles, and it was better than he’d imagined a thousand times. He didn’t know how it was possible, but you tasted even sweeter than he had dreamed. His hands tangled in your hair as you stood on tiptoes, clutching him as if he might slip away.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you whispered in disbelief, "So I was right."

Bucky smiled, finger running along your skin, in a sensory attempt to remind him the was all real and not just one of his fantasies. "Only took you half a year to notice."

You laughed softly, melting into his touch. "I could say the same for you."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. "Shush," he whispered between kisses. He was addicted now. He needed his fix. He needed your touch, your warmth, your lips on his. Again, and again, and again.

And that was more than a year ago. Now, Bucky still couldn’t stop kissing you. If anything, it had only gotten worse, not that you were complaining.

He kissed you every chance he got. When you rolled over in bed, still half asleep, he kissed your forehead. When you stretched in the kitchen, reaching for a mug for your afternoon tea, he kissed the back of your neck. When you came home late from work, tired but smiling, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you breathless, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Buck," you laughed, stopping his train of thought, playfully trying to squirm away as he pulled you onto his lap. "We’re supposed to be watching a movie."

His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear. "But I’d rather kiss you."

You were powerless against him, as you always are. Laughing softly, you said, "You know, you kiss me every day. Aren’t you tired of me yet?"

He pulled back just enough to look at you, reminding himself of how lucky he was that he had you here. That if it wasn’t for you storming into his apartment in a frenzy with a theory, you wouldn’t be here in his arms. "Never." His voice was so soft, making your breath hitch.

You were about to say something smart, but Bucky stopped you with another kiss, his lips gentle and loving, yet there was such a fiery passion beneath. You curled into him, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, the movie long forgotten.

He stared at you, thumb brushing the side of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I’m never gonna stop kissing you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was a little rough, his throat dry from the taste of you. "I don’t think I could, even if I tried."

And you believed him.

-end

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #Sebastian stan #Sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot

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flemingsfreckles · 22 hours

Text

Heartbreak Girl

Synopsis: You’re always the one picking up the pieces of your best friend when her relationship has rough patches. That’s what a best friend does, only you have a lot more feelings for Jessie than she knows.

Warnings: angsty, mentions of bad girlfriend, arguing, language

WC: 2.0k

A/N: italics in readers inner thoughts in case that isn’t super clear… I listened to old 5 seconds of summer music the other day, heartbreak girl came on, inspired this fic 🤷‍♀️ most likely leaving it as a single fic…

Seeing Jessie name on your phone always brought a smile to your face, the two of you had been friends since you were 10, growing up together, going to college just a few hours from each other, not to mention you had been in love with the woman since you knew what a crush was. Her face and name always put you in a good mood.

“Hiya!” You say, plopping down on the couch with your phone held up to your ear.

“Hey.” You can immediately detect the negativity in Jessie’s voice. She had been your best friend for years, you knew her as well as you knew yourself.

“What's up, are you okay? How was the banquet?” You remembered Jessie was supposed to have attended a banquet for her nomination for the Green Sport Award. You were a little surprised to be hearing from her at this hour assuming she’d still be out at the banquet or an after party of sorts.

“Uh.” You hear her breath shake before she composes herself. “It was nice, I got the award.”

Still noticing the defeated sound of her voice, you decide to pry gently at the topic. Confiding in you was something Jessie did often, you did the same to her. “You don’t sound like someone who just won an award, Jess what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect. The low rumble of her car fills in for her while you wait to hear what she has to say. “She didn’t show up.” Her voice is hushed, almost as if she didn’t want you to hear her say it.

“Ray?” You question, even though you knew you didn’t have to.

“Yeah, she said,” You hear Jessie sniffle before clearing her throat. “She said she’d be there, and I know she’s busy at her job but,” there’s silence on the other end of the phone before you hear Jessie clear her throat again, letting out a sigh. “This was important to me, she promised she’d be there.”

You set your phone in your lap, putting it on speaker as you rubbed your hands harshly into your face. Fuck, here we go again you thought to yourself. This wasn’t the first time you’ve had to sit and listen as Jessie’s heart was hurt by her girlfriend. You don’t know why she stayed, but she always did.

Ray had never been on your good side. She and Jessie met at a bar one night, immediately she tried to take the Canadian home with her. After Jessie had denied her multiple offers to go home with her, Ray finally suggested a date, joking that she’d “have to take her to dinner first before she got to the rest.” You expected that to be enough for Jessie to reject the date, but she still accepted. Ray had been late to their first date, and nearly every date since, and despite Jessie being a stickler for punctuality, she continued going on dates until one day she told you they were officially girlfriends and you thought someone ripped your heart out.

You can still remember the sinking feeling, the way your chest tightened as she told you they had made it official. The fake smile you threw across your face, trying to show your friend you were happy for her. Deep down you were devastated, when she left your house that afternoon, you had cried. Feeling only sorry for yourself, you’re the one who’s loved the woman for nearly a decade and haven’t been able to tell her.

You had always assumed they’d never work out, they weren’t compatible, and yet nearly 2 years later, Jessie was still putting up with her.

Jealousy was part of it, you never liked anyone who was interested in Jessie, but you couldn’t blame them. You found it hard to believe there was anyone in the world who wasn’t fully in love with her. She had the kindness of an angel, not to mention the adorable freckled covered face. Ray had been the only one you blatantly hated, her previous other girlfriends had been nice and at least respected her so you found no issue, other than the constant jealousy. Ray however, you couldn’t find anything you liked.

“I’m so sorry.” You truly were but in the moment you didn’t feel super sorry, you felt enraged toward Ray. “Congratulations by the way on the award, I didn’t say before.”

“It’s nothing.” Jessie says.

“It’s not nothing, you were excited about it last week, it’s a big deal.”

You shouldn’t meddle, you know you shouldn’t. That’s what you always told yourself, you weren’t going to get involved, it wasn’t your place to throw your own feelings onto her. It’s not her fault you loved her. She didn’t need something else to complicate things. This was her relationship, her life, she wanted this. But you couldn’t help yourself, after years of pining for her, you couldn’t handle seeing her being treated like this. “You deserve better Jessie.” I could give you better, you think to yourself.

“No, she didn’t mean it, she just got busy.” Jessie comes to Ray’s defense, you were so sick of her doing that.

“Stop making excuses for her! I’m so sick of seeing her hurt you and you just fucking go back to her. You’re smarter than that Jessie! But for some reason you let her hurt you again and again.” You’re shaking your hands in front of you as you shout at the phone.

You could practically picture Jessie in the car, dressed beautifully in a dress shirt and slacks. The way she spoke you imagined she had tear stained cheeks, probably tinted pink from crying. Her knuckles were probably slowly turning white as she gripped the wheel in frustration and disappointment. You also knew you’d still find her to be the most stunning woman you’ve ever seen. “It’s not that big of a deal, so what, she missed a small banquet, it’s really not her fault she had to work.”

Your rage finally boils over, unable to hold yourself back you let out the list of feelings you had always had towards Ray. “It’s not just a small banquet Jessie, how can you not see this?” You could hardly control your anger, not at Jessie but at Ray, for putting Jessie through this. “She’s missed so many things! Your first official game as Captain, your first game at Portland, she didn’t come to any of the Olympic Games, she hardly even called during that week Jessie! You would think with what you were handling, she would’ve checked on you! Where was she at the World Cup? Jessie, she doesn’t give a shit about what’s important to you! It may have been a small banquet but it was important to you, that’s all that should’ve mattered, she should’ve fucking been there!” I would’ve fucking been there! You don’t say it outloud but the thought crosses your mind.

“She’s just busy, she has work, and she-” Jessie tries her best to defend Ray to you. You couldn’t stand listening to her,you had spend enough nights listening to her, calming her down, justifying her feelings because her shitty girlfriend wouldn’t.

“I was busy too Jess! But guess what, I figured it out, I used my time off to come see you, watch you play on the biggest stages, I stayed up and talked with you when you didn’t know what to do in Paris, I knew how important those moments were for you, so I showed up because that’s what you do when you fucking love someone!” Oops.

You stare frozen across the room where your tv hung on the wall. You weren’t supposed to say that. Sure Jessie knew you loved her, you had been best friends for what felt like forever. You told each other you loved the other, but this felt different than how you normally said it. It was different.

Silence falls on the phone line between the two of you, the sound of nothing feeling more extreme after your yelling.

“You love me?”

Obviously, how can you not see that? You pushed your inner thoughts away before responding trying to mend your mistake. “Yeah, you’re my best friend of course I do.”

“I don’t think you meant it in a best friend way.” Jessie says under her breath.

Just tell her. The silly thought crosses your mind, to sit here and confess every tiny feeling you’d ever had for her. You can’t tell her, she’s not single, it’s not your place. You fiddled with your hands, bitting the nail of your thumb on your left hand. She deserves better, maybe I could be that better for her. Maybe she’d leave Ray. Or maybe it would ruin everything and I’ll lose her forever.

Jessie, fed up with your silence, decides to question you further. “Is that why you hate Ray? Are you just jealous of her?”

“No, god Jessie no! I hate her because she treats you like the scum of the earth! I don’t know how you don’t see it, you deserve someone who’s going to treat you like a priority, not a chore!” You pinch the bridge of your nose hard with your hand, eyes shut as if not being able to see will take away all your problems.

You hear Jessie click her tongue. “I should, I should go, I’m pulling into the driveway.” The driveway to her house, where her girlfriend was probably perched on the couch ready to make it up to her, either in the way of sex or buying her something. Those seemed to be the options Jessie usually got when Ray hurt her, a half assed apology on top of it all. She’d try and please Jessie, make her forgive her again just as she had numerous other times. You hated that she always forgave her.

“Jessie, wait.” You just want to explain, you want her to talk to you, not to Ray. You want her to know she doesn’t deserve to be forgotten or ignored, she deserves someone’s attention, she deserves someone who cares.

“I gotta go, I’ll, I’ll talk to you later, sorry for calling.” You hear the tone ending the call.

You flopped back onto the couch, not caring how hard your head hit the armrest.

Your eyes begin to burn as you try to blink through the blurry vision caused by welling tears. The blank ceiling above you providing nothing to distract you from the tightness building in your chest. She’s never going to talk to me again. Self deprecating thoughts began to swirl your mind. Why would she want to even be with me? I’m not enough for her. A sob finally makes its way up and out of your mouth before your hand quickly muffles it. There was no one around to hear it but you and you didn’t want to listen to your self deprecating. You’ve done this before, you’ve spent too many tears on her, too many hours trying to talk sense into her, only for her to go and get herself hurt again. Too many hours only for you to go and get yourself hurt again.

I’m done.

You grab your phone, through a haze of tears find Jessie’s name before sending her a text.

You: I’m done, I’m not interested in being the person who has to put you back together every time she fucks up and hurts you. I shouldn’t have to be your comfort person, that’s what a girlfriend is for.

You: Until you learn how to respect yourself enough to leave her, don’t contact me.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 day

Text

For My Husband

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader (no specific characterization for Jason!)

Summary: Jason has had a lot on his mind, including your relationship. You call him your husband on a night out and suddenly everything makes sense.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, too many boat analogies? and completely justified grand theft auto

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest/WFA Webtoon (I love him)

It burns like a searing blade carving deep into him, leaving a scar in its eternally marking wake. The ring in Jason’s pocket grows heavier, weighing on him, and burning him like the scars lining his skin. The same scars you kiss and don’t see as marks but as part of the man you love.

As Jason sits across the table across from you, he thinks about an hour ago when you invited him on a date. He argued at first, not ready to go out in public and be asked about Bruce or see something that reminds him of the time before you. But then you smiled and told him where you wanted to go, your favorite place just outside of town that seemed to attract more tourists or people stopping on their way to Blüdhaven or Metropolis, where Jason wasn’t likely to be recognized or hear someone murmur looks like the Wayne kid. So, he agreed, and now his thoughts drift back further.

Two weeks ago, Jason returned home from a mission with the Outlaws. It was hard on him; there were moments when he thought he lost everything, and the only thing that gave him the strength to fight was the image of coming home to you. Once he was home, he talked about what he could and let your comfort carry away the rest like a tide pulling his worries away to make room for you.

Jason Todd has never felt more like himself than he does in your arms and at peace in your words, your comfort. The last few days of being with you have allowed Jason to realize just how perfect you are, how perfect you are for him. And then he remembers how much he doesn’t deserve you, and the ring gets a little heavier like an anchor, making those tides pointless to do little more than rock his once steady ship.

“What are you getting?” you ask, drawing Jason back to the present.

He looks over the top of his menu, and your smile tugs at him. “The pasta looks good,” he answers. “Hey, since you asked me out does that mean you’re paying?”

You lean forward to whisper, “Which one of us has a card attached to Bruce’s bank account?”

Jason tips his head in defeat, not that he would have let you pay anyway. He’s a gentleman through and through, something you know well, and most of the reason you get the idea to order for him. When the waiter approaches, Jason gestures for you to order first, as always, and you smile at the waiter as you request your favorite meal and a side to share with Jason.

Then, you say, “And my husband will have the pasta.”

You look to him for confirmation, but Jason doesn’t reply. He repeats your words in his mind several times, wondering what you could have possibly said that he misheard as husband. When he decides that there are no other words close enough to 'husband' that fit this context, he looks to the waiter, who is smilingly knowingly with his pencil poised over the order pad.

“Did she say husband?” Jason asks him. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, you lucky man,” the waiter answers. “Was there anything else I could get you?”

Jason shakes his head as you fight a laugh to say, “That’s all, thank you.”

Repeating your words and voice in his head, Jason can’t think about anything else. You watch him, torn between amusement and love, as he gets lost in his thoughts. Jason thinks of your soft gaze, the gentleness and genuine tone in your voice when you called him my husband, and the weight of the ring shifts. It’s not something holding him down, threatening to pull you down with him when you deserve anything but him, but a proposal that he needs to make. It is his anchor, but it’s anchoring him to you. Until he tells you that and asks you to be his wife, you won’t truly understand what you mean to Jason Todd or how you saved him from himself simply by loving him. So, Jason shakes himself out of his reverie and starts an easy conversation with you. But your voice in his mind continues to remind him of how much he means to you.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped before,” you offer. “Calling you husband.”

“I liked it,” Jason admits with a smile.

“Well, that’s good because I like you.”

After splitting a dessert, Jason excuses himself to pay the bill and tip your waiter.

“Are you proposing?” the waiter asks as he passes Jason the receipt. “We get a lot of people who propose in the restaurant. There’s a moment of clarity right before it happens, between the nervous movements and the actual proposal, where you can see everything shift into place and make sense.”

“I’m in that moment?” Jason guesses.

“Have been since you recovered from being called her husband, I think.”

Jason nods and answers, “I am proposing tonight. Can’t wait any longer.”

“Congratulations.”

“She could say no.”

The waiter smiles as he steps back and prepares to tend to another table. “She won’t. She had the look too, the undeniable love and desire to be with you long after this date. So, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Jason returns to your table and takes your hand, gentle and kind as he helps you up and walks side-by-side with you. You’ve seen him fight, seen his scars, and know the level of violence he has and can inflict, but there’s something different in how he touches you. How he handles you, not like you’re fragile but like you are precious and treasured. It’s one of many things that you love about Jason.

“We need to make one little stop, is that okay?” Jason asks as he opens the passenger door of a car he borrowed from Bruce’s garage.

“Of course. But if you want to take the scenic route, you can just say so.”

Jason bends forward to buckle your seatbelt for you, and when his face is inches from yours answers, “Then let’s take the scenic route.”

Jason parks the car on a hill before he turns off the engine. You’re on Bruce’s property. You know that because Wayne Manor looms in the distance, a dark shape against the nighttime fog of Gotham. Yet you don’t understand why Jason brought you here, especially when you’re almost sure he didn’t get permission to borrow the car you arrived in.

The door beside you opens, and Jason lowers his hand to help you exit. Here, you can see more stars than anywhere else in Gotham, and your eyes find the sky as Jason’s gaze remains on you.

This hill was once an escape for him, one of the only places he could get far enough away from his family to breathe but be close enough to know where they were. When he returned from the Lazarus Pit and took up the mantle of Red Hood, he spent hours standing on the crest and watching Wayne Manor in the distance, as if it would grow closer or Bruce would throw open the door to welcome him home, broken pieces in tow.

“There’s so many stars,” you murmur. “I thought we’d lost them all to the smog.”

“Not all of them,” Jason answers softly, watching the small lights reflect in your eyes. “I’ve always liked it out here.”

You lower your chin away from the sky and turn to face Jason just as he kneels to be on one knee.

“I came out here a lot as a kid, even when I came back, it was one of the only places that I felt like I could belong. Since then, I’ve found that feeling in you. You’re not just who I think I belong with, though…”

You squeeze Jason’s hand gently and step closer to him, your joined hands against your hip.

“I don’t deserve you,” Jason admits. “You’re too good for me, more than I could ever earn or come close to being worthy of.”

You shake your head, but Jason smiles as he adds, “But you’re everything I want, need – crave – and so much more. The night that we met, I knew that you were special, I knew that I wanted to be your husband. I’d lost the ability to do anything good. I couldn’t even sleep without seeing everything I’d done or thought I would do; I couldn’t dream anymore. And then I found you, and you came to me like you knew there was something in me that I couldn’t see. You are my everything, but all I want to be is yours. Will you marry me?”

Wiping the tears falling down your face with your free hand, you answer, “Yes! Yes, Jason. I am yours.”

Jason stands and pulls you into his arms in one fluid movement. His arms are strong around your waist as he lifts you gently and spins you beneath the stars. You loop your arms over his shoulders and cling to him.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers against your shoulder.

After he sets you down and moves his hands to hold your waist, you spread your hand over his heart and ask, “For what?”

Jason smiles in the starlight and answers, “For being my wife.”

You slide your hands up and hold Jason’s jaw, leaning forward to kiss him as you murmur, “Oh, I could get used to hearing that.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯#dc comics x reader

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edenesth · 21 hours

Text

[2:49 AM]

"Home at last," you murmured, leaning wearily against the door after tossing your keys aside. You let out a sigh, glancing at the time on your phone. You were just now getting home after work—nearly three in the morning.

And you... you needed him, but Seonghwa wasn't here. Last you heard, he was overseas for work. With a heavy sigh, you turned your gaze to the rain-streaked windows. The world outside was drenched, the ground slick with water. You hated it. You loathed it—the rain, the dampness. It felt as if even the gods were weeping over how miserable life seemed right now.

Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic, but work had been a nightmare for months. You were so close to that promotion though, so you just had to push through. And you could handle it—life was never easy, after all. But on top of the stress, your growing health issues lately felt like a battle you couldn't win.

Life had been... exhausting lately.

And the one person who could make it all feel better deserved someone who could give him so much more than this. You wondered if he was asleep now, if he was dreaming of you, just as you couldn't stop thinking of him. Or maybe it was better if he wasn't.

Despite your exhaustion, the last thing you wanted was to return to the same empty bed that had been without your boyfriend's presence for so long. Sometimes, you wondered if your relationship had reached that point—where both of you had bigger, more pressing things like careers to focus on, instead of each other.

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, you set your bag down, and your gaze landed on the vacuum he had given you for your birthday last year. He'd gotten it to help ease your back issues, hoping it would make cleaning less of a strain.

Cleaning—his favourite thing.

Ironically, you hadn't even used it yet, despite it being a gift from him. Seonghwa always ended up coming over and doing the cleaning himself before you could even get the chance. Maybe now would be a good time to finally put it to use and take your mind off things. As he'd often said, cleaning could be therapeutic.

Only one way to find out.

"What the—" he jolted awake at the sudden noise from outside. Who on earth would be vacuuming at—he glanced at the digital clock beside him—three in the freaking morning?! Tossing the comforter aside, he shuffled to the door and swung it open.

"I swear to g—babe?"

You froze. Were you hearing things? Slowly, you switched off the vacuum and spun around, only to see your boyfriend standing there at your doorway in his favourite worn-out t-shirt, his hair adorably tousled.

"H-Hwa? What are you doing here?"

"They let me off a few days early, so I came home first. But what about you? You promised to stay at your parents' whenever I wasn't around. You know how much it scares me to think of you alone here."

Your lips quivered as he stepped closer, gently taking the vacuum from your hands and setting it aside before guiding you to the couch. "I... I've been needed at work a lot lately, so I've been staying here since it's closer to the office. But—wait, why did they let you off early? Are you not feeling well?" you asked, panic creeping into your voice as your hands flew to his face.

He chuckled softly, holding your hands and pressing his forehead against yours. "I guess you could say that," he murmured. "My heart hasn't been feeling too good."

Your eyes widened in alarm. "Your heart?! We need to get you checked—" You tried to pull away to grab your phone, but he gently pulled you back by the shoulders.

"It's okay," he whispered, a teasing smile on his lips. "It just... misses its owner."

You blinked, confusion clouding your gaze. "Its owner...?"

"Yes, you. It belongs to you, doesn't it?" he said, his voice tender.

You sighed, finally calming down as the worry ebbed away, replaced by overwhelming relief. When was the last time he'd said something this sweet? Tears filled your eyes as you melted into his arms. "I missed you too, Hwa," you whispered softly.

Home... at last.

It didn't take long before your body went limp in his embrace, exhaustion finally catching up to you. His heart clenched painfully as he held you close, stroking your hair gently. Truth be told, he'd found it hard to focus on work ever since he realised how much of a rough patch you'd been going through. The distance, the long hours, and the silence between texts—maybe it had all taken more of a toll on you than he'd allowed himself to see.

Perhaps if he'd been more present, more attentive, things wouldn't have gotten so overwhelming for you. Guilt gnawed at his chest, and he hoped—prayed—it wasn't too late to change that now. You deserved someone who made you feel safe and loved, not someone who put everything else before you.

Carefully, he shifted you onto the couch, laying you down gently as if you were made of porcelain. His eyes softened as he pulled the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tucked it around you snugly. You looked so fragile like this, traces of stress still etched on your sleeping face even as you finally rested.

"I'm here now," he whispered softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

With a deep breath, he sank down beside you, not quite able to leave your side just yet. He reached out, his fingers tangling lightly with yours, and watched as your hand unconsciously tightened around his. A sad smile tugged at his lips.

He could see it now—all the times you'd put on a brave face, all the moments you'd said you were okay when, clearly, you weren't. And he'd been too wrapped up in his own responsibilities to realise. But no more. He'd make it right.

From now on, no matter what, he'd put you first.

With that thought, he settled in beside you, keeping a watchful eye as you slept soundly for the first time in what felt like ages. He could feel his own eyes growing heavy, but he didn't move. For now, he'd stay here, where you needed him to be. Finally, he let himself relax, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. Because he was where he belonged—right by your side.

Watching your chest rise and fall with each steady breath, Seonghwa's heart ached with a mix of relief and regret. He'd almost forgotten how peaceful you looked when you were resting. When was the last time you'd fallen asleep so easily? Had you been spending these nights alone, tossing and turning, fighting your own thoughts?

Guilt twisted in his gut as he brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face. His eyes trailed over the faint shadows beneath your eyes, the stress lines that seemed so out of place on your once-bright features. What had he been doing all this time? He'd known work was tough for you, yet he'd kept pushing himself to focus on his own projects, thinking he was doing what was best for your future together.

But what good was any of it if he wasn't there when you needed him most?

A wave of self-reproach washed over him, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He'd been chasing after goals, believing it was all for you, yet somewhere along the way, he'd let you slip through his fingers. You were right here, yet you'd never seemed further away.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he tightened his hold on your hand, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have been here. I should have listened better... I didn't realise how much you were hurting."

The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of rain outside and your even breathing. He watched you stir a little, brow furrowing as if sensing his distress even in your sleep. He quickly leaned forward, his lips brushing your knuckles in a feather-light kiss.

"I promise, I'll do better," he murmured, a fierce determination settling in his chest. "No more empty beds, no more lonely nights. We'll figure this out together, okay?"

It was a vow, one he intended to keep no matter what. Slowly, he shifted to sit on the floor beside the couch, resting his head near your shoulder. He didn't care if it was uncomfortable—he just needed to be close, to feel your warmth. The distance that had grown between you over the past few months felt insurmountable, but he'd rebuild it brick by brick if he had to.

He wasn't going to let you carry everything on your own anymore.

Eventually, he felt your fingers tighten around his hand, just slightly. His heart skipped a beat, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe... just maybe, this was a start.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Thank you, pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for the idea! I just love how this was supposed to be a lighthearted and funny timestamp but my reality took over and here we are.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this self-indulgent little piece. As always, let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

#edenesth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #ateez timestamps #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez drabbles #seonghwa drabble #seonghwa angst #ateez fic #ateez imagines

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itneverendshere · 3 days

Note

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake. You knew it the moment you walked in, the thumping music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

But somehow, you’d caved, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right. Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room. There were people everywhere—laughing, dancing, chattering loudly in clumps—and the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

So, you did what you always did in these situations: you found a place to hide. After walking through the drunk college students, you eventually ended up on quiet nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study. Blessedly, it was empty. With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the noise of the party changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word. He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled hair and a loose, easy grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

Oh, God. You knew him—well, of him, at least. He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Until now.

Then his face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, somehow managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he seriously calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t even know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed. Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls practically draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out like he owned the place.

“See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his gaze roaming over your face “What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward. “My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looked almost sober. “Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class. “Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that almost looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk. This didn’t mean anything. He probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.

But then, his eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair. Within seconds, he was snoring. You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter. You were just getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends. But it wasn’t.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he said casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair like this was completely normal. “Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You stared at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, all cocky charm. “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

And for some reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

But Rafe just leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least. Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing. Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look as if daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess,” he replied, voice low and teasing.

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in slightly so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, trying to ignore the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, shifting just a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you. It was infuriating. And yet, when you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

But Rafe just smirked, his gaze drifting lazily up and down your face before flicking back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit.

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention was like a physical thing—intense and all-consuming. It made you uneasy.

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, tuning out the heat of Rafe’s gaze. Professor Callahan was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look. “I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t even blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sorry, Professor. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?” he whispered, leaning closer.

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream. How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?” He leaned in again, eyes bright with mischief. “You want me to go back to ignoring you?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that, princess.”

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly. The room buzzed with students shuffling out, but you kept your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, all casual charm, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt, but the way he looked at you—with that infuriatingly lazy grin—told you he could see right through you.

“Cool. I’m starving.” He said it like it was an invitation, like he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic. People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, curious and disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

But Rafe just flashed you that cocky, confident grin. “Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch, he said, like this wasn’t completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already steering you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle.

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and they still managed to look up as one, their expressions morphing from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover. “What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing some kind of glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the most interesting girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could practically see their brains short-circuiting. Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

But he just smirked, his gaze sliding over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare. But that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, like she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused. “What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? That Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird. You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. And yet, here he was, acting like sitting with you at lunch was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Now, what do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange like it was some sort of bizarre performance. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, his smile smug. “Be right back.”

And then, to your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the hell just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—thank God—but he didn’t exactly tone down his usual cocky self either. By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends just enough to leave them confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to move on to his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment. But of course, he wasn’t known for playing by the rules.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. The library was your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and blissfully free of distractions. At least, until Rafe sauntered in. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes. The library was busy, students murmuring as they worked, the rustle of pages and the faint clack of keyboards filling the air. You were hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it—

You stiffened, glancing up cautiously, and there he was.

He leaned against the bookshelf a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you with a lazy, assessing look. He didn’t move, just watched you, his lips quirking in that infuriating smirk when your eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” he said easily, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to your table. He pulled out the chair across from you, dropping into it like he had every right to be there. “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today, princess.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You are… I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about? This was insane. He didn’t just hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you in the library like this was normal.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re—what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. This was absurd. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a strange, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. Like, you actually care.”

“I—I do care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that, like he actually meant it?

Before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He just kept staring down the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re just sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, your mouth going dry. “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark, intense, locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

So when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Because somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“Come on, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus. The music was already blaring, the heavy bass vibrating through your body. People were packed in the main room, laughing, talking, drinking, the buzz of chatter filling the air.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare. “Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. After a few minutes you managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall. Maybe if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the now-familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you. Sure enough, when you glanced up, there he was.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away, his eyes locked on you with that lazy focus that made your heart stutter. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you like you were the only person in the room.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else. “Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, I don’t know, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you with a faux-innocent smile.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right. People didn't just like you. They tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you. Not like that. Not in the way he was implying. You felt panic rising in your chest, like a wave that was too big to stop. You couldn’t stop it.

“You’re lying,” you said shakily, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching. No, this couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective. “Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t actually mean any of what he said. He was probably just bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned. It was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you. That this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re just messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step back to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You really think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity, that same focus, like you were the only person who mattered.

Your chest tightened, panic grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. People didn’t just… like you. They didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you. There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m some joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t been honest about anything. You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying?

You moved your head again, harder this time. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What doesn't make sense to you?"

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you actually care. Like you see me. People don’t just do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to believe him. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, to always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern. "Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest. "It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head slowly. "That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come. But Rafe didn’t give you the chance.

"You think I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?"

You wanted to pull away, to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I’m not bored. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this—this kind of sincerity. It felt too real. And part of you still wanted to push it away, to reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For a long, breathless moment, the two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background. Your mind was still processing everything, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel—just for a second—like maybe you could trust this.

You shook your head, "I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, your voice uncertain. "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to figure out how to make you believe him. "I get that," he said quietly. "And I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about this."

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, your throat tight. "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, he just nodded slowly.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

And with that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t press for more. Instead, he just gave you a small, almost hopeful smile and turned, disappearing back into the crowd.

And as you stood there, your heart still pummeling into your ribs, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

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cutie-brat · 2 days

Text

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅teacher's pet⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ part 1.

being a university student and needing tutoring felt really, really shameful. you were always a top student, smartest in all of your classes, but not now. for some reasons, none of your essays or test were satisfactory. you were halfway through the semester, and you knew, if you were to continue it like this, you'll fail. then you'll lose your scholarship and basically your entire future. you were poor, this diploma was your only way out of your miserable life. so you were desperate and ready to do anything. even asking for the teacher of the course for some tutoring, even tho it felt humiliating as fuck.

so, there were you, standing in front of the university's library, waiting for the teacher to arrive. you were anxious and a bit afraid. to be honest, you had no idea what you did wrong. you memorized every single thing, every singe topic, you were active in all of the classes, answering almost all of the questions, you sat in the front row and you were actually making notes, not playing on your laptop in the back. you couldn't think of a single thing about what more your teacher could require from you.

as soon as the clock hit 4pm, there was he, wearing his usual semi-formal set. he was over 40, so a bit more than twice your age, but he was one of the most fit and good looking person on the whole campus. he always wore his signature cologne, a bit loose necktie, glasses, and so on. he was the epitome of "dark academy style/aesthetic".

"good afternoon, mr. williams." you greeted him as soon as he was next to you, but you didn't dare to look him in the eyes, instead you were fixated on your shoes. so obviously, you didn't notice the dirty look he gave you as he hungrily gazed at your body. he didn't say a word, didn't even greet you back, just went inside the building and you automatically followed him. you were used to his cold demeanour.

"your first task is to look for books you'd use for independent studying. look for something that isn't on the recommended literature list that i handed out at the beginning of the semester. i will follow you from behind. i want to see your thought process." he said as soon as you put your things down at an empty table.

you nodded, took a deep breath and started roaming the lines of books, looking for something that you haven't used yet and could be helpful. after a few minutes, when you already had 2 books in your hand, you decided to head to your last stop, which is a bit secluded in the library. the books there were rarely asked for, but you just remembered that there is one which would be perfect. yes, it's hard to read, it's old as fuck, but you could impress mr. williams. so, you walked there, ignoring the teacher's lingering presence behind you, and started to look for that specific one amongst the books. you found it on an upper shelf, which was hard to reach, so you decided to tiptoe, hoping it'd be enough. you still couldn't reach it, but someone stood behind you, and you automatically began to thank the stranger for their help, since you thought they'll get the book for you. but something entirely different happened.

the stranger pushed your body to the shelves with their weight and a big hand started to draw small circles on your bare thighs, under your skirt.

"wha-" you were about to scream, but the stranger grabbed your neck from behind and started to choke you.

"keep quiet, or i'll tell everyone that you're a dirty slut who tried to fuck me for better grades. many people saw that you asked for some extra tutoring, and there are some very jealous whores among the board members. you'd be expelled immediately." murmured the stranger into your ears. his voice was familiar.

mr. williams...

"p-please..." you whispered while tears started to run down on your cheeks, but it was like as if you said nothing. you tried to wiggle your way out but the choking got stronger and you started to get dizzy.

mr. williams didn't said anything more, instead his hand on your thigh began to travel upward. when he reached your ass under skirt, you almost screamed, but you quickly reminded yourself of the threat he made. you knew he was right. you knew you were helpless.

he started groping your ass, at first softly, then it quickly became painful while he also started hinting small kisses on your neck. you almost got used to the groping when his hand travelled to a different area. he touched your pussy. your panty covered pussy, to be exact. but you still jumped a bit and had to bite your lips to keep quiet. it was so weird. no one has ever touched you there, since you were so immersed in your studies, you had no time or effort to try these things out.

he started caressing your covered parts. the circling motions made you press your thighs together. it felt weird. the tension, the choking, the feeling of the fabric, the continuous irritating of your sensitive clit. it all felt so weird.

he started to make quicker motions, pressing your clit more and more, making you feel something hot in your lower stomach. then, his pointing and middle fingers slipped under your underwear. the sudden skin-to-skin contact would've made you let out a surprised moan if he hadn't let go of your throat and covered your mouth.

"such a dirty, desperate, needy little slut you are. soaking wet and moaning like a whore?" he caressed your entire pussy, from your hole to your clit twice, covering his fingers in your juices, then the started teasing your clit. at first he quickly circled on it, making you close your eyes and take bigger breaths. you felt hot and ashamed. this was humiliating. when you felt something wet slowly dripping down on your thighs, you knew it was over for you. all your rational thoughts disappeared and something entirely different filled your brain.

"will you keep quiet, hmm?" he whispered in your ears and you shakily nodded. he slowly lifted his hand from your mouth and started playing with your boobs under your shirt and bra. he was pinching and twisting your right nipple, making you squirm and push your ass to his abdomen. all of these new sensations were so overwhelming.

then, when your legs started shaking and you felt you are really close to shamefully orgasm, he stopped teasing your clit and your thought that was it. for a fleeting moment you even felt a tiny bit of regret, but not for long. you heard as he unzipped his pants and you didn't even had the time to react before he pushed his dick between your thighs. the feeling of his raw, rock hard, massive cock touching your wet pussy made you whimper and this time you were the one who covered your own mouth. after a few thrusts, when is dick was soaking wet of your pussy juices, he positioned his cock at the entrance of your hot hole grabbed your hips (lifting your feet a bit from the ground) and basically shoved you on his dick.

he didn't start it slow, as it's sometimes described in stories like these, no. he violated your wet, virgin pussy, using you as a literal fucktoy, a human fleshlight.

"ngh... ah-ah-ahmm..." you tried to supress your moans and whimpers, but it was impossible. as he bounced you on his cock, your eyes rolled back and you grabbed the edge of the bookshelf for some support. the pain at the beginning quickly changed to such pleasure you've never felt or even imagined before. it felt amazing to be filled, to be used, to be violated like this. he repeatedly hit the entrance of your womb, just as his balls hit your clit, making the pleasure almost unbearable.

since you were already close to an orgasm, it wasn't surprising that after a few thrusts, your whole body began to tremble and you pussy started pulsating on his huge dick. you felt so bad, so so so bad. coming on your professor's dick like this... you little whore.

as your needy, wet hole throbbed around him, he groaned and quickened his speed. the sloppy noises caused by your juices made you blush even more. you felt the taste of blood in your mouth, since you bit your lips so hard, trying to silence your sounds of pleasure.

he fucked you like you were nothing more than a lifeless doll, serving no other reasons, only his pleasure, and you liked it. not stopping after your orgasm broke you completely. yes, you masturbated a few times before, but always finished teasing yourself after your first orgasm, since your body felt so sensitive, that you couldn't continue it by yourself. but now, that you had no control over when the pleasure stops, your mind went completely foggy, filled with nothing.

his painful grip on your hips felt awesome, his cock, violating the entrance of your womb felt awesome. everything felt awesome. your lips opened unconsciously as you started panting and drooling. you still tried to stay as quiet as possible, but you had no idea if it was successful or not.

your second orgasm followed soon after the first, making your toes curl in your shoes and your back arch like a real slut's. the overwhelming pleasure made your limbs go numb. your arms fell next to your body and your head fell backwards a bit as he bounced you in an immense speed. since he was so much bigger and muscular than you, it really started to look like he was fucking a doll.

he stopped for a bit and changed on the position. now you were on your knees, legs closed together, making your pussy feel tighter, your upper body was pushed to the floor, your arms forced behind your back with one of his hands holding both of your wrists. he was standing in a somewhat bigger straddle, destroying your pussy, still from the back.

with his other hand, he tore off your panties from you and pushed the soaked underwear into your mouth, to make your noises a bit more quiet.

you had orgasms after orgasms, even to the point that you started crying due to the unbearable pleasure. you were shaking, the area around your pussy was red and slimy from the wetness that was oozing from your slutty little hole. you wanted to beg him to stop. but you couldn't since your mouth was filled with your panties. your juices rolled down on your thighs, creating a small puddle around your knees. you were fucked senseless and got to the edge of passing out.

when your next orgasm came (you had no idea about how much you've already had), you whole body shake again, you whimpered and blacked out, it didn't matter how much you tried not to.

when you woke up, you were laying on the floor of the library, still between those bookshelves where the professor violated you, your ruined panties in your mouth, cum and wetness dripping out of your used hole, with a note on your shirt.

"see me at my office before our next class."

would you like me to continue?

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lizardkingeliot · 3 days

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Who wants to read an entire ~600 word scene from the upcoming sequel to my Loustat reunion fic? Because I'm 12k-deep into writing this thing and I'm getting so antsy to get it out into the world already but it's not even close to being done and I could perhaps use a bit of cheerleading so I'm just gonna drop said scene here lol...

Putting most of this under a cut I hope you all enjoy Louis and Lestat bickering about home decor. 🥰

—

The sun had only just set but they’d already been up for an hour. They were standing in the living room on the rug that had been delivered while they were sleeping. The thick pile soft and plush against Louis’ bare feet. Lestat was splitting his time between frowning down at it and frowning over at Louis.

“This won’t do, mon cher. It’s too…” He gestured airily with one hand, sharp nails gleaming in the artificial light. “French country. Were we not going for coastal?” “I’m gonna ban you from watching those home reno shows on the iPad if you don’t—” Louis drew a breath and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Thought you hated coastal.”

Lestat hummed, tipped his head to one side, scowled down at the rug. “Even so, is it not the aesthetic we are striving for here in our coastal home?”

“You picked out the rug, Lestat. You—”

“It looked different in the online pictures, cheri.”

“Buy another one, then.”

Louis sighed with his whole chest. He didn’t care about the rugs or the curtains or the lamps. Not really. Though he was starting to get antsy about picking art for the walls. Had been itching to pull pieces from his collection since the first night the realtor sent him the listing. As soon as Lestat decided to stop being difficult on purpose, he could make it work. Lestat let out a sound. Tiniest hint of a growl in his throat. Louis watched him gazing down at their bare feet nestled into the pile. “We need to find a proper boutique. Better yet an auction house. Why are we scouring web pages on an iPad for pieces for our home?”

“Easier that way,” Louis said with a shrug. There was an ache in his stomach he couldn’t give a name to. “We can always just hire someone to do this shit for us, Lestat. I know designers, decorators. Artists. I can call some people—”

“You don’t care about our home.”

Louis’ stomach twisted itself into a knot so quickly it nearly doubled him over. “What the fuck—” He couldn’t help it when the words flew out of his mouth. Seriously—what the fuck. “Why would you say somethin’ like that to me, Lestat?”

Lestat set his eyes on Louis. The set of his jawline was hard and tense. He had that look in his eyes like a cat about to do something very, very stupid. “You cared so much back at Rue Royale. Firm opinions on every piece of furniture. The art on every wall—" “I got art lined up. You know that. You know I’m gonna handle the—” “Do you remember that lamp you hated? Wanted to throw it in the incinerator the moment I—" “Don’t see what point you’re tryin’ to—” “dared to bring it home to replace the one—” “I don’t remember the lamp. I remember you—" “that had been badly damaged—" “being impossible about everything exactly the way you are—” “when we knocked it from the table—” “right now.” “making love. And I—” “Lestat!” “Louis.” Louis drew a long deep breath and huffed it out. The tension in his chest abated just a little, just enough. “I don’t remember the lamp,” he said. And clenched his jaw. And shook his head. Lestat was gazing at Louis with wide eyes that didn’t blink. The centers of them huge black voids Louis could have tumbled down into in seconds. He leaned close. So close the ends of their noses brushed together. “How convenient for you,” he growled, one corner of his mouth twitching up. Louis growled back, showed his teeth, tiniest hint of his fangs poking out. “You’re insufferable, you know that.” He reached forward at once and let his mind go dark. Took Lestat by the hair with both hands. And crashed their mouths together.

#interview with the vampire #loustat #otp: all my love belongs to you #myfic #this is very unedited and might end up changing a lot when i finally do edit it but... you know... lol #we'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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chemistry-in-sports · 3 days

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since i am in my maxiel feelings rn, i want to ask you what do you think are the best maxiel moments from this season? :)

Thank you @motorsport-sideblog for this excellent and painful question!!!

There are so many that I am sure I will forget something -- boy at times like this I wished I had a good tag system tbh -- but here goes my top three:

— Daniel's video where he wrote RPF on main and had Max say that he was sorry about Baku and YOU'RE MY EVERYTHING 🤍 and what Max actually said was that Daniel was horny and they both giggled about it and man, that was insane

— The interview in Australia where Daniel was asked where he'd take Max on a date and Daniel had a little gay panic (a date??? with a boy???) and then Max jumped in and revealed that he already had a date planned for them at Daniel's farm. Also in that interview Max laughed like this, my god:

— Daniel's tribute to Max's 200th race where he said Max might be the greatest of all time and that he hoped he'd taught Max something about being a little more carefree. And Max found out about it live on stream and insistently asked to see it and then read the whole thing in front of us and then immediately got up and went off camera, presumably to text Daniel and/or wank

That's my top 3 I think!

I have purposely left off the helicopter! Too raw! But other runner up moments: max scrambling to hold daniel's umbrella; the padel pantomime on the beach when yuki and checo wanted to kill themselves; that one "pick someone on the grid" interview where Max answered Daniel so many times he eventually had to say "Is this a Daniel interview?"; that Goodwood interview where Max and Daniel are inexplicably sitting basically on top of each other even though there was a whole entire couch....what am i missing???

#is there something insane i'm forgetting #lmk Birdie #can't believe how good we had this year...until we didn't #maxiel

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batboyblog · 2 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/batboyblog/763234650399424512/the-recent-chappell-roan-thing-is-why-i-absolutely

I frankly also get the impression that a lot of these people genuinely think another Trump term will just be “business as usual” or “it’ll only hurt the people who deserve to suffer” and that they’ll just be able to hide away from the consequences for four years before someone comes along and fixes the mess for them and they get to benefit.

I don’t think they have any realization of just how bad this is gonna get the second time around, because the first time Trump was metaphorically behind a chained fence and held back by strong rope. This time he’s being let loose alongside his fascist theocratic friends.

I've puzzled about this for some time, because like do people honestly not remember what it was like? what those 4 years were like? the fear, the chaos, the national embarrassment. Every day waking up and going "oh god! what did he DO! while I was asleep!" and how often you'd wake up to some story that he'd tweeted something scary and dangerous at 4am. I believe him threatening to nuke North Korea (the "Fire and Fury" tweet) was one of those very early AM specials that we all woke up to.

I mean for people like Chappell, its hard to remember, but Trump has been the more or less national main character for 9 years, since the fall of 2015. I mean an 18 year old first time voter could have been 8 years old when Trump came down the gold escalators told us all that Mexicans were rapists and he was running for President. So for anyone under 30, Trump is normal since every election they've been able to vote in, he's been the Republican nominee. I've spent 9 years of my life, across 5 elections fighting Trump directly or indirectly. Depressing thought that.

but past that there's been a national effort to gaslight us all into thinking "yeah no it was normal" I mean I remember the media coverage of 2017, the first year or so of Trump's Presidency, every few weeks or so there'd be some "is it time for the 25th amendment now?" story about if Trump's weird behavior this time for his cabinet to step it and remove him. (A quick google turned up CNN Oct 2017, New York Times May 2017, The Guardian July 2017, and Vox February 2017) compare that to coverage today? The term "Sane-washing" has been coined where when Trump says something bonkers it gets characterized as "sometimes meandering" rather than "incomprehensible" and "worrying"

figures in the media have gone so far as to claim there's just no point to covering new Trump scandals because "they won't move the needle" which really should not be a journalist standard. And we see that they do, take North Carolina's Mark Robinson. Caught in a massive scandal, involving sex, porn, and being a Nazi, he's now down massively in the polls after nation wide coverage. Trump just had new court documents opened that showed he wanted a riot on January 6th, that his reaction to a mob threatening the life of his Vice-President was "so what?" and they he knew full well that he had lost but was going to "fight like hell" any ways. And its not much of a story, indeed I'm seeing more news about a NY Republican Congress having worn black face (new story today) than Trump's effort to over throw the government and kill Mike Pence.

past the media's gaslighting of course there's been a major and on-going campaign to effect how we see reality. I know that sounds very woo-woo, but to step back for second, most of what we know about the world is stuff people tell us, so you know Joe Biden is the President because other people have said so, most likely you've never met him or even seen him in person. Well as more and more people turn away from traditional media, and traditional media turns more and more to making of money by confirming the bias of people, it becomes easier and easier to slip things that are not real into "facts we are told". So for example "Joe Biden is President, and also in decline" there's never been any real evidence of that, but if on social media you are bombarded with it 4,000 times a day... you start to take it as understood wisdom.

people are also getting worse and worse at not just taking what they're told if it confirms biases they already have. Former Vice-President Al Gore wrote a book nearly 20 years ago now, called "The Assault on Reason" which had a ton of very interest neuroscience about the ways that moving images, TV he was talking about, by-pass the logic centers of the mind, the way we relate and trust someone talking to us in a way the written word does not. I can't help but reflect on that with the rise of TikTok and short form video as a "source of information" (lol)

any ways this is a long winded way of saying bad faith players, Republicans, left wing grifters, and agents of chaos, have been very good at flooding the zone all through the Biden Presidency with stuff "student loan debt" remember when that was SO! important SO big and Biden "not doing anything" (untrue) was the biggest deal? well yesterday his newest plan got unlocked in court and 3 out of every 4 people with loan debt will get relief.... oh you're just now hearing about that from me? huh... funny... I thought it was the number one issue and reason we should never trust Biden and the Democrats... weird....

but there have been other issues pushed up as THE! issue, its all misdirection, its all meant to get natural Democratic voters to feel frustrated, upset, and hopeless, and not to vote their interest. The world is a big complex multi moving machine, and anyone telling you that one issue either fixes every other issue or totally totally outweighs everything else and should for everyone, is most likely BSing you and doesn't have your best interests at heart.

and lets be clear, Trump is a Rapist he's a lot of things, traitor, racist, scumbag, criminal, scab, tax cheat, fraud, etc but for me any ways, I'm not gonna vote for a rapist to be President and if other people aren't gonna do everything they can to stop a rapist from being the President I don't want to hear how much they care about progressive issues.

#politics #US politics #American politics #election 2024 #Donald Trump

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thevoidstaredback · 1 day

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Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفسك للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

#Tales of Conquest. Warnings of Fools #Letters Between Brothers #part 2 #word count: just over 5k #my writing #ao3 #ao3 writer #fanfic #dc x dp #ghouls and gang writing event 2024 #dpxdcbang2024 #g&g24

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janeyseymour · 2 days

Text

You Matter To Me- pt 2

part 1

Summary: You fall into a routine with Melissa as your impending divorce takes over your life.

WC: ~2.6k

Melissa holds onto you, without an ounce of selfishness as you tell her the horrors of your life. She wraps you up in her arms and holds on tight. She doesn’t pull away, she doesn’t look at your face, and she doesn’t try to kiss you. All she does is stay there as long as you’ll let her, just like she promised.

For once in your life, the things that you’re saying… you feel like they matter to the redhead.

On the outside, your coworker is calm and collected. But on the inside? She’s absolutely seething. Melissa feels a fire starting in her heart. How dare someone treat anyone, but specifically you- sweet and lovely you- in such horrid ways? And it’s not even like this is something that has been going on for a short amount of time… God dealt you a horrible hand, and you’ve been putting up with abuse in every which way for the entirety of your life.

Your father is lucky he’s dead and gone now, but Mason? If the redhead can help it, he will never walk a free man’s breath again. She’s not quite sure how she could manage that, so she internally settles for getting you the hell out of this house, helping you divorce him, and then ensuring that you never have to put up with anything of the sorts again in regard to him or any other person who might try to use you for the goodness of your heart and body. She’ll meet with every guy she has a connection with in this city and make more ziti than she ever thought possible if it means that you finally will be able to walk free of hurt in this world.

“I just don’t know what to do,” you whisper as your tears begin to fade. “I don’t know. Like, I know I have to leave him, but the logistics of it all-”

“Don’t worry about all that,” Melissa tells you. “I’ll handle it.”

“What do you mean you’ll handle it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the gruff woman tells you.

You look at the woman sitting with you. She looks enraged. And you know the connections that she has. “Mel, you- you can’t kill him.”

“I never said I would,” the redhead states.

“Nobody can,” you whisper. “I- As much as he’s awful, I- I wouldn’t wish death on him.”

As much as she wants to protest that she doesn’t care, that he deserves it, she nods her head. She feels the same way about some of her former boyfriends- absolute shitheads, but she wouldn’t wish death upon them. “I’ll still be here, right by your side, to help you through it all.”

“I- I don’t have enough saved,” you groan. “I can pretty much pay for a divorce lawyer, and then I’m going to have to move back-”

“I know a guy who can help you with the divorce, I know another guy who will help you with a restraining order, and you can use all of the money in your savings for a new house or apartment.”

You shrug. “I still don’t know if I can afford it… living in Philly is expensive.”

“So you’re going to go back home and repeat the cycle of abuse?” Melissa challenges. “Like hell you are. I told you I’m here for you, so if you can’t afford a place on your own, you can move in with me.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “I- I can’t put myself on you like that.”

“You ain’t. I’m offering. Think about it. You get your case worked pro-bono, and my house is all paid off, so I’m just paying for utilities and all that. By moving in with me, you’re actually doing me a favor. Eat my food, since I only know how to cook for twelve and constantly have leftovers, and we can split utilities with me until you can get back on your feet. You’re saving way more than you would if you moved back home, and I’ll know you’re safe if you’re with me.”

You search her eyes for any hint of ingenuity or hint that she’s only doing this for show, but you can tell that she genuinely wants what is best for you. She’s here for you, and she’s offering all of these services because she truly cares about you in such a selfless way.

You just barely nods, and she smiles softly. “Just know that you’re on the hook to help me make all the food we’re gonna have to give out.”

By some Grace of God, you’re able to obtain a divorce lawyer in the short time that your husband is away. You’ve also managed to start the filings of a restraining order against Mason while he’s out of town. And, with the help of a few caring teachers and some of the redhead’s stronger cousins, your things have been moved out of your house and into Melissa’s.

When your husband gets back from his work trip, all that remains of yours in that house is the now dull and dingy rings he had given you on top of a pile of divorce papers and a pile of the restraining order papers. He immediately dials your number.

You’re sitting on Melissa’s couch, trying to settle in as much as you can, when your phone starts ringing loudly.

The redhead is sitting in her recliner and glances down at your phone. She glances to you, and when you lean forward to pick up the device with shaking hands, she snatches it. You instinctively flinch at her aggressive motion.

“You are not answering that,” Melissa tells you. “There is no fucking way I’m letting you answer that phone call and go back. It isn’t happening.”

“Melissa,” you sigh softly.

“No. If you answer that phone call, he is going to know where you are, and he is going to kill you,” your new roommate states.

“If I don’t answer, it’s putting you in-”

“If he so much as tries to show up here, he’s fucked,” Melissa tells you confidently. “But if you leave here now, you are not going to make it out of this situation alive.”

Before you can think to say anything else, your phone stops ringing. It begins again. Immediately, your coworker turns off your cellular device.

Leaving Mason is a messy ordeal. You knew it was going to be the second that you decided you had to get out of the life you’ve been trapped in for far too long. There are many protective measures put into place to keep you from your soon-to-be ex-husband. You also knew that falling into a new routine and lifestyle would be a long experience. What you weren’t expecting was to have such a hard time transitioning to this new life. Melissa does everything she can for you to become comfortable, but being comfortable is a lot easier said than done.

The woman drives the both of you to work, and she insists that your car stay in her enclosed garage while everything is still swirling in terms of your divorce and restraining order. Not having control of the car that you’re in is something that you’re used to, but putting your life in your coworker’s (sometimes rage filled) hands is scary. When she yells and curses at the idiots around you for their driving, you shrink in your seat. She sees it immediately.

“I’m sorry, hun,” the redhead’s voice turns as smooth as honey. “I’ll try to keep it to myself.”

And when she jerks the car because she has to slam on her brakes for a myriad of reasons, you can’t help but flinch when her arm protectively comes flying towards you to keep you and your healing body from crashing into the dashboard. Of course, she apologizes when she sees how terrified you truly are.

You give her a small shrug and a shy smile. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You don’t have to apologize.”

Slowly, you become more comfortable with her actions and words in the car. They’re never directed in a harmful way towards you. If anything, she’s yelling and cursing at these idiots for putting you in danger. You find it endearing that she doesn’t care that these people are reckless for her sake, but for yours.

Being in the house is… it’s warm in a way you weren’t quite expecting. You knew the woman was Italian, and her people tend to be a bit rough around the edges but would go to bat for those they love. You find yourself in shock that you are part of that group for Melissa- although you aren’t sure why you would be surprised; she so graciously allowed you to move in with her in order to keep you out of another shitty situation.

When you moved in with her, you promised your new roommate that you would help chip in on expenses when it came to rent.

“I already told ya, it’s taken care of.”

“Then I’ll pitch in more than half for utilities and groceries.”

“Like hell you will.”

For as loud as she tends to be at school, walking around in her heeled boots that clink against the tile, she treks through the house nearly silently in her slippers or sock clad feet. And in the beginning of you living with the redhead, she catches you off guard quite often. She hates that she forgets how skittish you still are.

You’re sitting at the dining room table trying to grade papers while you assume she’s in the living room watching her television show, but then you hear a voice behind you and an arm on your shoulder.

Without thinking, you jump nearly three feet in the air and whip around with eyes blown wide to see who is trying to get to you.

“Shit,” Melissa groans to herself. She looks at you regretfully. “Hun, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath, a hand over your heart. It’s beating out of your chest.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” The redhead clearly feels awful. You break out of your trance just enough to let your colleague know that she has nothing to be sorry for. “No. I didn’t mean to scare the shit outta you.”

“I just didn’t hear you comin’,” you try to laugh, but it comes out as awkward and stilted, your voice wavering just slightly. “Used to knowing you’re coming with your heels at school.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that now whenever Melissa makes her way through the house, you can hear her because she saunters through her house with a different pair of slippers on- moccasins, that alert you of her being.

You’re able to get your restraining order request fulfilled with some help from one of Melissa’s connections, but the divorce is still pending. Your divorce lawyer ends up being one of the best in the city because of the redhead you live with now. Despite him having the street credit that he does, your case is still being dragged out. You knew it would take forever. There was no way that your husband would agree to any of the terms that you had previously settled on, only prolonging everything further. It also doesn’t help the timing having to go through lawyers and representatives because you feel unsafe being in the same room as him (despite the fact that there are multiple bodies in the room to ensure your safety).

But any legal meetings that you have to be present at, Melissa is right by your side- just as she promised. She believes everything that you shakily tell your lawyer. The things that you tell this man are taken seriously, and it only helps to build a better case for you.

When you leave, the redhead is always there to hold your hand on the car ride home and promise you that you’re making the right decision. Melissa stays by your side for as long as you need her, for as long as you’ll let her. She promises to you that you matter, and you’re one step closer to being a free woman, no longer tied to that horrid man.

She holds you for longer than twenty minutes on those days- letting you feel anything that you need to. She doesn’t ever pull away first. She doesn’t even look at your face. And as much as she wants to kiss you, she doesn’t. All she does is wraps you up in her arms, and she holds on as tightly or as loosely as you need that specific day. She does it all for you, without any sense of selfishness. Melissa would admit that holding you feels nice and natural, but she shakes her head softly at the mere thought of holding you with any intention other than to provide you with the comfort that you need in that very moment.

Once you’ve gotten past the transition of living with Melissa Schemmenti, it’s quite nice. The routines that you fall into never fail you. The two of you spend most of your time together, her claiming that she’s just doing her duty to keep you out of harm’s way, but there’s a small part you that thinks maybe she genuinely just does enjoy spending time with you. You get ready for work together, have breakfast together, go to staff meetings together, have lunch with the group together (although you’ve found that you’ve been invited to hers and Barb’s sacred table), and then when work is over, you make dinner and enjoy it together before retiring to the couch for an evening of relaxation. Chores and grocery shopping is usually done together, and it’s warm. You’ve found something of a domestic life partner in Melissa- you aren’t quite sure if you’ll ever be ready to enter another relationship, as much as you have come to terms with the fact that you may have feelings for your coworker turned roommate.

After far too long, your divorce is finalized, and you couldn’t be more thrilled. The feeling of freedom is so overwhelming that you can’t help the burst of emotion you end up showing. That night, Melissa is nothing but warm and sweet- telling you that you’re on your way to healing. She holds you just like she has been, and the amount of takeout food that you consume rivals tailgate parties for the Eagles.

Now that you’re free from Mason, your restraining order is finalized, and you’ve actually caught wind that he’s moved out of the city and a few towns over though, the reality that you technically don’t need Melissa’s protective streak anymore. Now that you’re out of your previous situation, you come to the realization that your neighbor will probably begin to pull back because she has no obligation to keep you under her wing anymore.

And that… that breaks you in the oddest way. You’re free from the fear that you’ve been living in, and you have more than enough savings to move out.

Not that you would know it, but Melissa is also having feelings about this. What if you don’t want her around anymore, or you want to move out now that you have a plentiful of wealth due to not having to pay for rent.

Neither of you speak of it the night that everything is finalized. Instead, you revel in the success and allow yourself to feel comfortable- as if come tomorrow everything will change.

Tags

(and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader

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ak4e7a · 2 days

Text

sweet disposition – psh (sfw)

notes: high school au, slice of life, scifi, jay lives to torment sunghoon, angst, hurt, comfort, i learned quantum mechanics to write this, also the first draft of this got me into grad school so #slay i guess

wc: 10.7k

cw: mentions of violence, SA, su1c1de attempt (not actually, it's a metaphor), parent trauma

trailer: you were always stuck in your ways. what happens when you decide to change out of love for someone else?

starring: park sunghoon, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and aespa karina (yu jimin)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿˚₊

“just desserts” arc — episodes 1-4

You never liked your name. You thought it didn’t suit you.

After all, it was supposed to mean something like “sound of the heavens”, and you hadn’t spoken in three years. It wasn’t like you were mute or anything. You just didn’t have anything to say to anyone. Like, ever.

Yu Jimin was the closest thing you had to a friend, often acting as a translator between you and the rest of your classmates. You got along well with Jimin because most things she asked would be in the form of a yes or no question, and if she wanted more, it only took one look into your eyes to get an elaborate answer. And you were glad Jimin wasn’t pushy when it came to the subject of your intentional silence.

“I heard they’re playing ‘Silent Penalty’ next week! Those boys are crazy, don’t you think so? Especially Jaeyun and Jongseong,” Jimin cried, clutching her textbooks to her chest with her free arm. You were on your way to your family's cafe, where you worked part-time—Jimin as a waitress, you in the kitchen (where you wouldn’t be bothered).

The month of April tinted the otherwise muted color palette of the outskirts of Shibuya in blushed hues. You always walked home together; the stories of the Hello Kitty murder and the Setagaya Family and the Junko Furuta case so deeply ingrained into their memories that neither of you would allow the other to go anywhere alone. You and Jimin even carried dainty pocket knives in their bags; these were mostly used to open boxes at work or cut slits into the packaging of snacks from the convenience store by your school. But it never hurt to be too safe, especially as teenage girls in a big city.

You nodded, the wind blowing through your high ponytail, tousling several strands out of place. Sometimes you took pity on your friend, wishing you could be better company to the girl who had not left your side since you first moved to Shibuya. You often wondered if you should just tell Jimin how much you appreciated her, and how you wouldn’t leave her unless Jimin explicitly told you to do so.

Tamago to chikai wa kudake-yasui, you thought to yourself as you continued to walk hand-in-hand. Why not just show her?

It wasn’t like you were a “bad” friend. You often helped Jimin with homework (you did it for her) and you were the one who taught her how to ride a bike. You prepared the best bentos, often shaping the onigiri to resemble the cats from Sailor Moon, and always brought an extra fruit jelly stick for Jimin, who would never fail to still be hungry after lunch.

You wondered if that was enough for Jimin. You supposed it was, since Jimin had never once complained… at least, to your face. But you also wondered how long that would last.

“But, I mean, their leader… he’s kinda cute,” Jimin trailed off. The boy in question was Heeseung, the quiet half of the Fox Club twins. Said “club” was known around Kokusai High School as a sometimes-rowdy, always-mischievous gang, whose members were all brilliant in their own right. “And I heard they’re looking for new members! We should try joining them! Even though… even though we’d be the only girls.”

You exhaled sharply, forcefully — your way of laughing with as little effort as possible. Sometimes, if you felt up to it, you would even treat Jimin to a smile. You followed the pebble you’d been kicking since you left Kokusai before stopping to pick it up and rub it clean with the hem of your sweater. Then you handed the polished stone to Jimin, who took it happily, saying she’d add it to her jar at home.

“I think joining them would be a good idea, even if we’d be the only girls… Maybe they’ll find a way to get you to talk again,” Jimin mumbled as you walked ahead of her.

Sometimes, you mused, Jimin would say things and forget that you weren’t deaf, just quiet. Extremely, deafeningly quiet.

“Oh! Did you see that new experiment on TV last night?” Jimin asked, catching up to you. “The one about the snails getting their memories erased.”

You raised your eyebrows, and Jimin continued recounting the details from the news report she watched with her dad.

“I bet they taste gross. Don’t know why people have tried eating them. But you could probably find some way to fix that, huh?” she chirped, opening the back door of the cafe. “Since you’re so good at cooking.

You looked up, turning to Jimin with a playful gleam dancing along the outer corners of your normally blunted affect. You shrugged, as if to say, maybe, but it’s anyone’s guess, and helped Jimin tie her pink apron up.

It was a slow afternoon, the usual customers trickling in one at a time like the dregs of a coffee machine after it’s finished brewing. You noticed that Jimin was especially chatty at the register today, and sighed to yourself as you refilled the almond flour jar slower than your grandmother would have liked. How you wished you could join in the conversation.

It was a shame you were still convinced they’d hear you, but no one would truly listen.

When you finished every random task you could think of doing, you peeked out of the little window between the kitchen and the front counter. Its position was perfect for you to watch the television above the customers’ seating area without being caught by whoever happened to be working the cashier shift.

The program on the television that afternoon was a replay of Yuzuru Hanyu’s record-breaking short routine in figure skating at the 2014 Olympic Games in Sochi, Russia. Yuzuru had since become one of Japan’s permanent darlings, on and off the ice.

You frowned. That could have been you, had you not torn your right Achilles tendon right before high school started; had you not disappointed your entire family in front of a national audience; had you not landed on your ankle on purpose, because you didn’t know how else to tell your mother that your coach had been touching you in the locker room ever since you put your first pair of skates on. It’s not like your mother would have believed you. She was dating him, after all.

Maybe you would have been an Olympian had you not done any of those things, because no one gave medals out for lying and saying everything was fine.

“Y/N-ie,” Jimin called. “Where’s the milk bread?”

There was no answer, but that was a given. Jimin turned around to find your attention fixed to the television, eyes following Yuzuru’s every movement. If you still spoke, you would have been excitedly calling out each triple Axel and Lutz jump as you saw them.

But no sound came out of you, aside from the slow, deep breaths you took.

Jimin immediately grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

You snapped out of your maladaptive daydreaming, picturing yourself on that podium, and went back into the kitchen without any hesitation, and the milk bread was out of the oven several minutes later.

“Hello!” Jimin said. That was odd, you thought. You were about to close for the night. Usually, in the time you’d been working there, this part of your shift went interrupted.

“Oh… Is halmeoni not here?” went the soft, low voice.

Why are they looking for Grandma?

“No, not today. She hasn’t been feeling well lately. Can I get you anything?”

You crept toward the little window again, peeking behind the vase of lavender flowers that sat on the left side of the shelf that ran along the bottom. You recognized the person speaking. He was wearing the Kosukai boys’ uniform: navy blue blazer, a white shirt, burgundy and mauve necktie, and navy trousers. He was quite tall, with full, messy, dark-brown-almost-black hair parted down the middle, framing his tired, upturned eyes.

He was one of the Fox boys—but not one of high ranking, to your knowledge.

“Oh… um…”

“I’ll give you a moment to decide what you want. Pardon me,” Jimin said sweetly, before walking into the kitchen. The sound of the door swinging open startled you, causing you to nearly knock an open sack of flour over. You ducked down under the window before the boy could spot you. Jimin laughed. “What are you doing? Are you spying?”

Pause.

“Do you know who he is?”

No, said your pursed lips. You grabbed a sheet of scrap paper and a pen from the pocket of your frilly black apron and scrawled something down quickly. Jimin took it from you.

I think that’s the boy Grandma told me about. The one she gives the unsold pastries to at the end of the day.

Jimin giggled. “Oh, no shit. He’s cute! But not as cute as Heeseung.”

You rolled your eyes at a specific tempo that Jimin perfectly recognized to mean shut up, he can probably hear you.

“Well, I’ll clean up here. You go give him the bread.”

And with that, she pushed you through the swinging door as if she were moving a stack of heavy crates.

It was times like these that you wished she still had the will to speak, so that you could scream at your friend in disbelief. Jimin sometimes liked to take advantage of the fact that you would only physically protest if she thought it was worth fighting about.

Your eyes softened when you looked at the boy, whose complexion had suddenly tinted the color of pickled plums. It was an uncanny look for someone who was seemingly so reserved and collected, from the times you’d seen him in passing.

“Oh. you ’re the granddaughter, right? Y/N? you ’re in class 3-A, right?” he said, his hands behind his back as he bowed. You nodded.

“I’m in 3-B… So it’s true, huh?”

Pause.

“You don’t talk?”

Another nod.

“You can call me Sunghoon. Nice to meet you,” he said, to which he received a decidedly polite nod. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. I guess you can call me that in your head. Are you the one who does all the baking? If you are, it’s really good.”

You smiled like your muscles weren’t used to the strain before heading to the display case, a brown paper bag in hand. You slid the metal door open and used a pair of tongs to transfer the baked goods into the bag, deftly maneuvering each piece so as to not crush anything. You tied the bag closed with a piece of white ribbon and handed it to him, not allowing yourself to linger on how his cheeks had not let up on their rosy hue.

Sunghoon offered to walk you and Jimin home, out of politeness (and genuine concern for your safety, he said). Jimin accepted before you could even so much as blink a strong no, thanks, and so he waited as the two of you finished closing the cafe before heading in the direction of your apartment building. You tried your best not to panic. Being around the opposite sex was not high up on your very short list of favorite situations.

“I’ve never had a conversation so one-sided and yet only mildly uncomfortable,” Sunghoon said, having since regaled you with some of the more tame stories about the Fox Club. He told you about the time the twins came to school dressed in the girls’ uniforms, when he and three other boys (Park Jonseong, Yang Jungwon, and Nishimura Riki) got into a fight on the train after catching someone nonconsensually taking an upskirt picture, and the famous incident in which more than half of the Foxes ended up in the swimming pool, still fully clothed. “Y/N could hate me for all I know.”

You scowled. He adjusted the strap of your bookbag on his shoulder, clearing his throat. “No, wait, that’s not what you think it means. I meant that because you don’t say anything, you can spend more time judging me.”

You gave him a variation of the same exhaled laugh you only reserved for Jimin, shaking your head. You could already tell Sunghoon was kind by the way he walked on the side closest to the road, and never pushed you to speak the way others tended to do.

“You aren’t?”

I am, but I don’t think poorly of you. It’s the opposite, really.

Jimin chuckled. “She has other things to do besides complain. Like be my best friend. Right, Y/N?”

You nodded.

Of course. you’re pretty much all I have left, and that makes me more pathetic than ever.

—

The next Friday, you took the challenger’s seat at the Fox Den’s lunch table, on an otherwise bleak, foggy afternoon.

The entire cafeteria was in shock. The aforementioned seat was more of a symbolic gesture than anything; the Foxes rarely, if ever, gained new members because of how rough their games could get. The reward, however, was respect, notoriety, and the unyielding loyalty of seven teenage boys.

“Alright, hold on,” Jaeyun, the outgoing one of the twins and de-facto second in command, interrupted as the other boys cheered and swooned over you. He ran a hand through his dyed pastel pink hair cooly, eyeing you in front of him; your posture indicated that you were not scared in the slightest.

You were everyone’s hallway crush, despite your cold exterior and refusal to even consider any confessions of their affection. Not one day could go by without you hearing usually-innocent comments about how pretty you were, garnering comparisons to different shoujo protagonists.

And to exacerbate those remarks, that week, you’d heard the boys giving Sunghoon shit after finding out he walked you and Jimin home; it was all they talked about in their free time since Monday morning, bombarding him with questions about what your voice sounded like and if there were really scars on your ankle and how you smelled.

Everyone froze, waiting for the next words. Jaeyun looked at you as if you were a particularly difficult sudoku puzzle. “You sure you want to do this? I won’t go easy on you just because you’re a girl.”

You nodded metronomically.

Jimin cried out a sharp “No!” before covering her mouth in what you thought was a mix of devastation and realization, tears pooling in her eyes like spring dewdrops on blades of grass. When her eyes locked with yours, the universe was put on hold for a moment. You wished you could hold her hand and say it out loud.

I’m doing this for you.

Beside Jaeyun, Park Jongseong, another one of your fellow third-years, brandished two long needles, previously wrapped in his white handkerchief. He towered in front of you like the Tokyo Skytree, his long black hair covering one eye, the other glinting playfully under the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. He’d abandoned his blazer over the back of the empty chair in front of her, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, exposing the prominent veins along his inner forearms. “Who’s going today?”

“I’ll do it,” Sunghoon said over the voices of the other club members, easing his way through the slowly-growing crowd of students. “Let’s make it quick.”

“Who has the stuff?” Jongseong asked, spraying something onto the needles that made the club’s seating area instantly smell like a hospital. You grimaced only for a second, pushing back the memories of being in the emergency room.

There was an exchange between two closed fists, and before any more objections, Heeseung was announcing the rules to Silent Penalty, tossing a pair of dice in the air as he spoke.

“A roll of eight means you take a penalty mission. If both parties have eight at the end of the same round, both will face penalty. We’ll do two penalties. Keep a straight face through both, and you win. Back out, and you forfeit the whole game. Consequences will be decided later on.” He shot a glance at Y/N. “If you win, you will be the first girl in the club. Do you accept?”

You shook your head slowly. The boys whispered furiously behind you. You pointed at Jimin.

“Oh… She means that I get to come, too,” Jimin piped up, half-hidden behind Yang Jungwon’s broad back.

The dark-haired twin snickered. “Fine. That doesn’t bother me. Anyone against it? No? Then let’s start. Good luck, Y/N. Sunghoonie is our best Penalty player.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘best’,” Jongseong argued. “Luckiest, sure.”

Round one: you , 7; Sunghoon, 4.

Round two: you , 9; Sunghoon, 7.

Round three: you , 5; Sunghoon, 11.

“Shit, Seung,” Jongseong murmured to Heeseung as they stood behind Sunghoon. “Maybe you should have picked a different penalty number.”

Heeseung grinned, patting his friend on the back with a heavy hand. “It’s a thirteen-point-eighty-nine percent chance of rolling an eight. Not zero. Just be patient.”

Tensions mounted in the tenth round, but neither Sunghoon nor you were fazed. Not even when both of you rolled your first eight.

Jaeyun clapped, earning him a glare from his twin brother. “Oh, finally.”

“First penalty,” Heeseung announced, nudging Jaeyun aside. “Jongseong, the needles, please.”

Jimin gasped. “No, wait, what are you doing?”

“Ear piercings,” Jongseong answered with a grin as he began to sanitize two silver studs in his handkerchief. With his free hand, he held Jimin firmly in her spot by the cuff of her blazer. “Don’t worry, Heeseung is good at it.” Still clutching her, he used their joined hands to point to his right ear, a diamond earring in the center of his lobe. “Got this one last year.”

“Ready?” Heeseung asked, taking the alcohol-soaked handkerchief from Jongseong, hands already gloved up.

Everyone watched in silence as Sunghoon allowed Heeseung to confidently push the needle into his cartilage. Sunghoon blinked once, twice, then licked his lips all while the earring was inserted and the backing locked into place.

Taking the other needle, Heeseung sauntered over to you. You looked at him before turning to Sunghoon, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You already have a piercing,” he frowned, gingerly pinching your right ear between his pointer finger and thumb. “I’ll just pick another spot… is this okay?”

You nodded, feeling him graze over the protrusion covering the opening of your ear. You inhaled what could have been construed as the last breath of a dying woman, then exhaled as Heeseung pushed the needle through the thick cartilage of her tragus. He screwed the earring into place, smirking.

“Brave girl.” He turned to his brother. “Did she flinch?”

“Didn’t even blink,” Jaeyun praised. “Fucking sick.”

Sunghoon bit his lip, taking the dice out of your cold hand.

Round fifteen: you , 8; Sunghoon, 8.

“Damn, again?” Jongseong remarked. “That’s either very lucky or very unlucky.”

“The special lunch, Sunghoon,” Heeseung commanded. The boy ducked under the table to retrieve a bento box, blowing his bangs out of his face as he came back up. He looked like he was going to throw up. You thought the pain in his ear couldn’t have been that bad for him.

“Do we have to?” he asked. “Can’t we do something else?”

You answered on Heeseung’s behalf, leaning forward, propping your chin up with your hand, elbow resting on the tabletop as you looked into his eyes. Whatever it is, let’s just get it over with. Unless you’re too scared.

“No.” Jaeyun opened the box, revealing two snails and a small clear container filled with white crystalline grains. Sugar, you hoped, although it was most likely salt. “Here. We’re running out of time.”

You each reached for a snail, Sunghoon opting for the larger of the two.

“Wait,” Heeseung ordered, eyes narrowing to the point where he resembled the nickname he was often called—snake. You and Sunghoon waited, still clutching their own snails. “Sunghoonie, give yours to Y/N. She’s the challenger, not you.”

You resisted the urge to squirm as you felt a jolt run up your arm, like you’d accidentally touched the prongs of a plug that was halfway out of an electrical socket.

Sunghoon scowled. “This isn’t going to be pretty, regardless.”

Amane put her free hand over his, with an expression she hoped he would understand as don’t worry, it’ll be fine, and they switched snails.

“Put some sugar and eat it,” Jaeyun chimed in.

Amane let go of his hand as he glared at the shock of pink hair sticking out in the crowd. “The shells, too?” he drawled.

“Don’t be a smartass, Hoon,” Jongseong laughed.

It was slimy and bitter, even with the sugar. You kept your focus on Sunghoon as your lips wrapped around the opening of the shell, sucking on the body until it slid into your mouth. you r first mistake was chewing, the snail guts oozing onto your palate. you r vision blackened around the edges, and in the span of several milliseconds the Sunghoon that sat in front of you was replaced by the image of a younger boy, with the same dark black-brown hair and dark eyes, albeit thinner, almost haggard-looking.

All you could do while you were frozen in place was swallow, watching the boy as he was pushed out of the front door of an unfamiliar house by someone who could have only been his father, a silver second-place trophy thrown after him. It clattered to the ground, smashing into several pieces that the boy gathered up into the hem of his black sweater. He ran through the old, worn-down neighborhood until he reached another apartment, knocking on the glossy red door until a dark-haired woman with glasses answered, letting the crying boy inside.

You felt the unwelcome but familiar sinking feeling of parental disappointment gather in the pit of your stomach, its endless tentacles swirling and wrapping themselves around the chunks of snail entrails that slid down your esophagus.

You guessed that Sunghoon was experiencing something similar, which meant that he saw the memory of a young girl gliding across a sheet of ice in a skintight jeweled red leotard and matching skirt with all the elegance and grace of a koi fish in water. Out of the corner of the girl’s periphery, a group of people gathered at a section of the plexiglass that framed the entire ice rink; one man smiled, and he saw you skate into a jump before landing with a resounding crack that caused every spectator in the stadium to get on their feet for a closer look.

He would have then seen that man run onto the ice and pick you up, cradling you too close to his body even if he were your father. His hands were in the wrong places, and Sunghoon would have to have wondered why no one was saying anything. Perhaps their focus was all on the blood that began to seep through your nude-colored tights.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” went one of the twins—your focus was too far elsewhere to distinguish or care about who it was. “Welcome to the Fox Club.”

You ran out of the school building as soon as the dismissal bell rang, Jimin and Sunghoon calling out after you.

—

“Umiushi,” Sunghoon said, pointing to the creatures at the bottom of the metal basin. You were in the kitchen of the apartment he shared with his aunt, who just so happened to be a marine biologist studying these so-called “memory snails”. “That’s what we ate. But it’s a special type. Jimin said she told you about them.”

You watched the sea snails in a curious disgust, afraid that they would somehow leap out of the water and down your throat. You nodded to affirm him.

“Yeah. Basically, they have some sort of molecule that can be blocked so that their memories can be blocked, too. There’s not much else we know about them… and I asked Aunt Mina—don’t worry, I didn’t tell her what I saw or anything, it was a hypothetical question—I asked her if it’s possible to transfer memories, and she said it’s impossible right now. Something like that would be magic.”

You grimaced. Magic was for children.

It had been two months since that Friday afternoon that changed everything. Since that day, Sunghoon had followed you home, knowing full well what you’d seen from the snail he’d first touched, the one you ended up eating. He told you how his Aunt Mina took him in after his father disowned him for losing the chess tournament, and how they hadn’t spoken since.

The next morning, you showed up at their house and handed him an origami crane with Why the bread, then? scrawled inside.

Sunghoon explained to you that he was saving all his pocket money to one day pay for a chess “tutor” to whip him into shape, so he could win enough matches for him to go home—the promise his father had made to him the last time they’d spoken, almost a decade ago. You appreciated the honesty of a mere acquaintance so much so that you returned to school after that weekend with a photocopy of several diary entries that pertained to the memory he’d intercepted.

Inside, you confirmed his suspicions. The man was your coach, and, incidentally, your mother’s boyfriend. No one believed what was going on, and your furious mother sent you to live with your estranged father’s mother in Shibuya. It was almost five hours away from Sendai, where you had grown up and trained with one of Japan’s future Olympic figure skaters, Yuzuru himself. Before the incident, it was pretty much guaranteed that you would reach that level, too, since everyone said you were blessed by the gods with such talent. But as your mother said, it was you who ruined everything. Not the gods, not the universe, not fate.

You stopped speaking, Sunghoon learned in your handwriting, because you felt as though no one would listen if you did. You said it was easier that way, less effort on your part. It was harder for you to make promises that you didn’t even want to consider keeping. It forced people to be direct, otherwise they’d get nowhere with you. You didn’t like talking, anyway. It was worth less than acting upon things.

The final page of the diary entries was a single line, a proverb you lived by.

Tamago to chikai wa kudake-yasui.

Eggs and vows are easily broken.

—

You stood on the rooftop, the frigid night air whipping your cheeks the color of the sakura trees below. You and Sunghoon had snuck to the top of one of the Tokyo skyscrapers way past midnight, on a whim. Now, as one of the Foxes, you would agree that life was a bit more fun with some trouble.

You were more than happy Jimin had finally confessed her feelings to Heeseung, and he’d reciprocated, even if it meant you and your best friend spent less time alone together. While Sunghoon could never take Jimin’s place exactly, he fit into your life just fine. Maybe it was because you made space for him to be there.

He loved fruit jelly sticks just as much as Jimin, so you started bringing an extra one for him as well. You noticed that when he took the leftovers from your grandmother’s cafe, the taiyaki in the bag excited him the most. He told you that they were called something else back home in Korea, but he thought yours tasted better. After that, you would always “accidentally” make too many, and give him the rest when you thought no one was looking. You once found him in the library playing chess against himself, and the next day you sat in front of him and played until the lunch bell rang, having learned the rules the night before.

You found out Sunghoon spoke the same language as you. Acts of service. He carried around a pack of Salonpas because you were prone to muscle cramps and the occasional shooting pain in your ankle. you ’d always blush and look away when he’d hand you a clip to keep your hair out of your face, ignoring how his fingers lingered on yours just a split second too long to be platonic. When the boys would tease the two of you about being constantly together, you would text your snarky comeback to Sunghoon, and he would say it out loud for you. And everyone would laugh.

You truly were practically inseparable, though. You couldn’t bring yourself to shut him out, not when he’d already seen what you considered to be the worst part of you and why you were the way you were, and still chosen to think the best of you. On Friday nights, when Jimin and Heeseung were out on yet another city expedition, the two of you would sit on the plastic-covered couch in your grandmother’s living room and watch Yuri On Ice, the anime about a competitive figure skater’s return to the sport. And Sunghoon wouldn’t make you feel embarrassed about crying, only comforting you after making sure it was okay to touch you.

You liked him. He could doze off at times, but he never made a big deal about it. You admired that. And you also appreciated that he never said he felt sorry for you and what happened when you were thirteen. It was unnecessary, you thought. The important thing was that he was there.

The Foxes always traveled in packs. For the boys, it was a sign of friendship. To you, it was protection. Being one of the two girls in the club meant they were extra protective over you, and Sunghoon was no exception. In fact, he was the rule. Every day, without fail, he and Heeseung would walk you and Jimin to school, then to work, then back home.

The world felt a little less lonely to you. And maybe, just maybe, you could stop running from it with one good leg to stand on. Maybe you could find it in yourself to forgive a world that took, since that world had Sunghoon in it. Almost as if it were trying to make it up to you.

His black scarf was wrapped around your neck, flooding your nose with the scent of clean laundry and musk. He’d let you wear it on the train ride over to Shinjuku, and you wondered if he was falling in love with you, too. You hoped that he knew you weren’t scared of being so close to him. Not when he was everything you needed from yourself.

“It’s time we started living for ourselves, don’t you think?” you asked, staring down at the city lights in all their neon glory. Every single speck represented another disappointment, another broken heart, another fruitless wish. None of it mattered. But it still did. “Maybe start chasing a different dream. Maybe the same one. But be in control this time. It’s more fun that way, isn’t it?”

The wind blew your pleated uniform skirt upward, and when you turned to see if Sunghoon was looking, he was. At your face. You had just mustered the courage to speak again, voice raspy from years of unuse. You leaned ever so slightly over the edge, arms spread out wide, feeling the strong breeze catch your body in the current. The tickle of the urge to free-fall played around in your mind.

“Y/N!” Sunghoon yelled before grabbing your wrist at the last possible moment and pulling you back hard enough for you to fall on top of him. You clambered off after a moment’s hesitation, sitting beside him and smoothing out the hem of your skirt.

You looked down, almost ashamed of your impulse. “You….”

“Y/N,” he wheezed, pushing his bangs out of his face as he tried to collect himself. “Are you crazy?”

Your brow furrowed as you examined the worried expression that painted his delicate, sculpted face. “What… What’s wrong, Sunghoon?” The roll of your tongue felt nice in your mouth; yes, you could get used to saying his name out loud. “Are you okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Sunghoon retorted, to which you answered with your usual breathy laugh.

“I don’t think killing yourself is that funny—did I miss a joke or something?”

You smiled at him, taking his hand into yours. His was much bigger, and warmer, but felt right all the same. “I wasn’t going to kill myself at all,” you said. “At least, not literally.”

Goodbye, silent Y/N.

–––

“under the moon” arc — episodes 5-8

It had been four months since the snail incident. And while you certainly would have not preferred to have someone who was a stranger at the time witness the worst thing that had ever happened to you, you didn’t regret having the sticky ooze of entrails coagulate in your body.

Because you would have never guessed you would gain a whole new family out of it.

The boys could get rowdy at times, but they meant well—for the most part. Those occasional instances when they didn’t were usually because someone had decided to bother you and force you to speak for them. You didn’t mind talking most of the time now; all that mattered was that you got to decide when you’d open your mouth and to whom you’d speak to.

Being one of the two girls in the group certainly had its drawbacks, but you liked to think you balanced them out just fine. After all, their detention rate had gone down in the past couple of months thanks to you insisting they stop throwing water balloons off the gym’s roof and they stop sneaking into the basketball team’s gym to deflate all the balls.

“Y/N-ie,” Jongseong chirped as he sauntered over to the Foxes’ table with his bento in hand. He was the only one besides Jimin who used that particular honorific, and you only allowed him to do so because of how stupidly tall he was compared to you. “Where’s Hoon?”

You looked up from your food, stony eyes glancing at the other boys—and Jimin, who sat beside Heeseung—and everyone shrugged. You blinked slowly at Jongseong before answering, “He’s going to enter the cafeteria in… five seconds.”

“You’re just bullshitting at this point,” Jaeyun laughed, mouth full of rice. While he was certainly more in-your-face than his twin brother, the Foxes’ vice president was surprisingly still pleasant to be around. You would never say it to his ridiculous pink hair, though, because he’d never shut up about it if you did. “Damn, you eat one snail and suddenly you’re Yuuji Itadori or something.”

“She’s not making it up, Yunie,” Jimin chimed in from where Heeseung’s arm was around her shoulder. She pointed in the direction of the double doors. “Look, there he is.”

You lifted your bag out of the chair next to you without even looking to see if Sunghoon had already reached the table. It was like you had a radar for him and him only, and you’d spent the last few days staying up late thinking about how that was possible.

You both seemed to be able to sense what the other person was feeling, which meant that neither of you were ever hungry, tired, or in a bad mood for long. You often would run into each other during times you normally weren’t supposed to be together, the rare occasions where you would spend your weekends alone always seemed to change the moment the both of you left your houses. At one point, you two discovered that not only did Sunghoon have an insane talent for drawing, but he could accurately guess what you were wearing and how your hair was styled without having seen you prior to his sketches.

Thankfully, however, you couldn’t totally read each other’s minds. You would be embarrassed for Sunghoon to find out you’d come to love him if he could hear your thoughts.

It couldn’t have been the snails that did this to you, right?

“Sorry, Hiroto-sensei was chewing my ass out,” Sunghoon said as he shrugged off his uniform blazer and sat down. He placed a carton of mango juice beside your hand, the straw already punctured through the foil seal.

“You were sleeping in class again, weren’t you?” you asked, handing Sunghoon the bento you spent the morning preparing for him. It had all his favorites—pork curry, rice, natto, a soft boiled egg, and the taiyaki from your family’s cafe.

“At this point, I don’t know why he even tries,” he laughed. You smiled at him softly. You were glad you found it in yourself to speak, because your new family actually paid attention to you. They didn’t possess Sunghoon’s attuned nature towards you, but you appreciated them all the same. “I need my nine hours one way or the other.”

“You had nine hours last night.” You paused, chopsticks in midair. “Jongseong, why are you staring?”

The black-haired boy looked at you as if you should have known the answer. “It’s like you two have powers or something.”

“Why would you say that?” Sunghoon asked.

“You two are so connected, it’s romantic.”

You tried to hide the blush spreading across your face. “Shut up.”

You and Sunghoon both agreed that God—at least, the one from Christianity—wasn’t real. Something from a World War II history documentary they’d watched together said it best—a line carved into the walls of a jail in the Mauthausen concentration camp.

“If there is a God, then He will have to beg for my forgiveness.”

Certainly, that God was all sorts of fucked up to grant free will. To allow your figure skating coach to violate your body for years. To be unable to stop Sunghoon’s father from beating him for every game of chess he lost. To give the worst pain to the least deserving.

That is the problem of evil. That if there were such suffering in the world, and yet God could not prevent it, then He is not omnipotent. Maybe He didn’t even come close to the power that Izanami and Izanagi or any of the other Shinto deities held, and they were far from perfect.

Sunghoon once told you that he would destroy the whole world for you if he could, to which you simply rolled your eyes and said that that would be no fun. This was, incidentally, after he’d gifted you a painting he’d done of the ancient lotus garden in Kumamoto. Making art was his new hobby that you made him pick up so he wouldn’t be so burnt out playing chess all the time.

“And why not?”

“Because our suffering helps us delight in everything else that much more,” you answered, resting your cheek on his shoulder. You knew you wouldn’t have said that two months ago, that you would have instead told him that humans are put on Earth to suffer and nothing else, but after being around friends who didn’t take life so seriously (if they ever did at all), you’d learned to have fun with your finite existence as it was.

Of course, you appreciated Sunghoon’s sentiment all the same. It held you close and told you everything would be alright, that the way your life had turned out was not your fault like you’d believed it was, but rather a consequence of things you could not control. In your physics class, Hiroto-sensei had quoted Albert Einstein during a lecture on quantum mechanics.

“God does not play dice with the universe.”

That was to say, Einstein never believed in the idea that atoms were governed by randomness. He turned his nose up at the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, which itself stated that there was no way to accurately predetermine the speed and position of a particle at any moment. He asserted that there was no way that anything could be certain, that it wasn’t possible to describe things in terms of probabilities. He thought that the course of all events was fixed, that God formulated and prescribed a certain set of laws and sat back to watch the universe evolve in accordance with those laws.

You would have to disagree with him.

After all, what kind of vindictive God would—

—

“Sunghoon,” you said as you laid on the floor of your living room, listening to music in English because you promised each other that one day you would get out of the country together. On this particular night, your album of choice was Radiohead’s Pablo Honey.

He had mentioned that the band, at one point, refused to play “Creep” live because it was the one song the audience came to hear. You knew what that felt like.

Sunghoon turned his gaze away from the ceiling to look at you, his eyes softening. “Hm?”

“Do… do you still like chess?”

You knew that he would understand what you meant by that. In the past few weeks, you’d had to practice with him after it turned out that you were a better opponent than anyone in Kokusai’s chess club. Sunghoon was still dead-set on going back to playing competitively, all in the name of being allowed to return to his childhood home, to his father, one day. At least, that’s what you thought.

Something about that made you uneasy, but you knew you were in no place to cast stones. After all, you had your own share of disappointing your parents. Your own mother had not come to see you in Shibuya since the day she abandoned you there, effectively handing over any parenting duties to your grandmother. The phone works two ways, and she’d never acknowledged that fact of the universe. And, unlike Sunghoon, you had never been offered the opportunity to go back “home” to Sendai. As if that place had ever been your home to begin with.

The nuances between your circumstances were only sparing, to say the least.

“You’re worried about me,” he declared. “You think I want to win a tournament so I can go home.”

You hummed in agreement.

“Well, yeah. I want to go home. But only to drop that stupid trophy off at my father’s door and be the one who never speaks to him again. Besides, why should I return to that place when I’m completely fine here?”

Maybe Jongseong had a point, you thought. Maybe you two did share something more than a lunch box of snails. Maybe it’s romantic, after all.

“Are you really okay here?”

He returned his gaze to the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah. Because it’s where you are.”

—

Sunghoon knelt down at your feet, lacing up your ice skates.

However, your legs were bouncing uncontrollably, and it wasn’t because of how cold the indoor rink was. Part of you wished that your Achilles tendon didn’t heal completely.

“Look, you made it this far,” Sunghoon said quietly, brushing his fingers against your supposed bad ankle. The doctors had said you’d be fine to skate on it, that it was your mind that wasn’t allowing you to try again. “We can come back another time.”

You shook your head. How you’d longed to be back, pining for a time where you would be free from the prison of invisible hands gripping her limbs, pinning you down on the ground. “No. I promised you we’d do it today. I need to do this for myself, too.”

“If you can’t—”

“Don’t tell me you doubt me, because I’ve already got that covered,” you snapped, the words flying out faster than you could control them. Your hand came up to cover your mouth. “I’m sorry, Hoonie. I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t worry. It’s nice to finally hear what you think. But I disagree. You are so much more than you realize. I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes closed gently before you allowed herself to momentarily soak up those four words.

Then you shrugged off your coat and took his hand, letting him guide you to the rink. The frigid air tried to seep through your fleece-lined stockings but it was nothing to you as you began to wobble on the ice. You scolded herself internally and forced her muscles to relax. It was unbecoming of you to say you should have been an Olympian before the accident and then proceed to look like you needed a walker.

It took several moments before you began to glide carefully, the blades of your skates just an extension of your body.

You didn’t need to go back to Sendai anymore. You could stand on both legs now, head held high.

For the next few minutes, you took your time getting used to the feeling again, silently willing all of your faith in yourself to return. You were different now. You could trust yourself. Protect yourself. Being a Fox brought that out of you—your bravery, determination, the unabashed desire to take what the universe threw at you and spit it back in its face.

Of course, you had to thank Sunghoon for showing up when he did. Before then, you were what some people would call just waiting to die. Waiting for the possible day in which you would stop being who you were.

He never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do. He never forced himself on you. The first time you ever held hands, it was you who reached for him in your sleep as you napped on the floor next to him, the space heater keeping the two of you warm.

Don’t be scared. Don’t be scared.

You didn’t need to, anymore. You glanced over your shoulder to find Sunghoon watching you intently, head propped up with his hand as he leaned on the railing.

One, two… three… jump.

You closed your eyes and leapt, spinning three hundred and sixty degrees before landing with only minimal strain, the skirt of your dress fluttering. You could hear Sunghoon’s overjoyed cries faintly as you continued to swim through the air, feeling the rush that used to overcome you when you were younger, although this time, there was nothing looming over you like the shadow of the Grim Reaper. Your entire body vibrated, all of your electrons dancing along with you.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate when you came to him, pulling you in for a tight hug.

It was short-lived, though, because as soon as you came into contact,

you passed right through him.

“What… what the fuck?” he whispered, turning his head around to see you standing behind him. You were staring at your own hands, wondering what the hell just happened. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It didn’t hurt.” You looked at him with a mirrored wide-eyed expression. “I think we need to call Jongseong.”

“I knew it,” Park Jongseong said smugly, strolling into the lobby of the ice rink with his hands in his pockets and an unlit Seven Stars dangling from his lips. You and Sunghoon sat one seat apart, in fear that it would happen again.

“Don’t be crazy,” you muttered as you crossed your arms. You uncrossed them when you considered the possibility that your hands could go inside your body if you weren’t careful. “There’s no such thing as having powers.”

“Sure,” Sunghoon added. “But there has to be some sort of explanation for this.”

Jongseong grinned, pushing his black hair out of his face. “Yeah. You’ve heard of quantum theory, right? Atomic principles? Hoon, you weren’t asleep during that lecture, were you?”

“Maybe I was. What do atoms have to do with any of this?” Sunghoon asked, rolling his eyes.

“Well, basically… how can I explain this easily… uh… your atoms and Y/N’s were so perfectly aligned that you… y’know… passed through each other.”

You frowned. “But Einstein said—”

“He was wrong. People can be wrong. Shit, even the gods were wrong sometimes. Damn, do you sleep in class, too?”

“I—”

“Nothing,” Jongseong said, “is a guarantee. Except death.”

Take that, Einstein.

—

“You’re beautiful. I wish I could draw you right now,” he said.

You let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Cameras exist. You could just take a picture.”

“That’s not nearly enough.”

Your hands trailed shakily along the lapels of Sunghoon’s blue blazer, fingertips grazing the hem as he edged closer to you. You wondered if the accident would happen again.

“H-hoon…” you whispered as you attempted to sink your head deeper into his scarf wrapped around your neck. “I’m scared.”

They were on the rooftop you’d killed herself on—in the metaphorical sense—all those months ago. Since then, everything as you knew it was different, from your voice to the way you presented yourself all the way down to how you felt.

“Nonsense,” he quipped in the same hushed tone. Your eyes were locked on your shoes, feet pointed toward one another. “You’re damn well the bravest person I know. It’s contagious, actually.”

“This is different,” you replied. You rubbed the fabric of his blazer feebly. “I…”

“I love you,” he said, tucking his index and middle fingers beneath her chin to tilt your head up to look at him. “I really love you.”

I love you. I love you a lot.

“No! you can’t just… you can’t just say it like that!” you protested, hands flattening against his broad chest and attempting to push him away from you. It was no use. Despite how lanky he appeared to be, he was built like an iron wall.

Sunghoon chuckled, wrapping his fingers around yours. “How would you rather I say it?”

You froze as heat rose to your face. They’d just discussed this in class; the story went that Souseki Natsume, a famous writer who once taught English, said that because the Japanese did not declare their love so loosely the way Westerners did, the most appropriate equivalent of the expression would be “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”.

And the most appropriate “literary” response to that came out of your mouth smoothly, like melted ice cream. “Shindemo ii wa.”

I would die happy.

–––

season finale: i know the end — episodes 9-12

When observed under a microscope, two particles both affected by one experience will no longer exist as individuals thereafter, but as two halves of one whole. This phenomenon is known as quantum entanglement, and had been used by several of your closest friends to describe the way in which your life had flipped itself over its axis on one April afternoon in your third and final year of high school.

Five years had passed since you’d graduated. Since the day you grew a spine and ate a snail with Park Sunghoon, the day you stopped living on autopilot. Since you’d fallen in love with him and regained the mastery of your own voice, both of these things you’d done over and over again, day after day. And it had been three years since you finally returned to competitive figure skating to prove that you could do more than just fine on your own, without your mother and certainly without a coach who would violate your physical existence.

But in those years, Sunghoon still hadn’t made it out of Japan like he said you both would someday. At least, you hoped, not yet. Not yet, but soon. You knew it had to be soon.

You sat in your small apartment in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles, an expensive neighborhood you were only able to afford because of the amount of endorsements you’d taken on. Your little black cat, Tai, as in taiyaki, as in the dessert Sunghoon loved so much, purred contentedly in your lap as you stared out of the window and into the street below.

You’d agreed to adopt a cat together one day. You wondered if he already had one of his own by now. You assumed he did; on several occasions you could sense his presence, encouraging you, making you push forward and keep fighting against the universe, against Izanami and Izanagi, against God Himself.

This was what you did in your free time. Miss your life back home. You didn’t want to make any new friends. It was useless. No one could take or come anywhere remotely near Sunghoon’s place—or Jimin’s, or Heeseung’s, or Jaeyun’s, or Jongseong’s, for that matter.

Soon, you promised yourself, you could show Sunghoon all that he’d missed out on. In your second year in America, you finally mastered the quadruple lutz after several doctors quelled your anxieties and confirmed your ankle really had healed miraculously.

You decided you would also take Sunghoon to Little Tokyo, Los Angeles, where you’d go every time you felt like getting on a Boeing 747 to give up on this dream once and for all and go back to him, your other dream—if he’d still have you, that is. You didn’t know for sure.

You played with your phone in your hand, turning it over in your palm. You knew he was only a call away, but you were starting to go back to your old self, unsure of whether or not he’d even pick up. There was also a newfound sense of pride you had, not wanting to be the first one to cave in. If he was the one who pushed you forward, why should you be like Eurydice and turn around to look back?

But Sunghoon was the one who put it best, every single time you asked him why he gave up on playing chess in favor of going to art school after graduation—even though his victory in the championships would win back the respect of his father: “I don’t need to go home when you’re right beside me.”

Liar. Where are you?

That night, like many other nights spent lonely, you could feel him beside you, when everything was still except your own chest, aching for some sort of reprieve from the constant gravitational pull of your personal sun and moon, and the monotonous whirr of the electric fan that sat watch beside yoiur bed. You felt the ghost of his fingertips along your spine, and since you happened to be super lucky and lying extra quietly this time—you heard his voice, soft and low and warm like whiskey down your throat. It played on a loop until it lulled you to sleep.

“We’ll go together. I promise.”

He’d said that the night he admitted he loved you.

You also knew that he always knew where you stood on things as flimsy as words:

Tamago to chikai wa kudake-yasui.

Eggs and vows are easily broken.

And since he knew, why would he say that—when he was the one who could read you without even so much as a perfunctory glance? Why would he stand with you in Terminal 1 of Tokyo Narita without his own boarding pass? Why would he tell you to break up with him right before you got on that plane to California?

Stupid plane. Stupid distance. Stupid Y/N. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You had no patience for idiots. You weren’t excluded from your own disdain.

The only thing that kept you sane was the fact that somewhere deep inside you, in a place whose existence you were reluctant to acknowledge, you knew that one day, you’d see him again.

You had to.

You just hoped you’d still be able to recognize each other.

—

To change the polarity of an electromagnet, two people are required. They use one snail for each person. Their most repressed memory will transfer over to the snail once it’s been touched. In order for the magnetic fields to switch, the parties must switch their snails and consume them.

The result should not end in repulsion.

The day Sunghoon’s atoms had lined up with yours so perfectly that you passed right through him was an indicator that some things weren’t just theories that could be disproved with a fallacy or two. That much was true.

You sighed, trudging through the farmer’s market in search of your favorite stand, which was run by a group of friends who reminded you so much of your beloved Fox Club back home. They sold baked goods that your trainer would frown upon if she saw them, but you believed that you deserved to eat them every Sunday.

And without fail, Sunghoon’s voice popped up in your head, reassuring you that you could eat them every day if you wanted to, just as long as you did it in moderation.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, still unsure as ever if he could hear your reply.

You paid for the decadent salted chocolate chip cookies and walked the four blocks home, debating for the millionth time over why you and him had to be forced apart. Did it mean you had to grow alone first? Would you be able to ever feel whole again?

You were able, however, to feel him missing you. So it wasn’t as completely one-sided as it seemed to be sometimes. It was always there, a slight tug in your heartstrings like a thread on its last life. It sat in your chest right beside where you missed him. On this particular day, it was strong. Stronger than any of the other days that came before, so overwhelming that you had to stop halfway home and sit on a bench to catch your breath.

Could quantum theory explain how he could feel whatever you were thinking? Or how you knew, back when you two were still together, what he wanted for dinner before you even asked? Or how your anxieties would disappear just as fast as they came, replaced by a flood of reassurances?

You had had a feeling that he failed his Visa interview on purpose, six months before you were slated to go to America. In the embassy’s lobby, he’d told you that the interviewer said he would have passed if you were his wife and not just his girlfriend.

Liar.

He’d assured you that he did want to go with you. He could find a job working for Pixar or Illumination or anywhere that would hire him for his talent. So why was the universe making it so hard for you to be together now, when the first two years of your entanglement were so easy?

Nothing, you learned, was supposed to make sense. You could spend hours asking “But why?” to every answer and there would be nothing to shut you up. In fleeting moments you would reconsider your decision to speak again, because the one person you spoke for was a little more than five thousand miles away.

So how am I able to be happy when he isn’t right next to me?

Not as happy as you knew you could be, but happy nonetheless. You were running after your first dream, after all.

Your phone rang when you got home.

“Jimin?” you asked, squinting at the screen. You were met with the image of your best friend, bouncing her seven-month-old baby on her lap, a little girl named after you. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Hey, Y/N,” Jimin’s husband, Heeseung, called, waving to the camera. It was so surreal for you to think that Jimin ended up with her high school boyfriend while you were twenty-three and still pining over yours.

“Have you seen it?” Jimin squealed over the sound of the baby’s giggling. A TV in the background could be heard, the voices speaking Japanese. “The first episode just came out!”

“Seen what? What are you talking about? It’s literally only ten in the morning here.”

“Sunghoon’s anime! It’s so good!”

Your heart stopped pumping for a split second as you heard the double saccharine syllables of his name. The little communication you had with him while you were gone were only simple, fond exchanges over congratulations. The last you’d heard from him, he’d gotten a job at a big animation studio. Of course he was too humble to tell you everything. “What… What's it about?”

“It’s a romance. Everyone in the world is assigned a soulmate and the main characters experience a lot of crazy shit the closer they get to each other. Sorry the summary’s so bad, I promise it’s way better than I just made it sound.”

Soulmates, huh?

—

It has been said that the atoms of the universe have been rearranged to create the world as it is known now. Should that be true, two people can be born of the same star and not realize it until the moment presents itself.

You knew Sunghoon was there before you even saw him in the crowd. The air suddenly felt different, like you’d just dragged your bare feet through carpet and was just millimeters away from touching a brass doorknob.

On normal competition days you would have attributed the charged atmosphere to nerves or the ten-thousand volt energy of the spectators cheering on their favorite skater. But it wasn’t a normal competition day, unless the winter Olympics in Seattle was just some regular thing.

You knew it: Sunghoon had made it out of Japan this time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in third place, USA: Allison Steadmeyer!”

Cue music. Polite wave. Applause.

“In second place, Russia: Irina Khodorkhovsky!”

Music. Wave. Applause.

“In first place, Japan: Y/N!”

The single cheer of one person drowned out the rest.

“Why did you walk away from me?” you asked quietly; anyone around would have chalked up your tears as those of victory, of making a comeback worthy of an Oscar-nominated film. That was because they couldn’t feel the way you instinctively latched onto Sunghoon like an oxygen atom receiving its electron pairing. “Why didn’t you go with me?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your dreams,” Sunghoon said into the apple scent of your hairspray. You trembled in his arms, the dazzling Swarovski crystals of your midnight blue spandex dress digging through the wool of his coat. “I knew I would only be a bother to you in the end.”

“Liar.” Tears swam in your vision, blurring his face until he was only the galaxy of vanilla and cinnamon you saw every night behind your eyelids. “Didn’t you know? Didn’t you know that you were a part of them?”

“No.”

You were even stronger by then. The first time you ever tried to physically push him away, he was confessing his love for you. This time, he stumbled backward, albeit only by one step. “Liar!”

“I’m sorry. You know I love you and that hasn’t changed. I just wanted you to be free, I didn’t want to be a burden on you. But it seems as though we’re really meant to be together. I didn’t do what I did to hurt you. I tried so hard to make it not hurt. ”

“What do you mean?”

“As long as I tried to be happy, I figured that you would feel it, too. You know, like what Jongseong said when we were younger. We’re connected. But it was difficult. Every day, I felt you missing me as much as I missed you.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That even if we were across the entire fucking universe, we’d still be tied together. And nothing could come between that. I know it now, and I’m sorry.”

“I never want to hear you apologize to me ever again,” you mumbled.

—

“Y/N?”

You were lying on your hotel bed, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulder as his hand aimlessly played with your hair that was still wavy from being knotted in a tight bun for your performance that day.

One side of your face was pressed against where his heart beat in synchronization with yours. “Yes?”

“Did you ever feel… alone?”

You shook your head. “No. Just lonely.”

“Do you still feel it now?”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

He pressed a kiss to the bony ridges of your knuckles. “And I’m never leaving unless it’s with you.”

a/n: surprise surprise! y'all thought SSV was gonna be my debut on here? well i lied. here's arguably one of the saddest things i've written so far besides that one angst i wrote in stella's dms last week. i hope you love it as much as i loved writing it. thank you to nia for encouraging me to post this :D taglist: @karinasbaby @enha-stars @intromortal @heeslomll @venomhee @heeheeswifey

#🀄️fics #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfiction #enha fluff #sunghoon au #FUCK MAKING TAGS #WHAT DO I SAY #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fic #i give up #this is it for me #wait #sunghoon angst

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808airsoftbros · 4 hours

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My Scary Noona (Kim Gaeul) (BXG) (S)

Author: A requested oneshot by an anonymous user, if you are reading this I hope you enjoy it, and if you all want to see more of my stories check out my Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

"I swear to God Yujin and Wonyoung, your guy's room is always a mess!"

Hearing my Noona, Gaeul once again yelling at her members for having a messy room and Yujin and Wonyoung pouted trying to act cute to get out of their predicament.

But if I know Gaeul no tricks are going to work on her as she's the oldest and made them clean up. Of course, Yujin and Wonyoung reluctantly did so as we all knew not to mess with her.

Even if Gaeul isn't the leader of IVE, she is still someone you don't want to cross with and she'll make your life a living hell.

Meanwhile, I was in my room playing Helldivers 2, wearing noise-canceling headphones, I didn't hear much of the commotion outside until I smelled that same autumn perfume that Gaeul always wears.

The scent was strong like it was being held right at my nose and when I turned around I saw Gaeul right behind my chair and I gulped.

"Y-Yes, Noona...?" I gulped.

"You, you and I are going on a date, you're not busy right..?" Gaeul asked and I shook my head.

"No... Well maybe..." I chuckled nervously and she rolled her eyes.

"And what exactly is keeping you busy today? Sitting your lazy ass playing video games?" She sarcastically asked.

Without saying anymore, Gaeul tossed me clothes for me to wear, and ordered me to get dressed and meet her outside. I sighed seeing that my video game sessions ended so soon.

After I finished changing into the clothes that Gaeul gave me which was a pair of Addidas sweatpants and jacket, I wear a Vans black shirt and all complimented by Addidas shoes.

Coming out of my room, Gaeul gave me a small grin before taking my arm leading me out of the dorm.

"Will be out all-day girls, you all better not make a mess!" Gaeul announced and the girls nodded.

"Of course, Unnie... You won't have to worry about a thing..." Yujin casually says while on her phone.

"You better keep your word," Gaeul warned and we left the dorm.

Walking hand in hand out of the dorm into the cool autumn breeze, Gaeul took a deep breath and sighed relaxing herself after constantly yelling bossing around her members all-day.

"Noona, do you always have to be this strict?" I curiously asked and she huffed.

"Well, someone has to keep things in order, and besides you know how chaotic those girls can get right?" Gaeul pointed out and sighed knowing she was right.

"Yeah, I cannot lie, they do get crazy sometimes... Even for my own liking," I answered and she grinned.

"Aren't you lucky you have a girlfriend like me to handle them~? Otherwise, you'd go mad," She cheekily said and I chuckled.

Afterward, Gaeul walked me into her favorite ramen shop, the waiter guided us to our table and left us alone to decide what to eat on the menu.

Gaeul took her time looking over the specials and then at me with a small warm smile the same look when she knows exactly what I'm going to get. Though I do sometimes doubt that...

"Let me guess... The shoyu ramen?" Gaeul guessed and I was baffled at how she knew what I was getting and once again proving me wrong.

"How do you always know, Noona...?" I asked confused and she giggled.

"Because you always get the same thing every time, it doesn't take a detective to figure that out don't you think? Perhaps try something new for a change," She suggested and I sighed.

Gaeul knew I was quite a picky eater, it's always been like that since childhood which gave my family a headache trying to get me to try foods that I may or may not like.

Although I always hesitated food from my parents, Gaeul is the opposite case not because she's scary or threatens to shove it down my throat but because I was less reluctant and open because of her warm and caring personality.

Unlike others who only saw me as a failure, weak, and stupid because of my health and mental disorder, Gaeul was the only friend I have who truly saw me as who I am and accepted me nonetheless.

Sure Gaeul may scold me from time to time but I eventually learned that it was for my own good and I have a lot more to learn about relationships even if we've been together for a few years now.

"Well, well, I can't believe my eyes... It's the weird kid..." I heard a familiar voice I hope to never hear again.

Looking up I sighed to see Jackson and his gang walking up towards us, they're all idols like Gaeul, and she too was surprised to see them.

"Jackson? What are you doing here?" Gaeul asked raising an eyebrow.

"Darling, why else would we be here? We came to grab some food is all. What are you doing with him?" He asked and Gaeul rolled her eyes.

"Jackson, this is my boyfriend Kim Y/N, we were on a date and we would appreciate if you didn't interrupt our quality time together," Gaeul answered and he seemed surprised before laughing his ass off.

"Boyfriend? Are you serious? You're a famous idol like us and this guy is who you choose? I mean come on you're better off dating some rookie guy from a shitty company instead of him, don't you think?" Jackson asked with a hint of mockery and I looked down not daring to look at him.

Gaeul on the other hand was furious about his words and immediately stood up before him almost as if she was ready to fight him as her fists was closed tightly.

"Take. That. Back." Gaeul warned coldly glaring at him but Jackson only sneered.

"Or else what? He's worth nothing and you are stooping so low dating him," Jackson replied and Gaeul scoffed.

"Oh please, that's quite rich, you always think you're so high and mighty because you walk over people to get on top, you always exploit, bully, and extort everyone to make yourself feel like the king of the world, but no, it's pathetic. Just admit it, Jackson, you're nothing but a goddamn coward," Gaeul coldly spoke to his face and he was livid.

"You fucking bitch! You dare speak to me like that to your senior?! Did you ever learn respect for people like us?!" Jackson angrily asked gripping Gaeul's collar tightly shooting her a deathly glare but she wasn't fazed one bit.

"Oh, I do... But you're not worthy of my respect unless you apologize to my boyfriend and recognize putting down others only makes you a weaker man," Gaeul retorted and Jackson lost it.

Jackson's anger took over him as he raised his fist to deliver a punching blow but he froze a painful sensation was felt in his groin from Gaeul kicking his balls causing him to let go of her collar as he groaned in pain.

Gaeul didn't even give him time to react, she grabbed his shoulders before delivering a cross punch to his jaw knocking him on the floor.

"Get up," Gaeul sternly demanded.

Jackson limply got back on his feet but it wasn't for long as Gaeul delivered a heavy front kick to his face knocking him down and she scoffed almost pitying how weak he was.

"Get up," Gaeul demanded once more.

Jackson's friend stood back not daring to intervene, Jackson tried to get up but it was harder as his body was sore and devastated from Gaeul's punches and kicks to his face and groin. Again without warning Gaeul slapped so hard that everyone in the restaurant heard it and he crashed into the wall and fell down groaning in pain.

"Not so fun when you're the one that's helpess, isn't it?" Gaeul asked sternly.

"Y-Your fucking insane..." Jackson weakly said and catches his breath.

"Well, that's what happens when you mess with one's boyfriend, I'll let you go but mess with my boyfriend again and I won't be so merciful and I'll do everything in my power to ensure you suffer for all of eternity, got it?" Gaeul warned and Jackson looked down in defeat.

"I understand..." He weakly groaned.

"Good, now you roaches get out of my sight!" Gaeul ordered pointing at the door and the boy quickly ran out of the restaurant.

Letting out a huff trying to calm herself down, she walked back to the table and sat down in front of me as the waiter comes back to take our orders.

I ordered my usual while Gaeul ordered the special spicy beef ramen, the waiter writes it down and leaves us for now. Shortly after, the waiters returned with our ramen orders.

Trying the new shoyu ramen recipe was absolutely immaculate despite the major change proving that not all changes in my picky habits are necessarily a bad thing to occur.

After we finished eating, we head back to the dorm to see the girls mostly asleep with Leeseo hugging Rei and Wonyoung and Yujin cuddling one another.

"Aww~. How adorable is that darling? But you know that means... right?" She whispered into my ear sending shivers down my spine knowing exactly what she means.

"Are you sure, Noona?" I nervously asked keeping my voice down to not disrupt their slumber.

"Do you know how long I've been craving you~? I haven't gotten your juicy cock inside of me for weeks... And I want it now," She seductively purred.

Without wasting time, Gaeul dragged me into my room closing the door before locking it, she shoved me into the bed and crawled towards me like a hungry tigress about to devour her prey.

The look in her eyes would make any man shit his pants as there was no escape for me as Gaeul cornered me on all sides as she pinned me down with her strong grip.

"Hmm... Where to start first~? So many ways~," She wondered as she licked her lips thinking of all the unholy things to do with me.

Taking some time to ponder on her first move, she smirked before going to my ear, her lips just inches from my neck as she nippled my earlobe a bit sending jolts of excitement and nervousness.

"Why don't you be a dear and take off my clothes~," She whispered and I nodded.

Sitting up I reached my hands on the straps of her dress pulling them aside and slowly pushing it down revealing her black laced bra and panties barely covering her assets.

"You like what you see don't you~? My body is just perfect for you baby~," She said in a husky tone and she bit her lip as she began working on my pants to free my erection.

Gaeul slides my pants off along with my boxers revealing my 9 inch dick making her lick her lips and biting it as this size was more than perfect for her.

"God, the words cannot describe how much I miss having your cock inside of me..." She muttered as she went down taking my length into my mouth.

Feeling her warm mouth and tongue swirling on my cock felt so amazing as always, Gaeul always knew all the buttons to push on me, and in turn, I'd pound the shit out of her.

Gaeul began bobbing her head faster and faster making me moan as I grab her hair as she began deepthroating me and soon enough I was reaching my limit but she wasn't stopping.

"Fuck... Noona I'm going to cum..." I warned and Gaeul took my cock out of her mouth before opening it wide sticking her tongue out as she used her hand to finish me off.

Almost instantly, I shot my line of cum onto her face most of it ending up on her tongue and she purred as she licked the cum off her lips and fingers.

"Mmm~. Thank you for the meal baby but now it's your turn~," She spoke in a commanding tone as she gestured me to take off her undergarments.

Obeying her commands like a good boy, I unclip her bra revealing her perky and luscious boobs, and slid off her panties revealing her perfect shaved womanhood.

Diving into her pussy I began eating her out making her moan my name as she wrapped her thighs around my head pushing herself onto my face more.

"Fuck baby~. Such a good fucking boy eating mommy out~! Keep this up and Mommy will treat you~," Gaeul wickedly grinned as she kept moaning as I eat her out.

Inserting my tongue inside of her not getting enough of her tasty juices she moaned louder as I began hitting her g-spot with my tongue and I feel her walls tightening.

"Shit baby~! I'm going cum and you better not waste a single drop..." She warned and she squirted all in my mouth despite her strong thighs tightly wrapped around my skull.

When Gaeul unwrapped her thighs she opened my mouth making sure I swallowed every drop of her juices and she smiled wickedly.

"Good boy, you didn't waste a drop and mommy is very proud of you~. Now it's time for your treat~," She praised.

She went on all fours displaying her firm and rounded ass to me and her glistening pussy and teasingly twerks inviting me to take her.

I didn't waste any time getting up aligning my cock to her pussy and slamming inside making her yelp as she didn't expect me to enter so abruptly but she didn't seem not to like it one bit but rather the opposite.

"Shit baby! You want me so badly don't you~?" She teasingly asked and without hesitation, I began fiercely pounding her pussy giving her my answer.

Gaeul moaned loudly as she gripped the sheets of the bed tightly as I rammed her like an angry bull and took out all my sexual desires and love on her.

The tightness of her pussy of my cock and the feeling was heavenly and I went all out to ensure Gaeul is pleased and happy with me.

"Fuck! Fuck! Just like that!" She screamed as I began hitting her g-spot with my cock nearly penetrating her.

Picking up the pace, I grabbed her ass as support as I pounded her faster and deeper making Gaeul nearly scream in ecstasy and slightly worry if I was going to finish too fast.

But I managed to hold my ground as I knew this was all out of love and our desires of one another, Gaeul was the only woman I'd ever want to share this rough lovemaking with.

Time was lost in our minds and before we knew it, we were both getting to our edge.

"I'm so close baby~!" Gaeul yelped.

"Me too... I don't know if I can hold it much longer!" I replied as I continued pounding her.

"Do it! Don't hold back! Let's do it together!" She demanded and I came deep inside of her as Gaeul squirted all over my cock.

After the massive orgasm we collapse onto the bed exhausted and sweaty from our passionate lovemaking. Gaeul gave a weak smile as she was catching her breath.

"That was amazing, baby... Better than I can imagine..." She whispered as she caressed my cheek.

"Y-Yeah, it was because of you... I'm the luckiest man to ever be with you," I replied as I hugged her pressing my face against her boobs and she giggled.

"No, honey, I'm the one who is lucky to have such a cute boyfriend and I can never ask for a better partner," She replied and sighed contently as she began playing with the strands of my hair.

"I love you, Noona..."

"I love you too, baby..."

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