#Especially when I did my own research projects in high school and had to write massive research papers that were over 30 pages long lmao

[askmarcille]

Hmm, I should sell potions, But I'll need materials, You'll be my first T st subject, Give me ingredients And I'll Make something for you for free

(Sorry if this sounds creepy or anything)

Wait, a t-test subject?! There better be some consent forms or something to fill out...and you'll need the proper licenses before you just start selling potions!!

*It seems she's understandably nervous about being used as a test subject. She'll want to see some paperwork or something so she knows exactly what she's getting into.*

(ooc: the vibes this ask is giving off is like in Zelda games where the potion sellers are like: "bring me a bottle or this mushroom and I'll make you a potion for free!")

[badbatchposts]

🎱 🍓 🌵🔪🪲. I reblogged the ask game from you, so I wanted to be courteous and send you an ask! I'm honestly curious about these.

Thanks for the ask, friend! It's really nice to be able to reflect on some of these things!! Sorry in advance for the super long responses lol.

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats:

Works: 2

User Subscriptions: 6

Kudos: 204

Comment Threads: 84

Bookmarks: 67

Subscriptions: 51

Word Count: 67,351

Hits: 4,652

I honestly have no sense of how these stats compare for the usual fanfic writer, but it makes me happy to see how many people have subscribed to my longfic, especially since I don't always get a ton of comments on new chapters. But it seems people are reading! And definitely more people than read my dissertation, lol.

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

I used to write a lot of original work in high school and early college, but then as things got busy--and as I convinced myself my writing wasn't good enough to be worth it--I largely stopped. I always felt guilty about it. I really enjoyed writing, but didn't think I was creative enough or had the right amount of stamina that it took to complete a long work, and I had this perfectionist idea where it felt like it wasn't worth doing if I couldn't be the best at it.

Then right as the new Bad Batch season came out this year I was struggling a lot with burnout and found that I was spending a lot of time thinking about the show, and decided that I might as well start reading some fanfiction--for the first time ever--and felt like writing it would be a nice creative outlet that might help me recover from my burnout. It really has been great, and some of what's made it so good is actually exactly the sort of things that used to make me think writing fanfiction wasn't worth it. Namely: it's not professionally publishable.

That is, legally, I will never be able to professionally publish and profit from any of what I write--it can only be posted and enjoyed. This actually just took so much of the pressure off. It doesn't have to be perfect--it doesn't even have to be very good, because that's not what it's for.

I started thinking of it more as an exercise for working on my writing skills (things like, okay, in this chapter I'm going to practice writing dialogue, or in this next one I'm going to work more on establishing an interesting setting). As a result, I'm now thinking more about the writing process and improving my storytelling, rather than worrying about trying to make it perfect or good enough to publish or feeling competitive or down on myself when I encounter writing that I feel is much better than my own. It's been really freeing.

All of this happened over ten years since I stopped writing in college, and the other great thing has been seeing that my writing skills didn't disappear. In fact, they've gotten better and grown as a result of the learning I did in the meantime. I'm now much better at envisioning narrative arcs, outlining, getting myself to write consistently instead of just waiting for inspiration to strike me, and a whole load of other skills. It's really helped soothe a part of me that worried that I had abandoned writing, that it was too late for me to "do" anything with it, or that I only would have gotten worse.

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

Parasailing in Rio de Janeiro with a Caipirinha in Your Hand

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I've been spending a lot of time researching historical kitchens on sailing ships and historical brothels for the Pirate AU that I'm working on. Once for an academic paper I was working on a novel that depicts a (non-sexual) human-animal relationship but through very intimate and erotic terms, and I accidentally googled a combination of terms that came back with information on bestiality while on my university's wi-fi.

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

The most recent thing I wrote for my Pirate AU (I'm skipping ahead SEVERAL chapters to inspire myself with the steamy bits haha)

“I hardly think I can get into much trouble here. Your crew have been perfect gentlemen.”

Hunter’s eyes glinted in the half-light of the lamps. Though he didn’t move, all of a sudden she was all-too-aware of how close he was, how easy it would be for him to reach out and touch her. “And what about me?” he murmured. “Haven’t you heard from the ladies in port? I’m a scoundrel. A very dangerous man. Maybe you ought to be afraid of me.”

Thanks again, this was a lot of fun!!

[argentumcor]

@paranorahjones tagged me in this. I'm not usually one for this sort of thing but I've been looking at writing-qua-writing to get some stuff in order so I figured I'd do a little navel-gazing (procrastinating).

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Oh goodness. I think my first fanfic was for KotOR back in…before 2008, before I graduated high school. It’s lost to LiveJournal I believe, or FF.net. Several things are. They were fine, as I recall. Written when I was a lot younger for sure. I had to write them, though.

How many fandoms have you written in?

To go by AO3, 30 that I would consider actual separate fandoms. Many of those are one-shots, sometimes just odd ideas I had about something I watched or read or played, things I needed to get out of my head.

How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Must be around 16, though there were several years-long breaks in there. I am a dried-up old woman. You'll never be actually cool until you're over 30, kids, and then you won't even really care, get over it.

Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Frankly, read. I read very fast, I write not as fast, no one writes as fast as I read. For whatever fandom I’m working in, with exceptions, I will read new things and things I liked to help keep me motivated and inspired. As you can see from how many fandoms I’ve written for, I devour new fiction by nature. Verily, I hunger for it.

What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Pacing, pacing, pacing. I write my own stuff under my real name- I will not dox myself, partly paranoia and partly a sense of personal artistic ethics- and fanfiction has been my training wheels especially with pacing. It is the hardest part of fiction to me, something intuitive you have to have a go at until you find the right sense of it.

What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Hmm. I’m not a great barometer for weird. In recent memory, I spent a lot of time walking around every stupid alleyway and cranny of Night City in Cyberpunk 2077. I spend a lot of time feeling around in the guts of the fandoms I write- sometimes that’s really what it feels like you are doing.

What's your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

Hard to pick. It’s really nice when someone gets what you’re doing with structure and theme for longer works, but the people who are just struck plan by something I wrote are very special to me. All my commenters are, really. You guys rock. You know what though? The ones who say things like “oh thank God I found this, it feels like it was written by an adult who cares about the characters as people and not some teenager trying to get off”, I like those ones best because I totally understand.

What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Hmm. It’s a hard life, being a neo-paleo-counter-reformationist, but somebody’s gotta do it (rosary fics).

What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Crossovers most of the time. I have an X-files/SG-1 crossover I may never come back to because it required me to hold this kind of early aughts sci-fi mentality in my mind for two shows that both sync and do not sync and also isn’t where I, emotionally, am at these days. I don’t like to write crossovers generally because of that kind of thing and, even with reading, most of them are like a food combo only explainable by pregnancy hormones.

What is the easiest type?

Brief character studies where you’re looking at a character’s mindset during events. It’s simple and focused.

What is something that you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I started many moons ago, but never got around to reviving or really doing anything with, a Halo/Firefly crossover based on the end of Halo 3 that would have replaced Serenity. The crew finds some weird, old salvage adrift in the black…also my Firefly continuation since we’re on the subject, another ‘this is where the story is going’. I wonder if those notes are anywhere. No, no, wait, stop…

What made you choose your username?

I liked the sound of it. I’m Silverheart most places and argentumcor on Tumblr because Silverheart was taken so I just put it into Latin because neo-paleo-counter-reformationist and also, importantly, I am lazy.

Huh, I broke the formatting a bit? So it goes. I'll tag @womaninwinter because now she is double-tagged and this amuses me.

[hydropyro]

Writer Interview Tag

Thanks for the tag @tavyliasin! I just finished reading yours and @redroomroaving's entries <3 I feel mine will also be quite heavy, though I don't struggle with the kinds of things you two beasts /pos do.

I will tag @dude-wheres-my-ankheg, @insanefan, @firlionemoontav, and @dark-and-kawaii,

Questions and answers below the cut -- potential mention of SA

When did you start writing?

I started writing before I could actually write. I would scribble lines onto paper or type nonsense into my grandma's computer and then 'read' it to her.

I was (am?) hyperlexic, and by second grade I had a high school reading level. In school we would do AR tests, and I had to check out books from the public library, as the in-school library did not have books that were challenging enough. This is also when I began to carry around a pen and paper and write my own stories.

The first I remember distinctly was a story about a butterfly who was lost. I don't remember the plot at all. I also wrote, and still have, a spiral bound 'book' that I wrote as a second grade project where we researched a topic (owls) and then wrote a non-fiction story about it.

As far as Fan Fiction goes -- last year! I did rewrite the ending of 'Lucifer' when that came out because they did it wrong -- but last year after playing Baldur's Gate 3 is when I first wrote a piece of fan fiction. And I am deep in these trenches.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really enjoy crime and psychological horror. The 'Hannibal Lecter' series by Thomas Harris is a particular favorite of mine.

I also was enthralled with 'Animorphs' in third through fifth grade, and had read any and all that I could get my hands on. I was not a huge fan of science-fiction, though there were a few individual stories that I enjoyed. I also read the 'Warriors' series by Erin Hunter. Another beloved series was 'Inkheart/Inkspell/Inkdeath' by Cornelia Funke, the 'Eragon' series by Christopher Paolini, and the 'Purple Emperor' series by Herbie Brennan. Fantasy/(low-fantasy might be the genre) was a particular favorite of mine.

My favorite book, though, which I read in fifth grade -- originally because none of my personal choices were deemed challenging enough -- was 'The Iliad' by Homer. I don't remember which translation was used, but it was not in prose format, so that may narrow it down.

I used to read a lot. These days, I don't read much. By seventh grade when I started my first 'real novel' I was afraid of being too heavily influenced by things that I read. In eighth grade I stopped reading fiction entirely for this reason, after a teacher (vice principal) confiscated my work and viciously accused me of plagiarism as the things I was writing was 'too mature for someone my age to even know about' (Take the hint, mandatory reporter). From that point on, I only read Biographies/Historical reports. 'Operation Valkyrie' by Pierre Galante is thrilling.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Other than my 8th Grade vice-principal, teachers were always very encouraging of my writing. The school librarians, especially. I have had my work compared to 'The Hunger Games' specifically (though I don't agree with) and I was asked to take a test that would analyze a piece of work and tell you what well-known author it was most like. I had Hemingway.

I don't try to emulate anyone, and actively avoid being 'inspired' by any works, as I previously said. As an adult, I think I could better use other work as 'inspiration', where as a child it was more 'copying', which didn't sit right.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

From second grade, all through high school and into college, I carried around a spiral ring notebook (always college/narrow ruled! Never wide ruled!) and pen everywhere I went. When I say everywhere, I mean it quite literally. Over the years I have had hundreds of notebooks full of dozens of stories. Most of them have fallen into obscurity, but a precious few are near and dear to my heart.

I write, and have always written, where I am currently sitting. In school I would write during lectures rather than take notes (some teachers had a small problem with this, though I explained that I need to do that in order to focus. I guess ADHD wasn't as well-known back in the early 00s) and my grades were excellent, so I was allowed to continue. By middle school my father had purchased a metal clipboard case for me to carry, so I could write during sport events when I wasn't competing.

These days I write mostly at my kitchen table, where my laptop is set up, or in bed with one of my spiral-ring notebooks -- though if inspiration strikes while I am out and about I have Word and Google Docs on my phone. I prefer to handwrite and then type it out, rather than write directly on a computer.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

i wish I knew how to answer this question. I have been asked many times over the years.

The best way that I know how to explain my 'process' is that -- I don't write. (Obviously I do just follow me for a moment). I don't 'build' characters. The only time I use baby name generators or the like is when I have an inconsequential side character that needs a name for a paragraph. My characters are 'born', and they tell me their stories. I just record them.

As a child I spent a lot of time daydreaming -- called Maladaptive Day Dreaming by my psych professionals. While doing chores I would be living in my stories, and these experiences would inspire scenes. Walking through the forest while camping -- scene.

Though, I will note, that the hearing of my characters is not a hallucination. It is more like -- a memory of a conversation or experience and I am recalling it.

My hallucinations are very different.

Things that I have found are more likely to get my characters talking is TV shows with strong character development. I wrote a great deal during my 'Supernatural' and 'Lucifer' days. Baldur's Gate 3 has also helped get the creative juices flowing -- though my fan fic is, obviously, directly derived from that source material.

What is your reason for writing?

A sweet and simple answer is -- they make me. The characters and the story make me. My mind is never quiet, and there is a catharsis in allowing the story to flow from my brain and out through my fingertips.

The reason my therapist may ask me to give is more -- intense -- and one I had not realized was the likely case. Feel free to skip to the next question.

Stories -- my characters, the worlds I build, the relationships they form -- are my safe place. There were times in my childhood that I would have eagerly left my home to go to 'Abser' -- lightyears away.

They are the friends I could never have because we moved every year -- they could never leave me. They are the safe, strong, and capable adults I never knew.

They were my punching bags. I was a quiet and sweet child -- straight A student because school was safe. Star athlete because I was admired and loved there. Even when I went to church to a god I didn't believe in because it got me out of the house, I was the best worshipper -- i knew all the trivia at Sunday school. And so torturing my characters once I was forced home was cathartic.

They were my avatars. They could love and live and hate and die -- when they were raped as children they could grow up into successful, happy adults -- not damaged at all. They could have loving parents who would move Heaven and Earth for them.

And, they could live out the -- more mature -- fantasies that I had and hid away out of (appropriately placed, I later found) fear that making them known and -- god forbid acting on them -- would lead to ridicule and abandonment.

In seventh grade I created a character named Kacie. She looked like me. Protagonist. Loving family. Strong woman. There was another character I didn't like much, called Leon. He was mean. Aloof.

As the story developed -- Kacie didn't, so much. But Leon told me his story. Raised without a mother by a man who hated, abused, and neglected him and his little sister -- doing anything and everything he could to protect his little sister, even if it put him in danger -- hiding behind his art trying to white knuckle his way through life -- addict -- hedonist -- angry at life itself -- and utterly alone in the world.

Of course, it is art so his experience is much more extreme than mine -- (sorry, Leon).

ha, ha, fan fic though!

Still the above -- they make me -- but playing with these little dolls that I didn't make, but that I made my own -- is just fun. Sure, I'm probably expressing more yet-to-be-discovered trauma as well, but man do I love to justify my favorite devil and make Alakvyr and Abdirak kiss.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

For my personal work -- when I graduated high school my librarian gave me a notebook and wrote on the inside cover 'Never Stop Writing'. I have yet to use that notebook. When I finished the first draft of my complete novel I was brave and sent it to my family to read. They had never read my work before. My step-dad, who is my hero, said he 'couldn't put it down'.

For my fan fiction work, I love that other people also love them! As I said, I don't percolate on ideas, and for my fan-fiction I hardly even edit. I word vomit -- try to fix some grammatical issues -- and throw it out into the world. When writing fan fiction I wanted it to be solely for the passion of writing -- not perfect.

I love to hear when people catch the little references I put in (think 'call it a ninth sense' that Raphael says in game) and when people tell me that I 'captured' an established character well. Especially Raphael and Abdirak.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Firstly -- awe

Secondly -- I don't know if I want to necessarily be 'thought about' by my readers.

My original work has very few readers -- and though those who have read it have given raving reviews except @summerwarlock who beta read my work and gave an incredibly helpful and extensive review (still raving, but also helpful tips and critiques) no one has asked me questions or wanted to 'better understand' me, my story, or characters. So, as far as fan fic

Think of me as a fan! A fan with gremlins in my head and gloriously agonizing brainrot -- but a fan.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Original Work: hahaha hahahahahaahhahahaha who knows? Probably the same as fan fiction, though.

Fan fiction: probably character development/character study. I love to pull characters apart to deeply understand who they are and why they do, say, think, and feel as they do. One of my favorite things to write is Raphael justifying himself -- and I feel especially successful when people read it and say 'holy shit, he's right'.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Original work -- I was held back by fear of being judged for writing the story the way it needed to be written. I have a character who is a power-mad king. An absolutely shit-pile of a person -- but I wrote him fairly bland. Other characters would tell you 'oh he's awful' but I never showed him being awful because 'what if people judge me for thinking this'.

Fan fic has helped me a lot with this, as well as Summerwarlock's tips. And so, the hedonistic, rapist, abusive king will do those things because it is in character. Sorry -- all the other characters.

For fan fic -- yes and no. I write for myself. I write because I enjoy it and fan fic is my passion project. I don't even edit my work, remember. I just passion all over the page (muhahah) and throw it into the ether. I love that other people enjoy my little weirdos as much as I do.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Original work -- oh, pure shit. Let's move on.

Fan fiction -- I'm a gods damned genius. No, that's a joke. There are some lines that I write that I think 'fuck yea, that came out of me?' but other than that, they're just silly little dolls I'm squishing together, so I'm not too concerned.

I do enjoy sharing it, though, especially with those who write similar things as I do. The Abdirak group I'm in are full of great, loving people who -- as writers themselves -- aren't afraid to give helpful criticism or ask questions that may make you think differently about your work. And they are also wonderful cheerleaders, as I hope I am for them.

I am a passionate person, but I am a very reserved person, so I worry sometimes that the depths of my adoration don't come across -- but I truly do adore you all, and I am so grateful to have found and been accepted into this community.

[ofzahras]

[ aiysha hart, cis woman, she/her ] — whoa! ZAHRA HAMED just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for TWO MONTHS, working as a POSTDOCTORAL RESEARCHER. that can’t be easy, especially at only 34 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit OBSTINATE and RESTLESS , but i know them to be OPEN-MINDED and RESOURCEFUL. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to QUEENS! — 

here's zahra's pinterest for the vibes.

FULL NAME: zahra hamed DATE OF BIRTH: may 11, 1990 GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis woman, she/her

ORIENTATION: bisexual OCCUPATION: postdoctoral researcher PLACE OF BIRTH: minneapolis, minnesota  FAMILY: mother, father PETS: a black cat called circe

HEIGHT: 5′10′’ HAIR COLOUR: dark brown EYE COLOUR: dark brown

trigger warnings: mentions of religion, infertility, emotional distress, and smoking.

she’s an only child, born to a mixed race and interfaith family. her christian mother and muslim father brought her up in an environment where questions were encouraged and zahra was taught to argue her views and research new ideas.

despite her status as somewhat of a miracle child - her parents had already come to accept they wouldn’t be able to have children of their own due to a host of fertility issues - zahra grew up knowing a lot was expected of her. both of her parents had grown up with very little and had been able to use education as their way out of difficult home situations. she doesn’t resent her parents in the slightest, but sometimes wonders what her life would now look like if she been given just a bit more space and freedom to discover and make mistakes. still, she’s grateful for the drive her parents instilled in her as it has helped her to keep going even during times of distress. that being said, she has unfortunately picked up a host of rather unhealthy coping mechanisms for said stressful situations.

after graduating from high school at the top of her class, zahra packed her bags and moved to durham, north carolina, where she would go on to attend duke university, studying religion and philosophy. she later completed her phd in columbia university, writing her thesis about religious dialogue and pluralism.

while her life hasn’t always been easy or uncomplicated, it has been rather streamline. she has struggled and put in an enormous amount of hard work to get where she is now, but things have generally gone well for her. however, she has recently gone through something of a personal crisis and is really struggling to find her feet again. to put it simply, zahra has become wildly disillusioned with the academia and is suddenly really not sure she’s happy with her choices in life.

her postdoctoral research has now taken her back to new york city where she conducts research in and around the city. well, that’s what she’s supposed to be doing. however, she has run into a real slump and is struggling to get anything productive done. her self-esteem has taken a hit due to the resent developments, as her sense of self has been so deeply intertwined with her academic and professional success. she previously did a disappearing act, leaving her life in nyc behind, and is currently trying to get her shit together. trying being the operative word. she knows she doesn’t have the time to fuck around, but that’s kind of exactly what she’s doing.

will become visibly grumpy when asked about the state of her research project. that being said, she is procrastinating by researching other things, and has, amongst other things, taught herself french while trying to avoid all her responsibilities. she will soon start picking up and abandoning all sorts of fun pastimes in the hopes of distraction.

while she can be bit of a hermit - she spends most of her time alone, trying desperately to read and write, or avoiding said activities - zahra isn’t the sort of shy, serious person people might expect her to be. she can be incredibly talkative and opinionated, even downright bossy, and genuinely enjoys meeting new people. sometimes she just needs a friend to drag her outside.

looks kind of intimidating unless she’s making a conscious effort to appear approachable. while evidently very intelligent and well-meaning for the most part, zahra sometimes struggles when it comes to socialising and pleasantries.

zahra back arrived to nyc around two-ish months ago, so here are some super vague connection ideas for anyone interested!

the stress has led to a lot of sleepless nights, resulting in her becoming a real night owl. she can be spotted frequenting places that are open late, and can be found chain-smoking and scrolling endlessly on social media. she would've undoubtedly run into some folks with similar schedules and habits.

any people with fun, interesting hobbies. after forming some sort of a connection, she would undoubtedly pester these individuals to teach her stuff. your girl needs to be distracted from the looming doom of her research project.

zahra enjoys noisy music. so, a person willing to accompany her to gigs around the area. she's happiest when it's so loud she can't hear her own thoughts.

definitely people she met while doing her phd in nyc. she left the city a few years ago, but would've spent around five-ish years there before skipping town. she would've definitely had friends and even little romances during that time.

[longeyelashedtragedy]

How would you describe Frank's relationships at home with his family even though he seems to be so messed up and lost in his mind. Do you think his kids probably notice it(a factor could be that his older kids (taking account that their mum is his ex) don't spend as much time with him anymore looking at social media.

Another question is where do you think it went wrong for Frank with his relationship between him and his ex?

Sorry for the specific questions but I just wanted to hear a different point of view as I'm doing research for a fic 😅

Thank you and I love your writing btw!!!!

great question!

i have to say, i hope this part isn't projection because i am so weak for a footballer being a Good Dad, but from what i've seen (and i might have read him saying something to this effect, though not in these therapy language words) he made a conscious effort to Break the Cycle with his daughters and not be a complete controlling dick like his dad. i don't think we know anything at all about him + his younger kids (except for, where the fuck did they get curly hair from lol) so i'm talking about the older girls.

it's interesting, because my dad had an actual abusive and cheating father, and before my dad had kids he said he hoped he only had girls because he would have no clue how to teach a boy to be a Man and would probably fuck it up. luckily, he has two "daughters" so that worked out for him, and he's an amazing dad. i wonder if frank was the same, it could be?

as for the girls i don't know if they just are older with their own lives and don't want to be pictured online anymore, and he respects their privacy, or what. he does reference them in the diary of a ceo interview if you have watched it (if you haven't, and you're writing a fic, i totally recommend it--the two hours fly by i swear)--that now they're at high school graduation age and he's been giving them advice about the future and sometimes they have Disagreements where he agrees to disagree (i bet they're about politics lmao). it also could be that he's sort of depressing to be around right now? like, on instagram JT and Jody Morris and that crowd are always hanging out and playing golf and going to chelsea games and shit and frank is never there which makes me feel he's sitting around in a depression cave lmao.

as for the home life in general it's hard to know but the shit he and christine used to say about each other was cringeeeee. these days they just seem like they're kind of quiet and mind their own business and other than all their money they seem kind of normal? like "dad complaining about women Shopping all the time and facebook wine mom" vibes instead of nouveau rich celebs vibes.

elen! that's an interesting one. i'm not a fan of their relationship. like i feel like he and christine make sense as a couple/(marriage of convenience)in a sense but he and elen didn't make sense to me as a couple. if you read the parts about her in his book idk they're just...weird feeling? it had a very Wow a Hot Spanish Model is Interested in Me??!?!?!?!?! vibe to it and it was sweet i guess but weird. i can't see this dude being married to elen at all really. i think, and i actually think he says this in diary of a ceo as well, it really went wrong when his mom died :( as he said he spent the next year in a complete numb freeze state, was full of random anger, trying to repress his emotions etc, and many things suffered from that including his relationship. i think that could break a relationship up easily, especially if maybe it wasn't that solid to begin with?

(**it's VERY interesting that with both of the Ladies frank had insanely long periods of being...together but Not Married...HMMMM)

these are just my thoughts--let me know if you have any other Discussion Topics, omg. and i'm very curious about this fic 👀

[thestarlightforge]

Edit: If you come from LinkTree, you can scroll to bottom for a recent update! :)

Culture Club!

As a part of my own cultural research for various writing projects (and because of my personal beliefs—the purpose of education being to become a more well-rounded and loving person), I’ve been doing a lot of research into Judaism lately. I’m still very much a beginner; very thankful to all the friends, online and otherwise, who have been willing to share their culture with me, a girl who started out as an undereducated, basic, White-trash, agnostic semi-Methodist from Tennessee.

Y’all, there is so much to learn! It is such a healing and loving process to better understand the culture and heritage of your friends and fellow human beings. You will feel better. They will feel better. And the Internet makes it so easy! Even if you aren’t a writer, I can’t recommend it enough. ☺️

I come from a background of largely inadequate K-12 public schooling, I think it’s fair to say, when it comes to learning about other cultures and marginalized communities, so I had to teach myself how to learn this kind of information once I got to college. But it is possible, through the power of the Internet, to learn earlier—with a little bit of guidance.

Doing this research, it occurred to me there are probably a lot of people who have had a similar experience: Young people (or old—it’s never too late to learn!) who feel overwhelmed by all they don’t know (as I did when I first left the South), like they don’t know where to start or who to ask, or are embarrassed by their own ignorance. It is overwhelming. It is scary, feeling like a you’ve been left behind and like you can never be the understanding, loving person you want to be for your friends and the people you love. It’s very scary to admit how little you know.

But we are not helpless! Especially not if we help each other. ☺️

In this series, I will take you along on a highlight tour of the cultural research I’m doing, for myself and my writing. You can feel free to read/watch/discuss along with me, or use the research tips I’ve stumbled across to research other topics of interest to you. Education is for everybody, and we can all be better if we put in the effort to become so together!

This Week: Starting on Judaism + Basic Research

Research Tips—Starting with Videos!

Especially when approaching learning about a new culture from a writerly perspective, immerse yourself as much as possible! Don’t be afraid to admit your ignorance to your search history; people IRL will thank you for it.

Long ago, I started out searching for “Judaism for dummies” on YouTube and found this video, and it taught me tons! And, importantly, it gave me a jumping off point to search for more specific information from places like my university’s library website, Google scholar, and etc.

Pro tip: If you don’t have access to a University or school library, try your local library! Many cities (such as the DC/Maryland/Virginia area, where I live) have libraries with free, fully-online sign-up programs and HUGE archives of eBooks, audiobooks, and other resources both digital and physical. Download the Libby app (iOS, Android) to easily connect multiple library cards with your phone, manage digital checkouts across libraries, and read e-books and audiobooks (aka LIFESAVERS imo) checked out from the library. (Some of us still have cards from back home in high school!) Also, the Internet Archive has tons of digital materials available to read in-browser for free.

Starting off with introductory videos is often a great idea in my experience, then from there, you can dig into scholarly articles and even books on various topics (e.g. The Everything Judaism Book: A complete primer to the Jewish faith— from holidays and rituals to tradition and culture by Richard Banks for this particular research project).

Also, social media can prove a great resource! The point of cultural research is to actually understand culture, both historically and in the present, and academia can be classist, sexist, racist, homophobic, ableist, etc. other terribleness—so listening to people speaking right now is a great way to learn about activism that is currently important, oral histories, and history that may have been suppressed due to intersectional oppression, settler colonialism, and White supremacy (e.g. queer histories of all SORTS of cultures; they often get squashed except by this popular, subversive discourse). Also, while fact-learning is important, history class in K-12 teaches a lot of people that’s the beginning and end of cultural education; You can break out of just memorizing facts by taking the time to see, listen to, and more deeply understand the day-to-day impacts culture has on people.

When using social media, tags are important. For this project, I’ve spent a lot of time on TikTok, particularly #jewtok. @spacevinci’s video’s are SO packed with info, hilarious, and Miriam is a non-binary (they/them pronouns) Jewish person. And that’s just one place to start!

Wrapping up

I hope this has been helpful! If anyone is interested in my continuing this series, I’d be glad to.  I’ll keep y’all posted on ongoing research projects, maybe 1-2 updates per week (though as a warning, my brain is all over the place and I am not good at pacing myself lol, so the topics will probably bounce around as well) and I will try to include a helpful research tip or resource each post. Great way to journal my own education and hopefully be a low-judgment resource for other people who are trying to do the same.

Write me in the comments/reblog! (That’s how Tumblr works, right? 😆 I’m an ex-Twitter person, lol; this is ✨a whole new thing✨ for me.) Let me know if this sounds interesting!

Love to all and happy learning! :)

[witchywithwhiskey]

so i LOVE urban legends. i did a project in high school for my graphic design class where we had to do something with urban legends (i think we had to design a movie-like poster for one?? idr) and i spent SO MANY classes just researching and reading all these different urban legends and how they'd change depending on region or age group. it's not something i've ever really used in my fics but it was fun to come up with my own!!

and when it came to describing Hell, I really wanted it to be a reflection of Steve and what was to come. like, yes, it looks nice and inviting but it's Hell and he's a demon!! and reader is just like so sucked in.

in the original version of the story, i included something early on about how reader asks Steve for centuries whether he lured her in with magic or if she willingly went to Hell on her own, and him refusing to answer her. but then that didn't really fit and i kind of like the idea that the story never gives a definitive answer (though, in my mind, there's no real magic involved, reader is just drawn to Steve because of who he is and who she is).

also, lol @ the number of red flags reader ignores 🤣🤣🤣 yeah, that's all her.

writing the anticipation is half the fun sometimes!! i know you and i have talked about adding plot and world-building to the smut, but i also do just really enjoy building anticipation sometimes. especially when i've got a flirty demon Steve to play with 🤭😈 building the tension is so fun, and then i feel like the smut is even more satisfying.

anyway!! thank you so much Aspen!! i love reading your comments so so so so much!!! ♡♡♡♡

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look��demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

[deadboyfriendd]

𝖊𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝖒𝖚𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

A/N: Literally a braindump of my headcanons that I am not qualified to give. I made this entirely too long and I will probably make a second part if anyone could bear the sight of it.

C/W: Mentions of cigarettes and maybe other substances, rough family and upbringings, mental illness, self-hatred and some mentions of issues with food

He 100% has ADHD, except he would have been diagnosed (if he was diagnosed at all) with hyperkinetic reaction of childhood or adolescence. They didn't recognize the name as ADD until 1980 and they didn't formally recognize hyperactivity as a part of the diagnosis without distinction until 1987. They more than likely wrote him off as an unruly child with familial problems. If they did treat him, it most likely would have been with Ritalin, which more than likely would have made him feel lethargic or paranoid. Wayne would have much rather have seen him be Eddie than a shell of a human for the sake of obedience. (This is based on my own limited knowledge of ADHD, being someone who is diagnosed with it. I took a couple psych classes and tried to do some thorough research before writing this information out.)

This is not to say that Eddie isn't smart. He actually is SUPER intelligent. This I think is canon because he's very articulate and DnD is a VERY hard game to memorize and play, and I would assume is harder to DM. If he had access to proper resources and access to a CBT like we do now, he would probably have been a child prodigy. Instruments, especially guitar, also take a lot of time and dedication and are super hard to play. School didn't work for him, especially in the 80s, because he was expected to just sit down and shut up and learn the way he was told- when in reality he just needed a little bit of understanding.

Because of the ADHD, he also sucks at impulse control and task initiation, which did not contribute to his success in school. He cannot, for the life of him, force himself to sit and complete an assignment because the immediate consequence is not right in front of him, and it's not providing him with instant gratification.

His jacket and rings are comfort objects, the weight of the jacket make him feel secure and the rings provide something to fidget with. (I resonate so deeply with this one because my rings and fingers are also the thing that I fidget with)

I assume Wayne would have gotten custody of him in an emergency placement situation when Eddie was old enough to remember it, my brain says like between 4th and 6th grade. Wayne basically had to teach him how to be a human being first- hone him in and then smooth out the edges.

Wayne loves Eddie relentlessly and would do anything to see him succeed. Him not graduating high school hurts Wayne and he secretly blames himself for not trying harder with him, but he could never quite find the right line between being Eddie's dad and respecting Eddie's boundary to come to that conclusion himself.

While Eddie loves to challenge authority, him and Wayne have a mutual respect for each other. This really sets in during Eddie's junior year when he can take care of himself and be more independent. He tries to follow the rules Wayne has set out for him, and tries really hard to be respectful of Wayne's space by not smoking pot when he's home, keeping his volume to a minimum when he's resting, or trying to keep the house clean.

Contrary to popular belief and what a lot of other people think he is, I honestly think that Eddie is an ENFP and not and ENTP. (This could just be me projecting). The reason I think this is because he was willing to follow everyone into the upside-down no matter how terrified he was just to prove that he wasn't going to run away again. (I could make an entirely separate essay talking about his ENFP stance)

He is secretly a people-pleaser. The reason he is so dramatic and walks across tables and yells at people across the cafeteria is because it makes everyone in Hellfire laugh. He loves getting the reaction out of the people he likes and he likes the attention from the reputation he has as the freak of Hawkins High, however, when that social high goes away and he's alone in his room, he doesn't sleep because he replays his mental script of that particular performance over and over again seeing what he could have done better and where he slipped up and he thinks he's the most annoying person on planet earth.

On the more light-hearted end, he has to have some kind of background noise or he'll go insane. TV, music, the radio, SOMETHING.

He has comfort TV shows and they're usually cartoons.

He hates being alone physically, but can't always handle having constant interactions with someone. Him and Wayne get along so well because they can be alone together.

He would really have moments where he would heal his inner childhood, without realizing it. He hangs out with younger people because it helps him live out what he should have had and missed out on. I like to think that if Will was living in Hawkins and got that Atari for Christmas in the first season, he would have let Eddie play as much as he wanted. He would have gone absolutely feral over a Nintendo system. He probably still has his gross, cracking Stretch Armstrong or a Gumby and Pokey. In a modern setting, he would LOVE RC cars or Nerf guns.

The Breakfast Club makes him have a physically angry reaction, but he still cried watching it.

He has problems with eating, either not eating all day and then being absolutely ravenous and destroying a small township with his hunger, or eating like a rat and surviving off of scraps and seeds all day.

Has a GIANT crush on Heather Locklear, mostly because she was with Tommy Lee, but also because she is pretty.

He is really interested in space. He was born around/lived his formative years through the time that we landed on the moon and made a ton of strides in space exploration. He keeps up on it and is actually pretty well-versed.

Because of this, Wayne also had taken him to see every Star Wars movie that had been out at the time.

He has a sweet tooth, literally ALWAYS getting a sweet snack or a coke or something.

Smoke breaks are how him and Wayne bond in absolute silence. He remembers the first time Wayne gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. Now he does it when he needs to think, or when he needs to not think. He sits outside in a plastic lawn chair and has a smoke.

He's actually pretty fond of the little trailer he lives in. Its comforting to him and he likes the freedom of being on the outskirts of town.

[donnerpartyofone]

When I was a kid, I desperately craved contact with the other world. I was naturally interested in all things spooky and mysterious, but more importantly, I found the world I lived in drab, suffocating, painful, and embarrassing. I certainly had serious problems with depression from a very early age, but it's fair to suggest that maybe my childhood obsession with suicide was partially inspired by the idea that if I died, I would go somewhere better, somewhere more beautiful and interesting. Because I was so disposed, I collected an unfortunate roster of destructive friends who were happy to exploit my eagerness to believe in such things. From grade school all the way through high school (by which time I really should have been savvier but OH WELL), I always seemed to know someone who dominated my life by claiming that they had some kind of connection to the other world--typically in the form of channeling paranormal entities who, oftener than not, got me to do all sorts of things I didn't want to do, that were really bad for me, just because my happiness seemed so dependent on my faith that these things could be real.

I don't like to talk about that stuff in detail (so don't ask), but it did something to my worldview beyond just making me distrust other people. I guess I'd call myself a skeptic now, but not in the sense of being atheistic; it's more that I feel a need to separate the chaff from the wheat, to conscientiously reject everything that justifies suspicion, so that only true mysteries remain, untainted by bad company. Now that I'm more or less writing full time, I find that all of my projects have to do with the madness of faith, the ineffable quality of subjective reality, and predators who exploit the virtue of open-mindedness.

I do believe that a lot of what we call "hauntings" come from people. I find it relatively easy to swallow the proposal that poltergeitic activity and psychokinesis are one and the same symptom of, say, a troubled child full of energy with nowhere to put it; in fact, I saw evidence of this once, around an especially disturbed "friend". But speaking less literally, I also think that a haunted atmosphere grows up around convergences of troubled people. Even if a team of professionals from the Rhine Research Center wouldn't be able to detect anything untoward, the sense of being haunted would be no less real for the people involved.

For several years between college and my marriage, I lived in a little new fab Brooklyn duplex with two old classmates. Yet somehow, it was only several years later, after I moved out, that I started to hear that our apartment was haunted. I don't know how I could have missed this, and I strongly suspected that some new, shared perception of theirs had been retrofitted onto our past. I couldn't imagine how anyone could perceive any form of subtle energy in that place, with our landlords downstairs having raging parties three days a week, their roosters crowing four or five hours a day, and the mice noisily chewing up the insides of the building every night. I basically rolled my eyes at the idea, especially because of the person who first told me.

One of my ex-roommates, T, who still lived in the place, met my fiance and I out one night to introduce his new boyfriend. The boyfriend was too young, acted even younger, and when he wasn't telling exaggerated-sounding stories about himself, he cued T to tell stories about him instead. He particularly insisted that T explain that the apartment was haunted. What followed were elaborate stories of appliances turning on and off on their own, objects flying across rooms, locked doors swinging open, and footprints appearing in the protective salt circle around their bed. The boyfriend insisted that T show a photo of the salt, in which strange sigils supposedly manifested overnight. The photo displayed what looked like the word "FAG" rising to the top of a bowl of alphabet soup. My fiance and I were utterly mortified.

At least two other people who lived in that place substantiated the claim that it was wildly, spectacularly haunted, although it bothered me that this had never come up during any of the years we all cohabitated. However, that's not to say that it wasn't an exceedingly dark environment. During that time, T had two long term boyfriends who were delusional, controlling and violent; I brought in my own psychotic abuser, who made all of our lives hell; another roommate brought a woman with whom he would share a doomed marriage, who loudly criticized him in front of us for embarrassing symptoms of severe depression; we briefly housed a couple we almost never saw, but who we could hear shouting and throwing things; and, in truth, we were all functioning alcoholics at that time. Those were not good days, and whatever you think "energy" is, together we created and bathed in quite a lot of bad energy. I barely got out with my sanity intact, after which T picked an incredibly nasty and protracted fight with me over a litany of things I had supposedly done and said throughout the last 15 years. To me, it was meaningful that this only happened after I escaped, even though I had tried repeatedly to have a constructive conversation with him while I was still there; it was like being in the grip of the Amityville house or the Overlook, a possessing entity that doesn't want to let you leave.

There's only one incident that sticks in my mind as evidence of something more than psychological disturbance. One night I brought home a copy of the great french exploitation movie DON'T DELIVER US FROM EVIL, about a pair of sociopathic teens who go on a satanic, ultimately suicidal rampage. As I gazed on the final image of the two girls burning, I said, my god, B really needs to see this, and made a note of it. B was a friend of a friend with whom I had grown enormously close, a dark, turbulent person, highly cultured, and a certified genius. A few hours after T and I went to sleep, we were awoken by a frantic pounding on the front door; B's best friend was there to report that she had committed suicide. We stayed up all night talking. In the morning, I perversely chose to go all the way to work in order to tell my boss that I couldn't come in that day; I just didn't think I could do it over the phone. But, as T and I stepped outside, we were shocked by the sight of a huge, rusted black hearse parked in front of our house. It seemed to belong to the derelict car lot across the street, but for us, it may as well have fallen out of the sky. Later that day, B's friends gathered at our apartment to talk and plan. And, as we were sitting there, the building behind ours suddenly exploded into a raging inferno.

None of those things have to be more than coincidences, but together, they hold such meaning for me that I don't think it's worth arguing about their true identity. Above all else, they are defined by what I feel I experienced: something from the other world. I don't need to worry about the collective madness of my friends, or my own vulnerability to certain unfalsifiable notions. I know where I was, at least in those 24 hours. I was in a haunted house.

[lovinkiri]

Simply Jealous

Tenya Iida x Reader

Description: Tenya isn't sure why he's so bothered with you hanging out with Sero so much.

Tagging: @coleluuviida

You were always seemed quiet, so reserved.

And Tenya, well.. He knew he could come off strong sometimes. So he was quite hesitant on approaching you. It wasn't until you guys were partnered up for a project that he actually spoke to you.

"Its nice to meet you, L/n. My name is Tenya Iida." He held his hand out with a friendly smile.

You hesitantly shook his hand and returned your own shy smile. "Y/n L/n." Was all you mumbled quietly.

You worried that maybe you seemed rude, too standoff-ish. But Tenya only took a seat next to you. "Shall we begin?"

....

The two of you had decided to stay on campus to research and outline a section of your project.

The two of you sat in the library, quietly discussing the project.

Tenya wrote down everything you said, easily keeping up with your surprisingly. He hadn't expected you to talk so quickly for someone so quiet, not that he minded. He actually found us endearing.

He'd even go as far as to say it was cute. And he couldn't help but voice his thoughts, of course not the part where he called you cute.

"You talk very quickly, you know." He said in a small break of silence. You cheeks grew hotter in embarrassment. Had you embarrassed yourself already? In front of the most respectable person in class?

"Ah, sorry.. I've been told that I talk a lot. And I guess I was just adding useless details-" Tenya couldn't help but cut you off.

"No, no, I enjoy it. You match my writing speed and I don't believe any of these details are useless. In fact, they all seem important and carefully picked out."

You couldn't help but smile at the praise. "Thank you, Iida. That means a lot. Especially coming from you."

Tenya chuckled softly. "I'm no one special. Just like you, I'm a future hero."

You two fell into deep conversation, not even breaking out of it as you were eventually kicked out of the library.

You two talked about a lot. The project, your teachers, your high schools and the people who helped you along the way.

Eventually, you two reached the girls dorms. Tenya felt his heart flutter as you look down, once more bashful.

You just had to be this adorable, huh?

"Thanks for walking me to the dorms, Iida." You said, gently kicking your feet against the ground.

Iida nodded, tilting his head slightly as he admired the way you looked in the dark.

Undeniably stunning.

"No worries. Escorting you home was the least I could do for keeping you out all night." He gave a small grin as you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

"Goodnight. See you tomorrow?" You nearly winced at your tone. Did you sound clingy?

Well, Tenya didn't seem to think so, as he nodded as quickly as he could. "Of course. Please, sleep well."

Tenya watched as you giggled and retreated into the building. He stood there for a moment, his smile still stuck on his face.

You were.. Really something.

....

By the end of the project, you two had gotten very close. He'd introduced you to the rest of the Dekusquad and they all loved you immediately.

That was a good sign to Tenya.

And over time, they'd noticed how fond of each other the two of you were. From the way he so generously would offer you his orange juice to the way you'd hugged him in thanks.

They were happy for him. I mean, they were there for him but they'd always hoped he'd find someone who seemed to complete him the way you did.

Tenya himself knew he had feelings for you, but he figured it was just a small crush.

Well, that was until you started hanging out with a new student more frequently. You were always with the guy. You'd even started hanging out with him during lunch hours.

And well.. To say that Tenya was a but bothered? That was an understatement.

What really got him though? The way you immediately opened up around this guy, grinning with confidence. Tenya himself couldn't remember making you smile that hard before.

He didn't let it show how much it bothered him though, as he didn't want to drive you away.

You'd already came out of your shell and started to open up to him. And you definitely weren't Y/n, the quiet student who sat in the back.

You were Y/n, one if the funniest and cheerful people to be around. You had a smile that could brighten up anyone's day and eyes that could scare off any bad thoughts.

He couldn't afford to lose that, to lose you, over his dumb jealousy.

It wasn't until this new student started to make advances on you that you stepped, especially considering how uncomfortable you seemed.

"You know, you've been so good to me, I've been thinking-" You were pulled away before he could place his hands on you.

Tenya could tell he made a good decision from the look of relief across your face. "Oh, Tenya! Did you need me?"

He gave a small nod. "Yes, its really important."

You rushed out a goodbye to your classmate before quickly leaving the room with Tenya. "Thank goodness you came! The school assigned me to be his mentor for a bit but he's been trying to get me in bed for the past two weeks."

... Mentor? You were just mentoring him?

Tenya sighed deeply and felt himself fully relax. Noticing you confused look, he blushed and quickly fixed his glasses. "I'm glad you're okay."

You grinned. "Your cheeks are all red again, Tenya." You teased. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous."

It was when he didn't respond that it fully dawned on you. "Wait, wait.. Were you really jealous?"

"W-Well.." He cleared his throat and turned away, not quite sure what to say. He didn't want to lie and deny it but he couldn't quite get the full truth out.

"Hey, I.. I like you too, Tenya. A lot. You think maybe we could get something to eat soon?" You suggested nervously.

Tenya watched you in surprise before smiling. Suddenly, his nerves were calm. "I'd be honored, Y/n. I like you too."

[simpsiren]

the ukiyo standalone;

park jisung x reader

Jisung is everyone’s joy and prized possession. Being the youngest of his friend group and with his child-like nature, he’s certainly the one that everyone favours. He’s adorable, innocent, pure. You would think he’s well known in college but in actuality, he’s pretty hidden, living his life in the shadow of his friends. He didn’t mind it really. He didn’t need to feel the crowd prying their eyes into his business like his friends, which was why he actually isn’t seen with them often in the first place, he didn’t need to stand out.

genre. fluff, angst, emotional, heart warming aNd heart breaking 

word count. 20k~

description. In this current fast pace world, there was never really a time I could take a break. I did choose this path as a lawyer major knowing I would be drowning myself with papers every single night and pulling all-nighters for an inhumane number of days. As much as I want or even need to rest, I never could. This was the path I’ve chosen. And my pride was too high to let myself stop the grind. That is until I made a mistake of calling an unknown number who belonged to a guy named Jisung at the campus library. I thought he was a waste of time till I realised he showed me to slow down, not having to force my body to move with the world’s speed, to be my ukiyo; my floating world.

!as they should masterlist!

Jisung liked doing social experiments. It was practically his side hobby, something he’d do when there wasn’t anything important on his to-do list. He was simply interested at how the students at his campus would react upon weird occurrences around them. It got students talking whenever he did something, the fact that they didn’t know it was his doing is one of the reasons why he does it in the first place.

On this particular night, where Jisung was staring out of his window from his study table that was directly in front of it, giving the clearest view of the stars and especially the bright moon that reflected its light through his cracked open window and onto his study table, he was wondering about what to do next. What would get people to feel weirded out. What would get them to react a certain way.

When an idea came to mind, the light bulb hovering over his head switched on, the gears began to turn. It wasn’t the most brilliant idea, but it could go both ways. Either the students don’t bother even taking in their surroundings to notice it, or suffer the loss of not getting help. Jisung’s a dance major but he liked doing these projects for the fun of it so might as well. Jisung peeled off a random piece of sticky note from the stack with his other stationeries. Clicking his pen, he immediately went to writing.

When times you aren’t feeling fine, just call this number. I’ll try to be available 24/7.

Jisung frowned slightly and tilted his head. If he were to paste his numbers all over the school, he would probably be bombarded with calls every two seconds. It also didn’t make sense for him to be available 24/7. Clearly that was impossible. His frown deepened. He thought for a long moment, trying to phrase a sentence that was more suitable for what he wanted to do. With a smack of his lips and an unsure hiss, he grabbed a new sticky note and started again.

Glad you came to notice this note laying wherever you are in the library. Feeling stressed? Need someone to talk to? Simply need a friend? My number’s below. You don’t have to know who I am. I’m just here to help you out, mentally I guess. I’m available from 1PM-3AM. Call whenever you feel the need to. Have a nice day :D (don’t worry I’m not some stalker or whatever i’m just a bored student here)

Jisung clicked his pen against the table to close it, his eyes scanning over his words, which might he add was beautifully written, like calligraphy. Jisung couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that thought. He threw the pen off to the side and went to his printer with the sticky note, now moving on to making copies. He wanted to copy a reasonable number, not too little till no one noticed or too many till it was extremely obvious, but well enough for him to get at least a small chance of getting a response. With a number in mind, he began printing.

The next day, he went for his lecture in the morning. He preferred having the morning lectures just so he could spend the rest of his day doing whatever. And on today’s agenda was the pasting of his notes. With the weight of his bag pulling his shoulders and back down, he wished he could go back to the dorms right now and start of his assignment but he wanted to settle this first.

He entered the library. It wasn’t too crowded. Students were fairly spaced apart from each other in the study area, sparse. Some students were at shelves. With his hands still shoved into the pockets of his black Adidas jacket, he make his way over to a random study table. He needed to do this quick to avoid suspicion. But why would students notice anyway? They had their heads digged into whatever work that was incomplete.

Jisung slowed himself down and took out the a note from the small file he had in his bag along woth a large clear tape role. He had to put his bag down, searching for the scissors. He cut a reasonable amount of tape after placing the note in the bottom right corner and placed it over top, sealing the note onto the table. Jisung back away for a moment, taking a long look at it. It was small, but still noticeable. With a satisfied shrug, he went on to do the same for some other tables, even going to bookshelves and randomly pasting them anywhere he wished.

What he didn’t know, was that he was being watch.

I had my brain wrapped around this essay for who knows how long now. Hours, days. Having to redo my research for the fith time was about to have my head spinning till it lolled, out of energy and brain power to hold up. I stared down at the notes scattered all over. The table was a huge mess, loosing track of how many pages I’ve flipped and how many articles I read online, as well as time of course. I sighed quietly, leaning back and closing my eyes, wanting to rest them for a brief moment.

When my eyelids opened back, I couldn’t help but notice the person that had been hovering around the study tables for far too long. It was distracting, watching him move from table to table at the corner of my eye. And though my attention had been on my papers, he was still to be seen in my peripheral vision. I blinked my eyes rapidly and shook my head, refusing to let a small matter tick me off to the point where I wasn’t able to do my work.

I straightened my back and adjusted my shoulders. Closing back my eyes, I took in a deep breath, chest puffing up as I gave myself a determined nod. I shot my eyes back open and with full exhilaration running through my veins, I got back to work, shutting the world out so it was just me and my work, wanting to get it done and over with.

Again I lost track of time, but in a much more productive way than how I was in the morning. I didn’t have classes today, making full use of my free time on my work. I pressed the final key on my keyboard, ending my essay with an exhale of satisfaction. I leaned back into the seat, throwing my head back till it went past the backrest. I placed my hands on the arms of the chair, and it was then did I realise that the library was extremely quiet.

I took in my surroundings, slow scanninv my eyes over the library. It was already dark, some areas pitch black while other were visible with the help of the moonlight shining through the windows. It was only the light at my study table that illuminated the area around with a orange hue. I didn’t mind being the inly one here, but sometimes it felt eerily quiet, like tonight. I grabbed my phone that was shoved into my bag. Lifting it up in front of me, the lockscreen showed itself, as well as the ungodly hour blaring at me.

“Three in the morning? How did I even...” I tilted my head slowly in awe, surpised at just how time flew by when I was immersed in completing my assignment. I read through my essay, having to close my eyes halfway due to how bright the screen of my laptop was. I was scanning through the first paragraph when I immediately went to shut down, already too tired to have one last scan through and making the mental decision of doing it tomorrow.

I packed up immediately, the thought of my bed and sleeping now being the number one priority. I shoved all my things in my tote bag, slinging it on my right shoulder. I was already taking off, a mere few steps away from the exit when I saw something shining at the corner of my eye. I stopped and turned on my heel to the study table. Slowly, my eyes trailed to the bottom right corner where the source of my pause came from. Turned out it was simply the light reflected of a tape. But upon further inspection, I went closer noticing it wasn’t just tape, but a note.

I read it over, having to brush some strands of hair behind my ear that was annoyingly covering the note. I quirked an eyebrow in a questioning manner, leaning back to my standing form once I was done reading, yet my eyes were glued to the impressively written note. “Who gives out their number just like that?” I couldn’t help but wonder under my breath. Too tired to even register any more information, I let this weird occurrence slid out of my mind, continuing to make my way out of the library and back to my dorm where I instantly fell asleep with no second thoughts.

The next day I got up, the light shining through the small holes of my curtain blinding me awake. I searched for my phone under my pillow, plugging out its charger while I scrolled through my social media, specifically Twitter. The first thing that popped up on my timeline was a tweet from the campus’s very own account. No one knows who it was made by, but you can bet that whoever they are has their eyes everywhere around the school, tweeting about the latest gossips or news around campus grounds. Today’s one sparked a memory from last night.

Someone’s at it again stirring up the attention of our students by having their number out in the open for everyone to see in our library. Was there more to it than just wanting to offer help through call service?

I scoffed, glancing away for a moment before retrieving my gaze back to my phone. “Do they actually want people calling them?” I asked myself while scrolling my thumb up to look at the other tweets below. It did come to my attention that night, now picturing the note in my mind. I didn’t remember the number, but it was there, and something about it was drawing the curiosity in me to find out more. With a grunt I shot myself out of bed, getting ready to head to the library again to study.

I hadn’t expected how much time would pass by just from me studying. I’ve been in the library for almost a full day. I was being sent on an emotional roller coaster ride. Some hours being a breeze as I studied the easiest topics, while others had me wanting to rip my hair off my scalp from trying to shove all the information in my brain when it felt like it was at its full capacity. I wasn’t myself today. I kept looking at my phone that was a distraction, which was something I never did at all while studying. I was off the edge.

With exams coming up in a month’s time, I knew I was studying too much too early. But I always had to stick to my life motto. “Get it done and over with.” I muttered to myself. But tonight, at one in the morning, my body and mind couldn’t register any more information. I couldn’t. I was tired, exhausted. Drained. The stress came barreling in full force and I hated how I was making myself feel this way by always being on edge and doing things too fast to keep up with everything else in life.

Wanting to clear my head, I began gathering some of my notes, stacking them up to the clean the table that was in a huge mess. My eyes have grown used to this sight, but I was simply cleaning for the sake of procrastinating and putting off the desire to complete aoother topic. When I was done cleaning one section of the table, something struck my attention. I looked to the bottom right corner of the table. And there it was. The note that’s been in the hidden folds of my mind when I pushed them back to focus on studying.

My eyes went from left to right, specifically at the number since I’ve remembered the note unusually vividly. “Should I?” I whispered. I looked around, no one was to be seen. Weird, since I’d usually see at least one student here despite the late hour. I exhaled softly, letting the cold air that circulated around me in the night cool my skin while I picked up my phone from the table and keyed in the number. I wasn’t thinking about what I was getting myself into. At this point, I was already overloaded with my studies that I was malfunctioning, clearly not thinking straight.

I placed the phone up to my ear, leaning forward and letting my upper body rest against the table while I placed my chin in the palm of my free hand. The ringing went on for five times, and I was about to hang up when I heard the sound of the phone being picked up. “Hey. Who’s this?” It was a guy. Could it be the one that I saw lurking around that day? I gulped and cleared my throat, opening my mouth and letting out an “Uh..” while trying to figure out what to say. “Your number is here. One the study table at the library.” I simply said, wondering what he’ll respond with.

Sudden shuffles could be heard. It went on for a brief moment till he exclaimed, “Oh! Right, right. Hey! I’m at your service, what do you need?” His voice sounded dry and coarse, like he had forgotten to drink water before he slept. Was he sleeping and picked up while he’s half asleep? I ran a hand through my hair, adjusting to get comfortable. “A listening ear. That’s all I need.” I murmured through the speaker. I had to let it all out. And it came to the point where I’d rather actually talk to a stranger about my problems than anyone I knew. But that’s how we all are nowadays, right? Too self conscious and simply wanting to put on an act for the whole world.

“Go on. I’m all ears.” He replied back, sounding attentive and somewhat interested. I didn’t want to think much of it. He was clearly like this to everyone else who called for “his service”. Being receptive and responsive. Kind and willing. That’s what he sounded like. The first person to actually say something that felt like all those things at once, to me.

“Do...” I trailed off, shaking my head and wondering what I even wanted to say in the first place. I smacked my lips. “Don’t you just feel tired? Of like the whole world. Everything and everyone around you. You’re tired physically and emotionally.” He hummed in response. “Of course I do. A lot of people feel that.” I scoffed softly, biting my bottom lip. “Yes but, the other thing that’s making me tired... is myself. I have this habit of just overloading my brain with lots of things. It feel as if I’m making myself stress on purpose.” I couldn’t help but chuckle weakly as the words left my lips.

“I always wanted to the best I could be. And that led to me just grinding and grindinv everyday with no end. I barely get to sleep, and even if I did. I’ll wake up and the whole cycle will repeat itself. I fucking hate that I’m in this loop. But I chose to be here. I can’t break out.” My voice began to crack. It took me awhile to realise that I was crying till my tears fell on the papers and made its mark by crinkling the paper while it soaked up my tears. I blotched them off my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Hey, if-”

“And don’t.” I cut him off instantly before he could even utter another word. “Don’t tell me other people are going through the same thing.” I shut my eyes close, heaving a slow and heavy sigh. “I know. Everyone in my major goes through the same process. I’m weak. Even though I try to act like I’m the best student. My tolerance level can go down the drain for all I care.” I paused for a moment, mentally telling himt to resume whatever he wanted to say but knew he couldn’t read my mind.

But from the pause he knew what it meant and picked it up quickly, clearing his throat. “I was about to say if you want to cry, you can. I can tell that you’re holding it in and I don’t even need to see you.” I sniffled, the feeling of wanting to burst into tears again came about, rising in my body and making my chest clench. “It’s okay.” As if on cue, I screamed, cried, poured it all out. I threw my phone down, the call still on as I wailed into my palms, pressing my face against them. I’ve never had such a breakdown in months, simply shoving it to the back of my mind and kept ignoring it till it came out like this. A full blown terror.

I wanted to talk, yet my mouth couldn’t form any words. All that came out were sniffles as I calmed myself down. “I don’t really have much to say on this. And you probably don’t even want to hear me talk but you should take a break. Really. Just one day. You need it. Because you seriously don’t sound okay.” I couldn’t help but breathe out a short laugh, a very weak and effortless one. “I never thought of that, Captain Obvious.” I rolled my eyes, a smile cracking through for a brief moment.

He chuckle on the other end of the line. “You thought of it but didn’t put it into action.” He stated, sounding slightly firm. “Yes.” I admitted dryly. A few beats of silence passed, I could hear his breathing, calm and soothing. “I think I should, um, go now?” It was suppose to be a statement but due to me trying to recover from my mess, it came out as a question. I could hear him licking his lips. “Yes of course. Oh and hey.” “Yeah?”

“Do you need help with that rest day of yours?” I didn’t reply, giving it a long throught. “I probably won’t even be doing it.” I said through a sigh, beginning to pack up my things to head out of the library. “But you should. Actually, you will. I want to make sure of it.” I couldn’t help but furrow my eyebrows at his unexpected tone of determination. “Don’t you have other people to attend to for your call service?” I questioned.

“You’re actually the first one.” I could tell he was feeling rather embarrassed, letting out a tight laugh after his statement. “And I don’t even know who you are.” I was now walking out of the library, phone still to the ear while I adjusted my tote bag on my shoulder. “For starters, I’m a dance major. I’d like to mostly keep my identity hidden for now. Unless you want to meet.”

I gaped my mouth open ever so slightly, somewhat in disbelief. “You want to meet?” I echoed his question back to him, head tilted mere degrees to the side. “Well I have to make sure you have that rest day of yours. How can I when I don’t meet you?” I chuckled softly, the corner of my lips perking up. “I’ll think about it. At least I have your number now.”

“Always at your service, miss. Have a good night.”

With that, the call ended. I didn’t realisd just how much time passed by simply talking to him. It went by so fast. It was already getting pretty late by the time I checked my phone for the time. I made my way back to the dorm, the cold breeze of the night kissing my skin gently and blowing strands of hair into my face that I had to brush off. I looked up to the sky, for once the world was quiet, at rest, and just for these few hours, I had always admired how I could breathe the freedom of mere minutes while I went to the dorm.

Yet, while admiring the ink black sky, the conversation I had with the call service guy resonated in my head, I laughed at how weird it was, pouring all that I’ve bottled up till now to someone who was of no significance to me. He probably won’t even remember we had this conversation, only passing it on as his first service call. He was also only doing his job, simply being there for me to talk. Why was I even taking this seriously? I could never rest. I could never take a break. I always had moments like these to treasure at heart before I awaken to everything going full speed yet again.

I walked to the lecture hall, watching students happily walking on campus with their friends with the sky a mix of blue and white. It was a regular day. Hopefully, if I didn’t have any assignment and I could focus on studying.

Just then, a whole ton of screaming could be heard, but it was muffled and drowned out due to how far I was from the source. But it sounded horrendous. As if a boy band had just entered the campus and send billions of fangirls to their way. I wanted to continue walking but the squeals of excitement got louder and closer to me. I turned my head to the back. “Ah... why didn’t I think about that?”

There’s the group of guys again. Too popular for their own good. Everyone was shouting their names, swooning over each one of them. I wonder how they didn’t find having to deal with that annoying. Or perhaps it was just an act. I backed away from the hallway to watch them strut by casually, the group of girls following closely behind. But just then, for a brief moment, a guy wearing a black adidas jacket walked past me, mutttering “I really shouldn’t have followed you guys today.” He rolled his eyes and went out of sight. I turned my head to the right, where I could now see his back. He looked petite yet lean, with orange hair of a natural tone, the under part of it being black. What stood out to me the most was his adidas jacket. Wasn’t that the one from the library?

“Do you guys actually go through that every single day?” Jisung groaned out finally taking a breath of fresh air as they entered the room, feeling as if he got swallowed by all the attention throughout their trip to the playroom. Mark picked up a basketball from the side and began bouncing it casually to the couch where the rest were getting settled. “Today’s especially crazy because it’s our group’s anniversary.” Jisung gave an unimpressed look. “Do you think I don’t know that?” He shrugged in a blasé, god-could-care sort of way.

“How’s your call service thing going? We know it’s was your doing. My timeline’s blowing up about it this whole time.” Jeno questioned. Jisung sat at the corner of the couch. placing his forearm on the armrest and leaning his body to it. “Funny how it’s all girls and they all talked about how they couldn’t get you guys to notice them. It always had something to do with one of you.” Jisung laughed carelessly, remembering back the calls he’d been receiving throughout today. Jisung tried his best to suppress his laughter to not sound rude. Even if Jisung found it ridiculous, he wasn’t in the place to say anything about it. His call service was meant for him to console the people who called, no matter the situation he was being told.

However, another thought that came to focus was the call that he specifically had late in the night. It was his first call. And whoever that girl was, she certainly made an impression on Jisung. How she was letting it all out, being free enough to tell someone like him about such deep feelings. It was raw and transparent. The conversation never left his mind. Jisung zinged back to attention when he heard Haechan scoff loudly. He turned to him, seeing him leaned back, shoulders and back relaxed and cool while he had his weight placed on his leg and his arms folded. He then clicked his tongue and said, “Not surprised.” nonchalantly, clearly showing that he was already used to the large amount of girls swooning over him through his voice.

“So are you guys free tonight? We could take a break and hang out.” Everyone nodded their heads followed by hums filling the room signaling that everyone agreed, except for Jisung. “Jisung, you in?” Renjun asked. Jisung took in a deep breath, glancing sideways and giving it a thought. He slowly shook his head. “Why? Are you busy?” Chenle asked quizzically. “Have an assignment.” Jisung blurted out, though he had other reasons.

The rest planned to head out together after spending time in the playroom. Jisung was left in his dorm, pacing back and forth from one end of his room to the other, eyes looking to his phone each time to turned. What was he waiting for? He wanted to ask himself, as if he didn’t already knew the answer. He was so drawn in to her. The way she spoke, the honesty in her voice. It’s as if he didn’t even need to look at her to know how she was moving and what she was doing.

Jisung scratched his head furiously and on the edge of his bed heavily, grabbing his phone and letting it sit in hand loosely. “She wouldn’t call again, would she? But I did imply that she could meet me if she wanted to. She might not even call again.” Jisung muttered to himself constantly, hopping from one possibility to another, raising his hopes up and bringing them back down. Jisung groaned loudly in frustration.

“Why am I even...” Jisung threw his phone to his bed and stood up again with a grunt, wanting to resume his assignment that was almost finished. All it took was one call to have him this tangled and have his mind wrapped around a simple phone call. Worst part is he didn’t even knew if he could ever see her. He could only depend on his chances and luck that she’d want to contact him again.

This time I decided to study in my dorm, too lazy to go down to the library. It wasn’t the best environment to study. My bed was literally mere inches away from my study table, constantly wanting to pull me into throwing myself on it and shut out each time I looked at it. It was a bad decision to have my room planned out like that, but I was too lazy to move it. I tapped the end of my pen against the table rapidly, my mind going black as I simply stared at a random spot on the wall. I wasn’t having the adrenaline to do my work today. I was simply doing it for the sake of doing it, not having a clear goal.

I turned to my phone, being a remembrance of my call with the service guy. I had thought about it the whole day, whether I should give him a call. But I was overthinking it. What if he’s busy? What if he had other people’s call to deal with? All sorts of questions popped up, but after giving it a long thought, I flipped my phone screen faced down harshly, shaking my head vigorously and tensing my hands on my scalp.

“Concentrate.” I stated out boldly to myself right smack in the face. I repeated the same word as I got ready to resume my studying. I couldn’t be thinking about a mere call. It was just a call. One time I let out my now spilled out feelings. I was empty now, so there shouldn’t be a need for another call. I could continue what I always did.

Jisung’s friends had been realising how he’s been zoning out more often than usual. And he wasn’t as outwardly as he had always been. They pampered him a lot and treated him like their own child. But there was something that made Jisung feel different around them. Jaemin nudged Jisung in the elbow, making him jolt to sit up right in shock and shooting his head to Jaemin. “Huh?” Jisung let out.

“Have you been okay lately? You seem to have something on your mind often.” Jaemin asked, his eyes scanning the room and seeing the rest of their friends minding their own businesses. Jisung blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his head. “You sure?” Jisung puffed up his cheeks and let the air out through a sigh. “You know my call service?” Jisung began, he knew Jaemin would recognise the slightest change in Jisung’s behaviour. Everyone did, that was how much they cared about him. But Jaemin was the first one to bring it up so might as well. Everyone will know eventually.

Jaemin hummed in response. “My first call. It was very late into the night when. It’s a girl. And hers, was different than the rest I’ve received. As she talked, I felt that she was hiding nothing from me. That she was letting it all out for me to hear, not caring about who I was.” Jisung whispered. “I felt her desperation, her cries of help. Though she said she’ll manage it somehow, I got the feeling that she wouldn’t be able to. That she’ll crumble the more she continued.” Jaemin nodded his head slowly, processing Jisung’s words. “And so?”

“I mentioned to her that if she ever needed a call, she could do so. Or better if we meet. But she never called. And I don’t know who she is, which is what’s been on my mind. The frustration that she made such an impact yet I haven’t found out who she is.” Jaemin puckered his lips and looked upwards thoughtfully. “Did she mention anything about herself? Her major, or anything?” Jisung recalled their conversation that was etched in his mind. Jisung frowned and shook his head.

“What time did she call?” “One or two in the morning?” Jaemin gasped in disgust. “Who the hell-”

“Law and psychology students.” Jeno suddenly came into the conversation seamlessly and casually. Jisung leaned back and raised brows. “Really?” Jisung asked. Jeno scoffed and nodded. “They have tons of shit to study. From what Jaehyun tells me, they’re always staying up super late going through papers.” Jeno imitated a gag and a shiver in objection. “I could never.” He added.

“There’s so many students in those majors. How am I going to find her?” Jeno arched a questioning brow. “Find who?” Jisung sighed and motioned a hand to Jeno while looking at Jaemin, raising his brows for a moment. Jaemin waved a hand at Jeno when Jisung dropped his hand on his lap. “I’ll tell you guys later.” With that, Jeno shrugged mindlessly and went off. Jaemin adverted his attention back to Jisung, who looked even more discouraged than before.

“My poor baby. Listen, I’m sure you made an impression just like how she did on you. If she doesn’t call again, who knows. She might try finding you instead of giving you a call. Or you can just pray and gamble your luck. If you want, I’ll help you find her. You know my connections always come in handy.” Jaemin flashed a reassuring smile that Jisung didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, though it was smaller. “I’ll figure something out.” Jisung muttered, clicking his tongue.

I didn’t want to do this at first, but it kept bugging me the whole day, as if it was something that just had to be done by occupying my mind for almost the whole day. I walked out of the lecture hall, head scanning across the campus with my eyes wide open and attentive to find him.

From what I remembered, he said he was a performing arts major. And the only person I knew in that major was the one and only Ten, who I always saw lurking around the cafés on campus while I made my way back to the dorm. Luckily, I saw him sitting on a bench outside one of the cafés, munching on something while he played his phone. I instantly ran up to him, feeling a sense of hope rising while I accidentally poked Ten in the arm too hard to get his attention, causing him to wince. He looked up and recognised me, instantly flashing a welcoming smile.

“Oh, hey!” Ten shouted, his eyes forming a thin line while he waved at me with his chocolate croissant in hand. “Can I ask something briefly and perhaps even do me a favour?” I asked, slow and nervous with uncertainty. Ten raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Mm sure.” He simply replied. I exhaled and looked him in the eye. “I’m assuming you’re having your break now. Would it be possible for you to take me to your practice room? I know it’s random but I have something I need to check.”

Ten didn’t reply for a long minute, probably wondering why such a vague request came out from someone who would most likely have her time occupied almost 24/7. After waiting in anticipation, he finally shrugged and rose from the bench with a grunt. He proceeded to stretch his back, turning side to side and sighing in satisfaction. “Alright. I can take you there now.” With that, he went forward down the hall, walking as if leaving me behind. I stared at his back for a moment before quickly moving up to meet his pace.

We didn’t talk on the way there. Luckily I didn’t have to worry about us being awkward since the walk from the cafés to the practice room was only a few minutes. I was looking around when I almost bumped into Ten due to his sudden stop of motion and turning to face a door. I peeked inside and I could already see the full wall mirror that I saw dancers usually use. I turned to Ten, who jerked his head to the door, motioning me to open and enter the room.

The moment I placed my hand on the door handle, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of nervousness in me, wondering if I would even find him since I have zero idea on how he looked like. The only evidence I had was the fact that I saw someone wearing an adidas jacket who I assumed to be the one I was looking for. But that was such an unreliable assumption that I knew I couldn’t fully trust, but still try to find a way to use it to my advantage either way.

I pushed the door open, instantly bombarded with hard stomps coming from the people dancing. I felt the floor shake tremendously from the intimidating impact that created. The music was blasting from the speaker in front of them, along with a bottle which I assumed to be marked as the center of the stage. I watched silently, feeling Ten’s presence behind. With a glance over my shoulder, I could tell he was eyeing the performance with much concentration and intensity, eyes squinting as if analysing each and every one of their movements to a T.

I brought my focus back on them. It didn’t take my eyes long for it to focus on one person. The adidas jacket guy. One guy was wearing it. He was also wearing a black cap, blonde hair poking out from the bottom. His figure was small yet attractively lean. I couldn’t see his face at all. Yet, I was so drawn to him. Not just because he could’ve been the one I was looking for, but the fact that his dance was engaging, and nothing compared to the rest.

They got to a moment where everyone exited and it was just him alone in the center of the room while others waited by the sidelines. My mouth gaped open slightly, watching him go. His movements are seemingly perfect, every part of his body moving fluidly like water yet intricate and hard hitting. It was impactful, loud. He stood out, and I could picture the whole room going dark with a single light shining on him, and only him. I could tell he was expressing himself and giving his all. I didn’t need to have background knowledge on dance to see that in him.

The dance lasted for about five minutes, and I had my eyes locked on Adidas Jacket guy the whole time, too immersed to the point where I didn’t even feel Ten poking my shoulder. “_____?” He called out, making me blink my eyes rapidly upon hearing his voice and turning my head around. “Yeah?” Ten ruffled his hair. “They’re done. You can check whatever you need to check now.” I let out a soft, “Um...” while turning my head back to the front, eyes glazing over the room and looking for Adidas Jacket. I stood there frozen, not exactly sure what I even wanted to do in the first place.

I turned around fully to face Ten, adjusting my tote bag. “Actually, I think I’m good. I’ll go now. See you around?” It was more of a greeting than a question. But either way, Ten downshifted his head and moved his body out of my way to the door. “You too. Come more often if you’d like.” Ten smiled kindly. I simply reciprocated back the smile and walked out, not saying anything about Ten’s last comment.

At the dorm, I had my arms and legs spread out while I laid on my bed, blankly staring at the plain white ceiling while I tried to connect the dots, or even just simply having everything laid and mapped out in my mind. How was I even sure that could be him? His physique seemed to be similar from what I remembered, the jacket was another clue too. But how could I confirm it? I have yet to check the time the moment I came back, and I already knew hours had gone by.

“Who even are you?” I asked to the ceiling, directing it to the mysterious call service guy who had my mind hung up in him and having my busy life off balance.

“Who are you?” Jisung questioned silently, though it was loud enough that Renjun had to peek his head over the bunk bed to look at Jisung who was below. “What are you talking about?” Renjun asked. Jisung turned his head to the side, showing Renjun his side profile and closing his eyes with a quiet sigh. “It’s nothing.” Renjun shrugged and headed back to sleep.

Jisung had his mind on her the entire time, who could she be, how he could find her, and even where to start? He knew nothing about her. And that’s the thing. He didn’t know exactly what was making him think about her so much, it was just their call in general. He had zero information on her. And if what Jeno said was true, then he was probably thinking about going through such extend with his idea to get even a glimpse of her.

That very day once he ended his dance practice which was around evening with the sun beginning to shine brightly, he went to the library. What was his plan exactly? He wanted to wait in the library till he could find her. But how would he even know? He didn’t even know why he was doing this in the first place. He was simply placing his bet on faith and praying that the hours he was about to spend in the most dreadful place ever would not go to waste.

Not knowing what to do, he ended up huddled in a corner of the library, using the bookshelves on both sides of him to lean back and rest his head. He hated being in libraries, he hated anything to do with academics, which was why he chose to pursue his passion for dance. Though there was still dance theory, it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. But being surrounded by books that offered him no information he wanted to know about had him feeling dizzy and bored to death.

He checked the time on his phone, eyes widening at how late it was. He felt his stomach squeezing, a low grumble coming from it while desperately asking for food to enter his system. He face suddenly lit up, remembering how he had leftover bread from the bread store he dropped by during his break. He instantly took it out and ate, watching the sun come down through the windows and turning the sky from blazing red to ink black, welcoming the night with the moonlight shining in.

He has yet to notice anyone that caught his eye. He started to think that he could have possibly missed his chance. What if she was here but left when Jisung had his guard down? What if she wasn’t even here to begin with? Should he just leave and not waste more time? Jisung was desperately holding onto his last string of hope, that was already fraying and could snap in a matter of seconds. Too tired of staying in one place, he decided to take a walk around the library.

Jisung went to the study area, the spot where he stood from gave him a clear view of everyone in their seats. Fair enough, there were students who looked like they were about to stay the whole night here, which made Jisung sniffled in disgust. How could anyone even put up with that much studying?

He was roaming and scanning his eyes lazily over the books tucked neatly and tightly on the shelves, taking long strides while he walked. Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand. He brought it up in front of him, seeing an unknown number displayed. Picking up the call, and he greeted, “Hey! Always at your service. What do you need?” in the most cheerful way he could put out. Though the exaggerated sigh he let out while picking up the call might’ve been heard from the other end.

“Um hey. I don’t think you remembered me but I’m the first one to call. You know uh, stressed out girl? Need a rest day girl?” Jisung widened his eyes at the realisation. It was her. “Uh...” He stammered, quickly bringing his phone down to take a screenshot of her number before placing it back on his ear. “Hey! How have you been? Glad you called again.” Jisung turned around to lean again the bookshelf, arms folded while he looked down.

“It’s been fine.” She replied. Jisung could already feel the uneasiness in her tone, shining through her words. “You aren’t.” Jisung stated outwardly, unintentionally sounding harsh. “Have you taken your rest day?” Jisung asked out of pure curiosity. This was the moment of lucky coincidence, one that he had to make full use of so he wouldn’t let her slip out of his grasp. “Not exactly? I’m at the library again. Had to complete a project.” Jisung’s eyes widened again, this time till his eye ball could’ve fallen out of his eye sockets.

Jisung quickly and hurriedly made his way to the study area, where he last stood. And there she was. He could feel the hairs behind his neck standing upright like soldiers with goosebumps being sent all over his body. She’s the only student there, the orange lamp illuminating the small area surrounding her. Jisung could only see her back unfortunately. Jisung would’ve ran up to her and surprised her. But something in him made him want to just admire her from afar. “You seem to be putting that rest day off? Have it tomorrow. It’s a Friday either way.” Jisung mentioned, eyes narrowing down on her back.

Jisung watched as she sighed and a ran a hand through her hair quickly, somewhat in distress. “Can you force me to?” She whispered, lowering her voice. Jisung blinked his eyes for a moment. “You want me to force you? I don’t want you feeling forced.” She chuckled through the phone, sending a shiver down Jisung’s spine. “I know I won’t do it on my own will. I’m just like that. Like I said before, I’m basically driving myself into insanity trying to keep up with my work. Always grinding, always on the edge. And I can never slip off once.”

I called on impulse. My hands couldn’t keep away from typing in the same number now permanent on the bottom right corner of the table. As I hear him speak on the other end, I weirdly felt safe, and comfort. A sense of calmness. “I’m anxious that if I shut myself from the world from one day, I’ll miss out on a lot, and just stress over it while I try getting everything done to be back on the same level.” I gulped, laughing weakly. “I’m stressing myself for no reason.”

Jisung walked from the back of the bookshelves to shift his angle of sight, attempting to get a better look of her instead of just her back. He managed to get a better view, but the side of her face was covered by her hair as she kept looking down on the table, which only made Jisung frown. “Did you consider about the meet up?” Jisung questioned, peeking his head upwards and standing on his toes, trying everything he can he get a glimpse of her without actually approaching.

“Why do you want to meet me? Hasn’t there been anyone else that called you service? You are required to comfort them too. Why am I so important that you would even want to meet me?” Jisung left a long pause. He never expected such a thought. He didn’t know how to reply either. He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing sideways as he tried to force something out, knowing that she would have already suspected something from the long silence he gave. “If I’m being honest, the other calls were boring. Calls that have only been made once. You’re the only person who called back.” Truthfully, he had many other answers, but he all got blocked out when he narrowed his eyes down at her back.

“So me stressing over my life is much more interesting than the rest? I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jisung let out a soft chuckle, taking note to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t get caught. “Sure. Mm if you would escape to anywhere, where would you go?” She hummed in reply, most probably thinking long and hard. “I would...” She trailed, but it was followed by another longer pause. “Actually, I read about a Japanese term before. It’s ukiyo, the floating world.”

Jisung nodded his head, taking it in. “It when someone being detached from the bothers of life.” She sighed loudly through the phone, but Jisung could hear it clearly from the bookshelves. “I wish I could experience that floating world.” Her words grew into a whisper till it became inaudible at the end. Jisung saw her tilting her head down lower to the table, eventually using her forearm as a rest for her head. “Oh I have an idea.” Jisung replied quickly. “What if I become your so-called Peter Pan? Like, I can take you to Neverland for as long as you need. And that Neverland is just for you. It can be anything you want it to be.” Jisung suggested.

She laughed through the phone, a soft laugh that made Jisung’s already wavered heart skip another beat. “I’d love that.” Suddenly, she pushed her chair back, rising up from her seat. Jisung’s heart began to race, swiftly and silently turning his body to the back of the bookshelf. She was walking to the bookshelves a few rows down where he was at. He pressed himself up against the books in anxiety. “And what if I give you the free will to make Neverland? How would you want it to be? Because I know nothing about having a break.” Jisung heard her footsteps, one foot down followed by a few seconds of silence before placing down the next. It was slow and throwing Jisung off guard, thinking about what he’d do once she began to step close.

“I have two options. I’d either fill it with the things you love, or fill it with things I love and have you explore.” Jisung slid over to the nexy bookshelf ahead in fear, now keeping his voice lower than how it initially was. “I’d rather choose the latter. What do you like doing?” Jisung stared down at the floor. “Dancing, obviously. I like to hang out with my friends. Going out to the pet store just to look at hamsters.” Jisung and her giggled softly after hearing him say the last line.

“Hamsters? That’s cute.” Jisung took awhile to process the next part. He suddenly saw a pair of feet, inches away from his. He instantly shot his head up, seeing her standing in front of him. He tilted his head down a few degrees, realising that she was a lot shorter than him and needed to level the eye contact. For some reason, Jisung’s ribcage began to clench, suffocating his lungs and not letting a single grasp of air into his system as he looked at her. She wasn’t breathing either. The pin drop silence fill the small gap of air between them.

I brought my phone down from my ear, letting my hand fall to my side and my phone loosely hand by my fingers that wrapped around it. I glanced down for a moment before looking back up to him, he was extremely tall. “Wait you’re...” I tried to recall my memory while I took a close look at him, specifically his physique and body structure. It looked exactly like the one that caught my eye back at the practice room. “Were you the one dancing?” I questioned, not sure how to phrase it.

He tilted his head to the side and slowly nodded his head. “Um I’m always dancing?” He replied back with another question. But his head slowly tilted back straight, as if something had dawned on him. “You! Were you the one that came in the practice room that other day?!” He shouted, leaned back in shock as he covered his mouth that immediately gaped open at the realisation. I blinked my eyes rapidly and nodded my head. “Adidas jacket guy. It’s you.” I almost copied his posture entirely as I remembered.

The blonde hair, the thin yet lean body. It all matched. It was him. The cap didn’t give me a clear view before. But now, his face was right in front of me. And he was attractive. He had that baby face. All features of him were stunning and fit perfectly into his small face. He even had the looks to be an idol even, especially with those dance skills. “I’m Jisung. Park Jisung.” He finally introduced himself. In all honesty, I didn’t picture him to look like this while we chatted, his voice was low, and didn’t exactly suit the kind of build he had. “_____.” He hummed in response.

“This is...” Jisung broke his eye contact with me, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck while he breathed out a chuckle. “An unexpected way to meet. How’d you even find me?” I flashed a devious smile. “You weren’t hard to notice. I could hear shuffling right behind me then I heard your voice.” I shook my head. “What were you doing here though?” Jisung stammered, struggling to even form a sentence of reply. He looked like he was hiding the shakiness under his skin. “I thought I could find you by waiting here in the library.”

I squinted my eyes at his answer. So was he trying to find me all this time while I tried to do the same? “You actually waited here for hours?!” I couldn’t help but raise my voice a notch, too shocked when he downshifted his head. Why would he go through such lengths? Did he not think about the factors? Like how I would’ve not even come here in the first place? Or that I’d walk out and he’ll miss his chance? I had all those questions wrapped around my mind, but as much as I wanted to ask, all I could let out was, “So, Peter Pan.” I stated out loud, resuming the conversation we had on the phone.

Jisung smiled. It was a friendly smile. A warm one that embraced the space around them in the coldness of the dark. It also made him look a hundred times more attractive, with his eye smile that looked as if the world got brighter, and with his teeth showing. He kind of resembled a hamster, oddly enough. “Looks like I’m your Peter Pan now.” Jisung clasped his hands behind his back. “And my first order of business is getting you out of whatever hell hole you’re suffering from. And I don’t care what work you have to do. I’m not going to make you do it.” Jisung shook his head furiously, his bright orange-blonde hair swooshing as he did so, making it clear to me that it was extremely as light and fluffy as it looked to be.

“I’ll clear up my day. I have no lessons tomorrow so I’d usually study-” Jisung brought a finger up in front of my face, articulating it from left to right which a frown. “Nope. None of that. Being serious when I say you need a break. I feel like you have mental breakdowns like the one when you first called like once every week.” Jisung said, a soft hint of whining shining through his tone. “Wait do you?”

I bore my eyes into his, face feigned expressionless. “I mean, I had two mental breakdowns so far. That’s not bad, considering how many times I force myself not to.” I folded my arms, taking a step back to place my weight on one leg as I stood nonchalantly. “Yeah. But you still aren’t living your best life.” Jisung bent forward and smiled innocently, with eyes that looked into my soul and read my heart and mind.

“Pack up. You’re not studying anymore. Sleep. And I’ll meet you tomorrow at 2. Wake up at your own time. Don’t force your body into getting out of bed. Hear me?” Jisung began walking away, and I quickly followed, though I was struggling to keep up due to him taking big steps with his long legs. “Fine.” Was all I said, as we made our way to take our stuff from our separate places. We met back at the entrance, Jisung opening the door for me as I downshifted my head in thanks and went out.

“I watched you dance. It was incredible.” I suddenly let out, thinking about what else I could say about it. “It gave me a feeling that I can never pen down in words.” Jisung ruffled his hair and shook his head, adjusting his hair that looked messy. “Really? That’s nice to hear. But I know I can do better. I’m not the best.” When we stepped out of the library, I felt the cold breeze brushing my skin, too cold till I accidentally let out a shiver. “You seemed to be the best one there. I mean, the one that stood out to me the most.” Jisung raised both his brows, as if surprised such a comment came from someone. “Well I’m glad I was able to touch your heart.”

Moments of silence breezed through us like the cold air as we walked down the pathway. I didn’t know where Jisung’s dorm was, but it certainly wouldn’t be at my building. Was he walking actually wanting to walk me back? Either way, the silence wasn’t awkward. Jisung kept humming and nodding his head to the beat playing in his head, shoulders bobbing and making small movements. All I wanted to do was watch and smile. It made my stomach twist a knot, sending butterflies fluttering along while doing so. He would occasionally make eye contact and let out a cute giggle.

“Wait where even is your dorm?” I questioned. Jisung froze for a moment before quickly bringing his focus back on me to answer. “A few blocks down yours.” He simply said, bringing his index finger up to point in front. It was only now that I realised we were already at the entrance of my dorm building. “No wonder I’ve never seen you on campus before.” I muttered, nodding my head. Jisung adjusted the straps of his bag on his shoulders. “I’m not popular. Not like my friends. But at least my major mates know me.” I chuckle and blinked. “Of course they do. You’re talented.” I sighed and looked up to the sky, which was plainly a blank canvas with stars that could only be seen if you squint hard enough.

“I wish I had something to be proud of.” I whispered under my breath. Before Jisung could even say something back, I brought my eyes down from the sky and shook my head. His mouth was already opened and ready to speak, but he didn’t. “So I’ll see you tomorrow? Is there anything I should prepare myself for?” Jisung shrugged with a soft smile. “Nothing. We’ll just do the first thing that pops in my mind. I’m the type to be impromptu.” I hummed, saying goodnight to him one last time before going into the building, not looking back. Yet I felt his eyes glued to me, which only made me self conscious till I was completely out of sight.

One thing’s for sure, I already knew something that was different about us. I didn’t even meet him for long, but I could already tell Jisung was so laid back, relaxed, moving with his day like a breeze, no worries for the world whatsoever. He liked being impromptu, while I always had my days scheduled so meticulously. He seemed to be the complete opposite of me, yet he was still able to have order in his life. Curiosity spurred in me. I was having that urge to know him more, how he was able to live like that, how Jisung, was Jisung.

Funny enough, Jisung didn’t tell me about where to meet. Which was why I chose to seat the bench right outside my dorm building. I didn’t know how long I was waiting. I did follow his advice. I woke up quite late and stayed in bed watching Netflix shows. I took my time to get ready. And I actually went down a little over 2. I had my earphones plugged in, scrolling through Twitter since I had nothing else better to do on my phone. I didn’t have any games on it, or much of any form of entertainment. I never had time for those either.

Out of the blue, I heard something that resembled a buzz of some sort right beside my right ear. I instantly turned my head to it, leaning back and almost falling off the bench as I sent my bottom to the edge, shocked at seeing a drone flying right beside me. It wasn’t just an ordinary drone. It flew closer to me, and I squinted my eyes for closer inspection. There was a camera. It made me jump off the bench and taking steps back. And with each time, the drone flew closer to my face.

“Hey calm down!” I heard for a distance. My eyes adverted to the voice, seeing a small sized Jisung standing far from me. He tiptoed and waved his hand high, the other hand holding the controller of the drone. I could only laugh nervously as he ran up to me. “Good afternoon to you.” Jisung greeted cheerfully with a bright smile. I gulped and forced a casual smile, though I was still weirded out by the drone that was now circling in front of us. “You like me drone? My friend made it actually.” Jisung giggled.

I pursed my lips. “You chose to greet me with that?” I pointed my finger out with skepticism in my tone. “I’m sure you noticed the camera.” Jisung reached out for the drone, and held it in his hands. How can his hands hold something that big with so much ease? Or maybe the drone was small and his hand made it look big. “I was thinking we could record your day. If you were to actually have fun, you’ll have it on tape so you can watch back and remember the fun when you’re going through stressing times.” While Jisung was explaining, I couldn’t help but notice how brightly he was smiling. It was like the one he flashed at the library that night, but this time it was two folds of it, making the effect of butterflies in my stomach fluttering two fold as well.

“You really thought deep...” I whispered, leaning in to examine the drone while he moved it around for me to look at it from different angles. “It’s not so deep. I thought it only made sense for us to record a day like this. It’ll be fun, trust me.” I could only chuckle and stare down at my feet for a moment before looking back to meet his eyes and asking, “So, Peter Pan, where’s our first stop?” Jisung took out his phone and scrolled through it, I took a peek and realised he was on his notes. It had a list and it was labeled “TODO LIST FOR D-DAY” I giggled softly. “You’re making such a big deal out of today. I’m shocked.”

Jisung chuckled and ran a hand through his hair after placing the drone down on the floor. “Mm I like doing things like this. You know like, doing things out of the ordinary. This is certainly one of the time.” I furrowed my eyes at him while he had his on his phone. He probably felt my eyes searing into him, making him lift his eyes up and staring cluelessly. “So I’m out of the ordinary?” I questioned, tilting my head and feigned intimidation.

“What? No, no! I meant the fact that there’s someone who I need to plan a day out for. This kind of things don’t happen everyday.” Jisung leaned back and lifted up both his hands in defence, only making me laugh loudly and shaking my head. “Calm down. I was just teasing. I’m much for weird than I look.” Jisung raised both in eyebrows and jerked his head down to my phone. I blinked my eyes rapidly at his action. “I can already tell. Who has their timetable as their wallpaper?” Jisung faked a gag, which only made me frown as I glanced at my phone. “Nothing’s wrong with that!” I retorted, huffing and walking forward. I barely took a step before Jisung pulled me back.

“Peter Pan hasn’t even tell you the location, dummy.” He flicked my forehead with his finger, making me grimace. “Oh you dare to do that?!” I gaped my mouth open and scoffed in amusement, glancing sideways before retrieving my eyes back to Jisung. “I’m getting back at you!” I growled. “Till you do something that deserves the need to do it.” My voice grew softer with each word and my shoulders bobbed up while my expression turned into an embarrassed one. Jisung laughed out loud, he seemed to be enjoying himself, leaning back and holding his stomach from all the laughter he did for a full moment.

“Till I deserve it? Why are you so uptight?! Come. I’ll let you do it.” Jisung leaned forward, face meeting my level as he closed his eyes and a child-like smile played on his lips. I stared at him for a long moment. And when he didn’t feel any impact, he opened one eye in question. “Come on.” He urged, motioning his hand to his forehead. I chuckled at this, my hand being brought up like it had a mind of its own and flicked Jisung’s forehead with much force. He grimaced, but covered his pain with a sincere laugh the second after. “There aren’t any rules. Do what you want to me, okay? See, I can be your punching bag if you need me to.”

I gave Jisung a disinterested look. “Mm sure. Enough chatting just take me wherever already.” Jisung laughed at my impatience, sliding his phone into hus back pocket and getting himself ready to fly the drone. It flew up and almost went to my face. Luckily my quick reflexes allowed me to avoid it quickly, resulting in Jisung hissing and mumbling, “Sorry.” under his breath. He began to walk forward with me followed closely behind him as he played with the drone and letting it hover around as it recorded us from above.

We were walking quite a distance. I didn’t expect it to be this far. The sound the drone kept making was already imbedded into my memory. We were walking down a street I was completely unfamiliar with and the sun shining brightly above us wasn’t helping at all, only with occasional times when the clouds covered the sun for mere moments before it became blazing hot again. “Where are we even going?” I questioned, taking a look around my surroundings. Jisung finally let the drone come down from the air. He picked it up and motioned his hand with the drone to the building right in front of us. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked up to the building.

“I thought about us enjoying the simple things in life. I didn’t want to take you to any fancy or high end places because well, I have no money for one. But it’s also because if you’re going to do this again, I’d want it to be something affordable. A place you can go to anywhere, anytime.” Jisung shrugged while he explained the reason of choosing this place which I still have yet to know its purpose since I saw no sign that gave me a single clue. “That’s deep.” I simply said. Jisung pursed his lips and nodded his head. “That was unintentionally deep.”

Jisung fiddled with the drone to turn it off and passed it to me for me to hold as he opened the door and gave me way. I downshifted my head and went inside. I looked around. It seemed to be a lobby. There was a small counter at the corner and in front was a deep hallway filled with doors left and right. What was this place? I felt Jisung’s presence behind me as he went to the counter. With a smile, the woman behind gave him a key. He went forward in front of me and tossed the key in the air for it to drop to the floor. I raised a brow at his action. I assumed he tried to expertly catch the keys again but failed to do so. I wanted to face but I kept my neutral expression. Jisung picked it up quickly and turned to flash a soft smile before proceeding to walk. I again followed behind.

While I walked down the hallway, I could hear different music coming from each door. Some rooms were silent while other were blasting music so loud yet muffled due to the door blocking out the music. There weren’t any windows on the door that I could peek into to see what was inside, which only made me more skeptical as I tried figuring out what this place was. Jisung abruptly stopped in front of one door, which was at the very end of the hallway. I almost bumped into him but stopped myself by placing a hand near his shoulder where I would’ve bump into.

Jisung slid the key into the keyhole and fiddled around for a moment for the key twisted and the door opened. Once again he made way for me to head in first. A gentleman, that was another thing about Jisung I took note of. I walked into a pit of darkness till I heard Jisung flip a switch and the lights turned on. I gaped my mouth open in awe and nodded my head slowly as I took unsure steps in. “Is this like...” I tried to form my sentence but I was mesmerised by the blank space of the wooden plank floor and the wall sized mirror that stretched from one end to the other entirely. “Your own dance studio?”

Jisung smiled softly and hummed, standing beside me while we both looked at ourselves in the mirror. “Wait. You aren’t actually telling me to...” I very slowly turned my head up to look at him, realising he already had his eyes on me before I even made eye contact. I brought my index finger up and swirled it around beside me to motion to the the dance studio. “Dance, right?” Jisung didn’t reply, only forming a sly smile for a split second before walking to the side while scrolling through his phone. Music began to play through the speakers from the top corners of the room. He placed his phone down and began moving his body to the beat while making his way back to me.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Jisung smiled brightly and giggled, proceeding to close his eyes and continue grooving to the music being played. It was upbeat and relaxing, not like the ones played at clubs. It was chill and something anyone could move to. Except, I couldn’t. With arms folded and wrapped around my chest, I stared at him with a tilted head. Probably feeling my eyes on him, he fluttered his eyes open and looked at me with an innocent look. “Try dancing!” Jisung shouted, blinking his eyelids rapidly. I only narrowed my eyes in response. Jisung groaned and suddenly brought his hands out to hold my wrist, eventually holding my hands in his.

“You said we can do what I like. And I like dancing. It relieves my stress. I’m sure it’ll have the same effect on you if you actually try.” Jisung begged. He slowly brought my hands up, moving side to side, urging me to follow my lead. I was skeptical. This was never my thing. My body was as stiff as stone when I tried following Jisung. I didn’t know how he was simply so natural and fluid. He wasn’t trying hard at all, unlike me. “Hey.” Jisung suddenly whispered, leaning forward so his face was just mere inches away from mine. My breathing hitched in my throat. “You’re trying too hard. Loosen up. Feel the music.” Jisung’s advise was soothing, whispers that went in my ears and could stay in my mind for ages as he looked into my eyes and searched for the specks of uncertainty that he so desperately want to get rid of.

I closed my eyes and relaxed my shoulders. With Jisung’s large hands still with mine, Jisung slowly and naturally pulled me closer to him. I composed myself and tried to keep my cool as much as possible, putting my mind at peace and solely focusing on the music. Jisung hummed and tried to move me again. This time, I was slowly able to let my body loose, getting the beat of the song into my head and slowly bobbing my head to it. I couldn’t help but smile as I began to move however I want, being free. “You’re doing it!” Jisung shouted happily, letting go of my hands and allowing our bodies to dance.

I wasn’t looking at the mirror this whole time. But when I did, I grimaced in disgust, leaning back and sticking out my tongue. “Jeez I look so ugly dancing.” I sighed with a frown. Jisung laughed loudly and nodded. “Indeed. But that’s the whole point. No one’s here to judge you. I can be weird with you, if that’s what you want.” Jisung clasped his hands behind him and leaned forward again, flashing his cheeky smile. I scoffed. “Please, how can a great dancer like you dance weirdly? I mean look at you. Everything you do is flawless.” I huffed out, folding my arms.

Another song began to play. This time it was a slow one. Nothing sad or emotional, it felt like a song that was meant to bring yourself back down to earth. “I wasn’t even good last time. It took a lot of effort to get to where I am today.” Jisunv explained carefully, weary so that he wouldn’t sound like he was beinf boastful. Jisung suddenly looked up to the ceiling thoughtfully and after a moment he opened his mouth like a light bulb of thought above his head switched itself on.

Jisung immediately ran to the door, flicking the switch and turning the lights off. It was dark, but some light was still able to shine through from the cracks of the door, making me see Jisung’s figure, but not the details of his face only if I looked close enough. He went back to me and said, “There. With the lights closed, you can do whatever and I won’t see it clearly.” Jisung shrugged triumphantly. I chuckled and nodded my head in agreement.

After that, multiple songs continued to play. His playlist was probably on shuffle mode but they were all songs I could dance to. I could see Jisung and I moving in the mirror. Again, not obvious, but still seen. Out of nowhere, Jisung pulled me in by grabbed my wrist lightly. He pulled me hard till my chest bumped into his. “Sorry.” He whispered, chuckling awkwardly. Jisung was clumsy, yet cute i. his own way. Another feature of his I began to take note of. It took me awhile to realise how close we were. He could probably feel my breath on his skin at this moment.

I looked up from his chest, meeting his eyes. Suddenly, my surroundings blanked. The music drowned out into nothing and the darkness of the room got even darker. And at the same time, Jisung’s face began to be the only thing that was clear to me. I did notice how attractive he was. But this situation was only making it ten times harder for me to handle to emotions that suddenly spurred inside me. My heart was beating fast and my cheat began to clench tightly, giving me no air to breath in as I stood there breathless for a long moment. Jisung didn’t move either, his eyes wandering my face as if looking at every inch.

It was at this moment that got me to think that indeed, I was stress-free. I wasn’t thinking about the pile of books I had to read and analyse. I wasn’t thinking about what was due next week and what my schedule was. All I had my focus on was Jisung and I. The freedom and lightness I was feeling. It was something I never felt for so long. It’s as if I barely knew such a feeling existed. And all it took was doing something that I wasn’t even good at. Doing it with Jisung. It would be too early to say this, but he could very well be the first person that made me feel this way in my whole college life.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Jisung beamed at me as we made our way back to the counter to return the keys. I breathed out a light chuckle and sighed in satisfaction. “Mhm. It was actually... very fun.” I puckered my lips. Jisung went to the counter and leaned forward after placing the key down for the woman to take. He whispered something to her and she nodded her head. She went to the back and Jisung turned around to meet my eyes. “Got a little present for you.” The woman came back with the same key, or perhaps a replica of it. Jisung downshifted his head in thanks and handed me the key. I took it wearily.

I glanced down at it and trailed my eyes back to Jisung. “Why would you give me the key?” I questioned. Jisung took a step in and had his eyes on the key in my hand. He brought his hand up and closed the key in my palm. “I’m giving you access to my most private space ever. That’s because I want you to feel the same way I do whenever I’m in there. Carefree. Effortless. You can go in whenever you want, whenever you need. I don’t have to be there with you all the time. You don’t even have to dance. Just let the atmosphere of the studio calm you. Basically, do whatever. I just want you to be free.”

With each word his voice got heavier with meaning and sincerity imbued, and my heart grew lighter with each breath.

Days go by, and though I didn’t meet Jisung again, he’d occasionally call me late at night to check up on me. And every time I said I was doing work, he’d let out an exaggerated groan and force me to sleep. He sounded like those mothers that keep nagging at you. And with his talkative nature, Jisung and I could go rambling for hours on the phone till one of us sleeps. It’ll mostly be me since I could already drif off to dream land the moment my body hits the bed.

Today, I was feeling trapped in my dorm room. Something in me was feeling the urge for an escape as the walls caved in with every hour passing by. My brain was beginning to slow its gears and I wasn’t able to boost my motivation back up. I glanced to my phone where it showed the time blaring onto my face. “It’s only a ten minute walk.” With a shrug, I dumped everything I wanted to get done by tonight and headed out the door, not giving a single care to look neat and going out in my sweater and sweatpants.

I went into the building, it was dark with only the moonlight from outshine shining in through the glass entrance. I made my way to the dance studio, key in my hand that I already shoved into the pockets of my sweater on my way here due to the cold of the night. I unlocked the door and entered. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. Instead I switched on the small lamplight that Jisung told me he placed there in case I needed it. I silently thank Jisung in my mind as I began to unpack my things.

I took one look around the studio. It was spacious, the plank floors leaving the space wide open just for me. Though I came here to do work, my mind was slowly trailing off to Jisung. His figure slowly appeared, picturing him in my mind as I let his shadows dance in the dark. It was his dance that caught my eye and it was his personality that was making me crave to know him more. I was mesmerised, enchanted by every move he made. Every word he spoke, every clumsy gesture. It was all those things clumped into one that was sucking me in.

I startled out of my thoughts with a quick shake of my head and got to work. Quite a long time had passed by. Jisung was right. The atmosphere of the studio, silent, peaceful, nothing to disturb my serenity. For some reason, I didn’t think twice when I grabbed my phone to call Jisung at this timing. Before I could even press on his contact number, my eyes flickered to the time. 2:30AM. For one moment I thought he’d be asleep. But with remembering about his call service, I knew he’d still be up. My hopes filled me up with I called and placed the phone on speaker phone, placing my phone back down beside me while I continued to write.

Jisung picked up in a matter of seconds. “Hey! How are you?” I smiled softly. No matter the time and place, he never failed to sound cheerful and bursting with energy. It felt as if he was being like that just for me. “Nothing. Just work.” Should not have said that. “What?! It’s two in the damn morning? How are you even- no more studying. Makes me puke every time I hear that.” Jisung feigned a gag and I laughed loudly in response to his disgusted reaction. “I’m almost done, alright? I’m actually at the music room. It’s quite nice being here.” Jisung hummed and I leaned back, placing my hands behind me. “Oh you’re there? Want me to join you?” Jisung’s voice suddenly grew excited. The sudden burst of energy shocked me. How was he able to be so energetic in the dead morning?

“You don’t have to! I was just about to go anyways.” I squinted my eyes and formed a quizzical look on my face. Why did I even say that? I wasn’t even about to leave. “I don’t have classes tomorrow so I can stay up. I know you don’t have any either.” I raised an eyebrow, my eyes going to the screen as I saw Jisung’s name still flashing at me. “What are you even suggesting?” I questioned with a confused tone. Jisung smacked his lips. “Mm to have a night out with you? We didn’t go out for so long.” Jisung cried out. I gaped my mouth open ever so slightly and tilted my head a few degrees at his suggestion.

I leaned forward to my phone, my voice lowering itself to a whisper. “You... actually want that?” I blinked my eyes rapidly, waiting for his answer. Jisung breathed in once and said, “I just said that, didn’t I?” I frowned. “But I want you to rest and-”

“Already out the door!” Jisung ended the call. I sighed. But a smile cracked on my lips at the thought of him coming here.

“What is all this mess?” Jisung complained in disgust. Face scrunched up and nose crinkled at the sight of my books and papers while he helped me to slide it back into my tote bag. He grabbed a stack and placed it on his thigh. Flipping through. I could only see cluelessness in his eyes. “Jeez. This is so not to my liking. Or understanding.” Jisung shrugged and shoved it into the bag, making it the last stack.

Jisung stood up and carried it on his shoulder, instantly crying out as he leaned over to the side where he hung the bag, the weight of it pulling him down. “How do you carry these all day?!” Jisung shouted with utmost shock. I simply shrugged and made my way for the door. “You’d be surprised at how much my shoulder hurts every week.” I said nonchalantly due to the fact it was truly something I’ve gotten used to. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing Jisung bringing himself back up and trying to get used to the weight while walking to me. I opened the door and with a kind smile, moved my body aside to give way for him to exit, which he gladly thanked for with a whisper.

“Anyways, there’s a twenty four hour ice cream shop that just opened nearby. Are you in for a treat?” Jisung questioned, looking down at me. I turned my gaze from the floor and to him, glancing sideways for a quick thought before nodding. “Sure.” I simply replied. I could only follow Jisung, once again not knowing where he wanted to take me. I was familiar with the neighbourhood around campus of course. But I��ve been staying at the campus for so long that I never got the chance to find out what was new about it. Such as a new ice cream shop I never knew existed till now.

The walk there was comfortable silence. I took this time to look at Jisung’s outfit. He was wearing his signature black adidas jacket, track pants and a black cap. It felt like it was something unique only to him. A person I could identify instantly with what he wears. I like Jisung in it. It was a lazy look but he somehow managed to pull it off, naturally good looking. My focus trailed down to what I was wearing, and I couldn’t help but think about just how bad I looked at this time of the night.

Jisung once again abruptly stopped. I was able to dodge him this time and stand beside him. He looked inside the shop while I had my eyes on the sign that said they were open. “They actually do open twenty four seven.” I muttered, instantly realising that Jisung had already entered the shop when I heard the sound of the bells above the door ringing, the door swinging open. I quickly caught up to the door, making it just in time before it closed fully and entered.

I stood beside Jisung, the two of us scanning through the menu above the counter. “Is this your first time here?” I asked. Jisung bobbed his shoulders. “It is. You?” I shook my head. “I didn’t have time to be going out and trying out food that the neighbourhood has to offer. I stick to the food on campus most of the time.” Jisung scoffed softly and turned to me. “Which is practically convenience store food. How boring of you.” My jaw dropped and I breathed out an unbelievable chuckle, punching his shoulder gently. “And how rude of you to say that.” I feigned exasperation and looked up to the menu again after the two of us laughed softly.

I was the first to walk up to the counter, Jisung quickly following behind as I felt his presence being awfully close to my back. “Can I get three scoops of chocolate chip cookie?” The woman at the cashier nodded and turned her attention from me to Jisung. “You?” She questioned. I turned my head to him as well. Jisung squinted his eyes while he looked up to the menu again. He stuttered for a moment before responding. “I’ll just get two scoops of strawberry swirl.” The woman cracked a small smile, almost invisible as she keyed in our order. She told the price and looked at the two of us, waiting for the cash. When Jisung didn’t respond, I quickly took out my wallet. I glanced at hi for a brief moment, noticing that he was looking at me and didn’t hear the cashier. But before I could even slide out my dollar note, Jisung slammed my hand down lightly and took out his money in one swift motion.

“Thanks.” I softly whispered as the two of us walked to the side t wait for our ice cream. I folded my arms and placed my weight on one leg. Jisung sighed loudly, assumingly to break the silence between us. “Three scoops? That’s a lot.” Jisung mentioned. I frowned and waved a lazy hand at him. “Calm down I’ll pay for the three scoops. I’m just craving for it.” I breathed out, now feeling slightly bad that I spent a lot of Jisung’s money since the price was quite expensive. Jisung looked down on me, quirking up a questioning brow. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying it’s a lot. You don’t need to pay me.” Jisung quickly retorted with assurance imbued into his tone.

My mouth formed an ‘O’ at the realisation and slowly nodded my head. “We can’t be eating here, right? So where are we going to go?” Jisung ruffled his hair, adjusting the strands that laid naturally and nicely down his forehead. I was still able to see his eyes despite having it covered by the layer of hair. “Our spot.” I blinked my eyes rapidly. “Our spot?” I echoed back, completely clueless. 

Jisung flashed me a disappointed expression along with a sigh. “The studio. That, or we can just eat at the park nearby. Oh and don’t expect me to protect you if we get kidnapped. I won’t be strong enough to protect you.” I laughed at the joke, Jisung chuckling along with me. “You dance with such energy and you’re telling me you can’t beat a kidnapper?” I scoffed loudly in amusement. “You’re quite something.” I added on. Jisung looked down, somewhat in a shy manner and smiled before lifting his head back up. “I really am.” 

-Just how much was I missing out on

We walked out, ice cream in hand. Jisung seemed to be texting someone with his free hand while I simply looked down on my ice cream and be the first to dig in. The bite felt like a trip down memory lane. How was it that I didn’t enjoy simple things like ice cream during college? Don’t get me wrong I do still eat ice cream, but I never experienced one that tasted authentic, way better than the ones sold in convenience stores. “You seem to be enjoying it.” Jisung suddenly let out, making me head shot up to him and then to my ice cream, which I already noticed that I took more than just one bite already. 

Jisung slid his phone into his track pants and got to eating. His jaw dropped and his mouth hung open so wide that it could reach the floor. With the ice cream nestled on the surface of his tongue, he gasped loudly and looked to me instantly. “This is so good!” Jisung squealed with much happiness and excitement, taking another bite instantly and moaning in satisfaction. The two fo us ate in silence as we walked, allowing ourselves to sink into the ice cream’s captivating flavours like a bath. 

We entered the park. It was dimly lit, with only the lamps that lined the pathways and lighting the place with an orange hue. Jisung took quick steps forward to sit on the nearest bench. I sat down beside him, a small smile forming on my lips. All that we could see were the lights and trees that had its leaves and branches swaying in the gentle breeze. Jisung had his full attention on his ice cream, ow seeming to be taking small bites to preserve the ice cream and take a longer time to finish it. 

“One question. How long have you not come to this park? Or have you never?” Jisung’s question got my mind blank. I thought about it for quite some time, till Jisung had to hum to see if he even got my attention. “The only time I’ve been here was two years ago. For helping out at an event as a job.” Jisung moved his lips to one side. “Question two. Was majoring in law what you wanted to do?” I already knew this conversation was about to get deep. And at that moment, if I’m being really honest, I’m glad Jisung’s the one I’m having this conversation with.

“Yeah. At first I thought lawyers looked cool in those Korean dramas. My only goal at that time was to do any major that I seemed to be interested in and one that could get me rich. Those were my only two requirements that satisfied me. I was always hardworking but I never knew my work could get this overloaded. I wasn’t ready for it.” I took in a deep breath to compose myself, realising how real I was getting about myself. “I only started having breakdowns at the end of last year. Never bothered to take a break due to constant anxiety on how much I could miss out on. All because I want that simple goal of doing well in college for a job that’ll give me good pay. I didn’t even think about what I’d do with the money. I never bothered to expand my goal beyond that. And I think that makes me very low, and shallow minded.” 

I slowly tited my head up, wanting the cool air to cool my face. The sky was nothing but plain ink black darkness with only the small moon shining it’s moonlight on us. I closed my eyes, not really caring if Jisung responded to anything I just said. Letting it out for him to hear was all I wanted, all that I need. I kept my breathing steady and collected, the simple calmness of the quiet surrounding putting my mind at ease. “But have you ever thought that you don’t need to keep up with whatever’s around you?” Jisung whispered. I fluttered my eyelids open and brought my eyes down to meet his. We locked eyes, and Jisung reached out in front of me to grab my now empty cup, making my breath hitched in my throat. He always made me stop breathing whenever he got close. What was he, death?

“What do you mean?” Jisung puckered his lips, seeming to be deep in thought before replying. “I get that you want to do well. But you don’t always have to go at the speed this world’s at. It’s not always in the hustle.” Jisung whispered carefully. His eyes never met mine. And with each word and every one that was going to come after, could drive it’s words deep into my heart and soul, like he was seeing right through me. “Look around you. This place, the studio. You would’ve never discovered them if you were so focused. Slow down to see the prettier things in life. Isn’t that what they always say?” HIs words were definitely meant to bring an impact. And it did. My heart sank, not in a bad way. But simply because the realisation and reality was weighting my heart down. 

“Technically, you introduced me to the studio and park.” Jisung brought his hand out, as if putting his words on it and placing it in front of me. “Exactly. You wouldn’t even get to know me if you never took time to look at your surroundings and finding my note.” I licked my bottom lip that was extremely dry. My eyes absentmindedly went down to his lips, that still looked unbelievably smooth despite the dryness of the air. “I told you, didn’t I? I can be here for you. Whatever you need. So don’t always think college is everything. I mean, look at me.” I chuckled. 

But Jisung was right. I did took time to look at him as a person. He was doing something that wasn’t just interest, but what he loved and had passion for. He’s able to do well and not have to stress over things too much and too often. Jisung was able to carry himself how he wants to and be satisfied with life when I would be satisfied with mine long years down the road. He was the physical representation of ukiyo. The floating world that didn’t bother about the worries of life, and living it his own way, no matter what could appen to him. He was a ukiyo standalone. 

“Slow down to see the prettier things the life.”

Jisung might just be that prettier thing.

Jisung and I got close, real quick. It wasn’t a surprise. I already knew I’d want to meet him more often, wanting him to be my escape from the whirlpool of life. He was always a breath of fresh air, a sight for sore eyes. He never failed to make the time I spent with him meaningful to the last second. I quickly grew to realise that I needed to meet him on a regular basis. I needed to take my mind off work, and he was the only one who could do it for me.

I was just finishing lecture, carrying the heavy pounds of books in my hand with much struggle. I was trying to juggle my book on my forearm while the other tried to find for my phone in my pocket to text Jisung, saying I wanted him to come over to accompany me. With a quiet grunt I tried to type with one hand, which to me was an extreme struggle. Just when I decided to stop walking to get myself gathered together, I looked up from my phone, suddenly seeing a group of guys walking just past me.

Murmurs and whispers from different angles could be heard from far away, I raised my brow, watching their backs. One that caught my eye was the adidas jacket. I knew instantly from his figure and bright orange natural looking hair that it was Jisung. I instantly ran up to him, shoving my phone into my bag to just I could have a free hand to tap on his shoulder. “Jisung!” I screamed happily, after giving him a tap I placed a firm grip on his shoulder to stop him. The other guys surrounding him turned around, noticing how Jisung abruptly stopped.

“Who’s she?” One of them asked, his voice sounding arrogant and cocky from the get-go. Jisung gulped and looked left and right, glancing over his shoulder. He suddenly seemed anxious. Jisung blinked his eyes rapidly, sucking in his lips while he rubbed a nervous hand at the back of his neck. “I-I don’t know.” Jisung quickly replied. He stared at me for a moment, eyes cold and would probably feel like ice if I were to maintain it any longer. Jisung shoved away the hand I had on his shoulder roughly, only making me scoff loudly. “What the heck? Jisung you good?” I was about to reach my hand to punch him lightly on the shoulder, thinking that the way he’s acting was just a joke, but with him having quick reflexes, he got a firm grip on my wrist in a matter of seconds.

“Look. I don’t know you. Why are you treating me like you’re my friend?” Jisung’s words were meant to slice. And it worked. I was in disbelief, the large wave crashing over me and wiping me out and the words rolled hard on his tongue. Jisung slammed my wrist down, my whole arm swinging backward slightly from the strong impact before it fell down my side. I looked to my hand and trailed my gaze back to Jisung. I stiffened, trying not to shiver under his gaze. What was going on with him? Another friend of his placed a hand on his shoulder and jerked his head forward. Jisung pushed me off with his cold gaze one more time and turned around sharply to walk away. I gaped, eyes widened as the other looked to each with unsure faces and disappeared along with Jisung.

I stumbled a few steps back from Jisung’s impact. The impact in his words, actions. Why was he like that? He said he didn’t know me. I took a moment to head over to a nearby bench to place my books down and have a break, but it was mostly to think over about why Jisung suddenly acted different. He never seemed like that before. He looked... cold and unapproachable. That look in his eyes when he made eye contact with me, it felt as if he never knew me at all. What was with that sudden shield?

Later that day, I tried to text Jisung. Give him a call, sending multiple texts. He wasn’t responding to any of it. He used to always be free 24/7. Why was he suddenly not online, especially after what had just happened. I wanted to know why. This was the first time he ever acted like that towards me. And it was too odd. We would never meet too often. But without him texting me at least once a day, you could say I was falling apart again when he began to not get into contact with me for a whole week after the incident.

I tried to find him again. Seeing him on campus whenever, I tried to approach him. This time I walked up to him quickly and had a firm grip on his wrist. “Jisung? What’s wrong with you the other day? You acted as if you didn’t even know me.” I said with a nervous chuckle, wanting to seem like it didn’t bother but failed tremendously. Jisung looked at me blankly, expressionless. Like nothing went through his mind with that I said. Or even looking at me. Jisung bit his lower lip, glancing sideways as if he didn’t want to give a single care about my presence.

He slid my grip off his wrist. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.” Jisung said in a monotonous manner. He glanced to his left and right quickly, eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. And in that small second of eye contact, I felt something. His eyes looked sad, like he was feeling sorry. But that look disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and Jisung was out of sight once again.

I was in bed, eyes up to the plain white ceiling that gave me the free will to think about anything. Anything and everything, but it all lead to Jisung. I simply couldn’t shake it off. The way Jisung looked at me. I felt the impact of his push so vividly. I kept replaying the scene in my mind. It was just so not Jisung. It was so off from what he’s like. It seemed like it wasn’t Jisung at all. I turned to my side, phone right beside my face. I picked it up, instantly going to my contacts and clicking on Jisung’s name.

“What’s going on with you...” I said in a soft whisper, my mind trailing off yet again as I stared at Jisung’s name on my screen, so bright and so big. Yet it suddenly felt distant. Jisung, felt distant. A long while had past, and I still contemplated on whether to give him a call. I gave up doing so a few days back. Why did I still have hope? He didn’t seem to want anything to do with me. And I knew it wasn’t because he’s busy. He didn’t want to contact me. He’s ignoring me.

I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath, slow and steady to calm my mind. I was beginning to jump to conclusions. And I really would never want to have that perception of Jisung. Never once thought of him that way, and never will. I would never. I groaned out loud, turning off my phone and placing it back down beside me harshly with the screen faced down. I curled myself up into a ball. It had only been a week. And I was already missing him. His voice, his clumsiness, his cuteness. The sudden change of his attitude, to the whole ignoring and growing distant thing. It was too much. Again I was falling, cracking at places where it got pieced together when I was with Jisung.

Unable to sit still, I got up and walked to my study table, slamming my body down and beginning to do work. I furiously began writing, doing whatever I can to suppress myself. I was growing mad, and if I had to let out my anger, I’d be doing it in the productive way. However, I was only able to keep that adrenaline up for a few minutes till I got to frustrated that I threw my pen on the wall in front of my and balled fists into my hair, screaming till my voice disappeared. I shut up eyes close, allowing the tears that had been welling up this whole time to finally fall, sending myself into a breakdown.

I cried and shouted with all my heart. I couldn’t beat it. I couldn’t do anything without Jisung. I didn’t know what to feel. Anger, rational, disappointment. Perhaps it was all those balled into one emotion I didn’t know the name of. I shook my head vigorously, running a hand through my hair and slamming both hands down on the table, wanting to swallow down my flood of emotions. I can’t be going through this. I had work to do. Jisung’s a waste of my time, and my energy. My feelings for him will not stop me from moving forward. I knew I shouldn’t have met him. He led me to this, to suffering even more on top of my large pile of other stresses I had to handle. He was once my ukiyo, but how he’s far from being one.

“I can’t fucking keep doing this!” Jisung screamed, pacing back and forth in his dorm. Luckily Renjun wasn’t here to hear his rant. He’d been stressed out about it for weeks. It’s almost been a few months. He couldn’t keep this up. He was this close to showing his anger if his friends were to ever hung out with him again. Jisung had one arm wrapped around his torso while the other rested and had his thumb grazing over his bottom lip. He was missing her. He wanted to see her. But he couldn’t. Not when his friends are around 24/7.

At the party later that night, Jisung had no mood for any of it. Not the drinking, not the games. He was at this stupid party just because his friends dragged him. Although he never said no to the offer. Jisung simply went with it to satisfy his friends. He was sick of the people around him reeking of alcohol, people bumping into him every which way, the loud music that could possibly bloa his eardrums. Just how many of these parties had he been to already? And he still couldn’t get used to this.

Jisung was standing by the drinks area, watching his friends on the couch and getting wasted. They’re finding their own way home somehow. Jisung knew they were capable, so there wasn’t any reason why he had to take care of them. He seemed to be so fixated on one spot that he didn’t even realise Jeno was standing beside him after he let out a, “You seem to be having fun.” Jisung came zinging back to reality. “Yeah.”

“I know you aren’t.” Jeno gulped down the red cup and placed it down on the table behind them. He leaned back casually, eyeing Jisung which intimidated Jisung just a little bit. “What’s been going on with you?” Jeno leaned his head forward and closer to Jisung, making sure his words could be heard over the loud music. “Nothing.” Jeno scoffed. “It can’t be nothing.”

Jisung turned his head to face Jeno, flashing him a look that read, “I really don’t care.” Jeno smacked his lips and folded his arms. “I’m the closest one to you. Even though they all treat you like you’re our own baby, I’m the one that knows you best. So spill. There’s no hiding from me.” Jisung groaned out loudly and grabbed Jeno’s wrist, pulling him to a room closed and isolated from this mess Jisung simply hated.

Jisung went in and slammed himself onto the bed, sitting on the edge while Jeno raised both his eyebrows in shock at the little man’a temper, closing the door behind him slowly as the music finally got drowned out. “So?” Jeno began, leaning against the door and placing one leg over the other. Jisung threaded his fingers through his hair, keeping his hand at the back of his head as he tilted upwards to find a way to say his feelings, as if the words were out there for him on the ceiling.

“I have this girl I like. We’ve been hanging out for a long while. But we stopped because one day I decided to be a prick and push her off when she saw me with the rest of us.” Jeno opened his mouth and clapped his hand once. “It’s that girl isn’t it?!” Jeno pointed at Jisung with surprise. Jisung wasn’t exactly sure if Jeno and Jisung were thinking of the same girl, but either way Jisung simply nodded.

“I don’t know why I did it in the first place. I guess I was embarrassed of you guys knowing her and you’ll keep bugging me about it all the time if you knew.” Jisung groaned out, the frustration expertly imbued into his tone though it took no effort to do so. Jeno narrowed his eyes on Jisung, a look that made him know that a long lecture was about to come for him. And he couldn’t escape.

As Jeno pushed his back off the door and walked forward, he said, “So what? You didn’t want us knowing you have a girl you like because you think we’ll invade your privacy? If you want to know, most of us guessed it already. You kept going out at such late hours almost all the time. Did you think Renjun wouldn’t have noticed?” Jeno tilted his head, making sure it was extremely obvious. “That’s why we were shocked when you did that to her.” Jeno added on. Jeno squinted his eyes and blinked them rapidly. “Then why don’t you just explain it to her?”

Jisung frowned, head slowly tilting down to cover his face. “Because I felt bad for doing it and thought she’d be mad at me and wouldn’t want to talk to me again.” Jisung sighed loudly for three days. “I didn’t-” Jisung inhaled deeply. “I didn’t want to face her because I didn’t want to feel the pain of having her get mad at me.” Jeno chuckled, the kind that was in disbelief. “Jisung! You don’t even know if she felt that way!” Jeno slammed a palm to his forehead. “Yes she’d be mad but you should be making the first move to apologise to her! She’s probably crying in bed wondering why you suddenly cut off all ties with her, you dummy!”

While Jeno was giving him an earful, Jisung fiddled with this thumbs, scarping at the hang nails and growing deep in thought. Jeno was right. Why didn’t he do anything to solve it? He simply backed off because he was too afraid to face her after what happened. He was caring for his own feelings more than hers. And now she’s definitely in a way worsr position than he was. “Fuck I’m dumb.” Jeno hummed in agreement, only making Jisung shoot a glare at him while letting out a ‘tsk’.

“Might be too late but talk to her. Right now she needs an explanation. No matter how long ago it was.” Jeno had his voice firm and advisory.

Jisung made his way to her dorm. He had a sinking, anxious feeling in his chest while he walked down the hallway and inched closer to her door.

I was at my table, still studying the life out of me. I knew I’d be walking out of this dorm brain drained and walking like a living corpse when I go for my lecture tomorrow. Just when I wanted to rest my head down, there was a knock on the door. I thought I misheard, but after a long moment the knocking came again. I quickly walked up to the door, swinging it open. Everything paused. My motion, my eyes. It was glued to the person in front of me, which was Jisung.

“Can I come-” “I have work to do.”

I tried to close the door, but Jisung stopped it with his foot. “Please. I owe you an explanation.” Jisung said, voice filled with softness and sincerity. I couldn’t bear to resist. I knew I never could if he came. I sucked in my lips, sighed quietly and opening the door. I walked in, sitting at my study table and turning my chair around. I watched Jisung close the door behind hIm, making his way to the bed, each step seemed to be weary and careful, watching out for himself with every move to make sure he didn’t do anything wrong.

Jisung and I locked eyes for a long time, silence circulating the air. I cocked my brow up in curiosity as to why he wasn’t saying anything. Jisung quickly noticed my change of expression and shook his head as if bringing himself back from a moment of deep thinking. “I’m sorry. For that day. I know I was rude. First I did that, then I completely ignored you.” Jisung bit his lower lip, now avoiding eye contact like he was too embarrassed to meet my eyes. “I did it because I was scared of what my friends thought of me having someone.” My quizzical expression became more prominent.

I sat there, not sure of what to think. Like I said, I never wanted to think badly of Jisung. But after hearing that, it seemed that my underlined feeling of anger became to surface itself after being forced to suppress itself for far too long. “So you did that to me then you ignored me. On top of that completely removing me out of your life like I was invisible. Then you didn’t bother to try and fix this sooner. All this because of what you’re friends would think of me? Of us?” I pointed to myself, my voice growing scarily louder with each sentence.

I smacked my lips and nodded. I didn’t need his verbal reply to know the answers to that. And it disappointed me. “I never thought I’d say this. But that was shallow. Very shallow of you.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Did you know how much I was going through when I couldn’t contact you? All those times I texted and called, you didn’t reply to any of them. And why? For your pride? While I was here balling my eyes out every night unable to do my work.”

I allowed a moment of silence to pass, though I could’ve continued without having to catch my breath. “You used to be my escape. Someone I came to when I needed to destress, be free. But now... you’re just the person that’s stopping me from my goal. Getting work done, it could be stressing yes. But if I’m unable to do work just because of my feeling for someone as low as you...” I shut my eyes closed, wanting to hold back my tears. My opened my eyes and forced them to blare at Jisung with firmness. “I don’t see why you should be in my life anymore.”

I stood up, taking slowly strides to the door. I held the doorknob, turning it and opening the door. I brought my free hand out, motioning to Jisung. “Don’t come back. I can’t bear to see you anymore without having these confusing feelings. It’s something I shouldn’t be spending my time worrying about.” I said sternly. I watched Jisung. He seemed far from stable. He seemed to be cracking at the seams, he was at the edge of tears. He didn’t bother to hide them, the tears seeming to be clouding his vision as it welled up in his eyes. He had his eyes glued to the floor the whole time. A long moment went by till he finally stood up and walked to the door.

Before Jisung left, he stood right in front of me. His eyes met mine, shivering with guilt and instant despair. It broke my heart to see him like this. But in situations like these, I had to choose. Either lose Jisung, or lose myself. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, almost inaudible. He blinked his eyes once and the tears streamed down his cheeks. I reached my hand out, slowly and shakil to place them on his shoulder. He looked down on it, simply letting it slide off when he went. He walked away, and I bit my bottom lip. That was the last moment I saw him.

Closing the door, I let my back lean against the door and slide down till I reached the floor. I thought I wouldn’t feel a single sense of sadness or regret. But at that moment, when I couldn’t even handle seeing Jisung’s back disappear as he walked down the hallway, the shell I had carefully built around my heart shattered, and no number of words of reassurance repeated to myself will piece it back together. I shook my head. If I kept my expectations low, I would stop feeling the throbbing. If I cut off all my emotions, I wouldn’t be so weak. And that was what I was determined to do.

Jisung felt every single word struck deep and low, like a bell toll that shook inside him. As the her hand fell off his shoulder, so,too, did the warmth. He began to shiver. Only cold and pain remained, sharp enough to numb everything else. All his adrenaline, gone, and with it, his sense of feeling. All his life, gone. The ground caved in, and he hit bottom.

Jisung walked away with a heavy heart. Everything he did for her. From the moment she unintentionally made that call to the last time they met, Jisung had it flashed in his mind like a movie tape. She was al the more right to be like this to him. He knew all too wel of the consequences. He had to bear this pain. It was the only right thing to do. He didn’t know how he’ll get over it. But even if he eventually does. he’ll never forget her. Not for a single second. Even if she would be shoved to the back of his mind, he’d dug up for it again. She meant so much to him. And how Jisung will be seeing her no longer.

“Jaehyun stop I swear!” I giggled loudly as Jaehyun continued to tickle my sides. He carried me away from the cashier with his arms around my waist. I laughed out loudly and beg him constantly to put me down. He finally did when I gave him a hard smack in the arm and made him wince.

“You’re laugh is cute.” Jaehyun said with a light chuckle. I rolled my eyes and folded my arms. “Yeah well you don’t have to keep tickling me for you to hear it.” I feigned exasperation, leaning forward against the counter to place my chin on the palm of my hand. “Really? Good to know but I’d still prefer to tickle you.” I shot Jaehyun a death glare and all he did was threw back a playful wink to which I responded with a ‘tsk’.

Jaehyun got close to ruffle my hair. And when he had his hand on my head, the bell above the door opened, signalling that someone entered. I swatted off Jaehyun’s hand, him laughing lowly at my defensive act as I pat down my apron. “Welcome to-” My voice stopped in its tracks. I was frozen. The moment I looked up, I instantly knew the person in front of me.

“Park Jisung.” I whispered, voice growing soft. I gulped, wanting to swallow away any feeling that might surface before I even continued. Our eyes locked. And Jisung... he was suddenly bringing in the sense of comfort through his gaze. I didn’t know how he did it. We’ve never met for almost two years. Yet here he was, suddenly showing up in front of my face, with not a single thing of him changed and giving me the exact same feeling I had back then.

“I’d like to talk. Over some black coffee?” Jisung offered, slowly pointing up to the menu, his eyes never leaving mine. I blinked my eyes rapidly and took this time to glance at Jaehyun, who seemed to he confused yet didn’t want to question or interrupt whatever was happening in front of me. “Why? You have no reason to.” I said simply with a nonchalant shrug. That was clearly a fake move.

“Just a chat. We used to be friends, didn’t we?” Jisung questioned back, pushing his shoulders back and allowing his chest to puff up ever so slightly with confidence. I didn’t know where he was going at, why he was here in the first place. Either way, I didn’t give him a reply, simply turning around to start making the coffee with Jaehyun giving me space.

I went to the table where Jisung was seated, placing the two cups of black coffee on the table. I took a seat at the opposite side. Tight silence circulated us. It made me want to choke due to how awkward it was. I was running my finger around the rim of the cup slowly. “Have you been well?” Jisung asked. “I’m doing great. Got into university and I’m working here part time.” I breathed out. “You?” I asked back. I was genuinely curious.

As much as I was able to get over Jisung, his unknown well being got me to he on edge whenever I thought of him. That could be said with my buried feelings for him as well. “Got admitted into an art school. I’m apparently capable enough to start my own dance crew.” Jisung breathed out a light chuckle and took a sip of coffee. “Look. What I’m here for is...”

Jisung closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back and have it darted to meet mine. “What I’m here for is that I want to start over.” I gave him an expressionless look, mainly because I didn’t know what emotion to show. It was all spiralled into something unrecognisable. A mix of lots of emotions. I had no reply for Jisung, which only gave him a signal to keep talking.

“Every day I’ve carried the burden of missing you. And each day it grew heavier and heavier. I knew it was the weight of my actions, their consequences. And I miss you too much. You meant so much to me, and you still do. I was trying to not break our friendship but I only made it worse. Trust me I regretted it everyday after that.” Jisung’s eyes softened and I grew weak under his gaze. It was gentle and light, it made me fall in a matter of seconds if I didn’t care to put in energy to have a guard up.

“And on top of that, it wasn’t just our friendship I missed. I missed it all. You. I didn’t get to say this, but I’ve liked you. And I always have. It was a feeling beyond the mutual one. It was something more and I came here afraid of how you’d think. I came anyway. Because I’d do anything to get to start over with you again.” I swallowed. It took me time to allow his words to sink in. I wasn’t able to form a reply right off the bat.

I did have feelings for Jisung as well. Though it wasn’t prominent at the start, it began to grew the more time we spent together, which was why it made the situation two years ago far more painful than it really was. Apparently Jisung felt that way as well.

“If I allow it, will you be my ukiyo again?” I whispered, looking down to my cup that I have yet to drink a singe drop of coffee from. Jisung leaned in closer and, his face now inches away from mine. My breath hitched in my throat. He still had this affect on me. The ability to have me frozen and stiff with his gaze and actions. It was something only he knew how to do, the only one who could do this to me. 

“Your ukiyo, your Peter Pan. Please...” Jisung leaned forward to rest his chin on top of my head, tilting his head down slowly to place a soft, loving kiss on the crown of my head. One that made me feel as if he was touching something so precious and fragile, the most important thing in the world. “Take me back.” I closed my eyes and took in one deep breath. 

“Take me back to the studio after my shift.” 

[kojinnie]

AOT Characters’ Modern Jobs Headcanon; The Vets Edition!

The jobs that The Vets would have in modern!au, their workplace antics and their back story. There might be some inaccuracies when describing the job as obviously I don’t work at these industries to know its intricacies. Most of the jobs are office jobs. Enjoyyyy!

My Masterlist .::. Pt. II: Zeke Yeager’s Modern Jobs Headcanon   

Most recent work: Dream Me Home (Before Shiganshina) | reader x erwin smith

A/N: I really need to finish a presentation deck due tonight for an early morning meeting tomorrow but of course, this comes first hahaha 

erwin!

A/N: Basically lawyer!erwin is the way to go, innit?

He's in his 40s, so he may have a settled career

He came from a white-collar, middle-class family. So he wasn’t silverspoon-fed, but his parents had enough money to put him through good school

Got a scholarship to go to one of the nation’s finest law schools

Kept it lowkey in college’s social circle, graduated with summa cum laude, developed a strong academic relation with his professor, and got recommended for an internship at top law firm at the capital city

Starting his career as a corporate lawyer, but then built his expertise as white-collar crime attorney

In his early 30s, he represented a union suing against conglomerate corporation in a big case that had national coverage, from then on he began to know his calling

Expanding his portfolio and became well-known for defending workers, consumers and civilians against corporate fraud scheme

Currently doing a lot of pro-bono cases for deprived victims of big corporate fraud. You would see him frequently gracing your local newspaper we love us some socialist king

On the side, he often writes for law journal and fills in as guest professor at local universities for summer courses

Established his own law firm with some of his partners, specializing in white collar crime and labor & employment law

He’s damn accomplished, but never really had any time for self-indulgence. Even after he becomes a household name in the country, with tens of attorneys working under him, his employees would still see him working on New Year’s Eve

He was always attentive to his employees, though. Although he has a very strict, borderline no-life work ethics, he never forces his employees to follow his habit, in fact he despises when his employees works on holidays and can be seen blaming himself for it a bit of a hypocrite but thats ok

He still takes metro to work. He prefers a very lowkey, ordinary lifestyle because he fears if he shows any knack for indulgence, he will be susceptible to gratification from potential enemies or crooked politicians

Definitely a sight to see at the workplace, for he's tall and always oozes a sense of authority in the way he speaks and carries himself generally

His emotional intelligence is top-notch, you would never meet someone who is able to be very objective and calculating, while being kind and compassionate at the same time

His fellow attorneys put a lot for respect for him, and hundreds of applicants come to his considerably small firm every week, because a lot of aspiring attorney find him inspiring to work with

He wasn’t oblivious to his shiny reputation, but he’s trying his hardest to not let the compliments get to his head. Sometimes he doesn’t give himself enough credit for it

Was approached by one of the political party’s committee to run for local senate, but turned it down

basically he’s perfect if you like a man who’s never home for christmas

Hange!

A/N: Ok ok, I really wanna see Paleontologist!Hange because it has always been my fave dream job, but I want Hange to be out and about with people so here it is

Hange is the type to be incredibly good at one thing, that she will dedicate her whole life for that pursuit, but will be awfully oblivious to a whole lot of things (not intentional of course, they just have a very limited attention span) (they wouldn’t know who kanye west is or what tiktok is)

Like Erwin, they came from a middle-class family. While Erwin’s parents might have been teachers, accountants or other common profession, Hange came from a family of academician and researchers

Hange studied Human Geography at uni, but later found passion specifically in its relation to industrialization and urban development

Hange aims to advocate for a better living condition for workforce, and nearby inhabitants of industrialized city detroit would be a beautiful city if only they let hange designed it

Hange is a professor at university, where they also led a non-profit research think-thank that also serves as pressure group for better government policy.

The university that Hange teaches in, is also the uni where Erwin teaches in summer. They’re close-knitted colleagues as they share similar passion. Erwin relies on Hange a lot for some intellectual insights to help his cases  

Hange is relentless in their cause, you may find Hange everywhere! From street protest to a hearing in the government court. They are passionate and will do anything for the cause they believe in

Hange was once hired by the government as an independent consultant for a new housing project, but left because they grew to be frustrated by the government’s bureaucracy and their outward reluctance to follow Hange's recommendation

Hange spends a lot of time overseas, consulting and advocating development in newly industrialized countries

On Hange’s birthday, her fellow researchers surprised them with a ‘pampering day’ where they took them to an optometrist because Hange had been complaining about their eyesight for a YEAR that gave them a lot of migraines, but was always either too busy or too lazy to go

Hange never really considers themselves as working, because they enjoy their job very much. Hange likes to spend months observing a community, talking to people for hours, and trying their best in understanding their problem

Out of so many great qualities that Hange has as a researcher that meets different set of people everyday, prejudice or preconceived judgment is completely absent in Hange’s demeanor and perspective

Hange doesn’t get a lot of free-time, even if they do, they’d wander around the city to do a little observation. But when the weather’s bad and they’re stuck at home with their pet lizard, they would logged into Quora to answer random internet questions

They’re an avid writer for National Geographic, and one time Hange won a pitch to make a documentary about an industrial city project they were working on

After the docu-series got broadcasted, Hange gained a small but passionate and loyal fans on the internet. You could even find a subreddit dedicated for Hange’s works

for real I want to be Hange. I want to have that kind of passion in life

levi!

A/N: I spent a lot of times thinking about Levi’s job in modern!au. Because here’s the thing, either we adopt his unfortunate childhood into its modern!au equivalent, or let’s just recreate his whole upbringing. But I think his personality stems from a specific things he experienced during childhood, so let’s not dismiss that.

Levi came from a struggling working class family. I reckon his parents might have had worked multiple jobs to sustain their living expense. Unfortunately they both passed away when Levi was very little, and left little to no inheritance

Levi’s parents were not close to their extended family, so when they died, Levi was admitted to the system and had to brace several foster families who didn’t really pay attention to him

Little Levi had come to realize that life’s all about survival and so he had been able to fend on for himself since very young age, he never asked for things

His uncle, Kenny, finally won custody over Levi when he was in elementary. Kenny made money from small-scale racketeering here and there. Levi never asked what he did for living, as long as he got food to eat and tuition paid off

Kenny was emotionally absent, but he loved spending time with the oddly quiet little child, teaching him a lot of crafts, from carpentering to how to flay pig’s skin

Levi didn’t really care about getting into college, and thought that he’d probably end up working for his uncle, so he put his bare minimum throughout school, although he was really good with numbers, especially in math, accounting and finance

One time in high school, Levi’s teacher asked him to sign up for the olympiad team, Levi turned it down because he thought that was a rich kid thing

He didn’t even apply for college, and worked odd jobs after high school. Probably working as cashiers or assistant to retail shop’s owner for couple of years, enough for him to afford a cheap studio apartment on his own

One of his bosses came to acknowledge Levi’s talent, and trusted him to handle the company’s accounting

By sheer luck, the company hit it big, and Levi found himself running the day-to-day accounting of mid-sized business with over 300 employees

He made good money already without a college degree, but with a new-found confidence Levi applied for uni, where he chose to study accounting (of course)

Although he was confident with his skills, he understood he needed to widen his horizon and network -- thus uni

Levi was one of the oldest members of his cohort in uni, but graduated with highest distinction

After graduating, with his skills and experience, it wasn’t hard for Levi to score a job at top accounting firm

There, he discovered an interest for forensic accounting, where through audits, analysis and investigation, he basically finds out if a company is doing fraud and embezzlement or not

This is where he came to know and get acquainted with Erwin and Hange (yippie they’re together again)

The firm he works for was assigned to investigate the finances of a troublesome company that had been sued by its workers for a jeopardizing working condition. Erwin was on the case, and Levi helped him with evidences for legal proceeding.

By chance, Erwin introduced Levi to Hange. At first, Levi would find Hange annoying and overtly energized, but after learning the things they have done, Levi grew to appreciate Hange’s passion (and secretly wants to have more of his positive outlook)

Levi is fucking good his job. In short amount of time, he could get a really ideal position in the office. He was almost foolproof, finding even the tiniest bit of discrepancy in his audit. He’d get assigned to the big league case/project.

Although really good at his job, he’s not a social person, especially in his office. He couldn’t understand the lavish lifestyle that finance and banking people often lead. He will only show up to office party if it is really necessary for him to show up (usually to receive some kind of informal awards for, again, being so fucking good) 

He leads a no-bullshit attitude at the office, largely because of his background. He is a self-made man, and is not easy to impress by some young executives from posh school that talk bigger than they can chew

His cold, seemingly dismissive attitude gained him a reputation of being scary, when actually he is very considerate

One of the things he enjoys doing is to actually teach, he really likes when a new kid at the office come to him with none of that pretentious, big talk, and really asks for his guidance. He would love to teach you a thing or two

He would frequently check on his mentee, just to keep up with their development

And he doesn’t take credit too. When his mentee makes a milestone, he believes it’s 100% your work

If you’re his mentee, he probably doesn’t give a crap about your personal life, so don’t expect him to make small talk about that (and don’t ask him about his personal life either). But he really cares about your skill and career development

Same with Erwin, he leads a very ordinary lifestyle. He doesn’t go out often and would rather reading detective novel with his cat on the couch

He likes to spend Sunday at Uncle Kenny’s house, because he finds himself worried about the old man very often. They became close as Levi grew

Overall, Levi is a really kind and caring person if you know how not to push his button

[stickynotesandstress]

Red Flags in Class Syllabi

Hello, here I am with another post full of advice for university and like most of my posts, it comes from personal experience. A little backstory on this: my first year of university, there was this theatre class I was in where everyone had already become friends or knew each other from high school drama festivals. We always had to do group work where we chose our own groups and I was always alone and did everything in my power to pretend like I wasn’t without the prof noticing. I was miserable and had had multiple panic attacks during or because of that class. However, I was a first year former gifted student who didn’t want to switch classes. I hit a breaking point one night when I was sobbing on the phone to my mom and she made me get up and drop the class. At that point, it was too late to register for one in its place and I am in my third year now, taking 6 courses online during a global pandemic to make up the credits so I can graduate on time. Ever since that experience, if I’ve had any major doubts about a class, I drop it without hesitation as soon as possible so I still have time to register for a new class. In fact, this semester alone, I dropped three classes and switched to new ones. Here are some red flags in course syllabi/things profs say during the first class

1. Group projects. We are in university, everyone, we are paying thousands of dollars for this and we should not be paying that much money for our grades to depend on others. Of course, and this applies to all of the red flags on the list, if the class in necessary for your degree (has happened to me a few times) sometimes you have to suck it up. Still, if you can drop the class without it messing up your degree, I would recommend it, especially right now when most people are fully online because group projects based completely online are even more hellish.

2. If a professor makes a point about how they don’t or hardly ever give As. This one is obvious. These profs like to make shit difficult for no reason and think they’re waaay more important than they really are. Most “I don’t give As” profs that I’ve had have been pretentious assholes.

3. Similarly, if a professor is bragging about how hard their class is/saying that you will likely fail. They are bragging about how bad they are at their job. They are there to teach you and if they advertise that all these people have failed their class, they aren’t trying hard enough. Also usually pretentious as fuck too.

4. If you miss more than two classes, you will fail the class. I’m not talking about profs having attendance policies, that is fine. What I’m referring to is the ones who take it to the extreme. I’ve seen syllabi where profs will fail you, despite all your other hard work, if you miss more than two classes. Like, it’s an automatic fail. It’s not worth the stress.

5. Any class where participation is worth more than 20% (and that’s pushing it). That shit is not fair to the shy students, students with social anxiety, and students who don’t like public speaking. Your work should be the basis for most of your grade, not whatever bullshit answer to class questions you come up with. I’m not a big fan of participation grades in general but to make them worth that much is not ideal (unless you’re not shy and extroverted and don’t have social anxiety, if so, I’m definitely jealous).

6. Workload. I’m not talking about amount of assignments (though if there are a whole lot, you might want to switch, you know what you can handle), I’m talking about readings every week. I dropped a class this semester because the prof said that every week we would have 60+ pages of readings a week which, according to him, wasn’t a lot. These readings for for a polisci class so it was all dense academic articles and government documents (snore) and I didn’t need the class for my degree. When you have a full class load with readings and actual assignments for all of those classes, a class assigning that many pages a week is a red flag especially when the prof doesn’t think it’s a lot. They will pile on the work.

7. Not listing all assignments in the syllabus. This is my pet peeve and I’m in two classes where we don’t know when assignments are due or what they are. This is a red flag as you need to be able to plan assignments and write dates down, especially in university. Surprise assignments and tests are the worst and set students up to fail.

8. Any time a prof/syllabus says “this class will change your life” or some variation of that. These professors are the most obnoxious people and none of the classes I’ve taken that did change my life ever told me so over and over again. 

9. Any class with busywork as homework. By busywork, I mean homework on the online part of the textbook, exercises from the textbook, stuff like that. This is high school level stuff and you don’t learn anything from it. Also because they use the online quizzes that come with the textbook, that means you have to buy a brand new textbook to get that code so there will be no money saving here. I once had to spend $200 on a LOOSE LEAF textbook (they only offered it in that format) just to use the online quizzes. The whole class was like getting in a time machine and going back to high school.

10. If your first class is full of students and your second class has significantly less, that is a warning sign that they might have picked up on something you didn’t. Take another look at that syllabus and pay close attention to the prof that class and make your decision after that. 

11. Check Rate My Professor!!! I cannot stress this enough. Some of the negative reviews are obviously people just mad they got a bad grade, but when students who got high marks are complaining, there is a problem. Take them with a grain of salt until you actually go to the first class, but make sure to read them before class so you know what to look out for. Also, in general, make sure to add your own ratings for profs while you’re there, both positive and negative because it really helps. I go to a really small school so our RMP reviews are limited so I do my best to post about each of my professors to add more. 

12. Know yourself. If you’re first year, this might be more challenging, but you know how you learn best. If all of the assessment methods in a class are things you know you struggle with (multiple choice tests, short answer tests, exams worth 60% of your grade, long papers, research papers, etc.), use your head and make the right decision for you. If you suck at multiple choice tests and force yourself to take a class where that is all you do, it will be hell. If you choose classes based on assessment method, it will help your GPA, I promise you. I get better at selecting courses every year because I learn myself and what I’m best at and I have raised my GPA (not a whole lot, but usually by a decimal point) every semester because I am constantly learning what is best for me. 

[whentherewerebicycles]

I’m reading this and am enjoying it a lot. it’s interesting to think about the areas of my life where I was given an unusually high degree of autonomy vs. those where my parents did a lot of things for me / didn’t trust me with autonomy (or were unwilling to let me suffer logical consequences). in public school I spent a lot of time basically doing independent self-designed coursework in the humanities from fourth grade onwards—obviously I had a teacher who was checking on me periodically, but between the gifted program + having a few teachers who regularly let me skip the in class work and do my own thing in a separate room, I had a huge degree of latitude over what I studied and how I studied it. and then it was like, having demonstrated that I could handle it, people just gave me even more freedom in high school, where I was allowed to do all kinds of independent study courses or design my own assignments in regular classes. apart from paying for an SAT class, my parents were also totally hands off with the college process and I m did all my own research, made my own plan, and wrote all my own stuff without any of the ‘coaching’ I think kids are pushed towards these days. and when I needed to take a year off in the middle of college they were worried about it but supportive and didn’t force me to keep going, and that year turned out to be hugely important both as necessary time to decompress & as a year that sent me in the direction of a PhD instead of some other career path. I feel like when it came to academics adults provided guidance when necessary but largely left it to me to make decisions about what I wanted/cared about, and trusted that those decisions would be thoughtful and well-researched.

but then lol the other side of my life is like... my ongoing struggles with keeping my house in any kind of order, my lack of conscientiousness and my disorganization (I slowly improve at this but it is such a struggle for me), my struggles to do things like meet deadlines or pay bills on time (queen of the late fees sigh), my inability to prioritize basic life maintenance tasks, my ability to totally ignore a slowly deteriorating environment until it’s like, Really Really Bad, etc. and I can 100% see the roots of those issues in my childhood, where my mom would write notes for me to excuse me for being late to school (thus reinforcing that there weren’t real consequences for not doing things on time), or would drive up to school to bring me homework I’d forgotten, or would let me wriggle out of commitments I’d made because I had some academics-related excuse, or would stay up late helping me finish some science project I’d procrastinated on too long, etc etc.

all of those gestures 100000% came from a place of love and a place of like, not wanting me to make mistakes that might jeopardize my Bright Future in any way. and also I think they all got folded into my family’s extremely well-established narrative for me, which is that I am the Absentminded Professor who is very booksmart but completely lacks common sense or the ability to handle small daily tasks! idk basically I think what happened was I just strongly internalized the idea that if I dilly dally long enough someone else will pick up the slack eventually, or like, if I put off paying that bill long enlightened somebody will eventually find my credit card and my login info and do it for me. I mean now I’m older and got to spend my 20s suffering the logical consequences of my actions, so I’ve slowly gotten better at some of those things. but it’s definitely something I’ve had to learn and am still having to learn in ways that are frustrating to be dealing with in my early 30s. I often have felt like I’m curiously lopsided in that regard—very ahead in some areas, and very behind or very ‘young for my age’ in other areas, especially anything to do with practical life management stuff. and I feel like this book is giving me a framework for thinking about why that is, and maybe how I can continue to work to bring myself up to speed in certain areas. also I am just learning things for parenting my own kids! though as I ‘fix’ things in my own parenting history, I can’t wait to see what other currently unforeseeable mistakes I will make as a parent that my children will one day be journaling about in their early 30s (‘my mom did X and that’s why I’m like this!!’) 😂

[nintendousimp]

Train of Thought...

Part:1 Getting Caught

Master 👉Next

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader, Miya Atsumux Reader.

Character: Gender Neutral! or I want to everyone to feel comfortable so any pronouns welcomed for this story.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Some angst and colorful language, mentions of cheating and getting caught in the action, mentions of also thinking to forgive unfaithful partner, some grammar errors 😅 ( I need to emphasize this by saying that English is not my first language and although my English is great I still have a lot of trouble so constructive criticism is welcomed 🥰)

Word Count: 2k

Released date: January 19th 2021

I feel like I need to emphasize that all of the characters in this story are aged up! I’m not comfortable with talking about sexual topics if the characters are still in high school and are underage so,this is a timeskip!😅

Before we go any further into the story, I plan to post part 2 of this! Part 2 will take me a bit longer to post due to personal matters but it will be posted!

Enjoy my first ever Haikyuu x Reader Fic!!!

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You’ve been working late into the night for the past few months so he must’ve thought that this would be your same routine from your previous nights. He's always been a careful person. He knows you have your location on. He always knows where you are but not just for your safety but to also bring her over.

He knows this is wrong. He loves you and knows he could've talked to you about maybe spending less time at work and maybe make a bit more time for him. Atsumu knows that your work is important and he's not gonna take advantage of you like that, especially when you come home from work tired, and with his volleyball schedule and his career you guys barely got to spend time with each other.

He wants to stop this but his need never stops. He knows what he has with her is just something done out of lust and that’s it. Atsumu only wants her around just to make his cock feel good and that’s it. He's already made it very clear he does not plan to leave you and to not get any crazy ideas.

He thought that tonight would be just like any other. He couldn’t have known that you were on your way home. He couldn’t have possibly remembered that today of all days was the release day of your book that you've put months of work into. Who knew that by mistake you left your phone at the office. All he knew at that moment was that your best friend's pussy takes him so well.

As you were driving your way home all you could think about is to hug your husband and yell to the world that you've finally finished your first written work! You felt such accomplishment that this book that you've put all your heart, sweat, and tears into was finally released! So many people believed in your dream but you felt you really couldn’t have done it without the love and support from your husband.

There have been many times where you felt like you haven't been given Atsumu much attention. You've been working long hours and at times late into the night to get this book out before the deadline you've been given. All those hours of hard work you felt paid off, now all that’s left to do is celebrate and who to celebrate better than your husband. After all, he's the inspiration behind your book.

You get out of your car making your way towards the entrance of your house. You notice a car that you've seen before but you can't remember where, so you just brush it off and make your way to the door. As you're unlocking the main entrance door, you don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. The house is dark and there's no one in the living area, I mean what did you expect its one in the morning. You were going about your routine trying to not wake Atsumu up when you hear some strange noises coming from your shared master.

As you're approaching the hallway that leads to your room, you've noticed the noises are starting to sound a lot more like sexual moans. Your first thought would've been that Atsumu might've fallen asleep while watching porn, and you'd believe that. But these moans sounded too real to be coming from the tv in your shared bedroom. You can see from the small gap underneath the door that the lights are still on.

You're getting ready to enter your room when you notice that the door is slightly open. If only someone were to prepare you for what you were about to see. As you enter the room you see what no woman ever wants to go through. Your husband Atsumu on top of another woman.

"I can never see myself with anyone that wasn’t my husband," you said.

Who would’ve thought that my marriage was falling apart… not me right?

Have I been so oblivious this whole time?

How long has this been going on? The question I proceeded to ask myself...

How did I not see this coming?

But now that you saw everything with your own eyes, you realized you’ve put all the pieces to a puzzle you didn’t even know you were solving.

Today was publishing day and you were gonna surprise Tsumu by coming home after the book release, you would have called but your phone may have been misplaced somewhere in your office. You didn’t have time to go back to the office, you’ve been missing Tsumu a lot. But the surprise you got when you entered your shared bedroom and watched as your husband was on top of another woman was not something you ever expected to happen.

As you stood there watching your husband fuck another woman and not just any woman but your best friend all you could think about was, Atsumu the man that promised to be with you for the rest of your life was in your bed fucking your best friend. You want to be angry, you want to run and scream at them, you want to ask why they did it. Not that any explanation would fix anything, you just couldn’t say anything. As you stood there for what felt like a lifetime. Did you lose your train of thought? Did you forget how to talk?

He finally notices that you’ve been standing there. He panics and gets off your best friend as he tries making his way towards you.  All you could think to do at that moment was to just close the door and run out of the house towards your car and make your way out of there. You started driving with no destination in mind, you just wanted to be anywhere away from this bomb. As you're driving, you end up taking the route that leads you to Akaashi’s place. You get out of the car and make your way towards his door.

It’s like you came here out of instinct.

How can you not when you guys have been working on this project for the past several months. He’s a great editor and a great friend too! He appreciates your hard work! You remember when you told him that you wanted to give writing another try and had an idea for a book he immediately offered his services as an editor. He’s always offered his help to you. Even goes out of his way to help you research some titles or genres that you could find interest in writing. He’s a great guy and you’ve grown very close to him.

Now you’re at Keijis place late in the hours of the night. You decided that you couldn’t do this by yourself so you knock on his door.

“Y/N are you alright, What are you doing out so late?” He asks.

You shake your head no. How were you gonna tell Akaashi your world was falling apart. He’s your editor, he shouldn’t need to know that your husband just cheated on you with your best friend.

“Would you like to come in? We can talk about whatever is troubling you?”

He doesn’t give you a second to answer before he grabs your hand and guides you to the living room. He has you sit on his sofa while he makes you both some tea. Some time has passed since you arrived at Akaashi’s, you’re telling him everything that happened an hour prior to being there. Akaashi is tracing small circles on your back. He tells you that this wasn’t your fault and you're not one to blame here and that

“Hey Y/N?”

“Did you say something Keiji?” Y/N says looking up from his shoulder. He can tell they’ve been crying. Akaashi hated seeing them like this. These past several months, he got to know Y/N as a very kind and goal-minded person. He saw someone who only strived to make her and other’s visions come to reality. The months Akaashi spent with Y/N were by far the best few months of his life. He would never tell Y/N that.t He hates that the book is done because now they won’t get to spend as much time together as they used to.

The months he’s been with her he got to spend a lot of time getting to know her world. He observed the way she would get when she had writer’s block. The number of times he’s watched her get frustrated at how she didn’t like the ending of a chapter for the book. He saw how countless nights she felt helpless and wanted to quit. She would fall into a negative state where she convinced herself she wasn’t a good writer. He also saw the nights where she would vent to him about Atsumu becoming distant once again. NIghts where they would drown themselves with work just so they didn’t think about crying.

He saw all of that. Nights where y/n needed Atsumu. Late nights where he was fucking his wife’s best friend.

“What’s your next move?” Akaashi asked.

“I think the best thing right now is for me to go home and get an explanation”

Your expression is giving regret all over it. How were you gonna go back home and look Atsumu in the face? What more could he explain that you don’t already know? You keep going back and forth between blaming yourself more than blaming him. You want to put this in your head as if it was your fault. But you know deep down that if Atsumu really loves you like he says he does he wouldn’t have cheated. At the end of the day, he cheated on you, not the other way around.

“I think I'm gonna call Yachi and see if she’s okay with me spending a few nights at her place just until I figure out what I’m gonna do. In the meantime, I gotta get back home.”

You sigh, you're getting ready to get up when Akaashi takes a hold of your hand

“Wait Before you go, I have a suggestion for tonight if you’d like to hear”

Akaashi doesn’t want you going alone but he also feels as if he’s overstepping his boundaries. He knows this is none of his business but why does he feel like it is?

“How about we go get some of your things and you spend the night here?”

It was a nice offer from Keiji, but you already feel like a burden. He’s been so kind as to listen to you, you just don’t wanna cause him any more trouble.  

“ I appreciate the offer Keiji but I don’t wanna wrap you up in my troubles.”

“ Y/N you’re no trouble, I just want you to know that you’re more than welcomed to stay here.” Akaashi knew you’d reject his invitation. He knows you’re not the type of person to rely on others' help, you’re a giver not a taker after all.

“Can you promise me if you don’t wanna be there with Atsumu you’ll call me and come here?” Akaashi the overthinker, always worrying about others.

“ I promise I’ll call you Keiji, if anything happens I promise to come back here.” The answer appeases him, he lets your hand go.

“Thank you Y/N Can I walk you out?” You nod and make your way towards the entrance door.

“Thank you for having me over at this time of night..” before you could finish your sentence, you were pulled into Akaashi’s arms.

“You don’t have to thank me Y/N, I’m glad you trust me enough to open up about what happened.”

You don’t know why but his words are making you feel safe. You trust Keiji, he’s not the type of guy to hurt anybody.

You thank Akaashi again as he walks you to your car “ Can I check on you tomorrow?”

You reply with a nod “ See you tomorrow Keiji.”

Both of you say your goodbyes. As you’re leaving Akaashi’s house, you can’t help but feel nervous about the conversation you were about to have with your husband. What was gonna happen with your marriage? Can this be forgiven? Questions that kept plaguing your head. Only one question stuck out more than the others…

Do I wanna divorce Atsumu?

Summary:

L/N F/N a young adult working on their first ever book with the help of editor and friend (Akaashi). Discovers that their husband has been cheating on them for the past few months that they’ve  been working nonstop. Heartbroken y/n decides to drown herself in their work. Will they be able to Forgive their cheating husband from his infidelity or will they approach the man who fell in love with them while working on their book?

© All fiction rights of the story belong to @nintendousimp​

Characters belong to the Haruichi Furudate.