#I have been thinking about this for days and I have seen no one mention it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorena · 2 days ago

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#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

#rena☆star.#geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jjk smut #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto oneshot

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joonsytip · 2 days ago

Text

Something About You || Woozi

Pairings: Woozi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Lawyer!Woozi, Event Coordinator!Reader, Selective Amnesia au, Secret Relationship au

Synopsis: When your boyfriend loses all memories of you after an accident, you go through hell of a time trying to bring back the memories. But in the process of convincing him what you both had was real, it makes you question if what you both had was ever real.

Warnings: jihoon is outright blunt and asshole, mentions accident, jihoon suffers selective amnesia, reader has astraphobia, relationship is hidden and based on rebound, one fighting scene, jihoon gets beaten by umbrella, oral (f. recieving), fingering, dirty talks, rough sex.

Word Count: 11.5k

Thanks to @cherriegyuu for beta reading this ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

The look Jihoon gives you is condescending. He believes that whatever you said just now is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

"I know it's hard to believe but it's true that I'm your girlfriend."

You repeat, biting back the tears.

The doctor takes pity on you and attempts to make his patient understand his current medical situation quoting it in most layman terms possible.

"Mr. Lee, you have been in an accident and that has caused internal bleeding in your brain. I'm not going into details but that has caused neural damage.", he continues solemnly, "Since you can't recognize your partner, we have run some tests and it indicates that you're suffering from amnesia."

Suddenly the door barges open and enters Soonyoung, Jihoon's friend and most probably the only one on his side who knows about your relationship.

Jihoon's eyes light up as he recognizes his friend and the realization dreads upon you.

"It's selective amnesia.", the doctor explains, carefully studying your expression, "Mr. Lee has forgotten all the memories you've shared."

Soonyoung stands up, his entire demeanor masked in disbelief, "How is that possible? He recognised everyone when I showed him the pictures! How can he not remember his girlfriend?"

"We can't give you an exact explanation but it's possible that before the accident happened Mr. Lee was thinking about her. "

You fiddle your fingers, tears wetting your cheeks and chin. Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is there a possibility he can remember me or am I erased from his mind forever?"

You choke a sob.

"There are cases where the patients have recovered their memories. It can take two days, two weeks, two years or even two decades. There's no certainty. In some cases", the doctor relents, "they never got their memories back. I'd suggest you revisit familiar places, re-watch your shared moments captured together. Anything to make him regain his lost memories."

It's been a hell of a ride since then.

Lee Jihoon, an enigmatic independent lawyer, who has zero nonsense tolerance has now a random woman constantly claiming to be his girlfriend of two years.

And somehow his close friend is backing up that claim. Something's absolutely fishy.

Jihoon glares at Soonyoung and completely ignores your presence right next to him.

"You have brought her into my office now?", Jihoon glowers in rage, his voice low, "Soonyoung explain yourself."

As the said man opens his mouth, you gesture him to stop.

You pull out your phone, opening the gallery.

"I have already seen them.", Jihoon says unimpressed, "I get that we have met through Soonyoung but these photos suggest nothing more than us being friends."

You show him a picture where he's hugging you from behind, his chin perched on your shoulder. You're smiling looking at the camera, he's smiling looking at you.

There's another one, set in his apartment, you are drawing something on his hand and he's kissing the top of your head.

Jihoon turns away from you in his revolving chair, "This doesn't prove shit. We could have done this as friends."

You sigh, "Do you think you are that kind of person who'd do this with a mere or even a close friend?"

That shuts him up for a moment.

"Why would I be lying to you, Jihoon?", Soonyoung asks, almost offended.

"You tell me. I'm also not sure why you are doing this.", Jihoon retaliates.

There's a beat of silence before Jihoon continues, rubbing his temples in frustration, "Look, I don't wanna be an ass about it but you don't have enough proof to back up that we were in a relationship."

"But--", you're getting cut off.

"No one knows about us, none of my friends or colleagues. You show me our pictures and I admit they look intimate but it doesn't solidify that we were dating. You showed me our text conversation and never in the span of two years did I write a single 'I love you'.", he shakes his head, "All of it looks circumstantial to me."

It hits you harder than you could imagine.

Another couple of months go by and you're still not giving up.

"He was on a call with me, Soonyoung, when the accident happened he was talking to me.", you admit sobbing. Soonyoung hands you the tissue box and patiently waits for you to continue.

"He had been acting antsy for the past few days and though I wanted to share his burden, I decided not to probe. I knew he'd eventually let me know. Before the accident, the last thing he said was he had something to tell me and he was on his way to my place."

He pats on your shoulder, "Jihoon will get back his memories of you, Y/N. Let's keep trying."

But you've freed Soonyoung from the burden of constantly backing you up, still being a great friend he shows up whenever he can.

You work as an event coordinator. You were acquainted with Soonyoung through a common friend, so when over two years ago you had been contacted by him to be the planner of his brother's wedding, you agreed instantly.

You are professional. In your line of work, you're well known for professionalism.

But it was discarded the moment you saw Jihoon among the crowd on the wedding day.

You had ditched professionalism then and only once, when you asked Soonyoung for his friend's contact details. When enquired, you spilled it all to Soonyoung honestly.

Lee Jihoon is a known name in the city, he's reputed to be the best. It goes back a year when your friend's aunt had gotten scammed by a loan shark losing her property. With no lawyer interested in defending her, it was only Jihoon who had fought for her.

You swore you hadn't seen anyone cooler. The aura he emitted, the impeccable ferociousness and the sincerity he showed when he represented his client had you down bad for him.

Since then you've developed a crush but it would pass by, you thought, as there's no way you'd be crossing paths with him ever unless you have something to deal with legally.

But seeing him again during Soonyoung's brother's wedding was a sucker punch to your gut.

Suddenly, the crush resurfaces, in fact it ten folds when Jihoon looked nothing but absolutely gorgeous throughout.

"Jihoon has a foul mouth, so don't expect anything good coming out of it.", Soonyoung warns as he sends you the contact details, "Don't cry, don't take it to heart, no matter what he says."

And Soonyoung was correct.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I got your contact from Soonyoung."

When you had called Jihoon asking him if he could free some time for you as you had something to discuss, he agreed, assuming you would be needing some legal advice.

"Go on a date with me.", you say, "Please?"

The incredulous look on his face was remarkable but you had mustered all the courage within the world before sitting in front of him and discarded all the shame along with it.

"I'd be courteous since you're Soonyoung's friend but don't dare to try this act again.", Jihoon gets up, controlling himself from berating you as he walks past.

"3 dates.", you grab his wrist and he looks back at you, "That's all I want. And if you reject me after that, I won't be a bother."

Yanking his hand from your grip, he glares, "And why did you assume that I'd want to invest my time on you? You must be knowing that I'm quite busy."

"That surely makes you bitchless.", you snark back under your breath but Jihoon catches it.

He scoffs in a mix of disbelief and anger, "You--"

Clamping your hand on his mouth, you apologize quickly, "Sorry about that. And to answer your question", you grin, "Why don't you find it out yourself by going on a date with me? Tonight works for you?"

"You, for sure have a few loose screws.", Jihoon finally says, removing your hand, "Look I'm not interested and I'm busy, I work till late every night."

So Jihoon is rendered speechless when he sees you knocking on his office door late at night, to be specific at 2 AM.

"Hey, brought delicious wedding food and beer for us.", you enter and set the bag on the chair as the table was occupied, "That was one extravaganza wedding I had to arrange."

"And who said that you could be here?", Jihoon quips back, initially agitated but as the aroma of food hits his nose, reminding how he had skipped meals again and now his stomach could growl anytime, "This is rude and unethical."

"I know but I've decided to go against all ethics to woo you, Mr. Lee.", you throw him a wink which has Jihoon rolling eyes at you.

The first date was spent by eating food, chugging beer and your one sided talks.

The second one comes some days later as Jihoon agrees upon it just to make it crystal clear that he's really not interested and you should stop pestering him. He goes blunt, his words piercing you, intentionally.

Though you insist, he is adamant. So you promise to not bother him anymore and make up your mind to move on.

Surprise comes to you a month later when Jihoon asks to meet you through a text. Somehow that night ends with you tangled in his sheets and the next morning he finally agrees to date you.

"Let's keep it private for now.", Jihoon tells and before you could ask the reason, he continues, "I wanna be sure, if it works out fine, let's tell everybody."

You find it a bit skeptical but it's not impractical so you agree.

"But Soonyoung gets to know.", you declare, leaving no room for negotiations, "And my family and close friends would be knowing too."

Jihoon is your boyfriend now but something about the way let's himself around you makes you worry.

You don't expect him to act lovesick around you but he's so conserved. He barely texts you, only shows up when insisted and rarely initiates anything. There are no terms of endearment from him, no special acts.

Eight months into the relationship and you decide it's enough. You're done with his half ass slash zero commitments. So you start to act like him, zero calls, no texts and updates. You realise that you had gotten too good at the game when Jihoon knocks at your door one night.

Jihoon notices the lack of communication on your part and he doesn't let it bother him thinking you must have been busy but when it goes on for nearly a month, it strikes him that something's definitely wrong so that's how he finds himself knocking on your door.

And that night changes the dynamics between you two.

Jihoon has been getting frequent dreams nowadays. He sees you in all of them. In one, he's playing chess with you, in another you're perched on his lap humming soothing melodies to get him to nap. In some he sees your bodies tangled in the sheets.

He wakes up, his body hot, mind foggy. It's reoccurring, even pestering. He concludes that the reason behind these dreams is all the nonsense you've been feeding him daily, it's because he sees you everyday. He decides to put a stop to it.

"Something's bothering you?", you ask upon entering his cabin, "need help?"

Jihoon perks up, "And what can you help me with?"

"You might have forgotten, but we used to brainstorm a lot. You'd never go into the exact details of the case to respect privacy and we'd create hypothetical scenarios and try to come up with possible nooks and crannies."

He scoffs, "I would never take opinions from anyone. It's not my way of working, I work solely upon my hunch and instincts."

You've had a long day and aren't in a mood for banter. All you want is a warm bath and tight sleep.

So not pushing it further, you set the bags on the table and say, "I bought you food from your favourite outlet. Eat it up while it's hot and call me if you need me."

"Don't expect me to call you.", Jihoon blurts out, "When are you gonna stop doing this?"

You give him a sharp look, "Stop doing what?"

"Trying to forcefully insert yourself in my life."

You scoff, "Maybe when you stop being an asshole and try to put some effort into gaining back your memories?"

Jihoon glares at you. You glare back at him, no way you're taking shit from him today.

When his jaw ticks and eyes turn darker, you think of backing down and leaving because you know it's the look he gives when he's about to say something absolutely brutal.

"Maybe you should get a hint by now.", he says coldly, "Isn't it obvious, the reason why I remember everyone but you?"

"Jihoon, don't.", you say as soon as he opens his mouth to speak again.

"You weren't someone important in my life, Y/N. You're so insignificant that I don't even remember you."

Your throat closes up. A tear falls down your cheek and before he could continue his verbal assault, you run out of his cabin.

While doing so you bump into someone.

"I'm sorry.", you say, wiping your tears before looking up.

The woman in front of you, echoes your words and leaves. Your gaze follows her and you see her entering Jihoon's office. And rooted to the ground, through the glass window you watch an entirely different Jihoon. The frown on his face is quickly replaced by a shy smile, his body language seemingly changing to gentleness. The way he crosses the chairs to pull one out for the woman to sit, the eye contact that definitely holds a meaning.

For the first time, your head and heart come up with the same conclusion.

Later that night, Jihoon is somewhat shocked to receive a call from you.

"Who's she, Ji?", you ask from the other side, "Why were you looking at her like that?"

He straight up knows whom you are talking about and he right away knows that you're drunk.

"Where are you? Are you alone?", he asks you, already looking for his car keys.

He hears something incoherent and presses the phone tighter against his ear.

"Tell me Ji, why were you looking at her like that?", you ask again.

He halts, "Like what?"

You hum and he hears a loud thud. There's a moment of silence and Jihoon is rooted, holding his breath.

Moments later, you speak again, "Like you used to look at me. Like you like her."

"Where are you, Y/N? Can you send me your location?", he tries to coax you, "I'll come right away, we'll talk. Please tell me where you are."

Another pause and just as he's about to speak again, he hears your sobs. His heart tightens in his chest.

"D-Did I already lose you, Ji?", comes your choked voice, "Did you give up on us? Why can't you like me again?"

There is no answer to your questions.

"I love you.", you say, "I love you so much that it hurts. What do I do now? I-I think I love you way too much, much more than I thought. And I regret not telling you sooner."

Jihoon freezes, he's tongue tied, his knees almost giving up.

"And if this is the end of us, then--", the line disconnects. You've accidentally hung up.

He calls you back immediately but you don't pick up. Repeated calls, when they remain not received, he sends you a string of texts.

Already inside his car, he's about to drive away in search of you, aimlessly, when he receives a text from you.

'I'm at home.'

He let out a breath of relief, his mind pounding, his heart thumping because of your words from before.

It's been over a month since Jihoon has seen or heard from you. For a week or two it was nice, not having you breathing on his neck felt refreshing. By the end of the third week he's worrying about you, his mind is relentlessly fogged with your thoughts. Mid of fourth week and he's contemplating whether to send you a text or ask Soonyoung to do it.

It isn't relaxing anymore, it's stressful. It bothers him to all extent. He feels guilty about going overboard with his choice of words that night, he never meant to make you cry. He can't forget your drunk confessions either.

You are on a call with your mother who's nagging you to consider extending your stay when you go home for Christmas along with the equal urging of your sister and father. A lot of negotiations and you're finally agreeing to them.

"How's Jihoon? Any luck with the memories?", your sister, Eunha asks.

"Let's not talk about him.", you say after a beat, "I think, my relationship with Jihoon--", you halt, not being able to continue further, before the cracking of your voice gives it all away.

Eunha knows you better than anyone and sensing your tone, she's quick to assure you, "I've always admired your straight headedness. Whatever it is, I know you'll overcome it. And all of us are always there for you."

The doorbell rings and you frown, "Thanks Eun. I'll call you later, bye."

Checking the time and opening the door causes your frown to deepen.

Jihoon sits on the couch, an awkward tension lingering in the atmosphere. And somehow it pains you to look at him, you're avoiding eye contact, looking everywhere but him, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

A photo on the centre table catches Jihoon's attention and he picks it up, his curious eyes scrutinizing the faces. It's the two of you, an amusement park in the backdrop, grinning ear to ear, pressed cheek against cheek, radiating love through the photo itself.

You quickly snatch the frame out of his grip, setting it down on the same centre table.

"I hate amusement parks", Jihoon mutters more to himself but loud enough for your ears to pick up, "Because they're so crowded and everyone's screaming.", he looks up at you, "I went there with you?"

You just give a simple nod, no explanation, no backstory.

I love going to amusement parks. And you don't hate them anymore.

"Why are you here?", you ask him finally.

"I'm sorry.", he blurts out, "I'm really sorry for that night."

Your brows furrow for a moment before the neutral expression returns, "You didn't have to come here to apologise, a call would have sufficed."

For the record, you just know you had called him as an aftermath of that night but you don't remember, not even a bit of things you had said and you don't plan on bringing that up either.

Jihoon notices your defensiveness and to test it he stands up to walk towards you but you're immediately backing up.

"I'm feeling under the weather so if you're done, could you leave?", you speak still avoiding his gaze, "And I know you don't want me anywhere near you, rest assured I won't be a bother."

"What do you mean?", he asks closing in, "Are you still upset at me, even after I apologized?"

You keep stepping back, "I'm not upset. I'm just not feeling well, please leave."

I think you already replaced me, Ji.

Your back hits the wall and reaching you with long strides, Jihoon is caging you between the wall and his arms.

He hovers over you, "For the past months, you've been begging for my attention, trying everything to establish our relationship, so what happened, what's with this change in demeanour?"

He leans in, your faces merely an inch apart.

"Isn't this what you wanted?", your somber gaze meets his fiery ones.

He's not sure what he wants anymore.

"I have been having dreams about you, about us.", he admits, stepping away, "And I don't think they're just infringements of my imagination."

"What did you see?", your voice comes out in a whisper.

He then proceeds to tell you about the dreams and not so surprisingly you have stories and even photos for some cases to collate with his description of dreams.

"So did we record it as well?", Jihoon asks amused as you dab your hot pink cheeks, "I wanna see it though--"

You're slapping a hand on his mouth as he blatantly teases and asks you about the wet dreams he has been seeing which wakes him up with a tent in his pants.

"Let's brainstorm.", Jihoon is setting his briefcase on the table suddenly, taking out some flaps.

You eye him in suspicion, "Did you hit your head again, you're acting strange. You're acting like my Jihoonie."

The corners of his lips twitch, trying to suppress a smile, "Maybe your Jihoonie wants to make a comeback."

"I'll be waiting with my arms wide open, I miss my boyfriend.", you admit, your tone emitting sadness, your gaze meets his and you're smiling, "Thanks Jihoon."

Maybe that night at his workplace, you read it all wrong. Maybe your mind was too tired, your heart was too hurt so they made a fuss over nothing because you know your Jihoon would never do something to hurt you, even when he can't remember you. Even though his head can't recognise you, there's a hope that his heart would still beat for you.

He grins wider, "Don't get me wrong, I just came here to test your problem solving abilities."

"You should be thanking the heavens that I didn't choose law as my career, you'd have been jobless otherwise.", you retort smugly.

Maybe running your mouth isn't the best option, especially when with Jihoon because now he's running his fourth hypothetical case with you, pinching your arm whenever your drowsy eyes are shutting close.

"Another wedding?", you hum in delight, "Ah, god bless you."

Joshua laughs, "Is it such good news to you that another of my friends is getting married?"

"Isn't it obvious? It keeps the business running.", you muse, eating the brownies he has baked for you, "This is the 4th one right? Why are all your friends getting married this year?"

Joshua ponders, "Beats me as well. How are the brownies, sweetheart? I tried a new recipe today."

"And it's my new favourite.", you say, making him grab a bite of his own baking, "Makes me wanna kiss your hands."

He unabashedly holds his hands to your face only to get a swat.

"That's not what you said you'd do, sweetheart.", he feigns offense, "Shouldn't you start commissioning me by now? I think I bring in a fair share of customers."

He's absolutely right. Joshua is people's people. Everyone knows him. You knew Soonyoung through Joshua, in fact most people know others via him.

The common link, the mutual friend that everyone talks about is actually Joshua Hong. He's the gossip monger, nothing gets past him. Not even the fact that you had gotten into a relationship.

You were an expert in keeping personal matters under the sleeves and as asked by Jihoon, only Soonyoung was made known. But two weeks under his observation and he's declaring that there's no point in hiding, that he can tell by your body language that you're dating.

You didn't deny, you knew Joshua is perceptive. Though you felt bad for hiding who you're dating, he waved it off with all smiles stating he'll get to know when the time is right.

"Correct, I should start commissioning you but for baking me the best confectioneries.", you chirp happily, "The lemon drizzle chocolate cake you made at the previous wedding, I can't stress how good it was. Only you could make chocolate and lime flavour work like magic."

"You look happy, sweetheart.", Joshua comments casually, "How's things going with Mr. Boyfriend?"

"It's complicated, Josh.", your mood sets down.

Joshua takes a look at your face and decides to drop the topic.

"What do you think of me, Josh?", you ask with a serious tone, throwing him off bound.

"You want the truth, sweetheart?", he asks softly, his hand already atop yours, rubbing your skin soothingly.

Just one please from you and Joshua is baring his heart out, "I don't know who made you doubt yourself but to me, you're my rock. I have tons of friends but you're among the ones I'd always seek solace. When I had no one, you were there to support me."

He smiles embarrassed as you catch his teary eyes. Joshua is always cheery but there are rare moments like this where you get to see his vulnerable side.

"I was almost out of business when you took me under your wing until I had accumulated enough capital and reputation to establish the standalone business.", he fondly pats your head, "You barely knew me then, just know that you saved my life back then. So I'd never accept anything apart from compliments from anyone about you."

"Joshua Hong, it's too early, don't make me cry.", you say wiping your tears.

His laugh reverberates pleasantly, "You look pretty even when crying, sweetheart."

"You mean ugly."

"I said what I meant, sweetheart."

You could never win against Joshua.

"You're going to Soonyoung's housewarming party right?"

"Only if you're going.", Joshua sighs, leaning back, stretching his arms, "Socializing can be pretty tiring, sweetheart, so I need you as my charge-up."

Soonyoung thinks, no he's sure that Jihoon has been acting differently.

"Weeks ago", Soonyoung pulls up his phone, "I even have proof, you said you weren't coming to my housewarming party. I was hurt, I still am."

Jihoon grimaces.

"You said that you won't go if Y/N's going.", he almost shoves the phone on the lawyer's face, "And now you're here just to ask if she's coming. Why does it matter so much?"

Jihoon gets a little frightened when he sees Soonyoung holding up his hand. He's gonna count points now and after each point, Jihoon knows he's gonna get earfuls.

"First of all, I'm your friend so why does it matter who's coming or not. You should be there ", one finger down.

"Second, unlike you, Y/N is a decent person who doesn't abandon her friends.--"

"When did I abandon you--"

Without batting an eye, Soonyoung continues, "Third, I don't care if you're coming or not."

Jihoon cowers when Soonyoung puts his hand down smiling, almost eerie, "Now, tell me what changed? Are you getting your memories back?"

"Well maybe? First I've been having dreams, now they've turned into flashes. It has been difficult, this whole thing since the accident. But I think I'll get those missing pieces of my memories back soon.", Jihoon smiled wistfully.

"You better be on your knees and apologize to your girlfriend when you do so.", Soonyoung says with an undertone but smiles nonetheless, "I deserve an apology as well."

"Did you just curse?", your brows crease.

When there's nothing but silence that follows, your eyes squint as you speak again, "So you're not gonna answer me?"

Jihoon frowns, "Who's Joshua and why are you taking him with you as your plus one?"

"We both didn't have a plus one so we decided to go together, that's it.", you explain, "And I know you said you wouldn't go to the party if I go so what's the problem here?"

"Can you stop please?", he pouts and you fight back the strong urge to kiss it away, "It was before, now I want to go but with you."

You grin, "Sorry, but I can't ditch Josh. There's time, find someone."

He nods, accepting defeat. He follows you from the kitchen to the dinning as you set the plates on the table.

You both have fallen into a routine, Jihoon has been acting awfully comfortable around you lately. He drops by your place anytime, he knows your passcode. When you call to remind him about having meals he makes excuses to see you.

"The lawsuit against the insurance company that I've been working on", he says sitting across from you, "The one we discussed last month, I am planning to try the method you suggested. You might be right, I think these people are collectively trying to extort money in the name of insurance from the company, all of them have huge debts piled up and they're in a closely knitted group."

"Jihoon, let me warn you, it might be the case that your client is actually the perpetrator. What would you do then? You're supposed to fight for your client, not against them. You'll lose trust, people won't come to you."

"Then let it be. Maybe I'd get less cases, but people who are wrongfully accused would have their trust in me. I won't side with those who are on the wrong side of the law."

You give him a proud smile as you both eat in a soothing silence before he leaves your apartment as it drizzles outside.

By the time Jihoon reaches his apartment, the dizzles have turned into a heavy downpour with lightning jagging across the sky. And by the time he's out of the shower he can hear the thunderstorms soaring.

His head hurts with an intensity causing his knees to buckle up. There's a flash again and despite the ache, he's searching for his car keys.

Yet another one of his numerous calls remains unreceived. With every second that ticks away, Jihoon feels his heart constricting. However, his eyes glints hope when he sees the glimpse of the familiar building, nearing it.

His nervousness causes him to mispunch the code a fair number of times. Entering, he comes across an expected sight. The surroundings are pitch black, just becoming visible when the lightning strikes.

"Y/N?", he shouts. No response. He puts on the flashlight of his cell phone and starts searching for you cautiously. He takes a deep breath, all he has to do is search across a hall, two rooms and a kitchen.

"Y/N?", he shouts again. Still no response. Just as he's about to stride towards the bedroom, from the corner of his eyes he spots a silhouette somewhere in the kitchen. He turns, focusing the flashlight, to see your weak form. You are supporting yourself by the counter with your fingers jabbed into your ears. His gaze softens.

He lunges towards you, engulfing your shaking form into a tight hug, "Shh...I'm here."

"Ji...", you voice out weakly, wrapping your hands around his waist instantly. The call of this nickname stirs something within him. He rubs your back, peppering soft kisses on your forehead. Another lightning strikes and you're shivering in his embrace.

The raindrops hitting the window panes erupts the stillness of the night. Only with the rain stopping, you find yourself calming down. And you find yourself in Jihoon's embrace.

"How did you-- Why did you come back?", you ask, pulling away but Jihoon doesn't let go of you.

He wipes your tears and observes you carefully, "Are you okay now?"

You nod, "Thanks, Jihoon."

"I felt like I needed to be with you. I don't know how but I just knew that you've astraphobia so I drove back as fast as I could."

You feel a sense of relief, "You already knew, you're just starting to get your memories back, Jihoon."

He stares at you, his eyes darting to your lips often.

You stare back at him, his eyes asking for your permission.

There's an unspoken consent and instantly, his lips are on your. Pressed against the counter, he grabs the back of your neck deepening the kiss. His thumb runs against the column of your throat, making your head go dizzy.

You gasp into the kiss when he lifts and sets you up on the counter.

"Ji..", you say breathlessly, "We probably shouldn't--"

His lips work now, trailing hot kisses down your neck and collarbone, "I want to love my girlfriend, is it so wrong?"

"Whom you don't even remember--", another kiss to shut you up. The way you moan is enough for Jihoon to almost make a mess in his pants.

"Which room?", his voice is thick with desire as he carries you now, not breaking the intense eye contact. "Tell me before I fuck you against the wall.”

One hand slides between your legs while the other supports your weight, as he lays you on the bed his fingers exploring through the fabric of your dress. “Tell me to stop.", he whispers against your neck, nipping slightly.

"Don't stop, Ji", you whine and that breaks him completely.

His breath catches in his throat at your intense gaze and he leans down to whisper in your ear his hands trail down your sides, making you shiver. His hands push your panties down, sliding the fingers across your wet slit, “Was it lonely here without me?”

“Please Ji, need you.”

With a gentle yet firm grip, he holds your wrists above your head. “You're so adorable when you're needy like this…”, he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses downwards, “Such a perfect, impatient thing.”

He hooks his fingers in your thighs, pulling your legs around his waist as he settles between your thighs. He looks down at you with loving eyes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper "My love, you're killing me with these eyes.”

Your body moves on its own, trying to find friction, soft gasps coming out each time you feel his hard clothed length.

A deep chuckle escapes him, "So responsive. Is this what you wanted? To make me go wild?" He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss while one hand traces your curves, “Such a good girl.”, he whispers against your lips.

He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes, his own burning with desire, "I'm going to take you hard and fast, tonight.”

A wolfish grin spreads across his face at your eager response. In one swift motion, he tears off your clothes, leaving you bare before him. His eyes darkens with lust as he takes in the sight of you. "Damn, you're gorgeous." he growls, quickly shedding his own clothes.

He settles back between your thighs, his hardness pressing urgently against you. With a sharp inhale, he slides into your welcoming heat, filling you completely. "Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, setting a relentless pace. His hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust.

He leans down to roughly claim your lips, swallowing your moans as he continues his frenzied pace. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he holds you in place. "Take it, baby. Take every inch of my cock.”

“Fuck, missed you so much Ji, missed being ruined by you.”, you say in between of sobs and gasps, clenching around him.

His movements become more urgent, more possessive. He knows you're close, and it only spurs him on, "Squeeze me just like that. Milk my cock with your perfect little pussy.”

With a feral growl, he buries himself deeper inside you, grinding against your g-spot as he unleashes a torrent of thrusts. Your screams of pleasure fill the room as you reach your peak, your inner walls convulsing around his pistoning cock.

As you come down from your high, he continues to pound into you mercilessly, seeking his own release. His face contorts with pleasure as he chases his climax, his body glistening with sweat.

With one final, brutal thrust, he explodes inside you, his hot seed filling your womb as he roars his release. He collapses on top of you, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck... Are you okay?”

He nuzzles his face against your neck, his body still trembling as he asks softly, "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

His large hands gently roam your body, checking for any bruises or marks from his rough handling. "Answer me, please?”

A sigh of relief escapes him as he feels your gentle nod against his cheek. "Good", he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. He gently nips at your lower lip, "Though I do need to lotion those lovely handprints on your hips... they're quite noticeable.”

“If I let you, it'll lead to another round.”, you say, still breathless and smiling.

“I wouldn't mind. Would you?”, he waggles his eyebrows comically, trying to elicit another giggle from you and maybe get inside you again.

Seeing the crowd, you realize that Soonyoung, if not as much as Joshua, is quite popular.

There's a very limited amount of people you can recognise and the majority you don't. You stick close to Joshua and leave his side when the flock of people keep coming and greeting him.

"There you are.", Soonyoung smiles as you hand him a gift, "How's things going?"

You understand the insinuation, giving a genuine wide grin, "A lot better, you must be knowing, he's getting his memories back bit by bit."

He pats on your shoulder, "Soon, he'll be remembering it all."

Though it's crowded but there's a touch of coziness, you like the atmosphere. Taking permission from Soonyoung, you make a quick tour of his new house. It's impressive, it's warm given the purpose, he bought this house to settle in once he gets married. His parents, including him, have been looking for a partner for him.

You conquer a table at the corner, sitting quietly and sipping on the drink that the host himself has given you.

"There you are, sweetheart.", Joshua settles beside you, taking a sip of what you were drinking.

Joshua is extremely fun and must have a person to be around, specially at the parties. He would point at random people and drop the juiciest gossip about them. What makes it more interesting is that Joshua's memory is photographic and storytelling is top notch.

You'd ask him about something that occurred four years ago he'd be spilling it all out unabashedly, doesn't even need a brush up.

'Just got here, Soonyoung told me you're in the lawn, I'll come and find you.'

A smile creeps up on your face as you read the text from Jihoon, keeping your phone aside.

Joshua demands your attention once again as he points at a woman, wearing an unmistakable neon coloured jacket.

"That's Arong", he says, "Runs her own boutique. She's a Richie rich."

You squint your eyes to figure her out and surprisingly she's someone you know. She's the same woman you had seen visiting Jihoon's office.

With your interest picked, you ask, "How do you know her?"

"We're good friends, went to the same university.", Joshua eyes glint as if he remembers something amusing, excitedly turning his head to look at you, "She's quite a character you know, she used to hangout with a guy discreetly. I think they had the same group and wanted to keep it low. She's not the kind to commit to a relationship."

You listen quietly.

His eyes turn big, emitting specks of energy as he continues, "Here's the interesting part. She knew that the guy liked her, even after that, she indulged him, went on dates, hooked up with him, all of this went on casually. But when the guy finally asks her out, she brushes him off."

Joshua laughs, "Can you believe it? She doesn't even reject him, she just brushes him off. Imagine the humiliation the guy faced.", he quotes, "By the way, it's not her first drill. From what I heard, all her words not mine, that the guy was really invested in her and wasn't willing to give up, must be a romantic kind. It's kinda blurred out on what happened but she did kinda bruise his ego."

There's something unsettling about this whole narrative. You don't know why but your chest caves in.

"So some days later, he comes back only to tell her that he's dating. Such a foul move.", he sighs, "Amidst all of this, I feel bad for the girl he is dating. I mean she's basically a rebound and probably doesn't even know. It was so wrong, he shouldn't have played it like that. How can he play with someone's feelings when he has practically gone through that himself?"

"When did this happen, Josh?", you ask in a quiet voice, "Do you know his name?"

Joshua ponders for a moment, of course he remembers, "This happened almost three years ago. If I had to be specific, hmm, I think it's around when you start dating as well.", he misses the way face pales, "I don't know his name but I have seen him once or twice while I was face timing Arong. Not sure if he's invited to this party."

'Found ya.'

Your phone buzzes with Jihoon's text and you look ahead to see him walking towards you.

"That's him!", Joshua points out at Jihoon, "He's the guy we just talked about! Oh my god, why is he coming towards us?", he turns his head again to look at you, "Do you know him?"

It all makes sense now. Jihoon's agreement to date you, to him emphasising on keeping it hidden, to his non commitmental attitude. You've been played. You should have known.

Jihoon is in front of you now and all you tell Joshua before walking out is, "Stop Jihoon from following me."

The party was on Sunday and it's Friday when you decide that you won't be taking any more work, won't work except for the scheduled ones, to give yourself a long break. It feels rewarding after spending effort tirelessly throughout the year.

You're exhausted physically, mentally and unavailable emotionally.

Ending things with Jihoon was easy because there wasn't anything to end in the first place.

You've met Arong, you've met her in the presence of Joshua, Soonyoung and Jihoon himself. This was specially to let Jihoon know what he has done, to hold him accountable for something that doesn't remember.

"I'm breaking up with you."

You aren't crying, not a single choke in your voice, eyes void of any emotion.

"Since you don't remember any of it, not even us being in some sort of relationship", your hands ball into a fist, gaze lowering, "And since none of it was ever real, I'm sure you're relieved."

"Y/N, please--"

"If you ever get your memories back, please don't make it an excuse to come see me. I don't want to see or talk to you ever again."

Jihoon grabs your hand once you turn to walk out, "I don't believe that I could do something like this. I'll get my memories back and when I do, let me--"

"No don't.", Joshua steps up, yanking your arm out of his grip, "Didn't you hear what she said?"

"And who are you to come between us?"

"Someone who's does not play with feelings."

And all of a sudden there's a scuffle. Jihoon is grabbing the collar of the shirt Joshua's wearing and the latter tackles him down on the ground.

You watch in horror, as the two grown men indulge in a fight where the rest had to step in to separate them.

"The audacity, ridiculous!", Joshua huffs as you and Arong hold him.

"Says the one who doesn't know boundaries!", comes Jihoon's retort in Soonyoung's hold.

His eyes dart back at you, holding so much vulnerability that if you hadn't known the truth, he'd be in your arms by now.

"Y/N, I don't believe that it was all an act, that I hadn't fallen in love with you. It can't be, my head might not remember but my heart has definitely not forgotten you."

You chuckle bitterly, "That's delirium, Jihoon. You're busted and now making excuses. You had something important to tell me, you were on the phone with me when the accident happened. The way you had been acting before that, I'm sure you were going to break up with me. So save it. We're done. It's over."

"To the last wedding of the year!"

You raise your glass to the toast absentmindedly, waiting for the head of catering services to finish his speech.

"We're done with the headache.", Wonwoo leans in to speak into your ear.

A slap on his arm but you're laughing nonetheless, "You shouldn't be saying that."

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo enunciates, "They asked for the change of flower arrangement three times. You know how difficult it is to convince the suppliers at the last moment."

You give him a pat on his shoulder, "You did great as always though. Imagine being in Joshua's shoes, he had to add two tiers to the cake as a last moment request."

"He's a saint for agreeing to it, I'd never--"

"Wonu, that's our job, as long as it's not unrealistic, we'll try to fulfil it.", your tone is reprimanding.

"So we're leaving as planned on the weekend right?", he speaks over your shoulder, as you check off the items from the inventory list.

You both are now behind the barracks, wrapping things up, "Yes.", turning to look at him you thank him, "Also, sorry for crashing in the trip along with Junhee."

"Oh please, my girlfriend absolutely loves you, maybe more than me? And your house is literally on the way, so no sweat at all", Wonwoo laments, shaking his head, "Junhee has been feeling guilty about what happened. She blames herself, you met Jihoon because he was handling her aunt's case back then."

"It's not her fault. I'll talk to her, maybe she needs some lecture on how to not connect dots every time.", you frown, "And thanks. I'm glad that I got some people who are genuine even though my person wasn't."

All Wonwoo does is give you an empathetic smile.

Jihoon leaves no stones unturned.

"Doctor, I'm willing to do anything", his hands are clasped in desperation, "Please, help me get my memories back."

The doctor sighs, he's tired of seeing Jihoon's face every other day. The doctor gets the urgency but his patient is not understanding the implications.

"What do I need to do? Any brain exercising? New medicines? I'm ready to be a guinea pig for scientific research as well. Just name it, I'll do it if it brings my memories back."

His house is a mess. He's searching every corner, every shelf, every drawer but he gets nothing significant, nothing to get back his memories of you.

Soonyoung quietly watches over as Jihoon lays in slumber. He was finally able to get his friend to sleep, an attempt to free him from restlessness even if it's for limited time.

He can't bear to see his dear friend in this condition anymore and almost calls you but he doesn't because it's not his place. He only hopes for you both to be freed of despair.

The hunt goes on, Jihoon looks like a wreck, he is a wreck. Tries to hit his head again, thanks to Soonyoung's presence he's saved, tries unprescribed/unwarranted pills for memory loss and gets admitted to hospital. Vomits tons, loses appetite along with weight.

A hard slap lands across his face and Jihoon winces. Soonyoung had enough. He gives him a diary which Jihoon recognises as his own.

"I found this on top of the almirah, while you were admitted. You can search the obvious places. I haven't gone through it but it's your personal diary. Hopefully this will help."

And it certainly does. Maybe the accident had made him forget about his most important habit. He goes through it, consumes whatever he has written.

Each page hits a nerve, bringing back visions.

He now knows two things, he definitely liked Arong and found you annoying.

When Arong rejected him, he wasn't surprised. He knew Arong, he knew it was something she could pull. His heart wasn't bruised, it was his ego. He couldn't take it.

And you came into the picture, an annoying woman who likes him. Even though he's a rational lawyer, his practicality leaves him when goes by when decides to follow the classic 'to get over someone is to get under someone else'.

It was fine, he found you tolerable. But his initial plan of breaking up after dating a few months started to crumble when he found himself worrying about you, wanting to see you more and yearning for you more. He was rational after all, so he knew it was him changing. His feelings for you ran deeper than what he had for Arong.

He realised that he liked Arong but he loved you, he loves you now.

And as the realisation settles in again, into the present Jihoon, he falls apart.

You don't like the vibe, no you hate it. Your mother doesn't stop making your favourite dishes, your sister doesn't even throw banter, always agreeing with whatever you're suggesting for Christmas tree decoration and your father keeps on buying you presents discreetly which is also not so discreet.

And somehow, Seungkwan, your sister's boyfriend, is walking on eggshells whenever he's around you.

You miss the laughs, you miss the dramatics, you miss the goofiness.

"I'm not dying, y'all. This isn't the end of the world either."

Silence.

"Can we get back to normal? You all are being extraordinarily nice to me and every time you do so I think about the reason and it makes me think about him which is certainly what I don't wanna do."

You lower your gaze again, mind involuntarily going back to Jihoon, the way he fooled you within the entire span of your relationship. Your naive nature acts as a blindfold, causing you to trust people easily and you take pride in it because you are surrounded by good people who never took advantage of it but that's until Jihoon happened.

You gave him your heart, he crumpled upon it and your trust, he stomped on it.

"We're re-doing the deco of the Christmas tree, it's awful.", your sister, Eunha proclaims, "You just sit and watch."

You look at her, a smile gracing your lips and it's contagious, everyone is smiling.

And follows chaos, returns the banter and it's all over the place as the liveliness reappears. You watch it all with your lips curl up.

Christmas comes as fast and you're really excited, first because you know this year you're getting most gifts, second, like every time you won't have to leave the day after, you have a whole month to yourself, to be around your loved ones.

The house lights up in your favourite colours and you chirp around the house happily.

"So when are you going to propose?", you bump his shoulder, whispering into his ear as he prepares the batter for the cake.

Being the dramatic he is, Seungkwan gasps, glares and bumps back at you, "March, on her birthday. She'd like the ring right?"

"She'd love it, it's so beautiful. I can't wait to capture how ugly she'd look while crying.", you laugh at the thought.

"Hey! Watch it, she'll be beautiful even if she snots.", he retorts, "Our babies will be pretty."

"Oh my god, such a simp.", you fake a gag, "I'm gonna puke."

He suddenly pats your back, without looking at you and that somehow conveys that he's there for you.

As the night draws in, you excuse yourself and beeline into your room, locking the door, giving your parents and your sister and her boyfriend some time to themselves. They are bundled on the couch and the carpet in pairs sharing loving gazes and gentle touches.

As you lay on the bed, your favourite pillow starts to get stained with your tears. Your body shakes with sobs as you hide your face behind your palms.

You miss Jihoon.

You miss his voice, his laughs. You miss his silent affection, the way his gaze affirmed many unspoken words.

It's been four months since you called off things. And it hurts how easy it was for him to accept it all, the lack of contact says it all. You haven't blocked him anywhere and he hasn't tried reaching you either.

Why would he? You gifted him the only thing he wanted from you, a break up. Maybe love isn't the same for all, maybe it doesn't come in the same form.

There are repeated knocks on your door and you lay holding your breath, hoping whoever is on the other side thinks that you've fallen asleep and leaves.

The knocks don't stop, they only become frantic and you hear Eunha's distraught voice, "Y/N, you need to be out asap. Only you can stop dad please!"

What could have happened? You rush off to the bathroom to wash your face before opening the door.

You freeze watching the scene unfold.

Jihoon getting on his knees at the doorstep, bowing his head down in front of your seething father who's holding an umbrella, it's end pointed at him.

"Sir.", he calls your father calmly, bringing everyone's attention back to him.

"You must know what I have done to your daughter. I'm ready for whatever punishment you have for me."

He looks at you, as if his words are for you, "Beat me as much as you want, don't look at my face if it disgusts you but when your rage resides please hear me out. I won't leave until you listen to me. So if you want to get rid of me, you'll have to listen to me.", Jihoon gives a sad smile before grabbing the edge of the umbrella and resting it on his shoulder.

"Have you gone mad?", you scold him, "Get up."

He raises his hand to stop you from rushing towards him. He chooses to ignore your words, his gaze trained on your father.

"Are you contemplating, Sir?", he chortles, "Wasn't it bad enough, what I did to your daughter?"

You shake your head, closing your eyes. You know what Jihoon is doing, he's provoking your father and everyone else.

The rage that had subsided a bit, seems to reignite as your father tightens his grip on the object on his hand.

And you could only watch through it.

"She's the youngest of the household, we've raised her with love, pampered her to bits!"

"The last thing we want is to see her in tears that too on a day like this!"

"How dare you show your face here after breaking her heart in the worst way?"

And the words keep pouring in.

Jihoon is squeezing your arm into a tight grip, hissing in pain.

"What's your motive this time?", you ask while dabbing one of the bruises with disinfectant, particularly hard making him wince, "The Lee Jihoon, I know doesn't care about anyone except himself."

Jihoon's unwavering gaze does nothing to answer your queries and you refuse to meet his eyes.

"You can stay in my room for the night, leave by tomorrow morning, as early as possible."

Just as you get up to leave, he stands as well, blocking your path.

"I lost the insurance lawsuit case.", he says, searching for your eyes, "I ratted out my own clients."

"You came all the way here just to tell me this?"

He shakes his head down, with a small stretch of lips. When he looks up again you're shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"I got my memories back, Y/N.", his voice cracks, "All of them."

"Great.", you scoff in distaste, "I had already warned you to not make it an excuse to see me."

He kneels again, on both knees, "Would you please give me a chance to explain?"

You hate it to admit but you've never seen Jihoon this vulnerable. If anything, he's the type to carry pride and arrogance in his aura. He has never (his words) bowed to anyone and here he is doing it for the second time tonight.

"Jihoon, it doesn't matter anymore. You may not have loved me for even a moment, but I did, with all my heart. And I don't want to go through it all over again.", you say, urging him to be on his feet, "It won't change our past, but it has definitely changed the way I am going to perceive people now."

Jihoon lets out a sob and you freeze.

"I love you, Y/N.", he chokes out in words, as his sobs turn into cries, "That was what I was going to tell you on the day of the accident. I had been so ansty because I realised I was in love, I was going to come clean, I was going to confess."

"I just wanted a honesty in our relationship, you built it entirely around the other way. You didn't love me when we got together but I thought you did and this is the pressing wound, I have."

You don't let him speak further, after putting a very restless Jihoon to sleep on your bed, you ponder over a lot of things.

It's been over a month and the dynamics between you two has changed. When Jihoon begged and begged to give him a chance, to prove himself worthy of you, you denied at first. You had forgotten how persistent Jihoon could be, how convincing he can be.

"Our relationship will be on a trial basis. And there are rules.", you declare with a bored expression, "First, you can't tell anyone we're dating. Second, don't expect me to update you about anything, if I feel like you'll get to know, if not then you won't. Third, skinship is allowed only behind closed doors. You have six months and if within that I feel like you're worthy, we make it public or we part ways."

You give it a last try, to push his buttons and make him admit that he can't be bothered to do this. That he isn't the kind to work under conditions. You're sure that this is when he finally stops.

The corners of your lips twitch as you suppress your triumphant smile. By the way Jihoon stays silent, you're sure he's speechless. And it's just a matter of time he walks out, he walks away from your life.

"I agree with all of it." he says with sincerity, "For the following six months, I'll be the boyfriend, you want me to be. Mold me into anything, I'll take the shape of your like."

Your heart constricts, brain shots, stupid senses, you wanna scream. You swear you'll break him under your watch, it won't be a month and he'll be bailing out.

And Jihoon swears, he'll get you back, that this time, that he'll love you right.

It's Eunha's birthday and Seungkwan made you arrange a big event since she's gonna get proposed.

You can't stress how nervous you are even after trying your best to suit the taste of everything to be of Eunha's liking along with calming Seungkwan who's about to puke anytime because of his anxiety hitting the roofs.

And now your sister's crying, her now fiancé is crying but you're bawling. It's so beautiful, the entire scene that it makes you a bit too emotional, so you go out to breathe some fresh air and calm your nerves.

You feel a presence beside you and suddenly your head is being downed on a shoulder.

"I have kept your favourite chocolates in your purse. Have them to calm your nerves, your cycle date is approaching. I have restocked the supplies.", Jihoon says, "And made sure that no one is watching us now."

You tangle your arm with his and watch the stars in awe.

"One of your aunts kept asking me if I am single since you introduced me as your friend.", he says, leaning his head against yours.

"What did you say?"

"That I am taken and so in love."

Your heart flutters.

Jihoon has become calmer than he already was. He does everything you say, no questions asked. He waits for you inside his car every night to escort you when you're done for the day. He texts you frequently, though it's mostly monologue without any expectations of getting a reply.

He sleeps on the same bed if you ask him to, he takes the couch when you don't. There's always an ask of consent if he wants a kiss.

Nothing is out of scope, he'll bring you the moon if you want it.

"You look the prettiest tonight, you always do.", he kisses the top of your head, "Thanks for wearing the brooch, I bought you."

"Jihoon", you look up, your face perched on his shoulder blade and gazes meeting, "Why do you always look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you love me.", your hand slips into his and he encases it as if his life depends on it.

"I do love you.", comes his immediate assurance, "I may not use nicknames, not big on PDA and not be expressive on texts. But I love you and even though I was late to confess the last time I hope at some point I made you feel loved, made you see that guy who's usually not a fan of skinship initiated hugs and held hands, who hates amusement parks had planned every outing there because you like it, who doesn't like carrots either but picks them out of your plate so you don't have to feel guilty for throwing them."

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and do his.

It's true. Now as well, Jihoon doesn't text 'I love you's, doesn't use nicknames, nor does he gushes over. He's still silent, acts of service loud enough as his love language.

Jihoon looks away, exhaling sharply, "I'm sorry, I started dating to rebound. I think I'll regret this as long as I'm alive."

"I'm on a mission and you're making it impossible to follow through."

It's snowing. Jihoon, as usual, waits for you to wrap things up. Today, he's standing in a corner, inside the venue as snow pours outside.

You are almost done with stuffs when you spot him. He smiles, eyes forming slits as you walk up to him.

His presence, you think, feels like a fresh breath in the hustle. You're just about to greet him when--

"Y/N!", you turn back to hear the yell of your name only to find one of your colleagues, Ahin, rushing towards you, "You forgot to take the inventory list."

Jihoon takes it as que to leave your side. He's about to turn but freezes when Ahin asks, "Who's he?"

As practiced, as he's been doing it for months, he's about to answer, "I'm her friend--"

"Boyfriend.", you cut him off, taking the papers from her hand, "This is Jihoon, my boyfriend."

Ahin is shocked, Jihoon goes stiff and you bite your lips to suppress your laugh. You know tomorrow's gonna be chaos at work.

As Jihoon crosses the threshold of your apartment, he's pressed against the closed door.

Your lips press on his with intensity while his hands tangle in your hair. It's a full makeout session and you're pulling him into the bedroom.

"Since when am I your boyfriend?", there's a tease in his tone as he looks up from between your legs, his chin glistening from your juices, "I thought we still have a month left?"

"Consider this as an early promotion.", you grab a fistful of his hair and push back his mouth to work on cunt, "Let's love now, Ji. Let's be together and happy."

"Let's love then.", he dives in, his tongue parting your folds and finding your clit. He circles it slowly, then sucks gently, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

He continues lavishing attention on your clit, his tongue alternating between rapid flicks and slow, sensual licks. One hand slides up to caress your breast, teasing your nipple gently. His other hand grips your hip, holding you steady as he pleasures you thoroughly.

"Ji, fuck!", your heads befalls on the pillows, eyes close shut.

His mouth is relentless, your pleasure his sole focus. He eats you out with abandon, his own hunger evident in the way he devours you. Your cries and whimpers only spur him on, his tongue never stopping its assault on your sensitive clit, "Fuck, you taste so good."

"Ji, can't hold back anymore", you're whimpering as the fisting on his hair tightens.

Upon hearing your breathy confession, Jihoon doubles his efforts, his tongue now moving in tight, rapid circles around your clit. He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right to stimulate that perfect spot, "That's it, come for me. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue."

He can feel you tensing, your hips bucking against his face as you get closer to the edge. He growls around your sensitive flesh, the vibrations pushing you closer. He hooks his fingers deeper inside you, rubbing that spot mercilessly, "Now, Love now."

He continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're a quivering mess beneath him. Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your arousal. He climbs up your body, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He smiles against your lips feeling your fingers working on the button on his trouser.

"You'll have to leave early tomorrow morning," he says, grabbing both of your hands, "This was for you to have a sound sleep."

"But--"

"You can have me all you want tomorrow, after you return.", he is already descending down the bed to bring warm washcloth to clean you up, "Promise."

"Ji, next month, I'll be gone for a week."

Jihoon hums, as he cleans you up gently, "A destination wedding right?"

You hum sleepily, "Do you wanna join? We could extend the stay and use it as a break."

"I'll check my schedule and let you know. It's a good idea actually."

"I love you, Ji.", your drowsiness amuses Jihoon, as he watches you fall into slumber, "Wanna brainstorm cases with you for the rest of my life."

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead, listening to your soft snores, "And all I wanna do is be the best partner to you. I love you too, dearest darl+ing."

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

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slurmpinheimer · 3 days ago

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from @cyber-harpie !! spit that shit homie!! I thought this deserved to be seen because it brings up a lot interesting points—and I do agree with this, though it got me thinking again. I would like to add a few things to my initial statement because analysis and talking about Kim is fun;

(WARNING: MAJOR KIM-RELATED YAPPAGE BELOW)

I’ve watched several play throughs where (especially at the beginning of the game/if they have low psyche) people aren’t sure of Kim, or even go so far as to call him annoying, a buzzkill, or an asshole. At first I found myself getting really defensive about this. Obviously not to the point that I made any hate comments or anything, that would be silly— But just in my head, automatically dismissing it because I love him and didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t imagine anyone disliking him, instead of thinking deeper and considering *why* people might come to these conclusions.

I believe the bits we get from Esprit and Empathy support my initial point that Harry is the perfect narrative device to meet Kim through. If I remember correctly, Kim was written specifically to find Harry funny, and Harry’s skills let us see that. and that’s IF you succeed the checks, or if you’re dedicated enough to save scum to see other possibilities/go through Fayde to see what other options might have held.

Like, before I learned about the end of the Homosexual Underground thought line, I certainly had my suspicions. I definitely thought Kim was at least queer-coded and headcanoned him as gay, but that thought trail is behind a legendary Composure check that I spent like 10 full minutes save-scumming. I had low motorics on my first run, and I only tried so hard because I had been spoiled and knew that it gave a thought called “Homosexual Underground” and needed to see where that led with my own eyes.

That’s just one example too—There’s several times that Kim Lore is behind hard checks (Ace’s High/Low, that tidbit about him smoking weed lol) or things he just refuses to elaborate on without specific circumstances. Plus there’s all the stuff that you can learn when you play a different quest line. I’ve had several people tell me that going through a fascist ends up with Kim actually being pretty open about things you don’t learn about in other questlines. I don’t even know all the details of that yet because I’ve been so busy doing the other quests and achievements that I haven’t finished a fascist run yet.

My thought process with all this is that without seeing Kim through the lens Harry, who works with him almost constantly for a week straight in a situation where deep and meaningful conversation is not just encouraged but *needed* to build a repertoire and ultimately solve the case—Not to mention the patience and care Kim treats Harry’s situation with—I can see how someone would look at Kim from the outside and find him to be… (anguish at typing out this word) …mid.

So yeah. On the surface level; Kim is a cop. He can be condescending and uptight, sometimes leading into lecturing people (something he himself admits). He plays his cards close to his chest, with both his moralist beliefs and even more so his sympathies for the rebellion—Which can make him look a bit like a fence sitter. He can be emotionally unavailable towards himself and others, making him hard to read and sometimes appear cold.

But past that, he is a beautifully crafted, deep character, and the perfect foil to the chaos that is Harry. He is the man that reaches out to shake your hand even though you ghosted him two days prior. He will pat you and give you a handkerchief when you throw up. He can be the man that sticks up for you time and time again, not just because he needs to in order to solve the case, but because if you really try, he believes you’re a good detective at heart. Past suicidal rants and nervous breakdowns, he encourages you to keep going.

He has been beaten down, ground and polished to a smooth finish by mutiple facets of oppression—from his glasses, to his race, his sexuality, all fundamental parts of himself that he cannot change. From years of working in a high-pressure, volatile work environment with low pay and little benefits other than the small satisfaction of completing a case, only to dive headfirst into the next one.

He pushed aside his lofty dreams of the skies to be down with the rest of us in the dirt and mud, trudging, struggling through life until we all inevitably burn away the fuel reserves and are nothing but smoke, a memory in the mind of fire.

Beyond that carefully constructed exterior, past his wall of professionalism (and habit of using his notebook as a shield) hides a goofy nerd, a lover of crosswords and cars, of silly radio stations, and a deep appreciation for beautifully bearded muscular men. He is an expert user of sarcasm and master of cryptic jokes, some even philosophical or political in nature. At his core, he wants to make things better for the people around him. He wants to believe he can make a difference, no matter how long it takes or how small the change is. Even if working for the RCM destroys him before he can see it come to fruition.

He is wonderful. He is amazing. He’s probably my favorite character all of fiction, and I don’t think there will ever be a day in my life that I stop loving him. That’s pookie you’re talking about. I’ll always have space in my heart for him.

He will live on as long as we do, as real as The Man From Hjemdall is to Roy because Disco Elysium *made* him real, handcrafting him, giving him life between margins and pixels. And that is worth everything.

Kim Kitsuragi is a fascinating character because there's not that much fun or interesting or compelling about him. And yet somehow over the course of playing Disco Elysium the game rewires your fucking brain around him. He's the middest man you've ever seen in both appearance and personality but at some point he says something kind to you or something critical of you and you feel like you just got hit by a truck and you need his approval like you need oxygen and like how tf did this happen. what are you

#I did not expect to be writing that long #Um #enjoy if you like yapping about kim ig #LMAO #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #text post

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 3 days ago

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P*rn ☆ Chapter 2, Moving noises?

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Author's note: Haha, take this! 2 chapters in one day! Also, every time I write another chapter to this story I have to update the warnings and it isn't even that spicy yet.

Mature content under the cut.

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'Are you alright? You look tired.' Tara sounds awfully concerned and you can imagine why. The bags under your eyes might as well be down to your knees by now. Turns out your new neighbor is nocturnal. You couldn't care less about the moving noises, but the fact that they only happen past ten pm is killing you.

'No kidding,' you sass at her. Quickly, you smack your hands in front of your face. Sure, you're known to have an attitude but never to Tara. She's too sweet. 'I'm sorry, I'm just so tired.'

Tara frowns: 'Is it that new neighbor of yours? Kieran told me he has a tendency to stay up late.'

'That's an understatement. He's nocturnal.' Tara lets out an annoyed groan in solidarity, but it just sounds cute coming from her. 'It's fine. I'm sure he's almost done. I mean, how much stuff can you fit into one of those units? You've seen mine, the one next door isn't much bigger.'

'Must be a big change, considering you and Zayne were so close.'

'We still are,' you tell her, 'we just see each other a little less now. I do miss him a lot.' She nods but her eyes have a little twinkle in them and you know where this is going. 'No, stop that. Zayne and I are just friends.'

'Never even... you know,' she questions with a cheeky smile and a wiggle of her brow.

'No, never,' you laugh, 'as I said, just friends. I don't know, he just feels like a brother. I mean, I've teased him before as a joke and nothing “physical” happened on his end. So I don't think he likes me either.'

'He goes through an awful lot of effort to be “just friends,” just saying.'

'Yeah, yeah, sure. You have a very filthy mind for the way you look.'

'It's been said,' she responds with a gleaming smile. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, looking her up and down.

'About that.' Her body tenses up every so slightly. 'Your boyfriend is not what I expected at all. I mean, I've seen him pick you up before and he looks quite tough, but he seemed just as awkward as you are.' Tara's eyes flicker around the room a while, seemingly not wanting to explain anything to you, until her phone lights up. She quickly checks the notification and gasps with excitement.

'Hold that thought, so Kieran just told me they're doing drinks to celebrate Sylus’ move. That means they must be done,' she states in a chipper tone. You raise an eyebrow at the strange change of topic. There's a freaky side to that woman, you're sure of it.

'So?'

'So, I'm dropping Kieran off so he can have some drinks but maybe we can have a girls' night,' she suggests. Considering Red Crow isn't posting anything today for once, your evening is completely open. Could be fun to have a quiet night in with Tara.

'Sure, sounds fun. What are you thinking? Movie, face masks, board game?'

'All of the above,' she squeals in excitement, 'I'll bring some snacks.'

'Great, just let me know when you and Kieran are driving over.'

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To be a good neighbor, you decided to get this Sylus guy a little something as a housewarming gift. Considering they'll be drinking; a bottle of whiskey can never go wrong. Lucky for you, you were gifted a bottle of whiskey a few weeks ago but you know that one is not quite your style. The Writer's Tears single pot still. It's a very nice whiskey and you've had different whiskeys from Writer's Tears before, but you're just not the biggest whiskey drinker. It's expensive too, so it might give a good impression.

Tara just texted you she's on her way, which means you've got about fifteen minutes before she gets here. You considered waiting for her and Kieran to hand over the gift so it could be in the spirit of "oh, just dropping my friend's boyfriend off" but that’s just weird. Feels like you're a parent dropping your kid off at school and you're not about that.

So now you're here, in front of the oh-so familiar door that you used to have a key to. Part of you is really curious how the place looks now, another part of you wants to keep the memory of how it used to be in a time capsule. Either way, you've got a present for your neighbor and this interaction could be done within a minute if you do it right.

You press the doorbell and hear something fall followed by a string of curses. The door opens fast and the person on the other side, who you think is probably Sylus, towers over you. You look up at him with wide eyes and recognize him right away. That man right there is the reason for most of your pleasure and orgasms. Red Crow.

'What,' he barks. Rude , and not at all what you would've expected. Still, it takes you a second to take all of him in. He’s even taller than you imagined, eyes even more piercing, face even sharper. It's like a fucking God leaning over you and staring down like you're no more than a puny peasant.

And a switch flicks in your head.

'Fix your tone,' you huff, 'I'm your neighbor. I thought I'd bring you a housewarming present.' His eyes widen ever so slightly. How you managed to muster up such a bratty tone in the face of who's talked you over the edge more times than you can count is a mystery to you, but it feels kind of nice to see him stunned like this. You hold out the box the whiskey is packaged in towards him.

His shoulders relax and he does actually fix his face. His features soften a little and his eyes no longer stare at you like you're an intruder. Your heart starts racing, as if your body just now realizes who is in front of you. You beg to the Gods above that your cheeks don't get bright red. A cold shiver goes down your spine when he takes the box from you with a flicker of an amused smile, the box suddenly seeming much smaller in his hands. 'Thank you, that's nice.'

'No worries. Tara told me you're having a party, so I thought that wouldn't hurt,' you say, trying to sound as casual as possible. He studies your face for a second, searching for the answers to a question he doesn't ask you.

'You know Tara?' You nod.

'She's my coworker.' Shit, your voice isn't as steady as it was at the start anymore. You've got this man on a fucking pedestal and he's here, in reach. It's a weird feeling. Your panties are soaked but you're highly put off by the way he greeted you. Still... there are very little appropriate thoughts going on in your head right now. If this was your last day on earth, you'd have this man bend you like a pretzel right here right now in the hallway.

He nods, amused like a cat playing with its prey. 'Is that right?’

'Yes. Whelp, nice meeting you. I'm gonna go back to my place,' you ramble awkwardly and quickly turn to slip back into your own apartment, accidentally slamming the door. How the hell are you going to face Tara now? Your body is going into overdrive. You bet you could cum just hearing your vibrator turn on. However, you can't risk it. Tara has told you Kieran drives like a maniac and always drives if he's sober, which is now. She could be in front of your door any second.

"Just breathe," you tell yourself, "it's just a man." Yeah, just a man, a man that could fuck you like there's no tomorrow. Shit, your thoughts aren't your friends right now. A cold shower ought to work. Hopefully.

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The bottle of whiskey from his neighbor was put on display on his bar cart. He knows the kind and that type of whiskey isn't for parties. Not even small parties like this. He figures it might be a regift or something. No sane person would give a total stranger an expensive whiskey like this. Never mind a stranger who has been a disturbance from the start.

Then again, they're not really strangers. He saw the look in her eyes. He's seen it before and hasn't been wrong about it yet. It's that "I've seen you naked" look. To be fair, Sylus would've preferred to stay anonymous in this building for a little longer but considering his neighbor is friends with Tara, she probably won't tell anyone what he does. That is, if she knows what her boyfriend Kieran does since he wears a mask in his content.

But there was more in her eyes. More than just scandal or embarrassment. There was lust. A lot of it. So much so that Sylus feared he might've caused his pants to tent if she would've bit her lip. Best for both of them that she left when she did.

He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally, he's not one to obsess like this but there was just something about her. Something about how she looked at him, about the way she commanded him to fix his tone. It's been a long damn time since a woman showed that kind of dominance to him and, shit, it turns him on like crazy.

Maybe, just maybe, he can rub one out real quick. He sits down on his bed and looks down at the bulge in his pants. He truly hopes he didn't look like that before. He hadn't seen her look at it. Besides, would that be so bad? It looked like she wanted him to take her right then and there, and he would have if she asked. Or demanded, he isn't picky.

A devious thought pops up in his head. He promised his followers he'd record himself getting off if they begged and beg they did. Maybe he could tease her with this as well if she really does watch him. If it wasn't just a look of attraction and intimidation, but recognition.

He whips out his phone, puts it on his dresser across from the bed pointed at his crotch and upper body with his thighs still visible. His face is just out of frame, not on purpose but he doesn't mind his followers not seeing how flustered one small interaction got him. Not that they'd ever know why, but she would.

He sits down on the edge of the bed once more to check if everything's in frame when he hears it. The shower. Her shower. So, her bathroom and his are next to each other, which means their bedrooms are probably also next to each other.

“Good to know,” he thinks to himself, and that's when he hears it. The softest, most muffled of moans coming through the air extractor fan followed by a string of whimpers. Those must be connected to each other. He feels his dick twitch against his pants like it's being chocked, his ears feel like they're burning while a wicked grin plays on his lips.

And then he presses record.

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astracora · 2 days ago

Text

Turning Point - Part 5

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, mentions for Rafayel stories, and myths, violent imagery and arguments.

Word Count: 5456

Written: 9th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. Rafayel is so hard to write for a lot of reasons, but also is one of my favourite characters in any story because he's just... contains multitudes. I also feel like he's the one who struggles most with all these other people in MC's life. I also feel like he's so fixated on pain, and struggle, that he forgets kindness can be offered to him with no price. Anyway, I enjoyed working on this bit a lot even though it was hard. Enjoy! Also as a side note, the song of choice I can only partially explain, Rafayel out of all the boys makes me think of regency romance on a level I truly cannot explain. (even though he doesn't have a dancing scene... YET!!)

Now Playing: All I Want, by Kris Bowers

Masterlist AO3

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Rafayel loves you. That is never in doubt. He finds himself bitter and aching that there is so much you have shared that only he remembers.

Sometimes it comes out in harsh words or lies. Even though he knows it is unfair to punish you, when you can't control it.

Mostly, however, he tries to enjoy moments with you. Hoping that something will spark, and you will look at him and see long years of history.

Remember his longing and his love in all its forms.

Remember all the facets that make him up. Perhaps it's cowardice to want your memories to fill in the blanks that he is too scared to tell you. Blood on his hands, heart offered up. He does not want to see your expression change. For you to fear or hate who he is… who he can become.

He thinks about beautiful blue seas, and the breath stolen underwater.

When he finds himself thinking of the beach he waited at, every year, he pushes himself into his work.

Now, he spends most of his days at your side. In case you need him. He watches closely, because he's used to you hiding your struggle from him. When you're sick, you've hidden it, he's reminded you that you're not a superhero. As much as you put on a brave front for every kid that sees your hunter reels.

Rafayel has watched this version of you for a long time, before he finally met you again. Properly.

He has seen so many renditions of you, no matter who you have been… he has loved you. He has and will love you for eternity and beyond, even if it might be easier not to.

Rafayel has finished most of his work for his exhibit, as he stares at the final piece that is missing something that he cannot find.

Sun blends with sea, as the tides recede. As silver bones are left behind to bleach.

He stares and stares and nothing comes. Just that vague, irritating feeling of incompletion.

"You're going to burn a hole in it, fish."

"Sylus, leave the man alone, he's actually working."

Rafayel huffs… and therein lies his other problem. Your consortium of bizarre attachments. If he were less observant, he could pretend they see you as a friend only.

But he is a man who can kill another, who can plan his revenge, who can hide in plain sight. Who is capable of sneaking up even on the N109 Zone Leader.

So he can see and he can't ignore. He also can't ignore that they comfort you as well.

You have teased him for being childish, and he thinks the irritating feeling in his gut, that demands he steal all of your time, that you are his bonded partner, confirms such a claim. He is not possessive of a lot… your heart is his.

He tries to ignore the doctor and the crow. Staring straight ahead, hoping that answers will come to him, but he cannot. He can feel their presence and it is on the edge of his consciousness. Poking at it.

Like he is a crab on the beach and a child wants to watch his pincers clasp.

"Maybe you should take a walk, get some fresh air."

"Do you want the fish to suffocate, Doctor?"

"Truly, you are incapable of not prodding at others aren't you?"

He huffs this time, turning his face to look at the two. Zayne is typing on his laptop, barely looking up to converse, while Sylus is on his tablet, glasses on the end of his nose.

The two look eerily similar like this.

Rafayel tries not to compare the doctor to the crow, it's unflattering. At least the doctor can heal your wounds.

When he speaks though, his irritation comes out in the snippy tone he takes, "Your opinions are noted, dumb crow. Then swiftly discarded."

The man does that irritating little laugh he does, that is more a puff of air than a real laugh. Like it's too much effort to feel anything, and Rafayel wants to pluck his feathers.

How you can tolerate him, he'll never know.

At least the hunter is quiet…

Still, he wants to get out of here, they make it harder for him to think, and he can't make progress like this. So he stands, shrugging at them and heads towards the door, as he goes to make through he almost collides with you and Xavier returning from the hospital. He isn't surprised when you move out the way just in time, you're a hunter and your training has made you capable. Still as he greets you, you hesitate, before tugging at his shirt before he can leave.

He looks down, your hand holding onto the fabric, not tough enough to tear, but enough to halt his movements.

"Are you alright, Raffy?"

It shouldn't surprise him that you notice the tick in his jaw, or the stress under his skin. It isn't the first time, and you've shown many times to have been able to pick out when his mood has dropped. You're observant as part of being a hunter, you're careful, you pay attention. You're smart.

You care.

About him, about his mood… about his life. His irritation settles, soothes at the edges, and his smile is easier, "I need some fresh air. Want to come with?"

You hesitate and he watches the fear enter your eyes. Wavering. You walk between the hospital and the apartment when you don't take Zayne's car, but that's the extent of your journeys. He wants to pull you by the hand… make you see the sea with him.

"Where are you going?"

"Whitesands."

It's far enough removed, very few people visit it, and he will get a walk somewhere familiar. Perhaps it's familiar enough for you to follow him.

He extends his hand, carefully, trying to keep the need from bubbling to the surface. If he could take you away far from here, he would. Take you to everything he's ever seen, so he can see it with new eyes. Yours.

Your hand stretches out, and your fingers tremble, before you finally take his, "Alright, if it's quiet." Your request is one he'll happily grant. Both of you alone, he can't think of a better way to spend his time.

The walk is kind to him, as they head towards Whitesand Bay, he gets to keep your hand in his, listen to the song of the world, and watch as your steps become lighter. You stop staring down at your arm and checking around you, eventually focusing on the sky and him.

As feet crunch on white sand, and approach the edge of tides. You let go of his hand to walk a little further out, and he watches. As you crouch, as you reach fingers to the water.

Rafayel paints everything he thinks is beautiful, tragic, or brings pain to his soul. You hurt him too, in ways he aches for. Like he is placing his hand in a burning flame, and holding it there, because the longer he holds it, the closer he gets to what he craves.

Like there is an answer there, waiting over the edge of agony. If he tumbles after it, he'll find what eludes him.

There's a feeling in him that wants to drown you with him. He could swim out, with you in his arms, and pull you under. On the edge of the question of life, before he gives you the means to breathe alongside him. He's warned you of the nature of sirens, and you've looked him in the eye and told him you don't fear him.

You should, though, he knows. You should fear the ocean's grasp as well as his own, because he wants your heart for his.

As you turn your eyes back to him, soft smile tugging the scar on your face, his heart thunders and then stills. Flames and agony. The need to touch and hold it in his hand… Lit against the contours of your face, and the glimmer in your eyes.

His inspiration is always closer than he thinks.

—-----

Rafayel dislikes your companions.

The prince gets to spend all of his time with you, working together, protecting each other. Where Rafayel had to convince you to be his bodyguard, just for a fraction of that time.

The doctor is who you trust with your injuries and your wounds, he is who you go to when something hurts. You hid your sickness from Rafayel before now, so he didn't doubt your capabilities.

The crow… the crow gets under his scales. Like a tick. Biting and bleeding and ruining his skin. Yet you trust him, a man who built all his life on violence. Who has blood on his hands. Who is open about his sins… While he cannot tell you for fear of the look in your eye changing.

It is safe to say the crow is his least favourite. The one who grinds at him most, who plucks and pulls. Like a hook in his upper lip. He dreams of drowning the man… he would if the look in your eyes didn't stop him.

So he hates them, he thinks. The anger and irritation and the childish petulance. He wants your attention and he fights for it, he wants you to trust him most. It took too long to gain entrance into your home, reminding himself that time builds strong bonds. That he should be patient. He did not want to scare you, to startle you. Like you are a small fish and he is a bigger… hungrier beast.

There is no peace when they are around, and normally pain brings him inspiration, an answer on the end of a paintbrush. A vision in the agony.

Whatever feeling they inspire is not pain, and it brings him no art to create, no feelings to share in blues and greens. Nothing to show for it.

He has thankfully, however, finished his final piece. So there is a relief in him, even as the crow looks down at him, eyebrow raised.

Rafayel ignores the man, looking straight ahead, signing his work. Paintbrush steady. Steadier than the racing heart in his chest.

He will not lose a game of chicken with an overgrown bird.

So when the crow turns to walk away, he is relieved, and so smug, until he hears a crunch. Looking over quickly, and staring down at the floor.

"Ah, what a shame."

One of Rafayel's paintbrushes snapped in half by the stupid crow's foot.

He levels a glare at the man, "Are stupid crows clumsy too?"

"Are all fish messy? Your things have spread across the apartment."

"I'm working!"

"Quite diligently I see, despite galavanting off to the beach. Inspiration was it?"

The look on the crow's face is too level. It's too calm. He does not respond to the rise of Rafayel's voice. He does not flinch at the glare in his eyes. He does not move, from where his foot is still on his brush.

It is a feeling of irritation that burns and scorches where it stands.

He has to tolerate and bite his tongue. He has to think and be careful. He has to share, where he does not want to share.

You are his heart, why does he have to look at the eyesore in his vision, and think about his hands on you too.

His anger bubbles and froths and overflows. A pot that has been left, and forgotten. You will forget him too, in favour of a crow! A stupid. Foolish. Irritating crow.

He stands and presses forwards, fangs bared and sharp. He is a predator of the seas. This man is nothing. He is a god of the tides. This man is a petty criminal.

Rafayel knows you better, he has seen more incarnations than this man can even comprehend, and he dares to play at favour?

"If you wish to be drowned, crow, I am happy to oblige."

Eyebrow quirks at him, a look in his eyes that Rafayel can't make out, but it glitters and twinkles, "I'd love to see you try, fish, but I'm afraid you couldn't hope to kill me."

"I am more than willing to try."

"Then you'll simply be hurting your 'beloved bride', wouldn't you?"

He snarls, a low noise in the back of his throat, hand reaching out to grab at the man's throat. To snap it, bite through it, to cut his voice permanently, he isn't sure. It will hurt, and he will deserve it. For calling you what he cannot. Too many memories that you cannot hold in your heart.

The crow steps forwards, as if daring him to try. To wrap his hands around his throat and twist. To slice his throat open with a dagger. To see. To show him if it's true.

"Raffy?" Your call comes from the side, stumbling in, voice wary.

His hand hovers, he debates. Thinks for a moment. Stares at the crow's adam apple as the man swallows his laughter down. The dare is there, waiting for him to take… and they both know he won't.

So he rips his hand back, offers you the kind of smile that shakes at the foundations, "Hey cutie, I was just going out for the exhibit."

You open your mouth to speak, and he shakes his head, grabbing his canvas. Lifting it far too quickly to be safe, and turns on a heel, "I'll see you later."

The speed he leaves the apartment leaves the door frame shaking behind him. Heading out, running from the place. From the crow's dare, from the wary look in your eyes.

From the inadequacy… the guilt… the irritation. The pain.

What lurks over the abyss could just be nothingness. A world where you don't want him, or need him. Where without your memories you do not look at him, hear him call you his beloved bride, and love him as you once did. Where his bond with you is not enough, and he simply has to experience the heart that cannot beat for anyone but you.

That he has lied and hidden and kept from you for too long, that a criminal with blood on his hands who does not hide… claims your heart for his.

His heart…

There is pain behind his art and in his soul. A reminder that he cannot always be with you in every life, and he prays this is not one of them. An alter of suffering that he would cut his chest open at, if you would always look at him.

—--

You cannot stop thinking about the look on Rafayel's face.The agony in his eyes as he'd darted from the room. You'd asked Sylus who had shrugged, "I broke his paintbrush." But not explained further.

You'd seen Rafayel break his own paintbrushes in his studio, stepping on them, falling over them. Resulting in a trip to the hospital because of how messy things were.

You help Sylus clean up some of the mess, containing it in a corner with the rest of Raffy's things, hoping it would alleviate some of the feeling you can't seem to shake in the air. A stagnation. It feels like decay, and you can't open enough windows to air it out.

If Sylus decides not to share, he won't. You've known him long enough, pried at his secrets enough, that you don't waste the strength anymore. He shares what he wants, when he wants to.

So you abandon the effort and go about your day. It drags. Waiting for time to pass, working through your exercises, before you have to leave.

As the time approaches, the clock hand moving, it begins to click harder. The sound impending.

You think about other exhibits, the amount of people, the noise…

It cuts through the excitement, the peace of the wait, the boredom.

You pause as you're getting ready, staring at the prosthetic arm flexing in front of you. The movement of metal fingers, the clear indication of your injury… your failure.

You're going to see Rafayel. A man who people will be looking at. Commending.

Taking photos of.

Do you really want to be stood next to him like this? To draw attention to yourself and him?

An icy chill runs up your spine, and you stop. You have to get these clothes off. You have to cancel. You can't go.

You can't be there.

You feel the chain on your ankle, it tugs and it pulls, and it drags you back. The beast that settled, has woken up. It is hungry and it is angry, and it is laughing at you for trying.

A mistake, this was a mistake. You made a promise to someone you care about, and now you're going to hurt him. Either way, you're going to hurt him. Make him look stupid. Make him hate you.

You're going to break this fragile peace. Bring that agonised look into his eyes again.

Take from a man who gives you so much. Love, affection, kindness, warmth, acceptance, joy.

You are ripping all those things from his hands, and returning nothing.

"Kitten?" You stumble, when the voice startles you out of your thoughts. Falling back onto the bed, looking up as Sylus enters, not bothering to wait for an answer. Ever since your mission had gone wrong, he has been far less hesitant. If he could ever be said to be hesitant.

When he sees you sitting, tears in your eyes, he approaches you, kneels in front of you. Hands on your knees. Soothing your skin. His skin is so warm, it's like a brand. You almost pull away. On fire, itching, hurting. He notices your flinch and pulls his hands away. The relief of the cool is intense, and you choke on the feeling.

You're the mistake. Too fragile to be touched. Too useless to be helpful. Too much work.

He takes in your rumbled clothing. The shirt half pulled off, the jacket thrown away from you, the trousers unclasped. You are shivering, and shaking, and while you can see his hands twitching. Yearning, needing to soothe, he knows he can't. So he tries to speak, hesitant now, "Don't you like them?" You think about the time he spent, finding things with Rafayel that are easier to wear. Clasps that can be done easier with one hand, or buttons bigger for your unsteady metal fingers.

Things that require the least amount of struggle. If he could not find them, he had them made.

The two of them, you think as you try to fight through the fog, are dangerous.

You shake your head numbly. "I can't go."

It doesn't require much more from you, even without his eye, Sylus reads people. He reads you. He's said sometimes he cannot understand the workings of your mind, but he improves everyday. It is terrifying to be seen by him. Terrifying for him to look under the rough exterior, to the rougher interior.

You wait for the moment that he realises you're not worth it.

"You'll be with us." He starts, and you look down at where his hand twitches towards you, then back. "You won't be alone."

You haven't been alone, you think. In all the time you've spent with this. This weight, first on your back, then on your ankle. They have come to find you. Looking.

Just like Caleb did.

Is it enough? This could be that wakeup call.

"Rafayel wants you there, he's excited to see you." It is odd. It is hearing Sylus say 'Rafayel' and not 'fish', that jolts you back. Just like the moment you saw them in your kitchen, arguing. Just like when you saw them all walk through that door when the blanket was your only defence.

It is a realisation of how odd this is. How bizarre they are.

It almost makes you hiccup a laugh. The idea of Sylus speaking for Rafayel. You think about how warm he is to you, how he takes your hand easily.

I will always want to look at you.

"What if it's too much work?" You finally manage, the agony lightening so you can speak, no longer tearing at you. Though you can feel the creature on your ankle. Tugging. Like a dog with a chew toy.

"The important things are worth it."

Important.

Learning to use your prosthetic is hard. Learning to trust is hard.

It was with Caleb, it is with all of them. It is a constant struggle. A constant weight. To try.

They catch you, with a security net. Give you space to breathe, so you can stand back up again.

You think about what you want, think about what will make you happy… what is worth living for.

It is the reason to keep getting up.

You want to see Rafayel's work, you want to see the people you care about. You want to keep your promise to a man who values you. A hesitant shaky hand takes Sylus' where it hovers. The way you can watch him heave a sigh, the tension in him easing, as he clasps yours between both of his. Tight, but not suffocating. He grounds you, and it doesn't burn.

"What do you think, Kitten? Do you want to try?"

Sylus has never belittled you for tears, or made you feel your emotions are a mistake. When you are drowning, he offers a hand. When you anger and hurt, he is there, either to join you in your hurt, or to help appease it.

He offers you a choice, and he means it. If you truly do not want to, you know he will accept it. If you want to, he will help.

"I want to try."

He nods, pulling you up with him, to stand, straight into his chest. So that you can feel his uneven heart beating against you. "Then let's get you ready."

—-----

He should never have left so early. He should have stayed with you.

Rafayel left the apartment in frustration and anger and now he stares at his phone, hoping to see your name pop up.

It is an agitating feeling. To be stood on the edge of the cliff and not know if there's water below.

He has forced himself to listen to Thomas, to go through the motions, to ensure his exhibit is set up correctly. He has sat under too bright lights, feeling himself drying up, as he waits. As the clock hand moves, as he thinks, and he struggles.

If he keeps running, will you stop chasing him?

As his exhibit starts, he checks again, only to see a message from the doctor, 'Good luck today'. He doesn't respond. He stares at it. It's unsettling. He doesn't want the doctor to wish him good luck. He doesn't want his comfort.

He doesn't need it.

Even when his agitation settles a moment, and he hides it from Thomas who asks him why he's smiling. He's not.

That doesn't mean anything.

He does not wave at Xavier as he walks through the door, milling around the paintings quietly. Avoiding the bigger crowds. He tries not to think about the fact that he's come to see.

It doesn't matter.

As time passes, Rafayel fidgets.

Stares at the door.

Fidgets.

Stares at the door.

He walks around the room, passes Xavier, who hands him water quietly, then walks off. He stares down at it, but he's parched, the crowds are tiring him out, the people are talking like they understand him, and he just wants to be somewhere else. So he downs it, and lets the relief of the chill settle in his throat.

He talks absently to people he doesn't really care to listen to. Thomas gives him a talk about doing his duties.

Irritation settles in his stomach. He doesn't care about his duties. He cares about seeing you.

He checks his phone, and is relieved, though irritated, when he gets a message from the crow, 'We're on our way'. He sends back a thumbs up, though it is through a shaky hand. Excitement makes it unsteady.

It is when he is not staring at the door, when he hears your voice behind him. "Raffy?" Pulling away from where he is avoiding Thomas' lectures, he takes you in. Your hand is grasped in the crow's, eyes darting around the room. You're wearing your prosthetic, a dark blue jacket over your shoulders, painted with green and blue flowers. Flared trousers and a light shirt. He absently thinks that the crow's style isn't too ridiculous, if it means you visit his exhibits like this. Like one of the flowers in a garden he wants to take you.

"Cutie!" It is relief and it is the weight of hundreds of years that shed. He waited, he waited, and you came. He takes your hand away from the crow, not without giving a smug little smile, which receives him a smirk, and kisses the back of it. "You made it."

He watches your eyes glisten, he can feel the heat off your cheeks. Not all embarrassment, he knows some of it is stress, but it is enough. "You don't have to stay long." He promises, it doesn't matter how long you stay. You came. You came, no matter what.

You came, and he knows it wasn't easy.

The laugh you release, it trembles, like your hand, but it is accompanied by the small smile he is learning to draw with his eyes closed. "Show me your work?"

"I'll go find the prince, call me if you need me." The crow offers, he leans, kissing your temple, before he leaves. You blink after him a bit, touching where he kissed with your hand, pulling it from Rafayel's grasp, and then look at him. He glares after the man, but doesn't offer much of a response.

"Come on then cutie, you're mine." He doesn't look as he grabs your hand, and he knows he is grinning at you. Pulling you forwards with him, darting to where his art calls for you.

He doesn't notice the chill in your hand, until he eases his fingers over it. Feeling grooves and edges. He almost releases when he realises he has grabbed your prosthetic, you are staring down at it with him.

Rafayel looks at you, tries to read the look in your eyes. It is soft, and awed and gentle. So he raises it to his lips, kissing the wrist. You tremble, blinking, before tightening your grip just a little.

It is the soft, warm look in your eyes, as you tug him forward a little bit more, a laugh bubbling out of you. "Come on Raffy."

He takes you around all of his paintings, and just watches you.

You don't offer him opinions or thoughts often, he has learned if he gives you space to look, you can tell him how you feel. What his art brings out in you. If he looks closely at your face, he can watch it. Trembling in your eyes.

As you flit amongst paintings, like a butterfly amongst flowers, tugging him along with you. He follows willingly.

There are moments when you stop, and your hand twitches out. Like you are holding back the urge to run your fingers over the paint. Tracing shapes, touching at his heart directly.

He wants to tell you that you can do as you please. That you are the one who he wants to understand him most. That his art, and his soul are yours to do with as you like. That you could tear images from his canvas, and he would still paint more for you.

Finally you find yourself in front of his struggle. Bleached bones on the beach, tides easing out. Leaving scars behind.

At the edges of the horizon, the sun rises again. Painting the once dreary sky in a rainbow.

You are the sunrise that greets him, that reminds him that time moves forwards. That there is something to see after the night.

That tomorrow has a chance for better than today.

You bloom like a flower before his eyes, a sight he could never have seen beneath the waves. A reminder of why he came to visit the surface every year. A reminder of all the wonders of land that he idolised as a child.

"Beautiful." Is exhaled, and he is unsure if it was you or him. The twinkling in your eyes, perhaps it was both.

Eventually he feels the strain in your countenance, the exhaustion, so he sneaks with you out of the exhibit. Escaping into gardens that are quiet, and closed to others. A locked gate has never kept him out of anywhere, however.

It is the quiet that settles you, and he settles alongside you. No longer wearing a mask he does not want for people who come to stare at his work. He pulls you amongst flowers, fields of lilies, and whispers of petals.

Secluded and alone. The way he feels best with you.

Lying down in the grass, to look up at the sky, stars twinkling.

It is with the view of the stars that you speak, voice tinged in a guilt he wishes to chase away, "I almost didn't come. I'm sorry Raffy."

His eyes turn to you, to read the draw of your lips, the pain in your eyes, the way you tighten your grip on his hand. Cool metal against skin that reacts to you more than any other. Sensitive, aware.

Your touch will always alight his senses.

He knows the hesitation, he thinks about the way you wavered on the edge, hand extended to you as you feared to take it. He knows that you are adjusting. He regrets asking you to promise, to put that weight on your shoulders.

He is relieved you came. To see him, to stare at the workings of his heart, and yearn to trace it with fingers.

His patience and his need fight often. His awareness of pushing, his desperation. It is hard to balance.

"What changed your mind?"

You edge a little closer on the grass, so that the heat of him spreads over the sensors of your prosthetic. Alongside the gentle stroking of his thumb over your hand. "Sy told me you wanted me to be here… and I wanted to be here for you."

Rafayel's first instinct is the kind of reaction he's seen cats get to water. Hissing and jumping up. Shaking himself furiously.

There is great dissatisfaction at comparing himself to the demons.

There is greater dissatisfaction at the crow, helping him. In any way.

It is a feeling of being pulled back by the scruff of his neck, away from the abyss he seeks out. The fall into the ocean.

The agony on the edge of the conscious.

You poke his cheek with your other hand, then brush hair back and his heart settles its seething. "I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"That they care for you." It is whispered, and it is tentative, and he sees the worry in your eyes.

The fear at his arguments before. The anxiety that you are causing distress.

Forcing them. Making them clash in enclosed spaces. Like caged beasts.

It is the wary voice that calls out to him, tries to ask the question about the pain in him, the voices and the agony ripping and pulling and hurting. The pain that grants him no inspiration.

They care.

A message sent to wish him luck. A quiet presence bringing him water when he dries. A fool giving you the push to move forwards to lead your feet to him.

You have not stopped looking for him and at him, and he has been holding you like a toy he does not wish to share…

It is a feeling he isn't ready to digest or question, not when the stars are bright and you are safe next to him. It is one he will think about in days to come, as he watches the doctor help him clean. As he is offered a pillow the prince favours in order to sleep better.

When the crow argues with him, but gives him food that satisfies a hunger he forgets to appease for himself.

When you do not look at him any less. That he has not lost anything, he is not lesser.

It is a feeling for later.

To help paint canvas he wants to share one day, though pain is absent, and something else glimmers in the sea.

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friendlyneighborhoodslut · 2 days ago

Text

The Roommate Agreement | 1-The Line.

‘New Girl’ inspired fic starring Reader, her older brother, Steve and Eddie.

Pairings: Eventual Steve Harrington x Reader, slowburn.

Summary: Your first day at college is a disaster, but luckily your big brother lives right down the road… with some very interesting roommates.

Warnings/Extras: Strong language, mentions of shitty parents, cockroaches/bugs, psycho roommate (we’ve all had one), of-age drinking, Steve and Eddie being slight pervs. Let me know if I missed anything!

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

“Who the hell drinks pumpkin spice in August? It’s 85 degrees outside.” Daizy states her opinion loudly, catching the scowl of a the poor girl minding her business and drinking her latte on a bench. I snort, rearranging my grip on the box labeled Books.

“You’re just a ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?” I tease her as we climb the Dormitory steps.

“I just can’t believe you’re leaving me for some stuffy college in Chicago,” she complains.

“I can’t believe you’re not coming with me,” I retort. We slip past a couple making out in the hallway. Daizy makes a face at them before catching up with me.

“This place is well above my tax bracket,” she tells me. I count down the door numbers until we reach our destination. Room 203B. I kick the slightly ajar door with my foot, the waft of fresh paint and stale air hitting me.

My roommate has beaten me here, marking her territory by setting off an apparent bomb in the room. Foul smelling clothes are strung about, boxes sit in groups everywhere, including both beds. She’s got messy black hair and a general unpleasant disposition to her, staring at me as I walk in.

“Um, hi. I’m your roommate. You must be Hailey?” I readjust the box to shake her hand but she ignores it, returning to a box on her chosen bed. I wade through the landfill that was once our room. I try to set the box down without disturbing any of Hailey’s things, but Daizy makes a show of sweeping all the items off my bed with her arm. A waterfall of junk falls to the ground loudly. Hailey’s head turns to quick I think she’s snapped her neck.

“HEY!”

“Ever heard of manners, Halsey?” Daizy scolds.

“It’s Hailey,”

“Whatever.”

“Dude!” I whisper-yell to my best friend. The last thing I need is to get off on the wrong foot with my roommate and have to endure her wrath the entire semester. Honestly, I can’t help but be disappointed; my faith in the college’s random roommate assignment program completely shattered.

Their silent standoff awkwardly disperses, leaving a thick blanket of tension in its place. I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe and my clothes feel too tight. I squeeze my left hand in my right, tugging on my fingers one-by-one anxiously. Daizy glances down at my hands and sighs, “Alright. Let’s get all your stuff up here and call your brother.”

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

I’m buzzing with a concoction of anticipation and excitement as I sit in the cafe, my oat milk latte long forgotten. Staring out the glass front of the shop, I perk up a little at every man with dark hair that passes by. Daizy occasionally laughs at me, reminding me it’s only been two years since I’ve seen my older brother, not a lifetime.

It feels like a lifetime.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t chose this college because Benjamin had chosen it. Well, he played a great factor in it at least. Whilst I had Daizy and am forever grateful for her, Ben had practically raised me and his absence left a palpable hole in my life. I didn’t blame him for leaving; a prestigious school in Chicago and an excuse to leave our parents in the dust would bend the strongest wills. I was simply collateral damage, and I endured two years of torture at the hand of our parents until I graduated high school.

Besides, getting into The University of Chicago was damn near one of the highest honors someone in our family could receive. With a 7% acceptance rate, I felt like I’d received a letter from Hogwarts when my acceptance came in the mail. It was probably the only time I’d ever seen my parents proud of me, despite my 4.0 GPA and several letters from different sports. “Your brother was Valedictorian with a 5.0 in Honors,” they’d tell me. Yeah, well, fuck Honors.

“I drove 16 hours from Houston to see this asshole, he better show,” Daizy says affirmatively, and I imagine what she’d do to Ben if he ditched. Wring him out like a rag, probably. I cock a brow at her and she rolls her eyes. “And to be with you, of course.”

“Thank you again for driving me,” I smile. Daizy drives like she’s got 10 lives, but given that the alternative was to ask one of my parents to drive, I was more than happy to risk my life on a cross-country journey with her.

She grins, flipping her insanely long black and purple hair over her shoulder before reaching across the table to grab my hand. She squeezes it reassuringly.

The French doors of the Cafe swing open, prompting the dainty ring of a brass bell hung from the ceiling. Both of our heads snap in that direction, my brother standing with his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans.

I stare at him, gobsmacked, until he opens his arms.

“No warm hello for your big brother?” He laughs. I stand abruptly, running across the room to him. I jump into him with a thump, and he lets out an oomph on impact. I hug him tightly, and suddenly I’m that annoying little kid who’d follow him around everywhere again. He squeezes me tightly as we rock side to side a bit.

“Holy shit, you look old! College has aged you,” I tell him when I finally let go.

He shoves my shoulder. “Still a Shithead, I see,”

I pretend like it hurt, but he’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking over my head, jaw hung slack ever so slightly.

“BEN!” Daizy says, way too enthusiastically, jogging to him. I’m suddenly very awkwardly in the way as they embrace each other and he plants a kiss on her cheek.

Ugh, gross. They’ve been obviously in love with each other since we were kids, but God forbid either of them admit it. The closest they’ve ever gotten was a New Years kiss at a sweaty high school party, but they never mentioned it after that night. I’m not opposed to the idea of them together, only apprehensive; because in the event they’d split, I’d have to chose one over the other. The idea alone makes my stomach churn.

“It’s been so long!” Daizy pulls away form him barely, still gripping onto his shoulders.

“Are you in town a while? You should come by the apartment. We live just down the road,” Benjamin starts.

“We?” I echo.

He shrugs. “My roommates and I,”

“You didn’t tell us you had roommates,” Daizy adds inquisitively.

My brother nods. “Used to be four of us, now there’s three. Some guys I met in school,”

“An apartment filled with college boys, what’s the worst that could happen?” I joke.

“We function quite well. Thank you very much,” my brother dismisses as his phone starts ringing. He digs into his pocket, face falling as he swipes the screen. “Hey, what’s up?” There’s muffled words on the other end. “He did what? Jesus Christ. Yeah. Let me run by the bank, I’ll be there.” He hangs up, rubbing his face.

“What’s wrong?” I query.

“It’s my friend Eddie. Got himself into trouble, again. I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?” He says hurriedly, leaning forward to kiss the side of my head and hug me. Then he’s gone, just as swift as he’d arrived, and for a moment I question if he was ever here at all.

I scrunch my nose up, trying not to feel bitter. My fantasy of catching up with my brother just that, a fantasy, I relent and decide it’s time to face my creepy roommate.

It’s just one year, right?

Grabbing Daizy’s hand, I tug her out the doors and into the busy streets of Chicago.

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

The unfortunate part about August is that, while beautiful, it’s hot as fuck. Not quite as ‘I’m going to melt alive’ hot as July, but enough that the lack of air conditioning in the Dorms has me wanting to peel my skin off for a semblance of relief. I toss and turn in the night, sleep evading me. I’m sticky with sweat and my chest heaves against the stuffy air. Giving in, I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling.

I sit there, in the darkness, questioning every choice that lead up to this point, when my legs begin to tickle and itch.

Fantastic, I’ve got heat rash. I lean down to scratch at my legs like a wild animal, but stop when my nails brush against something soft and smooth.

Something crawls up my leg.

I squint against the darkness, the faint glow from the streetlight outside reflecting through the blinds. A cylindrical bug, about the size a quarter, scurries against my sheet.

A cockroach. There’s a fucking cockroach in my bed.

I scream, kicking my blankets off and scrambling to turn on my bedside lamp. A face—shrouded by darkness before—meets mine at the edge of the bed, just inches away. Hailey grins down at me. I scream again, petrified, and tumble out of bed.

“JESUS CHRIST! THERE’S BUGS IN THE ROOM!” I cry, running my hands over myself to check for more.

“I know,” Hailey smiles.

I stop dead in my tracks. “Did you… did you put fucking roaches in my bed?!”

She tilts her head to the side.

I think I saw this in a movie once. She’s going to skin me alive and wear me as a hat.

“Psychopath. God!” I exasperate, snatching my phone off the nightstand. “I’ll see you on the 5’o clock news for murder.” I murmur but I don’t think she hears me. She watches me leave, that uncanny grin never leaving her lips. I shiver to shake the sickening feeling she leaves me with.

It doesn’t settle in just how screwed I am until my bare feet hit the pavement. A cascade of rain trickles down my face and soaks my hair. I roll my eyes and groan. Of course. This is just perfect. Murderer roommate, bugs, and now rain.

I clutch my phone tight in my hand. I contemplate calling Daizy, but I feel I’ve asked her for enough favors recently. Defeated, I sigh and click on my brother’s name.

The last thing in our text thread is his address, with the message: sorry to run out like that. Stop by sometime. I click on it, pleasantly surprised by the 8 minute walk icon. Peering up at the black, starless sky, raindrops getting in my eyes, I sigh heavily and begin my barefooted decent to my brother’s apartment.

It’s 1:04 AM when I reach the red brick building. I double check the address and triple check the apartment number before knocking on the bright blue door. Aggressively, unwavering. At some point knocks turn into open-palmed pounds as I’m desperate to awaken my big brother.

The door flies open. Ben stands in the doorway, beer in hand and eyes hooded.

“There’s cockroaches in my dorm, it’s the temperature of Hell and I’m pretty sure my roommate is the Jeffery Dahmer reincarnate,” I blurt out, tears stinging eyes.

He blinks. “Normal people start with ‘hi’.”

I frown and he shrugs, opening the door the rest of the way and gesturing for me to come inside. I oblige, turning back around to face him.

“Bugs, Ben. She put bugs in my bed. You know how I am about things with too many legs—“

“—Nothing should have more than four legs, it’s excessive and creepy,” he mimicks me. “Yes, yes. I know. The legs,” he shakes his hands and raises his voice, pretending to be a girl, which he’s terrible at. I make an annoyed sound.

“She was staring at me, while I was sleeping. Like she wanted to—“

Someone clears their throat.

I spin around, hair whipping me in the face. My heart drops into my ass as I lock eyes with two boys sitting on the weathered leather couch. One with long, unruly black curls; covered in tattoos and plucking at a guitar. And the other, all puppy dog eyes and sandy hair, sipping on a beer.

“Hello there,” the one with dark hair chuckles, grabbing his own beer to slyly take a swig of his PBR can.

“Eddie, don’t start. Your stupid ass is still grounded for getting yourself thrown in jail,” Ben groans, stepping between us.

I’m suddenly feeling very self conscious in my sleep shorts and t shirt, not much left to the imagination. I wrap my arms around myself, a useless gesture.

“That guy was asking for it,” Eddie defends.

The guy next to Eddie on the small couch is silent, arm stretched over the back and staring at me. I sweat, unable to peel my eyes away from his. He’s beautiful, to put it simply. Sun-kissed skin against dark eyes and brown hair that frames his sharp features.

“Hey, man. Didn’t your mom ever teach you that starin’s rude?” Eddie scolds jokingly, covering the other’s eyes. “How come you don’t ever look at me like that, huh Stevie boy?” he cackles, and I realize he may be drunk, as he grips Steve’s face and plants a loud kiss to his cheek.

Steve recoils, pushing his friend away. “Gross, get off me dude,” they take turns shoving each other.

“Alright, you delinquents. That’s enough,” Ben speaks to them like a disappointed parent, ripping the blanket off the back of the couch and handing it to me. I take it graciously, wrapping it around myself. “This is my baby sister Y/N. She’s off limits, that’s a line you don’t cross, ever. She’ll sleep in my room tonight though, since you two can’t be trusted,” he inserts himself into the space between me and the sofa, drawing a metaphorical ‘line in the sand’ mid-air.

“The line,” he appoints theatrically. “Do. Not. Cross it.”

Steve nods. Eddie salutes drunkenly, his eyes nowhere near focused on Ben. I suppress a laugh.

Ben wraps his arm around my shoulders, spinning me around to walk down the hallway. “Now, why don’t you calmly tell me what happened?”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson #female reader #friends to lovers #slow burn #x reader #joe keery

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angelic-writer · 9 hours ago

Text

“Lunch is over. We’ve gotta go.” Carter said as he handed M&M’s back to Gavin who happily took them and put it back in his bag. Everyone else got up and began to head to their classes.

For the rest of the day, the others tried to focus on their subjects like normal. However, they couldn’t stop thinking about the triplets and how interested they are in joining Tyler's exploration group. The idea of going outside while there are murderous entities roaming around sounded like tempting with fate. They all know what would happen if a mimic gets them. They've seen the reports over the years. They couldn’t risk it. They already had enough things to deal with. Not to mention the fact that Tyler had been getting more and more reckless by the day. He’d do whatever he can to keep up the tough kid persona.

After school, they all went home after saying goodbye to each other. Another school day done and over with. Mavis and Charlie immediately went straight home, arriving at 4 PM. Their mom was putting the dishes in the dishwasher when they came in the door. “Hey guys! How was your day?” She asked as she dried her hands with the flannel.

“Uh, it was alright. Three kids transferred to our school today. They were nice.” Mavis replied, plopping his backpack on the floor.

"And their friends back home are quite the daredevils!" Charlie added.

“I see. I’m glad to know. Maybe you two will finally get some more friends, besides Carter and those scene kids.”

“Dad, Tyler and Gavin are fine. They’re not hurting anyone with their fashion sense.”

“I know, I know. I just worry for them.”

Mavis sighed and went upstairs to his room. Charlie rolled her eyes. "You need to take a break from those televangelists." She said before following her brother.

Delilah Mallard looked out the window at the bright blue sky that was dotted with clouds. Those kids... I worry about them, esoecially Charlie. She's been ignoring the curfew more and more lately. I hope those two aren't getting her into some serious trouble.

She sighed. Just a couple more hours of normalcy before the curfew and the daily broadcast. She reminded herself to lock the doors beforehand.

Elsewhere, Carter arrived at his own home and saw his mother, Camila sitting at the kitchen table with his father, Santiago serving her food. “Hey mom.” He said, giving her a small hug.

“Ah, welcome back, hijo. How was school?” Santiago asked.

“It was good. Three kids actually came to our school today. We didn’t get a chance to show them around, but they seem nice. One of them actually told me that if Keith tried to mess with them, they’ll give him hell.”

His two parents chuckled. “Pretty feisty ones you got there, huh?” Santiago asked.

“Yeah, they are. I hope I can talk to them more. Maybe I could introduce them to you guys.”

“Oh, that would be great. It’s nice to have new faces here.” Camila said. Carter noticed that her olive skin looked a little paler than usual. He took note of the number of breaths she took, noticing that it was a bit faster than normal. He looked to the counter and saw that there were a couple of pills left in the bottle.

“Hey dad, do you mind if I pick up mom’s medication?” He asked.

“Oh no, Carter, you don’t have to do that. I’ll do it after dinner-”

“Papa, it’s fine. I can take care of it. You just focus on mom.”

“…Alright. There should be enough for her dose.”

“You be careful, Carter. There’s a lot of dangerous people out there.” Camila said, clasping her son’s hand.

“I will. I’ll see you later.” With a kiss on the cheek, he was out the door. He got in the car and started driving to the pharmacy. Ever since he was a kid, his dad had to take care of her. He felt bad for him, having to deal with doctors and medical bills, so when he was old enough, he took the mantle whenever he’s not around.

He still remembered the first time he noticed something was wrong.

He and Mavis were playing in the backyard like usual. Santiago was in the patio, watching them and Camila just came back from the grocery store. After putting the bags away, she greeted her husband with a little nose kiss. Everything was perfectly normal when she suddenly put her hand on her chest.

“Ngh…”

“Camila? You okay?” Santiago asked.

“Chest… tight… hurts… I-I think…” She was struggling to take deep breaths.

Santiago’s eyes widened. “Dios mio, you’re having a heart attack! Here, sit down right now.” He led her to one of the patio chairs and sat her down. “Putting more strain on your heart is the last thing we need.”

Carter and Mavis had stopped kicking a soccer ball around and was now looking at his mom with concern. “Mom? Are you okay?!” The two boys rushed over to see what was going on.

“Ah, mierde, that hurts…”

“Mom?! What’s going on?! Are you okay?!” Carter asked in a panicked voice.

“I-Is something wrong, Mrs. Rodriguez?!” Mavis joined in on his friend’s panicking, his 6 year old brain not understanding what was going on.

“D-Don’t worry… I’m okay. I’m just feeling a little under the weather today.” Camila tried to reassure them.

The two boys looked at each other. That did not look like she was under the weather.

“Alright, boys. I’m gonna need you to stay back. Give her some air.” Santiago gently pulled the boys back. He was on the phone with someone they didn’t know, but they would get their answer a second later.

“It’s going to be alright. I called for an ambulance and they’ll be here soon. Just try to keep calm and it’ll be okay.”

It felt like time had stopped for the 7 year old. Ambulance…? Such a foreign, alien word… Why did his mom need it? Was she sick?

“Mrs. Rodriguez, are you okay? Why is Mr. Rodriguez calling an ambulance? Are you sick?” Mavis asked, voice trembling.

Camila smiled a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m okay. I just need to go to the hospital and I’ll be just fine."

“But why do you need a hospital? You look perfectly- Well, you looked perfectly fine.” Carter said, trying to understand what was going on.

She sighed. “I may look like I’m fine. But this sickness… is inside of me.”

“Inside…? What do you mean…?”

That was the day he learned about her heart condition. She was diagnosed with it a week later. Arrhythmia causes improper beating of the heart, the doctor told little Carter. Sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. Sometimes, it can cause the heart to beat erratically. It can be fatal.

Fatal.

That word bounced around in his brain years later. He didn’t want to lose his mom. He wanted her to see him go through all the milestones in life. Prom, graduation, getting his first job, moving out, having a family - He wanted her here for all of it.

He pulled into the parking lot of the pharmacy and got out of the car. As long as he and his dad are here to take care of her, she’ll live to see it all.

Project Mimicry (Vol 1) - Chapter 1

"In the beginning, God created the heaven and the Earth." - Genesis 1:1

1983

"This is a test. This station is conducting a test of the Emergency Broadcasting System. This is only a test."

A long, screeching noise blared from the old TV. The Markson family had a different program on when they announced the test. It was some cowboy show their dad loved so much. For eleven year old Jade, it made her stomach churn. It was an odd sound, different from the sounds of horses and gunfire that came from the living room while they were doing family worship. It made her want to jump into her mother's arms and pray to Jehovah for the noise to stop.

Her mom, dad and brother were silent as the attention signal droned on. After a minute, it stopped.

"This is a test of the emergency broadcasting system. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with federal, state and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency, the attention signal you have just heard would have been filed by official information, news or instructions. This station serves the northern Alabama area. This concludes this test of the emergency broadcast system."

Jade fiddled with the pages of her book, trying to think of the right words to say. Her brother, Caleb had resumed work on his drawing, seeming to not care about anything. Her mother let out a small sigh. "I swear, can they not scare the kids like that?"

"Mom..." Jade quietly said. "Why do they send out something like this? What if it hadn't been a test? Are... Are we gonna die?"

Opal got up from her chair and pulled her into her arms. "Oh sweetie, we're not gonna die. Everything's gonna be okay. This whole thing will blow over in no time."

"Well Jade," Opal's husband, Simon, chimed in. "They played the test on our TV because they want to inform us on what's happening. The world is at a very turbulent time at the moment so they are doing their best to keep us informed. If we were actually under attack, we would've been hiding in the basement." He let out a small chuckle.

"Well, what can we do to make it better?" Jade asked.

"Pray to Jehovah, of course. Our safety is his priority and if we pray to him, he'll protect us."

Jade smiled and snuggled into her mother. Jehovah is the only thing she knew. She may not be like the other "worldly" kids, but she didn't need all those material goods. She didn't need to see the latest movie or buy the newest toys. As long as she had her family and Jehovah, she can get through anything.

Caleb let out a soft coo.

"Oh, we didn't forget about you!" Simon lifted him out of his baby chair and gently rocked him. The whole family began to giggle.

This was their life. This was their routine. Jade was determined to be a good older sister to Caleb. And soon, he will be baptized.

-------

December 24th, 1983

"This is an important message from the Crestwood police department. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. The Crestwood police department has issued a Shelter-in-place Warning for the county of Crestwood until further notice. Reports of unknown figures have been confirmed by law enforcement and the Department of Babylonian Crusaders. For your safety, until 5 PM to 6 AM, stay home, lock all doors and windows and, in the event of a break-in, have access to a loaded weapon at all times. Do not call 911 unless you need to report an emergency. The Crestwood police department and the Department of Babylonian Crusaders thanks you for your cooperation.

Stay tuned for a message from the representative of the Department of Babylonian Crusaders."

"Hello. My name is Dr. Lloyd Evans from the Department of Babylonian Crusaders. We have been receiving reports of unknown organisms that we've decided to call mimics. You may have already gotten the alert from the EBS about this phenomenon, but we're here to tell you about what those mimic types are and what you can do to protect yourself.

The first type are the defensive mimics. They are a sub group of mimics that take on the role of a protector when they find a human. Some pose as aggressive mimics to ward off other humans or they deceive humans they perceive as harmful with their harmless look and kill them. Think of it as a predator camouflaging itself in order for them to eat their prey.

There are three types of defensive mimics. There are Batesian, Mullerian and Emsleyan or Mertensian mimics.

Batesian mimics are harmless. They pose as a harmful mimic to ward off anyone they tries to hurt them or their human.

Mullerian mimics are two or more mimics that advertise themselves as harmful to ward off predators. These mimics often work in groups of two or three.

Emsleyan or Mertensian mimics take the form of a less harmful mimic to deceive the predator and kill them.

These ones can be considered safe, but you should still be wary of them. Aggressive mimics are the ones you need to watch out for. Now, aggressive mimics are the type of mimic that pose as humans to kill them. These types use mind games to toy with their victims. If they haven't committed suicide, the mimic will finish the job.

Predators are a mimic group where they take the form of a loved one, deceive them into thinking they are the real person and then use psychological manipulation. Those are the most dangerous types of mimics and we strongly advise to avoid them at all costs.

Parasites are [REDACTED DUE TO SIGNAL GLITCH]

Now, here's what you can do to keep yourself safe. Stay in your homes after 6 PM, lock all windows and doors and keep a loaded weapon with you at all times. In the event of a mimic attack, follow the S.A.F.E. principle.

S - Secure yourself in a room.

A - Access the situation. Learn how the mimic operates.

F - Fire your weapon. If the mimic attacks, do not hesitate. It can mean life or death.

E - If possible, escape. Do not let them win.

We hope this message keeps you safe. We're very sorry for the interruption and we hope you have a Merry Christmas!"

Though this message was broadcasted to most TVs, some of them reported the S part saying something different. According to reports, it said "Surrender yourself to the Lord."

--------

1987

The young man's back was pressed up against the wall. The shotgun he had in his hands had one shell left. The creature that was at his door kept calling out to him in a mockery of his wife's voice.

"Ralphie... Please let me in... I'm sorry for sca-a-a-aring you back there. You know how I am."

His grip tightened. That wasn't her. That wasn't his wife. She was dead. And now, he was going to die too. His eyes started to fill with tears.

Marla... I'm so sorry... I couldn't protect you... I couldn't save you from these things.

The image of his wife sprawled out on the kitchen floor flashed in his mind. Her neck that was gushing blood... He swallowed, trying to hold back his vomit. They had followed the rules. They had done everything the broadcast said. What did they do wrong? They had to have done something wrong for something like this to happen.

He gritted his teeth. Pondering over this won't help him now. Remember the S.A.F.E. principle, Ralph. Remember.

He secured himself in his bedroom, grabbing his shotgun so he could protect himself. He analyzed the situation. The creature, the mimic, was trying to use his wife's voice to lure him out, using his nickname. Ralphie was what she would call him when he came home from work. The way she said it made his heart soar. However, when it said his nickname, it felt like nails on a chalkboard.

The high school sweethearts had moved into the rural Alabama town after they had gotten married in New York. They thought getting away from the bustling city life would help them. They were in the talks of starting a family when the broadcast came on, talking about reports of mimics.

"Talk about bad timing. On Christmas too." Marla had said while bringing out the cookies and milk. "Let's hope Santa gets there okay."

"I hope so too. But hey, look on the bright side. This lockdown will end at 6 AM tomorrow. We've still got time to celebrate, right?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Besides, anything's fun with you." She gave him a light peck on the cheek.

A low sob escaped him. There was so much they wanted to do together. So many things they had planned. Their entire life... They were now gone.

Oh Marla... Why did they have to take you? What did we do?

God, please... Please help me.

He wiped his face. No, crying and pleading to some higher being isn't gonna solve anything. I have to survive. I have to live on for Marla! If I can get out of here, I could alert the police.

With a sense of courage taking over, he pointed his shotgun at the door. The mimic had begun to claw at the door, no doubt leaving scratch marks in the wood. "Ralphie... Please... Let me in. It's so cold. My neck hurts. Help..."

"Shut up... You're not her..."

The doorknob rattled.

"You're not her. You're not her! You're not her!!"

There was a sudden loud banging making him jump. "Ralph, open the goddamn door! You'd really leave me out here with these things?! How could you?!" The thing screeched.

"You're! Not! Her! Leave me alone!! You killed her, you monster!! You're not- You're not her!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. "Just try and get me! I dare you! I'll fucking shoot you if you try anything!"

"Ralph..." His 'wife' had begun to cry. Normally, it would cause him to go over and hug her, but he will not be swayed. What it was doing, it was disgusting. It's desecrating his wife's memory, his image, his everything. The nerve of the creature...

The door flew open, allowing Ralph to see the monster. Though it was hard to see through the darkness, what he could see made him freeze.

Its form was tall and lanky, its arms and legs stretched out to an almost inhuman degree. What little hair it had on its head was beginning to fall off. Its skin was beginning to sag. Ralph could swear he was beginning to see bones. The mimic looked at him with empty eyes yet it pierced his soul with an intense glare. It opened its mouth to speak, but all that came out were rasps and gargles.

Ralph began to shake, his aim wavering as he stared at... He didn't even know what he was seeing. It was human, but at the same time, it was not. It looked like his wife, but it was like looking at a decomposing carcass. The smell... It smelled like rotten eggs left out on the hot sidewalk. Bile threatened to come up his throat, but he held it in.

One shot. He had to make it count. If it failed...

The creature began to laugh. It was the kind of laugh that made you cringe. It was an ear-piercing, gurgling laugh that was like if you tried to imitate a toy clown on its last legs.

Ralph pressed his finger on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, he screamed out.

"I will not let you kill me!!"

The gun went off.

--------

2017

The group of kids stared at the small house as their two older brothers talked to the movers. The smallest one of the bunch hugged her teddy bear. Though leaving their home state of Florida didn't seem like a huge deal at first, Catherine still had her doubts. Sure, they were free from all the hurricanes, but they still had friends there. They still had people they could talk to.

But now, she and her brothers moved to a new town. There was no one she knew there. And there was... an abundance of churches. Lots and lots of churches.

@chibisrpblog

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d3lly1000 · 2 days ago

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I finally watched Sonic 3!!!!! (IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST EXPERIENCES OF MY LIFE)

I had been holding back so I could talk without worrying about spoilers, but I think I can now comment on my general opinion of the movie.

There will be spoilers, so you have been warned!

I’ll admit that I found the first act a bit rushed. I understand that they had a lot of characters to “reintroduce” and new ones to add (especially Shadow), but I felt a bit lost with what was happening—it was really convenient how the script handled a lot of things just to get to the point.

For example: Shadow attacking in Japan with no real explanation, Rockwell quickly finding Sonic and the others. Even Commander Walters showed up just to explain what happened in the past, only to die unexpectedly right after. Even though he's not a particularly memorable character, I felt like his death didn’t carry the weight it should have, even for Team Sonic who witnessed it.

There was also the fact that a lot of what happened in the first act had already been revealed in the trailers and TV spots, which kind of deflated my excitement, knowing what was going to happen. But as I said, things were happening so fast that I couldn’t process all the information right away! XD

I have to say, I absolutely love the interactions between all the characters. The relationships and how they were developed felt so unique to me. I’ve always had the headcanon that Knuckles, Tails, and Sonic acted like siblings, and in the movies, I got to witness that in a meaningful and very loving way (shoutout to Tails saving Sonic and Knuckles protecting them, my boys <3).

One of my favorite scenes is definitely the argument between Knuckles and Sonic, as it really shows their maturity. It shows how much they are changing with each movie, which is so valuable to me because it demonstrates that the characters are really learning from their experiences. In a franchise, this deepens their moral journey and enriches who they are — it’s truly wonderful.

Speaking of siblings, I can’t not talk about Maria and Shadow. Right from the beginning, I could already feel the heartache hearing Live and Learn in an acoustic version. I think for fans who know how iconic this song is for the franchise, the idea that MARIA COULD HAVE BEEN THE ORIGINAL COMPOSER of it (at least in the SCU) hits so hard.

The narrative of Shadow talking about Maria always moved me, and the film managed to emphasize what she meant to Shadow in such a sweet way. Seeing the scene where Shadow recalls the day of the accident and then carrying the Eclipse Cannon gave me chills.

The parallels between Sonic/Shadow and Tom/Maria were something I was really looking forward to! The franchise often makes these types of comparisons between characters, not just in the games but also in the movies. As I mentioned before, I think this makes everything richer — it gives you a new perspective and helps you understand the complexity of characters by revisiting the "same memory" through a different person. I love when they do that!

ABOUT THE FIGHT SCENES, ALL OF THEM. I was breathless! I have to confess I was cursing A LOT during the third act. It was so epic, something you wouldn’t even think you'd see! Super Form battles were such a great concept for the situation, seeing Sonic get so angry really fed my fan dream of seeing him want to destroy everything XDD. Shadow literally crushed him, both physically and mentally. He REALLY IS THE STAR of this movie. The whole year was his. And he delivered in every possible media!

((I screamed so much when they did the pose, Live and Learn, it was so epic.))

Jim Carrey’s performance is always amazing. I’m still stunned at how naturally Gerald and Eggman felt together. It really seemed like a completely different actor, and that’s insane! I think the only thing I wish we’d seen more of was scenes between Gerald and Maria in the past, but who knows, maybe they’re planning something for a "Shadow solo spin-off."

The light shines, even when the star dies. – I was already emotionally losing it inside, there were just so many things to process.

AND THE POST-CREDITS SCENE HAUSFHSAIFHGVSNUHGUSAHGUSAH

OK OK I’M >TOTALLY< NORMAL ABOUT MY BABIES

Literally my two FAVORITES showed up. METAL WILL BE THE MAIN VILLAIN, I have so many theories and DEFINITELY it will be an adaptation of Heroes and CD. I CAN'T WAIT to see him in action, the whole Artificial vs. Natural thing is something that really resonates with me in the rivalry between him and Sonic.

AND HAUSHFUASFHUASFH AMY MY GIRL!!!

She’s so cool, she appeared in SUCH A UNIQUE way, the cracked moon in the background, revealing herself by taking off the hood... I can’t wait to see her in 2027... I need it so much aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I definitely loved the movie a lot. I still want to rewatch it in English since I saw it dubbed in my language, but I think I’d give it an 8.5/10 or 9/10! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS MOVIE!! I’m still shaking remembering the action scene sahufzahghaghs

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #sonic movie #sonic movie spoilers #shadow the hedgehog #sonic 3 spoilers #sonic cinematic universe #sth #long post #my random things #sonic fandom

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cosmic-glow · 20 hours ago

Text

Can't You See The Connection?

Notes: Just a cute intrusive thought I decided to write, but I hope you like it!

Warnings: SFW!! Thanos x GN!Reader; Reader is not Asian, but country of origin not specified! ; No use of "Y/n" ; Reader paints nails ; Soft ; Cute ; Violence mentioned in the series.

You were still having to absorb your current situation. Stuck in a place you have no idea where it is, having to play children's games to survive, surrounded by people you've never seen in your life… all because of a debt. What a load of shit.

For your own benefit, you've always been more of an observer than a talker. So you managed to read some of the players just by watching what they did. Without having to talk to anyone, you discovered that player 333 almost got punched for manipulating his followers into investing in cryptocurrencies (which led to them losing everything); player 456 had played the games before and won; player 230 was a rapper and players 149 and 007 were mother and son.

It wasn't much, but it was something to know who to avoid and who could be useful.

After the first game, the dormitory no longer seemed so full. Not just because of the people who died, but because most of the players were still in shock, the only ones who spoke were those gathered in small groups. You were sitting on your bunk, minding your own business and totally ignoring the brief glances that landed on you.

As a foreigner, you were more than used to your simply different appearance attracting attention. The problem was when they made hostile comments, but as long as they weren't directly said to you, you could ignore them. These damn games were just beginning, it wasn't a good time to get into trouble and be tarnished in the eyes of others if you needed a group in the future.

Because you were ignoring all the stares, you didn't even notice the one that was most persistent on you. Since the end of the first game, Thanos hasn't been able to take his eyes off you. Not only because your appearance stood out, but because when the game was over and everyone was pale with horror after seeing people die because of a stupid game, you were standing just catching your breath. Not seeming at all affected by what just happened, by what you just saw. And that made him curious even though he was a little high at the moment.

Thanos was sitting with player 124, Nam-Gyu. His eyes still on you with curiosity. He analyzed every detail of you that was different from what he was used to. The shape of your eyes, the tone of your skin, the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips… everything was captivating to him.

But something caught his attention as soon as his eyes noticed it. It made him jump as he stood up and walked over to you without even responding to Nam-Gyu's call. You insisted on keeping your gaze down even when he stopped next to your bunk, thinking that it could be some random player wanting to get into trouble for some reason, wanting to avoid that for at least one more day.

- Hey, your nails! They're just like mine.

The soft but excited voice said and then the man stretched his hand in front of your eyes so you could see. In fact, the man painted each nail a color just like you, even if it wasn't the same colors as yours. When you looked up to see who it was, you were met with the smug smile of Thanos, who was waiting for your answer. You really thought about giving a short and cold answer to cut him off and thus get him away from you. He was very noisy and had already started a fight early on, he was the type of player you should avoid. But honestly? He was the only one so far who didn't look at you as if you were an alien, so at the last second you decided to give him a brief smile before answering:

- It's true. Are you copying me by chance?

You said with sarcasm and a slightly friendly tone. And God… it was just a half smile, but Thanos was sure his heart wasn't beating faster because of the drug. He smiled wider as he absorbed the sarcasm and withdrew his hand, putting both in his pockets.

- More likely the opposite. There's no need to be embarrassed if you're a fan of mine.

- Fan of yours? - You raised an eyebrow - Why would I be a fan of yours? I don't even know you.

- Don't know me? I am the legendary rapper Thanos! Come on, you must have heard me somewhere.

- No, no idea.

If Thanos was upset that you didn't know him, he hid it well by just shaking his head, still smiling and letting out a sigh.

- Guess I should introduce myself then, huh?

And without waiting for your answer, Thanos began to improvise a rap introducing himself and talking about how great he was. In a kind of pathetic way, on purpose to make you laugh. He would soon discover that he was becoming addicted to your smile as if it were a new kind of drug, even if you hated yourself a little every time it happened. But you couldn't help it, his rap was so cocky and pathetic that, for a brief moment, you forgot that you were trapped in this place at the risk of your life. You relaxed and just laughed, feeling the brief lightness that the sensation brought.

When he finished, you said your name accompanied by "I'm just…" in front to contradict the cocky way he introduced himself. Thanos smiled and said it was a pleasure to meet you, repeating the "just" in front when saying your name.

He extended his right hand to greet you, you looked at the gesture for a second before shaking his hand with yours. Your colorful nails matched in a way and he liked that, it was as if there was already a kind of bond between you, something that connected you.

- Come to my group. Nam-Gyu is a bit annoying sometimes, but you can tell him to shut up if you want.

You found it funny how he said the phrase in the most banal tone possible, as if he were referring to some kind of pet and not another player, but you accepted the offer and went with him to the other side of the dormitory where the boy was waiting for Thanos in the same place he left him.

As the drug wore off, Thanos noticed more how much he liked your accent, your smile, your voice, the way you sometimes gestured with your hands… it was as if it was simply difficult not to look at you.

And in that moment of sobriety he knew he would do everything he could to make sure you survived the games with him.

Sorry for any typos;

Buy me a coffee?

Masterlist;

Drabbles Game

#squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game oneshot #squid game headcanons #thanos squid game #thanos round 6 #thanos x reader #thanos squid game x reader #thanos x gn!reader #thanos x you #choi su bong #choi su bong fanfic #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong oneshot

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oceanicwriting · 2 days ago

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black book.

summary: falling in love with lorenzo berkshire was totally forbidden, but... what kind of story would your life be if you don't end up madly in love with him? although there is much more hidden under his sexual practices that end up releasing a part of you that he had never seen.

pairing(s): lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

a/n: this ended up being so long that i didn't check it twice... sorry if there are errors, at some point i will give it another go, promise. btw, this was inspired by a tiktok i saw two days ago about this black book thing. hope you like it!

+18 smut (a little), oral sex/sit on my face (f!receiving), masturbation (f!receiving), fingering, teasing, mention and use of drugs, smoking, fuck buddies, cursing

ㅤㅤㅤ every woman knew, from the first moment they accept lorenzo berkshire between their legs, that everything that will happen would be strictly sexual and no more than one night. many had tried to change that, but he was a man of his word. at least he was with all the other girls who have been under his domain because you were too special for that. how could he even think about forgetting the best sex he had ever had in a closet in the hallways?

ㅤㅤㅤ since then, you've met more times than you can count, under the strict law of not crossing the romantic. at first, a little biased by the disgusting rumors about him, you thought it was a safe plan. and it was... for a while. when he started asking you to spend the nights with him, send you surprise notes, talk in the moonlight and all kinds of things, your heart became an incurable weakling.

ㅤㅤㅤ are you in love with lorenzo womanizer berkshire? of course you are.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what do you think of this one? —you look at your friend's dress, who walks around the room, swaying her hips—. i feel like it's not that short...

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at the end of the dress almost certain that if she sit down anywhere her ass would be exposed to the world.

ㅤㅤㅤ —of course, i forgot that the shorter the dress, the faster zabini fucks you, —you mumble with a hint of sarcasm in your voice.ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ your friend throws a piece of clothing from the floor, laughing nervously at the comment and insulting you between murmurs.

ㅤㅤㅤ when she turns her attention back to looking for another dress, you let yourself fall on the bed, releasing all the air that you have trapped since last night. in your mind, you had repeated the events over and over again, trying to connect some things but failing miserably in the attempt.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what's wrong with you? every time we go to a snake party, you're jumping on one leg. did something happen with berkshire yesterday?

ㅤㅤㅤ the mere mention of his name sends a chilling wave through your body. you deny it, but your friend knew something had happened. the last few times you hadn't come back from being with him until the next morning, and last night you had come back early, slamming the door in your way in.

ㅤㅤㅤ —liar. —she comes over to sit with you on the bed—. come on, tell me.

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo was a boy from another world in bed. he knew perfectly how to use a woman's body to please her desires, taking advantage of the situation to satisfy his own pleasure. he was fully aware of how to squeeze, bite, lick, or caress so that anyone could bend to his charm. and he had bent you in every way, body and soul.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you have to promise not to tell your crush about this —you say, lifting a pinky that your friend wraps around hers in a promise—. i found a black book in lorenzo’s room yesterday. it was a small leather notebook with a silver L on the front. i hadn’t really given it much thought, but he got so weird when he saw it in my hands. he was… tense like never before.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you couldn’t see anything inside?

ㅤㅤㅤ you shake your head and say—: i just wasn’t interested. i thought it was a notebook for class or something, but he got so mad that i doubt it.

ㅤㅤㅤ —that’s weird…

ㅤㅤㅤ your friend doesn’t want you to think about it too much and tries to make you forget about it with drinks straight from the bottle of alcohol she hides under the bed. that was the only fun you had all night because lorenzo disappeared with one of your classmates, and your friend got lost among the crowd.

ㅤㅤㅤ the next day, right after you wake up, your friend walks into the room, looking disheveled. when she notices you're awake, it seems like a memory hits the back of her mind, and her green gaze looks like it's about to explode.

ㅤㅤㅤ you laugh and ask—: what hap...?

ㅤㅤㅤ she shushes you, throwing her bag onto the bed and searching for something amongst the makeup that falls against your messy sheets.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what the...? —in her hands is that black leather book with the shiny silver L sending out sparkles from the morning light reflection—. what did you do?

ㅤㅤㅤ —when blaise and i wanted to find a place to... —she trails off, painting her cheeks red—. you don't need those details, got it. the thing is, we went to the wrong room, and before we left, i saw the book on the desk. no one knows i have it, i swear on my parents.

ㅤㅤㅤ the book has a lot of full pages, losing the neatness of the empty ones at the end. there are entire minutes when you doubt whether to open it, but the curiosity running through your body is inevitable to feel.

ㅤㅤㅤ —so? —your friend asks, forcing you to look up at her—. are you going to open it or not?

ㅤㅤㅤ the first page has black book written in capital letters and lorenzo’s initials just below it. the next page has a small table that takes you two seconds to understand.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what is that?

ㅤㅤㅤ —they look like scores —you say, showing your friend the table.

ㅤㅤㅤ —scores? scores for what?

ㅤㅤㅤ and right below it, there was a list with three points, but the most important one was the one that gets stuck in your mind.

ㅤㅤㅤ —scores for sex.

ㅤㅤㅤ your friend looks at you, noticing the terrible mistake she made by bringing the book to you. she tries to take it from your hands, but you don't let her, and you start to slowly turn the pages. there were names of classmates, girls who have talked to you once, girls you don't know, and others girls you could remember in the back of your mind. and there was your name crossed out, but still visible with a five next to it. in that book, you were either a regular muggle or the worst of them all.

ㅤㅤㅤ —this was a terrible idea —your friend says, finally taking the book from you—. a horrible idea.

ㅤㅤㅤ but you can't speak because your heart has tightened so much that it leaves you breathless and unruly tears fall down your eyes. all you can think about is how pathetic you must look, crying over a man who made it clear from the first moment that you shouldn't fall in love.

ㅤㅤㅤ it had been a week since you discovered lorenzo's big secret. you could have chosen many paths to destroy him, but you made the cowardly decision to avoid him at all costs. he had tried to communicate with you through notes, appearing in the bedroom at any time of the day or chasing you through the halls. and yet, you didn't feel like facing him.

ㅤㅤㅤ when the night came, you always had the three same questions. hadn't he searched your body more than once? did you hear wrong when he repeated between grunts that you were doing perfectly? why did he cum so fast when you wrapped your mouth around his cock? it was strange and disgusting that, after seeing all those names, your concern was centered on the small detail of a score.

ㅤㅤㅤ now you were sitting between a couple of people at a party that your friend had insisted you should be at. you felt calm, comfortable, and were having a great time. until the fun in your eyes fades when, walking through the door with a triumphant air, he appears. lorenzo berkshire would be your downfall for a long time, and you knew it very well.

ㅤㅤㅤ —hey, no. —you hear your friend's voice behind you, but your body is on autopilot, designed to escape—. enough of running away, okay? the girl i've known since i was ten never runs from jerks because she wears that skirt well and makes them suffer.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at her, then at the crowd. if lorenzo was any other selfless boy, you would have taken revenge as you well know, but he was not that. he had removed any sanity within your loving heart, and you were not sure about playing with something as fragile as that.

ㅤㅤㅤ —no. i...

ㅤㅤㅤ —no, you do —your friend says, pulling your arm to get onto the improvised dance floor with a big smile—. you and i are going to have the best night of our lives.

ㅤㅤㅤ you drink alcohol, dance among people, smoke marijuana, and laugh with faces you can’t remember. you were having such a good time that you can only now sit down laughing out loud at a joke your friend had told.

ㅤㅤㅤ —oh, let me get more alcohol —she says, losing her balance as she gets up from her chair—. oops.

ㅤㅤㅤ you follow his figure from your seat, and there he is. lorenzo is dancing close to a girl in the middle of the crowd. just seeing him ignites a wave of rage that feeds off of all the toxins you’ve taken up until that point. and you think in the midst of lucidity that maybe you could do your thing to make him angry... just a little.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look for some boy who can get your attention so you don't feel repulsed by his touch and you find him. in a corner, smoking a joint on his own, is a boy with fine features. it was the perfect moment, perfect man and perfect opportunity.

ㅤㅤㅤ when you get up, walking among the people, you purposely bump into the body of the girl who clings to lorenzo's shoulders. you apologize with a soft smile that doesn't fade from your face when you feel the boy's eyes linger on your figure contouring as you walk.

ㅤㅤㅤ when you arrive with your prey, you greet him with a more seductive voice than you expected, but it has the effect you wanted. it doesn't take you any time to have the boy in the palm of your hand, between jokes and white lies, you manage to have his fingers on your legs with a delicacy that could melt you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do you want to go somewhere else? —it's the voice of the boy sitting next to you, speaking close to your ear. you look at the crowd in search of lorenzo, but you can't find him—. i don't think i can hold back the urge to touch you under that dress anymore.

ㅤㅤㅤ you laugh and, the truth is, you didn't dislike the idea of rolling around with this cute stranger either. of course, if he wasn't violently attacked by lorenzo's friends, starting a fight that no one can stop. it's impressive how screams, pushes, or swear words take center stage so quickly.

ㅤㅤㅤ —walk. —even though it's just one word, you know exactly who that voice is, pulling you towards the bedroom stairs.

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo's quick steps blur your vision, but you try to stay awake with the soft scent of his cologne hitting your nose. when you reach your room, you can't help but sit up in bed, trying to catch your breath and clear your mind to become aware of what will happen now.

ㅤㅤㅤ when you can lift your head, lorenzo is standing right in front of you. he has his arms crossed on his chest, dark gaze, and waits for you to start some kind of conversation. a wave of heat hits every part of your body, uneasy from the gesture of his tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. oh, he was so angry.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what? —you ask, getting up from the bed, trying to avoid him noticing the stumble you've made in your own steps.

ㅤㅤㅤ —aren't you going to say anything?

ㅤㅤㅤ you turn to see him, pretending not to understand with a small gesture of confusion, managing to feed his anger as you wanted.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you ignore me all fucking week and now you let someone else fuck you in front of everyone. —he lets out a cynical laugh and claps angrily—. oh! surprise, despite everything, the lady has nothing to say.

ㅤㅤㅤ you try not to laugh at how funny his voice sounds in your head.

ㅤㅤㅤ —my problem if i want to fuck someone in front of everyone. why do you care, lorenzo? and he was just touching a little. tasting...

ㅤㅤㅤ you hear him, his four strong footsteps that shorten the distance with you. it's the scent of her perfume that you catch first, turning on some parts of your body. you can't deny that his demanding gaze also wreaks havoc on your stomach, and memories of all the times you've been together play through your head at an imperceptible speed.

ㅤㅤㅤ —we're not exclusive, remember?

ㅤㅤㅤ you expected those words to hurt him, but it seems they only manage to sink the thorn into your own heart, causing a pain that hasn't been felt so intense for a week. all because of that stupid black book.

ㅤㅤㅤ —and, after all, i'm nothing more than a muggle worth five points. —and it seems that hurts him, because he steps back, destabilized and obfuscated—. how long do you think it was going to take me to discover it? maybe you're used to taking them to your room once or never, but i've been to that fucking place, i don't know... fifty times?

ㅤㅤㅤ —how did you know?

ㅤㅤㅤ —that doesn't matter. do you know how disgusting i felt after knowing that? rating girls for their performance in bed? are you sixteen fucking years old?!

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo grabs your arm tightly, pushing you against the bed and preventing any movement with the weight of his body on top. your breathing hits at the movement, feeling dizzy again.

ㅤㅤㅤ —listen, it's not what you think.

ㅤㅤㅤ his voice, so clear and firm, different from the blurry image of that moment. it's hilarious that he wants to keep thinking you're stupid, as if you were exactly what his book says.

ㅤㅤㅤ —are you telling me that i lack reading comprehension? honestly, lorenzo, i'm impressed by how much you underestimate me and... —the laugh that had been stuck leaves your lips like music to the boy's ears—. you know what? fuck it.

ㅤㅤㅤ the leg that was trapped between his rises, giving a sharp blow against his crotch. your hands push his chest, turning in the bed to straddle him.

ㅤㅤㅤ —a five, enzo? —he looks at you, breathing heavily from the wave of torment affecting his body—. weren't you the one who was going after my body? did i hear wrong when you told me that i was doing it just the way you want? why did you seem to enjoy it when i'm a fucking five?

ㅤㅤㅤ yes, it was unpleasant to put scores, but in your chest was a much bigger pain. you like lorenzo. you are madly in love with him and that clouds every other sense in your head. you wanted to be a twenty, fifty or top score for him. you wanted to be enough. you wanted to be the only woman in his power. you wanted to change the immovable.

ㅤㅤㅤ —beautiful... —his hand tries to touch your cheek decorated with small tears.

ㅤㅤㅤ your body reacts by instinct, hitting his arm to press it against the bed, avoiding any touch that could make you lose the courage you have accumulated.

ㅤㅤㅤ —why, lorenzo?

ㅤㅤㅤ if there was something he hated was seeing sad tears running down your face, being enough to say—: i'm not the only one with a book like that. we compare scores, bet on it, and all kinds of things. i just... i didn't want them to know.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at him, noticing the honesty in his eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you didn't want them to know what?

ㅤㅤㅤ he smirks, looking at your body with lust. every curve, every place that only he knew, every trace of his marks that have disappeared, and every area that he could touch to make you roll in pleasure. lorenzo knew every little detail of your body with such precision that it was inevitable for him not to imagine you naked.

ㅤㅤㅤ —how amazing you are in bed.

ㅤㅤㅤ and you could blame many things for the events that happen after that. you'd say it was his deep voice that scratched your insides, messy hair that falls on the duvet or disheveled clothes. some might believe when you blame the alcohol, but there was someone in the whole world who would always know the truth. you.

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo buries his hands in your hips, pushing you against his body to grab your lips with a delicious habit. the taste of alcohol in his mouth is the same as yours, intense and hot. your hips move with the help of his hands that squeeze just the way you like. you let him dominate the situation of that kiss until a fleeting memory comes back to your head.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i want you to use your mouth —you murmur against his lips—. i want you to use it so you can't use it on anyone else.

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo looks at you, trying to turn on the bed to do what you ask. the problem is that your body tenses at the intention, and he looks at you with confusion.

ㅤㅤㅤ —not like that.

ㅤㅤㅤ you pull your panties off to stop your pussy right in front of his face. the simple breath of lorenzo hitting your folds makes you shudder, but you know he has to suffer like never before. so, when he makes the gesture of getting closer to your wetness, your fingers tangle in his hair, pressing his head against the bed.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i want to hear that you want it. i want you to beg.

ㅤㅤㅤ it was always lorenzo who dominated in the relationship. you enjoyed it that way, but today, there was a rage inside you that was as uncontrollable as the wave of ecstasy that runs through your body when you talk to him that way. you wanted to make him feel so small that he would be the one to beg to come back this time.

ㅤㅤ�� you look at him, part of his face covered by the black skirt and gaze lit up in flames. the hot, heavy air crashing against you was perfect, sending desperate signals to your eager and needy body.

ㅤㅤㅤ —let me devour you. i want to lick and suck until i can't take it anymore. please, just, please...

ㅤㅤㅤ and your pussy presses against his lips, holding part of your weight with the headboard of the bed and legs. lorenzo doesn't take long to do what he had asked, stimulating your clitoris with the tip of his expert tongue. you moan at the tickling sensations that travel from there, moving your hips gently against him.

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo kisses, sucks, and licks as best he can against the weight of your body on top of him, raising his eyes over your skirt to watch you arch your back every time his tongue gets close to your entrance. his hands move up to your breasts, where one stops to squeeze over your shirt and the other continues its way to your mouth.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do you wanna s-see how i do it? —you say, looking down at him and sticking your tongue out to lick his fingers—. i always imagine it’s your cock.

ㅤㅤㅤ his fingers sink into your mouth so deeply that it’s impossible not to gasp. your tongue licks, curling and tasting the length of his long digits. when lorenzo is satisfied with that, he moves his hand from your back to your entrance.

ㅤㅤㅤ —w-wait, j-just wait a little —you say between soft moans—. i need you to go down a little.

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo does so, making you shiver from the new sensation that builds up in that perfect area. then, you feel his fingers digging in in the perfect direction to touch a spot that activates thousands of waves of pleasure.

ㅤㅤㅤ his fingers going in and out quickly, while his mouth continues to stimulate you, was enough to make your legs feel weak. the accumulation of emotions that are trying to be released with moans explodes in an electric current that travels from head to toe, cutting off the air that enters your lungs, making you scream and fall against lorenzo's face pressed against your thighs.

ㅤㅤㅤ he grabs your ass and manages to turn with his head still buried between them. you can feel the tip of his tongue wander over your sensitive areas again. suffer, suffer and suffer.

ㅤㅤㅤ —stop. —one of your feet pushes his shoulder, making him look at you confused—. will you burn that book?

ㅤㅤㅤ your hands play with your shirt, lowering the neckline to free your breasts in front of him. lorenzo's gaze darkens, and he follows your hand to the inside of your thighs.

ㅤㅤㅤ —beautiful...

ㅤㅤㅤ lorenzo licks his lips, feeling his cock tremble in the desire to bury itself so hard and deep inside you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —would you do it to feel how my tight pussy takes you? would you do it so you could enter me whenever and however you want?

ㅤㅤㅤ a wave of pleasure runs through your body at the sensation of your own fingers touching the places that make you moan in front of him. lorenzo was slowly losing his sanity, and you could see it in his eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤ —yes, i will. i'll do whatever you want with that book —he says, his voice dragging out the words because of the rush with which he says them—. i will.

ㅤㅤㅤ and from one moment to the next, even if you're not sure how, you're out of bed with lorenzo staring at you as hard as the bulge in his pants about to explode. you don't let that weaken you, adjusting your clothes in seconds.

ㅤㅤㅤ —good. perfect, really. —he follows your body to the door with the bad mood sprouting from every pore of his skin—. then we can finish this when you do it right in front of my eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what?

ㅤㅤㅤ —what you heard —you say, sliding a soft smile on your lips—. when i see that ridiculous book in pieces, you can finish what we started. now, get out of my fucking room and close the door on your way out.

ㅤㅤㅤ your body disappears behind the bathroom door, where you hear him call your name angrily, and he leaves the room shortly after. if he hadn't given up, you were sure you would have, so you're thankful he did it first.

ㅤㅤㅤ the surprise is that lorenzo came back minutes later with the book in one hand and his wand in the other, turning the book on fire right in front of your eyes to turn you into a rag of moans, licks, thrusts and marks. not many things could change about this relationship now, but you know that lorenzo might be a little more in love with you than it seems.

#lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x female reader #lorenzo berkshire smut #slytherin boys #slytherin #wizarding world #harry potter

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vidavalor · 2 days ago

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<<On the less horny side, "wearing the horns" (also a predecessor to bunny ears) has another meaning entirely.>>

Yes. Something, something The Ineffable Quartet choosing each other when the demons are considered by Heaven/Hell to be Satan's property and the angels are not supposed to have lives of their own and, instead, to be effectively married to God and do whatever The Metatron claims is the will of God... it's a matter of perspective as to who is being cuckholded here.

Absolutely to all of the record references!!!

Journal in journalist! Nice catch. It also gets at something I think is wordplay-ish, which is the fact that Aziraphale calls his journal a diary. I know some English people do but a diary in the UK has also traditionally been more of a day planner. Speculation being that one of the reasons why Aziraphale keeps a diary is as a record of his life in the event of memory loss would then also make him calling it a die-ary darkly funny. His various licenses-- the non-euphemistic ones lol-- are also forms of records, too.

You've got me thinking now too about how artistic works are also records-- Jemimah's pot, the Gabriel statue... The Gabriel statue is this weird record of Gabriel's existence and it's more about who he is supposed to be than who he actually is. Records being made for him, not by him. He's not being seen through the statue-- it's actually making it harder for people to see him. A record he's not really in control of or giving permission for, which is also the case when he's being recorded by the people on Whickber Street when he arrives at the bookshop.

In Heaven, after he gets cast out, he's basically then just a file folder with a handful of papers to them, onto which has been handwritten re: the matter of Gabriel. The funny visual pun of Muriel putting their hand through the file folder-- the matter of Gabriel not containing any matter they can access, literally and figuratively.

It's also an interesting word nod back to Gabriel's dry "I don't sully the celestial temple of my body with rose matter" in 1.01. [Preemptive response before someone yells at me as they have every other time I've mentioned this scene: yes, it's "rose matter" that Gabriel says in response to Aziraphale offering him tea. His face says he thinks it's gross but he says 'rose'. We duel at dawn lol.]

If we go with the words-within-words here, too, within the word record are the words rec, short for recreation, aka play, and cord-- a tether, part of a knot, but, maybe, also a noose, if it's S2's no nightingales season and we're talking about C&A-- and cord's homophone of chord. Words about music and playing in the word record itself. 😊 Records are also discs-- the halo & the Discworld. [The discs on the walls in the scene below, too.]

Beez "likes this song." What song? "The music that's playing now."

Beez likes "Everyday", yes, but "Everyday" is also just a way to tell Gabriel that they like this thing between them, that they like being with him. They-- the two of them-- are the music and they're playing now-- out having some fun together-- and Beez likes it. The song/record contains useful information, as you pointed out that Beez pointed out. This song is a record that they've elected to make themselves, much healthier than the statue and the records of Heaven & Hell. Beez sees Gabriel for who he is and they like him and this song that they're writing together. The two of them use a record to agree they like making music. 😊

Then, the literal song now always there on the jukebox for Beez, especially in case of something happening to Gabriel, but the real thing being said being that Gabriel is the song that will always be there for Beez.

So, Aziraphale arrived in Edinburgh with a briefcase we never see him open and a hat that reads, among other things, "PRESS 66" on it, right?

And we might think that these are just Aziraphale's journalist cosplaying accessories but I think there are some hints that there's a bit more going on here than we might think-- all of it very relevant to The Finale.

We think that Aziraphale's arrival in Edinburgh is the first time that we see these things but, in true Good Omens form, the hat and briefcase are both actually glimpsed in a prior scene... rather significantly placed in that earlier scene, even.

Here they are, sitting together, the hat atop the briefcase, both in front of Jimbriel's once Fly-containing box, beside/behind the memory-wiped Muriel, in the scene below:

So, as Muriel is sitting there, not remembering Aziraphale, and as Aziraphale is sitting there, remembering Muriel and thinking all the things about the fact that they don't remember him at all? In the shot between them is the box into which Jim put his memory and brought it to Crowley and Aziraphale for safe keeping. In front of that box? Is Aziraphale's press hat and briefcase, seemingly drawing some connections between the journalist accessories and the memory plots in S2. Hmm...

What this scene also shows is that Aziraphale didn't just magic this stuff up as props when he arrived in Scotland. Even though we didn't see them in the car on the way up, they were there on the passenger seat for him to retrieve upon his arrival. He brought them with him from the shop. He packed them overnight and they were there, all ready to go, prior to Muriel's arrival, which coincided with Crowley coming over and moving the plants out of the car because Aziraphale planned to take it to Scotland. Why does this matter?

Because it might signal that there's more to the briefcase and the hat with its press credentials than we might initially suspect.

I think it would be safe to say that Aziraphale, by this point in the story, would be concerned that his memories were in danger.

He knows he's always been on a collision course with falling and this is all escalating pretty quickly in S2 in the two days prior to Aziraphale packing this press stuff and taking the car. Gabriel was The Supreme Archangel and he couldn't remember who he was and the archangels had shown up to threaten them and say that they're going to be spying on him even more closely, sending another angel to bug them the next day... the memory-wiped Muriel being quite an interesting choice, as that's sending quite a threatening message. Aziraphale also had roped Maggie and Nina into this and he knew he was likely going to have a confrontation with Heaven and Hell coming.

One of the first things he'd be concerned about would be his memories, right? and it's here where we can mention what we later learn about what Heaven can and cannot do regarding those memories... things that are new to us but that Aziraphale likely would have already known and factored into his plan, as we'll see.

Hints are given to this all season via Gabriel but it really becomes overt in this scene here:

This scene proves that Gabriel's memories aren't just in The Fly in S2-- they're also still in his mind. His memories are shown to be in two places at once. Gabriel's memories-- ones even directly related to the trauma he underwent-- actually began to come back before The Fly, in this scene. Gabriel felt safe and like he was talking with someone who could understand in this scene with Crowley so the memories began to come back for him.

The point here is that this scene shows that, when Gabriel "took his memories out" and put them into The Fly, what he was really doing was basically backing them up. He "uploaded" his memories into The Fly for safekeeping so he could retrieve them later, as a way to keep it so that they wouldn't be erased forever, but those same memories are still also on the "hard drive" of his mind. They were just mostly inaccessible to him for almost all of S2 because of trauma.

Before you say well, Gabriel might be a special case because he took his own memories out to avoid Heaven attacking him? Consider that Crowley didn't have a chance to do that-- but he tells Gabriel he knows how Gabriel feels.

Crowley has had the same experiences with his own memories. He's been able to bring some back at different times, without a lot of context, but a lot remains blocked. Crowley saying that he's been able to retrieve some memories means that those memories are still there in his mind, just very painful and difficult to access.

The idea might be that their memory loss is actually trauma-blocking. If Crowley's situation has the same effect as Gabriel's, it suggests that Heaven can't actually take people's memories-- they can only block them.

This would then be suggesting, as a lot in S2 did, that Gabriel didn't develop retrograde amnesia from taking his memories out-- he developed amnesia from the trauma he underwent.

When he felt safe enough to confront some of that trauma, the memories started to come back to him a bit.

What does this have to do with Aziraphale's briefcase, you ask?

It is connected because Gabriel's memory loss being from the trauma of Heaven trying to kill him, not from putting his memories into The Fly, proves that an angel could take his out their memories and not get amnesia from doing so.

Gabriel's story is showing that they could take out their memories whenever they want and still retain those memories also in their minds and be perfectly fine.

It's showing that Aziraphale could have backed up his memories in S2 without experiencing memory loss-- and the press hat and the briefcase are tied to just how he might have done that.

Aziraphale might have taken one look at Gabriel and his memory situation and the archangels circling the shop and thought that it would be a good idea to backup his memories and store them somewhere safe for if this all went pear-shaped.

What's interesting is that then, in a parallel shot to Aziraphale arriving in Edinburgh, we have this later scene when Aziraphale returns to London... note what's missing:

We see him park by the suit shop-- but no suitcase/briefcase this time. No hat. He's also taken off the raincoat. We never see them again for the rest of the season but we see a whole bunch of scenes that hint at where they are and why Aziraphale has left them in that location.

In this moment, we spend a strange amount of time on watching Aziraphale get out of the car and look around, hands-free, pat The Bentley, go for a little walk for a moment...

He talks to Nina, he goes back to the bookshop and greets Crowley and gets an armful of plants. The Bentley is largely the focus of the scene with Nina as well and its moving up in a scene that involves Nina and her bicycle-- another "mad 'American' woman on a bicycle", in parallel to Anathema in S1-- recalls Aziraphale miracling a bike rack onto the boot of The Bentley to transport Anathema's bike back to Jasmine Cottage. The key to getting Anathema and her bike safely home to her cottage was the bike rack Aziraphale made happen; the key to getting him and Crowley safely to the South Downs Cottage might be what Aziraphale stashed in the trunk of the car on his trip.

Here's where we can see that scenes before and around this involving Shax and Crowley show us pretty emphatically where the briefcase and the press hat are not located in the car...

They can't be on the passenger seat as they were on the way to Edinburgh because Shax wouldn't have been able to sit there when she got into the car on the drive back from Edinburgh. They also can't be in the backseat because the scene adjacent to Aziraphale's return to London is he and Crowley loading the plants back into the backseat. Crowley would have handed him his things if they were back there.

So, we have all of these shots of Aziraphale's return that are, among other things, emphasizing that the hat, the raincoat, and the briefcase are all not things he's taking out of The Bentley's trunk upon his return, even if they are his belongings and he brought them with him from the bookshop. He's intentionally leaving them all in the Crowley's car.

Aziraphale definitely did not leave his memories in a briefcase in The Resurrectionist Pub, even though that's the last place we saw the briefcase. How do we know that?

Because let's say that we're right here and Aziraphale did put his memories into the briefcase... either into something else that he then locked into the briefcase or just into the briefcase itself. What's the one problem with this?

He locked them in there for safekeeping, right? So...

He can't just leave the briefcase for Crowley-- he also needs to leave the key to the briefcase, yes? He needs to leave the combination somewhere... but he also has to hide that combination key. The briefcase wouldn't be very safe if just anyone could figure out how to open it, right? It needs to be something only Crowley can understand.

This is why Aziraphale is not a private detective in Edinburgh but a journalist because the key is in the hat.

How does one open the locked briefcase?

Press 66. 😉

The briefcase and the hat go together because the briefcase cannot be opened without the press credentials in the hat which, in very Good Omens and Crowley & Aziraphale form, look like they're one thing but are really another when you consider alternate meanings of words. Aziraphale knows that only Crowley would see Aziraphale's hat atop that briefcase and the 'Press 66' and work out that it's how to open the briefcase.

It would also be very Good Omens to nod to famous film Macguffins and then make them actually important in Good Omens' story. While a "what's in the briefcase?" thing here is very Pulp Fiction, the film that inspired the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is 1955's atomic noir Kiss Me Deadly, which is being referenced all over the place in S2.

The scene where Aziraphale picks Shax up from the side of the road is a homage to Kiss Me Deadly's opening scene, Gabriel's memory issues and his "I am in The Fly" note is similar to part of the central mystery of that film, and Kiss Me Deadly is the origin of the popularization of the word vavoom/va-va-voom.

Like basically every other film referenced in Good Omens, it's also known for innovative use when it comes to language-- particularly, coded cinematic language, in this case. Like North by Northwest, which is referenced in both parts of 1941 so far, Kiss Me Deadly found innovative ways to get around the Hays Code to tell its story. References to The Maltese Falcon in the story are also likely in relation to that story using etymology-based language to queer code aspects of its story, in a similar way to Good Omens, but also that The Maltese Falcon itself is a bit of a MacGuffin. In Good Omens, though, it seems like they're actually winking at those by making Macguffin-alluding things actually important parts of the story.

Anyway, the biggest fan theory about what's in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction is based around the combination to the briefcase being 666 in the film and the idea is that it's Marcellus Wallace's soul, which he sold to the devil. Famously, the audience never sees what's inside the briefcase. We might be saying here that the combination to Aziraphale's briefcase being 66 may be nodding to Pulp Fiction's briefcase a bit and hinting at the Satan in The Final 15 ideas. 66 is also tied to Route 66 and rock 'n roll in America, Buddy Holly, and the paralleling Gabriel & Beez flashback, maybe especially hinting at memory-related things happening with the briefcase.

I won't spoil you on what's in the briefcase in Kiss Me Deadly but let's just say that it goes along with Good Omens pretty well thematically... in a much, much darker way. The film being very bleak noir makes it very different in tone from Good Omens but the fact that the briefcase is actually is relevant to the story in the end of that film might also hint that Aziraphale's disappeared briefcase might wind up being important in The Finale, too.

Adding to this theory is also that another briefcase in The Bentley's trunk/boot was also something shown earlier in S2-- on a very significant night in Crowley & Aziraphale's history:

When Aziraphale is in Edinburgh, we see him intentionally hamming up his newspaper man persona and, in doing so, he takes the briefcase into The Resurrectionist Pub, right? Bit of foreshadowing there as to what will happen to Aziraphale and what will need to happen to bring him back?

Yes, we don't see the briefcase again after this scene but I doubt he left it in the pub because it would be useless to Crowley without the hat, on which Aziraphale has hidden the briefcase combination hidden in plain sight. Aziraphale was seen wearing the hat in one scene set after we last saw the briefcase, proving that both of them and the raincoat are in the trunk of The Bentley:

Aziraphale wore this whole get up to Edinburgh so that, if anyone was watching him, they'd think he was Muriel-like cosplaying a newspaper man. I mean... we know the trench coat is a little Columbo-esque, but why wouldn't he just be a private detective and not a journalist, if the goal was just to play a role to help solve the Gabriel mystery? Because he had to be a old movie-esque journalist so he could have the word press there in the credentials, only for its other meaning for the briefcase combination.

Aziraphale definitely had a whole other list of motivations for being the one to go to Edinburgh. He wanted Crowley to rest in the shop and to talk to Gabriel, he wanted to be the one to go tackle the mystery, and he wanted to work on his 1827 issues by going to the graveyard again... but we might find we can add to that list that he also realized it would be a good opportunity to hide his memories in a briefcase in The Bentley with actions that are right there, in plain sight of anyone who is watching-- including us 😉-- but might not be deemed suspicious.

Parallel-wise, the briefcase and The Bentley are the matchbox and the moving box and PRESS 66 is Aziraphale's equivalent to I AM IN THE FLY... all before Aziraphale and Crowley actually figured out what Gabriel and Beez did to protect Gabriel.

He's pressing on the press hat he's leaving for Mr. Six Shots of Espresso... 😂 The press card is in his hat, like a feather... Crowley's "it'd be a real feather in your cap wing" joke from the foreshadowing "I'll be damned"/"It's not so bad when you get used to it" scene in 1.01...

That demon doesn't know it yet but he's driving around with Aziraphale in the trunk because Aziraphale figured out how to get around the worst case scenario. He knew he was on a collision course with falling and he found a way to potentially dodge the memory loss by stashing his memories for Crowley in The Bentley.

His enthusiasm in Edinburgh is him barely able to contain his amusement at getting one over on anyone watching him who think they know what they're seeing but don't realize what he's actually up to.

No wonder why he was walking on air when he got back to London-- it was mission accomplished. He'd managed to leave Crowley the ability to bring him back, tucked away in the safest spot possible.

The bookseller who, like the others, is a metaphorical book/paper, left their out for Heaven and Hell trying to kill him for Crowley's safekeeping in a briefcase... the thing people use for...

...paperwork. 😂

But wait... there's one other big question, though, yes?

Why didn't Aziraphale tell Crowley this?

There absolutely was enough time and opportunity to tell Crowley he'd backed up his memories and left them in The Bentley's trunk.

The fact that this didn't come up seems wild, right, because they both know that Crowley has been having a steady anxiety attack about Heaven and Hell circling all week. We would think that, if Aziraphale had figured out this plan to circumvent that threat, the first thing he would have done would be to tell Crowley about it, yes?

Except... while I wrote this meta from the perspective of what the end result of Aziraphale's actions with the briefcase might be in The Finale, I don't actually think that was Aziraphale's own motivation for doing what he did.

Aziraphale didn't take out his memories and leave them in the briefcase in The Bentley for Crowley as a backup plan for them to elude a form of death for Aziraphale.

He left them there for Crowley to find and have after Aziraphale was already gone. Why else would Crowley need the combination on the credentials on the hat, right?

If Aziraphale had intended on his memories in the briefcase being a plan to save himself, he would have told Crowley about it so that Crowley would know. Instead, though, it's something of a suicide note. He left them for Crowley to find and have in the future.

I think The Bentley was even warning of this suicide ideation and showing concern upon the return to London for Aziraphale over what he had put in its trunk. The car is worried. [I love Good Omens-- when else am I going to type a sentence like that? 😂]

Aziraphale first parked it in front of Battye [madness] & Palm [to take]. It's a shop reflective of a lot of that depression and suicide ideation happening in Aziraphale's story and leading to his fall that I looked at in The Devil Takes The Hindmost.

The Bentley then drives itself-- and all Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness in the briefcase-- up a few feet. What is The Bentley then aligning Aziraphale with?

Death.

The car parked itself in front of the Give Me Death half of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death...

... until Aziraphale told it to go back to where he parked it. Then, The Bentley backed up a few feet to Battye & Palm and all the madness that is the rest of the season. The car was foreshadowing the end, parking itself right along where it would be parked the last time we'd see it in S2.

The trunk is aligned with Give Me Death in The Final 15...

...fulfilling the foreshadowing of the end of S1.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #good omens meta

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thewalrusespublicist · 3 days ago

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"Tbh I was starting to feel a bit down about my blog and what I was putting out ( the eternal crisis on how to give full answers and opinions without being stupid, boring and annoying lol)"

OMG no way! Your blog is one of the best here! What i love the most is reading the analysis and meta from the users, there's always more information and good takes, and yours are always quite deep and insightful.

I would love if you share your opinions about Stuart as well. I feel like he is obviously more sanctified that he should be since he died young (like that insane quote from his mom saying that Brian told her that Stuart could have been the Beatles' manager, no way lol) and i feel his memory has been used to attack Paul, sometimes in a very unfair way. Like, i don't deny the teenage drama and jealousy that Paul felt about him but he *was* a shitty bass player and the band was Paul's future, he was allowed to criticized him not only for being John's new bestie. I also think John played with them both but i lack of your eloquence so i will love to read your take about it.

Hi anon! And the other anons!

Thank you again and to all the other messages I got, they were extremely sweet and really made my day. :)

From my inbox, it's clear you guys want to know about Stu and his role in the Beatles legacy. Well you asked for it and a novel you shall have. Be warned this might be the longest post I've done so grab like a drink or something.

A few disclaimers: I wish and had intended for this to be more of a deep dive into Stu as a whole person rather than just his relationship with John and Paul. Unfortunately I just didn't have the space to do it. If you want to know more about Stu I would highly recommend @eppysboys' blog which is the source for all things Stu Sutcliffe and where I got a lot of this info. Please check their stuff out. Also, I'm going to be a bit blunter on this than maybe I usually am because this topic has been irritating me for some time. Oh also I’m trying my best to answer a lot of asks in one post so please forgive if I don’t fully answer your specific ask about this!

Stu in a perfect world should be a fandom darling: an exciting cipher, a handsome artistic talent that died way too soon who had a major influence in the early Beatles style. It's like there’s this secret other James Dean looking mf Beatle hidden away to uncover, that's cool and he is cool! The problem is that he’s sort of becomes radioactive to talk about in a normal way due to how he's been portrayed and utilised in some biographies and fandom spaces, particularly those that have been infected by John Lennon aspirational boy bestie syndrome. As those types of spaces cannot seem to exist without tearing down Paul to prop John up as their special lil guy, Stu as John's other best friend has become the ideal heavy object to hit Paul McCartney over the head with. It's like a corrosive element, the minute Stu hits a Beatles bio, the biographer suddenly loses all training in objectivity and source work and starts waxing lyrical about 100 percent reliable never biased or wrong Saint Stu of Hamburg who died for our condom arson sins and that Paul McCartney should feel bad about every day of his life for not worshipping Stu and not accepting his own ‘place’ in life as John's just-some-guy placeholder best friend. I’ve personally seen so many posts and forums where Stu being mentioned leads to a legion of comments about how Paul could never have been Stu (correct both ways) and how John would never have even glanced at Paul for much longer if Stu had been alive. Sidenote: If you seriously think that the musical savant from down the road whom John went on to produce the most prolific song writing partnership in history with couldnt have kept his attention for long then I'm begging you on hands and knees to get your head out of the arse of your John Lennon body pillow and be serious. But anyway…

This boy bestie battle royale approach has in turn lead to a reflex reaction where Stu gets studiously ignored by other sections of the fandom as a precedent has been set that shining a light on him diminishes Paul and John's relationship with Paul. It's frustrating because if people weren't so keen to cut Paul out of his own story then we would get a much better nuanced view of every single person involved.

So let's put aside all of our defenses, cut the John Lennon loved one ranking system bullshit and lets look at the actual question here which is what was John and Stu's relationship really like and what did he mean to John?

John and Stu met at art college a year or so after Paul and John met. Up to that point John and Paul had their fun little codependant thing going on but Stu quickly became a huge fixture in John's life. Stu had things that Paul couldn't really offer at that point in time. John was at his heart a musician who aspired to be seen as an artist (he would later express surprise that he didn't become an artist). Stu was the passionate artist who knew tons about the art of the period that could teach and inspire John. Their creative leanings meant they could work on projects together and share art notebooks and poetry. (Including yes the one with anti-semitic story which I mention again as I believe it's an important thing to remember when it comes to both John and Stu and the culture of the time.) Stuart by the sounds of it was even writing a novel about John at the time of his death. They were fascinated and inspired by each other.

So, creatively they fired each other up but more importantly perhaps, Stu and John were peers. It's funny to think about when you see the Beatles later but at the time Paul and George were the kids in their school uniform coming to see their cool older friend at art school. That's an important divide. When Paul and George's parents insisted their kids do their homework and go to bed, John and Stu could stay up and talk all hours of the night, which they did. They also could rent a place together and spend long hours chatting (despite John moving out later after realising electricity cost money lol.) There's a different dynamic that the age similarity offered as well. Whilst Paul would later somewhat grow into this role, Stu could act as an authority figure to John as well as open up to John in a way you can really only do with your peers. Stu was the person John opened up to throughout Stu's life:

How long can one go on writing and writing like you. I now don’t really know who I’m writing to or why it’s quiet peculiar. I usually write like this and forget about it but if I put it in a little part of my [almost?] secret self in the hands of someone miles away who will wonder what the hell is going on or just pass it off as toilet paper. Anyway I don’t care really what happens because when I think about it, it’s so bloody unimportant – but what is important who has the right to say that this letter is not important and this is a something any way – anyway – anyway – yeah! I wonder what it would be like to be a cretin or something. I bet it’s gear. & how are you keepin Stuart old chap are you as ok – is life as good – bad shite, great – wonderful as it was or is it just a thousand years of nothing and coolness on and on and on. I think this is it Goodbye Stu don’t write out of – er what is it? well not because you think you ought to write when you feel like So goodbye (from John you know the one with glasses) ANYWAY BYE BYE see you soon I don’t know why I said that I remember a time when everyone I loved hated me because I hated them so what so what so fucking what I remember a time when belly buttons were knee high when only shitting was dirty and everything else clean + beautiful I can’t remember anything without a sadness So deep that it hardly becomes known to me so deep that its tears leave me a spectator of my own STUPIDITY + so I go rambling on with a hey nonny nonny nonny no

Extract from a letter to Stuart Sutcliffe from John Lennon, 1961

By lots of accounts Stu was gentle but firm when it came to telling John he'd gone too far. John references this aspect of Stu to Hunter Davies:

"I looked up to Stu. I depended on him to tell me the truth. Stu would tell me if something was good and I'd believe him."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

In this way I kind of see Stu as a proto-Yoko. John was so insecure and uncertain about his grip on the world and reality that he relied on Stu to be his point of reference and guide. Paul did this too later and I think in Hunter Davies John mentions this, but not at this time period and not as much due to their competitiveness. This may be why some people saw Stu as the person that really understood John at this time period:

"During the turbulent adolescence that prefaced a turbulent manhood, hardly anyone knew Lennon as intimately as Stuart Sutcliffe. If they weren't exactly David and Jonathan, June Furlong, one of the life models at Liverpool's Regional College of Art, had "never seen two teenagers as close as those two."

The Gospel According To Lennon by Alan Clayson

Now this person likely never met John and Paul together but this is only one of many similar quotes and even Julia captain of John and Paul's friendship boat seems to agree there was a period where Stu dominated and Paul 'kept his distance' from the John-Cyn-Stu 'menage-a-trois'. But the friendship wasn't perfect and his position as John's ultimate best friend was never iron clad. This is best outlined by the shit they pulled when John convinced him to join on Bass for the Beatles.

Despite being John's best friend, Stu was teased and bullied:

"They argued as usual amongst themselves, but most of all they picked on Stu, the newest member of the group. John, George and Paul had been with each other long enough to know that rows and arguments and criticism didn't mean much. If it did, you just argued back. "We were terrible," says John. "We'd tell Stu he couldn't sit with us, or eat with us. We'd tell him to go away, and he did." At one hotel they stayed at, a variety show had just left. There had been a dwarf in the show and they found out which bed he had slept in and said that would have to be Stu's. They certainly weren't going to sleep in it. So Stu had to. "That was how he learned to be with us," says John. "It was all stupid, but that was what we were like."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

Why John encouraged this I have no idea, maybe jealousy over Stu's looks and wanting to play people off each other? Things were tense in both Scotland and Hamburg, especially between Stu and Paul. As I said in my last post, the girls were fighting and it was mutual. Paul was mad for both fair and immature teenage-boy reasons. Stu could not be bothered with the bass most of the time and couldn't really play well and was only there as he was '(John's) best friend' (ouch for Paul). Paul conversely had given up higher education to be there and was sending lots of money back home. He also was dating the girl Paul fancied. Stu was popular with the new group and also did mean things like help John steal Paul's money when money was really tight for him. Paul in turn was a passive aggressive, jealous and mean. It all came to ahead in the punch up onstage which according to Spitz came about from Paul wanting money back and saying that Stu could borrow some from Astrid. Stu goes for him and reports vary from full-on bust up to embarrassing scuffle. Stu then goes to where Astrid and Paul's gf Dot are, demands Dot leaves and goes on a rant about Paul. Now all of this must be framed in the context of Stu receiving increasing brain damage from his condition that seemingly lead to mood swings and anger. Nevertheless, the mutual needling and anger, as well as John's refusal to do/say fuck all about it, especially given how protective John was of Stu, suggests that it wasn’t straightforward and/or John may have been playing some games to make both feel threatened. This would also make sense as to why we hear conflicting accounts of John and Stu being the centre of everything and everyone else in orbit AND John and Paul being the centre and everyone else playing catch-up, as well as John giving Paul the lead to take him round the Reeperbahn when John got dressed in the gorilla costume. (I know Paul may have just been the closest there but that always gave off bestie behaviour to me.)

(I did get an ask about how John and Paul's friendship survived it, I think it was damaged by Hamburg. When Paul got back home he got a job at a construction site and there's just a vibe of everything being a bit on tenterhooks. John also acts a bit weird at the period, not talking to anyone for a few weeks then making a lot of weird demands from Paul. I'm really not sure what to make of it.)

Even when he's back in Liverpool, John still writes long letters to Stu and vice-versa. I can't find it at all but I’ve read a really sad interview with John saying he missed his best mate and it's a shame that he's not with them. He had no idea at that point that Stu had already died of a brain hemorrhage at 21.

John is said to have gone into hysterics when he found out Stu had died. A lot of people who've spoken about this time (Aunt Mimi, his sister Julia, the Exsis) concur that at this point Stu was his best friend and the death shattered him. He even told Astrid he wished he could give his life for Stu’s. This is backed up by the fact that John never forgot Stu and his shadow lingered for the rest of John's life:

Stu was recalled in In My Life

Years later, after John composed the first of his truly poignant and heartfelt Beatles songs, "In My Life"—with its lines about "friends I still can recall/some are dead and some are living"—he revealed to me that the two people he had had uppermost in mind were myself and Stuart Sutcliffe. And then he stunned me with a statement that I'd never heard him address to anyone—least of all to another man. "You know, Pete," he said softly, "I do love you. But," he quickly added, "I loved Stuart as well."

Weird that Paul isn't mentioned surely you think that he would be mentioned if Pete was there too okay, okay my tin hat is going away this isn't the time

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life

In 1965 John drew Stu on a postcard

He apparently said this about Stu prior to sending the postcard, prompted by an article about Stuart.

The card had been sent from Genoa mid-way through the Beatles' Italian tour. [...] But the conversation had become maudlin when I reminded him that he was going to talk to me for an article about Stuart. [...] In that sad telephone conversation before they set off for Milan, I asked him if he was happy: 'I'd be a lot happier if Stuart was still part of us,' he said, 'The Beatles would be complete.' And before he rang off he said 'Ill send you something.'

He also appears on the cover of Sgt Pepper

As mentioned, Stu gets mentioned in Hunter Davies in terms of wistfulness and guilt AND he gets a mention in John's insane 'if I were a homosexual' ramblings in early 70s. According to Yoko, John also wanted Yoko to write letters to him and didn't think it would be strange because Stu wrote letters to him.

I have a pet theory that as with a lot of things for John, his unresolved grief over Stu really came to the fore in the late 60s now that he had actually had a chance to sit down and think about things. I believe it was partially why he wanted Yoko to write letters and why he gets mentioned in the early 70s as a collaborator/best friend and not in 1980 where John only gives that credit to Paul and Yoko. I think with the cracks with Paul, John had started to think back on his old friend and guide and what advice he would give.

Stuarts presence is still felt throughout the seventies:

“He told me everything. He loved to talk about Hamburg. There were no secrets. It was the kind of life I never knew…. It meant total freedom. At his side always was Stuart, sweet Stuart. There wasn’t a time in John’s life when he didn’t think about Stuart. He spoke always of his love and respect for Stuart.”

Yoko discussing Stu in When They Were Boys: The True Story of the Beatles’ Rise to the Top by Larry Kane

Coming to grips with his death is also present in Skywriting

SEAN O’HAIRE: What happened to Stuart Cliff? DR. FISCHY: What happened was a full exchange of energy where it was not needed within the expression of your own self or in the energies involved around and about you. We cannot call it a happening. We’ll say it is an awakening, for in that way it has served an expression from the past to the present and to the future to where there shall be more of that incomplete vibration expressed to you in a more fuller understanding.

Skywriting by Word of Mouth, John Lennon

This isn't exhaustive but I think from all this it's pretty clear that John adored Stu, John grieved Stu and kept grieving Stu. Stu had a specific place in his life as a confidant that he tried to recreate with Yoko. At the time of Stu's death, he was John's best friend, probably slightly over Paul. Stuart had been able to be both a friend and paternal presence, a confidant and an artistic collaborator. His presence and loss was one of the foundational points in John's life.

But as we've been asked to play this stupid game and so many bios like to make a hoopla about it, were they at their closest ever as close as John and Paul were at their height?

No.

How do we know? Because John told us so:

" He [Paul] still is the closest friend I've ever had, except for Yoko, so I'm still close to him whatever goes on."

John Lennon to an interviewer, 1971

But Walrus! John just says shit! How do we know he isn't leaving out Stu because the press don't know Stu. Well true John does just say shit but this is at a time where John isn't the most glowing about Paul and he's had no problem mentioning Stu in this time period ('one of my best friends ever' would have made a similar point).

But Walrus again! If John picked Stu over Paul when they were young why wouldn't he be the boy bestie of all time, and why would John say that he was closer to Paul? Well, because of the environment and timings. Stu's death happened near the beginning of John and Paul's major bonding moments. If you look at their personal timeline, Paris, the Nerk twins, and getting signed happened just before Stu died. That's missing the major years of Beatlemania, Key West, LSD, Paul growing more into being John's peer and a load of other huge moments in their lives. It's like how John writes to Cyn in 1962 about wanting the house to themselves and not have Paul around all the time. Would you say because he feels closer to Cyn then that John in his overall lifetime loved Cyn more than Paul? No, because relationships change over time and theirs were no exception. (One thing to consider as well is that we don't yet have many letters between John and Paul during their Beatles years and earlier, probably because they were spending so much time with each other. We know a couple exist that Paul considers too personal for publication but I'm sure there are others. It's easy to understand what John felt for Stu as we have the letters, I think we would also have an easier time understanding what John felt for Paul if we had the equivalent of those.)

At the end of the day Paul was the man he believed he had a psychic bond with, the man he couldn’t shut up about, the man whom he’d conquered the world with with their endless collaboration, the man with a twin personality to him and according to John spent more time with throughout the 60s than he had with Yoko ever. To be frank if Paul had died in 67' I don't think this would have been a conversation.

As mentioned early, in early 1970s John elevates his partnership with Stu to his collaborations with Paul and Yoko but by 1980 he’s pretty clear that Paul and Yoko are their own category.

"I was saying to somebody the other day, “There’s only two artists I’ve ever worked with for more than a one night stand, as it were. That’s Paul McCartney, and Yoko Ono.” And I think that’s a pretty damned good choice!!"

John Lennon interview with DJ Dave Sholin, 1980

There are of course the what ifs. Would Stu still being alive mean that John was not as close with Paul? Maybe, highly doubtful though as the Beatles experience was so intense. If Stu remained a Beatle would John be as close with Paul? If Stu remained a Beatle he wouldn't be Stu so no. At the same time who knows what it would have been like if Paul and John were peers from the off? I said this to @the62ndbugsfan when it comes to Stu vs Paul (hi girl sorry i've made our chat a whole ass post lol) but to go a bit Wuthering Heights, soulmates are made as much from the earth as they are of the stars. What binds us is our experiences just as much as our personalities. There may be a universe where Stu and John took on the art world together or became inseparable bffs again after the Beatles disbanded, but it is not our universe. In this universe Stu tragically died and John and Paul chose to become Lennon/McCartney and artistically unite themselves forever.

Even going back to Stu's lifetime, I've said it before and I'll say it again I find it interesting that not only did John choose to go to Paris with Paul rather than pay to meet up with Stu somewhere but that they arranged to meet up with Juergen and nobody told Stu until they'd already gone. Stu was shocked and didn't know if it meant the end of the Beatles which is a pretty big thing for him not to know about. Why didn't John tell him if they're apparently still writing long letters? Was it because he really wanted to do this with Paul and didn't want to hurt Stu's feelings? And that's really the point I want to make here. Due to his trauma John was preoccupied with reinforcing ranking of relationships within his life. But the thing is friendship rankings are made up guidelines and the reality is far more complicated. You can have a designated best friend but feel closer to another friend at times, you can want to do one thing specifically with one friend and not the other for various reasons. You can (as I do) have more than one equal best friend. Friendship as with most relationships are in a constant state of flux and each friendship you have will give and mean a different thing, even if they are of similar value to you.

Paul may have ended up closer to John than Stu had been, but that doesen't make John's relationship with Stu any less special. Nor does Stu negate the significance of Paul. Whilst both fit into John's pattern of intense relationships and demands related to that, both had unique positions and meaning to him. Considering what I've gone into about John's closeness to Stu, it actually says something deeply, borderline unnervingly, intense about John and Paul that Paul pipped Stu to the post. Maybe it's time Beatles bios accept the fact that John Lennon just wouldn't be into them like that, stop using a tragically prematurely deceased young man as a prop in their jealous psychological warfare against Paul McCartney, stop perpetuating one of the most damaging games that John did to his loved ones and allow both relationships the space to shine and showcase the amazing talent that was the Beatles and those that surrounded them.

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