#I've never heard better music in my life

[theoogtree]

After spending like 3 days listening to all 600 whatever the fuck of my Super Junior songs I can still confirm that every Super Junior song is a good song including Gulliver, Motorcycle, and Super Duper

[burningcomputerpersona]

person: *shows even the slightest hint of interest in music that I enjoy*

me: ah yes a new victim muhahahaha

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[azullumi]

Hello hello hello, I'm here to ask for like headcanons or an imagine (or whatever, idk, can you tell I've never requested a fic in my entire life) about Luka slowly realizing he actually has feelings for someone? Like genuine ones? I'm not super duper into Alien Stage but I imagine him being super fake (and manipulative lol) especially when it comes to dating. Like, I don't even think he would get into a relationship if he doesn't get something out of it, but what if he, y'know, slowly starts to realize he actually likes the person he's with? Like how would he deal with that and stuff 🫣

GOLDEN BOY, BROKEN GLASS, MAY THE SUN SHINE ON YOU !!

premise— it’s hard to know, to realize, that he has fallen in love, not when the genuine concept of it has been slowly eradicated and painted into something twisted and cruel by the hands of these aliens; alternatively, what he’s like slowly falling in love and coming to terms with it. content tags and warnings — pairing: luka (w/ gender-neutral reader) | kind of established relationship, not an alternative universe, slight angst with fluff, i fucking hate you heperu (heperu is luka’s guardian alien) | wc: 0.7k ; headcanons

"jellyfish"— i was listening to sad music so now this came out as sad

The ‘love’ LUKA had received from Heperu was the only love he had known and so, he views the world around him in the same lens, carving his heart out of the same rotten wood that was used to create his being. What can he do in the face of something so tender, so sharp, so gentle, like needles stabbing into his hands but caressing him sweetly all the same?

Was love meant to be as draining as this? Was it meant to tire and wear out his bones? Was it meant to make his heart clench, thorns ripping at his throat? Was it meant to make him reach his hand out for you, to let his touch linger across your skin, to always seek the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his? It’s a little strange, the odd ‘pain’ in his chest blurring into an unfamiliar feeling of comfort and warmth. He’s not one to run away at the face of such unusual feelings, but maybe he’ll turn away from it, to dismiss it as nothing (it’s not what Heperu taught him).

When did his eyes start to follow you everywhere you go? When did he begin to wish to chase the shooting stars, despite the constricting feeling on his throat, just so he could have the chance to see you, bare and flawed underneath the same skies that had forsaken him, that had abandoned you? He never had seen the problem of hurting others or being hurt as long as it is meant for him, for his own good, but when he sees twist in your expression, the hollow in your eyes, the tremble of your lips, he’s suddenly bitter and thorned. He tries to be kind, in ways that he knows of, in ways that he has seen, experienced, and learned.

To be seen as nothing but manipulative and cunning with his princely and charming demeanor, to be seen as a blank slate, to be seen only on the surface of his sweet smiles that never seem to reach his eyes. But it’s better to be misunderstood than to have you see the wretched and tangled strands that is sewn to create the fabric of his existence, to be viewed under the same limelight he is being put beneath than to have you notice the bleakness of color in his golden eyes that rivals the sun—except his light never exists, only when he gazes at you does it ever shine.

It’s hard to understand him either—not when he cannot understand himself also. He wishes to take away all of your pain, all of your problems and worries, to have you rely on him and only on him, to view the world in your eyes, to cup your cheeks in his hands and press his lips against yours (he has heard of the act of kissing, a strange way to convey and pour one’s desire, adoration, and love to another). He’ll lie down on the grass with you and watch the stars, he’ll listen to your songs and music, he’ll let you put those red flowers found in the Anakt Garden on his hair.

Maybe he does and say such things in the name of ‘control’, ‘possession’, ‘obsession’, or anything that can be used to label whatever reason he has just so he could see that pretty shade that adorns your cheeks, the smile that etches across your lips, the sound that bubbles out of your throat, the eyes that glimmer when you look at him. Maybe it’s just those feeble things that make him feel humane, that makes him break away from the shackles that binds him to the image of ‘Luka, the star’, that makes him realize that he does adore you.

(Whatever this fragile bond you share with him, built on weak foundations of the love he has known and the love you have shared, fragile and fleeting like glass teetering on the edge, he’ll seize it, he’ll shape it, and he’ll make it unbreakable—he’ll make it real, he’ll make it his.)

He likes to believe that he deserves the kind of love he has yet to know of, out of the clutches of Heperu and into the warmth of your own. To hold it into his hands, tightly, unrelenting, never letting go—contorting into control as long as it is his.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[breezilis]

something that makes me soooo insane about telemachus in i can't help but wonder (and also in the wider context of epic the musical) is that telemachus says in i can't help but wonder,

"i can't help but wonder what your world must be / if we're like each other, if i have your strength in me / all this time i've wondered if you'd embrace me as your own"

because — for so much of his life, telemachus has probably been told stories about king odysseus, his father, cunning strategist, favored of athena, etc etc, and wanting to live up to that ("i know life and fate are scary, but i wanna be legendary!", "and i would fight them if i was half as strong as you" from legendary)

he has also spent so much of his life being terrorized, and watching his mother being terrorized, by suitors for her hand — and he probably thought "well, FATHER would be able to drive them off!"

and then odysseus does come. and he kills them all.

and. yes. father has finally returned. finally driven them off. but his father also had to save telemachus from melanthius, the one suitor who threatened to "break the kid's hands" to cow odysseus.

there must have been something in telemachus that thought, "ah. so you are exactly as legendary as everything i've ever heard about you, father. and i am...not."

reminder that, in we'll be fine, telemachus says that his time with athena has been the best day of his life "'cause [he] got in a fight and [he] didn't die" — that was probably his first ever fight.

plus, with the way the suitors mock him and speak about him, he's probably VERY AWARE that he is constantly compared to his father, and found lacking.

so of course he's thinking about how his legendary, cunning, kingly father might ALSO compare them, and might come to the same conclusions as everyone else. he might well decide that telemachus would not be WORTHY of being, to borrow telemachus' own words here, "embrace[d] as [odysseus'] own".

of course, odysseus has never once thought about his son as anything other than HIS — "my boy", "my son", "sweetest joy i've known", a driving force to getting him home in the horse and the infant ("penelope, telemachus, i'm on my way") and in keep your friends close where you can hear telemachus as one of the voices urging odysseus to keep his eyes open — but i wonder how long it would take telemachus to really believe that his father isn't disappointed in him, because he has spent TWENTY YEARS being put and putting himself in the shadow of this man — and it might even make him self conscious, that odysseus spent all that effort coming home to his Ideal Family™ only to be met with the reality of what they really are.

i firmly believe that to ody, the reality of his family will always be better than the "ideals" — and that probably ody's "idealized family" is literally just. whatever penelope and telemachus are like now.

but idk. it's just something i feel like they'd have to work through, now that odysseus IS home, and it is just such a consistent part of telemachus' character that i haven't really seen anyone discuss.

[itneverendshere]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was supposed to be fun?

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

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

This was definitely a mistake.

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

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

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

Rafe Cameron.

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

Until now.

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

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

You blinked at him. “Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help but snort. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

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

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

“So, what’s that book about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

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

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

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

What the hell had just happened?

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

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

It was Rafe.

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

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

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

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

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

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

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

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe, I swear—”

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

You hated every second of it.

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

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

“Stop staring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gawked at him. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You learned that the hard way two days later.

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

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

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

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

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

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

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

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

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

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

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

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

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

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

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

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

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think I’m lying? 

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

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

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

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

Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rafestify]

Self Control — Rafe Cameron

rafe cameron x reader

Summary : Pogue!Reader who's known as a very calm and sweet human being, suddenly snaps and Rafe gets turned on.

Warnings : 18+, No smut, just a few cursing :D (english is not my first language, i'm sorry)

Kooks parties were never better than classic Pogues parties, or at least that's what I've always thought. There was always something about Pogue parties, filled with cheap beers, loud music, and people who didn’t care about what you wore or how much money you had. It was freeing. In contrast, Kooks parties felt suffocating—people showed up just to flex about their parents' money and gulp down overpriced drinks they couldn’t even pronounce.

But here I am, walking hand-in-hand with my boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, the "Kook King", to yet another one of these Kooks parties. I can’t help but notice the irony of it all. I’m wearing a dress that costs more than I’d normally spend in six months, and even though it looks amazing, it feels strange—like I’m playing a role in someone else’s world. It clings to my body in all the right places, but it’s not me. Everything about being with Rafe is like that—expensive, luxurious, and completely foreign to the life I’ve known. Growing up as a Pogue meant thrift store finds, hand-me-downs, and making the most out of whatever little you had. Rafe’s world is the opposite. His life is silver spoons and luxury yachts, and sometimes, I feel like I’m drowning in it.

"I'm gonna go get a drink," I said, looking up at him, smiling. His hand let go of mine as I made my way through the crowd, the same familiar feeling of being out of place washing over me. The looks I got from his friends, from the Kooks, remained the same—confusion and disgust. To them, I’ll always be that Pogue who somehow ended up in their circle. Rafe could have anyone he wanted—he’s wealthy, hot, and smart, the complete Kook package. Yet, here he is with me, someone from the other side of the island, where kids grow up on fishing boats instead of private yachts.

I grabbed a drink from the bar—something fancy I couldn’t even name and took a small sip. It was bitter, too strong for my liking, but I didn’t care. I just wanted something to dull the awkwardness I felt. As I turned back, I saw Rafe talking with his friends, laughing at some inside joke I wasn’t a part of. I debated whether to go back and stand by his side or just blend into the background like I usually did at these events. I didn’t want to ruin his fun by being the odd one out, so I wandered away, trying to make myself busy.

Then I heard it.

"She's not my girlfriend, okay? She's a fucking Pogue, dude. A Pogue like her doesn’t get to live under the same roof as me."

I instantly froze. My heart dropped into my stomach. Was he really talking about me? My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. I must have misunderstood, right? But there was no mistaking the venom in his voice. My nose flared as anger and hurt collided inside me, pushing me to the edge. I turned on my heel and stormed through the crowd, my eyes searching desperately for the exit. I needed to get out of here before I exploded. The crowd felt suffocating, their laughter and clinking glasses a cruel mockery of the turmoil brewing inside me. But before I could reach the door, a strong hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. I spun around, my eyes locking onto his icy blue ones, the ones I used to find myself getting lost in, the ones that now only fueled my rage.

"Where the hell are you going, baby?" he asked, his voice dripping with confusion, like he didn’t understand why I was running away.

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him properly. My gaze dropped to the floor, my fists clenched at my sides. "Let go of me, Rafe," I said, my voice filled barely-contained anger.

He furrowed his brows, clearly confused. "What's wrong with you?" There was an edge of annoyance in his tone, like I was the one being unreasonable. I snapped. "What’s wrong with me?" He blinked, his face still a mask of confusion. He genuinely didn’t seem to get it. "Y/N, I don’t—"

"Cut the bullshit, Rafe! Don’t act like you don’t know what you said back there with your friends because I heard it all." My voice rose, shaking with the betrayal that gripped me.

The realization finally hit him. I could see it in the way his expression shifted, from confusion to guilt. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his when he was caught off guard.

"Hey, hey… listen to me—"

"No, I don’t want to hear it," I shot back, stepping away from him. "You can take your lame excuses and shove them. Go chase after some other girl." I turned to walk away again, but his voice stopped me cold.

"Do you not remember when we promised to keep our relationship secret?" he said, his voice rising in frustration. "That’s exactly what I was doing!" I froze, his words swirling in my head. I turned back slowly, glaring at him. "It doesn’t work like that, you idiot! You made it sound like I’m just your fucking toy, someone you can dump whenever you feel like it!" My voice was shaking now, the hurt bleeding into every word.

"God, you’re such a pussy, Rafe," I said with a bitter laugh. "Saying stupid shit about your girlfriend behind her back."

He bit his bottom lip, clearly struggling with what to say. For a moment, we just stood there, the tension between us thick enough to cut through. Then, in the most Rafe way possible, he leaned in, his hand gripping my neck as he pulled me into a kiss. "Jesus, you’re so hot," he muttered against my lips, kissing me hard and fast, like he could erase everything with that one gesture. I pushed him away, still furious. "Rafe—" He cut me off, his voice softening, "Save it for later, baby. Let me make it up to you."

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream at him and walk out of that party for good. But his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, his lips finding mine again in a way that made my anger start to blur into something else.

The frustrating part was that he knew exactly what he was doing.

likes & reblogs are appreciated! 🎀( ﾟ∀ﾟ)人(ﾟ∀ﾟ )

[that-one-p00k1e]

─────〃★ for you, I wouldೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

✧ summary: things they would do for you ft. Ren Kaji, Hajime Umemiya, Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suo, Jo Togame, Mitsuki Kiryu, Akihiko Nirei, Tasuku Tsubakino, Toma Hiragi, Yamato Endo, Chika Takiishi

✧ content: fluff, gn!reader (I think), OOC most likely, established!relationship, not proofread I'm sorry, tsubakino's pronouns are confirmed he/him ✦ a/n: HAAAAPPPYYYYY NNNNNEEEWWW YYYYEEAAARRR BBBBIITTCHHESSSSS😝😝😝😝 six months since I last posted omg-! I'm still alive! 😍 tysm for the support while I'm gone ily'all <33

—REN KAJI would turn off his music and pull down his headphones to listen to you ramble. Though he had his attention to his phone, he'd give silent nods and hums here and there to let you know that he was listening. Occasionally, he'd throw in little comments and questions regarding the topic you were telling. Little to your knowledge, your rambles to him were like taking notes. He'd mentally highlight things that he thought were important, and would keep it in mind in the future. He's the type to look nonchalant, but deep down, he cares more than he lets on. “... What's wrong?” he asked as he heard you abruptly stop talking. “Forget it.. You're not even listening.” You looked away in disappointment, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I have been listening,” he tried to reassure, feeling slightly guilty for making you feel neglected. “Really? Then repeat all the things I've been saying.” He, in fact, did repeat most things you've mentioned and justified his word.

—HAJIME UMEMIYA would gift you random bouquets every week, as if he hasn't gifted you enough already. What's special about his bouquets is that you can never guess the theme for the week. First, he started off classic – flowers, with the consideration of them being fake so that you'd be able to keep them forever. Then, he brought you a bouquet of snacks and sweets that he knew were your favorite. Next thing you knew, he's giving you a bouquet of money he's been secretly saving up on. You felt guilty; guilty for the effort he's been putting, just for you to return it with some unprofessional homemade baked goods. It felt unfair. But does he sail on the same boat? No. He's going to reassure you that he expects nothing in return, and that you being there for him and loving him was what all he ever wanted and needed.

—HARUKA SAKURA would spend his free time struggling to assemble a Lego flower bouquet set after learning about White Day. He wanted to return your gesture of gifting him during Valentine's, despite himself denying such intention. It took a lot of effort, in both figuring out what to get while fearing you wouldn't like it –to the point that he would even call over Nirei and Suo for help – and in building the tiny pieces of bricks after settling on a final decision for the gift. He persisted to build it himself, no matter how much his friends offered to help. He wanted to make sure it was his work purely, done with his own hands. The whole process was frustrating, infuriating, and was basically a test of patience. But after seeing how you kept the received bouquet in a glass vase – delicately treasuring it on your bedroom display – he has never felt so proud yet flustered his whole life.

—HAYATO SUO would waltz into the café without a care in the world while having scattered lipstick stains decorating his face. Moreover, it wasn't your idea in the first place– it was his. Your relationship wasn't out yet, and he thought, what better way to publish it than announcing it wordlessly but gives double the impact? “Hm? Oh, this? It's my beloved’s artwork. Do you like it?” he'll innocently ask when someone questions the visible lip prints. Sakura was a blushing mess, and Suo was very much enjoying the look of bewilderment from others as they received the unspoken news. This was the reaction he wanted. This was what boosted his pride furthermore in being your boyfriend, and he'd shamelessly do it again to show off his love for you to the world.

—JO TOGAME would be your personal walking object holder. He'd take your bag and sling it over his shoulder with you needless to say; he'd keep hair bands around his wrist in case you decided to tie your hair up; he'd hold your shopping bags throughout your journey at the mall. Never were you the one to request his aid first, and never has he complained about being tired. He'd even go barefoot just to lend you his footwear when your feet start to hurt in heels. Moreover, he'd carry you bridal along the way. Despite you worrying over him tiring himself, he persisted to keep ahold of you. He loves seeing you enjoy life without a care in the world, and he'd do anything to carry burdens that dare to get in the way of that enjoyment.

—MITSUKI KIRYU would deliberately lose in a game of UNO and let you take the victory when he could've won decades ago. The whole time the both of you were playing, he's been holding a Wild and Draw 4 but refrained from using them. Instead, he kept drawing cards and just went yolo to buy time. Though he always played fair, seeing your dejected expression after losing many rounds this time was a little too unbearable for him. He promised himself for once, just this once will he let himself take a loss. He knew it wouldn't be fair, but if it meant that he'll get to see you smile in victory, then he doesn't find any problem with that.

—AKIHIKO NIREI would write down even the littlest of details about you that were thrown at him. You'd be casually mentioning a trivial preference as a ramble, but never had he pulled out his notebook and pen so quickly. During his early stages of getting to know you, he made sure to memorize everything you told him about yourself; your favorite color, favorite food, dream place to go, he even looked up your zodiac sign after knowing your birth date. He doesn't mean it in a creepy way. In fact, it was his way to know how to get closer to you. Despite already having the skill to remember it all, he likes to write it down to make sure as well as for keepsake. Thanks to that, now he has a cheat sheet on how to make you smile.

—TASUKU TSUBAKINO would wear himself a nail polish color that reminds him of you. Or, moreover, your favorite color. He loved being stylish, and what better way to do it than having at least a part of you involved in it? He'd walk proudly in his heels that you got him as a gift, and was even more ecstatic if someone complimented them, proud that your taste in fashion was appreciated by others. He'd ask to trade manicures with you for a date, where the both of you choose a nail look for each other. But if you weren't into painting nails, he'll ask you to choose a look for him instead. On special or fancy occasions, he'd often wear your fav lip combo or makeup look, as he treasures your choices and views them as something precious and only to be used when necessary.

—TOMA HIRAGI would pull up to the function wearing either a Hello Kitty or Kuromi tee under his gakuran jacket. Was it his personal choice to do it? Clearly not. Was it his choice to willingly wear it for the sake of his beloved significant other? Very much so. After many attempts of pleading, he caved in and (begrudgingly) agreed to your whole ‘matching outfits’ idea. He ate a pill or two when he saw how he looked in the mirror. Then ate two more when he finally appeared in public, especially at how much Umemiya and the others teased him for it. It was embarrassing, but was it worth it? No questions needed. The beaming smile you immediately wore when seeing him agree to your shenanigans, was enough proof that it was all – undoubtedly – worth it.

—YAMATO ENDO would revel in the feeling of being the center of your attention as you placed stickers and colored in his tattoos or drew silly doodles along his body. He liked the feeling of flexing himself while having you express your inner artist onto him. He'd think of himself as your muse; the art and the artist. Once you were done, he'd be extremely careful with doing activities, afraid of your artwork smudging off at the slightest touch. Even during the shower, he makes sure not to wipe it with full pressure. He considered turning it into an actual tattoo, really. Because it would mean that he'd get to keep something of yours to be a part of him, eternally.

—CHIKA TAKIISHI would let you do his hair as you please. He was one to outright reject the idea of someone touching him, but you – you had the privilege to do as you please to him without him raising a finger to stop you. You had him wrapped around your delicate fingers, his head leaning into your touch as you smoothly ran your hands through his long locks of red that met its ends with yellow. When he saw that you did your hair the same way as his, a flicker of surprise reflected on his eyes. Though he tried to come off as indifferent, he was secretly pleased to acknowledge the fact that the both of you were matching. He'd spend the whole day with you while wearing those matching hairstyles, not caring about how others would think of him. All he could focus on was how ethereal you looked in your current look. In fact, he always thought you looked beautiful in any shape and form of physical aspects.

[cool-fancier]

Running into You

Synopsis: You're just an ordinary person, but your life is about to take an extraordinary turn. Your friend Somi, a die-hard Blackpink fan, drags you to their concert. You stumble upon a quiet backstage area and bump into none other than Rosé, the main vocalist.

Word Count:6.9K (long one)

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your living room, casting a soft, golden glow over the space. You were curled up on the couch with a book, trying to lose yourself in its pages, but your attention kept drifting. The words blurred together, the story losing its grip on you as your thoughts wandered.

Lately, everything seemed to have fallen into a predictable pattern, one that you couldn't quite break free from. Work, home, the occasional hangout with Somi, and then back to the routine. It wasn't that you were unhappy—just... stuck. There was a restlessness growing inside you, a need for something different, something that would shake up the monotony of your life.

"Why do you look like you're about to fall asleep?" Somi's voice cut through your reverie, pulling you back to the present. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, her laptop open with several tabs displaying concert dates, fan forums, and YouTube videos.

You glanced up, startled by her sudden question. "I'm not about to fall asleep," you replied, closing the book with a sigh. "I'm just... not into this book, I guess."

Somi's eyes sparkled with that mischievous look she often had when she was up to something. "Maybe you need to do something more exciting tonight," she suggested, her voice light but full of energy.

You raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. "Like what?"

"Like coming to a concert with me," she said, her grin widening as she leaned forward, clearly excited about whatever she had planned. "There's this band I've been dying to see live, and I've got an extra ticket. You should totally come with me!"

You frowned slightly, hesitating. "A concert? I don't know, Somi. You know I'm not really into crowds, and I don't even know who this band is."

Somi rolled her eyes, clearly having anticipated your reluctance. "Come on, it's Blackpink! Even if you're not familiar with them, I promise you'll have a good time. Their shows are legendary, and the energy is just insane. Plus, it's been forever since we did something fun together outside of this apartment."

"Blackpink?" you repeated, the name vaguely familiar, though you couldn't place it. You might have seen it online somewhere, but you couldn't recall ever listening to their music. "I don't know..."

Somi wasn't one to give up easily. She moved closer, her tone becoming more persuasive. "Please? It'll be a blast! And who knows, maybe you'll even meet someone interesting." She winked, the playful grin on her face impossible to resist.

You chuckled, leaning back against the couch as you played along. "Oh yeah? You think I'm going to find the love of my life at a concert?"

"Hey, it could happen!" Somi teased, nudging you with her foot. "I mean, you're single, ready to mingle, and you've been in a bit of a rut lately. What better place to shake things up?"

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. "Right, because that's exactly how these things work."

Somi's grin only grew wider. "You never know! Besides, I've got a good feeling about this one. Who knows, maybe you'll even catch one of the members' eyes. There's this one, Rosé—I think you'd really like her."

"Rosé?" you repeated, trying to remember if you'd ever heard that name before. "Is she famous or something?"

Somi nodded eagerly. "Yup! She's the main vocalist, and she's absolutely gorgeous. I've always thought you two would be a perfect match."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Now you're really dreaming. What would someone like her see in someone like me?"

"Don't sell yourself short," Somi said, her tone becoming more sincere. "You're smart, kind, and beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be with you."

You smiled softly at her words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. Somi always knew how to lift your spirits. "Thanks, Somi. But still, it's not exactly realistic, is it?"

"Maybe not," Somi admitted with a shrug. "But hey, at least come for the music and the experience. If nothing else, you'll get to see what all the hype is about."

You considered her words carefully. The prospect of something new, something different, was tempting. Maybe a night out was exactly what you needed to break the monotony.

"Alright," you finally said, giving in with a smile. "I'll go with you."

Somi's face lit up with excitement. "Yes! You won't regret it, I promise."

— — — —

The days leading up to the concert seemed to fly by, with Somi's enthusiasm never wavering. She tried to introduce you to Blackpink's music, playing their songs while you both worked around the apartment or during your commute together, but the details mostly flew over your head. The melodies were catchy, but with your busy schedule, you never really took the time to learn the names or faces behind the voices.

Each evening, after work or on lazy weekends, Somi would excitedly share a new song or music video, pointing out her favorite moments, but you only half-listened. It wasn't that you weren't interested; it was more that the music felt like background noise to everything else happening in your life. There was always something else to focus on—work deadlines, family obligations, and the usual demands of daily life.

But as the concert date approached, you couldn't help but notice a growing sense of anticipation within yourself. Maybe it was Somi's infectious excitement, or perhaps it was just the idea of doing something out of the ordinary, but you found yourself looking forward to the night more than you had initially expected.

The night of the concert arrived faster than you expected. As you and Somi got ready in your apartment, the excitement in the air was palpable. Somi was practically bouncing off the walls as she applied the finishing touches to her makeup.

"You look amazing," you said as you watched her in the mirror, genuinely impressed by her ability to transform her look for the occasion. Somi had gone all out, wearing a stylish outfit that perfectly captured the concert vibe—bold, chic, and a little edgy.

"Thanks! So do you," she replied, turning to give you a once-over. "See? I knew you'd get into the spirit of things."

You glanced at your reflection, feeling a bit more confident in your outfit. Somi had helped you pick out something that made you feel good—something that was still very much you but with a bit of flair. For the first time in a while, you actually felt excited about going out.

As you slipped into your jacket, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you tonight—a spark that you hadn't seen in a long time. It wasn't just the outfit or the makeup; it was the idea of stepping out of your comfort zone, of embracing something new.

"Okay, let's go before I change my mind," you joked, grabbing your jacket as you headed for the door.

Somi laughed, linking her arm with yours as you left the apartment. "No backing out now! We've got a concert to catch, and who knows? Maybe you'll even run into Rosé.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Yeah, because that's totally going to happen."

The journey to the concert venue was filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. Somi kept the conversation light, chatting about her favorite songs and how incredible the band was live. You listened with a smile, feeling more at ease with each passing minute, even if you couldn't quite keep track of all the band details she was throwing at you.

As you got closer to the venue, you could feel the energy around you intensifying. The streets were crowded with fans dressed in various shades of pink, holding signs and light sticks, all buzzing with anticipation. The atmosphere was infectious, and despite your earlier reservations, you could feel your own excitement starting to build.

"This is crazy," you muttered as you and Somi made your way through the throngs of people.

"Isn't it great?" Somi replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "This is what it's all about—the atmosphere, the anticipation, the music. It's going to be amazing."

The crowd outside the venue was massive, with fans buzzing with anticipation as they waited to get inside. The energy was contagious, and for the first time, you felt a genuine thrill of excitement.

As you approached the entrance, you could feel your nerves creeping in again. The noise, the crowd, the unfamiliarity of it all—it was a lot to take in. Somi must have sensed your apprehension because she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey, if it gets too much, just let me know, okay?" she said, her tone gentle. "We can take breaks, step outside if you need to. I want you to have a good time, not feel overwhelmed."

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks, Somi. I appreciate it."

Once inside the venue, the atmosphere was electric. The stage was set up with massive screens and lights, and the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. You and Somi found a spot with a decent view, and as you settled in, you started to feel a bit more comfortable. But as the minutes ticked by, the noise and the crush of the crowd began to get to you.

The venue was buzzing with life, the energy palpable as fans eagerly awaited the start of the show. You glanced around, taking in the sight of people decked out in merchandise—T-shirts, hats, light sticks—all proudly displaying their love for Blackpink. It was a world you didn't fully understand yet, but there was something exhilarating about being a part of it.

Somi was in her element, chatting excitedly with a group of fans nearby who were just as hyped as she was. You tried to focus on the conversation, but the noise and the sheer volume of people were starting to feel overwhelming. The venue, which had felt so thrilling moments before, was now beginning to press in on you, the weight of the crowd a little too much.

You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. "I'm going to step outside for a bit, just to clear my head before the show starts," you told Somi, hoping she wouldn't mind.

She looked at you with concern but quickly nodded, understanding. "Sure thing," she said, giving you a thumbs up. "Just don't take too long! You don't want to miss a second of this."

You smiled, appreciating her concern, and started to make your way through the crowd. It took longer than you anticipated, weaving through the throngs of people all eagerly chatting and finding their spots. But eventually, you reached the exit and stepped outside, into the cool night air.

The contrast was immediate and stark. The noise of the venue was replaced by the quiet hum of the city at night, the air cool against your skin. You took a deep breath, savoring the stillness, the way the world seemed to slow down out here. It was a much-needed reprieve from the overwhelming energy inside.

You walked for a bit, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you moved further away from the noise and the crowd. The streets around the venue were quieter, less chaotic than you expected. You turned a corner and found yourself in a small, dimly lit alleyway. It wasn't particularly scenic, but it was peaceful, and right now, that was exactly what you needed.

Leaning against the wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the quiet wash over you. The city sounds were distant, muted—cars in the distance, the faint murmur of voices, the occasional breeze rustling the leaves of a nearby tree. It was a soothing backdrop, one that allowed your mind to slow down and process everything.

You hadn't realized how much you needed this, this moment of solitude. The excitement of the evening, while exhilarating, had also been draining. But here, in the stillness of the night, you could finally breathe, let go of the nerves that had been building up.

Your thoughts began to wander, unbidden, back to Somi's words earlier. About Rosé. You couldn't help but smile to yourself. It was a sweet thought—Somi's belief that you and a global superstar could somehow be a perfect match. It was unrealistic, sure, but it was nice to have someone believe in you like that, even if it was just in jest.

The idea of meeting someone like Rosé felt like a distant dream, something far removed from the life you knew. But in the quiet of the alley, with nothing but your thoughts for company, it didn't seem so far-fetched. You let yourself imagine it for a moment—what it would be like to meet someone who could see you, really see you, beyond the surface. Someone who could connect with you in a way that felt real and meaningful.

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. "Get a grip," you muttered under your breath, pushing off the wall. This was silly, getting lost in such thoughts. It was just a concert, just a night out. Nothing more, nothing less.

But as you began to make your way back toward the venue, something caught your eye. The door to a side entrance was slightly ajar, light spilling out into the alleyway. Curious, you hesitated, wondering if you should take a peek inside. It was probably just a maintenance entrance or something equally mundane, but the idea of stepping into a quieter part of the venue was appealing.

With a quick glance around, you gently pushed the door open and slipped inside. The hallway was dimly lit, the sound of the concert preparations muffled in the distance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a pocket of calm in the midst of the storm.

You wandered down the hallway, the cool air inside a welcome change from the warmth of the crowd. There was something almost surreal about the quiet here, like you'd stepped into a different world entirely. It was a world where the noise and chaos of the concert didn't exist, where you could just be, without any expectations or pressures.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you collided with someone. The impact was gentle but unexpected, and you both stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, your hands coming up instinctively to steady the other person. "I wasn't paying attention, and—"

"It's okay," a soft voice interrupted, gentle and reassuring. "Really, no harm done."

You looked up, and your breath caught in your throat. The woman standing in front of you was stunning. She had long, blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a warmth that immediately put you at ease. There was something ethereal about her, something that made the world around her seem to blur at the edges.

"Are you sure?" you asked, still flustered as you took a step back to give her some space. "I wasn't paying attention, and I—"

"I'm sure," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I've been in your shoes before—lost in thought and bumping into random people. It happens."

You let out a small, relieved laugh. "Well, I'm still sorry. I don't usually run into people like that."

"It's no big deal," she replied, her tone soft and kind. "Like I said, it happens. You're not hurt, right?"

You shook your head, still a little stunned. "No, I'm fine. Just... a little embarrassed."

"Don't be," she said, her smile widening a fraction. "It's actually kind of nice, having a normal interaction for once."

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. "Nice?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "It's not often I get to just... be, you know? Without all the noise and expectations."

You nodded slowly, trying to process what she was saying. There was something about her, something in the way she spoke, that made you feel like you were in on a secret, like she was sharing something with you that she didn't often share with others.

"So, are you here for the concert?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation into safer territory.

She nodded, her smile returning. "Yeah, I'm here for the concert."

"Me too," you said, relaxing a little now that the conversation had found its footing. "Well, sort of. My friend dragged me along. She's a huge fan of this band, but I don't really know much about them."

She chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. "That's actually kind of nice. You get to experience it all for the first time, without any preconceived notions.”

"Yeah, I guess so," you agreed, though you still felt a little out of place. "It's just a little intimidating, you know? Everyone else seems to know so much about them, and I'm just here trying to figure it all out."

"That's the beauty of it," she said, her tone light but sincere. "You get to see everything with fresh eyes. It's a rare thing, and it makes the experience all the more special."

You found yourself smiling at her words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. There was something about her that made you want to keep talking, to keep this conversation going, but you weren't sure what to say next. The silence between you was comfortable, though, filled with a sense of understanding that didn't require words.

"So, what do you think so far?" she asked after a moment, her eyes curious.

"About what?" you replied, a little caught off guard.

"About the whole experience," she clarified, her smile softening. "The concert, the music... everything."

You took a moment to think about it, trying to put your feelings into words. "It's... overwhelming," you admitted. "But in a good way, I think. I didn't expect to feel so much... energy."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It can be a lot to take in, especially if you're not used to it. But that's what makes it so powerful, I think. It's this shared experience, this connection between everyone in the room, all feeling the same thing."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. There was something in her eyes, something deep and genuine, that made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to ask her more, to keep this connection going, but the words didn't come.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice gentle. "I should probably get back. The show's going to start soon."

You nodded, though you felt a strange reluctance to let this moment end. "Yeah, I should too."

She smiled at you, a smile that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, and for a moment, you thought about asking her to stay, to talk a little longer. But before you could find the courage, she turned to leave.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" you found yourself saying, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She paused, turning back to look at you, her eyes soft. "Maybe," she said, her voice holding a promise that made your heart flutter.

And then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway and leaving you standing there, wondering what had just happened. You felt like you'd just experienced something rare, something precious, but you weren't sure what to do with it.

You stood there for a moment longer, trying to collect your thoughts before heading back to the concert. As you made your way through the crowd to find Somi, your mind kept replaying the encounter, the way her eyes had seemed to see right through you, the way her smile had made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

When you finally found Somi, she was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she talked to a group of fans. "There you are! You almost missed it!"

You forced a smile, trying to push the encounter out of your mind, at least for now. "Sorry, I got a little lost."

Somi waved it off, too excited to care. "No worries! Come on, the show's about to start!"

You followed her into the crowd, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the woman in the hallway. There was something about her that you couldn't shake, something that made you feel like you'd just missed out on something important.

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, you tried to focus on the stage, on the music, on the experience that Somi had been so eager to share with you. But your mind kept drifting back to the woman in the hallway, to the way she had looked at you, like she had seen something in you that even you hadn't noticed.

And then the music started, and the stage lights came up, and you found yourself staring at the group on stage. The woman from the hallway was standing in the center, microphone in hand, her voice soaring over the crowd. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized who she was.

She was Rosé.

And she had been singing just for you.

— — — — —

You stood frozen, your eyes glued to the stage as Rosé sang. The realization of who she was—and who you had just been speaking to—sent a shockwave through you. Her voice was even more powerful in person, filling the entire venue with a warmth and intensity that made your heart race.

Next to you, Somi was cheering loudly, completely caught up in the performance. But you were still processing everything, your mind racing as you watched Rosé move effortlessly across the stage. She was captivating, her presence commanding every bit of attention from the audience, yet all you could think about was the conversation you'd had just minutes ago.

You hadn't recognized her. How could you have not recognized her?

The thought was both embarrassing and oddly exhilarating. You'd spoken to Rosé, not as a fan, not as someone who knew everything about her, but as yourself. And she had spoken to you, not as a celebrity, but as a person. The memory of her eyes meeting yours, the warmth in her voice—it all felt so surreal now.

As the performance continued, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from her. Every note she sang, every movement she made, seemed to resonate with you on a deeper level. It was like she was speaking directly to you through the music, and for a moment, the crowded venue and the thousands of fans faded away, leaving just the two of you.

But then the song ended, and the crowd erupted into applause, snapping you out of your reverie. You glanced at Somi, who was practically glowing with excitement, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil you were experiencing.

"This is amazing!" Somi shouted over the noise, grabbing your arm. "Aren't they incredible?"

"Yeah," you replied, your voice a little shaky. "They really are."

Somi didn't seem to notice your unease, too caught up in the next song as it started. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Rosé was right there, on that stage, singing her heart out—and yet, all you could think about was the brief, fleeting connection you'd shared with her backstage.

As the concert went on, you tried to focus on the music, on the energy of the crowd, but your thoughts kept drifting back to her. You kept replaying your conversation in your head, analyzing every word, every look, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Had she recognized you? Did she know that you didn't realize who she was? Was that why she had seemed so intrigued by you?

The questions swirled in your mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. Even as the concert reached its peak, with the crowd singing along and the lights flashing in time with the music, you felt a strange sense of detachment, like you were watching everything from a distance.

It wasn't until the final song that you finally managed to pull yourself back into the moment. The music slowed, and the stage lights dimmed, casting the group in a soft, golden glow. Rosé stepped forward, her voice filling the venue with a hauntingly beautiful melody that sent chills down your spine.

You watched her, completely mesmerized. There was something raw and vulnerable in the way she sang, something that seemed to echo the conversation you'd had earlier. It was like she was laying herself bare for the world to see, and yet, somehow, it felt like she was singing just for you.

As the song came to an end, Rosé's eyes swept over the crowd, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, they met yours. You held your breath, wondering if she recognized you, if she remembered the conversation you'd had. But then her gaze moved on, and the moment was over, leaving you with a strange mix of emotions that you couldn't quite untangle.

The concert ended with a final burst of energy, the crowd erupting into applause as the group took their bows. You clapped along with everyone else, but your mind was still elsewhere, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that Rosé had stirred up.

As the lights came up and the crowd began to disperse, Somi turned to you, her face flushed with excitement. "That was incredible! I'm so glad you came with me!"

"Yeah, it was amazing," you agreed, though your voice lacked the enthusiasm that Somi's held.

She didn't seem to notice, still buzzing with the afterglow of the concert. "We should totally do this again sometime! I can't believe how good they were live!"

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Definitely."

But as you made your way out of the venue, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rosé. The concert was over, but the memory of your encounter with her lingered, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business, like there was something more to be said, something more to be done.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you'd missed an opportunity, that there was something important that had been left unsaid. And as you and Somi walked through the crowd, your mind raced with possibilities, wondering if you'd ever get the chance to speak to her again.

— — — — —

The ride home was a blur of neon lights and distant chatter. Somi was still gushing about the concert, replaying her favorite moments and showing you clips she'd captured on her phone. You tried to engage, to share in her excitement, but your mind was elsewhere, still stuck in that dimly lit hallway where you'd spoken to Rosé.

By the time you arrived back at your apartment, Somi had finally started to wind down. She flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, scrolling through her phone for more Blackpink content.

"That was seriously one of the best nights ever," she said, glancing up at you with a grin. "Thanks for coming with me."

"I'm glad I did," you replied, and you meant it. Despite the overwhelming emotions, there was something about the night that felt... significant.

Somi yawned, clearly exhausted from all the excitement. "I think I'm going to crash," she said, standing up and stretching. "But we should totally talk about this tomorrow. I want to hear all your thoughts about the concert."

You nodded, watching as she headed to her room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The apartment was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of traffic outside. You sank onto the couch, finally allowing yourself to process everything that had happened.

Your mind kept drifting back to Rosé, to the way she had looked at you, the way her voice had sounded in that quiet hallway. There was something about the encounter that you couldn't shake, something that felt unfinished.

Without really thinking, you pulled out your phone and opened up a search engine, typing in "Rosé Blackpink" out of curiosity. As the search results popped up, you were greeted with countless images of her—performing on stage, attending events, posing for photoshoots. She looked just as stunning in the photos as she had in person, but there was something different about the woman you'd met.

In the photos, she was polished, poised, the image of a global superstar. But the Rosé you had spoken to in the hallway had been different—more relaxed,

more real. There had been a vulnerability in her eyes, a warmth in her smile, that you hadn't expected.

You found yourself scrolling through the images, searching for that same warmth, that same realness, but it wasn't there. In the photos, she was Rosé, the idol, the star, but in the hallway, she had just been... herself.

As you continued to scroll, you came across a video of the concert you had just attended. Curious, you clicked on it, watching as the camera panned over the crowd before zooming in on the stage. The energy of the concert was palpable, even through the screen, but your focus was solely on Rosé.

The video captured the final song, the one where Rosé had looked out into the crowd, her voice filled with emotion. You watched as she sang, her eyes sweeping over the audience, and for a moment, you could almost convince yourself that she was looking at you.

But as the video continued, you noticed something that made your heart skip a beat. Just before the song ended, Rosé glanced off to the side of the stage, her expression shifting subtly. It was a brief moment, barely noticeable, but it felt significant.

You replayed the video, watching that moment over and over, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. Was she looking for someone? Was she thinking about your conversation? Or was it just a trick of the camera, a coincidence that meant nothing?

The questions swirled in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else. You tried to push them away, telling yourself that it was just a chance encounter, that it didn't mean anything, but the doubts lingered.

Finally, you set your phone down, running a hand through your hair with a frustrated sigh. You needed to stop overthinking this. It had been a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, and nothing more.

But as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't help but wonder. What if it had been more? What if there was something deeper, something that you hadn't fully grasped?

The questions haunted you as you drifted off to sleep, leaving you with a strange sense of anticipation, like you were standing on the edge of something important, something life-changing, but you didn't know what it was.

— — — —

The next morning, you woke up feeling restless, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. Somi was already up, humming to herself as she made breakfast, but you couldn't bring yourself to join her. Instead, you grabbed your phone and headed out to the small balcony attached to your apartment, hoping the fresh air would help clear your head.

As you stood outside, your thoughts drifted back to the concert, to Rosé, and to the way she had looked at you. There was something about that moment, about the way she had spoken to you, that you couldn't shake. It felt like there was more to it, something left unsaid, something unfinished.

You stared out at the city, trying to piece together the puzzle of the night before. Why had Rosé taken the time to talk to you? Why had she seemed so different from the image you had of her—a global superstar with thousands of fans at her feet? The encounter felt significant, but you couldn't put your finger on why.

Somi's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "Hey, you okay out there?" she called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. "Just thinking."

Somi appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she looked at you with concern. "You've been quiet since last night. Did something happen?"

You hesitated, not sure how to explain what you were feeling. "It's nothing, really. Just... processing, I guess."

She gave you a knowing smile. "The concert was pretty intense, huh? I saw the way you were watching the stage. It's like you were in a trance."

You nodded, your thoughts drifting back to Rosé's performance, the way her voice had wrapped around you, pulling you into a world where only the two of you existed. "Yeah... something like that."

Somi grinned, pushing off the doorframe. "I knew you'd come around! I'll make a Blinks fan out of you yet."

You forced a laugh, trying to match her enthusiasm, but the unease lingered. There was something more to last night, something you couldn't quite grasp. And it was gnawing at you, refusing to let go.

After breakfast, you decided to take a walk to clear your head. You needed to get out, to think, to figure out what was bothering you so much. Somi offered to come with you, but you declined, telling her you needed some time alone.

The streets were quieter than usual, the weekend morning lulling the city into a slow start. You wandered aimlessly, your feet carrying you without direction, your mind replaying every detail of the night before. The way Rosé had looked at you, the way she had smiled—there was something there, something that made you feel seen in a way you hadn't expected.

As you turned a corner, your thoughts still tangled, you nearly bumped into someone coming from the opposite direction. You looked up, an apology ready on your lips, but the words died in your throat when you saw who it was.

It was Rosé.

She was standing right in front of you, dressed casually in jeans and a simple jacket, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. For a moment, neither of you moved, both caught off guard by the sudden encounter.

"Hi," she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Hi," you echoed, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe it—what were the chances?

Rosé looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, then back at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Me neither," you replied, your mind racing to catch up with the situation. "Are you... are you following me?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she laughed, a sound so genuine and warm that it made your heart flutter. "No, not at all. I'm just... I don't know. I guess it's fate or something."

"Fate?" you repeated, the word hanging between you like a question that neither of you could answer.

She nodded, her smile fading into something more serious. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I just... I don't know, wanted to see you again."

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something in her eyes, something that made you feel like this moment was teetering on the edge of something bigger, something you couldn't quite grasp.

Before you could respond, she glanced around again, her expression shifting. "Listen, I know this might sound strange, but... would you mind walking with me for a bit? I'd like to talk, if that's okay."

You hesitated, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that Rosé was standing in front of you, asking to spend more time together. "Sure," you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to reach her eyes, and motioned for you to follow her. The two of you started walking, side by side, the city moving around you as if in a different world. Neither of you spoke at first, the silence between you comfortable, but charged with anticipation.

As you walked, Rosé glanced over at you, her expression contemplative. "You know, I don't get to do this often," she said quietly.

"Do what?" you asked, curious.

"Just... be myself," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Away from the cameras, the expectations. It's nice to have a conversation without all the noise."

You nodded, feeling a deep sense of connection to her words. "I can imagine. It must be exhausting, always being in the spotlight."

"It is," she admitted, her eyes distant for a moment. "But last night... talking to you, it felt different. Like I could just be me."

There was a softness in her tone, something that made your heart ache with a strange mix of emotions. You wanted to say something, to tell her that you felt the same, but the words were stuck in your throat.

The two of you continued walking until you found yourselves in front of a small, cozy café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that looked like it was straight out of a postcard, with ivy creeping up the walls and a charming little sign that swung gently in the breeze.

Rosé hesitated at the entrance, then turned to you with a smile. "Do you want to grab a coffee? My treat.”

"Sure," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The café was warm and inviting, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Rosé led you to a table in the corner, away from the few other patrons, and the two of you sat down, the atmosphere between you comfortable, but still tinged with something unspoken.

As you both sipped your drinks, the conversation began to flow more easily. Rosé was surprisingly down-to-earth, sharing stories about her life, her travels, and the little things that made her happy. You found yourself opening up as well, sharing stories from your own life, laughing at shared experiences, and finding common ground in unexpected places.

The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment, and for a while, it felt like the outside world didn't exist—just the two of you, talking and laughing over coffee.

But then, just as you were beginning to relax completely, Rosé's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her expression shifting slightly, but then she smiled at you and put the phone face down on the table, clearly not wanting to interrupt your time together.

"You're popular," you teased lightly, trying to keep the mood light.

Rosé chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "It's probably just work stuff. I try not to let it interfere when I'm enjoying myself."

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you.

She looked at you, her gaze softening. "I really am. This is... nice. Just being able to sit and talk like this."

There was a moment of comfortable silence between you, and then Rosé's phone buzzed again. This time, she let out a small sigh and reached for it.

"Sorry, let me just check this quickly," she said, her tone apologetic.

"Of course," you replied, trying to ignore the slight pang of disappointment.

Rosé glanced at the screen, her eyes widening slightly as she read the message. A small smile tugged at her lips, and then she looked up at you, her expression somewhere between amused and mischievous.

"Everything okay?" you asked, curious about what had caused her reaction.

She nodded, biting her lip as if holding back a laugh. "Yeah, it's just... do you trust me?"

The question caught you off guard, but there was something in her tone, in the playful glint in her eyes, that made you smile. "I think so... why?"

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because I just had a crazy idea, and I think it could be a lot of fun."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "What kind of crazy idea?"

Rosé grinned, her excitement almost contagious. "How do you feel about a little adventure? Something spontaneous?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, the idea of doing something completely

out of the ordinary both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "What did you have in mind?"

She looked around the café, as if making sure no one was listening, then leaned in closer. "Well, I just got a text from one of the girls in my group. They're doing something kind of wild today, and they dared me to bring someone along. Someone... unexpected."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You mean... you want me to come with you?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile widening. "If you're up for it. It's nothing dangerous, I promise. Just a little spontaneous fun."

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with possibilities. This was definitely not what you had expected when you woke up this morning, but the idea of spending more time with Rosé, of being part of whatever adventure she had in mind, was too tempting to resist.

"Okay," you said, feeling a rush of excitement. "I'm in."

Rosé's eyes lit up with excitement. "Great! Let's go before we change our minds."

As the two of you quickly finished your drinks and prepared to leave the café, your heart raced with anticipation. Whatever was about to happen, it was sure to be something you would never forget.

[smok3ygoth]

SANCTUARY

Summary: After a chaotic day, you head to the pub and bump into Louis, which blossoms into something beautiful. [1.3k]

—

Tonight, you find yourself at the local pub, seeking solace in your usual escape. As you sip your vodka and Coke, the familiar rhythm of the low music surrounds you, creating a comforting haze that drowns out your racing thoughts.

You swayed gently, letting the world outside fade away, if only for a little while. You'd been inside for hours, drinking and giggling to yourself, realising just how ridiculous your life had become.

"Can't fucking believe this."

After an exhausting eight-hour shift, you were so ready to unwind and enjoy some TV time with your lovely boyfriend, but then everything changed.

Once you got home, you heard squeaking from upstairs, like someone was bouncing on the bed. You didn't bother changing; you stormed up the stairs and burst into your bedroom.

"What the actual fuck?"

There, right in front of you, was one of your best friends getting bent over by your boyfriend—the guy you'd been with for five years, and someone you’d known forever.

"Wait—"

"I don't want to fucking hear it. You better be gone by the time I get back or you'll regret it." You'd said rather calmly, which is undoubtedly scarier than screaming at them.

And now, here you are at the bar, alone.

"Fuck, I need some fresh air." You grabbed your drink and went to sit outside on one of the empty benches. You reached into your back and you swore you had a pack of fags in there.

"For fucksake, could this day get any worse?" You said this right before someone accidentally spilled some of their beer on you.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" The woman apologised, but you could tell she was very pissed, so you just waved it off with a smile.

"Guess I'll just sit here and sip my drink," you said to yourself, hoping the night would turn around. You pulled out your phone, thinking about what series of movies you could dive into later to forget all this.

Then, a hand reached out in front of you, offering a cigarette. You looked up, surprised at the man standing before you. You took the cigarette and placed it between your lips as his hand came up to light it for you.

Inhaling deeply, you asked, "How did you know I needed a smoke?"

"I've seen you here a few times, crying, and I've always offered you a smoke." You blushed at his words.

Well, that's embarrassing.

Taking another long, deep inhale of the cigarette, you asked, "Aren't you that singer? What's your name?"

"Louis Tomlinson, and what may your name be, darling?" The pet name sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Why did it suddenly feel so warm?

"It's Y/N, but you can call me whatever you like. Isn't it a bit risky just hanging out at the pub with no security?"

"A bit. My fans are respectful, though, so I love seeing them when I'm out. I'm guessing you're not a fan?" he joked, a playful glint in his eye.

"I could be a fan, but I might just be hiding it. You'll never know," you replied with a laugh, feeling the chemistry spark between the two of you.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to find out then," he chuckled, leaning in a little closer. The warmth between you felt electric, and for a moment, the earlier chaos faded away.

"So, what brings you out here tonight? Besides, you know, the vodka?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by why you would be here all by yourself.

You took another drag from the cigarette, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Honestly, I just needed a break from everything. It's been one of those days, you know?" You smiled, hoping to keep the conversation flowing.

"But now it seems like I've stumbled onto something a bit more interesting."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"You."

"You're quite bold, you know?"

"I am aware, yes." You giggle as he lights his own cigarette, offering you another since you'd finished yours.

You both sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the comforting silence that you both needed.

"Hey, Lou?"

"Yes, love?" He turned to you, a spark of intrigue in his eyes at the nickname you had given him.

"Would you like to���I don't know—be friends? We could go to my place and watch some TV since it's getting quite chilly out here, and I don't really want to drink anymore."

"Course we can, yeah. Don't want you walking home by yourself either." A smile spread across your face, gratitude shining in your eyes.

"Let's go then." You both finish your cigarettes, and you take his hand, leading the way to your place. It’s closer than Louis expected, but he’s not complaining.

Once inside, you kick off your shoes and drop your bag by the door. You quickly turn on the heating, eager to warm up from the chilly air outside.

"Would you like a drink or something?" you ask as he settles onto the comfortable sofa in the living room.

"Tea, please, love."

"On it." You smile at him as he gets comfortable on the sofa, making himself at home while scrolling through a bunch of different movies.

As you focus on making tea for both of you, your mind drifts, and you momentarily forget about your boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend.

"Y/N?" You spin around, shocked to see him still lingering in your house.

"I told you to get the fuck out."

"Wait—please let me explain!"

"What is there to explain? It was pretty obvious what was happening. I'm just curious about how long this has been going on." He avoids your gaze, mumbling.

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Two years."

"Wow. This all happened under my roof? You're fucking disgusting. Get out. Now."

"You heard her, get the fuck out." Louis spoke.

"Who the fuck are you?" Louis steps closer, wrapping his arm around your waist—a protective gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Your replacement. I'm better than you, and you know it, so fuck off." Louis grinned, a mix of amusement and defiance in his eyes as he watched your ex-boyfriend storm out, slamming the door behind him.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Louis' boldness and the way he handled the situation. "Thanks for that. He really needed to go."

Louis shrugged casually. "No worries, love. No one messes with my friends like that."

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, grateful for Louis' unexpected presence and unwavering support. "I owe you one, Lou."

He flashed you a warm smile. "Nah, we're friends now. That's what friends are for, right?"

Right, friends. But did you want to be just friends? Of course not. You didn't know how it happened so quickly, but you knew you had developed some romantic feelings for Louis.

"Lou?" Your voice wavered as you spoke, looking up at him with shy eyes.

"Hm?"

"I think I like you. I know we've only just gotten to know each other, but I like you, and I know you probably don't feel—" He cut off your rambling with a soft kiss on the lips, a smile spreading warmth across your face.

"What were you saying, hmm, love?" You gazed into his eyes, feeling a rush of courage. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, this time slower and deeper, savouring the moment as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

"I like you too," he whispered against your lips, making you grin and kiss him harder. The world around you faded as you lost yourself in the moment, feeling the warmth of his body and the electric connection between you.

As you pulled away slightly, breathless and smiling, you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"So, what now?" you asked, a playful glint in your gaze. Louis chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Now, we take it one day at a time, together." With that, he leaned in for another kiss, and in that moment, you realised this was just the start of something truly beautiful. He had become your safe haven, your sanctuary amidst the chaos.

—

This is my first fic on this app because I have no idea how to use it, and it needs more Louis fics. I'm trying to figure out how to make a masterlist and all that, but for now, I'm just going to leave this little thing here. :) P.S. This is my first fic ever, so please don't hate. Thanks! xD

Please send requests! <3

[mcrslover]

MCR quotes for anyone who needs them:

"Kids would say they were going to kill themselves then they heard our music... it's our mission"

- Mikey Way.

...

"Reasons why mcr is good for you

juradsleigh:

Feeling like a rad vampire? Listen to bullets

Feeling angry? Listen to 3 cheers

Feeling sad? Listen to black parade

Feeling colourful and happy? Listen to danger days

Feeling like breaking up your band? Listen to death never stop you"

...

"This is for every kid out there... That dyed their hair a fucked up colour and can't get a job. They got a tattoo on their neck like Frank, and can't get a job. That does this because they fuckin' love this. This song is for every kid in the audience- even if you don't have fucked up hair or tattoos-every kid on stage, this song's about us, this song's about you, it's called The Kids From Yesterday."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Stop covering your children's eyes.

Everything is fucked up and pretending it's not won't make it any better. I'm tired of people praying for a change when it's up to them to get off their asses and make a change."

- Frank Iero.

...

"I spent most of my time in the back of the class, just drawing. My goal was to not get noticed in school, because spent so long not being noticed anyway or being treated as if I were invisible that I started to like it.

I've learned that it's actually not very lonely... It's like, you have less friends but the friends you have count more. I met a lot of people that weren't outsiders, or they were very popular, and they have a lot of friends but I don't know if they're the kinds of friends you would call up at 3 am to help you out or talk about being depressed."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Promise me, when MCR's gone, you'll do what it takes to survive. You're strong enough to do it without us."

- Gerard Way.

...

"All your quirks and all your problems, even your depressions, and your failures that's.. that's what makes you, you."

- Gerard Way.

...

"If you or someone you know is severely depressed you need to fucking talk to someone! Your mom, someone in school, I don't give a fuck! Because suicide is fucking bullshit."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Nothing is worth hurting yourself over, nothing is worth taking your life over"

- Gerard Way.

...

"If we never play another show again, just keep yourself alive."

- Gerard Way.

...

"We're outsiders, we're the kids who didn't get dates for the prom, we're the kids who were confused, who didn't fit in with the cliques, who weren't part of the in-crowd.

Growing up can be a very frightening and confusing time, and I think people look at us and see it's okay to be different. They see that there is a way other than what they're being offered. That you can stand out, that you can be creative, that you can be yourself."

- Gerard Way.

...

"gerard-hey:

I love MCR so much it's like they have a song for every situation. Feeling sad? Listen to The Lights Behind Your Eyes. Feeling frustrated? Listen to I'm Not Okay. Feeling Energetic? Listen to Na Na Na. Feeling like you wanna kick some ass? Listen to Destroya.

Feeling rebellious? Listen to Teenagers. Feel like you wanna break up your band? Listen to Fake Your Death."

...

"The difference we want to make is, number one, to let these kids know that they're not alone, that they're actually not that messed up, and that they can do whatever they want they can express themselves in any way they want without being persecuted or called a faggot or some kind of racist thing. Really just get people to get over their stuff so they can live."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Whatever happens to you, no matter what, l'm always fucking there for you... Don't forget that. I don't give a shit if your boyfriend dumps you. If your girlfriend dumps you. If you're working a shitty job or can't get through school. If you can't get through a fucking Harry Potter book, there's nothing worth dying over. There's nothing worth taking your life over. I will always fucking be there."

- Gerard Way.

...

"If you come to an MCR show, you're probably a little fucked up, and that's okay because we're just as fucked up as you. It's us against the world. And it's great because there's thousands of us in one place."

- Gerard Way.

...

"Someone doesn't like you? Fuck it.

Having a bad day? Fuck it. Didn't get that job, or that grade, or that promotion you wanted? Fuck it. Fighting with your lover? Fuck it. Feel fat today? Fuck it. Losing control of everything and everyone? Fuck it.

What matters now won't matter soon; the truly important thing is that you are alive, and that you have the capacity to do absolutely anything with this beautiful, crazy coincidence of being on this earth. Just stick your middle fingers in the air and think, 'Damn, I have it good."

- Gerard Way.

...

"You're going to come across a lot of shitty bands, and a lot of shitty people. And if anyone of those people call your names because of what you look like, or bedause they don't accept you for who you are. I want you to look right at that mother fucker, stick up your middle finger and scream

"FUCK YOU!!"

- Gerard Way.

...

"Real revenge is making something of yourself."

- Gerard Way.

❤️🖤❤️🖤

[penelopegarcialovebot]

slow dance

spencer reid x gender neutral reader

summary: you're the only person whose brought out this side of spencer since maeve. and when you two are in rossi's backyard, slow dancing to the music from inside alone, it's when he realizes he'd really like to keep you around.

warnings: fluffy talk about relationships, teensy bit of angst about past relationships and self doubt, happy ending tho!!

♬⋆ .˚ now playing slow dance by clairo

a/n: first fic bare with me we're getting there!!

arms tangled around one another, stepping on eachothers feet, whispering sweet nothings together then laughing because you can't take eachother seriously when it's so quiet.

that's been the entirety of your life for the last hour, with spencer. not your friend, not your boyfriend, but some secret third option in between.

"you look nice tonight." he compliments, and you're sure it's for the millionth time tonight, "i don't think i've ever seen you dressed... formally?"

you're not wearing anything particularly fancy, but it's not exactly casual either. again, a secret third option.

there seems to be a theme of that tonight.

either way, you muster up the courage to tease him, "i don't look nice every other night?"

"well, you know that's not what i meant, i just mean, like, especially tonight. y'know?" he rambles as he moves his hands to your waist again.

"i'm just messing with you." you smile back, arms staying wrapped around his shoulders.

finally, the music from inside starts back up, a slower song.

one of the windows in the kitchen is cracked open just enough for the music to be heard from rossi's backyard. more specifically the pretty, fairy light decorated gazebo he loved to talk about whenever he got the chance as if he didn't live in a mansion.

"you look good tonight too. i'd say i never really see you in stuff like this but that'd be a lie." you say, hands running over his chest, tracing the tie tucked neatly into his brown blazer.

"that's not true. i'm not even wearing my converse, you have to admit that's different." he smiles, teasing back.

he was never really good with sarcasm. penelope prides herself in being the one to fix that, but really, something just clicked in him with you.

"but... thank you." he adds, "i tried to dress a little nicer for you."

"didn't try and out-dress me? how kind." you teased again, and he smiles. he loves that little expression you'd get that told him you thought of something witty to say.

"i know, right?" his smile never falters, only growing more as he looks down at you.

it's quiet for a moment, you two swaying back and forth, your head against his chest as he rests his chin right on top of it.

you're not sure if it gets better than this. how it gets better than this, if that.

"i'm glad garcia convinced you to come. maybe because she knew i'd be here." you hum.

"she didn't really convince me. she just... told me you were coming to one for once." he admits, and that makes your heart flutter.

"i don't miss them that much." you lie.

"in your four years at the bau with us, you've come to a total of three. once a year." he say it likes it's a joke, but it's true.

"hey. it's four, now. and if you promise to go to the christmas one, i'll make it five." you reach down to take his hands in yours, squeezing them.

it's true you never really came to these things. you loved the team. of course you did. you were on good terms with all of them. you just didn't trust yourself with alcohol and being in the same room as spencer at the same time. you'd never tell anyone as much, though.

"good. rossi's backyard is prettier in the snow." he replies.

"slow dancing with girls in rossi's backyard a common occurrence, then?" you tease once more, but he takes it at face value.

"me? of course not. i'd never. seriously. just you." his hands squeeze yours once again before moving back to your waist.

"just me." you echo his words. it felt good.

it gets quiet again, and you two are back to the comfort of swaying in one anothers arms. as if there weren't thousands of words left unspoken between the two of you.

what coworkers turned friends slow dance together like this? say things so sickeningly sweet? not ones that were actually just that. coworkers. friends.

it would be laughable, even. because it's not like you haven't seen jj peeking out the window and smile at the sight of you two, or rossi deciding to open the window so you could hear the music to begin with. he wasn't slick, that's for sure.

you weren't one to talk, and neither was spencer.

"what are you thinking about?" he asks, picking up on your silence that goes on longer than you usually let it.

"nothing and everything."

"you can't actually think about nothing. it involves concepts and ideas just to be thinking at all, which is nearly unstoppable unless you're actively stopping it. like if you're meditating right now. and i have a feeling you aren't doing that." he rambles, giving a smartass reply you didn't need, but always appreciated because you'd get to feel his chest lowly hum and hear his voice all at once.

but that's besides the point.

"then everything." you reply, half expecting him to launch the conversation into why that's not humanly possible.

instead, you're caught off guard when you hear, "in a bad way or good way?"

"more good than bad." your hands run over his hair for a moment. curly and oddly soft. he did try a little harder tonight.

"well that's more good than bad." he pauses and continues, voice less... sure, if that was even the right word, "what about, though?"

should you say the truth or lie? because nothing at all would be a lie. but you don't wanna bring up the inevitable when you two are so cozy already.

"us, i guess." you give in. please don't ask further, please don't make this a thing—

"...what about us exactly?" he asks further. makes it a thing. you'd make a comment about mind reading but aren't sure if it'd be appropriate.

"i mean... y'know. we both know. don't we? just... us." you gesture to you two again, before seeing his expression and sighing, "what we are..."

"what we are? as in our relationship status?" he asks, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, "i didn't know it's been on your mind."

it's quiet for a moment, because you both know his question is rhetorical despite it coming out seriously. you both know what you said.

you don't know why this topic holds so much negative weight right now when you could be approaching it with so much more positively. but you're just worrying about one thing: if he's still with the mindset that maeve was the only one for him.

he wasn't the type to play with a girl's feelings, though. you trusted him. it's come with liking him.

"you're overthinking again. i can tell." he brushed a hair through your hair, pulling your head back to his chest.

"you know this stuff isn't easy for me." he adds a little quieter. "at all."

"i know." and you almost say you're sorry for even letting it get this far into the conversation, but you don't.

he rocks you back and forth, cupping your head in his hand. in this position your ears right next to his heart and you can hear how it beats faster when you wrap your arms back around his waist.

"i'll always miss her. but i... i was talking to garcia a few days ago. she reminded me that i shouldn't give up just because of what happened. it's almost like she knew exactly what was going on in my head and it was kinda terrifying to hear but also it helped more than i'd like to admit." he explains.

it was always penelope. the angel of the office.

"with that being said," he adds, unexpectedly, not giving you time to process his previous words completely, "i think she knows how much i actually like you and i never even told her."

oops. guilty as charged—add that to the list of things you'd tell him only after you two were a thing. and not that secret third thing.

"maybe we're not as discreet as we think we are." you smile at the thought.

just as the words leave your mouth, you hear the window open a little more, seeing emily smiling with that i just got caught look before looking back at jj and returning to her with a laugh. talk about comedic timing.

"i like you a lot too, though. it's why i think about us a lot." you add yourself.

"it's just... hard after everything. what if i'm just a string of bad luck? what if something happens to you because of me?" he can't help but start up as he does with certain topics.

"i work in the bau myself, spence. you aren't any more of a threat to me than my daily job itself." you'd tease softly.

the third, but technically only second person he'd let call him that without him cringing.

"i can't argue with that." he admits, nodding, "but you know what i'm talking about. i mean..." he trails off.

"everyone i love has been taken away from me." he says. "i don't exactly have a good track record."

you feel like he's making this out to be he's protecting you when really he's just protecting himself. which makes more sense, now that you think about it like that.

but you also don't really know what to say to that. i won't let that happen. but the both of you know it's a promise you can't guarantee you'll keep.

"say something. anything." he whispers, voice filled with an unfamiliar feeling. anxiety, maybe?

"...i won't let it happen to you again." you mumble against his chest, feeling the way his breath catches in his throat before letting out a shaky exhale.

"you don't know that." he tenses up once more.

"i don't. but i'll try." your grip tightens in his blazer.

"god, how do i say no to you? i can't. the words don't come out." he sighs, almost frustrated. you think it's directed at himself, if anyone, though.

"sometimes i feel like you're nothing but an angel sent down by maeve herself. she'd love you, you know that?" he says and you feel your eyes burn.

"i wish she could've met you." he mumbles, kissing the top of your head, "i wish you could've met a less damaged me. i wish a lot of things, even if the probability of even one, if not all, happening is quite literally 0%." he rambles.

"you're in your head again, spence. too in your head." you point out. he laughs.

"i feel like i always am." he says, a little quieter.

"i don't think you're... damaged." you say, stroking his curly hair again, "you're just hurt. hurting. that's different, to me. that's what i think at least. it's not like you're not getting better."

"too good for me..." he shakes his head, but less defensive this time.

"just think about it, okay?" you say. you remember neither of you explicitly said what it was you were talking about. making it official. but it was implied, right?

"i will. we should get inside." he hums, "don't want you getting any colder in that outfit."

it slips out when you don't intend it to and your heart drops.

"will you be my boyfriend?"

he's quiet, and when you try and pull away to look at him, he holds your head to his chest with one hand. firm but gentle. three words that sum him up perfectly.

"...are you sure?" he first asks, pulling away to look right down into your eyes, hands on either side of your face.

you double down, "of course i am. very sure."

he's just looking down at you now, silently, but you know it's not so silent in that head of his right now. you let him stay in his head for a moment.

"...i still think you're too good for me. but..." he trails off, "yeah. i—just, yeah. i'd really like that."

your lips quirk up into a smile at that, arms still wrapped around his shoulders as they tighten ever so slightly, and you notice how he starts to smile too just from yours.

you see him nervously take his lower lip between his teeth before speaking up.

"can i, er, kiss you?" he asks, studying your face for a moment before his eyes flit up to your own.

you're caught off guard, but give a small yet eager nod, feeling his hands run down to cup your cheeks.

once he has your approval, he's leaning down in the blink of an eye, leaving a small kiss to your lips. this one's gentle, testing the waters.

he takes a brief moment to grasp your reaction, and when he sees it, he leans back down to press a longer kiss to your lips—mouth on yours, tongue running over your lips after you ease into it.

it lasts a bit, his hands on your face before one slips down to your waist and the other to tuck your hair out of your face before resting it on the side of your neck delicately, as if you were glass threatening to shatter.

you two finally pull away, breathing in a series of short gasps and sighs as you feel him press his forehead to yours.

"i hope you know you're gonna be the death of me." he breathes out, caressing the side of your face.

that makes you grin and bring him into another kiss, pulling him down against you.

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 31- Slasher!Grimmjow x F!Reader

Summary: It's Halloween and the Slasher is back at it. Will you take Grimmjow's advice and stay home or get caught by the slasher?

Warning: MINORS DNI, SMUT, mentions of murder, public sex??? It counts even if ppl dead right lololol???

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"For the fuckin' last time, (Y/N), stay inside this Halloween! It's too dangerous for ya." Grimmjow barked as he followed you to your dorm room.

"I'm not a child, Grimmjow. I've finally been invited to a party and I want to go," You said with a soft pout.

You and Grimmjow had become unlikely friends when you started college together. Grimmjow was known as a foul mouthed brute, barely making his way through college, while you were a straight A student.

"Yeah, by the dicks of campus. C'mon, that slasher dude is out there and they are prime targets. I don't wanna see yer body on the news."

"Oh, Grimmjow," You smiled and pulled him into a hug, "There's way too many people. I can't live my life in fear. Why don't you be my bodyguard then?" You asked.

Grimmjow pulled his hands away from your hips, wanting to keep you close. He gave you a lazy glare,

"Ya know I always will be...but I ain't goin' to that party." He sighed heavily, fixing your hair, "What ya wearin'?"

"Wanna see?"

You smiled brightly as you went to change into your costume. Honestly, it was a bit on the slutty side, but that was what all the girls at the party were going to wear. You just wanted to fit in, but if Grimmjow liked you in the outfit, you would feel much better.

You loved Grimmjow, but you were afraid of ruining your friendship with him.

"Ta~daaaa~"

--------

Grimmjow felt his dick do all the talking as you stepped out of the bathroom with a tight devil suit. Your breasts and ass barely holding onto the thin costume. Hiding his erection, Grimmjow watched as you posed for him.

"Fuck, (Y/N), ya really wearin' that?"

"Do you not like it?" You frowned, sulking your shoulders. Grimmjow cussed lowly,

"I do, but why do others gotta see ya in that?"

"I was told that all the girls have to be in something like this," You pouted, glancing at him. Grimmjow just grumbled and started to leave,

"Ya look good. Look, I'll text ya later...Got shit I needa do."

Grimmjow cussed quietly as he hurried out of your dorm. Not only did he have to take care of his erection, but he needed to get ready for tonight. No one would going to see you in that sexy costume.

--------

You were nervous. The amount of looks you had while on the way to the party made you think twice. As worried as you were, you needed to go to this party. You were finally going to fit in at the college!

Approaching the house, you could hear the music from a mile away. It was strange to not see anyone outside. You knocked, but with no answer, you opened the door.

"Um? Hello?"

Gasping loudly, you froze as you saw piles of bodies laying on the ground. Blood soaking the floor. You wanted to scream, but your voice was stuck in your throat.

Ready to run, you cried as someone wrapped their arms around your waist.

"Please! No!"

"Shh, yer bodyguard is here," Grimmjow whispered into your ear.

"G-Grimmjow?!"

Sobbing as your fear slowly went away, you turned around and hugged your friend. Grimmjow's hands wrapped around your body as he gently lifted you up. His hands grabbing your ass.

"G-Grimm-"

"I told ya not to come 'ere," Grimmjow said with a sigh as he walked up the stairs, "Didn't want ya to see this."

"Huh?"

"These fuckers were gonna pull a cruel prank on ya, heard em talk bout it." Grimmjow placed you on a bed, "Had to fuck em up before they could do that...plus...yer outfit is only for my eyes."

"Grimmjow?" You were surprised by his words then gasped as you saw the party hosts tied up, dead against the closet, "W-Wait!?"

"Shh, I ain't never gonna hurt ya,"

Grimmjow stroked your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you. He took off his clothes, placing himself between your legs. You weren't sure what the think right now. Your body was getting hot for Grimmjow, but you were scared from the murders.

"Did you-"

"So fuckin' sexy," Grimmjow groaned, pulling your bottom part of the costume to the side, revealing your dripping pussy, "Hehe, yer body wants me too."

"W-Wait....Grimmjow...did you kill everyone here?" You finally asked.

Grimmjow gave you another lazy look, which answered your question. He hovered over your body, his fingers trailing your exposed cunt before pinching and rubbing your clit. You gasped, moaning softly and squirming against his touch.

"Will ya hate me if I did?"

You whimpered, unsure how to answer that. You thought you knew Grimmjow. He was your best friend, but to murder people? Grimmjow was the slasher this whole time? It was wrong to love him, but you didn't want to lose him.

"No," You admitted.

Grimmjow smirked as he lifted your legs, kissing you again before sliding his dick inside your tight folds. You gasped and whined in response, feeling strange. Grimmjow was filling you up in a house full of people he just killed. This was wrong, but it felt so good.

"W-What if you get caught?" You asked. Grimmjow raised a brow as he started to thrust inside you, "Ah~"

"Don't worry bout that. Just focus on ma dick inside ya." He grumbled, enjoying the sounds you were making, "Listen to yerself, so fuckin' sexy. Been waitin' for this just as long as I have?"

"Hn~ Mhm~" You gripped the bed sheet, arching your back as you felt Grimmjow's dick kiss every part of your pussy.

"That's my good girl. Let the last thing these assholes see is their killer fuckin' the girl he loves."

"Ah~ MhM~ G-Grimm~" You couldn't think straight as Grimmjow kept pounding his dick into you.

You gasped and moaned as you felt your core starting to build up heat. You were going to cum soon. This was wrong. Having sex right after the man you loved killed a bunch of people. It was wrong, but oh so exciting.

"Gonna cum for me? If ya do, then I ain't got no choice but to fill ya up." Grimmjow chuckled darkly, his pace picking up, "Like the thought of me bein' a killer? An even bigger bad boy than ya thought?"

"S-Stop s-saying...mhm~ ah~" You cried out as you felt your orgasm wash over you, "Grimm...hah~ hah~"

"Awe, don't get tired. Ya wanted to party all night, right? Well, yer gonna party with me." His smirk widening as he unloading inside you, watching you squirm.

"All night long."

--------

Grimmjow chuckled lowly as he held your hips, his dick still pounding inside your dripping pussy. He had you on all fours, facing the bodies of his victims. His cum was dripping out of your pussy with every thrust Grimmjow gave you.

"Yer just a moanin' mess, (Y/N). It's only been like thirty minutes, gonna get ya pregnant at this rate. Didn't think ya had the stamina for me." Grimmjow chuckled darkly.

"Mhm~"

"Hm, yer right. Better get outta here before anyone notices." Grimmjow grumbled.

Giving you one last load, Grimmjow let your limp body rest while he got dressed and cleaned up. He had to make sure there were no traces of either one of you at this house. This was always the most annoying part of his kills.

Once he was done, Grimmjow fixed your costume and picked you up. He had no choice but the take the sheets with him since both of your fluids were all over it.

"Hm, ain't nobody gonna say shit if yer at my place dressed like this. My little devil." Grimmjow chuckled, kissing your head as he jumped out the window, "Gonna fuck ya stupid, (Y/N), make sure ya never betray me."

Never.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed!!!

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

This is complaining day because I realized there's more than one thing that got on my nerves lately and it's not just about the treatment of a kpop idol's mother. Let's begin.

Please, stop refering to Jungkook's mother as mama Jeon. I know the tendency is to ignore so many of the cultural differences that exist, but in SK, people don't change their surname after marriage. It just sounds idiotic and westernized in a ridiculous way.

So, Jungkook's mother loves all BTS members. She LOVES them all. How does army know that? How? I'm genuinely curious and genuinely asking. Because they say it as a certainty. Or, forgive me if my memory is faulty as well, but the only instance that we as outsiders were privy to in which we heard that woman speak for the first time, it was in early 2021 on another phonecall with Jungkook when she said I love you to Jimin.

Of course, the same ot7 narrative came as a buldozer at that time too. Damn, does that mean Jimin = BTS? Sometimes yes, but only when Army wants to diminish Jimin's importance and doesn't allow him to stand out individually too much. Musically or otherwise. But back to this Big Love that Jungkook's mom is supposedly feeling for everyone and which has been invoked once again when that woman mentioned Jimin twice while talking to Jungkook on the phone. Cause she already knew they were in Jeju. I bet she didn't have to find out randomly from a schedule group chat.

So what happens? An assumption is turned into certainty because of small people being extremely insecure. Because they see that one person is once again given more importance on a personal level and we can't have that. No sir! So in a panic, they tweet, they post on tumblr, tiktok, youtube the old age, boring af, sounding like a broken record sentence: "Mama Jeon loves all seven". Fuck me gently with a chainsaw cause that sounds a lot better than the feeling of throwing up I get whenever I read such things.

No, she doesn't love all of them. That is not a fact. It could be true and it's not impossible. But it is not a fact based on the knowledge we have at the moment.

Also, it shows once again that an entire fandom is actively creating a reality of their own which is not even like some sort of simulacrum of the reality they must live through. In Army world, the mother of one member of a k-pop group must love all the members of such group. It doesn't matter than irl, our mothers a lot of the times don't even like all our friends, besties or partners. We might have the most incredible connections and it would mean nothing to our mothers.

In that same vein, another narrative that makes me want to pull my eyes out is the "awww, their bond is to die for, they are (like) siblings after all". Do any of them never had any siblings? Never saw other people and their relationship with their siblings? Or with their family?

I also had to read (which was followed by me blocking it immediately) how Jimin and Jungkook's relationship is the sum of the other relationships they have with other BTS members. I mean, why would I have any sort of expectations from any of these people when they are completely incapable of looking at JM and JK as actual people. As persons with individual minds and an intellect of their own. Let alone the fact that their world does not stop with the presence of 5 other men. In what realistic scenario does this translate in real life? That's not how it works. Yes, we are social creatures and a product of our surroundings, but it is not in the way in which these stans believe it to be. They think that living in a dorm for a few years and working together with other people, it means that those experiences are the only ones that actually shape the personality of a person. They are real people, not fictional characters. I've never heard such ridiculous theories in my entire life, to be used as talking points about someone's behavior or relationship with another person.

Maybe the need to create this elaborate fantasy comes from the lack of love in their life, which then gets projected into this Disney, kumbaya, capitalist heaven narrative in which everyone is a big family and they love each other so much and equally and all the parents of all the children love every single member and thus, harmony is created. Love is always platonic and ever present. The complexity of human relationships must not exist.

[aphroditesmoon]

death grips

modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!vampire!reader.

summary: you live vicarously through passing mortal's eyes as a creature of the night, doomed to a life of immortality, and jacaerys is the hand that extends, an opportunity you're reluctant to welcome.

warnings: biting, blood drinking, descriptions of assault, mentions of self harm, vampire esque violence, writer!reader, reader's characterization is highly inspired from the book "Woman, eating."

wc; 5.7k

special dt for my babe @hxtd

YOU HAVE NEVER felt so hungry. It has been at least two weeks and a half since you fed.

You have suffered longer weeks before, impressive lengths of starvation that you held on to the same way mortals do with air. It was a test at first. You wanted to see how far you could take it, how much until it would finally kill you.

The answer was disappointing. You had walked around the city aimlessly for almost 3 months, staggering as you moved, hands trembling and eyes wild as your stomach churns and begs for blood.

But you did not die. You merely suffered like a living corpse.

Once the realization set in, the starving had soon morphed into a form of self-destruction. A penance you inflicted upon yourself.

Death would never take you. No matter how hard you've tried, your curse was to never have an end to your suffering.

Even as the scars healed and the monsters died. The sorrows and the horrors you've endured replays themselves like clockwork in your mind everyday.

To try and enjoy life like humans do was impossible. Life did not feel worth living when you've died a thousand times, but your body refused to rot.

You thought you knew grief when your mother died, but the universe played a cruel joke on you on the day you were turned a vampyr. A young girl you were, still growing, and kept growing even after you were turned. And yet once you turned 18, your body's growth froze itself, and you then had to learn how to mourn the girl that you were, and the girl you could've been if it had just never happened.

Now, you merely endured.

I've grown weaker somehow, you thought to yourself. The pit of your stomach burned as you rested your head against the hard brick of the nightclub building. You could hear the loud music bouncing through the walls, the tunes so vivid in your ears.

You figured you'd make your attack inside, surrounded by drunken visions and easy targets. No one looked twice at the girl with her face buried a random person's neck in a club at saturday night. But then you heard him before you felt him. His ragged breathing. He watches from afar, predatory eyes and a perverse mind, coming up with ways he would entrap you.

So you make your way to the side of the building where the wind is soft against your skin, making a rise of goosebumps. And like a dog, he followed you.

He thinks he's quiet with his steps, but you can hear arrogance a mile away, and with those impatiently big steps, you feel bloodlust in your veins and on your tongue. You clench your jaw as you feel his presence next to you.

"What are you doing out here when the fun's all inside." His scratchy voice spoke up. You could smell the vodka coming out of his breath, and more importantly, you coulf smell the tangy metallic scent of his blood.

You moved only your gaze up to meet his eyes. And at once, you were ready to pounce. He was so near. So big and so weak, unknowing on what is about to happen. But as his quick hands moved to snake around your waist, another voice intervened, suprising both of you.

"I would think twice before touching her." The other man spoke.

He looked straight at your meal, standing only a few steps away from him. When did he get so close? You did not hear him.

"Walk away man, this is my girl." Your almost victim answered back in annoyance. You tilted your head to get a better view of your supposed hero, curiosity overcoming the hunger.

"Right, that's why you were staring off at her for 3 whole minutes from the other side of the road before you got here." He sassed back.

"Why the fuck were you staring at me for 3 whole minutes ass face." Your meal shouted, his patience thinning.

You wanted to shove his face against the concrete when he had the audacity to grip your waist. But instead, you just cracked his fingers apart from you as he yelped out in pain. "The fuck-"

"Walk away until your legs fail you and forget this ever happened." You muttered at his face before pushing him off of you.

The shock in his fave dissolves slowly, he turns to the other man and back at you in confusion before walking off like you compelled him to.

You watched him until he disappeared from your eyesight, hunger returning again, now that the entertainment has ended. Maybe you'll just eat this one, you thought.

No, you shook your head slightly. You don't kill good men. But a bite would not hurt.

"Are you alright?" He asked you, you could tell the concern was genuine. He neared you until he could see you clearly under the night sky.

He had a regal looking face, one could even say royalty, and a tinge of sincerity in his eyes that added to his charm. You nodded your head once and looked him up and down.

"Not to sound like that kind of guy, but being in a dark, empty space alone in a place like this is like a death wish, isn't it?" The corners of his eyes crinkles as he questions you.

"Maybe I'm suicidal." You retorted in a monotonous voice. "And this is really how you wanna go?"

A smile forces its way on your face, no more arguments left in you.

"Does my saviour have a name?" You shouldn't have asked. Not when you're planning to drain him in a few minutes. As much as your kind claims to be the creature of the night. When the doors are closed and the bloodstains are washed off, guilt washes over you the same way they do to anyone. Attachment is never a good idea.

"Jace. Jacaerys." He had a small smile of his own. "Jacaerys." You enunciated every word with a raised brow. "You must be someone's rich son with that kind of name."

His face flushes and he immediately shook his head, eager to change the subject. "And what's your name?"

You gave him your real first name and felt a small sense of freedom released from your hollow soul.

Everything went quiet then. He looked at you as if he had more to say but his lips were currently sewn. It was either now or never, you've done this a million times, and your aim isn't to kill anyways. But at this very moment, you just noticed that you had completely tuned out the music, the honking cars and the chattering voices. You only heard your own slow beating heary, thumping gently by your chest.

----

Everyone has a little voice inside of them. The voice of reason, voice that intrudes, the voice that weighs the good and evil.

But the voice in your head took the form of the younger version of yourself on th day you were turned. Tha child had been strongly hurt. And you'd like to think that you've quite moved on from what happened, and yet, stuck in your nervous system, like a ghost that haunts, she speaks to you like she is her own person, apart from you.

And as of right now, as you let Jacaerys walk you home, the voice is yelling out insults and scratching at imaginary doors as if imprisoned.

He isn't like that. You tell her. I can tell, i can see it in him.

The voice gives up, all she does is ask one last question before you shut the locks on her completely. And how has giving a strange man the benefit of the doubt served you before?

Your mother died when you were only 8. She was no saint, but she was the only person in the world who had a single goodness to offer you.

After her death, your father's violent tendencies worsened. You had to walk to school for 45 minutes back and forth every day for scraps of education. Every penny he made had been used for liquor and weed. Food became a privilege you had to earn, not a right. If you're lucky, you'd get to eat at least once a day from a portion big enough for a rat.

Because he did not care for you anymore. It was evident then that you could either be invisible, or abused. And for a long time, neither options were something you could just wake up and choose for.

It depended on his mood that was rarely well. And it's worse on nights he's drunk of his ass, insisting that you are the mirror of your mother.

The day you were turned, was the day everything changed.

You were 13.

13 and walking back home from school. And there he was, your maker.

It was dusk then. The sun had sank down. Not that it would make a difference, The heat would've never burned him to death.

And as the dark angel approached you, with red eyes and sharp fangs, like a story you've heard to keep children off the streets after sunset, you're shaken, halted in place.

He was terrifying, but he had looked at you with what could be interpreted at that time as adoration.

But he was no father of the orphans, nor is he a lover of the helpless. No, he was a perpetrator. He is the evil that mothers warn their babies of. He wasn't some wretched creep wanting a feel like all the other men. He was worse. He perversed innocence, and intimacy, you understood it immediately as you're left to pick yourself back up from a back alley, bleeding and gnawing with your newfound teeth, hours after he had drained and fed you.

Despite the newfound strength you had gained becoming immensely helpful when it came to your father, you would never claim it to be a gift. For every defense it had a hand in, it also took, and took and took from you. You were a changed woman at the age of 13, that was the cost of naivety.

"I am not so stupid now", you whispered under your breath.

"Hm?" He looked to you, eyes wide. You hummed ignorantly, facing the road again.

The streetlights brightened your path as you made your way to the large apartment building. Jacaerys struggled to find words to keep the conversation going, but you could feel the screws and gear going off in his pretty head, itching to come up with something smart.

If he were to ask questions, you'd give one word answers and it'll be back from square one. If he were to talk alone, that would be egoistic and irritating.

So instead, he chose to try and make his own assumptions. "You are an artist." He said confidently.

A smirk shadowed your features. "What makes you say that?"

"Most masochists are." You laughed then. Something you haven't done in a while. "I'm a writer." You corrected.

Understanding flowed through his eyes. "Of course you are." He smiled, nodding to himself. "So are you the kind that writes of murder fantasies or are you more of a torturous poet kind of girl?"

You liked him, you decided then. There are lots of things that can make a man attractive, observance is one of them. "A little bit of both. Poetry is essential, and sometimes from the torture and the poetry, a story can be born."

He hummed attentively. "You are a student too, i assume?" You nod. "That's where I study." You pointed a hand towards the glowing building of your university, a sight ti be seen from miles away. "No shit?" He laughed.

"I go there too." He follows up after. You weren't suprised, he looked the typento be able to afford to study there. In a different universe where you were a common girl, neither of you would have ever bunpedinto eachother in this kind of setting. Money had always been an issue back then, and before you had been cursed, you would imagine years of school work being flushed down the toilet as you knew that your dream to further your studies would never be funded.

But now your father's funds and your mothers inheritance are fully under your responsibility as your deadbeat old man lies in a nursing home all the way back in your village.

And if those funds run out, scamming rich men would become your career. You can even start with this one, you joked to the voices.

"And let me guess, finance?" You nudged him with your shoulder. He scoffed and rolled his eyes teasingly. "Business major actually."

"Of course you are." You used his own sentence from before.

His grin was endearing, you almost flashed one of your own back, teeth and all.

The two of you stopped right in front of the main doors and felt disappointment lingering. Should you have talked more as you walked before? No. You did the right thing, to fawn over some business student with great hair isn't a you thing to do, you guard your boundaries strictly.

And yet, as long as you can remember, you have never met anyone that made you want to talk this much.

He looks at you with eyes that were begging you to invite him in, but if you do, there would be no going back. You would eat him, or you would string him into your mess of a life that he could never understand.

So you gave him one last glance before you began to enter the building. "Thank you." Was the last thing you said to him before you returned to your seclusion, and his deep brown eyes was the last thing you thought of before you fell asleep.

—

He felt his heart beating fast as he watched you disappear into your apartment building that night, a sense of regret washing over him regret of what, he's not so sure. Or was it longing that he actually felt?

It doesn't matter. He had done what he's supposed to, what conflicting emotions he's left with after was not your responsibility, it is his own to look after them.

Jacaerys knew who you were when he saw you that night, or the right rephrase for the sentence is, he remembered you.

You clearly don't recognise him, but he still remembered the first time he laid eyes on you during an unremarkable welcoming frat party on the first week of his semester. You had appeared on the staircase, leaving Dalton Greyjoy's room. The boy had been absent for the rest of the party that night.

Jace wasn't sure just what it is about you that had stood out to him. You dressed just like any other girl, you walked just like any other girl, and yet he noticed how dead your eyes were, not a single shine nor expression. It almost felt sociopathic to look that uncaring. It was alluring.

And yet, a few nights ago, when he had walked you home, your dead eyes glowed slightly under the moonlight, and your rare smiles occasionally made an appearance. He decided then, to retract the opinion he had made before knowing you.

Whatever it was about you, he wanted more. He wanted to know more, to experience more. To be the one who filled sparks in your dull orbs and to be the one who knew how to fish out a laugh from inside.

And so he decided to look you up. All he had was your first name and your course name, even with the privilege of being the dean's son, going through the list of over a hundred thousand people with the same name was a chore, but he was willing to put in the work.

But gods, how disappointed he felt when he couldn't find you after hours of scrolling. There was only 150 students with the name, and none of them were you, and all had different courses.

He wondered if maybe he had spelt your names again and had come up with a list of different variations of your name to try again. By the time he finished, it had been 2pm, and he had remained unsuccessful in his pursuit.

Jace slumped on his chair, closing his eyes as he ran his hands over his face in frustration. This was incredibly stupid. You probably lied about your name because you didn't like him. Why didn't he think about that before?

And trying to hunt you down using his mother's official email adress was starting to explain why you were right to do so.

The right thing to do right now was to leave it up to fate. He saw you once, and then twice. What are the odds of a third time?

That has always been a fatal flaw in Jacaerys' personality. He wanted to believe that things that are meant for him will find him, but he is also very impatient. Always eager for the feeling of control. Fate is only fun as a concept.

But accepting fully that you might not get the things you want the most because it's just not for you is harder than it looks.

He wanted to believe that if he were to try enough, he'd get what he wanted despite the universe's intervention.

And right now, what he wanted is to find you, to learn the proper way to know you, to really know you. While his presence had been seen as amusing to you, yours have bewitched him. If you were to tell him to leave you alone, he would. But first he would try.

Jacaerys opened his tired eyes again, facing the bright screen of his laptop. The battery was dying. Jace stood up to pull out the charger before plugging it into his laptop, watching it brought back to life again before he sat back down on his chair.

He could go back to sleep now, or he could try again for the 4th time. He wanted to try again, bit as his eyes fluttered sleepily, fighting against his will, he decided to give in and turned off the device before climbing onto his bed.

Let fate intervene, and if he never sees you again, he'd learn to live with that.

This is just an infatuation, he told himself. Infatuation dies when you don't feed it, and so this too shall pass like everything else in his life. As he lets sleep overtake, he dreamt of empty oceans and hollow skies hovering above, sand through his toes as he walked closer to the body of water. And your voice, speaking from behind him, saying: "you don't survive loneliness, you accommodate it."

—

The water under the bridge was so clear that you could see the small shape of your reflection from above.

It's 3AM, and the quiet is calming. It's hard to find peace of mind as someone whose senses are heightened. And what other time do you have for a walk anyway?

You've stood here for a good hour now, just staring down while your thoughts run wild, Tchaikovsky's Valse Sentimentale playing in your airpods on repeat. It's been 3 days since you fed. After you were walked home by Jacaerys, you found that your only option was the security guard on a smoke break by the bathroom.

Ever since then, you have resumed your routine of boredom. Attending your afternoon classes and walking for hours in the evening until night, imprisoned by your thoughts.

You were sure that there was no one in the world who loved revisiting the past as much as you did. After all, the past is all you have.

When you were first turned, there had been no words to describe how it all felt. The overwhelming hunger and confusion, the survivors guilt, blaming yourself and going over the scenario over and over, trying to imagining how different each outcome would be if you had acted differently, if you had ran faster, pushed harder.

Amd even now, there are no words. Was this how Laika the dog had felt? Saved from the streets of Moscow to be sent up to space as the pride and joy of Russia in the space race, but doomed to die by the narrative from the start. To think that you've finay been saved, just to be pushed into a much worse and scarier circumstances? That must be it.

What am I doing? Compare myself to a dead dog. At least Laika died. You can't even do that.

Shoving yourself away from the railing, you decided it's time to go home. So you turned yourself to your right and began to make your way to your apartment.

Funnily enough, you felt your ankles ache as you moved. Your feet is heavy in your one inch heels, that's a first.

You smell the smoke of cigarettes as you crossed an alley, the cold breeze enhancing the scent. You've always had an addiction to them, smoke scents, gasoline scents, bug spray scents, there was something soothing in it. You slowed your steps down and took in as much as you could before exhaling slowly and oicking up your pace.

Something has changed recently. But you can't quite put a finger to it. It was just that you were beginning to feel more pain than usual, you were also feeling more lost and conflicted than usual.

You had always known what your life plan would be like, how once you've reached an age that you aren't able to explain non existant ageing, you'd start all over again until you make enough money to buy yourself some privacy and isolation.

You'll spend the thousands of years to come reading and writing until your hands fails you and your fingers break.

But these past few days, your resolve has been cracking. Is that really what you want? To be so goddamn lonely forever, so alone that not even death can be honoured to it.

It's not about what I want, it's what's going to happen anyways.

Footsteps. Loud and clear footsteps. You stop on your tracks and crane your neck to look behind you. There is no one there.

Absolutely nothing.

You look back to your front and tried to start walking again, but you're stuck, like you're being held back.

It's hard to see in the dark, since when was it hard to see it in the dark? The panic hasn't settled in yet, you were still rational. Or maybe just too tired to freak out.

But when you heard the voices, Your body shook. It was as if your whole world jas been frozen in time, and shadows loomed over your shoulders, taunting you, speaking to themselves in languages you can't understand.

Loud and clear, you feel the darkness around you and you hear their chatter. What is going on?

"Stop it." You muttered out. Thats was supposed to be a scream. "Stop it." You repeated.

Why can't I fucking move? "Stop it stop ot stop its stop it stop it-" You couldn't find the scream in your throat. You had obly your trembling legs and arms as prove that this was real.

When you cracked your head and you're finally able to spin around, every single vision and noise faded into nothingness by a second, and the alley was just an alley. Not even the smoking man was there anymore.

The last thing you saw from your hallucination before it turned into air was a white line, by your feet, like a moving animal that vanished when you flashed it with your phone screen.

"What the fuck." This could not be happening. You looked around you with furrowed brows, your stomach growled. "Jesus fuck."

You hear ambulance sirens away from where you're standing and physically flinch. Was that real or a hallucination, too?

It has been long since real fear had ever crept into your cold soul. But now, your head is dizzy, and every little thing you see and hear feels like an attack.

I need to move. You force yourself forward, counting from 1 to 50 over and over as you walked in the direction of your apartment. But you're weirdly slow, and nauseous.

You pause again like you've been struck by something and looked up to the sky. The dark clouds hung over you moved slowly but surely as it's supposed to be, you find comfort in knowing that the stars are at least real.

And then you felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped. "Fuck."

It was him.

You faced him with an annoyed expression, wondering where he came from. He spoke your name once. Your real name, not the one you give to everyone else.

"Are you following me?" You snapped at him.

His face went from worried to defensive. "No, god no. I'm just heading over the uni library to work on a late assignment that's due this morning, and I saw you walking. I was gonna leave you alone, but you were stopping a lot, and you don't look very good."

You studied his face for any deceit and found none. "I don't feel so good." You admitted honestly.

"What are you doing up at 3AM?" He shook his head.

"Taking a walk." You mumbled while massaging your temple with your thumb.

"Taking a walk?"

"Yes, and I'm leaving now, so you can go do whatever you're about to do." You did not wait for his answer and left immediately, but just as you silently expected, he followed you.

"I'll walk you home." He offered, or stated moreso.

I don't need you to walk me home like some guard dog, you wanted to say. But deep down, you were kind of grateful for some company after what had just occurred.

"What about your assignment?" You asked. The route you were using was the opposite of where he's going.

"It's not important." He assured, fixing his laptop bag on his shoulder.

"Not important?" You shot him a glance. "I can cram it in 2 hours before the submission time." You'd argue in a different night, but it wasn't this one.

The first few minutes of the walk, you were resigned to being silent, going over what had just happened to you over and over. Your first thought was that something more evil and monstrous than you cursed you for something you had done.

You wouldn't call yourself the devil, but you haven't exactly been the nicest person to people around you. Had you bitten a witch's man or something?

The second assumption that so far has sounded the most logical, is that you're insane. You've had hallucinations before of course. Little voices in your head. Hearing things that aren't there, seeing shadow people. But they always disappear on second glances, fast enough for you to blame it on the trick of your mind.

But the recent one? It was vivid, and clear. It was real. Or at least to you it was.

You were glad Jacaerys wasn't forcing a conversation either, but once you reached your apartment, you turned to him and asked him the one thing you wanted to the first time you met him. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yes." He answered, too quickly. "Okay."

You made him a cup of tea as he politely sat on the couch, bag on the floor. "Sugar or no?"

"Sugar." You added sugar.

You'd get him something to eat too but in truth, you have nothing. There are stale biscuits that exists in your kitches as fillers to the empty space and some fake fruits on the counter, but nothing truly edible.

"Here." You placed the cup into his hand, your fingers brushing together.

You move casually to the seat opposite him and laid down on the cushion, facing him.

He had questions. That was obvious.

"Cig?" You offered, pulling out a pack and a lighter from your back pocket. "No thanks." He declined politely.

Your hands shook lightly as you struggled to light the cigarette, balancing your elbow on the material of the couch, you try again and succeeded this time. You feel the whole day's exhaustion catch up to your tired body.

"So what happened back there?" He spoke finally. You looked up to him. "What?"

"I saw you then, you were just standing. You looked lost, what happened?"

"Oh that." You shrugged. "I thought I saw something." He nodded slowly, taking in your words. "Did you?"

"Did I what?" You raise a brow. "Saw something."

You gave yourself a second to really think before you answered, "Yes, I did."

He did not push for more answers surrounding the situation, accepting your response as it is.

He leaned back against his seat, relaxing properly. The small dim light that shone down on the righy side of his face makes his eyes look like they're golden, the same way yours would be sometimes when you fed.

The idea of Jace as a vampire is conjured in your head for a moment, you imagined he'd be the good kind. The type to suffer guilt for every kill and never get used it. Or perhaps you're wrong and he's much more resilient than you think.

As you settle into your thoughts, finally having the space to unravel from you earlier fears and shock, you notice just how disheveled he looks. It wasn't that he looked a mess, but more that he's such an open book to the poinf that his emotions are all over his face against his will.

"You look tired." You chose your words carefully, trying to open through his cracks.

He shifts slightly, looking up to you from the carpet. "Tired? No, no I'm good."

You gave him a few seconds, letting the silence push him.

"I'm just a bit frustrated." He continues. "Oh?"

"I had a fight with my mom this evening." You hummed, letting the context of it all fall together. "What did you fight about."

"She says I'm distracted- from my classes." Jace shrugs.

"Are you?" He raises a brow. "Distracted, i mean."

He hesitates but then chooses to deny it by shaking his head. "Sometimes there are things you can't help but be completely average at. There are classes I excel in, and there are those I just can't force myself to."

"I'm sure that's not true. You put enough effort, you do good in it even if you believe you won't."

"Maybe." He idly agrees. "But what if I don't think it's important enough for me to put all my energy in until it drains me too much that I can't do what I like?"

You offered him a small smile and copied his earlier shrug. "Then you just don't do it. I guess in the end, it depends on how much you want that thing to happen or work. And if you don't want it that much, then it shouldn't matter."

"Exactly."

Quietness seeps into the are again very slowly, but before it could catch up into awkwardness, Jace spoke again.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" You asked, amused.

"Do you often see things that aren't real." Whatever response you had in mine died in your throat and was replaced by a suprised laugh. "Excuse me?"

He grinned. "Just making sure you're not schizophrenic."

"And what if I was, is that a turn off for you?" You retorted teasingly.

"No, of course not. I like my women neurotic.”

"And I like my men credulous."

You stood up and grabbed his empty mug to clean it at the sink, but his own hands were wrapped over yours, stopping you. But before he could offer assistance, you said; “Let me get us something stronger than tea.”

—

You awoke the next morning, comfortably on the right side of the bed with your blanket over your shoulders, a position you rarely place it in.

The soft sounds of footsteps force your eyes open immediately as you twist yourself to face the ceiling. You push yourself upwards using your elbows, looking fixatedly on his naked back that's hovering over your desk.

"You're still here." You stated the obvious.

"What's the rush." He mumbled back, you can hear the sound of paper being flipped in his hands. " 'I could drown in those eyes. So it's summer, so it's suicide.' Did you write this?"

You snorted, pleased be thought so. "No, that's Richard Siken for you." He responds with a soft 'oh' before turning around to see you.

"When can I read yours?" He asks gently. You see the way his gaze lingered on your face, refusing to look anywhere else. "Usually that happens after a few dates."

"And do you wait after a few dates first before telling people your real name or?" You frowned, confused.

"The name you gave me when we met, it was never in the university system."

"Why were you looking for me in there?" He clicked his tongue, averting his eyes somewhere else.

You weren't really worried that he had tried and failed miserably in an attempt of stalking you, in fact, you felt a sense of glee fill your hollow soul at the thought of it.

"I didn't lie about my name." You confessed after a while. "I changed it a long time ago into something else."

"I see." He relaxed visibly. "So you just have two names?" You nodded. "Then what do I call you?" He genuinely asks. "Whatever I ask you to." Not meaning for it to sound as scandalous as it did, Jace's face broke into a smirk. "Right, you like your men credulous."

"Come back to bed." You demanded, placing your head back onto the soft pillow. "Whatever you want, my girl."

It was at that moment, as you feel the bed shifts and his hands reaching for your waist, did you realize just how satiated you hunger has been since last night.

You were sure that this was doomed to end in a devastatingly ugly way. The love between two humans itself often destroys itself despite efforts against it. A love between a cursed being and an innocent soul is a one way ticket to never being the same again for either of you.

“And what happens from here?” A different voice speaks from behind him. A voice you dreaded to hear. Your maker tilted his head, judging the circumstances with humor.

I don't know. You figured you had your whole life worked out for you. Your mundane immortality wrote its own story before you could put pen to paper. And this boy is an unexpected chapter.