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artbiter · 1 month ago

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wolf in sheep's clothing

art donaldson/reader nsfw summary: art falls for you first yet patrick gets the fortune of having you. what else is art supposed to do but play dirty? tags: stanford!art, stanford reader too, art is a borderline homewrecker, art donaldson is a SNAKE, patrick gets cucked right under his nose </3, oral, slight body worship, TBH idk note: hi this is my first time writing ff since .. 2021 .. and this is definitely a diff style from the ao3-approach i usually take to writing but please enjoy i really like art donaldson i really like challengers and i really like art taking what he wants (and i really like mike faist in blonde curls)

art donaldson is not a homewrecker, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for his chance with you.

he first meets you at one of his games, eyes flitting over the crowd and panting hard after a rather close singles win, before his gaze is magnetically drawn to your pretty face in the bleachers. smiling with your friends, you look so happy to just be watching this game, and when you make eye contact with art you wave excitedly like he's a celebrity, and whisper to your friends after he salutes back with a grin, trying to catch the breath your gorgeous smile has knocked out of him.

he wants to find you so bad after, and so he does. your friends are tennis groupies, hanging behind to flirt with any guy with a racket in hand, but you're just there for moral support. he chases after you just before you leave, just to say hi. an innocuous greeting and thanks for your support. and he sees how jealous your friends are that you tag along once with them and immediately get picked up by art freaking donaldson, but you seem to be oblivious, beaming at him and clasping your hands to your chest. you tell him he was great out there, that you've never "gotten" tennis but that you can feel he's a pro anyway. you part ways and he can't stop thinking about you.

when he tells patrick that he's met the prettiest girl he's ever seen at one of his matches, patrick thinks it's endearing and the epitome of dumb puppy love.

"did you even get her name? or were you just drooling over her?"

"nah, that would've been weird... right? oh shit, should i have? i was trying to be normal about it, i don't know." art beats himself up for not even picking up on your name in conversation, and resolves to seek out your identity and ask you out.

so when he finally has the fortune of seeing you again at a party, he's heartbroken when you smile and wave to patrick in tow.

"patrick!" you laugh and bound up to the pair. "didn't take you as a stanford party type of guy."

"i'm a plus one tonight. lucky i ran into you, huh?" patrick is eye-fucking you and doesn't even try to hide it, and art feels like doubling over in pure grief.

patrick notices but says nothing, only introducing you to art. "yeah, i'm here with my buddy art." he slaps art on the back lightly and art finds out that you and patrick met at another party before this. he remembers you from patrick's anecdotes over lunch, where patrick wouldn't shut up about the hottest chick he's ever seen who wouldn't go home with him, but has been texting ever since.

some other girl, presumably one of your friends, attaches herself to art's arm for the rest of the night, but he can't bring himself to notice or care when patrick kisses you and you lean into it.

patrick got to you first, and art hates himself for it. he won't admit it, but he feels the resentment festering inside of him as soon as patrick announces it's official.

the next best course of action for art is to play the best friend role, obviously. except like the unassuming snake art is, he's going to be your best friend, too.

he's your puppy, waiting on your beck and call — whatever you need, he's got it. your bio homework is impossible? sure, you can copy his. you got no sleep last night? he has your regular order from your favorite café committed to memory. patrick's being such a bad boyfriend? oh, tell him all about it.

"he's so inconsiderate," you whine, slumping over your pillow. "can you believe he forgot our six months? and when i brought it up, he didn't even say sorry. he was just, like, 'i didn't know we were still in high school.' i wanted to die, art, really."

art clicks his tongue in sympathy, criss-crossed on your dorm floor and nodding along to your laments. "no, he's definitely wrong here. i'm sorry he forgot something so important." for good measure, he adds in, "guys should be looking out for their girlfriends all the time. i'd be celebrating monthly anniversaries if i had a girl."

"ugh, right? i thought so, too." you flop back onto your bed, turning your head to gaze at art. he thinks you're so beautiful like this, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, bare faced with tears tinging your eyes. "you're a good guy. i don't know why you don't just date."

he doesn't want to date anyone if it isn't you, but he doesn't say this.

art watches you and patrick continue for another few rocky months, marked by arguments spawned from patrick's chronic nonchalance and your sensitivity to his perceived lack of care. and art gets the full report from both sides; patrick tells him all the time about how he's really trying to make you happy and support you, but he doesn't see why you value such small things. and you cry to art, sobbing that patrick never takes you out anymore if it isn't to fuck, that patrick is too friendly to other girls. art thinks to himself that patrick doesn't deserve you, but he rubs small circles on your back and reassures you that you need to do what's right for yourself.

(he's elated when you don't remove yourself from his touch.)

when you finally break it off with patrick, he hears it from his best friend first.

"dude, she dumped me." patrick's voice buzzes over the phone. "not gonna lie, i saw this one coming. but i thought i was doing good, seriously. fuck, what am i gonna do?"

"i'm sorry, man," art sympathizes before he hears a knock on his door. "yeah, it really does suck. take a breather for a few days. i'm sorry, but i really have to go right now." he peeks into the peephole and sees you standing outside. "let's talk more later?"

patrick is still rambling on the other end, but art hangs up and opens the door for you to immediately come spilling.

"art, i broke up with him. i really couldn't do it anymore." you tell art more things he already knows, like that you liked patrick a lot but you were just uncompatible in the end, and that you wished he listened. as always, art feeds into you, agreeing with your every word. something deep inside art tells him it's wrong to coax his best friend's girlfriend into breaking up with him, and that he's messed up for offering you his support when patrick technically should come first. but when you look up at art through wet eyelashes, sniffling and yearning for comfort, who is he to deny you?

art cups your face gently and presses his lips to yours. he doesn't miss how your eyes widen, but you don't jerk away. his heart pounds in his chest as he holds the small of your back with one hand while the other caresses your cheek. you smell so clean and warm, and your lips are so soft art wonders how patrick could ever give you up without a fight. it solidifies art's need for you, that if patrick won't make you happy, he will.

when you pull away from him, you're breathless, voice barely above a whisper. "art, i don't think we should—"

he can't contain himself from kissing your neck, relishing the soft, smooth expanse, inhaling your scent so deep into his lungs he finds it oxygen. "tell me you don't want this." he laps at your jaw, sucking light bruises onto the sides of your throat. "tell me you don't want me to treat you the way you should be, and i'll stop."

you moan his name involuntarily, and art takes it as the green light to carry you to his bed and kisses back up to your lips. "i'm sorry," he murmurs into your skin. "i'm sorry. i want you so bad."

"then show me," you sigh softly, hands rooting themselves into his blonde curls as his tongue probes your mouth.

like you even had to ask.

tugging down your sweatpants and feeling like coming just as the sight of your underwear, art immediately tears it off of you. he latches himself to your cunt, already weeping, and he looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. "already so wet for me, baby?"

"mmf..." your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tighten their grip as you push his head forward, and he obliges.

he licks wide stripes, feeling you convulse and twitch every time his tongue comes in contact with your clit. his dick throbs in his pants just from eating you out.

"you taste so sweet. fuck, you're delicious," he pants, making out with your pussy like it's your lips. "don't know how i survived this long without you."

you buck your hips up into his mouth, mewling and spasming as he suckles and licks at just the right places. your cunt is soaked, but neither of you can tell whether it's from your arousal or how much art is slobbering over your pussy. "right there," you squeak out, a hot wave washing over your body as you cum on art's face.

and fuck, art almosts busts on the spot with you. his mouth doesn't cease, swirling patterns all over your vulva, grazing over your clit, dipping his tongue inside of you as you lock your legs around his head desperately.

"too much, too much!" you feebly try to pull his head up from your cunt, but he's so addicted to your taste he barely notices how sensitive you are now, how your clit twitches and aches for a break.

art can only laugh softly as he pulls himself back up to you, kissing you gently as his hands roam underneath your shirt and to your bra clasp.

"mm, you're so good," you gasp into art's mouth as his kiss becomes sloppier. "so good to me, art."

"it's what you deserve," he mumbles back, unhooking your bra and clumsily pulling your shirt off so your tits spill free. and even art is admired by his own self-restraint, just staring at your perfect body on display for him. he's been dreaming of this day for months now, jerking himself off late at night to thoughts of you sucking his cock, to pictures of you smiling on his phone, to the memory of your voice the day he met you. it's so wrong of him to fuck his best friend's ex fresh after the split, but why do you feel so right beneath him? "i've been waiting for this," he whispers into your neck. "been wanting to show you how much i want you. want to make you feel good. want to treat you so much better."

"fuck me, art, please," you beg him, relenting and palming at his boxers. you're so fucking easy, letting him touch you like this and being compliant as he undresses you, kisses you all over, shrugs his boxers off as you help him position his cock right at your entrance. it's not your fault that art has been nothing but kind and gentle to you. it's not your fault that he's been flirting with you since day 1, and now all his desires have culminated into head of a lifetime. and art finally has what he wants now: you.

and even when he barely pushes the tip in, he wants to cum inside of you so badly he feels dizzy. "so fucking tight, i'm gonna cum, gonna cum right now," he gasps in your ear as he unsheathes himself, stretching your warm, tight hole. "so perfect, holy shit. fucking made for me, baby, you feel so—" he can't stop himself from rutting into you, and he just about comes undone when he hears his name tumble from your lips in pained moans. it takes all the self-control in the world for art to not pour himself into your wet heat right now.

"slow down, art, fuck, you're so big," you sob, clawing at his back. he wishes he could fuck you nice and slow, the way he always envisioned his first time with you would be. he'd fantasized about nights with you full of languid strokes, making you scream his name with calculated, intentional thrusts straight to the spongy patch buried within you. but art is just a humble man, and when your walls, silky and warm, are choking his dick, he can't resist fucking into you like a jackhammer. you cry, moaning uncontrollably as your hands clutch tightly at him, letting his cock ruin you.

art's head goes fuzzy, and all he knows now is your pussy trying to milk him dry and that he can't say anything coherent besides strings of guttural moans telling you how warm, how tight, how good you feel on his dick, how your sweet cunt was made for him, how beautiful you look and sound at his mercy, how he wants you to be his so bad and that he'll do anything for you to be his. that his only regret is not claiming you first.

you keep crooning in his ear, honeyed moans that intoxicate him dizzier and dizzier as you tell him that he can have you. with a few more stutters of his hips, and a convulsing squeeze from your walls onto his cock, his head falls into the crook of your neck as he pulls out and shoots ropes all over your stomach, right as you cry out his name uncontrllably, heaving beneath him. a low, resounding grunt rips from his throat while his seed paints your abdomen, and he feels you shiver upon the warmth touching your skin.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes again like the gentleman he is. his breath still heaves at an uneven rhythm, staggering as he attempts to regain his composure, but every time his eyes fall upon you it feels like he wants to go for round 2. "i'll clean you up, pretty girl. you were so perfect." he presses his forehead to yours, sweaty and damp, and whispers, "you were made for me."

some sick sense of pride fills art from head to toe as your body trembles in an attempt to catch your breath, your hair disheveled and lips puffy, patches of skin blooming pink and red from art essentially making out with every inch of your body. and you blush when you catch him staring, covering your face and murmuring for him to come back to bed.

he did this to you. he made you such a picturesque image of ruined perfection, splayed out on his bed and stained with his cum, pleading for his embrace.

patrick would have to pry you from his cold, dead hands.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #challengers smut #challengers x reader

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ts4ritsa · 3 months ago

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₊˚ପ⊹ thinking about you

ft. caelus, dan heng, welt yang, gepard landau, & jing yuan from honkai: star rail * ˚ ✦

tags / cw ✎ gn!reader, sfw, men who just have you on their minds while doing casual/everyday stuff, implied crushes

CAELUS ✰

caelus, once again, found himself immersed while exploring the shops in penacony. that particular day he was in a giving mood, trying to find little souvenirs and gifts that he could get for his companions on the astral express. including you!

except he subconsciously wandered off into certain sections, only getting pulled in by products and goods — from snacks to fragrances and jewelry — that he felt that you would like when he was supposed to be looking for everyone else as well.

checking them out probably longer than he should have… he didn’t even think he was until a moment of realization hit him when he told himself he was gonna find something for march but he caught himself looking at stuff he knows she would definitely not be interested in, rather you would be.

as caelus thought about it more, he tried to tell himself it wasn’t much and shrug it off, though embarrassment arose a light blush on his face whether he liked it or not.

then he looked down at all those bags he was carrying… yeah, it mainly consisted of stuff that reminded him of you.

DAN HENG ✰

among the archives, dan heng was looking for something in particular — a book you had given him the last time you saw each other. he had forgotten all about it due to missions and other urgent matters taking up so much of his time. but now, he had some time for himself since his comrades were out running quick errands

while searching for it, he tried to recall the story that you had told him before you handed it to him. it was a silly romance novel that you enjoyed a lot when you were younger. you told him whether or not you were actually a fan of reading books didn’t matter, only that this one novel pretty much had you in a chokehold for the longest time

he, for one, was never drawn to romance genres. but, he couldn’t help but be curious with the way you described that book. it was amusing and he admired how you were still able to remember so much about it even after such a long time. dan heng found himself asking you to share the name of the story, saying he’d like to check it out when he had the chance. luckily for him though, you had a copy of it in your bag since you were planning on donating it to a local bookstore.

as he laid in his bed reading it, he could understand why you and many others could find the story appealing, but it just was so silly to him. nevertheless, dan heng would never judge you for your taste, not in a serious manner anyway.

while flipping through the pages, he could see that the past you had written… little notes on the pages of your most favorite parts.

well, now dan heng was definitely looking forward to the day he’d get to see you again — so he could bring it up during conversation and see if it would elicit a cute response out of you

WELT YANG ✰

on regular days, welt could be seen sitting at one the coffee tables that belonged to the lounge of the astral express. usually he would be flipping through pages of books he picked up or creating visuals of his interstellar adventures in a sketchbook.

every journey that welt found himself in has had a part in shaping the person he had become. whether it was full of laughter, sorrow, or indifference, all of it had meaning in the end. he had made a lot of acquaintances and traveled with many companions. standing among that social circle he built up over the years, was you.

you, who had somehow managed to capture the interest of the wise and sophisticated man widely known as “welt yang.” there had been many profound moments that you shared, some where you both got carried away by the streams of time, laughing and exchanging friendly banter. he often reminisced of those lovely memories.

but there too were some involving more serious and dire situations. times where you agreed to stand next to him, aiding him and his allies in times of crisis. so many times where you put yourself at risk. he couldn’t help but wonder, why? but you made it clear to him — that all of it was in order to witness a future that you believed was right.

he vividly remembered remembered the smile that was plastered all over your face after you told him that, after winning one of the most treacherous battles ever with him. and that was actually what he was sketching today! he wanted to preserve it in art, before it would inevitably become a distant memory

perhaps, he thinks, a chance where he will be able to work with you once more will arise soon. after all, the universe is full of possibility, is it not? welt would like the company.

GEPARD LANDAU ✰

on a day-to-day basis, gepard was responsible for ensuring that the silvermane guards were in line and prepared for battle at all times. though that was only one of the many tasks he handled everyday, after all his role beared tons of duty and responsibility.

in order to be worthy of the title “captain,” one must act professionally and remain composed no matter what the situation at hand is. gepard is fully aware of this fact, and so he has dedicated himself to building up high levels of patience and tolerance over the years. still, no matter how much he trains himself, nuisances and troublemakers can get under his skin every now and then.

one night after dealing with an entire group of incompetent soldiers, gepard was in a relatively bad mood. usually it would be just one or two of his men slacking off, fooling around, but this time he caught five people acting out of line. not just that, but he discovered there were fragmentum monsters that snuck into the silvermane guard restricted zone — nearly finding their way into the administrative district. so, he was rightfully irritated.

luckily, all his duties for the day had been taken care of so he was all set to leave. but, gepard still had an uneasy feeling after the mess from earlier. so just in case, he decided to go on a quick patrol through the city before heading home.

as gepard was passing by belobog’s history and culture museum, one of the trams ahead was slowing down, as if it were ready to make a stop. he thought nothing of it and continued walking. the tram eventually came to a halt and the automatic door opened— wait, could that be…?

gepard recognized the attire on the figure that emerged from the vehicle. from the shoes all the way up to the jewelry — he knew it all too well.

despite the rare moments he has gotten to see you, he’s actually been able to memorize the appearance of the clothing you wore. anticipation and excitement was building up in his chest, more than he’d like to admit. and as he looked up, he saw… that it actually was not you.

his expression dropped immediately when he realized. a few seconds after, a slight blush formed on his face too. did he really just… feel that eager to see you? gepard certainly enjoys having you around, that much is true, but why did he feel so warm inside at the idea of seeing you just now? his previous mood even melted away immediately at the thought of it.

how unlike him. the person had already went about their way. poor gepard continued to walk forward, but… that feeling and blush was taunting his face and his mind for the rest of his patrol.

JING YUAN ✰

as the divine foresight and one of the seven arbiter-generals, jing yuan handles dozens of affairs each day. he is also famously known all around the xianzhou for his tendency to never waste a second on any situation that needs urgent attention.

because of this, the people of the luofu have been able to live their lives in peace and prosperity. he, too, is often able to enjoy himself freely with all the rewards that come out of finishing his work.

as jing yuan strolled around the streets of aurum alley, trying to decide what xianzhou delicacies he’d like to snack on today, the emptiness of a certain spot in the area managed to catch his eye. a table, and while technically it was a regular spot that any person could occupy, it was usually a spot that he found you at.

and when he did see you, jing yuan would join you — but not before taking you by surprise in some way, like by placing a hand on your shoulder. he would chuckle at the way you’d turn your head around confused and slightly dazed. but upon seeing him, your expression would visibly soften and you would greet him warmly. your voice brought him at ease, every single time.

he’d ask you if you’d give him the pleasure of joining you, to which you would always reply that he doesn’t even need to ask. but of course, he will continue to do it anyway — he just can’t bring himself to give up that adorable sight of you being caught off guard.

back to present, jing yuan quickly recalled why you weren’t around. you told him the last time he saw you there. to put it simply, the astral express had requested your assistance for a quick but important upcoming mission. he remembered how you were enthusiastic, curious, and a bit nervous. what could they possibly need?

jing yuan chuckled at your question, but he assured you that you would be safe in the crew’s hands. you shrugged, not doubting his words, just the uncertainty of what the expedition could consist of. perhaps you could find a way to get him involved — or, maybe, you could ask the express to take you and him along with them to their next stop. see what may lie in store.

thinking back to your words as he approached that special table, jing yuan smiled to himself. he’d like to take you up on that offer someday, when given the chance.

a/n: my first hsr fic guys did I burn the food .. also is it obvious who I like more haha eventually I’ll bring myself to do this with more of the guys

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heechwe · 17 days ago

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the start of time | 𝐩𝐣𝐬

୨୧ pairing: park (jay) jongseong x reader ୨୧ word count: 8.6k ୨୧ genre: angst, semi-fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: friends to strangers to lovers, childhood friends, miscommunication, pet names (baby, love, etc.), unprotected sex, TRIGGERS FOR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND PARENTAL ABUSE IN THE LATTER HALF OF FIC. ୨୧ synopsis: You've lost your creative spark for the first time since moving away from Jeju Island, leaving behind your best friend in the process without an explanation. But when a work assignment sends you back to your hometown, truths come to light and perhaps lost love can come back with a little time and effort. ➸ bless @pars-ley for following this fic to the very beginning and being one of the best betas ever! this story is for you, ley, and thank you ♡ 💿Listen to the story's playlist here!

Over the thin railing that separates Jay from the cliffs below, the waves crash violently together. The weather mirrors the feelings circulating through his veins. The ripples of the seabed meeting the sand make him long for what his life could be instead of its current state. The wind whips his trenchcoat in angry thrashes against his back. His hands grip the lighthouse’s iron bars to keep his body steady. The upcoming storm was forecast last night to be one of the biggest downpours of the summer.

As the second in command of the lighthouse keeper, his father, it’s standard practice to be prepared for what’s to come. As the sea continues its visceral reaction to the weather, Jay thinks about her and what her life has become since she’s left. Is she happy? Is Seoul everything she dreamed of? Was running from Jeju without saying goodbye worth it? Or is she closer than he believes, her heart’s desire turning out to be not far from the fishing town they grew up in?

His father calls for him inside, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. Probably for the better, anyway. Thinking about those chapters of his life, the book separated cleanly and harshly with a before and after, does him no good. So, like he should, he runs inside to do the next task that keeps one of the last lighthouses in Jeju working properly. Even if his heart has to be sacrificed in the process.

The subject of your next photograph takes no interest in the lens standing three feet away. Her tail wiggles rapidly as she inspects the bush in front of her with her perky, wet nose. You giggle quietly behind your camera, trying not to disturb her inspection of the roses.

Rule #1 of photography, according to your department head Sunghoon, is to make yourself nonexistent. To get the perfect shot, conceal yourself as much as possible. It’s taken many practice sessions since your first magazine catalog, the original photos coming out less than perfect. Thankfully, you’re now lead photographer thanks to Sunghoon’s tutelage and tips. After five years, you feel like you’re on stable ground.

It reminds you of Jay, the sudden memory of him being the focus of your lens many times before a punch to the gut. Your oldest friend in the world probably wonders what the reason was for your sudden departure. You couldn’t even leave him a letter to provide some semblance of an explanation, one that he definitely deserved more than anyone else.

If only you had a reason that made sense or could salvage the bond you once shared. You know now it’s been eaten away by silence, so what could be said anyhow to repair it?

Your guilt gnaws at your empty stomach the entire way back to the headquarters of Otherworldly, the magazine you interned at and subsequently were hired to take pictures for. You greet the rest of your team when you make your way upstairs.

”Finally found some inspiration?” Sunwoo asks. Your friend tries to balance a pencil on the top of his nose.

”I’m working on it. In the meantime, I got the copies you wanted.” You give him the folder that holds your pictures for the month’s spread.

”Barely made the deadline this time, kid.” Sunghoon tuts his head at you.

“Leave her be,” Chaewon chides him, thwacking her notebook on the back of his head. It’s nice to know the writer’s room has your back when the boys decide to tease, especially in the form of Chaewon. She may be a stern leader, but she also happens to have a soft spot for you, the only female photographer.

You hear your boss, Kim Taehyung, call your name and ask you to come to his office. Your body bristles at the command, but Chaewon pats you on the shoulder. “Probably just a timesheet thing.”

Tip-toeing into Taehyung’s office, you smile at his back. Your boss is focused on a box of files on the windowsill, the outline of his button up shirt highlighted by the sun. “Please sit,” he says.

You do as he asks, putting your hands on your knees to pinch the skin, an old habit you couldn't kick. You tuck your hands under your legs to stop when Taehyung turns to you. He presses his glasses higher to the bridge of his nose, a soft smile emerging on his lips. “I wanted to say your photos from the last column were very impressive.”

”Oh!” You respond instinctively. Expecting reprimands that turned out to be compliments, you mentally take a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

"Also," he says, "I was wondering how you’d feel being sent out on an assignment. Well, you and Sunwoo, actually. Sunghoon was discussing a location-focused piece, and he recommended you for it since you may need a change of scenery for some fresh inspiration.”

You nod your head immediately. “Of course!”

Taehyung claps his hands together, clearly pleased. “Perfect. I’ve already booked you two for the next flight to Aewol in two days. It’ll probably be easy to find a place to stay, right?”

The pit in your stomach that faded immediately widens into a chasm. The sound of your hometown’s name on Taehyung’s lips could have been a figment of your imagination. A sick joke your guilt materialized to punish you further. But as you look longer at your boss, his glee transforming into hesitant confusion, you know the reality is far worse.

”The location piece is for Jeju,” you say, the realization on your lips hitting your ears like a cannon.

”Is that an issue? I can always send Jungwon with Sunwoo instead."

”No sir! Not a problem at all.” The words tumble out before you can stop them.

Jungwon, the little prick, wouldn’t get in the way of your success if you could help it. It’s bad enough that he reminds you of your creative block whenever he gets the chance. No way would he steal a cover piece from you. Particularly the one Sunghoon recommended you for and your boss expected you to complete without problems.

Despite the implications creating intense dread in every fiber of your being.

”Perfect. Get some sleep for the flight! I’ll send the piece details in an email first thing tomorrow morning.”

You walk back to your desk in a daze, unsure what to say when Sunghoon, Sunwoo, and Chaewon ask about the meeting. All your thoughts can center on is Jay, his smiling face continuously playing in your mind’s eye.

“This town is cute! A bit barren, but cute,” Sunwoo says as he exits the car parked in front of your childhood home. Your mother’s rose bushes stand tall near the mailbox, the only color in the dry grasslands surrounding your house. Aewol pales in comparison to the colors of Seoul, the city’s vibrant hues suddenly replaced with sepia tones. The only color that seems to shine through the landscape is the sea a five-minute walk away.

”Say that again, Woo, and your face won’t look so cute.” You roll your eyes and grab your luggage from the trunk.

Two weeks, only two weeks, you can survive two weeks. Your mantra on the flight to Jeju Island has been giving you some relief at the thought of going back home in half a decade. Standing in front of the brick and mortar that encapsulates your old house, you find the words to be extremely hollow.

With her uncanny senses, your mother is already out the door and greeting you and Sunwoo with hugs and kisses on the cheeks. How she could tell the two of you were barely out of the car without spying out the window, you’re unsure.

Sunwoo melts under your mother’s attention, his gummy smile and polite aura on full display. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

”Ah, my prayers were answered. Glad to see my daughter returned with a boyfriend!”

Yours and Sunwoo’s eyes grow to saucers. Your tongues are erupting with explanations at an absurdly fast speed. “No, Mom,” you shush her as Sunwoo’s blush creeps across his neck. “Woo’s my coworker. He’s here with me on an assignment.”

”Oh! Apologies.” She laughs behind one hand and pats Sunwoo on the back with the other. “Doesn’t mean one day you can’t be more than coworkers! That’s how your father and I met, remember?”

You give her a close-lipped smile and nod, the muscles in your jaw tightening.

You hadn’t thought about your father or your parents’ relationship once since you had flown out to the mainland. Admittedly, your life was all the better for it.

Feeling the air of his presence surrounding yours again twists the veins in your neck to tense knots. The ends of your hair prickle in anticipation. You make it to the front of your doorstep, wondering where he is and why he didn’t barge outside to greet you.

Like she can read your mind, your mother says, “I forgot to call and tell you, honey. Your father had an accident at the factory a month ago.” You see a tear in the corner of her eye, but you don’t address it. “So…he’s been bedridden for the past few months now.”

Sunwoo expresses his deepest sympathies. Unbeknownst to him, they deserve to go to the next beggar before him.

Like any other child, you should worry about your father’s sudden health change with a heavy heart and a frazzled mind. You should feel guilty for being away for so long, wondering how to make up for the lost time.

But you feel nothing. Not an ounce of what you should feel.

Even when you sit by your parents’ bed, his eyes lazily gazing out the window while your mother tells him in a loving voice that you’re home, your emotions are devoid of anything negative or positive. Sunwoo smiles and greets him politely. Your father says nothing. The seizure that overtook him stole his ability to enunciate coherent words.

Some moments later, when it’s just the two of you in the room together, you itch to leave. It should be a pleasure to see him. But you’re unsure to see it any other way but objectively: he’s just a body in a bed, doing nothing every day.

You hear your mother shouting in the living room. Her voice is at an abnormally high pitch to exemplify her happiness. You forgot she could achieve such a decibel when she wanted to.

”You won’t believe who’s here, Seongie!”

Seongie.

The childhood nickname Jay was blessed with by his parents, and the name stuck like a second skin. Now, it bounces off your ears and exacerbates your already conflicting emotions. Your body goes into overdrive from the sudden overstimulation, at ease from knowing Jay is close by but petrified you're seeing him after so long.

You fix your hair and take tentative steps out of your parents' room and into the hallway, hearing your mother call your name to beckon you to welcome your old friend.

When you see him, his frame filling the doorway of your childhood house, you’re transported back in time. You see yourself and Jay on a day when he could barely stand at half the wall height. You were etching pencil markings into the doorframe, the wood concealing the handwriting perfectly when the door was fully closed. A time when there were no worries or anxieties placed on you, the two of you against the world.

Looking over his face now, you realize the years have not shown physically. He still has the same angled jaw and smooth cheeks. His bottom lip remains puffy, especially when he pouts. The only thing that has changed with time is his eyes, most likely from the image before him, one he hasn’t seen in so long.

He has every right to be confused. One second, you stopped being a staple in his life. Now, you’re back in it without a warning.

You can’t deny your heart clenching. The muscle seizes when he looks over your figure, his jaw ticking when he finally meets your eyes with his own.

”You’re back,” he says finally. His first words to you in five years hold an air of uncertainty, laced with unspoken pain. He’s unsure what to do with his body, his arms pressed to his sides and his hands stuffed tightly into his pockets.

Knowing you’re the cause of it makes you want to run to Seoul all over again with your tail between your legs, hoping you can forget the misery you’ve caused. How can one apology hold enough weight to make up for what you did to one of the only people you’ve ever loved?

Sunwoo, aware of the sudden tension flooding the room, holds out a hand to your best friend. “Hi, I’m Sunwoo.”

Jay breaks eye contact with you to take Sunwoo’s palm, shaking it with a gentle but present grip. Jay gestures to your mom when he discusses yours and Sunwoo’s job at the magazine. “She’s very proud of her daughter, you know."

”Of course!” Your mother exclaims. “‘S not everyday that your child becomes some hip photographer.”

Jay inhales a heavy breath and looks down at his watch. “I have to go back to the lighthouse, but—“

”I thought your dad still ran that thing,” you cut Jay off. Aewol’s lighthouse was one of the last on the island, and the last love Jay’s father had left after his wife passed away twelve years ago. You expected it to stay in the family, but not in this way. Not when Jay has so many dreams to fulfill. Or, at least, you hope so.

Jay releases a humorless laugh, eyes falling at the corners. “Pop’s getting old. Can’t do it forever.”

He hugs your mother and gives a soft wave to Sunwoo. You feel the pit in your chest from a few days ago re-erupt when Jay looks in your direction before he departs. All you’re left with is the grim line of his mouth to haunt you for the rest of your afternoon.

The shutter of your camera makes Jay turn his head to you with a shy grin, his hair blowing in all directions from the wind. Your spot on the cliffside overlooking the sea is close enough to the lighthouse for you to see Jay’s father going in and out of the structure with supplies shipped from the mainland. Jay only runs over when his father calls for him to help, but his father hasn’t bothered to in the last hour or so.

In the downtime, the two of you have been alternating between science homework and enjoying the cool, cloudy weather. You’ve taken a number of shots of the water’s current and weeds surrounding your picnic blanket, but the majority of them were of your best friend. He pretends he’s going to smack your lens away, but he never does.

“Are you done taking candid shots of me?” Jay asks, his pencil scratching against his notebook.

“Depends. Maybe once you tell me what you’re writing,” you tease. “Because it’s definitely not a chemical equation.”

Jay chuckles and puts his notebook between the two of you. The words are jumbled in front of you until you recognize them as a recipe. “I was testing out this version of hoedeopbap last night, but I used white fish instead of salmon. It turned out really good, even Jaeyun liked it.”

You rest your head on your hand, sprawling out on the blanket to look at Jay. He always appears so animated when discussing food. You wonder when he’ll take the initiative and do something with his passion.

“What?” He asks when he catches you staring.

You grin and turn your eyes away. “You’re just a dork for food, is all.”

“Says the nerd with her camera always around her neck.”

You click your tongue at him. “I consider myself an opportunist. How else will I get good shots if I don’t have my baby with me?” You rub your camera’s body lovingly, and Jay releases a hearty laugh.

The booming sound of your father’s voice calling your name makes your entire body flinch. You swear his figure is as tall as the lighthouse as he comes towards your picnic blanket, stopping short when he sees Jay next to you.

“It’s almost dinner time. Let’s go home.” Your father says the words with a false ease; they hide his warning to follow him back to your house. Your anxiety rumbles low in your stomach, but you play it off like it’s nothing as you pack up your stuff.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jay says, his eyes hopeful for the next morning. As it is your routine for him to bike with you to school, you’re also counting the minutes until you see him again.

“See you tomorrow,” you say, your eyes soft but your stomach wrapped in knots. When you’re out of sight, and your father wraps his hand around your upper arm on your way to the car, you calculate the next seconds until you’re away from him and back in the safety of your best friend’s presence.

You and Sunwoo have been around the town square of Aewol all morning and afternoon. The crisp hour of 4 PM hits you sharply with the sound of cows and other livestock sounding off somewhere nearby. The pictures you’ve both taken of the local townspeople, random animals passing through the pale greenery, and subtle landscape have been average at best. They don’t hit you with awe or fuel any further inspiration. It’s the same cycle you’ve repeated for the past three months, trying to strike some sort of match of creativity only to come up empty.

“Let’s be honest,” Sunwoo says, looking over his own camera’s reel. “These kinda blow.”

“You don’t say?” You kick a free cobblestone off the road in front of you, lips downturned.

“The assignment is ‘Hidden Treasures’ right? Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong place.”

“Where do you think we’ll find something like that here?”

“You’re a local,” Sunwoo says in his defense. “Where did you go all the time in this backwater town?”

The beginning of your sarcastic remark dies on your lips the second you see Jay walking out of the laundromat with Heeseung, one of your old high school friends. He looks the same as Jay, still youthful but showing maturity around the edges.

Jay catches your eyes as they continue walking, his face contorting in surprise but unsure how to address it. Heeseung is the one to run towards you and pick you up in a tight hug, practically squeezing the remaining energy out of you.

“Holy shit, Jong wasn’t lying! You’re really back!” Heeseung laughs, his eyes becoming crescent moons from his happiness. You match his reaction, genuinely glad to see another familiar face.

You introduce Sunwoo to Heeseung, and Sunwoo exchanges pleasantries with Jay. Jay remains tense, the two of you conflicted about how to bridge the awkwardness that lingers.

Heeseung, like Sunwoo, is a great detective, sniffing out tension and immediately directing the conversation to your cameras. “So, Jong was saying you’re here for an assignment?”

“Yes!” Sunwoo says before you can. “We’re trying to find hidden treasures, actually. Our boss’s words, not mine.” Heeseung laughs at Sunwoo and then flicks his fingers.

“Jong could show you guys the inside of the lighthouse! Or even the view from that damn balcony would be a treasure in its own right. You can practically see the whole town from up there. Right, Jong?”

Jay rolls his eyes and rolls the cuffs of his sleeves up to his elbows. “Yeah, that would be fine.”

“Perfect! We were dying here without any good material. No offense to you small town folk,” Sunwoo apologizes, but neither of your old friends mind. They welcome Sunwoo’s city perspective with laughter and an open hand, just like they always have with newcomers.

On your walk to the lighthouse, Heeseung and Sunwoo taking the lead, you’re left to walk alongside Jay. The tension is a tad looser than it was before, but it still pervades the space between you both.

Finally, Jay says, “I can’t believe you’re actually home, y’know.” He says the sentence more like a question, his voice unable to mask the traces of hurt that linger.

It makes your heart rip, but you avoid the workings inside your chest to keep the conversation light. "It took a long time, didn't it?”

”Yeah. It’s like you dropped off the planet.” Jay’s voice turns a degree lighter. He smiles, the crack in his solid facade giving you a way back in.

“I basically did. All I had was my camera and some clothes in my bag.”

Jay's eyes widen, startled by the thought. “You’ve never traveled light once in your entire life.”

”I know! I barely had time to grab the necessities.”

His eyes are filled with humor. “And by that, you mean…”

“Obviously my Pokémon collection, for starters. I had to start from scratch,” you joke. “Good thing I saved all of the old cards under my bed.”

”Even the one of Charmander that I dropped in Jaeyun’s homemade soju?”

You nod, laughing. “It still smells like watermelon.”

”Bullshit!”

You both fall into an easy rhythm of witty banter and taunting, recalling old memories and brushing shoulders in a mocking fashion.

By the time you’re taking photographs on the highest floor of the lighthouse, the tension has dissipated by a large portion. Your relationship with Jay may not be completely back to where it was before, but the first lighthearted smile he throws in your direction proves it’s a start.

And a start is just enough to make your heart feel a million pounds lighter.

“So Jongseong is flailing this card around, not realizing that the bowl of my signature soju punch is right there behind him…” Jake tells the story of the Charmander card with animated expressions. Heeseung and Jay roll their eyes, but Sunwoo laughs the entire time, his buzz bumping his energy to a level you had never seen before.

The bonfire Jake and Heeseung set up a walk away from the lighthouse is big enough for all five of you to sit comfortably around it. It seemed to be the only way your old friends could hang out together at this point in their adult lives. The bar that still stood in town filled with too many old people to feel like an acceptable hangout location.

“And he completely dropped not only her precious Pokémon card, but his whole fist into the punch bowl! I had to make a whole new batch without my parents knowing about it!” Jake laughs incredulously.

The memory still holds a level of insanity for him, clearly—not just at the situation but the level of teasing that you and Jay would devolve to when you were in your own little world together. You couldn’t help that you wanted to take your card from Jay’s hands, even if that meant soaking him in alcohol to get him to give it up.

You lift your beer to your lips, blushing. Jay sits beside you and notices the humor in your expression, smiling to himself too. You didn’t expect to reach this level of closeness again so soon. Who knew it would take a work project to find your way back to each other? With the week coming to a close and a good catalog of photos under your belt thanks to him, you could say the glass was looking half full.

“You guys got any more stories? This shit’s hilarious!” Sunwoo says, still laughing.

“Loads, man,” Jake responds.

“He’s got the best memory of all of us. Probably remembers all of our first naps in elementary,” Heeseung adds.

“How about we focus on the present, please? Otherwise we’ll be here until the sun comes up, Dee and Dum,” Jay says, pointing to the prime suspects with their all-knowing smirks.

“What else is there to say, Jay? Jake and I have been toiling on the dredging boats. You keep guarding that white tower and saying no to your uncle every time he asks you to work at his restaurant. Same old, same old.”

You turn your head to stare at Jay, perplexed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

It’s always been Jay’s dream to make something of himself with his recipes. Bookmarks, sticky notes, anything with free space held an ingredient here or a step for a recipe there. It was like it was second nature, as were photographs for you.

How could he deny himself from what he wanted?

“I already have responsibilities here. I can’t drive up and down the highway to Park & Co. every day.”

“Start small, idiot.” You chide him, half-serious in your pestering. “Who said you couldn't do both? You can be a good son and still have your own dream.”

“Careful,” Jake says to you. “He might listen to you.”

“You’re the only one who gets through that cold heart of his,” Heeseung teases.

Jay gives the older boys a stern look, and they back off immediately.

On the walk back to your house, Jay’s jacket nestled around your shoulders, you grill him further on the prospect of him cooking seriously. “You should do it.”

Jay shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “And what’ll happen to the lighthouse? My dad will go back every morning on his cane and keep it working himself? No way.”

“Come on, who says you can’t do both?” You flaunt your arms in the air, emphasizing your point. “It’s not like it rains every day here.”

He looks at you with humored eyes, their shape becoming extremely thin when he smiles. “You’re even more stubborn as an adult, you know?

You poke your tongue out at him. “I could say the same about you, Seongie.”

The rain soaks your clothes when you run through Jay’s door. You shake off the droplets in your hair, most of the strands needing to be wrung out in your fist. Jay gets you a towel to dry off with, laughing at your current state of affairs.

”Don’t make fun of me. Be glad I still came, asshole,” you warn, warming yourself with the dryness of the cotton towel.

Jay raises his hands in mercy. “I told you to come earlier! Forecasts are no joke.”

”Sometimes they’re wrong,” you say.

”Ninety-five percent of the time, they’re not. Trust the lighthouse keeper next time, maybe? I’ve been watching those skies for three years. I know if and when the weathermen are full of shit.”

You roll your eyes and shuck your shoes off, “Whatever. Any chance you have a spare pair of warm socks for me? I may get frostbite.”

”One, that involves snow,” Jay says as he walks into his small bedroom, leaving you alone for a second before coming out with what you requested. “And two, promise to bring them back. I only have so many pairs before I have to go to the city for more.”

”Scout’s honor,” you promise. You switch out your soaked socks for Jay’s, the feeling of the fabric making you immediately warmer. It could also be the fireplace that Jay put kindling in before you got there, but it’s mostly the socks. “Thank you. I feel better already.”

“I’d offer you a set of clothes too, but I’m moving a lot of my stuff from my dad’s.”

“It’s not that far away, though. You really want to live in this tiny shack?”

Jay laughs and returns to his food on the stove. “Do you think I could bring a girl home living with him? I love him, but I’m getting too old to be his roommate.”

You smile and press your arms into the kitchen counter, but you know it’s false. The thought of Jay being with someone else sprouts a gargantuan knot of jealousy in your stomach. He’s never belonged to you, not by any means. Not only that, but your illogical departure gives you no right to claim him now. And yet…

“Hey, where’d you go?” He waves a dish towel in front of your face, a smile on his lips.

“Sorry, just lost in thought,” you play off your prying thoughts.

“Obviously.” He sticks his tongue out at you and continues to stir the concoction on the stove.

“What are you making anyway?”

“Seaweed soup. I haven’t been able to make you any since…the last birthday we spent together.”

Your body warms deep down to the soles of your feet at this surprise. “My birthday was three months ago.”

He chuckles and turns his head to you, smirking. “Consider it a belated birthday gift then.” He carries on stirring, but continues talking. “Besides, you always liked my soup compared to your mom’s. Too watery, if I remember right.”

You blush and step away from the counter. “Let’s not talk about her or her food.”

Jay’s face turns puzzled. “You’ve always been so bristly when we talk about your family. Your mom is one of the sweetest ladies in town."

“You don’t get it. You didn’t grow up with her.”

“Hey, at least you have both parents around.”

You slam your hand down on another laminate countertop, growing more frustrated the longer the topic is broached. “Jongseong, please drop it.”

“Why are you getting so upset?” He asks, puzzled and growing alarmingly quiet at your outburst.

“Because you don’t get it! And you never will, okay? So let it go!”

The kitchen suddenly feels too suffocating, the memories of the past and your argument melding together in a way that makes any hunger that you had become a full stomach stuffed with nothing but anger and fear. You run out of the house and back into the rain, knowing if you say anything more, your secrets will fall around you like pellets soaking your skin.

The lanterns fill the sky like a thousand stars, close enough for you to touch before they’re whisked away into the dark clouds above you. Even for your small town, every adult and child knows the end of summer festival is a time to make the last set of wishes and affirmations before autumn comes. If Jay’s father yearned for an easy season, he would buy a lantern to release on a night light tonight, as would your friends’ families who hoped for good health and fortune.

You smile when you manage to catch one, holding on tight despite knowing it’s against tradition. Once one is meant to float away, it was considered rude to stop it from continuing on its path upward.

Jay chuckles and grabs it from you, matching your pout in jest. “Next year, I’ll buy you your own, alright? Don’t be greedy!”

You roll your eyes and watch the lantern rise up and away from your spot on the beach. It shimmers in an amber glow until it slips away into the black sky overhead.

You turn to him, eyes lit up not just from the lantern flames. “Did you wish for anything this year?”

Jay shrugs. “I can’t really wish for anything ‘cause I didn’t get—“

“Don’t give me that! It’s symbolic, anyway. Just tell me,” you whine.

Jay only side-eyes you, a smirk playing on his lips.

You attempt to throw a bundle of sand in his direction, but he sees your upcoming attack the second you raise your arm. He takes your wrist in his hand, the clump disintegrating between your fingers. The two of you laugh as you try to wiggle free from his grasp.

You’re both a tangle of limbs until he finally pins you down on the ground. He hovers above you, panting hard. “I win,” Jay replies, his breathing ragged but eyes still sparkling from a successful takedown.

“You wish.”

In the flicker of lantern lights and midnight stars overhead, Jay can’t help himself from leaning down closer until there’s barely a breath between your lips. He lets every doubt that has lingered over the past fourteen years dissipate and surrenders to the moment, feeling the softness of your mouth as he kisses you.

You could be glowing as bright as the lights still being sent off into the sky. You feel like you are, anyway.

He doesn’t go faster or push you further, the simplicity of the act making you sparkle from within with every ebb and flow of your conjoined lips. The crackle of a firework is what makes the two of you come up for air, unaware of how much time has passed.

You let the moment hang between you the entire walk home. He holds your hand, squeezing it every now and then, the action more valuable than any words he could say right now. He holds himself back from giving you another kiss to say goodnight, knowing there’s always tomorrow.

Minutes after you make it inside, the scene in front of you turns whatever joy was left from Jay’s presence into acid.

“Can you not do anything right around here? I ask for the simplest things and even that’s too much.” Your father points to the food in his hands with an air of disgust directed at your mother.

He spits his vitriol in her face, the pattern commonplace. The behavior is nothing new, but his eyes show something worse than normal brewing beneath the surface.

“I can fix it,” your mother assures him, trying to take the bowl from him. “I’ll throw out the old batch and—“

“So now you think wasting food is the better choice? Are you stupid?”

The two of them are unaware of your presence, but even if they were, you doubt that would change the downward spiral they were heading towards.

She tries to walk away from him like she always has, diffusing the situation in the only way she knows how, but he drops the bowl on the counter and takes her by the arm.

“You’re not leaving,” he warns. The next moments pass in a blur, each one that plays out making you hover outside of your body, looking down in disbelief. Your mother’s temple hits the wood with a terrible thud. The next second, your body is pressed against your father’s to pull him away, begging, “Daddy, please stop!”

His upper arm has enough force to jam into your chest and knock you onto the kitchen tile below. Pain reverberates up your tailbone from hitting the floor in a violent bang.

Your mother comes from the daze of her assault to cover your body with her own. It’s a pointless defense, your father’s feet slamming hard on the floor as he walks away and into the bedroom without looking back once.

She apologizes profusely, holding your head in her hands as tears stream down her face without an endpoint. You can barely form a tear yourself, still unsure the past ten minutes happened at all. An hour ago, you had your first kiss, and now…

“Your aunt lives on a coast off the mainland. I can’t let you stay here anymore, my love.”

That moment is when you feel the water form in your eyes. You couldn’t leave now, not with so much left uncertain.

“Promise me you’ll leave this place. Don’t think about this night again and find something better, please.”

That entire night, the waves knocking into each other with the same force as you had encountered hours ago, you feel your heart shatter into a multitude of pieces, each fragment tinier and more painful than the last. The thought of Jay waking up to see you in the morning only to find you erased from his life, robs any chance of you sleeping on the boat ride to Wando.

He’ll try to call and text, for sure. But what could be said that would explain the last twenty four hours without breaking your promise to your mother? How could you live with sharing such intimate details of your household, even with someone as sacred to you as Jay is?

How could you make him believe it wasn’t his fault that you fled without revealing your most vulnerable and harsh reality? After coming so close to the future you always dreamed of with him, what would he think? What would he do?

So, like any coward does, you let the phone ring until your battery dies, not bothering to charge it again until you make it to your aunt’s. You tell yourself he’ll move on and life will be better with you safe and out of the picture. Every beat of your breaking heart may call you a liar, but you’ll learn to twist it into the truth one day.

The next afternoon, sun slowly setting to meet the waves below, you walk towards the lighthouse with the courage your younger self didn’t have the night you ran away. Your heart tosses around in your mouth when you take the first step through the threshold, but now is the last time you fear the truth. If you couldn’t explain the circumstances back then, the least you could do was explain them now.

You take the trek up the steps to the top floor of the lighthouse, every step heavier than the last. Jay stands inside the lantern room cleaning the large bulb at the center of the space. He immediately tenses when you walk through the open door, but he says nothing. He only holds the same somber expression he had the first day you arrived back in Aewol. Only now, so much more rests behind his face that you cannot decipher.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. The words release something you believed couldn’t be separated from your being. Your guilt remains present, but the apology provides a long-held breath of fresh air.

He looks up to meet your gaze, eyebrows furrowing just a touch. The setting sun casts amber shadows across his face, making his confusion breathtaking. Clearly, he’s unsure what exactly you’re apologizing for.

The next words already taste like lead in your mouth, but you can’t hold the weight of them for another second.

Speaking them out loud is what will set you free.

“The night I left, my dad pushed my mom into a cabinet,” you confess. The eight words you just uttered create a well of tears in your eyes, but you keep your voice level and solid. “He had always been…harsh before, not just with her, but that was the first night I ever saw him hurt her with his hands instead of his words.

“I tried to stop it from getting worse, and I fell down—no,” you take a breath, “h-he threw—he threw me down on the floor.” You feel foolish for trying to minimize his actions, knowing there’s no reason to protect him anymore. You lower your head, ashamed. “That was when my mom called my aunt in Wando. She begged me not to say anything, so I kept it a secret. You’re the first person I’ve ever told about it… and about how much of an asshole my father really is.”

You can’t help the way your words crumble on your tongue or the low whimper that erupts from your lips. You had accepted in silence the harsh reality of your father being a violent and cruel human being, but speaking the words aloud is another beast entirely.

You go cold, your figure limp until you feel Jay’s gentle fingers under your chin. They pull your face up to meet his, catching his glassy and red eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

You sniffle. “What would you have done? We were seventeen—“

“Fuck that,” Jay seethes, his face a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I would’ve killed him then, just like I want to right now.”

You laugh and take his fingers in yours. “I made a promise.” You lock onto his gaze harder, trying to convey every ounce of regret you still feel. “I thought about calling you every day. I’d pick up the phone and didn’t know how to come up with the right words, especially after…”

Jay laughs, passing over the curve of your cheek with his thumb. It’s the rhythmic pattern of his touch that makes you come down from such heightened emotions. It’s always been his superpower, grounding you like this. “If I had known I wouldn’t see you again, I would’ve kissed you until the sun came up.”

You blush, your body flushing with heat. “Nothing’s stopping you now, Jongseong. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward, the shy boy you grew to love appearing in front of you. The last time you were this close, you both were unsure about most things in life, but not about how much you meant to him, and vice versa.

Now, the feelings he had put on hold for so long take hold of him, his heart a kaleidoscope of pent-up sensations when he finally presses his lips to yours. His mouth is ravenous, his tongue finding yours as his arms clutches onto your body with fervor.

You’re encased in him, all the lost time suddenly found in the spaces of his mouth on yours, your hands on his body, and the moans that leave your mouth. He undoes the buttons of your cardigan with quick ease, taking it off of your shoulders and somewhere in the room you don’t care to remember. You help him pull the sweater over his head to kiss the column of his throat and top of his chest, making him shudder.

You both pause to hurry down to the drawing room below, not wanting to continue on the iron floor next to the bright bulb of the lighthouse. Yes, the cot off to the side of the room is not incredibly comfortable, but you care little about its lack of comfort when Jay lays you down on your back and smothers your body in kisses. He makes a map of your skin until he meets the apex of your thighs, your body highly strung by the time he kisses the center of your legs.

You clutch his hair with both hands and hold tight in the midst of his ministrations, his whispered words of affirmation and the figure-eight patterns of his tongue saying just enough to push you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

He lifts his head from your body to crawl over you, his heart in his mouth as he says the words that have always been in his mind and heart from the second he saw you. “I love you.”

You’re unsure if it’s normal to cry at such a confession or in the midst of your current situation, but regardless, there are no tears of fear or pain. They’re ones that fill the silence between you with what he already knows to be true. But you say the words he needs to hear anyway. “I love you, too, Seongie.”

This is what it feels like to be at home. His body against yours, him sliding so easily inside of you without a word needed for the immense amounts of pleasure that already exists. It could be a handful of minutes or a span of time that carries over into the next morning. All that matters is his lips on your own and his hips meeting yours with every thrust.

And in between every movement, he has to remind you how much he loves you. His words and feelings are already embossed into your heart, but it’s nice to hear the breathless cadence of his voice. “I love you so much,” he groans, his end close with the sudden stutters of his body.

You fall off the cliffside together, your bodies in sync in the best possible way as your eyes see the stars from the very first night you kissed in the back of your eyelids. And when he has his hands in your hair, his touch lulling you to sleep, you wonder why it took you this long to come back to the one person who has always been the safest space in your world.

The two of you stay nestled in the thin blanket, Jay’s body your source of warmth in the small drawing room of the lighthouse. The cot barely holds your bodies, but with you both squeezing together and not wanting to let go, you make it work.

Jay takes stray hairs from your face to tuck behind your ears. “I can’t believe you didn’t know how bad my crush was until the festival.”

You giggle into his chest. “I wasn’t paying attention to boys back then! How would I have known?” You hold his gaze, suddenly vulnerable.

He chuckles. “I think I was pretty obvious.”

“To everyone but me, I guess,” you joke. “Besides, I think I always knew I’d end up with you, strangely.”

“That’s not strange, not at all.” He kisses you tenderly, nipping your lips until you laugh into his mouth. “Perfect. At least to me.”

“Same,” you agree. “I’ve never felt more at home than when I’m with you.”

Jay responds by holding you tighter between his arms. He kisses the top of your head before whispering, “So where do we go from here?”

The answer is simple, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face.

Jay looks deeply into your eyes and senses the words you cannot say, and the strength of his stare and his arms as your protective walls from all the harm that still exists in this world gives you the power to confront what you need to.

That afternoon, leaving Jay in the lighthouse with your heart fully in his possession, you know you have to face the demons that wait for you in your childhood home. If you are to have a future together, the first thing you have to do is make peace with the past.

A handwritten note on the fridge tells you your mother went out for groceries, giving you the perfect excuse to release the words that would end your terror once and for all.

You enter your parents’ room to see your father, unmoved from the spot you saw him in on the first day you were back home. Your mother pleaded for you to check in every now and then now that you were back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not until now.

You move the chair by his bedside out to sit down. When you finally face him again, you take note of the details you were too blinded by indifference to notice before. You observe the wrinkles on his forehead, the sunken divots under his eyes, the age lines surrounding his mouth, the frailness of his body.

The weight he’s lost since his accident makes all his features stand out more. All that he’s lost, but has also always been, is on full display now: this husk of a man without the venomous words and bravado to hide behind is truly nothing to be scared of anymore.

“You’re so much smaller than I realized.” You say it with a breath of relief, any fear or anger that was left behind for him in your soul replaced with pity. You can walk away without regrets or words you wish you could’ve said, because you know now it’s a waste of your peace. Maybe one day, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive, even. Not today, but someday.

You walk away with no grievances left, back in the direction of the lighthouse with a new purpose and ready to take the path you were always meant to. Back to the home you’ve always had resting inside of the one you love.

Jay stands with his back facing you, staring off into the expanse of sea in front of him. His shoulders ease as you step closer.

“You’re back,” he says with saccharine happiness. He takes your hand in his and presses your fingers to his lips.

“I am,” you respond. You kiss him with your whole soul, incredibly in love and unafraid of what will come next.

“Babe! The new issue is here!”

You open your eyes to the sound of Jay’s words. You could barely doze off when he was so excited to grab the mail this morning. It was only delivered a few minutes ago, but of course he has to check for the newest spread of Otherworldly in your mailbox. To his happiness and your shy pride, your name’s plastered in almost every section of the photography credits.

Convincing your boss to let you work for the magazine from your hometown turned out to be easier than expected. With his happiness from your newfound inspiration, it seemed like you could take pictures of algae for all he cared and it would be a hit in the magazine’s eyes.

You weren’t the only one who could take credit, though. Jay’s name was also included in some of the photos, his insight into Aewol’s cuisine and new sous chef position at Park & Co providing more than enough influence for your photography. The lighthouse would always be his priority (aside from you), but his second love of food could not be kept at bay any longer.

He opens the magazine to the first page that features your photos, the centerfold being of Jay’s original recipe for hoedeopbap. “It looks even better in print,” Jay says, his face three shades brighter staring at the meal.

You giggle and wrap your arms around his middle, peeking your head out from the side of his shoulder to look at the pages. “It’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Some of the best you’ve ever done.” He turns in your hold to press your chest to his, kissing your forehead in the process. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Actually, getting lucky is how we got this.” You take his hand and rest it on the curve of your stomach, fifteen weeks peaking out from under the midriff of your tank top.

He laughs and presses his lips to your cheek. “I love you.”

To your surprise, peace was easier to find than you had expected. Confronting what you ran away from all those years ago feels like a distant memory, the pain of the past a part of another reality. There are no monsters that creep in the shadows or secrets to keep locked behind closed doors.

All that remains is the ease that comes from a life filled with nothing but love and happiness, as weightless and freeing as a lantern floating through the sky.

“I love you too, Park Jongseong.”

@junekissed (thank for beta-ing also june!! ilysm) @yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

#kvanity #svnet #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong smut #enha smut #jongseong smut #enha fic #enha fics #enhypen fics #enhypen fic #park jongseong fic #park jongseong fics #enha x reader #park jongseong scenarios

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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months ago

Text

— LIFE AIN’T EASY WHEN YOU'RE A MYTHICAL CREATURE

SUMMARY : you don’t suspect that dean has been in the shadows of your life for months, but he’s managed to make you his friend. he feels hopeless about making you fall for him, and it’s worse when you agree to go on a date with someone unexpected.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, kidnapping, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, reader isn’t perfect, vague chronic illness, panty kink, masturbation (m.), dumbification, a bunch of kinks actually, kinky!dean, sub!dean, jealousy, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 5.2k

A/N : this series will soon fill the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. back to the baking bc it’s so fun and cute to write dean like that. also, their relationship is going somewhere, or is it!? muahahah. xx

Deep in thought, Dean carefully sliced through the soft, warm dough with a sharp knife. The rolled up cinnamon rolls slowly took shape as they were severed from each other along the lengthy roll. Each was cut one-inch thick, all almost perfect and similar from years of experience. The delicious spicy aroma of sweetened cinnamon filled the space around him, keeping him in his affectionate state as he thought of you.

He usually had a handful of customers this early in the morning but never so many that he couldn’t work slowly and do the work all alone. If he hired anyone, it would only make it difficult for him to be relaxed and all by himself. It’s safer. With the speed he worked at, he didn’t need the help anyway, and with the time… he didn’t want to talk about the time.

Today, he didn’t have a problem with the idea of not seeing you—if it meant you were resting. It could have been either because he had been at your home or because he understood now how you spent most of your precious time. Perhaps it was all of those things, along with his sudden concern for your health.

Which was why he didn’t expect you to walk through the door.

It was Saturday. A too-early, cold Saturday morning.

He wanted you to sleep in, but he was thrilled that you were there anyway, letting in the chilly air as you clenched your fists tightly at your sides and shivered cutely. You brushed your hair off your shoulder with reddened fingers and Dean briefly abandoned the dough to admire you.

You looked more beautiful than he remembered. Could it be real, that you were so stunning? So, so breathtaking in that crisp morning sunlight as it poured over your body like glittery gold; with your delicate features, your skin bitten by the cold morning air, and your lips lightly chapped.

He wished someone could paint you. He wished he had picked up the hobby a lot longer and had the skill to do so himself. To paint the gentle wisp of your hair, the ethereal angles of your face, the plump shape of your lips, your glimmering eyes, and the elegance of your body. All on his own, because only he could capture every exquisite detail of you.

He was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard the way your lips brushed against each other as you murmured, “so fucking cold.”

He grinned adoringly, silently wishing to kiss your lips until they were bruised and warm. Your teeth clicked against each other quietly and you subtly shuffled on the mat in front of the door before walking normally towards him.

Your gaze slowly lifted to meet his own and your body visibly relaxed as the warmth within the bakery finally encompassed you. Dean relaxed his grip on the knife and let his shoulders drop, copying your movements subconsciously.

“Hey,” you grinned, standing in front of him and rocking on your feet with your hands behind your back shyly as you looked up at the menu.

He blinked. Was this real? Were you really here? Was the universe trying to embarrass him for what he’d done most of the night? He swallowed, his eyes glazed over at the memory of you naked.

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling softly.

“What have you been up to?” You wondered, letting your eyes move over him once again. Dean looked down at the abandoned cinnamon rolls he’d been making, he thought about your question, and felt a little bit guilty.

What was he up to, you asked? Stalking you, going into your house illegally, stealing your things, and thinking of you. Oh, and also jerking off to the image of seeing you naked, using your underwear that he’d stolen from your drawers.

Dean had eagerly peeled off his clothes as soon as he got home.

His clothes were strewn across the floor but the things he’d stolen from you, he’d thrown on his bed. Except for your underwear, he held onto that. He knew if he were human, he’d be burning red in the face with pinkish splotches spreading down his freckled neck and chest.

All he could think of was you.

And he’d been resisting the urge to touch himself every time his cock would harden at the thought of you for so long that he felt like he was going to combust if he refused any longer.

He settled into his bed and slowly dragged his calloused palm along his dick. Everything was done languidly despite his impatience, despite the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable in between his legs. Slowly, behind his closed eyes, your silhouette became more solid and more vivid—like a dream made true.

He swiped away precum and dragged it down along his cock, imagining that it was your spit instead. He moaned. The thought of you naked, breasts bared to him, just in the lace panties he’d stolen, leaning above him on your knees with a small smirk on your soft lips, made his stomach clench.

“Fuck,” he whined, trying to keep the fantasy alive. He imagined it was your hand wrapped around him, soft and small, slowly moving up his painfully hard cock.

“Dean,” you’d say his name the way you said it the first day he met you. You’d rub your thighs together and keep torturing him with gentle strokes. He’d take it because he finally had you and he didn’t care about anything else. “You wanna come so bad, don’t you?” You’d taunt, because he knew you were secretly wicked.

He wouldn’t even be embarrassed when he nodded dumbly, squirming as you waited for every dribble of precum to fully slicken his cock. He’d take every degrading comment as you slid your fist his base to tip, and he’d watch stupidly like a devout man as you touched yourself with your free hand.

Your fingers would pinch and brush against your nipples until they were tight, you’d teasingly squeeze your breasts, and then you'd sneak your hand inside your underwear to rub at yourself. He would only beg pathetically for you to let him touch you, but you’d never allow him to.

You’d just keep moving your hand up and down until he was glistening wet, hot and red at the tip, and throbbing in your soft palm. “God, look at you,” you’d tease. He’d drop his eyes from your naked body to watch his cock and the way it looked in your grasp. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he’d grunt steadfastly.

“Yeah, you’re so good for me,” you’d praise, because finally you had something you could control. Something that would change and adapt to your every need because you were his purpose. You were what he was meant for—who he was meant for.

And he’d moan loudly, bucking his hips upwards involuntarily, and shoving his cock fast into your hand because you finally recognized it. He’s good for you. Only you.

Maybe once he was stupid and desperate, you’d bring yourself closer. You’d drag your soft, warm lips across his cold skin. You’d drag your tongue across his neck and suck gently behind his ear and he’d still moan at the sensation.

Your hot mouth and hotter breath would drive him crazy. Your warmth, once you leaned over him completely, would make him feel alive again. And your warm hands would move over his body, desperate to feel every inch of him because you needed him as bad as he needed you.

“I want to fuck you so bad, Dean,” you’d murmur against his ear and then you’d drop your warm cunt down over his cock without warning. He’d moan softly as you gently rubbed the lace covering you over his painfully-hard cock. He’d be able to feel how hot you were between your legs and how wet you were as the soaked lace stuck to your folds.

He rubbed the cotton of the crotch of your lace underwear against his cock with a moan. He stained it with his precum and continued to tease himself as he imagined that you were on his lap, rubbing your clothed pussy against his cock.

You’d definitely torture him this way.

You’d pant against his mouth and balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders, rocking your hips against his. The lace would make him more tender and more desperate to finish, but he’d wait for you. As you undulated your hips and lifted yourself up just to drop your pussy back down, he’d finally be able to touch you.

His name would slip from your lips breathlessly and he’d bury his face in your breasts, licking, biting, and kissing at them until you were puffy and tender. You’d praise him for all the pleasure you felt and your words would be stemmed in affection and warmth.

He’d claim you with bruises on your soft body and he’d mark you with light bruises from his mouth on your breasts, shoulders, and neck. His bites would only be surface level and visible by redness and never by a wound. But you would be his entirely. And he would be yours completely.

“I’m so close,” you’d warn him and he’d plead for you to let go. And when you finally came, you’d moan his name a dozen times, and he’d feel your body tremble above his and he’d hold you up. He’d continued to grind against your pussy until you found yourself again. “Come for me, Dean. I want to see you.”

And he’d finally come. His entire body would feel the release and he’d shout your name because you’re all he’s ever wanted. “That’s right, Dean. Look at me.” He’d force his eyes open just to watch you and your amazement as his cum covered your thighs and his stomach. “You’re so hot, baby.”

Dean wished he could stay in his fantasy, but instead, he opened his eyes to reality. To his darkened room and the moon as it hung above him instead of you. He swallowed hungrily, his throat was dry and he forced himself to look down at your ruined underwear now covered in his release.

He bit his lip as he clutched onto your dampened lace underwear. And closed his eyes, smiling softly as if all of that had really happened.

“I’ve, uh- nothing.” Way too guilty Dean, relax, this is the woman you love. “Just trying out some new recipes. What about you?” For the first time, Dean realised you had dimples as you chewed on the inside of your cheeks. You looked cuter, if that were somehow possible.

“Workin’,” you answered with a small smile, “I’m gonna do some unpacking so I can just get it over with. I’d come here more often, but work is so chaotic.” You would? Did that mean you thought of him? Or did you mostly think of the food? He wished you would add why. Maybe you wouldn’t tell him, but offering to help you unpack was a great opportunity for him to insert himself into your life. Unfortunately, you started talking before he could ask, but he kept it close. “You said you were trying new recipes. Anything I can try?”

“I made a few giant pop tarts earlier,” he admitted and hesitantly resumed slicing through the roll. He wanted to keep watching you, to notice every change and every detail in your face as you spoke and looked around curiously.

“Oh really?” Your voice changed, more curious and excited than before. He looked up and smiled, setting the knife down now that he was finished.

“Yeah, wanna try it?”

“Yeah, soon as you’re not busy.” Your eyes flickered down to the unbaked cinnamon rolls he’d forgotten all about. You grinned playfully when he looked back up at you after slowly following your gaze. He chuckled. He appreciated your consideration, but leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Alright, I’ll finish up and get to you in a bit.”

He picked up the cinnamon rolls and put them into a tray as you walked away to sit at a nearby table. He stole a quick glance at you as soon as he got to the back with the tray carrying the cinnamon rolls to make sure he could safely put them in a baking pan and put them in the oven faster than humanly possible, but not so fast that you’d be a little too bewildered.

He waited patiently after he’d finished and listened to you as you tapped on the screen of your phone. You laughed quietly occasionally and he assumed you were texting someone or watching a video with the sound off. He couldn’t stand the thought of you talking to someone else and he also couldn’t stand not being there to see you smile.

So he stepped out of the back to get your attention and you instantly looked up at him, still trying to stop your soft laughter. He smiled at you and your flushed cheeks and your watering eyes. You shut your phone off and got up to meet him at the counter again.

Still, even surrounded by sweet sugary pastries, all he could smell was your flowery perfume. The heat of your body, from your blood, made him hyper-aware of you. You were a giant blossoming tree in the middle of a meadow, calling to him in a bed of pretty flowers. You were the most beautiful, always, among everything.

Your eyes flitted over his face, always so curious and confused in your eyes, but content in your smile. He wished to read your mind, to compel you to spill your truth and make your thoughts known to him. What did you see?

He forced himself to look away from your eyes to retrieve a medium tray containing what looked like a literally large pop-tart. The top-centre was coated in pink frosting and had white sprinkles, the sugary scent filled the small area between you and him.

“Strawberry filling,” he informed you, because he wanted your feedback. He wanted to know what you were thinking, always; but he didn’t want to ask that of you.

“Ooh,” you grinned, “my favourite. I'll buy it.” He blinked at you. Most people asked for samples before buying something they’ve never tried before.

“Want a drink with it?” He asked, starting to package it for you. You hummed softly.

“Anything with vanilla. Surprise me?” You surprised him with your request and he nodded dumbly. Were you always going to choose something different? Would he never be able to memorise your single favourite order and have it ready for you whenever you found yourself in his bakery?

He turned around and looked at the coffee machine, the coffee beans, the syrups, spices, and everything else, wondering what would go perfectly with vanilla. What was something that was so beautiful in flavour? Something that tasted the way he thought you would? Your skin, of course, not in a cannibalistic or vampiric way. What would your skin taste like when he pressed his lips to it, when his tongue smoothed across your flesh, when he sucked at your body?

You entertained yourself again on your phone, but this time you were quiet. For about ten minutes he looked over at you as he worked on your drink, adding the perfect mixture so that the final product alluded to you—at least to him.

You knew you were being watched. He figured by the way you bit your lip and hugged yourself with one arm as you played some game on your phone. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help himself. You were the most magnificent being in the whole universe. More wonderful, more unique, and more intriguing than the Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall.

It's how he ended up making a vanilla-lavender latte.

He handed it to you once he’d finished, the sun was shining a little brighter now behind you, against tinted windows. It was the perfect choice for a drink, as the sun created a celestial aura around your body, you didn’t know it. You never did.

“Is it okay if you try them now and tell me what you think?” He wondered if he was asking too much. He’d take it like a champ if you rejected his offer. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, but he also couldn’t be so afraid that he’d never get to make a move and see the outcome of his choice.

You blushed and your brow twitched inquisitively, but after a few seconds you agreed. “Sure.”

You opened the paper bag and plucked the corner of the pop-tart, large enough to capture the filling and the frosting at the top.

He watched your mouth as it opened, your tongue as it held the treat, and then your lips shut around it. And he snapped his eyes up to yours watching you. Your cheeks burned timidly, and your eyes stared directly at his name on his chest, at the black word lined over his pink shirt above a white long sleeve.

However, you quickly relaxed and your eyes brightened as you chewed. You moaned softly and moved your eyes up to Dean, using your face to say everything. You thought it was good and Dean was a little too preoccupied with the way you moaned. The softness of it, slightly drawn out as the jam and bread sank into your tastebuds.

“That’s really good,” you told him cheerfully once you’d finished, then you moved on to the latte. You held it in your hands for a few seconds to test the heat of it in your palms and lifted it up to your lips. You took a few careful sips and your eyes became more vibrant. “It’s so good,” you moaned, then you licked your lips, and Dean had to keep himself in check. “How are you so good at this?”

He chuckled and opened his mouth, but a gust of wind followed by three young women swept through the door and stole your attention from him. They giggled, one of them stared directly at him and the other two whispered to each other, something about Dean being hot. He didn’t care.

“How much is it?” You asked, immediately turning back to him. His face fell and his mouth opened and closed. He didn’t want you to leave yet, but you suddenly became guarded all over again. He sighed and made his way over to the cash register to, once again, lower the price and wait as you collected your things before paying.

“Bye, Dean,” you murmured with a rueful smile.

“Um, bye,” he said stupidly, watching as the small group of women took your place. “Wait!” He called after you and made his way to you when you stopped to regard him with a lifted brow. Your eyes dropped down to his legs and quickly back up to his face. Did you just check him out?! Focus, Dean. “I wanna help you… unpack,” he added the last word after your confused face said everything.

“What? No, you’re busy here,” you blushed, and looked down at his feet. Just accept his help!

“I, uh…” Shit, what excuse could he make. “I can get off an hour early and I’ll meet you at your place,” he suggested. You still looked unsure and chewed on your lip as you thought it over. “If you're worried about my tiredness, don’t be. God knows I have too much energy at the end of the day, and can't ever sleep.” He knew you’d take his words as an over-exaggeration and you conceded with a sigh. He grinned and you smiled with a roll of your eyes at his triumphant expression. “I should get back to work…” he wanted to touch you now that you were so close to him, looking so soft and sweet. Now that he could feel your warmth a little more, like he’d been pulled even closer to your orbit, he almost wanted to just reach out and kiss you.

He just clenched his fists and bid you farewell again. He’d barely turned around to watch the three women stare judgmentally at you and him. He grimaced.

“Dean,” you stopped him. He turned to look at you without faltering, dazzled by the amusement in your voice. “You need my address, don’t you? And my phone number?”

“Oh, right,” he was embarrassed. Wait, your phone number? He grabbed his phone from his back pocket a little too excitedly and handed it to you, unlocked. Only after you’d searched his phone for his contacts did he hope he didn’t leave anything inappropriate about you open.

You handed him his phone and smiled softly. You appeared indecisive and he waited for you patiently, he’d always wait for you. And he was glad he did. You stepped closer and he held his breath, your warmth felt like sunfire now. You raised your hand, brushed your fingers against the softness of his cheek down to the stubble near his jaw. He knew you felt the unusual coldness of his skin when your touch lingered, but he hoped that it was because you felt as fluttery and breathless as he did. Then you dropped your hand.

“Sorry, you had a bit of flour on your face, but I guess it’s part of the job.” He could feel your blush even more now, it didn’t matter seeing it, just the feeling of your body reacting to being so close to him was making him feel like a feral animal. “It’s kinda cute so don’t even worry about it,” you shrugged and then blinked after realising what you said. You flushed and stuttered, “uh, bye, Dean. I’ll see you later.”

He blinked as you made your way out before he could process what you said and the way you’d touched him. His mouth was agape and he really thought he might just start singing. You thought he was cute after all? And you felt so warm.

He smiled boyishly and turned around dreamily, almost ignoring the three women he’d forgotten completely about as he found his place back at the counter to take their order.

After a few hours, once he was sure you were home safe he texted you—after thirty minutes of deliberation: hey, it’s Dean.

He knew his heart would be hammering against his chest only because he couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his fist as he waited. Only a minute had passed when he saw you read his message, and he started to pace and tried to ingore his phone as he attended to his costumers.

And you’d responded after a few long minutes: hey, dean, do you like burgers?

4 months later — January, 2024

Dean had to admit, you played the mystery card fairly well.

You were relatively quiet and preferred to listen, which was hard because there was a lot Dean couldn’t say to you.

Even though you’d both hit it off the day he helped you unpack the heavier items in your home, there was still something in the way.

He knew that was the reason why you and him had a minimal distance that neither of you could crossover. He wished you were braver, but mostly, he wished he were braver. If he didn’t feel like he had too much on the line, because he did. Any information of his past could put you in danger and if he told you about himself and you didn’t accept him, that could put him in danger.

He was completely fixated on you and trying to close the gap between you and him that he had missed so much about the real world. But he couldn’t help it, you inspired him. Since he met you, he’s made dozens of new recipes and mixtures that reminded him of what you’d taste like or what you smelled like.

And when he wasn’t using work as a distraction for when you were busy at work yourself, he spent his time scrolling through your social media. Now that you had included him in your life, it was easier to keep track of you and the things that you perhaps wouldn’t share with him or anyone else unless it was behind the safety of a screen.

He knew about your colleagues, new friends, and even managed to find your professional account. It was how he got to know you a little better, seeing you from your years in highschool and throughout university. He read people’s comments on your posts, their niceties and their relationships with you. He looked over all your followers and the people you followed back.

He was just going to have to be content with what he had so far with you. He’d probably have carved his own heart out if you ended up falling for someone who wasn’t him. The only thing keeping his heart intact was the fact that you never spoke to him about anyone and when you did tell him about someone, it was because they’d upset you somehow.

It took everything in Dean’s body to not do something extreme about those people in your life. From your horrible colleague who never shared important information about work with you, to your irritating friend Nico who would “wait” for you to end up falling for him. It would be petty and dangerous.

And that infuriating part of his brain would sneer at him that he was no different than Nico. But he was! Dean was not pretending to be your friend so that you would miraculously realise he was the one for you. He wasn’t good to you because he wanted an advantage, he was good to you because he knew it made your life easier. He did things for you without you knowing because he loved you. He didn’t want anything in return, not even your love. That’s not why he did what he did for you.

He’d always keep you safe. He’d do anything for you, for the rest of your life. Even if the moment never came, that you’d never loved him as much as he loved you.

Now, here he was, watching you from his spot behind the counter as he kneaded the dough to make a new batch of doughnuts. He couldn’t help himself; you were always worth looking at.

He loved watching you.

You made cute faces when you were focused and you’d eventually find comfort as you sat in the corner alone working on your projects. He’d smile at you and you’d smile at him and it was perfect. It felt so intimate that you were just there with him. That there were no words that needed to be spoken. The space between you, filled with people and food was never enough to stop the way blood rushed up to your cheeks whenever he caught you looking at him.

There was no one who caught his attention anymore, but he still knew how to play it off—for frequent visits that he’d benefit from finally. Some things never changed. Unfortunately, he felt that this was the only way to keep his bakery open when he was so enthralled in your life. He may not lure women to their deaths for a nest, but he sure did lure them into his bakery so they invested in his business.

He’d considered that maybe his customers weren’t shallow, that it wasn’t true that he was attractive and that was his only worth. He hated thinking that it didn’t matter how good or bad he was at baking because to the people who frequented his bakery, he was pretty and that’s all that mattered. He hated having to settle for it, if it was what brought business to his bakery.

At least you were more interesting than that, he knew you were honest, and he knew when he’d really screwed up a recipe. It took him a while to get Mexican sweet bread right but you were the perfect person for that.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he pulled it out, brows furrowed, mouth still in a pout. He smiled effortlessly at your name as the text notification lit up his screen.

You: You okay?

He looked over at you and smiled reassuringly. Were you watching him the whole time? Oh, God, you were. He now realised your laptop was shut and you were sitting facing the front of the bakery instead of facing your laptop.

You looked down at your phone and started typing. He stared at you as you chewed on your lip and knocked your knees together, restarting your fidgeting habit. He only looked away to read your messages.

You: I think I want a concha

You: And maybe some coffee

You grinned at him when he lifted a brow at you, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. You were already restless, it wouldn’t help you to have more caffeine.

Dean: You sure about that coffee? It’s almost 6.

You: Make it small

Dean: Decaf

You: Fine :(

He laughed. You were so adorable. He felt it warm and bubbly as it rumbled through his chest and he heard the way you blushed. It made his body feel wild and tender every time he felt you became flustered. You laughed demurely and your fidgeting stopped momentarily.

He shook his head and put his phone in his pocket. Your wish was his command. He couldn’t bear to look at you for a second longer, you were made to be adored and loved by him.

When he walked over to you, coffee and sweet bread in hand, he sat down in front of you. You smiled cheerfully and leaned forward curiously, pulling the coffee into your cool hands. “What?”

“Nothing, just bored,” he shrugged with a smile. You hummed softly and brought the cup to your lips. You moaned at the flavour, he felt the warmth of it pouring down your throat and spreading through your torso. “Got any plans this weekend?”

You paused to look away and stared at the lid of your coffee as you brushed your fingers against the cardboard sleeve. Then, you relented. “I’m going on a date, actually. On Saturday.”

Dean felt his heart sink. His face emptied every emotion and he was glad you didn’t look up.

“Oh,” he muttered tightly, “do you.. like… the guy?”

Now, you looked up at him. He rearranged his face to smile softly. You shrugged, noncommittal. God, woman. He was not interested in hearing a yes, but he also hated the way you kept everything close to the chest unless it was eating you up inside. How could he hate something about you when he loved you? No, he was just jealous. Your mystery was part of your charm and knowing things about you that others didn’t, demonstrated your trust in him. No one else had gotten that close to you and he knew it because you dedicated a vast majority of your free time to him.

“He’s alright,” you faltered again. “It’s Clayton.”

The fucking mechanic? You're joking.

-> heartbeats and flatlines

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader

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nsharks · 2 years ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eight —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: let's see how this trip goes

A neon-yellow lighter. A comb with a few teeth broken off. A deck of cards. That is what you have scrounged so far in this little convenience store that Blue convinced Ghost to stop in— the only stop in the village he will allow on the way to the military base. She spotted a rack of magazines from the window and the child in her begged him.

Fuckity fuck, Ghost. Please. Please. Please.

You’ve decided to sweep through the aisles to make this forced trip at least a little worth it for you. Broken glass and dust lay under the soles of your boots. All the food in here is gone, of course. The lighter you found can be useful.

Oh. You also found a corny romance book. You are in need of something to read, too. You left behind your old copy of A Farewell to Arms. You imagine that it was flattened to something unrecognizable by the mass of Greys.

You go to the aisle for toiletries. Again, these shelves have been licked almost clean. You fish your hand all the way to the back to see if anything could be there. You didn’t have time on your first trip to do much searching for anything other than medicine.

What your hand manages to knock against is a box. You pull it forward to inspect it. Gold packaging. Faded letters. It’s a box of condoms. First, you feel annoyed. It is useless to you. Expired, anyway. But then some memories come to mind along with a stir in your stomach.

Sex. Right. At one point, these were useful to you.

What you had told Blue the other day was mostly the truth. Coursework and exams meant that a steady relationship wasn’t on your mind back then. You were too young for it, anyway. You liked going out. You liked dancing with your friends. You liked meeting new people and sipping on drinks that were sweet enough to go down without a wince.

But what you didn’t tell Blue, and what you haven’t thought about in a long time, is that the last guy you had sex with was a little more than just someone you enjoyed the company of.

You trace your finger over the letters on the box, recalling the buried memory. A few weeks before the outbreak, you met him at a pub. He chatted you up. He was kind-eyed and sleek. A few years older than you. A jaw like the man in Blue’s magazine.

You didn’t even go home with him that first night. You just spent hours talking. And then texting. And then he took you out to that sushi place you loved in London three times because he saw that you were obsessed with the sashimi. He teased you for it. Finally, he invited you to his flat. He was different. He didn’t touch you until you touched him. You can remember it, that last time. The kissing. You whispered in his ear to take you to his room. He pulled out a box of condoms just like this.

The morning of the outbreak you remember telling your sister you might want something more from him.

She was thrilled to hear it.

There were a few people you texted that day to see if they were okay. Your parents, some close friends, and him. You never got a response from any of them. As you fled with Paul towards the forest, you’d dropped your phone. You only realized it later than night when you wanted to take it out and read over your old messages with him as a source of comfort.

Anyway, he was never your boyfriend, and he is now likely dead. Or Grey.

You haven’t thought about him for at least three years. Just another singed thread of an old life, unimportant to you now. Those losses are easier to deal with than the losses you had to actually witness.

You are just about to put the box back when a poke arrives on your shoulder.

“Hey, Twix, look what I found.”

Blue holds a solid stack of magazines against her chest. In her other hand, she holds up two bracelets with plastic, pink beads on them.

“Bracelets,” she smiles. “One for you and one for me.”

You raise a brow, then glance around. You spot Ghost at the front counter stuffing his backpack with cigarettes. His own treats, you suppose.

You look back at her. “Are you sure?”

She nods and offers one to you. As you slip it over your wrist, subconsciously hiding it under the sleeve of your coat, she says, “One of the books Ghost read to me talked about friendship bracelets. That can be this for us. I mean— we’re friends, right?”

“Oh. Um. Do you want to be my friend?”

“Well,” she slips her own bracelet on and waves her hand about, “Grim is my friend and he never saved my life before or gave me chocolate. So—” her voice turns hushed as if sharing a secret, “—I guess you are a better friend than him, huh?”

You bite a smile. “I guess so.”

Then, her eyes drift to the box still in your hand. “What did you find?”

“Huh?” You raise it up, almost having forgotten about it, and feel a warmth spread over your cheeks. “Oh, nothing, really.”

“What is it?”

“I-I don’t know, actually,” you splutter quickly.

“Maybe Ghost knows.” She rounds her lips as if ready to call for him but you shush her.

“No, no. Don’t ask him."

“Why not?”

“Because he—” you slide your eyes around, looking for the right excuse, “Because he doesn’t care for me, okay? I don’t want to bug him.”

“It’s not that he hates you or anything,” she assures you, sighing. “He just doesn’t trust you. Really, he isn’t so bad. He let you play would you rather with us, right?”

She is referring to the game that consumed the four-hour walk to get here. As you stepped over the same tree roots from your first journey, Ghost and Blue began a rather dark game of would you rather. Asking each other which gruesome death they would prefer. A humor she must get from him, you figured. Blue finally asked him: Can Twix play, too? He flashed you a look, jaw stiff, and you wanted to hide as you watched his eyes process this new name his daughter has chosen for you. To your surprise, he allowed it. Maybe to keep her calm, entertained, or both. You can’t say it wasn’t awkward for you, though.

Before you can protest again, she calls his name, and you regret not just telling her what they are.

He is quick to make his way over.

“Twix found something but she doesn’t know what it is,” Blue chimes, taking the box from your hand and passing it to him. You inch backward, your spine pressing into the shelves as you watch him realize what it is. Then, he offers you an unreadable glance, probably wondering why the fuck you would be looking at these.

His eyes shift back to her.

“Well,” Blue clicks her tongue. “Is it useful?”

“No.” He hands it back to her.

“What is it? Do you know?”

“Jus’ nothing useful,” he repeats, and she huffs, giving you an apologetic look and mumbling a sorry before tossing the box back on the shelf.

“Got ‘em all picked out?” He nods to her magazines.

She nods. “Yeah, I found some good ones.”

“We’re leaving, then.”

A clear sky hangs over your heads as you continue moving south. On your solo trip, you spent hours perusing Ribchester's streets, whereas now Ghost cuts right through, wanting to search the base before nightfall and then find somewhere safe to sleep.

There is no rain today, luckily. Even though it helps conceal your human scent, it also helps hide their rotten one, making it hard to detect them. It also can make shooting arrows trickier.

There is a light wind that howls like a moaning widow through the empty buildings, drowning out the sound of all three pairs of booted footsteps. Just as you told Ghost, there aren’t many of those fucks here. Their smell lingers in the air but most of them are probably trapped in the buildings and cars. Still, you keep your bow armed and Ghost clutches his handgun. Only one finds you here, but it isn’t much of a threat. A slow and pitiful one with a twisted leg that drags as it clambers out from an alleyway.

It catches the human scent, its pale eyes pointing toward the three of you.

They love the smell of living flesh. From your experience, they love the smell of fresh blood even more, but luckily none of you are bleeding, or else more of them certainly could've been drawn out like cockroaches.

Upon one look at it, you can tell this Grey must have been infected years ago, a woman tattered without any hair left on her skull. The thing is, the longer they have been infected, the longer their muscles have been rotting away. They grow slower.

For some reason, Ghost doesn't pull the trigger of his gun even though you know he sees and smells it like you do. He doesn't even reach for the axe tucked at his waist. You have never encountered Greys with him. You suspected he'd be quick to kill them. Confused, you aim your arrow and close one eye for precision, but a firm hand falls on your arm and forces you to lower it.

You give him a furrowed look.

He drops his hand and nods to Blue, who has been sticking close to his side.

"All yours, kid."

"Do I have to?" She puckers her lips in disgust and touches the fabric of his black coat.

"Good practice for you."

"With my knife?" she sighs dutifully. "Or the gun you gave me?"

"Knife. Save the ammo.”

The Grey is still a few paces away, but slowly trudging closer, enough that its flayed snarls sound over the wind.

Blue pulls out the knife from her pocket. You stand back and watch as she hurls it towards the head, but the blade pierces its neck instead, splitting the stringy flesh and exposing a larynx.

She winces.

"S'okay. You've got another," Ghost says.

She nods and reaches for the second knife strapped to her ankle. This time, her knife finds the skull, audibly cutting through bone and brain.

“Good. Now go get ‘em.”

You understand why he made her practice this. They don’t encounter them often in the forest, but he still wants her prepared— get her used to doing it on her own for the day she might not have him there. It is a reminder of what it means to be a parent in this world, and you don’t envy him for it.

Blue twists her knife out from the skull, some chunks of grey brain bubbling out, and she scrunches her nose but doesn’t seem too bothered. Before she runs back over, she mouths words to it just as you have seen her do to the dead animals. You can’t make them out.

“Sometimes I wonder what it’s like being one of those fucks,” she announces as you keep walking. She taps a finger to her temple. “I just wonder if you still remember your old life or have dreams and stuff. Or does your brain just not work at all?”

“They aren’t people anymore,” Ghost reminds her gruffly.

“I know, I know.”

“I don’t think they have dreams,” you quietly add. “They don’t sleep.”

“But maybe they are sort of sleeping,” she says. “Like sleepwalking. And maybe they are dreaming the whole time about things they remember from being a human.”

“No,” Ghost says. “They’re as good as dead. Don’t go thinkin’ like that.”

“I’m not saying I feel bad about killing them. I know they aren’t real people anymore,” she mumbles, kicking at a rock. She looks at you. “Twix, what would you do if you got bitten?”

Ghost mutters a Jesus Christ under his breath.

The question throws you off, even though it is something you have mulled over often. You hesitate, before honestly answering, “I think I would just kill myself.”

“Ghost would, too. Well, actually, our plan is for me to shoot him in the head and then run back home. Right, Ghost?”

He hums his response.

It must be a plan he reviewed with her before leaving.

A plan that he has ingrained into her brain from an age too young to fully comprehend the potential reality of it.

There are another ten kilometers to walk to get to the military base. The sore toes cramped in your boots and the growing blister at your heel wishes Ghost took the truck, but whatever his emergency plan is, it must call for every drop of fuel he has.

The terrain transforms back to soil and trees as Ghost departs from the road, and the rotten smell in the air remains faint. The game of would you rather resumes, but Blue quickly grows bored of it. Instead, she begins to poke at you with some questions as she likes to do. She seems to be more comfortable doing it in front of Ghost. It’s not like he can keep her away from you out here.

“So, Twix, how old are you exactly? You never told us.”

You tell her.

“Shit balls, Ghost,” she nudges a hip to his side. “You really are an old man.”

“Fuckin’ hell. I’m not.” He nudges her back, a bit too hard, because she practically stumbles, but it only makes her laugh more. “I’m just your old man, kid.”

Luckily, her questions stick to the minute things, and she doesn’t bring up sex again. Your favorite animal. If you have any tattoos. You should see how many Ghost has. Of course, you have only ever seen the skin of his hands a few times and the skin around his eyes.

The sound of rushing water is what quiets her.

You make it to a river.

Ghost leads you to where a bridge must have been on his map, but all that remains of it is a narrow beam of rusted metal and nothing to hold onto.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dad.”

Blue peers down the cliff and you take a look with her. The water isn’t moving too fast, but it must be freezing, and walking around in wet clothes is a sure way to get hypothermia. Ghost doesn’t have much of a choice.

He has her walk close in front of him and keeps both hands firm on her shoulders. You don’t have anyone to help you. You tighten your core to keep yourself upright, watching each step you take. Right, left, right, left. The wind dissuades you with nudges against your left side. You pause for a moment and look up.

They are already across.

You hear Blue shout just as your left foot slips. Air whirls around you and your arms instinctively jut out to grab hold of the beam. You hang from it, breathing hard from your nose. Your bare hand clutches the sharp edge and earns you a cut into your palm, but the pain is easy to ignore. Your ears ring. You muster all your strength to hoist yourself up, but it’s not quite enough, and you almost lose your grip.

Hissing, you look down at the water that laps between rocks beneath you. Maybe you should just fall in. Your skin prickles as you imagine the icy water engulfing you and soaking your clothes.

Hypothermia. Another real threat in this world. You recall the chapter from one of your textbooks. It can set in quickly. There wouldn’t be enough time for you to make it back to the village and search for dry clothes. You should’ve brought your extra pair of old ones. You didn’t even think—

What ends up engulfing you is warmth.

You are pulled up with ease and drawn close to a hard chest. Ghost locks an arm around your waist to steady you and naturally, you lean into his hold, your boots finding their place again on the beam.

You pant. For a moment you just stand there, before you start walking again, this time with him close behind you as he holds your shoulders just as he did with Blue. Because of the proximity, you can detect the rise and fall of his chest against your back. Underneath his thick coat, the muscles of his core are tightened just as yours are in order to keep his balance.

He couldn’ve just let you fall. Blue must have asked him to help you back up.

You find your voice when you are almost across. Blue watches with her hands tucked in her pockets.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

What he tells you, warm brass in your ear that arrives in the quietest voice you’ve ever heard from him: “Don’t become a liability for me out here, Twix.”

It unnerves you, the message that lies in his words. What he means to say is he has no problem leaving you behind if he has to. Letting you die.

But what unnerves you even more is the shudder that hums through your spine from the soft drawl of his voice in your ear, uttering this new name for you when he has never even once used your real name, and the way that his filtered breath works its way down your neck. Even though he has growled threats of murder in there multiple times, you find yourself not minding if he has a few more to offer just so you can hear his voice like this again. So quiet. Probably so Blue doesn’t hear.

But he doesn’t offer anything else.

Maybe you are just in shock. Maybe you are just glad to not be freezing, and his warmth has given a confusing relief. You swallow the strange thought and find a nice burial spot for it next to your grief.

When your boots make it to the soil, his hands drop and you turn around to face him. Annoyance finally finds you. Of course, his help arrives at the same time that he warns you of the limited supply of it he is willing to offer.

Through your teeth, you say, “I won’t.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #call of duty #zombies

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blasphemousclaw · 1 month ago

Note

thank you for being so normal about the hornsent 🙏 Thank you cause jesus christ. anyways for the ask ermm The hornsent npc melina or messmer

you’re welcome I just got so attached to the hornsent while playing the dlc! after watching Belurat burn in the story trailer, going into the ruined city in the game and seeing all the graves and mourning spirits really affected me, and I’m honestly shocked that such a huge portion of the fanbase didn’t feel the same way. also they are literally so cool like look at their art and architecture. their armor sets. their divine beast dancing lion. if people can’t enjoy that because they’re “evil” well I have great news. they are not real

anyway here’s capital H Hornsent my best friend Hornsent

• favorite thing about them

how his quest ends with him attacking us no matter what we do. I know I know! it’s so frustrating that we can’t convince him we’re on his side! but the fact that he tries so hard to push us away just makes me love him more! he refuses our second offering of scorpion stew because he isn’t here to make friends, he’s here to win he’s given his life for his revenge... his line “I wish not to friendship kindle” drives me crazy because we have this moment of human connection with him, which he acknowledges, but he can’t let himself lose sight of his purpose! admit it Hornsent. you like me

also his character design and voice acting are fantastic

• least favorite thing about them

I already like how his character is handled but I think it would be even stronger if he or someone else dropped a few more details about life in Belurat before the crusade. he enacts his revenge not just in the name of his murdered family but his entire culture, and it would be nice to learn a few more hornsent cultural details through him!

• favorite line

“What’s this? Do you think me in need of alms? Ah… but this dish. Tis fare o’ the tower. I remember fondly this kin-clad scent. …Brings back memories I’d all but forgot. This, by my troth, is but a dismal copy. Indeed, I think it rather plain to see… things once broken can never be the same.”

I love the scorpion stew interaction so much! “things once broken can never be the same” hits so hard after exploring Belurat and seeing the city’s destruction, and pairing this dialogue with the scorpion stew description is even more tragic: “Traditional meal of the hornsent. Once made with love by a certain elderly woman for the family table.”

• brOTP ОТР whatever this is

Hornsent and Tarnished. what if I could fix him

• nОТР

I don’t think about this at all

• random headcanon

the marks on his face are burn scars from the fires… I think he had hair but it mostly burned off. maybe I’ll draw what I think his face looked like without the limitations of the npc character model sometime

• unpopular opinion

I don’t think he was a greater potentate! I think it’s strongly implied that he lived in Belurat before the crusade, not Bonny Village. I think he sought out the potentates’ caterpillar mask because it’s used to enhance focus and banish feelings of doubt in one’s purpose, which makes perfect sense for his revenge quest

• song i associate with them

once again please leave any suggestions in the replies/tags!!

• favorite picture of them

not to boost my own content but this was hysterical

#asks #hornsent

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foliosriot · 1 year ago

Text

LOVE’S THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND ♱ PART THREE

noah sebastian x reader

WARNINGS!!

angst and more angst.

TAGS!!

@thisbicc @lma1986 @mrscevans @catj422 @thebadchic @blackveilomens @likeavilliansposts @veronicaphoenix @circle-with-me @lilhobgobbler @loeytuan98

masterlist. tdopom masterlist.

Today is the day.

Today is the day Noah comes over so you two can talk and work through what happened to your friendship, and your relationship overall.

You’ve been pacing around your apartment for the past few hours, music playing loudly from the TV in the living room. Purposefully taking a break from Bad Omens you have Sleep Token on repeat instead. But the change didn’t help much. You ended up skipping Give anyways.

Now you’re just anxiously fiddling with the bottom hem of your sweater as the entirety of Sleep Token’s discography comes to an end. The sudden lack of music makes you pause your pacing.

Then, because your brain has been torturing you all day — and this wouldn’t be anything short of it — you hurriedly turn on THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND. The opening track has you immediately calming down, and there’s a part of you that fucking despises that.

But you’re still pacing as you listen to the album, your lips moving as you wordlessly sing along. Your fingers are constantly playing with your sweater’s hem, and you may have just realized it’s one of Noah’s that he must have left here on accident. You have half a brain to make your way to your room to change before there’s knocking at the front door.

It scares you, nearly has you jumping out of your skin. And as much as you want to pretend like you aren’t home, or crawl to bed and roll yourself into a cocoon of blankets, you know you can’t avoid this any longer.

You don’t think to pause your music or turn it off entirely until you’re already opening the front door to reveal Noah standing before you. He gives you a soft smile, though you can tell he’s nervous and probably riddled with anxiety just like you are. But you quietly greet him and step aside to allow him entry.

It’s jarring to see him in person like this. Last time you saw him face to face was the last time you’d been … together. The two of you had been here, at your apartment, and you suddenly have difficulty shoving away that memory.

A hand at your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you pleasantly lightheaded. Your fingernails leaving thin red lines down freckled shoulders and a tattooed back. Hickeys and roaming, greedy hands turning into gentle kisses and softly uttered praises. Neither of you acknowledging the blatant shift in your movements, but you continue giving and taking equally anyways.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you nearly run into Noah, who had stopped once he entered the living room. You take a step or two backwards to see him staring at the TV screen still alive with Bad Omens. With his music. With the songs he wrote about you.

The sad smile that appears on Noah’s face is fleeting at best. But it’s gone in a flash when he eventually looks away. You take that as your chance to run to the remote and turn off the TV, relieving both of you of the obvious torment you had been experiencing.

In the quiet of your small living room you hesitantly sit down on one end of the couch, to which Noah copies your actions. He sits on the other end, and it sparks even more buried memories of yours. You’re almost certain Noah is remembering those as well.

“You like the album, then?”

Noah’s voice startles you. You jerk slightly but you quickly recover to meet his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and shit — if this doesn’t feel like déjà vu.

“Uh, y-yeah, I really like it,” you stammer. “But I already Motionless In White’s new album is gonna be even better.”

You aren’t sure why you say it. But the slight teasing in your voice is definitely there, no matter how weird it may have felt rolling off your tongue. And the way Noah is looking at you has you thinking he knows you’re messing with him, if the slight quirk of his lips is anything to go off of.

You both stay silent after that. Your chest is tightening the longer the quiet drags. And you can feel Noah’s gaze on you, his eyes taking in the sight of you for the first time in a long time. Or maybe it’s because you’re wearing his old sweater.

“What happened to us?”

Noah’s gentle voice jerks you out of your head. You slowly look to him expecting to see him watching you still. But he had averted his eyes, and he was now staring at the picture frames nailed to the wall above the small shelf that has all of your DVDs, CDs, vinyls, and tapes. It almost feels like a tidal wave when you realize there are photos of the two of you on display.

“Do you want the full truth or the half-truth?” you ask him as your fingers migrate back to that stupid bottom hem.

“Full truth.”

He’s still taking in the wall of memories, not looking away for even a moment. Your throat bobs as you prepare yourself to talk.

“Noah, I need you to know that you are my best friend in the entire world,” you begin quietly. “Even if we haven’t talked for awhile. You are one of my favorite people on this planet, and I don’t know what I would do without you. What happened between us is on me, and I really need you to understand that.”

“If this is just an elaborate way to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, save it,” Noah says, his tone cold. “I gathered that when you stopped talking to me.”

Okay. You’ll admit: that hurt.

But it’s true, and you need to let him know why.

“No, it’s not that.” Your eyes are beginning to burn with gathering tears. “Ever since we met I’ve struggled to understand what I feel for you. I thought we were just friends, but, over the years, there were things you would say or do that made me think otherwise. So I guess I kinda played in to it. Then that night at your place, and the times after that, I … It made me think there was actually something between us. But after the last night together I freaked out and distanced myself from you because I was scared you didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t keep denying my feelings for you, so I distanced myself so neither of us would get hurt.”

You sniffle before continuing. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this since that first night. And then the album dropped and I lost control over what I have been feeling for years. I never wanted to push you away like that. I was being selfish and and I was so fucking scared, and I never bothered to think about if you would be hurt in the process.” You bite your bottom lip as a few tears crawl down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. I never wanted this.”

Noah is quiet. He’s still facing away from you, and you’re beginning to think this was a bad idea. But he shifts slightly, his head moving slowly in your direction. Then he stops, and you think you see a tear or two staining his cheek.

Your skin is starting to itch profusely as you anxiously wait for Noah to say anything. You’re growing uncomfortable and you wish time would just freeze.

But then Noah speaks, his voice awfully quiet.

“I thought there was something too,” he starts. And it is blatantly clear that he had begun to cry as well. “Honestly, I would have been totally fine with the first night being a one-time thing. And then it happened again and again, and I thought that must have meant something. But when you ignored me after the last time I thought you had just used me and didn’t want to see me again. Like, you somehow knew how I feel and couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it.

“Now knowing how it tore you up as well almost makes the pain a little more bearable,” Noah continues with a halfhearted laugh. “I guess I just don’t understand why it happened the way it did. We could’ve talked and worked through it, like we always fucking have. So why was this the thing that drove us apart? I mean, we definitely have feelings for each other. We both thought there was something for years, and it’s been confirmed. So, I guess the question still stands…”

Noah’s words have your heart lodging itself into your throat. More tears have fallen from your eyes, each one streaking down your face and slipping from your chin as you keep your eyes on Noah.

“I don’t know why that was what drove us apart, Noah,” you admit in a broken voice. “But I want to fix it. I really want to fix this rift we’ve made. ‘Cause I— I-I miss you.”

You watch Noah finally turn his head so he’s looking straight you. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and there are a few apparent tear stains on his face. But he looks hopeful and content with your response.

“I miss you, too,” he murmurs. “And I wanna fix whatever happened, regardless of the outcome.”

Noah gives you a soft smile that you return without a second thought. You sit staring at each other for a minute before you have to force yourself to finally glance away. Taking a deep breath you pull the ends of your sleeves over your hands and fingers, then wipe at your eyes.

The worn fabric of your Noah’s sweater rubs against your skin and leaves red in its wake. You catch Noah looking at you for a moment before he obviously processes what you’re wearing.

“Is that my sweater?” he queries quietly.

“Oh, yeah. I think you had left it here on accident once,” you begin rambling. “God, I didn’t even realize I was wearing it until you got here. I can give it back to you—“

“No. Keep it. It looks much better on you.”

Noah’s words have your face heating up. You go silent as he gives you another one of his small yet softest smiles. Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds, then you’re snapping your teeth together as your heart continues racing relentlessly.

His own face is reddening with blush, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach back for the TV remote and wordlessly turn on Howl’s Moving Castle. The movie has been a shared comfort for both you and Noah, and you know he would love to watch it with you after so long.

You struggle to hide your grin as you get comfortable against the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Noah has been stunned into silence at the movie selection. But you ignore him as much as you can as you listen to him kick off his shoes and settle into his own spot on the couch, the beginning of the beloved movie illuminating the screen.

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

♱ foliosriot 2023

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