#but it's the first time in a while I had inspiration to write

[sonotpattismith]

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.” 

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face. 

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday. 

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.” 

“Choso!” 

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout. 

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.” 

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats. 

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it. 

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son. 

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress. 

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze. 

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck. 

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.” 

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.” 

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it. 

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch. 

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again. 

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk. 

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced. 

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together. 

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain. 

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely. 

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you. 

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy. 

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night. 

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass. 

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.” 

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense. 

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile. 

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall. 

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.” 

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” 

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you. 

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago. 

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin. 

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees. 

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach. 

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris. 

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair. 

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience. 

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed  apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him. 

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now. 

“Do you… I mean are you—” 

“Look up for me.” 

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry. 

“You’re jealous, Choso!” 

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in. 

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so. 

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements. 

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail. 

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot. 

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.” 

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?” 

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm. 

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived. 

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room. 

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips. 

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes. 

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him. 

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands. 

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you. 

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks. 

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips. 

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke. 

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together. 

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso. 

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face. 

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own. 

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth. 

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely. 

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

 I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though—  because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time. 

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head. 

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment. 

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face. 

“No, but it sounds like you have.” 

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears. 

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.” 

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly. 

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point. 

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests. 

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

 You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage. 

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest. 

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying. 

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you. 

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

 So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.” 

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze. 

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep. 

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment. 

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase. 

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage. 

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

 Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory. 

“Your hand is too far up the neck.” 

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?” 

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements. 

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument. 

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers. 

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest. 

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh. 

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.” 

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.” 

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away. 

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago. 

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?” 

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.” 

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot. 

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you. 

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again. 

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you. 

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed. 

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face. 

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core. 

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past. 

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest. 

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his. 

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist. 

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.  

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband. 

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him. 

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you. 

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

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I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[matcha-binz]

BYE I'm literaly about to go crazy over kai. Ive always loved kai with all my heart he's so cute and kind and he's so genuinely funny it gets me thinking

how would he be in the magical world (man he alr ethereal he def smth magical) like I'm talking harry potter world. Ik this big puppy is definitely gonna be in Hufflepuff, his pure heart and noble intentions.

also I think yellow suits him.

he's such a sweetheart, offering notes from potions class when you're not in class that day.

by your side, wrapping his yellow and black striped scarf around your neck with a warm smile, contrasting to the cold weather as he reminds you to not "go out unprepared in this harsh winter"

srsly such an angel im gunna 😭

his specialty definitely would lie in herbology, I know he's a chill type, I can imagine it.

showing you how to perfectly extract roots and propagate them, ever so patient with you as he stands by you, his soft words conducting you on handling the baby mandrakes and that adorable closed eye, bean smile when he sees your reaction to those loud ass mandrakes.

He would ask you out on a date to Hogsmeade for sure!

walking around in every shop, he'd get you some small souviners, cackle as your choco frog hops away, and much more.

best part of the date- sipping on butterbeer while you two giggle, overhearing gossip from your classmates, as you two secretly hold hands under the table, hoping no one noticed, because for God's sake if they did they would never shut up about it-

holding hands with the cute Hufflepuff prefect? hehe!

he would walk you back to your dorm, and very shyly pressing a small peck to your cheek, holding both your hands in his larger ones as he bids you good bye.

"I'll see in class tomorrow, yeah?"

HAHAHAHAH I'm gonna go crazy over this man.

ethereal face card

[dksfml]

it's been a while since i started writing on this app and i dare say this has been the first time i got such a long reblog with heartwarming reviews about my story and characters 🥺 i owe you a slice of my melting heart hahaha.

i would also like to mention that this fic really is a self indulgent one (again, are we even surprised?) and i projected more that half of my character while writing this. the plot is inspired from what i experience years ago in my senior years. YES. by plot, i meant the PLOT itself. i had a huge CRUSH about this guy and i had to watch him act in a play i wrote with HIS crush. to make it more angsty, i wrote the play with them as the actors in mind, and i made scenes that are devastatingly cute and heart shaking. i was enjoying it tho🧍‍♀️well the crush didn't last long so i dont mind it now. jungwon is the CRUSH and my one and only crush rn 🥰 thank the gods above 🙏

anyways thanks for this reblog, ymmd ☹️❤️🫶‼️

scripted - yjw

pairing: yang jungwon x reader x nishimura riki genre: ULTRA fluff, tiny angst, unrequited love, jealousy, love triangle (if you squint) word count: 10.3k summary: where you wrote a screenplay for your theater project about your sweet daydreams about jungwon, which got chosen for your class to present to the entire school. with him cast as the male lead while you, as the director, watch another girl play your own life story.

'Cause I, I don't wanna say what's scripted Whether you aren't with it I know what I need

The rumors about your crush on Jungwon weren’t just whispers—they were facts etched into the walls of the school. Everyone knew. Your friends, your classmates, even the juniors who only knew you by name. You had always been comfortable with it. Why wouldn’t you be? Jungwon was, by all standards, crush-worthy.

He was the type of guy people noticed instantly. Good looks, a quick wit, and a confidence that bordered on cocky but never quite crossed the line. He was friendly with everyone, not a single person immune to his easy charm. And you? You were no exception.

It was almost comical how blatant your admiration for him was. You didn’t try to hide it, laughing along with your friends when they teased you for staring at him during lunch or lingering too long by his desk. For the longest time, you were fine being the girl with the obvious crush. It was harmless fun.

But then the school retreat happened.

It had been a late-night campfire activity, the kind designed to foster trust and openness. Under the flickering firelight, with everyone’s attention pinned on you, someone dared you to confess your feelings to Jungwon.

At first, you laughed it off. “Why should I? Everyone already knows.”

But the chant started: “Do it! Do it!” Your friends joined in, and even Jungwon—sitting across from you, grinning in that infuriatingly charming way—raised an eyebrow as if daring you to go through with it.

So, you did. You stood up, brushed the dirt off your hands, and announced, “Jungwon, I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

It was meant to be bold, confident, a way of taking control of the narrative that had always surrounded you. But as the laughter and applause erupted, you noticed the way Jungwon’s smile faltered. He chuckled, scratched the back of his head, and said, “Thanks, Y/N. That’s… flattering.”

Flattering. That was it. No reciprocation, no playful banter to ease the sting. Just a polite brush-off in front of everyone.

You didn’t let it show, of course. You sat back down, forced a smile, and played along with the jokes that followed. But something inside you shifted that night.

Since then, the teasing felt different—less like harmless fun and more like salt in a wound.

Weeks later, when your media studies professor announced that your play had been chosen for the class project, the room erupted into chaos.

Gasps of excitement rippled through the room, followed quickly by hushed murmurs. Your classmates exchanged knowing glances, the kind that made your stomach churn.

“Of course, her script won,” someone whispered, loud enough for you to catch. The words were casual, almost dismissive, as if your victory was inevitable—not because of your skill, but because of the ever-present rumors surrounding you.

“She’s good at this stuff,” another voice chimed in, but it was tinged with something less kind, as though your talents were overshadowed by something else entirely.

And then it came: “I bet Jungwon’s the inspiration for her male lead.”

That one landed like a punch.

You stiffened slightly, forcing your expression to remain neutral. Showing any reaction would only fuel the fire. Instead, you stood and walked to the front of the classroom with measured steps, pretending not to notice the smirks or the pointed glances being exchanged.

“It’s a well-written piece,” your professor said warmly, handing you back your script. Her genuine praise should have felt like a balm, but the weight of your classmates’ stares made it hard to savor the moment. “You’ll be the director, too, so start preparing.”

You nodded, managing a polite smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

As you turned to return to your seat, you could feel the whispers start up again, quieter now but no less cutting.

“Did you hear about the retreat?” one voice said. “Yeah. She confessed to him in front of everyone.” “And he didn’t say anything back.” “Awkward…”

The words followed you like a shadow as you sat down, gripping the edges of the script.

This was supposed to be a win—a moment of pride for your writing—but instead, all you could think about was how the story you’d poured your heart into was about to be dissected by the very people who had watched you get rejected.

You’d spent countless nights drafting this play, pouring your soul into the characters, crafting a story that felt raw and honest. But now, all you could hear was the echo of your own confession, the way Jungwon had smiled politely, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings but didn’t know what else to say.

Flattering. That’s what he had called it.

The memory burned, and for a fleeting moment, you considered pulling your script from the project entirely. But no—that would only make things worse. The last thing you wanted was to give anyone more ammunition to use against you.

So instead, you forced yourself to meet the professor’s eyes again as she moved on to announce the rest of the assignments. You sat there, quiet and composed, as if the whispers didn’t bother you.

The first group meeting for the play began in a chaotic hum of chatter and excitement. Despite your nerves, you stood at the front of the room, gripping the script like it was the only solid thing in your world. As the director, you knew you had to project confidence, even as the weight of everyone’s expectations pressed down on you.

“Alright, let’s get started,” you began, forcing your voice to sound steady. “We’ll need strong actors for the leads. There’s the rich male lead and the pauper female lead, they need to have believable chemistry.”

You barely got the words out before someone shouted from the back, “Jungwon should be the male lead!”

The room exploded with agreement, your classmates’ voices blending into a whirlwind of approval.

“Yeah, he’s perfect for it!” “Jungwon’s already the campus heartthrob—he basically is the rich boy.” “And he’s a natural actor!”

The noise rang in your ears, but you managed to nod as though the suggestion didn’t bother you. Inside, your chest felt tight. This was inevitable, wasn’t it? Of course, they’d choose him.

You raised a hand to quiet the room. “Jungwon, are you okay with that?” you asked, keeping your tone carefully neutral, professional, like this was any other task.

All eyes turned to him as he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips tugging into that easy grin that made your stomach twist.

“Sure, why not?” he replied casually, like it was no big deal.

The ease with which he accepted stung more than it should have, and you hated yourself for letting it bother you. But that smile—the same one that had made your heart flutter countless times—felt sharper now, like a blade.

“Great,” you said briskly, moving on as though you weren’t fighting to keep your composure. “For the female lead…”

“How about Minji?” someone chimed in before you could finish.

The room buzzed again with approval. Minji, with her long, glossy hair and angelic features, was undeniably beautiful. She was talented, too—her voice could silence a room, and her presence commanded attention. And then there was the one thing that made your stomach churn: her closeness to Jungwon.

“She’d be perfect,” another classmate added enthusiastically. “She and Jungwon already have great chemistry.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing the muscles in your face to stay neutral. This was your moment to speak up, to push for a different choice, but what could you say? Everyone already assumed you’d written the male lead with Jungwon in mind. Picking anyone else now would only make it more obvious.

You turned to Minji, who was practically glowing under the attention. “Minji, are you in?” you asked, your voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

She flashed a dazzling smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder as if the decision had been made long before you even asked. “Of course!” she chirped, casting a playful glance at Jungwon.

It was a glance that made the whispers of their rumored closeness feel all too real.

“Perfect,” you said tightly, moving on to assign the rest of the roles. Your pen hovered over your notebook as your classmates debated the supporting cast, their voices buzzing around you like static.

The session ended quickly after that, with everyone chattering excitedly about their parts. You remained at the front, collecting stray papers and reminding everyone to bring their scripts for the first reading.

As the room cleared, you caught sight of Jungwon and Minji walking out together, their laughter echoing in the hallway.

You let out a slow breath, willing yourself not to dwell on it. This was your project, your story—and you’d see it through, no matter how much it stung.

The following afternoon, the cast gathered in a loose circle in the auditorium, scripts in hand, buzzing with the kind of energy that only came with new beginnings. You stood at the front, clipboard clutched tightly, feeling the weight of their eyes on you. As the director, you had to guide them through this. You had to remain composed, professional, and in control.

“Alright, let’s start from the top,” you said, your voice steady despite the anxious flutter in your chest. “We’ll read through the entire script first. Blocking and staging will come later.”

The hum of voices quieted as everyone found their places. The reading began smoothly, with the cast slipping into their roles as if they’d been made for them.

Jungwon, sitting with a relaxed posture, leaned forward slightly as he read his lines. His voice carried the same effortless charm he exuded in real life, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Each word felt natural, as if he wasn’t acting at all.

Minji was just as polished, her voice flowing with practiced ease. She smiled at the right moments, added depth to her lines, and cast Jungwon occasional glances that made their chemistry undeniable. The rest of the cast followed suit, and as much as you hated to admit it, the characters truly were coming to life.

But when you reached page 37, something inside you twisted.

Your eyes scanned the dialogue—the words you had written from a place of quiet vulnerability. It was a simple scene, one you thought would go unnoticed by everyone except you. But now, it felt like a spotlight was shining directly on your heart.

“We’ll skip this part,” you said quickly, your voice sharp enough to cut through the room’s focus.

There was a brief pause as everyone flipped to the page in question.

“Why skip it?” Jungwon’s voice broke the silence. His tone was curious but calm, the faintest hint of confusion in his furrowed brow as he studied you.

You met his gaze briefly, forcing a shrug. “It’s unnecessary,” you replied, injecting as much nonchalance into your tone as you could. “The pacing is better without it.”

Jungwon didn’t let it go. His eyes dropped to the script, scanning the scene you were trying to erase.

It was a quiet moment between the male and the female lead, walking side by side on their way to class. She teased him about skipping gym, and he promised, half-jokingly, that he’d join her next time.

Your chest tightened. The scene wasn’t just any scene. It was yours. A memory you cherished more than you wanted to admit; walking to gym class with Jungwon, just the two of you, back when things were simpler. Back when you could still let yourself enjoy the small moments without the weight of rejection looming over you.

Jungwon’s expression shifted as he read, his casual curiosity giving way to something softer. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours with an almost cautious understanding.

“This…” he started, his voice quieter now, as though the realization struck him mid-sentence.

You turned your face away, refusing to let him see the crack in your armor. “It’s just a filler scene,” you said briskly, cutting him off. “Let’s move on.”

Minji, oblivious to the tension, glanced around before launching into her next line, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the group. The script reading resumed, but the energy in the room had shifted.

Jungwon’s usual ease and confidence seemed muted, his responses more measured and subdued. You could feel his eyes on you occasionally, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

As the session wore on, your focus remained on the script, your voice steady as you guided the cast. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the weight of his lingering gaze or the way your carefully guarded secret had come dangerously close to being exposed.

As the cast dispersed after the reading session, you stayed at the front, scanning your notes to look busy. Jungwon approached, the script dangling loosely in his hand, his expression unreadable.

“You’re good at this,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

“Thanks,” you replied without looking up, pretending to focus on the clipboard in your hands.

“You really wrote the screenplay very well,” he added after a beat, his tone careful, deliberate. “The school will really enjoy our performance, thanks to you.”

Your grip on the clipboard tightened for the briefest moment before you forced yourself to relax. You glanced up, keeping your face neutral. “Thanks, Jungwon. The story… I know that it’s a bit…”

He seemed to study you as he waits for you to finish your sentence, searching for something in your face, but you didn’t find the right word to say under his gaze. After your long pause, he nodded and turned to walk away.

But as his footsteps receded, you felt the weight of his gaze lingering, as though he wasn’t fully convinced.

The heavy sound of the auditorium doors creaking open snapped you out of your thoughts. A tall figure strolled in with an air of nonchalance—Riki, the ever-late and often-absent classmate.

“Wow, look who finally showed up,” someone from the remaining group called out, half-joking.

Riki grinned, unfazed by the attention. “What can I say? The world doesn’t stop turning without me.”

The teasing quickly shifted, and someone shouted, “All the roles are taken, dude! You’ll have to beg the director for a spot now.”

Riki’s eyes flicked to you instantly, his grin widening. He made his way over with a confidence that clashed with the fact he was perpetually absent.

You raised an eyebrow as he stopped in front of you, completely ignoring the clipboard in your hands or the seriousness in your posture.

“So, boss,” he began, crossing his arms. “What’s my role?”

“We’ve already assigned roles,” you replied flatly, not missing a beat. “You’re too late. You should’ve been here on time.”

Riki didn’t look even remotely deterred. Instead, he tilted his head, feigning a thoughtful look before shrugging. “Guess I’ll create my own role, then. Can I handle the choreography for the play?”

“What?” you asked, more baffled than angry.

“Relax,” he said with a wink. “It’s what I’m good at. You don’t want me acting anyway—I’d outshine everyone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Riki raised a finger, cutting you off. “Trust me. I’ll do it right.”

There was something so audacious yet oddly reassuring in his tone that you found yourself momentarily speechless.

But then you snapped out of it. “Fine,” you relented. “But if you’re taking this seriously, you can’t skip practices anymore.”

Riki placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Do I look like the kind of guy who slacks off?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned.

He laughed, the sound echoing across the emptying auditorium. “Fair enough. See you at practice, boss.”

And just like that, he turned and strolled off, his bag slung over his shoulder as if he’d just secured the role of a lifetime.

You exhaled sharply, watching him leave. Jungwon, still standing at a distance, hadn’t said a word throughout the entire exchange. But you felt his gaze, quiet and observant, as if he were trying to piece together the dynamic between you and this latecomer who had confidently claimed a place in your play.

Shaking off the thought, you turned back to your notes, already bracing yourself for the chaos that Riki would undoubtedly bring to your carefully planned production

As the weeks of rehearsals progressed, one thing became undeniably clear—Riki was no longer the unreliable absentee everyone had pegged him to be.

“Is it just me, or has Riki been showing up every day?” one of your classmates whispered loudly during a break, eyeing him as he adjusted a prop onstage.

Another chimed in, “Yeah, and he’s actually… working. Who knew?”

You caught snippets of their conversation but chose not to engage. It was true, though. Ever since Riki had taken up the choreography, he’d been showing up not just on time but with energy and enthusiasm that sometimes even rivaled yours. His movements were precise, and he had a knack for motivating others to step up their game.

Still, you were wary. “Don’t let it get to your head,” you told him after one practice when he was lingering by the stage.

Riki only smirked, leaning against the edge of the stage. “Admit it—you’re impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, but his confidence was disarming.

One evening, during rehearsals, the cast gathered to practice a particularly intense scene between the leads. Jungwon and Minji were center stage, the script in Jungwon’s hand as he delivered his lines.

“I can’t let you leave,” he said, his tone calm but firm. His hand hovered awkwardly near Minji’s face, his fingers twitching slightly as if unsure where to place them.

“Jungwon, you’re supposed to grab her chin,” you reminded him, keeping your tone neutral as you pointed at the script. “It’s a pivotal moment of the play—it shows how desperate he is to get her to listen.”

Jungwon hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I get that. I just… don’t want to make it awkward.”

Minji, ever professional, smiled encouragingly. “It’s fine, Jungwon. Just go for it.”

But as he nodded and turned back to her, his shoulders tensed, and his grip on the script tightened. His hand moved forward again but stopped short, hovering in mid-air as though weighed down by an invisible force.

You frowned, watching him closely. Something about his hesitation seemed deeper than stage fright. His gaze darted toward the ground, avoiding Minji’s eyes entirely. His other hand, clenched at his side, betrayed the nerves he was trying to hide.

“Jungwon,” you said, your voice softer this time. “What’s holding you back?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as if he were biting back words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “I just… don’t want to mess it up.”

The murmurs of impatience from the cast grew louder, and before you could say more, Riki stood up from where he’d been sitting near the edge of the stage.

Suddenly, Riki, who had been sitting cross-legged near the edge of the stage, stood up. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he said, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

The group fell silent, curious to see what he would do.

You blinked, caught off guard when Riki gestured toward you. “Come here,” he said.

“What? No,” you replied, instinctively taking a step back.

“C’mon, boss,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze steady. “You’re the director. Let’s give them a proper demonstration.”

You hesitated, but the expectant stares of your classmates left you with no choice. Reluctantly, you stepped onto the stage, your palms clammy as you stood opposite him.

“Okay,” Riki said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your chin before tilting it up, so your eyes met his.

The intensity of his stare made your breath hitch. His grip wasn’t too tight, but it was firm enough to command attention. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

The room erupted in whistles and laughter.

“Wow, you guys look natural!” someone shouted, breaking the spell.

Another teased, “Riki, are you sure you’re not auditioning for the male lead?”

Your face burned as you quickly pulled back, avoiding everyone’s amused stares. “That’s enough,” you said, trying to sound authoritative. “Let’s get back to the scene.”

But as you walked offstage, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes lingering on you—or the way your heart had skipped a beat during those few seconds.

From the corner of the room, Jungwon sat silently, the script still in his hands. He hadn’t said a word during the exchange between you and Riki, but his expression was thoughtful, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the interaction unfold.

When rehearsal resumed, he seemed quieter than usual, delivering his lines with less enthusiasm.

By now, the whispers about Riki’s sudden dedication were impossible to ignore.

“Seriously, who is this guy?” one of your classmates joked as they watched him adjust the blocking for a scene.

“He’s even showing up to classes he doesn’t need to be at,” another added.

Riki overheard and grinned as he walked past. “Guess I’m a changed man,” he quipped, winking in your direction.

You shook your head, hiding a smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I think I’m your star player, boss,” he shot back, his tone playful but self-assured.

Despite your best efforts to keep things professional, you couldn’t help but feel that the dynamic between you and Riki had shifted. Whether it was his newfound confidence or the easy camaraderie you had developed, he was no longer just the absentee classmate.

And though you tried to focus on the play, you couldn’t ignore the growing sense that he was slowly stealing the spotlight—both on and off the stage.

The last bell of the day had already rung, and most of your classmates were already packing up for the gymnasium, where the final recital practices were scheduled. You, however, were asked to go to your professor's office to give her an update on the progress of your play.

"How are things going?" she asked, sitting behind her desk as you entered.

You took a seat across from her, straightening the stack of papers in your hands. "Everything's on track," you said confidently. "The cast is showing great improvement, and we’re refining the blocking. The choreography is coming along well, too."

Your professor nodded, clearly pleased with your professionalism. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. Keep it up."

Then, she handed you a pile of scripts. "These are your classmates' plays. I accidentally forgot to return them, so I need you to give them back personally when you can."

You took the scripts, nodding, and tucked them under your arm. "Of course, I’ll make sure they get them."

"Great," your professor said, standing up. "You’re doing well with the play. Just make sure you keep the momentum going. Let me know if you need anything."

With a quick smile and a polite nod, you left her office. The hallways were deserted, the school echoing with the sound of your footsteps as you walked back to your classroom to drop off your things before heading to the gym.

Once you returned to the empty classroom, you placed the pile of scripts on your desk and started organizing them. The last thing you wanted was to carry a mess of papers with you to the gymnasium.

But just as you were about to finish, something slipped from the pile, falling to the floor with a soft thud. You crouched down, trying to grab it quickly, but in the process, the rest of the scripts followed, scattering in every direction.

"Great," you muttered under your breath, crouching down again to gather them all.

As you reached for the scattered pages, your eyes landed on one particular script—Jungwon’s. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the familiar handwriting on the cover.

Curious and, admittedly, a little nervous, you opened the script, flipping through the pages.

You froze.

The pages before you were filled with intimate details—details you never expected to see written down in such a way. It was his play, sure, but it was more than just a story—it was a record of everything you had ever experienced together, from his perspective.

The first scene you came across made your stomach flip. It was about the time you’d first noticed Jungwon at the vending machine—the way you both had awkwardly brushed past each other without ever speaking a word, and how, despite that, you felt something stir within you. Then, it was followed by a scene that took your breath away:

“He watched her, unsure how to approach her. His heart raced, but he was too afraid to speak. Would she even notice him?”

“She had no idea, but he had been quietly in love with her for a while now. He watched her with admiration from afar, unsure how to close the distance between them, afraid she wouldn’t feel the same.”

Your hands trembled as you read. It was about your confession to him, the moment you had told him how you felt, how he had turned you down, and how you had felt a part of you break. But what stopped your heart in its tracks was the next part:

“His chest tightened as he saw her face when she confessed. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just say the words back. He had wanted to, so badly. But the moment felt all wrong, the timing was off. He imagined confessing to her in a more intimate, personal space—just the two of them. He wanted to give her his best self when he said it, not under the scrutiny of friends. Not when she was the one taking the first step. That thought held him back."

"In that moment, seeing the hurt in her eyes, he understood just how much he had been lying to himself. He had always loved her, more than he had let on. But it was too late now. He had failed her."

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun around you as you tried to make sense of the words in front of you. His play—it wasn’t just about the story of two characters. It was about you. About him. About everything that had happened between the two of you.

And there it was, in black and white—his feelings for you, all these years, something he had never said aloud.

You were so caught up in the revelation that you didn’t hear the door open.

"Hey," a voice broke through your thoughts. Jungwon stood in the doorway, looking a bit concerned. "Everyone’s waiting for you. We’re about to start the practice."

You quickly snapped the script shut, your hands still trembling. Jungwon’s eyes flickered to the pile of papers you had spilled, his expression shifting when he saw the one you were holding.

Before you could say anything, he crossed the room quickly, reaching for the script you had been reading. "Give that to me," he said, his voice unusually serious.

You tried to pull it back instinctively, but Jungwon’s grip was firm. Without another word, he yanked it from your hands and tucked it under his arm.

"Jungwon—" you started, but he cut you off.

"Don’t," he said quietly, glancing at you with a flicker of something in his eyes—regret?

He quickly helped you gather the other scattered scripts, his movements swift but oddly gentle, as though trying to avoid causing any more tension. When everything was back in order, he straightened up, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

You nodded, still reeling from what you had just discovered. Without another word, you both left the classroom, walking side by side down the hall to the gymnasium.

The silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words. You wanted to say something—anything—but you couldn’t find the right words.

And Jungwon? He didn’t say anything either. He simply walked beside you, his footsteps steady, his presence a quiet, unspoken reminder of everything that had just shifted between you.

As you approached the gymnasium, the muffled chatter and sounds of rehearsals filtered through the door. It was a stark contrast to the heavy silence between you and Jungwon. He paused briefly, glancing at you as if he wanted to say something but ultimately stayed silent. With a slight nod, he opened the door and stepped aside to let you enter first.

The cast was already bustling about, running lines and adjusting props. Riki, as usual, was at the center of the activity, demonstrating a dance sequence with a playful flair that drew laughter and cheers from everyone around him.

“Finally!” Riki called out when he spotted you. “Thought you’d abandoned us, boss.”

You forced a smile, but your mind was still stuck on Jungwon’s script. Riki must have noticed something off, because his grin faltered slightly as his eyes flicked between you and Jungwon.

“You good?” he asked, tilting his head. His voice was softer, more private, as he stepped closer.

“Yeah, just... long day,” you replied quickly, waving him off. The last thing you needed was more attention on whatever turmoil you were feeling.

Riki studied you for a moment longer before smirking. “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” He clapped his hands together, effectively pulling everyone’s focus back to the rehearsal. “Alright, people, let’s nail this!”

The next few hours passed in a blur, each moment charged with a mix of anticipation and tension. Jungwon, usually the calm and collected actor, was delivering his lines with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

His voice held a restrained urgency, as though every word carried more weight than it should. His eyes, too, were different today: dark, focused, and filled with an emotion that couldn’t quite be placed. It wasn’t anger or frustration, but something deeper—something unspoken.

Minji, always perceptive, noticed the change immediately. During one of the breaks, as the rest of the cast gathered around the table, she leaned in, a small but knowing smile on her lips.

“Jungwon, that was incredible! Whatever you’re channeling, keep it up.” Her voice was playful, teasing, but there was a certain depth in her eyes that suggested she wasn’t just complimenting his acting. She was recognizing something more—something raw, something between them.

Jungwon looked at her, his usual smile absent, replaced by a flicker of something complicated. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on her, searching her face, as if weighing her words.

His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gave a slow nod, as though acknowledging her comment, but not quite willing to let go of the emotion he was carrying.

The chemistry between them was undeniable—electric, yet unspoken. It hung in the air like a tension neither was willing to address.

Minji noticed the pause, her expression softening as she regarded him. She wasn’t bothered by his silence; she was used to the layers beneath his exterior. But something in the way he looked at her—intense, almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

Something about the way their dynamic had shifted was undeniable, and Minji couldn’t help but wonder if Jungwon felt it too.

You, standing off to the side, watched the exchange with a quiet unease. You had become accustomed to their interactions during rehearsals—how they worked seamlessly together, how there was an unspoken rhythm between them.

But today, it felt different. There was a new level of intimacy in their shared glances, a quiet understanding that seemed to transcend the script.

Deciding to focus elsewhere, you turned your attention to Riki, who had the entire cast engaged in an impromptu choreography session. His infectious energy pulled everyone in, and even though you knew you had your own parts to direct, you couldn’t help but be distracted by the undercurrent of tension between Jungwon and Minji.

The way they stood near each other, their bodies close but not touching, was enough to make the air around them thick with unspoken words. Jungwon’s eyes would flicker toward Minji every so often, as though he couldn’t help himself, even as he pretended to focus on his lines. Minji, ever the professional, matched his energy, but there was something different in her demeanor too—an openness that seemed to invite his silent attention.

At one point, Minji laughed at something one of the other actors said, and Jungwon’s gaze followed her laugh, softening for a fraction of a second. He was caught in the moment, his usual composure slipping as he watched her.

For just a moment, it seemed like the world outside of them ceased to exist. Their chemistry was undeniable, a magnetic pull that neither could easily escape from.

As rehearsals continued, the dynamic between the two only grew more intense. Minji’s confidence fed off Jungwon’s intensity, and Jungwon seemed to find something in her presence that grounded him, making his performance richer, more layered.

The unspoken connection between them wasn’t just visible to the actors on stage, it was palpable to everyone in the room. The cast couldn’t help but notice the way they seemed to mirror each other’s movements, the way their eyes would meet at the most unexpected moments.

In your eyes, what they have was more than just good acting, it was something real. And you couldn’t ignore the weight of it—the way their relationship, both on and off stage, was evolving. The lines between performance and reality were blurring, and you couldn’t help but feel the emotional toll it was taking on all of you.

By the time rehearsal ended, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. As the cast began packing up, you lingered near the stage, tidying up stray props and papers.

“You’re still here?” Riki’s voice came from behind you. Turning, you found him leaning casually against a pillar, his bag slung over one shoulder.

“Just finishing up,” you replied.

He tilted his head, his playful grin returning. “Need help?”

You hesitated but shook your head. “It’s fine. Go ahead.”

Riki didn’t budge. Instead, he stepped closer, his expression softening. “Hey,” he said, his voice low. “You seem... distracted tonight. Did something happen?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the concern in his eyes stopped you. Riki’s usual teasing demeanor was gone, replaced by a sincerity that caught you off guard.

“It’s nothing,” you said after a pause. “Just... personal stuff.”

He didn’t press further, simply nodding as if to say he understood. “Well, if you need to talk—or vent—I’m around.” Then, with a wink, he added, “Can’t have my star director burning out before opening night.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Thanks, Riki.”

He gave you a mock salute before heading out, leaving you alone once more.

As you turned back to finish cleaning, you heard soft footsteps approaching. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Jungwon standing there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His gaze was cautious, almost apologetic.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you nodded, setting down the props you were holding. Jungwon stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking as he lowered his voice.

“About the script…” Jungwon began, his voice tight, as though each word had to be pulled from him. He hesitated, running a hand through his hair, his expression flickering with something deeper—something he wasn't ready to reveal. “I didn’t mean for you to see it. It wasn’t... ready.”

You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. The sudden shift in Jungwon, the vulnerability in his voice—it caught you off guard. “It’s not just a story, is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer but unable to hold back the question.

Jungwon’s gaze met yours, dark and intense, as if he were trying to carve his soul into the air between you. For a brief second, you saw it—the raw emotion swirling beneath the composed surface, something so fragile and real that it made your chest tighten. His lips parted as though he was about to say something, but then his eyes flickered away, as if he couldn’t bear to meet yours any longer.

“No,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of the secret he could no longer keep, like a confession he’d been holding back for far too long. “It’s not…” His words hung in the air, a razor-thin thread between you that neither of you could escape.

The tension in the space between you was suffocating, thick with the unspoken things that had been festering for weeks, months, maybe even years. You could feel your breath catch in your throat as you stepped forward, your heart racing in your chest.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Your voice cracked, the question more painful than anything you’d expected. The confusion, the hurt, the feeling of betrayal—everything you had bottled up finally erupted, sharp and raw. “Why wait until now, Jungwon? Why couldn’t you just... say it?”

His eyes were closed for a moment, his jaw clenched as if he was fighting something fierce inside himself. When he opened them again, the depth of the emotion there nearly broke you. He exhaled sharply, a shaky breath that made the air between you both feel like it was thickening, suffocating you both.

“Because I’m scared,” he admitted, the words spilling out in a rush, as if he couldn’t hold them in any longer. He stepped closer, but the space between you felt like miles. His voice cracked, raw with vulnerability. “Scared that if I told you, if I showed you what I really feel… it would ruin everything. I’m scared that when you graduate, when you leave for college… you won’t need me anymore. That I’ll be just some fading memory, and you’ll walk away from me without a second thought. And I… I can’t bear that.”

His words cut through you, deep and jagged, breaking something inside you. Your chest tightened, the world spinning as his confession sank in. His voice trembled with emotion, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether to cry or scream, the weight of everything you’d ever wanted from him crashing down in waves.

“I...” You swallowed, your voice unsteady as your heart hammered in your chest. “You... you really think that? You think I would forget you? That just because you’re going away, I wouldn’t still need you? You really believe that, Jungwon?” You stepped even closer now, the words pouring out of you faster than you could catch them. “You could’ve told me before. You should’ve told me before. You know how much I like you. Hell, everyone on campus knows. You said you’re going out of town for college? Do you really think that would change how I feel? It doesn’t. It never would’ve.”

Your voice broke as the last words slipped from your mouth, the emotion that had been simmering under the surface for so long finally breaking free. You weren’t sure when you had taken the step forward, but now, there was nothing between you but the distance of his unspoken words.

Jungwon’s face was tortured, like he was carrying the weight of something too heavy to bear. He bit his lip, his eyes filled with regret and something else—something deeper. And then, as if he couldn’t take the space between you any longer, he closed the distance, his breath warm against your skin.

But just as the tension reached its breaking point, the world seemed to shift. A loud crash, followed by a piercing scream from the far side of the auditorium, shattered the moment. The entire room fell into stunned silence.

You whipped your head around to see Minji sprawled on the floor, clutching her ankle, her face twisted in shock and pain.

The chaos erupted in an instant—cries of panic, footsteps scrambling toward her. But as you stood there, frozen, your heart still racing, all you could feel was the sting of everything unsaid, the weight of Jungwon’s confession hanging in the air, unfinished.

He hadn’t meant to pull away. Neither of you had. But in the next breath, everything had changed.

The commotion had taken everyone by surprise. Minji had been practicing a particularly complicated scene when she slipped, falling awkwardly and injuring her ankle badly. The room fell into chaos, the cast members rushing to her side, their faces filled with panic as she clutched her leg in pain.

“Someone get the nurse!” you shouted, but you were already on your way over, kneeling beside Minji, trying to calm her down. Jungwon was right beside you, his usual composed expression slipping into something much more concerned.

The moment the news came through, it felt like the entire world stopped. The hospital had confirmed that Minji had severely sprained her ankle—no one could have anticipated how badly she’d hurt herself, and now, there was no way she would be able to perform for at least two weeks, maybe more. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The performance was just days away, and without Minji, the play might not go on.

The cast gathered in the rehearsal room, tension thick in the air. You could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, the silent expectation building with every passing second. The murmurs began almost immediately as they discussed who could possibly fill in for Minji at the last minute.

“We could call in an understudy,” one member suggested, clearly grasping at straws.

“None of the understudies know the part as well as Minji does,” another replied, shaking their head. “We don’t have time for that.”

“We’ll figure something out. We’ll find someone who can—” Riki cut himself off, his face drawn with concern as he glanced at the empty space where Minji usually stood.

The silence that followed felt deafening. It was clear to everyone that there was no one else who could take over the role in such a short time. That’s when one of the cast members, a girl who had always been pragmatic to the point of bluntness, turned toward you. Her gaze was unwavering.

“Well... if we’re being realistic,” she began, the words hanging heavy in the air, “you know the lines, right?”

You froze, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. “I—what?” you stammered, your stomach sinking as her eyes bored into you. The thought of stepping into Minji’s shoes, even for a moment, felt like an impossible task.

“You’ve been working with her the whole time and directed this whole play,” she continued, a hint of impatience in her voice. “You’re the only one who knows her part well enough to do this. Plus, you’re the one who wrote the play.”

“I—” You faltered, panic creeping into your throat. “I don’t know if I can...”

“You don’t have a choice,” another voice cut in sharply. It was Riki. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “It’s you or no one. We don’t have time for hesitation. The play is in a week.”

The other cast members exchanged uneasy glances. Some of them, like Riki, seemed convinced that you were the only viable option, but others looked skeptical, unconvinced that you could actually pull it off.

“It’s not just about knowing the lines,” someone else muttered, crossing their arms. “It’s about embodying the role. You’re the director, sure, but stepping in for Minji? That’s a whole different challenge.”

The room fell into a tense silence, and you could feel the weight of the decision bearing down on you. Your palms were sweating, your mind racing. You glanced around, meeting Jungwon’s gaze for a brief moment. He was standing a few paces away, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on you. There was a softness in his gaze, but he didn’t speak up. He didn’t offer his support, not even a hint of reassurance. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the call on your own.

"I’m... I’m not sure I can do it," you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. The words felt like an admission of failure even as they left your lips. The pressure was mounting, thick and suffocating. You could feel the anxious tension in the room, swirling around you.

Then another voice broke the silence, a supporting actress, her tone firm. “We don’t have time to find anyone else. You’re going to have to take the role, Y/N. There’s no other option.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding painfully in your chest, but the weight of the situation settled over you like a blanket. The others weren’t happy, and you weren’t sure you were either, but there was no room for second-guessing.

“Fine,” you muttered, almost too quietly for anyone to hear. “I’ll do it.”

Riki gave a brief nod, signaling that the decision was made. The cast moved forward, but there was no sense of triumph, only a shared understanding that the next few days would be exhausting and grueling. You weren’t sure what you had just agreed to, but it was clear that everyone was relying on you to make it work.

The first rehearsal in your new role was a mess. You stumbled through the lines, your tongue tripping over words that should’ve felt familiar. Every gesture that Minji had made with grace now felt awkward and forced. You felt like you were drowning, each second slipping away from you as you tried desperately to remember the blocking, the expressions, the emotions you needed to convey. The cast’s frustration was palpable.

“This isn’t how we rehearsed it,” one of the actors muttered under their breath, throwing you an annoyed glance as you fumbled with the choreography.

“Yeah,” another added, crossing his arms and clearly skeptical. “It’s going to take a lot more than this.”

You felt yourself shrink under their judgment, the weight of their eyes pressing on you. It wasn’t that they were outright cruel—it was more the fact that they were impatient. They didn’t think you could pull it off, and frankly, neither did you.

As the days passed, the rehearsals didn’t improve much. By the second day, you were losing confidence. You couldn’t stop comparing yourself to Minji, her effortless performance a constant reminder of how far you had to go. The tension between the cast members grew, and you could feel it in the air. Every practice session felt like a battle—one where you weren’t sure you were going to win.

Jungwon, as usual, was quiet during the rehearsals. He didn’t say much, but you could feel him watching you, always standing just a little further away than you would’ve liked. His eyes never left you, but he said nothing. His silence was both comforting and unnerving.

“Y/N, you’ve got to work harder,” one of your classmates said, his tone sharp as the cast took a break. “We don’t have time for mistakes. We know you have a lot on your plate, considering you’re still our director. Thankfully Riki’s now co-directing though. You just need to be better, we know you’re capable.”

His words stung more than they should’ve, especially when it wasn’t your fault that Minji had gotten hurt. But the pressure was unbearable. You were carrying the weight of the play on your shoulders, and it felt like the world was watching, waiting for you to fail.

It was during one particularly frustrating rehearsal that Jungwon finally spoke to you. You had just stumbled over another line and had nearly given up in frustration when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re doing your best,” Jungwon said quietly, his voice a gentle balm against the harshness of the rehearsal room. You looked up at him, surprised by the softness in his words. His gaze was steady, unwavering. “I know it’s hard... but just trust yourself. You’re stronger than you think.”

His words—simple, calm—pierced through the storm of anxiety inside you. Something in his tone made you pause, made you take a breath. For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of reassurance.

“Thanks, Jungwon,” you murmured, the weight of his support grounding you. In that moment, despite everything, you felt like you could at least keep going. Maybe you couldn’t do it perfectly, but you could keep trying.

The performance day arrived in a blur of last-minute adjustments. Everyone was exhausted, nerves frayed, but despite the tension, there was a sense of collective determination. The theater was packed with an eager audience, and as you stood backstage, the reality of it all hit you.

You were about to step out onto the stage, alone in a role you hadn’t fully prepared for, a role that belonged to someone else. But then you looked at Jungwon—he was standing at the edge of the stage, watching you with a quiet intensity.

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes met his, and in that moment, you found the strength you needed. He gave you a small, encouraging smile, and it was as though he was silently telling you that everything was going to be okay.

The stage was set. The audience’s murmurs faded as the play began, and the atmosphere shifted from anticipation to pure focus. The first few lines came out smoothly, and with each passing moment, the tension you had felt in the rehearsals started to melt away. The natural rhythm of the play flowed effortlessly between you and the other actors. But what you hadn’t expected—what you hadn’t anticipated—was how easy it felt to perform alongside Jungwon.

Every movement, every word, every glance felt effortless. As soon as you shared the first scene with him, there was an unspoken connection. His presence on stage was magnetic—his voice strong, yet soft, filled with depth. And his eyes—those eyes—spoke volumes without him having to utter a single word. You hadn’t expected to feel so at ease, so in sync with him, but it was as though you were breathing in rhythm, your performances becoming one.

Lila: (Her voice laced with doubt, her eyes searching his for reassurance.) “You... you really think you could want me? I’m nothing like the women you’re used to, Lawrence. I don’t belong in your world.”

Lawrence (Jungwon): (His voice calm, unwavering, as he looks at her with a sincerity that catches her off guard.) “I’ve always wanted you, Lila. You. Not the world you think I live in. Not the money or status. Just you.”

The way his words lingered in the air made your heart flutter. His gaze softened, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as if the entire world faded away. The audience, the stage, the lights—they all disappeared, leaving only the connection between your characters.

In this scene, Lila was supposed to be uncertain, lost in her own doubts, but Adrian’s unwavering confidence made it feel like she could do anything. He gave her the strength to believe in herself, just by being there.

Lawrence (Jungwon): (His voice deepens, a subtle warmth behind his words as he steps closer.) “You’re not alone in this, Lila. Not anymore. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

For a split second, it felt as though the scene had stopped being fiction, as if Jungwon himself wasn’t just acting but revealing a deeper part of himself. His sincerity was unmistakable. The chemistry between you was undeniable, and for a moment, you almost forgot that you were acting. Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to remind yourself to stay in character.

Lila: (Her voice trembling just enough to make it feel real, her eyes searching his face.) “I... I’m scared, Lawrence. What if I’m not enough for you? What if I’m just some joke to you?”

He took a step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat.

Lawrence (Jungwon): (His voice firm, a promise in his words.) “Then I’ll be enough for both of us.” (He reaches out, gently cupping her cheek.) “This isn’t a game, Lila. I’m not here for some joke. I’m here for you.”

The line was so simple, so full of promise. And yet, in that moment, it felt like the most powerful declaration you had ever heard. The tension between the two characters—no, between you and Jungwon—was growing stronger with every passing second.

Lila: (Her heart racing, her voice a whisper.) “Are you sure? This... all of this feels too good to be true.”

Lawrence (Jungwon): (Stepping closer, his breath almost mingling with hers, his voice tender and serious.) “I’m sure, Lila. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The scene continued, each word flowing naturally, each touch, each exchange building the emotion. But nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.

As the final scene began to unfold, your characters stood face to face, the final lines lingering in the air. The tension had shifted. It wasn’t just the chemistry of the characters anymore—it was the undeniable pull between the two of you. Your heart pounded as you spoke the last few lines, your voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Lila: (Softly, her voice trembling.) “Is this... is this really goodbye?”

Lawrence (Jungwon): (His expression a mix of sadness and longing as he steps closer.) “No. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

And in that split second, just as the final words should have left your mouth, Jungwon did something unexpected. He didn’t wait for the cue. Instead, without a word, he leaned in toward you, closing the space between you until his face was mere inches from yours. The audience gasped as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek—soft, fleeting, but full of emotion.

You froze. The script hadn’t called for it. No one had prepared you for this. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped. The kiss—completely unplanned—was full of unspoken meaning. It was a promise. A confession. It was everything he hadn’t said on stage, but everything his eyes had been telling you all along.

When Jungwon pulled back slightly, he met your gaze with a softness you had never seen before. His eyes were vulnerable, as though he had just exposed something deep within himself that he wasn’t ready to share with anyone else. Then he adjusted his lavalier microphone slightly away from his mouth as he leans into you again.

“This wasn’t on your script... but it was on mine,” he whispered to your ear. It was barely inaudible that you wouldn’t believe he said that.

The words settled over you like a spark, igniting something inside your chest. You couldn’t speak. The world had shifted in that single moment. The play—everything—had suddenly become something so much more. The chemistry between you was undeniable, and the connection between your characters now felt so real.

The audience had fallen silent, their eyes wide in shock, but you didn’t notice them. You didn’t hear the applause. All that mattered was Jungwon, standing there before you. The final scene had ended, but in that moment, it felt like the true beginning of something neither of you had expected.

As the curtain began to close, you stood side by side with him, your heart racing. The play was over, but it didn’t feel like an ending. Not to you. Not to Jungwon. Not anymore. You both knew, without saying another word, that this wasn’t just a performance. It was real. This connection, this feeling, this chemistry—it was something that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. And now, you were finally seeing it for what it was.

As you walked off stage, the weight of the moment seemed to cling to you, like the lingering echo of a song that you couldn't forget. The applause rang in your ears, distant and muted, as if you were in another world, separated from the reality that had once felt so familiar. The connection you shared with Jungwon—it was no longer just a performance. It was something raw, something real. And as your footsteps echoed through the backstage corridor, you couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was just the beginning.

Jungwon slowed his pace beside you, his steps in perfect sync with yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. The smile he gave you was soft, almost hesitant, but his eyes—they were full of something you hadn’t seen before. There was no pretension, no calculated charm. Just a quiet sincerity that spoke volumes.

"I didn't mean for it to be like this," he said, his voice low, but it carried with it the weight of everything unsaid. “I should’ve told you sooner. All the things I was too scared to say before, all the things that kept me from being honest with you...”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what to say. But Jungwon didn’t wait for your response. His hand reached out, brushing lightly against your arm, his fingers grazing your skin like a question that hadn’t been answered.

“I don’t want to leave things unfinished,” he continued, his voice now firm, but his gaze vulnerable. “And I don’t want to go on pretending that I don’t feel this... whatever this is between us. I know I’ve been an idiot. I didn’t want to mess this up... But I can’t keep pretending anymore.” He took a breath, stepping even closer. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And not just as some role in a play or as some unspoken dream. I... I like you. All of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with you. His words, raw and unguarded, hit you in a way you never expected. It was more than just the confession—it was the vulnerability, the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t hiding anymore.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he stepped closer, his voice softening as he leaned in again, this time closer than before. “You deserve to know the truth. Not just as an actor, not just as someone I worked with, but as someone who means something more than I ever let on. I never wanted to hurt you, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you didn’t matter.”

The silence between you stretched out for what felt like an eternity, and in that moment, everything else—everything that had once mattered—faded away. You took a shaky breath, the words finally bubbling to the surface. “Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I... I didn’t know what to think, what to believe. But hearing you say this now, I—”

Before you could finish, he gently cupped your face, his touch warm and steady. He smiled, that familiar, charming smile you’d seen a thousand times before, but now it felt like it carried a weight of meaning that it never had.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Just know that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere… for now.”

Your heart was racing, and you nodded slowly, your chest swelling with emotions you had kept hidden for far too long.

Just as the moment felt like it was about to crescendo into something you couldn’t quite grasp, a voice interrupted from the shadows of the backstage.

“Hey, you two!” Riki’s voice was loud, teasing, and unmistakable as he stepped into the light, a grin plastered on his face. He caught the glance between you and Jungwon and immediately raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this tension about, huh? You guys didn’t think the play was over, did you?”

Jungwon stepped back slightly, a small chuckle escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair, though his gaze never left yours. "We were just wrapping up... some things."

Riki’s grin softened, his playful expression giving way to something more sincere as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You two…” he said, glancing between you and Jungwon, his eyes knowing. “You don’t have to explain. It’s about time.”

The weight of Riki’s words settled between the three of you, and in that moment, everything clicked into place. Riki wasn’t just the supportive friend. He was the one who understood—who had always known, even when the two of you hadn’t. It was a relief, in a way, to have that acknowledgment, that understanding.

“I guess we’ll see where this goes then,” Jungwon said, his voice soft but confident, his gaze returning to you, full of meaning.

Riki gave a playful roll of his eyes before clapping Jungwon on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t mess this up, alright?” he teased, but there was warmth in his words, a reassurance that everything was going to be fine.

"See you around, boss."

You couldn’t help but smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. It was clear now. No more games, no more pretending. This was real. And as the three of you stood there, a sense of closure washed over you—the play was over, but this new chapter? It was just beginning.

And maybe, just maybe, it was going to be everything you had always wanted.

permanent taglist: @tinycatharsis @han-to-my-minho @1starqi @wensurr @yjwonsgf @lovestruck-moonlight @leah-rose03 @kanonjji @kyunlov @somuchdard @seongiewon @luumiinaa @enhaverse713586 @lynanist @cakuqe @hhyvsstuff @gardenwons @frankenstein852 @firstclassjaylee @lamin143 @serenadehera @elove2047

hello guys! i haven't had the chance to reply to each of you under my paramedic jungwon fic. but this taglist will be the one I'll be using for the series! lmk if you want to be removed from the permanent taglist, I'll still add you to the paramedic jungwon taglist nonetheless <3

send me an ask or reply if you wanna be part of the tl! love youuu! happy holidays <333

[kizzer55555]

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[kisakunt]

THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION

GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE

warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.

synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.

a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell

series masterlist

Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.

“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:

“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.

It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.

“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.

His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.

The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.

Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.

But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.

Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.

Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.

“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.

This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.

There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?

“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”

“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.

He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.

Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.

“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”

“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”

Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.

“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”

“Sounds like she’s ugly.”

“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”

Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.

Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.

“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”

“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.

“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.

“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.

“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.

“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.

“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.

It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.

Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.

“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.

“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”

“Wait, so you’re in?”

“Whatever.”

“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.

The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.

“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.

“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.

“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.

Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.

“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.

Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”

“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.

And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.

“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”

“Fuck is this? A video game?”

“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.

“Fine. A month.”

“Just a month?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.

“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.

“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.

“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.

“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.

“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”

There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.

A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.

“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.

Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.

“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.

“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.

“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.

He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.

1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina

2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober

3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)

4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)

5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)

He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.

He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.

taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie

[iamconstantine]

arcane characters as college staff

Mel

History professor 

Refers to all students by (honorific) (surname)

Nothing but praise on ratemyproffesor

“I didn’t like history until I took Professor Medarda’s class” 

Doesn’t write scholarly articles, just giant ass books that she pumps out almost every year somehow

Quickly responds to emails. No response = its in the syllabus 

“Is there any make up work I can do to get my grade up—“ Absolutely not

But if you go the writing center you can get extra credit

Every year her students ask for an extension on the final project and every year she gives a long and furious rant about how the project was visible online from Day 1 and they had all semester to work on it

She has a beautiful office that looks like a miniature library and she only sees students by appointment

Jayce

Physics professor

Is a prolific author but somehow can’t figure out how to set up the course online

Prints cheesy physics memes 

Every zoom meeting begins with 1000 messages saying “professor Talis we can’t hear you your mic isn’t on” every. time.

you can come see him in his office any time, door’s always open

but his office is so messy you probably won’t be able to sit because he has a stack of papers on every chair

“Everyone got this question on the exam wrong so I’m going to give everyone credit because that means i didn’t teach it properly”

Always throws an end-of-year party at his place 

Caitlyn

English Literature professor 

would win best dressed of the staff, always shows up in the slacks-and-blazer fit

“To understand why the narrator wears red shoes, we need to take a look at the sociopolitical state of Edinburgh in 1864.”

if you reply to a discussion board post with just “I agree” you’re not getting credit and it isn’t up for discussion 

Never reads contemporary fiction. The “newest” book she’s read is The Great Gatsby

“We’re not having a party but if you want to bring snacks and soda to the last day of class that’s fine”

Covers a lot of authors but it somehow always comes back to Emily Dickenson

Is that teacher that assigns 400-page books every week

Constantly publishing in lit journals (rumor has it she writes steamy open-door romance books under a pen-name but no one has confirmed this)

Ekko

Art professor 

You have to actively screw up to get a bad grade with him

He wrote thousands of letters to the board until they caved and gave the class a proper kiln

“Write a three-page essay explaining why AI art is not art and insisting otherwise is spitting in the face of humankind. Double spaced. Due Friday 11:59”

Throws back coffee. Has a coffeemaker in the studio. Two of them. 

“Hey guys some of you are submitting assignments at 2 in the morning. It can wait until the next day. Please get some sleep.”

He’s created awe-inspiring pieces but if you just wanna paint a frog wearing a hat he’ll say “that’s cool”

Says he knows who banksy is but will never tell

He gets way too deep in the zone. Once reached for his coffee cup while painting, drank paint water instead. Didn’t notice.

Jinx

Chemistry professor 

If you email her the response will be “k” or “no” and nothing else

Waits until twenty minutes after the class begins to email everyone that class is canceled 

Never wears a coat, goggles, or gloves. But will call out students if they don’t

takes 5 years to post grades

“Look I’m not remembering any names. Too many. If I’m talking to you I’ll just point”

Puts a meme on the projector every day. Mostly incomprehensible. Picture of a horse on an beach and it just says “Zimbabwe”

lowest score on ratemyprofessor

someone creates a website called ratemystudent and administration has no proof that it was her because technically the students with bad scores being the same students that get bad grades in her class can be coincidental 

Viktor

Biomedical engineering professor 

Only professor who still uses chalkboards

First day of class is first day of class. No reviewing the syllabus, turn to page 34 in your textbook.

Puts things in the syllabus to catch people who use ChatGPT. If you’re caught, you’re removed from his class. Immediately. You will not get to plead your case.

Most of his cited sources are himself

Literally begs students to thrift their textbooks online instead of buying them from the school. Provides free PDFs as often as he can.

He reads journals every day and will write personal letters to authors he disagrees with

If a student asks a particularly dumb question he’ll step out of the room for ten minutes to compose himself and then resume teaching like nothing happened

Vi

Not a professor, works at the on-campus gym and leads clubs

Constantly curses without batting an eye. Students will leave class with their very uptight professor then come to the soccer club where vi walks in like “sorry I’m late guys i had a motherfucker of a headache this morning”

Please don’t ask her about anything that isn’t club or sport related. If you ask for directions or how to get in contact with student services she’s got nothing

If she refs for a game and you’re on the opposing team you’d better watch yourself. She will rip you a new one if you break any rules. One time a player grabbed one of her member’s mask during a game and he left crying after Vi was done with him

Students run into her at the local hangouts a lot but it’s never awkward. just reminds you not to party too hard before the game tomorrow 

Leads pretty much every club but dance. Wouldn’t admit it but she has no sense of rhythm and refuses to even do it as a student

You can call her coach or captain or just Vi, whatever you want. But if you call her Violet she’ll stare you down until you correct yourself

Heimerdinger

Anthropology professor 

Spends the first day of class getting to know everyone. “We’re going to go around and give our names and a fun fact about ourselves!”

Gives the “Nacirema” assignment and can’t wait to tell everyone the catch

His classroom is filled with artifacts. Don’t ask about any of them because it will take up class time

If you can’t make it to class he sends really nice responses saying he understands, then checks in when you come back

The only thing that puts him in a bad mood is the “why do anthropologists study dinosaurs if anthropology is about people” question. He’s old and tired 

Keeps thinking about retiring, keeps changing his mind

Silco

Political science professor

His classroom is bare and blank. No life. Just fluorescent lights and chairs.

Brags about how few people pass his class

Very strict on attendance. Too many absences and you’re out. 

If the assignment is due at 11:59 and you turn it in at 12:00, it’s late

“I am quite interested to hear why you believe you are deserving of a higher grade when you’ve spent less than thirty minutes attending all of my classes combined. Please, continue.”

Will straight up roast other professors no problem. Encourages students to pass it along

He encourages debate but the only thing students debate about outside of class is whether he’s hot or creepy af

Final project is a choice between A) A ten-page essay on why there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, or B) a presentation on why the country is doomed

Vander

Education professor 

Makes his own series of Crash Course-esque videos

Comes to class in jeans at best. Sweats, sometimes. 

He has one coffee mug that says #1 Dad and he refuses to use anything else

He puts fun questions on his exams, like riddles. If no one gets it, he actually gets sad

Whenever he erases the whiteboard he always misses a spot. He’s that professor.

If he catches you plagiarizing, you get one pass before he reports it. But you have to come to his office so he can tell you how disappointed he is and how much potential you have

He gives a seminar about how worried he is for the future of education and the wellbeing of the next generation and everyone leaves feeling guilty. Everyone.

Make a pop culture reference in class and everything will grind to a halt so you can explain it to him. Visuals help.

Sevika

Librarian

If you play music in the library she’ll walk up to you and just go “are you joking”

Have a phone call on speaker and she’s hanging it up for you

There’s signs telling you to be quiet every three feet

If you see her outside of school no you didn’t

She’s in charge of leading classes on accessing academic databases and she fucking hates it

Somehow knows where every book is down to the shelf. She’ll tell you what you’re looking for before you can finish your sentence

technically she’s supposed to do a walkthrough before closing for the night but if you can’t read the library hours on the signs it’s your fault if you get locked in

[keystonepublishing]

my god, my champion by oh_snapperss

*crawls out of work*

Never do multiple fanbinds at a limited time, folks.

Your grind will never end.

Why yes, I did watch Parkour Civilization. Evbo now shares my brain with so many other characters, and this fic caught my eye after stumbling upon a beautiful fanart of Mavbo that was drawn because of it. With work on other stuff piling up, I thought a short fic would make for an easy bind.

Ironically, I didn't think of making any idea on cover design until very very late. I originally wanted to make a Klimt-patterned cover to match the interior decoration (and the ending fanart), but I recently brought some Japanese mulberry paper that coincidentally have Evbo's colors! So I made the cover using that mulberry paper and fashioned the title and back strips based on Japanese aesthetics.

That, and because the title was too long to make it a beautiful horizontal label.

The end result is an exterior that looks visually different from the interior, but now I feel they complement each other.

The interior, though, was full-out Klimt.

I wanted to make the interior match the fic-fanart I saw that inspired this bind. Golden strips made out of Klimt patterns and paintings frame the text, while I chose an old-ish font (Doves Type) for the text. The drop cap was a product of experimental masking with more Klimt patterns with a font picture, and the entire shebang lies on top of paper that has a subtle Klimt pattern on it.

All in all, it took some brain-crunching to make the design and layout in a limited amount of time, but the end result was so worth it!

Special thanks to @oh-snapperss for writing the fic in the first place, along with @aofikofi for her fanart of it. And a very special thanks to @setacin for his incredible fanart of Mavbo that inspired me to design a Klimt-style bind for the fic! If only I had gold leaf to complete the style!

[mikeblocky]

Misaki Takamatsu speaks about her long-term serialization journey in Skip and Loafer (Translation)

Shuko Yokoi: Behind the Creation of Manga, Vol. 16 Shuko Yokoi - Manga Writer

Shuko Yokoi explores the beginnings of manga stories by speaking with their creators in her series "Behind the Creation of Manga." In its 16th installment, she sits down with Misaki Takamatsu, the author of Skip and Loafer.

Skip and Loafer: A quick synopsis

Mitsumi Iwakura, a bright and earnest girl from rural Ishikawa Prefecture, enters a prestigious high school in Tokyo as the top student in her class. While navigating her new environment, her straightforward and slightly quirky personality begins to influence her classmates in ways she doesn't realize. Among them is Shima, the "popular boy," with whom she slowly builds a meaningful connection. A heartwarming school-life comedy about the subtle power of sincerity.

A hybrid of Shojo and Seinen manga?

Yokoi: Reading Skip and Loafer feels so uplifting. It’s quite different from your earlier works, like Ameko Hime or The Boat of Canaries.

Takamatsu: That’s true. When I first started submitting stories, I mostly worked on short, standalone pieces. The Boat of Canaries, for instance, was heavier in tone, which suited the shorter format. But when I struggled to get approval for long-running concepts, I began thinking, if it’s going to be a longer series, why not make it something that encourages and uplifts readers? That shift also led me to adopt a lighter art style.

Chapter 1

Yokoi: Mitsumi’s expressions feel so vibrant and full of life.

Takamatsu: Thank you! I wanted her to feel cute but approachable, so I kept the lines simple and clean. During this time, I revisited shojo manga I loved as a student, like My Love Story!! by Aruko and Kazune Kawahara and My Little Monster by Robico. As a reader, I hadn’t noticed their subtle techniques, but revisiting them as a creator taught me a lot—how to leave certain lines out, how to balance coolness and cuteness in key panels.

Chapter 2

Yokoi: Skip and Loafer is serialized in the seinen magazine Afternoon, but it feels like it carries the soul of shojo manga in many ways.

Takamatsu: I think it’s had a huge influence on me. Since it’s a seinen magazine, I initially explored themes that felt more fitting—like professions, clubs, or other specialized topics—but they didn’t align with what I truly wanted to write. For example, if I focused too much on character drama in a shogi (Japanese chess) manga, readers might start wondering, “What happened to the shogi? Where is this story even going?” But with a romance-based shojo manga, those concerns seem to fade. It’s such a fascinating genre that allows for more flexibility.

Yokoi: There’s that saying about storytelling: “Meet expectations, but subvert them too.” Romance seems to naturally leave room for unexpected turns, without rigidly fixed outcomes.

Takamatsu: Exactly. Romance is a theme without a set goal or a definitive “correct” path. Readers can imagine and interpret as they go, which makes it easy to follow and invest in. That’s why I borrowed the classic themes and structures of shojo manga as the foundation for Skip and Loafer. From there, I could focus on the characters and create a story that felt uniquely mine.

It starts off like a typical rom-com—a “city boy” falling for a “simple, country girl”—but gradually, it’s clear that the story isn’t quite what you’d expect. Predictability isn’t fun, so I worked to subvert expectations little by little, surprising and delighting readers along the way.

Turning the "Prince" character into someone who feels human

Yokoi: You’ve mentioned before that Mitsumi and Shima’s dynamic was inspired by Mitsunari Ishida and Sakon Shima from Ryotaro Shiba’s novel Sekigahara. But, um… the connection seems a bit distant now, doesn’t it?

Takamatsu: (Laughs) Yes, the original inspiration has almost completely disappeared. But reading Shiba’s masterpiece taught me something vital: strong characters are everything. Mitsunari in Sekigahara is this intelligent, somewhat prickly figure who rubs people the wrong way, while Sakon, his loyal retainer, sees through his awkwardness and thinks, “He’s so bad at expressing himself, but that’s kind of endearing.” I loved the idea of a relationship that embraces someone’s flaws.

Chapter 1

Yokoi: It’s the kind of bond that goes beyond conventional labels like friendship or loyalty.

Takamatsu: Exactly. I wanted to explore that kind of relationship in a school setting. Of course, Sekigahara is steeped in war, which adds an intensity that wouldn’t suit a school-life comedy. So I gave Mitsumi some lovable quirks and made her more approachable to balance things out.

Yokoi: Mitsumi and Shima’s relationship feels refreshing—it’s not strictly romantic, yet it’s deeply compelling.

Takamatsu: That reflects my own high school experience. I had more fun with friends than anything else. I’d spend my allowance on manga instead of clothes, and I was so focused on art school that my mind was far from romance. Not everyone is caught up in love during their teenage years, and I wanted to depict that reality.

Yokoi: That balance of emotions feels universal. Are you the type to vividly remember your school days?

Takamatsu: I think so—memory might be one of my strengths. I remember the feelings, thoughts, and dynamics of those years very clearly. At first, I worried those details were too mundane to hold readers’ interest. But as I received feedback, I realized those “ordinary” parts were what readers connected with the most.

Yokoi: Many manga artists seem to have remarkable memories. It feels like a special gift.

Takamatsu: (Smiles) Maybe. But I also try to balance realism with gentleness. I don’t want the story to feel too raw or painful. Take Shima, for instance. At the beginning, he’s a "prince" type—a genuinely nice guy, but honestly, a bit too convenient. He’s the kind of character who inexplicably likes the protagonist and is always there to help her. At some point, though, I wanted readers to see, No, this guy is human too, with his own struggles.

The same goes for Mitsumi. I didn’t want her to be so good-natured that she came across as a saint. That would make her feel distant and less relatable. It’s about keeping the characters grounded while letting them shine.

Chapter 55

The bond between Mitsumi and Shima: A journey through time

Yokoi: Are there any particular scenes that left a strong impression on you?

Takamatsu: There are many, but one that stands out is the moment in Volume 7 when Mitsumi and Shima, after briefly dating, decide to go back to being friends. It’s a scene that could only exist because of the long journey they’ve shared. It’s something they could only say to each other because of the foundation they’ve built as friends over time.

I was worried readers might dislike Shima for that decision, but thankfully, that wasn’t the case. There are so many moments like that throughout the series—ones that only became possible because I was able to continue the story all the way through to Volume 11. Those are the kinds of scenes that make long-running storytelling so rewarding.

Chapter 46 - Warm Picnic

Yokoi: That’s one of the joys of a long-running series—the time to explore those shifts.

Takamatsu: Absolutely. The teenage years are such a transformative time—like a sponge, you absorb so much and evolve in ways unique to that period. I want to keep exploring how personalities and relationships shift during those formative years. If readers can feel that growth alongside the characters, connect with their journeys, and cheer them on, that would make me incredibly happy.

A story rooted in home and the heart

Yokoi: One character that becomes more and more moving as the story progresses is Mitsumi’s aunt, Nao. The scene where she cries alone in her hometown in Ishikawa changes meaning as the volumes go on.

Takamatsu: Thank you for saying that. As I worked on the series, I realized that the story isn’t about declaring, “City life is better” or “The countryside is the best.” Through Mitsumi, I wanted to depict the warmth and openness of rural life. At the same time, Nao’s journey as a transgender woman allowed me to show that the city offers a space where some people can truly thrive and express themselves. It’s about finding where you belong and honoring both sides of that balance.

Chapter 55

Yokoi: Mitsumi’s hometown is described as being “at the edge of Ishikawa Prefecture,” and Skip and Loafer has consistently included efforts to support the areas affected by the Noto Peninsula Earthquake. The 10th volume even had a special edition dedicated to disaster relief.

Takamatsu: I’m so grateful for all the people who have actively supported the relief efforts, especially during times when I couldn’t do much myself. It’s been a year since the earthquake, but the region has also suffered from heavy rains, and some areas still don’t have fully restored sewer systems. There’s a lot more to be done, and I plan to continue supporting these efforts moving forward.

A friend in the form of a story

Yokoi: Your acceptance speech at the Kodansha Manga Awards has stayed with me. You said, “When life feels like a battle against regret and loss, I hope my work can stand by readers like a friend, reminding them that it’s not just about those things.”

Takamatsu: As we grow older, it’s inevitable that we face moments of profound loss—whether it’s the death of someone close or other significant challenges. In those moments, instead of focusing on what’s gone, I think it’s important to realize, I had so much fullness in my life before this. That perspective can help us remember that we’ve been supported, loved, and fulfilled in ways we might overlook during hard times. That’s the kind of feeling I want my stories to evoke. If Skip and Loafer inspires someone to reach out to a friend they haven’t spoken to in a while, or to summon the courage to connect with someone they care about, I’d be so happy. Human relationships often reward us most when we engage with them wholeheartedly, even if it takes some effort. It’s in those genuine, fearless moments of connection that we find something truly meaningful.

Chapter 19

Extra (not in the original)

Have you ever wondered who is Shima Sakon and Ishida Mitsunari that Takamatsu-sensei mentioned? Here's something about them!

Shima Sakon and Ishida Mitsunari are two fascinating figures from Japan’s Sengoku period (1467–1615), an era of political upheaval and near-constant military conflict. Mitsunari was a high-ranking samurai and one of the key strategists for Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a unifier of Japan. Known for his intellect and strict adherence to rules, Mitsunari was often described as cold, calculating, and socially inept—qualities that earned him respect from some but disdain from many. His inability to navigate interpersonal relationships and his unrelenting idealism made him a polarizing figure in the Toyotomi camp.

On the other hand, Shima Sakon was a samurai who eventually became Mitsunari’s right-hand man, joining him during the latter’s rise in the chaotic power struggle following Hideyoshi’s death. Sakon was known for his military prowess, tactical skill, and charisma, which contrasted sharply with Mitsunari’s intellectual but often distant demeanor. Sakon reportedly referred to himself as a “wandering ronin” before aligning with Mitsunari, but once he joined, he was unwavering in his loyalty.

What made their relationship stand out was its deeply personal undertone, rare for a lord-retainer dynamic of the time. Mitsunari was a man who struggled to gain allies due to his blunt nature and rigid personality, yet Sakon saw beyond these traits. He recognized Mitsunari’s intelligence and idealism, appreciating his flaws as part of his humanity. In return, Mitsunari trusted Sakon in ways he couldn’t trust many others. Their bond went beyond strategy or battlefield hierarchy—it was grounded in mutual respect and understanding.

Their connection becomes especially poignant in the context of the Battle of Sekigahara (1600), one of the most pivotal conflicts in Japanese history. Mitsunari led the Western Army against Tokugawa Ieyasu’s Eastern Army, and Sakon played a significant role as a commander. Despite their combined efforts, the Western Army was decisively defeated, and both Mitsunari and Sakon met tragic ends—Sakon was mortally wounded in battle, and Mitsunari was later executed. Their fates reflect the collapse of their ideals in the face of political reality, but their loyalty to each other remains an enduring legacy.

In Sekigahara, a historical novel by Ryotaro Shiba, their relationship is portrayed with nuance, focusing not just on their roles in the war but on their personal dynamic. Mitsunari is painted as a misunderstood figure, awkward but driven by a sense of justice, while Sakon serves as his grounded, pragmatic counterpart. It’s this understated connection—marked by loyalty, respect, and a recognition of each other’s imperfections—that resonates deeply.

This dynamic, as Takamatsu-sensei mentions, subtly influenced the relationship between Mitsumi and Shima in Skip and Loafer. Shima, much like Sakon, begins as an idealized figure—a “prince” type who seems perfect but reveals vulnerabilities as the story progresses. Mitsumi, on the other hand, mirrors Mitsunari in her straightforwardness, occasional obliviousness, and quiet strength. Their connection isn’t easily categorized—it’s not purely romantic, nor is it strictly platonic. Instead, it’s about two people growing together, balancing each other’s strengths and weaknesses in a way that feels natural and deeply human.

The parallels between the historical duo and Takamatsu-sensei’s characters highlight the timelessness of certain human relationships. Whether it’s two samurai navigating the chaos of war or two high school students finding their place in the world, the essence of connection—flawed, messy, and quietly profound—remains the same. It’s not about perfection or grand gestures but about understanding and complementing each other in ways that make the journey worthwhile.

Personal part of my thoughts

shima sakon and ishida mitsunari are these figures from japan’s sengoku period, and their story feels weirdly timeless. mitsunari was this brilliant strategist, but he was also terrible at winning people over. he had no filter, couldn’t sugarcoat things, and honestly came off as cold or arrogant most of the time. but the thing is, it wasn’t like he was trying to be difficult—he just didn’t know how to be anything other than himself, even if that made him unpopular.

then you’ve got shima sakon, his retainer, who wasn’t just loyal but actually understood mitsunari in a way that most people didn’t. sakon looked at him and thought, “yeah, this guy’s awkward and kind of terrible at communicating, but that’s what makes him human—and honestly, a little endearing.” sakon didn’t see mitsunari as this cold figure; he saw someone trying, even if he wasn’t great at it.

their relationship wasn’t just about duty or ranks—it felt personal. sakon stuck around not because he had to but because he respected mitsunari, flaws and all. and mitsunari, even if he wasn’t great at showing it, clearly leaned on sakon in ways that went beyond their roles. together, they balanced each other out—mitsunari’s sharp mind paired with sakon’s charisma and groundedness. they were stronger because they had each other.

what’s so compelling about their bond, especially as it’s portrayed in sekigahara, is how understated it is. it’s not about big, dramatic moments—it’s in the quiet, everyday loyalty that doesn’t need to be spoken. it’s messy and imperfect, but it feels so real, and that’s what makes it stick with you.

in skip and loafer, you can kind of see shadows of that dynamic. shima starts out as this “prince” figure, someone who seems perfect on the surface, but as the story goes on, you see the cracks, the insecurities he carries. and mitsumi, with her straightforward and awkward charm, reminds me a little of mitsunari. she tries so hard but doesn’t always realize how she’s affecting others. their relationship, like mitsunari and sakon’s, isn’t easily defined. it’s not just friendship, and it’s not exactly romance—it’s about two people quietly growing and balancing each other in unexpected ways.

and i think what makes relationships like these so memorable is how real they feel. they’re messy and don’t fit into neat boxes, but that’s the point. whether it’s a warlord and his retainer or two high schoolers figuring out life, it’s those small, imperfect moments of understanding that make you feel something. it’s not about being perfect—it’s about being human, together.

Original resources

Interview: Link

Chapters: 1, 2, 19, 46, 55, translated by Tsubame Club and other people! Please check them on MangaDex: Link and also support the original version on COMIC Days: Link

All translated and resourced by me! Thank you for reading this!

[undertalerainbow]

Undertale Rainbow Teaser Poems (1/5)

Poems to tease the soul kids and their stories while we're still writing the script for Undertale Rainbow's first chapter script (the first draft is almost done, sorry for the delay!). Chara and Asriel's are first as I'm doing everyone in order. I did draw Stella's first page before all of this but that's cause I had a pose ready for her already lol. These were inspired by the Star VS The Forces Of Evil magic book of spells book, where they summarized each of their queens in these two pages and a poem. Here's one of those examples for those who don't know what I'm referring to and would like to do this for themselves.

I will make Morgan's and Nick's next, hope you enjoyed! Cya next time lovelies!

[bethebesttoyou]

Vampire In the Corner - Huening Kai

Synopsis: y/n learns the meaning of "reaping what you sow", when she wishes for a romance experience, only for it to come back as the form of a hungry vampire.

pairing: Vampire! Huening Kai x College student!reader

song: vampire in the corner - Magdalena Bay ( this song has been stuck in my head TEW GOOD) the song itself is quirky and kinda weird and sweet and I tried to make it the same vibe, but then like always we lost the plot. But it's inspired! Also inspired by Lisa Frankenstein! Also bad writing, but practice makes perfect :D

warning: Blood and biting and you know vampire stuff... the whole shebang.... and I think that's it! I tried to make it fluff and but honestly the mind does its own thing most of the time *sigh* Winter as a wannabe witch (or is she?) You as a hopeless romantic.

wc: 5k (😀)

A/N: You ever get a storyline stuck in your head and you love it so much, that even seeing it actually written down isn't enough? I need to be IN this story. I had this song and storyline stuck in my head and honestly not sure if I did it any justice but I wanted to so badly put it out before 1. I lost it and 2. I started to see the flaws in it.... If theres any plot holes, no there isn't <3 KIDDING PLS TELL ME

…And what endearments am I allowed? Let me think. Lizzie for everyday. My pearl for sundays and goddess divine…

The small tv illuminated the dark living room area of Soobin and Beomgyu’s apartment. Five faces braced the bright light, with one pair of eyes sparkling at the scene of her favorite movie, while the others watched with amusement at the cheesiness of it all. Surrounding them were plates with pizza scraps, sugary drinks and chips as they laid in different positions on the floor. 

…And how are you this evening Mrs. Darcy?...

“And how are you this evening, Mrs. Darcy?” the five of you repeat, you with a love laced voice, while the others mocked then gagged. 

“Seriously, who wrote the script…” Beomgyu groans as he rolls his head back. The credits had begun to roll down the screen, Winter reaching forward to pause the video. 

“A genius... You wouldn't know anything about that.” You throw the pillow towards him, hitting him square in the chest. 

“Alright, birthday girl… what’s next?” Yunjin grabs her plate, setting it on the already full coffee table, before stretching her hands in the air. 

This was a common Friday night for the five of you, while the apartment complex was buzzing with drunk college kids and a loud bass making the walls vibrate, your plans consisted of junk food, ranting, movies, trying not to kill Beomgyu and sometimes board games that Soobin stole from the recreational area on campus. Today, being your birthday, was spent doing everything you wanted to do, which included watching romance movies until the sun went down. You were three movies in before you decided to officially call it quits. 

“Hmm… I think Ive tortured you guys enough…” 

“Thank god…” Soobin whispers on the other side of the coffee table. 

“You guys suck! The girls enjoyed it right!?” 

“No.” Winter states blandly, her eyes covered by her dark side bang. 

“Um…I enjoyed you watching it~” Yunjin tries to flirt her way out, when she sees your glare, she continues, “okay present time! Me first! Me first!” 

She stands quickly running to her bag when Winter and Beomgyu pull out the boxes from behind them. 

“Quick. Open them before she upstages us.” Beomgyu whispers, pushing the boxes into your hands, Winter nods enthusiastically. 

You laugh before unwrapping Beomgyu’s box. Within the precise wrapping was a knitted brown sweater, the fabric was soft and decorated with blue flowers and patterns, accompanied with a matching blue beanie. It screamed you, as you put the sweater on, the color matching your maxi skirt. 

“Thanks Beomie! It's so me!!” 

“I know! I stalked your socials!” He said with a childlike excitement. 

“Oh!” 

“Me next! Me next!” Winter pushes the smaller box towards you. 

The box itself was wrapped in all black being held on all four sides by a gold ribbon. Untying it revealed a small vial of gray glittery liquid. A potion. 

“It's an armor potion. Meant to keep you from getting harmed if ever in danger. Made it myself!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“That's weird.” Beomgyu says upfront. You elbow him in the chest. It was weird, but thoughtful.

After no one speaks, she continues. “It can also be just for decoration.” 

“Youre so right! Going straight onto my shelf! Thanks Winnie! It's beautiful.” 

“Let's just hope she never has to use it.” Soobin glanced nervously at Winter’s small smile. 

“Me and Soobin pitched in together to get you this one…” Yunjin hands you their box. Opening it revealed a digital camera, already decorations with painted red flowers, and pink and white stars. 

“Oh my god… It's beautiful.” You looked at them both with adoration as they high five. 

“We know you've been wanting to take more pictures!” 

“Guys… All of you! I love you, guys!” your tears are threatening to spill. 

You wouldn't say your group of five were considered losers on campus…more so you weren't considered at all. Invisible really. Except for Winter, whose darkly appearance would garner stares and giggles. But no one really minded. Being in your own little world had its perks, You were able to be yourselves, able to speak your mind, maybe get bullied for it but in your own loving way. The outside world hurt, it burned and felt lonely. In the boy’s shared apartment, life felt easy and hopeful. 

You knew you made an odd bunch, different personalities mixed together wouldn't have probably worked for others, but you all genuinely enjoyed each other's presence. Whether the night consisted of Winter begging to contact ghosts or trying out spells she saw on some weird witch website, or Beomgyu and Soobin arguing about which game graphics were better on which console, or even Yunjins heated rants about everyone she hates (which amounts up to everyone), your nights were never boring. Spending your birthday with them was no different. In fact, nothing felt more like family. 

“Quick! Group picture before she starts getting sentimental!” 

You set the timer on the old camera, wiping your eyes before sitting in between Beomgyu and Winter, both resting their heads on your shoulders, Yunjin and Soobin joining in, sitting at the ends. The flash goes off as giggles spread around the room. 

—--

The clock had hit 1am by the time some were beginning to fall asleep on the ground. It marked the end of the night so once the cake was cut, and the group made fun of you for loudly wishing for a boyfriend on your candles, the five of you cleaned and started heading out. 

“Are you sure you don't want any of us to walk you home? It's really late…” Yunjin and Beomgyu look concerned as you all stand outside. 

Your place was towards the other direction than the others, leading you to have to take the dark road up to the furthest wing of dorms. 

“Yeah…I dont mind walking you.” Soobin stated, pushing his glasses up. He looked nervous watching the path to your dorm disappear in the darkness, crowded with trees and shrubs, letting you know he was more scared than you were. The path itself looked like a forest with how covered it was, the wind making the branches rattle and crack as the ‘hoos’ and caws from the nightbirds became louder. 

“Guys, it takes me like 8 minutes to get up there, ill be okay…who knows maybe I'll find the love of my life in those scary bushes.” 

“I dont think anything good is coming out of that forest…” 

You shrug, “I like bad boys too.” 

They groan, again. 

“Hey, you have that potion on you right?” Winter says from the back. 

“Yes, ofcourse!” 

“Dont be scared to use it.” 

“After I use it, they should be scared of me.” 

“YES!” Winter exclaims proudly. 

“Okay! Bye guys! Love you!” You exclaim, walking towards the dark end of the street, before they can protest. 

“Text us when you get home!” Yunjin yells. 

While they worried, this wasn't a new path to you. You had taken it many times since the group formed back in freshman year, when beomgyu and Soobin had invited you guys over to discuss some group project at the time. It was fate that the five of you were the last remaining students with no group to work with yet (maybe not fate, since no one wanted to work with introverted losers). You were boy crazy then too, the smiles of both beomgyu and Soobin had you in a trance, convinced that they were much in love with you as you were with them. But the infatuation wore out. It always did. Your obsession with love and the consumption of it,drove you to binging romcoms, staring at couples in restaurants, daydreaming about meeting your charming prince, and falling with just about anyone you'd meet. Yes, you were a little weird and your social skills might've been a little off to those you weren't close with, but you knew there was someone out there for you. Yet, you never actually went further than the feelings you gain, you would obsess then let it fizzle out. It was a routine, and kept your thoughts running at 80mph. 

You craved romance and would have sold your soul to be able to actually experience it. The late night kisses, the giggling under covers, the shy hand holding, the flustered cheeks, the sighing kisses, everything, you fantasized about it all. And you thought about it every single day, taking up most of your thoughts, leaving you distracted just like now. 

You were so distracted in fact,  walking the dirt road through the trees, as the moonlight made your footsteps cast shadows, that you didn't hear the other pair of footsteps behind you, or the wisps that caused the leaves to rustle. It wasn't till the crack of a branch nearby that you came to a halt.

You looked around for a sign of movement, holding onto the strap of your crossbody, listening in for any other sounds. The wind picked up, causing a chill down your spine, before you chuckle slightly, the fear slowly dissipating before blaming the weather for the scare. 

“Hi.”  A voice spoke, making you whip around to see no one, only when you face back to the direction of home, a man stands in front of you. Grasping at your heart, you stand still as you take a good look at him. The moonlight bounces on his black hair and his pale white skin that shines specks of crystal like freckles, but his eyes… no light reflects on them. 

“H-hi.” You respond back. You can't stop staring at his eyes as his pupils dilate and then return to normal. He steps forward and you step back, almost losing your balance. 

“I-its really late, a d-damsel like yourself shouldn't be l-left alone so late at n-night.” The man stutters out, he seems nervous and almost tired, with the heavy breaths he's pushing out. He rolls his head slowly, almost trying to regain any composure and opens his mouth, as he, very noticeably, stretches his jaw out and that's when you see it. Reflected by the white dull light of the moon, his two sharp teeth shine, pointy and thick…fangs. 

He returns your stare, licking the grooves of his top teeth. 

“Are…are you a vampire?” You ask, eyes wide and for a second, he's mirroring your reaction. 

Why arent you screaming yet? Neither of you move, and the figure looks at you confused. Why would you ask that so nonchalantly?

“Um…yes?” His brows were furrowed and head tilted. 

“Oh…” 

“Are you not scared?” 

You thought about it for a moment. Your hand was still on your heart, feeling the quick beats hit against your chest, yet you couldn't necessarily blame it on fear. You were…intrigued. The glimpse of half of his face left you wanting a closer look, the shining of his skin was blinding and distracting. 

“Youre so…pretty.” You say, mostly to yourself, but he is able to catch it. His eyes widen, watching your eyes sparkle with the moonlight and he feels heat rise to his cheeks.

“Um… What's your name?” You ask out of habit. 

“Kai.” 

“Y/N.” 

He nods. You can tell he's having a mental war with himself. This is probably not how these things go for him as he scratches his head softly. 

 With that, you realized why you weren't scared, he was not intimidating at all. Everything about him was soft, even the curve of his nose and the softness of his jaw. He didn't look like a threat. He looked like a painting, with his white flowy button up under a blue vest and blue jeans, his hair that laid like a mop on his head flowed in the breeze, uncovering a bit of his forehead. His teeth stuck out of his ‘o’ shaped mouth, you wondered how they would feel, if they were as sharp as they looked. 

You take a step forward, he takes a step back. 

“Um… Kai…Can…can I touch them?” 

“What? M-my fangs?” 

You nod nervously, almost regretting feeling bold enough to ask. Its the one thing that can kill you in this moment and yet the urge to feel them clouds your judgement. 

Kai, on the other hand, is completely lost in this situation, he has never garnered this reaction before. He's never been called pretty before. And he's caught off guard again when he realizes he's opening his mouth widely giving the stranger room to feel. 

You reach with one finger to smoothly feel the top before reaching the sharp end. The plush skin of your finger is not a sensation that Kai can turn a blind eye to, and yet he doesn't understand why he doesn't just bite down. You were merely food to him, so why is he having so much hesitation when it comes to you? 

Wind blows a bit harder this time around, reminding you where you were, the vibrations coming from your bag becoming louder. Shit. You remove your fingers from his teeth harshly. 

You begin to rummage through your bag before pulling it out and answering, the strange man still watching you in shock. 

“Hello?” 

What the hell? Are you dead? We have been calling and texting!! Soobin is on the other end, and you can hear beomgyu ask frantically, Did she answer? 

“I know, i-im sorry… I, uh, got caught up w-with something.” 

are you home atleast? 

You looked at the flustered vampire who was looking at you, disoriented. 

“Uhh, Yes, I'm heading to bed now, bye!” 

Hey! Wha- *Click* 

You focus on him again and then the lights of the building behind him. 

His pained face alerts you. 

“What?” 

“Your finger…” You look down at your hands and feel the liquidy substance dripping.

“Fuck.” You say as you begin wiping the blood on your skirt, but this just pains him more, a growl from his stomach breaking the silence. You stare up at him. The eye contact is prolonged as once again, he seems to be at a crossroads. Was he about to kill you? 

“I-Im just g-gonna go.” he grunts, and you feel a breath you didn't know you were holding. 

As he tries to make his departure, he finds himself once again feeling tired, but this time unable to stand straight, leaning on a tree close by, heaving. 

“A-are you okay?” You step closer, putting a hand on his back cautiously. 

He groans again, falling to his knees. 

“H-hungry…” He turns his neck to look at you and there's tears pooling in his eyes, theres red thick veins traveling from the inside of his shirt up up his neck and jaw, pulsing, each one causing him to close his eyes in pain, he looked like he was dying…it looked unbearable. You feel your eyes soften and you begin to worry. 

“Oh.. Um…” Your mind races trying to find a solution that doesn't involve dying or killing a person. OH! 

“S-Stay here! Ill be right back!” He turns to lean against the tree, sniffling, holding his stomach as the crystals in his skin start to fade. 

You sprint out of the tree infested woods, across the back lawn of the campus and head straight to the 24 hour diner. It would be the only place open at this time. You thought about it for a moment, how this couldve been your escape. Nothing was stopping you from leaving him there, from escaping danger. He didn't have to voice that he had every intention of killing you tonight, you knew, and yet his matted black eyes filled with tears made you run faster, the act of someone dying in front of you made you keep running. 

The door rings as you barge into the lonely diner, one booth occupied by a young looking man stirring his cup. You head towards the counter, frantically ringing the service bell. 

“You dont have to ring it that many times. How can i help you?” A very bored looking Anton waits for your order, but you cant stop your heavy breathing. You knew Anton from class, he had asked for a pen more than once, you thought he liked you, he just really needed a pen. And nothing reassured that statement than this moment, as he seemed to not realize who you were. 

“Um..” you clear your throat, “I-I need your bloodiest steak. Dont cook it.” He gave you a weirded out look.

“I legally cant give you that. Its a safety hazard. What? do you eat them raw?” 

you were running out of time. 

“Look, i have with me…” you take your wallet out counting your change, including your birthday money from your parents, “ 60 bucks for an uncooked steak, the bloodiest one you have. There's no cameras, so j-just take the bribe.” 

“Is this a prank?” 

“No? Please, Anton.” 

“How do you know my name?” Ouch. 

“We have class together, does it matter? The steak.” You were growing frustrated as you stole glances towards the trees in the distance. 

“Fine.” He takes the money from your hand and shoves it in his jeans before walking to the back. As you waited, you began to process the night. 

He could have just sucked your blood and left. You wonder what stopped him. What made him show you any mercy? Or was it maybe your blood doesn't smell tasty enough? Did even vampires not want you? You were kind of offended. 

“Here, it was the last one in the bag, so i just kept it with the juices.” He grimaced, staring at the sloshing of blood in the clear bag, “Is this for that one girl, whats her name? Autumn? Isnt she a wit-“ 

“Cant stay! Bye!” 

He watches as you leave the diner, heading straight towards the dark woods, and he shutters. weird, that was weird. 

As you get closer to the tree, you notice a crawling figure making their way out of the path, it was kai. Kai was on his knees, looking worse by the minute. You felt fear in this moment, if you get close to him, will he be able to control himself? But with the brittle way he tries to hold himself up, you knew you didnt have the heart to leave him there. you stick your hand in your bag to feel the vial, maybe winter knew what she was doing when she gave you this. So you run the rest of the journey, and begin to pull him up, setting him up against another tree nearby, watching the veins now turn black and thicker, it was like something inside him was eating him up. The tears were now running down his cheeks, and his hair was looking tussled. 

“what are you doing? I told you to stay… You're wasting your energy.” 

“I think I'm dying…”

“Here, I hope this helps.” You pull the bloody steak out of the bag and prepare for him to grab it, only for him to begin eating from your hand, with his teeth digging into the slab of meat aggressively. With each slurp the veins retract back into his skin, the softness and shininess coming back. Your hands tugged every now and then, as you tried to stay still, the blood was running down his neck and bleeding into his white blouse as he sucked the last drop. The crystallized freckles popped out one by one and even a dozen more, his cheeks were fuller and had a bit more color than before.And his black eyes were no longer dull, they were shining and reflecting the light coming from the nearby building. The most noticeable change was his lips, that were once dry and cracked, had become tinted pink and soft, creating their very own gloss. 

His eyes looked up to you after realizing the steak was now dry. The pink on his cheeks grows a shade darker as he stares, slowly releasing the meat from his hold, letting the weight, or lack of it, hang on your fingertips. You clear your throat. 

“Um… complementary blood juice?” 

“You're so weird… What are you?Why aren't you running away? Matter of fact, why did you come back?” He no longer feels at death's door, having the energy to investigate. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and you watch as the blood drips from his mouth. You swallow hard. 

“I-Im human. Im Y/N.” His head tilts. 

“I know your name… why did you come back?” 

“I dont know… I don't know! You looked pretty but also sad and scared and you were crying… I couldn't leave you like that!” You're looking down at your hands, noticing not only the dry blood on them, but the ring of mud on your skirt. Anton had every right to be weirded out.

Kai covers his face with his hands, “Stop calling me pretty!” 

“Im sorry.” There's a beat of silence. 

“Where did you even get this? Did you put something in it? Are you working for someone?” 

“What?! No! I-I bought it! Pretty expensive I might add! And I-I expect to be paid!” 

“Dont worry, I can afford a 5 dollar steak” He smugly adds.  

“Ha! 5 dollars… what world are you living in?! You're in the year 2025!! That steak was 60!! 60 dollars!!” You refrain telling him the part where you offered that much. 

“60 dollars?! Where did you get 60 dollars from?!” He looks you up and down, from the muddy brown skirt to your new brown, now covered in splotches of red, sweater.

“It was birthday money.” you snap unintentionally. A beat of silence passes. 

“I'm sorry, I'm being ungrateful, you just saved me…I just… humans aren't usually this… caring? Happy Birthday….by the way…” 

“Thank you.” You sheepishly state, no longer looking at him as the heat rises to your cheeks. You grab your phone from your bag again, taking a look at the time. 2:43am. The group chat had died down by this point, leaving you with a couple of missed calls and messages of concern and then an updated message from your call with Soobin before everyone started saying good night. One message caught your eye though, a private message from Winter. 

1:20am

Please be careful…

“What is that?” 

“What?”

“In your hand? You talked to it earlier too, right?” 

Hes leaning forward now, scooting a bit closer. Its almost like he forgot he was a threat and you leaned back, before he looked at you and then back your hand curiously. 

“My phone…it's a phone.” 

“Woah… you mean like the telephone was modernized? Where’s the wiring?” 

“Its mobile now… l-like wireless?” 

“Wireless?! That's so interesting…This is so advanced, where are the buttons?” His eyes are bright with curiosity. 

“Its touchscreen!” His excitement was contagious and you couldn't help but giggle. 

“Touchscreen?” 

“Yeah, look!” You say clicking it on, the lock screen displaying a picture of Winter and Soobin wearing halloween masks posing back to back. You smile softly. You unlock it, passing it over to him to look through. Your hand skims his as he grabs the device. You feel a shock before pulling your hand away quickly, knocking your bag and hearing the items that it contains hitting the floor. Your eyes widening looking back at him and see he's already staring at you with the same expression. You clear your throat and frantically start collecting the items. 

I'm crazy but not Bella crazy. You thought. 

As you watch him scroll through your social media, leaving likes accidentally, asking ‘who is this?” Every time someone comes up, you realize just  how funny this all is. Here you were hanging out with a vampire. You were sure you were gonna wake up at some point. 

“What year were you born?” He stops to look at you, thinking for a moment…

“I dont really remember…” His eyes dim, brows scrunch together. “I've been 22 for a while…” He clears his throat, “What about you? I mean, how old are you?” 

“I turned 22 a couple hours ago” 

He nods. 

“Its been awhile since I've been up again… this era feels different. Everything seems so…” 

“Boring? It might just be the town.” 

“No it just feels like something big is gonna happen, It makes me nervous.” 

“Oh… are there more of you?” Your phone is no longer on, his gaze intensifies. 

“Y-yes. Actually, it's getting late… You should head home.” He gets up as quickly as he can still groaning, probably the blood was still working its way through his system. 

“You're letting me go?” 

“Ofcourse, you saved my life.” 

You felt silly but couldn't help but ask. 

“Will I ever see you again?” He looks up at the trees, looking around like he’s keeping guard. 

“I don't know if that's a good idea…” 

“Well… you still owe me 60 bucks…” He laughs, and it makes him look the most human, even with the sharp teeth. 

“Okay. I'll be back with your money, but for now, let's get you home.” 

Luckily, the walk to your dorm was taking a bit longer than it usually did, both of your footsteps slowly making its way down the cemented path to the dorms. You still had so many questions, yet no way of framing them without coming across as nosy. You wanted to know more about him, why was he in this lousy college town, why doesn't he remember where he's from, who are the others and why did he look so nervous mentioning them. But instead, you had to start small, not wanting to bring up troubling thoughts. 

“What was your last year awake?” 

“Hmmm…guess?” He smirks and looks down at you, his hands locked behind him, holding on to the bag of steak juice that was probably a bit warm now. 

“Okay, well you knew about the telephone but they weren't wireless… and your steak prices were unimaginably low, but your denim fashion is throwing me off…Hmmm…” 

“Was denim a thing recently?” 

“Well, theyve always been a thing but jean vest give off 80’s or 90’s…Thats not my answer though!”

He's squinting his eyes at you, trying to force a smile down. 

“19…7…1?” 

“Ooo, close. 1965.” 

“damn…But the jean vest?!” 

“It was outta sight! All the rebels were wearing it!” 

“But, you don't seem like the rebel type, you're too nice.” 

“I dont know about nice…” he rubs the back of his neck, “but someone like me has to blend in.” 

“Hmm…” 

“What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“Are you a rebel?” Kai looks at you amused with a smile, and it only grows as you heat up.

“G-god no! I'm not built for that lifestyle.” It was true, you were weird but all you ever did was follow the rules, anything that felt mildly risky, threw you out for a loop. 

He laughs and nods. 

“I'm like that too.” 

“Yeah right…” 

“No really! I've never been good at being “bad”…maybe that's why I couldnt…you know…” Hes referring to the moment back in the woods. 

“Oh, yeah well, thanks for that.” 

“No, um thank you.” He remembers the look of curiosity upon your face as he sucked on the steak, the way your mouth hung open and your eyebrows furrowed together, your eyes displayed different emotions at a grand speed, he wasn't sure if you once ever looked disgusted, and he was glad he didn't.  He never wanted to be at the receiving end of it. 

You took your keys out. Looking back at him, you had one more question to ask…

“Have you ever…killed someone?” He stares at you, once again the intensity of his stare grows, like back when you asked if there were more of him. 

“...not directly… Ive…fed on them before but they were already dead.” He whispers and he looks so ashamed. 

“You really shouldn't be so trusting…” he wouldn't look at you anymore, “there's no way of knowing someone could be truly dangerous.” 

“I feel like I can trust you at least, right?” you wanted to touch his hand, reaching forward to grab it, and when Kai sees the mess of dry blood on it and on your sweater sleeve he grimaces, but grabs it. 

“You should head in and wash this off.” His cold hands linger on yours for a moment before he bends down and kisses your palm gently, squeezing his eyes shut trying to fight off the smell of your blood and the steak’s. 

You can't fight the blush that comes to your cheeks, so instead you turn to unlock your door. Once opened you turn in hopes of locking in the image of the shining man you've met.

“Goodni-” But he's gone, leaving no trace of himself behind, just the lingering feeling of his mouth on your wrist. 

—- 

Waking up the next morning, replaying the dream of Kai biting your wrist instead of kissing it over and over again, confirmed that last night was not a dream and you did in fact meet a vampire. Now the question was, Where was he now? What was he doing? 

“Y/N! Come quick!” your roommate, Chaewon, yells, panic laced in her cry. 

Your hair was still wet from last night's shower, not having the energy to blow dry it, you had placed it in a messy bun. You untangle your hair now from the band, and walk into the living room. 

BREAKING NEWS: Diner worker and college student, Lee Anton, found dead this morning by diner manager. As of now, Davenport College is working closely with police. While the autopsy has come back as an unknown death, police are not ruling out homicide- 

“What?” you whisper. Chaewon is already hanging on to you, shaking at the proximity of it. You didn't know Chaewon all that well, saying polite greetings and exchanges was as far as you went and yet you couldn't help but hold on to her as someone knocked on your door. 

Shaking, you head over and crack the door. 

“Hey, this was at the front door of the building, it was addressed to you.” The RA looked down at his hands and you followed. 

In his hand, was the grey glitter liquid encased in the glass vial, with it came a note: 

Y/N L/N, forgetting this?

A/N: YOU MADE IT!!!! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Please let me know your thoughts! I'll most likely continue this cause vampire kai has my attention rn... but I am starting school up again soon so,,, WHO KNOWS?! it also depends if people liked it :'3. SO please let me know your thoughts, tell me you love it, tell me you hate it, either way tears will be spilled! - J

ps. still learning how Tumblr works so if my formatting looks funny...help...

[teamchasezwrites]

Breed You

Word Count: 8,504

Characters: Damian Priest/OC

Genre: Breeding Kink, Smut, Dirty Talk, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Explicit Content

Summary: Thoughts about having sex with his wife were nothing new for Damian. Having thoughts of mounting her from behind and breeding her... well... those were new.

Author's Note: When it comes to writing smut, this post fits me to a T. I almost reported it under "I'm in this photo and I don't like it." This story is the first time I've attempting writing a kink and I do hate how it wasn't the main focal point. Go easy on me! Enjoy

Inspired by:

The door to the arena closed behind Damian as he stepped into the private parking lot. He nodded his head to a couple crew members standing along the building. A lingering acrid stench hung in the air indicating a cigarette break. He would never forget the smell as a former smoker himself. Ten years clean the smell now irritated his nose.

The building did little to hold in the cheers of the thousands of fans inside. The music was muffled but he couldn’t distinguished which wrestler was headed to the ring or who was victorious. If he were being honest with himself, he had no idea what was even on the card for the night beyond his own match – an eight man tag team match between Judgement Day and R-Truth, The Miz, and DIY. Judgement Day won of course. He was able to secure the pin on R-Truth.

Then his focus turned from the job to something better. Thankful Triple H was now in charge and he was a big champion of letting wrestlers have time off for family. His match needed to be in the first part of Raw or else it would throw off the scheduling for his traveling. Like the ripple a rock makes in the water as it plunges into its depth. The rings start off small and get bigger and bigger. He didn’t get out of the arena on time, he’ll miss his flight from LAX. If he missed his flight, it was a six hour drive.

Without traffic.

And six hours was way too long of a delay to be where he so desperately needed to be.

Damian hit the button on the key fob of his rental and tossed his black duffle bag into the passenger seat as he climbed into the nondescript sedan. He pushed the button on the dash and the engine started immediately. The radio started blasting Death Angel’s “Father of Lies”. He quickly reached out turning the volume down a couple notches from where he’d been rocking out earlier on his way to the Honda Center.

As he backed from the the parking spot, he sent a little prayer up for traffic to work with him. There was slim wiggle room and it was already a little after six local time. Los Angelas wasn’t exactly known for its commute.

Whatever Gods controlled the traffic were on his side because he was able to make it to the rental drop off at LAX in the time the GPS estimated. The drop off was quick and he was able to zip through security and make it to his gate with time to spare. Boarding hadn’t begun yet so he took the time he had to go to the bathroom and check his phone.

He sat in a chair surrounded by no one. The black hat on his head pulled low over his eyes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over it. The long braided extensions he currently had his hair styled in was hidden by the hoodie helping give him a case of anonymity. Though he was still a six foot five man with bulking muscles. He definitely stood out against the rest of the passengers awaiting the same flight.

‘Made it to the airport.’

Roughly two hours – depending on how long it took to board and actually take off – before he would be at his destination. His leg bounced in anticipation.

While he waited, Damian scrolled through his social media. He liked posts from fellow Raw wrestlers and shared posts from WWE’s main account about him to his accounts. When boarding was announced he stood, shouldering his bag.

The attendant at the gate scanned the ticket on his phone with a smile. “Have a good flight.”

He responded with a smile and made his way onto the boarding bridge. He stepped into the plane, ducking his head where he smiled at the flight attendant welcoming him and quickly found his seat. Keeping his phone in his hand he stuffed his bag into the overhead compartment and took his assigned window seat.

The anticipation continued to build and he wished the passengers would move more quickly to their seats. The clock didn’t start ticking until the plane was in the air.

75 minutes until touchdown.

Damian’s phone chirped in his ear through the AirPods. He had yet to turn his playlist on. Glancing down at his lock screen he saw the notification. His lips spread into a smile.

Ali: You’re so close!!

He swiped his thumb across the notification to open the message thread.

‘Boarded now.’

‘If I could fly this plane, I’d already be on the way.’

A college-aged looking kid took the empty seat next to him before Damian could stand and try to do just that.

‘I’ll be your sexy flight attendant to mess around in your cock pit.’

Damian grinned at the sexual connotation of his wife’s text. ‘You do know your way around my cock…’

An image appeared next and he greedily tapped on it to enlarge it on his screen. The photo was dark, the only light source were the candles lining the edge of the bathtub and the windowsill above it. His wife’s feet peeked out of the water through the reflection of the candles. The feet glistened with water. Her skin tanned and perfect in the candlelight.

‘I’m gonna start right there and work my way up. I won’t be stopping until my lips have touched every piece of skin.’

He shifted in his seat. First to make sure his phone screen was hidden from prying eyes. Second, to alleviate the growing pressure against his zipper.

‘I hope you’ll be spending extra time in certain places on your quest.”

‘There’ll be quite a few layovers in all my favorite places.”

‘Fuck Dame… I need you to hurry up.’

Damian bit back the moan wanting to come out. He could almost feel her need coming through in the previous text. ‘Are you on edge Corazón? Do you need to cum?’

‘My fingers are nothing compared to yours.’

Damian shifted again at her words. There was no way to inauspiciously press the heel of his hand to his cock for some form of relief. ‘I’ll be there soon Baby.’

The plane finished boarding during his shameless conversation with his wife. The flight attendants were already closing the overhead compartments. ‘Getting ready to take off. I’ll see you soon. I love you.’

Ali’s answering ‘I love you’ text had him putting his phone in airplane mode and pressing the button on the side. The screen went dark. Tucking it in his hoodie pocket, he stared out the window as the plane taxied away from the terminal and down the runway.

The wait wasn’t long before pilot had them speeding down the runway past the other flights waiting their turn. The buildings on the ground flew by as the plane picked up speed. The nose lifted and soon the plane was off the ground and climbing high into the air.

The anticipation danced around in his belly like nerves. Damian couldn’t even explain the feeling. Ali was just in his arms yesterday when he kissed her goodbye at their front door before heading to the airport to fly to California for Monday Night Raw.

Maybe it had to do with the fact he was flying to Mammoth Mountain where he was spending the next six days nestled in a cozy room with his wife in the California ski town. Six days of uninterrupted time with just him and her. Celebrating five years of marriage. Celebrating their love.

Jesus did he love her.

They met in a club in New Jersey. The relationship was purely sexual on the onslaught. Then it turned into an on-again off-again before he finally wizened up to make it permanently in 2017. He didn’t know where wrestling was taking him at the time, but he knew Ali was it.

The plane leveled off and settled in for the quick jaunt west. The seatbelt sign clicked off but Damian paid it no attention. He retrieved his phone from his hoodie pocket and entered his passcode. He had a few games he could play to pass the time; an old pro at traveling now but he ended up in his photos. Skipping the raunchy and inappropriate memes he’d send Rhea and the rest of the Judgement Day in their group text, he narrowed in on the true photos on his camera.

The first one to pop up was a photo taken just last Wednesday on Valentine’s Day. A picture of him and Gabriela – his four year old daughter. She was perched on his back in a piggy back ride. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck in a pinching squeeze with his arms hooked around her already long legs securing her to him. Long legs and arms reminded him of a newborn horse. Her dark brown hair hung in a mass of wild waves hadn’t yet met a comb that morning. Her brown eyes sparkled in pure delight or mischief. The crooked little grin proudly displayed on her face.

Gabriela – an absolute surprise to them both finding out they were already many weeks along after their wedding. Completely spoiled rotten and one hundred percent Papi’s little girl.

Then there was a photo of two year old Ian taken that same morning, sitting at the kitchen table in his booster chair. His hand griping the small fork in a backwards grip with a look of pure determination on his face as he tried to stab the syrup covered pancake.

A smile formed on his lips as he could still hear his son chanting ‘Papi, Papi, Papi,’ as he dished up the special heart shaped pancakes to him and his sister along with cut up sausage patties and strawberries.

He swiped his thumb again and there was a tired looking Ali with her own heart shaped pancake. He liked to imagine she was tired because he wore her out the night before but he knew better. The culprit of her (and his) exhaustion was sitting in his wife’s lap, sporting an open mouth grin showing off her teeth. Sofia just turned one last month and had yet to sleep through the night. He was beginning to think she never would.

Damian could still smell the fresh baby scent when he nuzzled her sweet little face and kissed her goodbye yesterday.

He continued to scroll through the photos in his phone, getting further away from the current photos. His kids regressed quickly through the months and his heart twisted a little noticing how much Gabi changed in just this last year alone. Sofia became that tiny infant again; the one he was almost too afraid to hold after delivery. She’d been the smallest of his children. Not quite clocking six pounds. He felt like an overgrown oaf cradling her in his arms.

A couple more scrolls and there was Ali laying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted yet beautiful still in the midst of labor though not at the pushing stage. Her belly big and round with a stubborn Sofia not wanting to come out.

There was a stirring deep in his own belly he couldn’t place as he stared at a few more photos of Ali in the hospital before Sofia was born.

He kept swiping back through photos and his breath caught in his throat at the black and white photo. Taken at Christmas time because he received a tripod for his phone. Happy he could now take photos with his family without them having to be selfies all the time. This photo though…

Ali was lying in their bed on her back. The long flowing sheer negligee was deep red he remembered. The slit started at the center of the bra cups and down the entire length allowing it to fall open exposing her belly. Her back was slightly arched allowing her belly to be more prominent. Her head lifted a little, exposing her neck and the angle of her jaw.

He laid between her legs, shirtless with a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. His arms holding himself above her to keep his weight off her. The black and white photo drawing out the tattoos on his left arm more. His arms were slightly bent so he could dip and press his lips against Ali’s belly.

He’d forgotten all about the photo.

The next photo showed him on his knees in front of a standing Ali kissing her belly again. Then they were both standing. Him behind her with his arms wrapped around her, his hands on either side of her belly. Another photo of Ali by herself. Turned sideways to the camera, displaying her pregnant belly. One arm resting on top, the other cradling it from underneath.

Damian’s scrolls became faster almost frantic as he swiped through his photos searching for the ones with Ali pregnant. Anything with his wife’s belly on display. As he stared at the photos he couldn’t help but remember how it felt when they made love.

Her breasts enlarged, full of milk to nourish their babies. Her nipples tender and sensitive. The cries he could draw from just tracing his tongue around the areola. How her legs would jerk back and forth listlessly.

With her belly big and round, their frequent position would be him taking her from behind. He would help ease her onto her hands and knees as he situated himself behind her on his knees. He’d run his cock through her glistening folds before slowly sinking in. His hands would be gripping her hips as he moved in and out of her. Slowly his hands would move to her belly. He’d pull her up so her back was to his chest. She’d sink on him allowing him better access to her belly.

He loved the weight of her belly. The feel. The look… how it turned him on to see her pregnant with his child. It bolstered the possessiveness he felt when it came to it wife. He was the man who sent his seed deep inside her body, marking his claim.

Damian swallowed roughly on a dry mouth. The path his thoughts took were surprising. His cock was painfully hard in his jeans now as thoughts swirled in his head of impregnating his wife once more. Of releasing his unfettered sperm deep inside her.

Of mounting his wife from behind and breeding her.

Watching once more as her belly grew round with his child.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Please fasten your dealt belts as we make our descent into Mammoth Lakes. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

Damian’s thoughts were nearly feral as he exited the plane and walked into the small, private terminal of Mammoth Lakes Airport. His stride was purposeful as he exited the main doors. A few vehicles were lined up to fill with passengers to take them to various locations on the mountain.

He stepped up to the first one at the front of the line. “There’s a nice tip if you take me to The Lodge without waiting to fill the vehicle.”

The man grinned. “Yes Sir,” he gave him a mock salute. He started the vehicle as Damian climbed inside.

He fastened his seatbelt and pulled out his phone taking it off airplane mode. It chimed in his ear as the van pulled away from the curb.

A video from his mom waited. He tapped the video and was rewarded when his screen filled with Gabi. ‘Hi Papi! I love you!’ Her face zoomed in as she must have kissed the phone. He smiled watching as the phone shook and he was left staring at his daughter’s ear as she turned her head. Then she was off running, her giggles coming through his AirPods. ‘Say hi to Papi Ian.’ His son came into view as he pressed his face against his sister’s. Their faces squished together to fit both on the screen. ‘Hi Papi!’ Ian always over accented the ending sound in his name, holding onto the ‘e’ for a few beats. He loved it. ‘Say I love you!’ He chuckled at Gabi’s whisper. ‘Love you.’ Ian parroted as he learned toward the phone showing off his mouth full of teeth. The screen shook again and bounced as Gabi was on the move again. ‘Careful Sweetie.’ He heard his mother’s voice. Then Sofia was on the screen. Sitting in his mother’s lap. Her pink blanket in her lap. Her mouth sucking on her binkie. Even though the phone Damian could see the heaviness in her eyes as she held onto the last vestibules of wake, no doubt too intrigued by the movements of her siblings. ‘Feefa loves you too Papi.’ The nickname caused him to smile. Gabi had such a hard time saying Sofia. It came out as Feefa and even he called her that at times. His heart burst when Sofia pushed the binkie out of her mouth, a wide grin of her face as she saw her own reflection in the phone. ‘Wave to Papi, Feefa. Wave.’ A cheer nearly left his mouth at the same time as his mother’s when Sofia raised her hand out opening and shutting her fingers. ‘Bye Papi! I love you!’

The video ended and a small wave of sadness went through him. He missed them. He missed chasing Gabi through the house trying to corral her into the bath before bed. He missed snuggling with both Gabi and Ian on his lap as he read a bedtime story. He missed giving Sofia the final bottle before bed. Her brown eyes staring up at him holding him captive. Her small hand reaching up to touch his cheek, petting his beard. He would take her hand and press soft kisses to her fingers.

“We’re here Sir.”

Damian looked up from his phone. The Lodge loomed before him. He tucked his phone into his hoodie as he unfastened his seat belt. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a couple bills out and handed them to the driver. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

Damian shouldered his bag as he tucked his wallet back in his pocket. He shut the door to the vehicle and started walking to the front doors as the van pulled away behind him.

The lobby was busy with the evening dinner hour. The lifts were closed. Skiing done for the night. Everyone was gathered, unwinding from a day on the slopes. The bar was standing room only. The roar of laughter and chatter echoing through the lobby. There was a line of patrons waiting to enter the restaurant. The large fire place was on the far wall. The flames danced in bright orange, red, and yellow hues. The seats around the fire were filled with friends and lovers alike.

Damian kept his head down and gaze averted as he ducked into a corner; phone already in hand. He had a waiting message from Ali.

An image.

He swallowed roughly and opened it. He released a breathy moan when the picture popped up. Ali lay on her stomach on the light colored comforter. The photo caught the side of her face; the mass of curls dipping in front of her shoulder and over her back. She wore no bra.

Her legs bent behind her, ankles crossed. Her back arched, sending her ass popping up. A pair of white lace panties sat on her waist and dipped between ass cheeks.

‘You’re killing me.’

He wanted her just like that. Wanted to slid up behind her and press his lips to the curve of an ass cheek before sinking his teeth in it. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and pull her back while his other hand set about unbuckling his pants.

‘Where are you?’

‘In the lobby trying not to be recognized while trying to get a room number out of this girl.’

‘Is she cute?’

‘Fucking hot.’

‘Yeah?’

‘What would you do if you got her room number?’

‘Corazon you’re playing with fire.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’d slip into her room while she’s laying on the bed. I’d press a kiss to her ankle while I climb between her legs. Pressing kisses to the back of her thighs up to her ass where I’d sink my teeth in to the soft flesh. I’d trace my tongue along the lace panties to where they dip down between her cheeks. I’d run my hand up her back to tangle into her hair and pull back causing her to arch more into me. I’d run my finger down between her cheeks to where her pretty pussy waits for me. Dripping wet. I’d press my finger deep inside her, pumping into her. Then I’d pull my hard cock out running it through her wet pussy lips as she begs for me to take her. She’d be so wet for me I can slid all the way into her on one hard thrust. There is no softness here. Just hard and fast until I have her screaming and coming apart all over my cock. When she does, I’ll give her what she so desperately wants. My hot cum painting deep inside her pussy walls.’

Fuck. Hard and fast is probably all he’s going to be good for the first time. He tugged at his hoodie in an effort to pull it down to cover his raging hard on.

‘Get here right the fuck now or it’s gonna be my fingers I’m riding hard and fast.’

The room number came through immediately after.

Armed with the information, Damian made his was through the lobby toward the elevator. Outside he appeared calm, on the inside he was wound so tight he threatened to explode. It wouldn’t take much. The simple squeeze of his cock to ward off an impending orgasm would send him in a tailspin.

Jesus he needed to get a hold of himself.

The elevator was thankfully empty when it arrived and no one followed him on. He hit the button to close the doors before anyone could slip through.

Moments later he was stalking down the hallway. Eyes catching door numbers as he passed. Then he was standing outside his room for the next six days. His wife just on the other side. Anticipation rolled through him. He raised his hand to tap softly on the door when it was pulled open and he was yanked through.

Hands palmed his cheeks pulling him down into a hot kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth. There was no finesse. Just desperate strokes.

The door clicked shut behind him. His bag falling off his shoulder to the floor. Her hands grabbed at the hem of his hoodie frantically trying to push it up his body needing to get him naked. To feel that warm skin beneath her fingers. Feel his hard muscles.

“Corazon, wait,” Damian murmured through the kisses.

“I can’t… I need you. Right now,” Ali’s hands hit skin and she moaned into his mouth. His skin was fever warm and she ran her hands up his chest, pushing both the hoodie and t-shirt up.

With strength he wasn’t sure he had, he broke the kiss with a groan and straightened. He caught sight of her for the first time. He moaned as his eyes raked over her naked body. “Ali, baby… you better not have been answering the door like that to anyone else.”

“And if I did?” Ali reversed her destination and her hands traveled south to Damian’s jeans.

Damian growled at her words. He pushed the hood from his head and ripped the hat off. With one hand gripping the hem of his hoodie, he yanked both it and his t-shirt over his head. His AirPods fell from his ears, bouncing to places unknown on the floor.

He didn’t care.

“No one gets to see this but me, Corazon,” he growled. He carded a hand through her hair to the back of her head where he yanked her forward. He swallowed her squeak as his lips captured hers. She fell against his body; her hands trapped between them. His tongue licked her lips and when she opened for him, he darted forward. He plundered her mouth chasing an acidic taste with a hint of bubbly… fruity… as if she’d been drinking a glass of wine. He had images of dribbling the wine on her body and licking it off.

His hands traced down her back; his palm rough against her soft skin. He cupped her ass and pressed her against his hard cock still confined in his jeans. Her arms broke free from between them to wrap around his neck, twisting in his hair. He felt her shift against him and he lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Damian,” she moaned against his lips. “Fuck me…” She nipped his bottom lip then ran her tongue over it to soothe the sting.

“I got something better for you…” Damian carried her further into the room and turned toward the right to enter the bedroom. He’d check out the room tomorrow. He laid her down on the comforter from the earlier photo. ‘Maybe not,’ he thought staring down at her.

Her hair spread against the blanket. Her pupils blown wide in desire. A red hue of arousal on her cheeks. Full breasts on display, a size larger after three pregnancies. Her nipples erect and enticing beckoning him to take one in his mouth. His eyes trailed down her stomach, softer now, to the small triangle patch of light brown curls. Her legs parted under his gaze revealing her glistening folds.

Like a starving man faced with a buffet he fell to his knees on the floor. He ran his hands up her legs. His fingers light over the skin drawing goosebumps. Up over her knees to her thighs. The skin so soft beneath his touch.

“Damian…” His name fell from her lips like a plea.

The cadence entered his body touching every dark recess before wrapping around his cock. The breathy moan from between her lips had him reaching down and frantically ripping down his zipper to free his cock from his briefs. He wrapped his hand around the hard flesh and squeezed. Hard. He groaned, tossing his head back. A bead of cum appeared on the tip and he breathed to ward off his orgasm.

With his orgasm staved off for now Damian opened his eyes catching sight of Ali leaning up on one elbow her face full of want and desire. The hunger in her eyes had him groaning. “The way you make me feel Corazon,” he whispered as he parted her legs. He hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to his mouth.

Damian placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh and Ali shivered as his beard scratched the delicate skin. “Oh Damian…” the words fell from her lips as her eyes drifted close.

“I haven’t even started yet.” Damian smirked. He took pity on his wife – and himself by lowering his head and licking a stripe straight up her center. Tanginess burst on his tongue and he moaned, pressing his face closer.

Short licks at her entrance before moving up to her clit. His tongue circled the bundle of nerves, flicking the button, drawing soft cries from Ali. Back down through her folds to her entrance his pressed his tongue deep inside.

“Damian…” Ali mewled, her hips undulating in the hold he still had on her thighs. Keeping her right where he wanted. Where she wanted. Her back arched as his tongue assaulted her clit again. His movements sure and knowing. He could always work her into a frenzy within minutes. Her hands fisted in the comforter beneath her, pulling the fabric.

A cry fell from her lips when he pressed two fingers deep inside her channel. They slid in without resistance. She been slick all evening since she watched him in the ring during his match on TV, his muscles rippling and glistening under the lights. Her thighs closed on his head.

“Let me at this pretty pussy Corazon,” Damian murmured as he pressed a hand on the inside of her thigh cocking her leg higher onto the bed, opening her up to him. “I can’t wait to sink my cock in you. You’re squeezing my fingers so well…you need me baby don’t you,” he pressed a kiss at the crease of her thigh.

“Yes,” Ali hissed. She reached down and grabbed his ponytail, the braided strands twisting in her hold. She wished his hair was free from the braids so she could tangle her fingers in it. “Please…”

“You beg so nicely.” He removed his fingers only to replace them with his tongue. He buried his face in her folds, his nose at her clit. He wiggled his tongue inside her. He licked between her folds to his clit. His tongue swirling around it, flicking over it. He pressed his fingers back inside her as her hand pressed his head closer. He knew she was close based on that hand.

Twisting his fingers he curled them up to the front wall, searching and finding the slightly rigid patch of skin. Ali’s breath hitched at the contact followed by a low moan. Pre-cum dribbled down his cock. He closed his lips around her clit and sucked. Ali’s hips came off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her in place.

It took another flick on his tongue and she came with a cry. Her hand had a stinging grip on his hair as she pressed his face into her pussy. Her hips jerked wildly as her body convulsed.

Damian slowed his fingers, moving them in and out of her in an almost lazy manner. He pressed soft kisses and gentle licks to her folds before letting his fingers slip from her opening. His cock so hard it was painful. A wet spot on his jeans where his cock leaked.

Raising up he pressed his face into her belly. He kissed the small pouch she carried. The extra ten pounds she always complained about in the mirror. The same pouch he loved so much.

Ali’s hand had relaxed her grip on his hair but her fingers started to move again. Soft little caresses against the short stubble of his faded haircut. He closed his eyes concentrating on those ministrations as they moved toward his cheek. When her other hand cupped the other side of his face and started lifting his head, he opened his eyes to meet hers. He grinned at the sated look on her face.

“Come up here,” Ali whispered.

Damian would follow her anywhere. He pushed to his feet, his knees protesting from the prolonged position.

Ali moaned seeing her husband’s cock jutting from his jeans. She reached out and wrapped a hand around the hard, hot flesh drawing a hiss from Damian. She glanced up through her eyelashes to see his head tossed back and his eyes shut. A look of pure bliss on his face.

She kept her strokes light and teasing. Her thumb took a swipe through the creamy liquid pooled on the tip. She brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking the digit in; tongue swirling over the pad. Her eyes drifted closed as the saltiness flavor burst on her tongue.

“Fuck,” Damian moaned watching Ali suck on her thumb where she collected a drop of his cum. He quickly kicked off his shoes and shucked his jeans and briefs down his legs. After removing his socks he stood tall with his cock in hand.

“Yes,” Ali breathed. Her mouth watered as she stared at her husband in all his naked glory. The broadness of his shoulders, into his powerfully toned chest. The tattoos covering sculpted arms from his wrists to his shoulders. The libra and skulls entwined piece on his right pec. The cross coming out of the flames on his left bleeding into a skull morphing into a lily flower. Her favorite piece on his body because it represented her and their children.

An exquisite piece with a lily (her favorite flower) coming out of the nose opening. Its petals going up and covering an entire eye socket. The only shown eye socket – just a black shadowed circle meshed so well it almost looked like a petal itself. The cheekbone defined so well it acted as another petal. Then it gave way to the teeth before the jawbone became petals once again. Their children’s names - in her loopy cursive – were written in each of the petals.

She drew her eyes away from his chest and downward; over the taunt abs with the hint of definition that came and went depending on his gym workout and dieting. The sexy v-line on either side of his hips that made her want to fall to her knees and do his bidding when they’d peek out of low slung jeans on his hips. She always thought it was a travesty his ring gear covered the sexy Adonis belt.

Her eyes followed the line her tongue has traced so many times before to his cock – hard and red still grasped in his hand. The area completely shaved. The skin perfectly smooth. His fingers languidly moving up and down. She drew her lip between her teeth when his thumb circled the tip collecting the drop of cum pooled at the slit before massaging it against his length with his movements. Her thighs closed as she rubbed them together looking for friction; her pussy clenched around emptiness.

His balls were drawn up tight beneath his shaft, telling her how close he was to coming. They were heavy and full and she felt a gush of fluid between her thighs at the thought of his virile cum filling her, coating her womb.

A white hot need shot through her. Her mind clouded as arousal built. Her fingers tingled and her body grew hot. Wetness slicked her thighs and saturated the blanket beneath her.

Her eyes hit his thighs – muscular and powerful. She wanted to spread her legs on either side of his thigh and press her pussy to the hard muscle and ride until she came.

Damian nearly came watching the different emotions flicker across Ali’s face as her eyes roamed his body. He preened under her perusal, tightening his muscles, making them more defined. His pecs rippled. The veins on his arms more pronounced.

“Damian… please,” her voice was rough and full of need. She scooted away from the edge and laid back on the bed. Her legs parted in invitation and her fingers ran through the soft brown curls framing her aching slit.

“Corazon… Baby girl…you have no idea how much I need you” Damian placed his hands on the bed as he bent over and kissed her delicate ankle. He didn’t linger as he moved his lips up her leg, placing a kiss to the inside of her knee. It drew a whimper from her and cum leaked from his cock at the sound painting the comforter.

He bypassed her cunt – slick and swollen from her first orgasm. The heady scent of her arousal invaded his nostrils and he breathed deeply causing a full body shiver to course through him. He nuzzled her belly. His tongue tracing the feint stretch marks spidering on the skin.

Continuing on his upward path, his nose lightly traced up her stomach. His mouth pressing ghosting kisses on the soft kiss, leaving behind a trace of wetness to dry in the air. Her nipples were drawn in stiff peaks and he took one in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the hardened pebble. She arched into his mouth as her hand twisted in the braided locks.

“You gotta… take these out,” she gasped as he sucked her nipple. His teeth nipped and then there was a long swipe with a flattened tongue over the flesh to soothe.

“Tomorrow,” Damian murmured against her skin as he drew her other nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Damian…” Ali’s hand clutched his bicep; her nails digging into the tattooed skin. She dug the nails of her other hand into his scalp pushing her breast further into his mouth even as her back arched up. Pleasure zinged through her, pooling deep in her belly. Her pussy clenched and released milking the emptiness, wishing he’d shove his cock deep into her.

Before Damian had a chance to latch onto the spot where her neck met shoulder and that place right behind her ear that always made her cry out, Ali’s hands were cupping either side of his face. She drug his lips to hers.

She moaned into his mouth when his weeping cock painted her thigh. His tongue wasted no time entering her mouth tangling with hers; each fighting for dominance. It slid against hers and she pressed her hips wantonly against him surrendering to his touch. The movement seductive as she sought pleasure from his body.

“Damian,” she whispered breathlessly. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. Drowning in need. “Please…”

Damian pushed up on his knees, a hand on his cock giving it a quick hard squeeze at the base. He stared down at her, breathing heavily. His got impossibly harder twitching in his hand. She was spread out before him like an offering. Her hair fanned out on the comforter. His fingers itched to bury in the soft silky tresses. Her eyes blown wide in arousal. The black nearly absorbing the green he loved so much. Her lips – swollen from his kisses – parted as her breaths came out heavy. He watched, transfixed, as her tongue came out to lick along the bottom lip, coating it in wetness. Her skin a red hue from her cheeks sweeping south over her chest.

He reached out and traced a finger down until he got to her stomach. Her belly twitch beneath his touch and he spread both his hands over her abdomen. In a blink his mind morphed the soft, pillowy pouch to full and round with child.

His child.

“Dios Corazon, te necesito,” Damian moaned. His hands ran down either of her thighs pushing them further apart as he moved closer.

“Take me Damian…” Ali begged. “Please. Now.” Tilting her hips up in offering.

Damian wrapped his hand around his cock and ran it through Ali’s wet folds before lining up and pressing forward. His eyes closed and he groaned as he entered her body, her pussy gripping him. He sank to the hilt, his hips pressed against hers.

Ali clenched around him drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. He tossed his head back, his eyes clenched tightly as he breathed through his teeth trying to keep from coming. She was tight and warm wrapped around him.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “Corazon I’m barely hanging on…”

“Good. I need you to fuck me… right now.”

Damian groaned at her words. He pulled from her body, his eyes watching his cock appear, slicked with her creamy juices. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he sunk back in.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day…”

Damian fell onto his elbows over her. “Corazon you have no idea what I’ve been thinking about all day.” He seized her lips in a hard kiss. His tongue entered her mouth, demanding.

Ali wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders pulling him closer. Her skin tingled and her core flooded as his tongue stroked hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. She broke the kiss on a moan. His cock driving deep inside her. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Damian groaned and buried his face in Ali’s neck as his mind exploded with images of her pregnant belly. His arm muscles bulged as he kept his full weight from crushing her. His hips pistoned in and out sharply. His balls smacking against her skin. They were drawn tight to his body, ready to explode.

“Tell me,” Ali whispered nipping his ear, drawing the lobe between her lips. The movement caused his hips to move faster and she released a heady moan in his ear. Her nails raked down his back leaving red streaks in their place.

“I wanna breed you… I wanna fill you with my cum.” Damian sucked a bruising kiss on her neck. “Plant my seed deep in your womb. Watch you grow big with my baby.”

Ali felt the gush of liquid at his words, coating Damian’s cock. Her eyes darkened with lust. The thought of his cum coating her pussy, painting her womb ignited her insides. Her belly growing round and full with Damian’s child.

“I wanna roll you over and fuck you from behind. Keep fucking you all night long until I’ve fucked a baby into you…”

Ali tightened her legs around Damian, stopping his movements. He was trapped deep inside her. When he lifted his head to meet her eyes, she saw some trepidation like he’d overstepped a line. She fisted his hair and brought his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. “Do it,” she whispered, their eyes meeting once again. She saw his eyes flare with desire and she clenched around him. “Breed me, Damian. Put a baby in me…”

Damian moved like lightning. He pulled out with a moan and helped his wife roll over to her hands and knees. The moan he released was harsh and visceral staring at his wife. Her ass and pussy on display. Her pussy lips red and swollen from his thrusts. A slickness coating them and her thighs.

He moved behind her. His corse hairy thighs pressing against her soft skin. He didn’t waste a moment. He thrust back in sinking fully into her. Their moans were loud and long at the invasion. He hoped no one was on the other side of the wall but he was beyond caring.

He withdrew once again watching his cum coated cock pull from her body. The way her lips seem to clench around him as to stop him from leaving.

“Give me a baby Damian,” Ali moaned tossing her head back.

“Fuck yeah,” Damian breathed through his teeth. His pace was harsh and brutal; unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room mixed the creaking of the bed. “I’m gonna fill you full of my cum. Then I’m gonna keep my cock buried deep inside of you so my cum has no choice but to fill your womb.”

She cried out in pleasure, rocking on her knees to meet his thrusts. Her thighs and arms quaked; her muscles quivering. Her pussy nearly purring with the assault. “Damian…” she chanted her husband’s name as if she was sending a prayer. Maybe she was. His fingers gripped her hips with bruising force. It sent another bolt of lightning through her flooding her core.

She spread her knees further apart and gasped as his balls slapped against her clit with each thrust. Tears built in the corner of her eyes. “Oh…I…Damian…” she whimpered against the tight coiling in her belly. The feeling so big and powerful it scared her. Her hands fisted in the comforter; nails digging into the fabric.

“I got you,” Damian’s voice blanketed her trembling body. Her safety net. Her protector. “Let go for me.”

“With… you…” Her voice desperate trying to hold her orgasm at bay.

“Always.”

It was like a spring breaking free. The tension inside her snapped and she came with a loud wail. Light burst behind her clenched eyelids. She trembled as lightning danced through her body, sending tingles up and down her arms and legs. Her pussy clenched around him as she gushed, coating his cock with her essence.

“Ah… ah…” Damian’s face contorted in pleasure as Ali’s pussy clenched around him as she withered and arched on his cock as her orgasm worked through her. He snapped his hips one final time sending his cock deep inside her. He came with a roar. Rope after rope of his hot thick white sperm shooting from his throbbing cock deep inside her pussy.

Ali moaned at the feel of her husband’s sperm releasing inside her, coating her walls. She lifted her head toward the ceiling. Her messy hair showering down her back, sticking to the sweat soaked skin. Her pussy spasmed with each twitch of Damian’s cock inside her.

Damian’s body trembled as the last of his cum released inside of wife. A full body shudder as his muscles turned to goo, weakened by the force of his orgasm. It took a considerable amount of effort to unlock his fingers from Ali’s hips. He pulled out of his wife with a groan, watching as his cum dribbled out after.

With two fingers he pressed his cum back inside drawing another moan. Her pussy clenched around his fingers in mini spasms as she recovered. Damian pressed a kiss to the small of Ali’s back before he collapsed on his back beside her.

His heart hammered against his rib cage. Every so often his muscles would twitch as electrons starting firing, trying to get his body back online. His breaths came out in gasps, his lungs heaving in exertion. His body shone with a sheen of sweat. Heat radiated off his body. He wondered if his legs would even be able to hold him up in the shower.

The shower was forgotten when the mattress shifted and Ali’s head hit his shoulder. Her own breath coming out in gasps hot and sticky across his skin. Her body pressed against his side and her leg entwining with his. He wrapped his arm around her back holding her more firmly to his side. His hand rested on her hip. His fingers lightly caressing the skin.

“Corazon, you’re gonna kill me before the week is out.”

Ali hummed and pressed her lips to his chest, right over that lily flower tattoo. She tilted her head up and Damian turned his head to meet hers. Their lips collided – softly this time. Slowly their lips moved together. His arm crossed his body and she felt his calloused hand cup her cheek gently. His fingertips just breaching her hair. Their mouths opened and their tongues mated. The stroke soft and smooth. Lazy. The furious desperation from moments ago satisfied for now.

Their lips parted and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes blinked opened. Light filtered in from a crack in the curtains but she couldn’t distinguish the time. Her phone was plugged in on the nightstand but she would have to leave the warm cocoon she was currently enveloped in.

Damian lay behind her, his arms wrapped around her. His body pressed against hers. His face tucked into her neck. She could feel the soft tuffs of hair blowing gently on her skin with each breath he took.

She shifted. Both her body and Damian protested the movement. Her muscles deliciously used after last night’s lovemaking. From the desperate first time to the needy time in the shower after hands strayed and lingered to the slow and lazy way he slipped inside her as the first feint glow of sunrise hinted.

Damian’s hold tightened on her. A small nose of protest from the back of his throat as he pulled her more securely to him, snuggling against her body.

Speaking of delicious…

His hard cock pressed into her ass. Twitching over one globe leaving a string of wetness behind. She bit her lip and fought against the desire to press her ass into his crotch.

Wetness once again pooled at her center, slicking her lower lips. She pressed her thighs together, keeping the ministrations minute so not to disturb Damian and find some type of relief. His hand lay lax against her belly and she had designs about pushing it down until his fingers pressed between her folds; until those calloused fingers rubbed her clit.

She wondered if she kept the movements slow if he’d wake up or if he’d finger her in his sleep. She arched against his cock almost subconsciously. The hard flesh pulsed against the soft globe of her ass cheek. What was he thinking about to be hard right now?

‘I wanna breed you.’

His words from last night echoed in Ali’s mind. God they were so hot. Something she never thought she’d think. Did she have a breeding kink? Did she have this inane desire to be breed like an animal? Was it the thought of getting pregnant that caused her insides to turn to liquid?

Or was it the thought of actually being pregnant that made her burst with one of the most intensive orgasms she’s ever had?

Was it the want of having another baby with Damian leading the charge? Of her stomach growing full and around. Of feeling the little flutterings and kicks. Of nurturing a tiny human being with her body. Creating another little mixture of her and Damian?

A heavy dose of want coursed through her. One that had her pressing herself back on Damian’s cock. Her hips gyrating against him.

It didn’t take long before the hand on her stomach tensed as Damian’s body came to life as she pulled it from sleep. His body hardened behind her. His hips moving with hers. Lips ghosted over her neck as his fingers dipped dangerously close to her center.

“Someone woke up feeling a little frisky.” His voice was low and sleep filled in her ear. Goosebumps broke out over her arms.

Ali hummed in answer, cocking her head to allow him better access to her neck. His teeth nipped her ear and drew her lobe between his teeth and suckled. She moaned and settled her hand over his, pushing him toward her aching center. They ran through her slickness together, coating their fingers with her arousal.

A moan escaped as his pressed a finger inside her.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Damian breathed as he ran that slick finger through her folds to her clit.

“Damian,” she moaned. Her eyes falling shut. “Breed me…”

Damian’s fingers stilled at his words and he lifted his head to stare at his wife. Unsure if he heard correctly.

Ali could feel the embarrassment on her cheeks but she turned her head to meet Damian’s eyes. “If you’re serious about wanting another baby, I won’t take my pill today.”

“You’re serious?” Damian’s eyes searched hers looking for any small trace of doubt. He found nothing. He slowly began to smile.

“Breed me Damian. Fuck a baby into me.”

With a groan his lips met hers.

[iamumbra195]

Random things that I've noticed in my Detective Conan rewatch (Episode 1- 123)

Ran started suspecting Shinichi in the 7th episode, figuring out that he was the one leading the police and her father to the suspects so while she might’ve not suspected him as Shinichi again until way later, she knew he was smart enough to figure out cases all on his own

Yusaku has a very particular way of writing his ‘K’s

Yusaku left a treasure hunt for Shinichi to find when he was older so he could find an old unpublished book that had been stolen from him at one point because he knew Shinichi loved reading his books and having this little privilege of reading it all when no one but Yusaku and his editors have was Yusaku’s way of showing his love

Sonoko has an older sister named Ayako Suzuki

Shiratori is an architecture nerd (Movie 1)

Shiota Heihachiro was Kogoro and Megure’s mentor, also known as the Japanese Holmes but he’s also just as shameless as Kogoro (Episode 67)

The Organization owns a bar named Black Widows (Great Detective Turned Small Special)

Heizo Hattori used to do Kendo with a friend of his, he likely encouraged Heiji to take part in it (Episode 77)

Shinichi doesn’t really care much for privacy when investigating stuff which includes going into people’s rooms when they’re not there, answering their phone and mimicking their voice to get information. Heiji even comments that he had a lot of guts (episode 78)

Heiji picked up calling Ran ‘Ran-neechan’ from Conan

Heiji is surprised when he finds out the Shinichi still hasn’t told the Mouri’s the truth about him shrinking because it’s kinda unthinkable to him. Why would Conan not trust the ppl he loved with this secret? It’s not like their knowing would hurt them because at least they would know what sort of danger they were in by housing him

Ayumi is super observant and tends to be the first to notice things they’re looking for quicker than the others, especially in the earlier cases

Takagi smokes in the early cases, though I can't remember if he does later on

Conan tended to trick people with his voice changer to get them to do what he wanted them to do

Shinichi can’t sing for shit but is really good at recognizing the pitch of sounds which is why he’s able to replicate voices so perfectly just by his ear

Takayama Minami (a singer) has a very similar voice to Conan and is a character based on his voice actor

Shinichi once found missing Lunch money in fourth grade when Ran lost it (episode 84)

Yukiko and Yusaku fight a lot but not in a serious sense. It’s more like Yukiko likes the drama and Yusaku just indulges it (Episode 96)

Before she got married Fujimine Yukiko (now Kudo Yukiko) used to act in a show known as the Dangerous Policewoman Story. Yamamura used to watch it when he was younger and was inspired to become a policeman because of it (episode 96)

Shinichi has abnormally good hearing (Episode 96)

The first time Megure ever properly accused Kogoro of being cursed was in Episode 98

Ran learns that Shinichi’s favourite food is lemon pie from his so-called first love, Asami Uchida (Episode 100)

Kobayashi Sumiko, the teacher of class 1-B was actually kinda strict and mean in her introduction, although that was mostly just her overcompensating (Episode 112)

The canonical show Detective Samonji was introduced in (Episode 116)

Kazuha introduced while thinking Ran was the “Kudo” girl seducing Heiji. She said she’s like Heiji’s big sister lol. (Episode 118)

Ran gave Conan a pager because he always disappears on her (Episode 123)

There might be a second part to this depending on how far I get in this rewatch. Have a nice day!

[we-stan-the-stans-27]

Sleeping Beauty AU?

@sixerstanley Here had this HUGE big brain idea and I immediately sprung into action to write a little something about it.

Basically, they read a merlin fic where a spell made it seem like Merlin was dead, but he was basically asleep and aware of everything going on. Arthur was not having a good time. (trauma and pain ensues) I'm going to replicate it, based on the idea alone.

(Also, I had no idea this would turn into an almost 4k oneshot, oops! Color me inspired, I guess! I can do this, but not my actual fan fiction. LMAO!)

Suffer with me. (JK, enjoy. XD )

For the first time in weeks, Ford had allowed himself a full night's rest downstairs. Why not reward himself, just this once? The rift is sealed, the universe is safe, and things are slowly getting back to normal. Or as normal as they get in the pathetic excuse for what used to be his home.

Ford still has a hard time calling it what it is, 'The Mystery Shack' is a little on the nose, isn't it? The exhibits are hardly anything close to a mystery. They're botched taxidermy projects.

Insults. That's what they are.

A slap in the face to his life's work.

Whatever, that's not his problem right now. Coffee is the first order of business.

It's early and no one else is awake, but the coffee pot is still hot with a fresh pot. One cup appears to be missing. Stanley must be awake then.

Ford takes his time pouring the life-bringing liquid into his favorite cup (it is amazing Stanley didn't break it or lose it after all these years) and adding in ample sugar, and a dash of cream for color.

He adds a single ice cube to cool it faster, listening to the sounds of the house. It's silent, too quiet.

Ford can't help that even in a peaceful environment it puts him on edge.

The TV is off and a walk through the living room reveals Stanley isn't sitting on the couch. The first-floor bathroom light is off, door is slightly ajar, but empty.

That's weird.

He really shouldn't be looking for his brother anyway since the only good that will do is start another fight. It's too early for that.

Ford settles back in the kitchen, hovering near the window and sipping his cup watching the clock on the wall tic on. Minutes pass.

The silence is no longer just putting him on edge, it's sounding alarms.

Why? There is nothing dangerous here in the house, they are perfectly safe here now that Bill has been dealt with.

What then?

To put his own stupid mind to rest he leaves the empty cup in the sink and goes upstairs to the attic, checking on Dipper and Mabel.

They are both still fast asleep in their beds. Dipper, drooling on his pillow with half the blanket on the floor. Mabel, hair stuck up in all directions, clutching one of her many stuffed animals like it might try to escape.

Waddles is here too, curled up on its makeshift bed on the floor.

He stays just long enough to ensure they are all breathing, and sleeping soundly, before noiselessly going back downstairs.

The second floor is as empty as the first, including Stanley's poor excuse for a room. It is a mess of half-packed boxes, several trash bags, and the always-unmade bed.

Soon enough the house will be normal again.

Stanley will be gone, the kids will go home- (Perhaps they'll visit again next summer? It's a shame Dipper can't stay) and the Mystery Shack business will be over forever.

This once secluded corner of the valley will be that way again, his haven away from prying eyes. And tourists.

With the interior of the house cleared that only leaves the yard and porch.

Ford makes his way out onto the one Stanley finds the most use out of and the worry he hadn't realized to be carrying vanishes. There he is, sitting back dead asleep on the disgusting couch. How old is that thing? It appears to be growing several kinds of mold along the bottom because of the constant rain this region gets.

One hand is barely holding onto Stan's coffee cup, the arm of the couch holding it up while its owner sleeps.

"Seriously, Stanley? Being old doesn't give you an excuse to sleep anywhere, much less flash the local wildlife in little more than boxers." It's a good dig, in his opinion, and he speaks loud enough to rouse Stanley despite how hard of hearing he has become over the years.

Except no quick response comes.

Stanley doesn't so much as twitch in his spot on the couch.

The fear comes back-

Oh, don't be ridiculous!

"Very funny, Stanley." He lets the door close, quietly, before moving to stand in front of his brother, hands on either hip.

He looks, really looks, at Stan.

And sees nothing good.

The first notable, and most concerning finding, is that his brother isn't breathing. He waits, watching, assuming this to be a breath hold.

A joke.

But that isn't the only concerning evidence. Stanley's eyes are also halfway open, looking over the yard. Empty.

Not funny anymore, very much NOT funny!

Ford does not panic, not yet. He moves and picks up the cup, plucking it out of his brother's hand- It lacks any strength, like taking a toy from a child.

"Stanley? Wake up. Very good joke, you got me. Stop it now." He kneels on the couch, next to him, after setting the cup aside on the porch by their feet.

For the second time since coming home, Ford touches Stanley. This time with a kinder hold, reaching up to press two fingers along the pulse point between the jaw and collar bone, off to the side of the Adam's apple.

Nothing.

'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten-'

He could count on one hand the number of times true panic has overtaken him in his lifetime. It isn't a luxury one can often afford when coming face to face with death constantly in the multiverse-

But what harm can come of it when someone is already dead?

His hand stays right where it is, tucked into the still-warm skin-

"No, this isn't funny-" But Ford's voice shakes and he snatches the hand away quickly. If he can't feel the lack of pulse, it's not there. Simple.

How didn't he notice? When did this happen?

What happened?

No- Ford turns, looking around the peaceful yard. Dew covers the grass, the sun peaked up about half an hour ago basking the clearing in pink and yellow hues.

There isn't any blood.

Death is messy. He has seen it countless times, but it is never, ever, peaceful. Knives, guns, cracking bones, broken bodies...

Looking back at Stanley none of that is present. The skin is still pink, and warm, eyes open but- Dead.

No. That can't be. It just can't.

Stanley looks almost peaceful, asleep. His coffee, barely a sip or two taken from the looks of it. "No."

Panic takes many different forms. Initially, instinctively, Ford looked for the cause. It had to be someone, something, who did this. Who took his brother?

But there is nothing, no one, in sight. No blood.

"Stanley, who-" His feet stop, body stalling, in the middle of turning back from the yard to look at the corpse...

He had been about to ask, to question who did this. But a dead body can't answer. A dead body, a corpse.

There is a distinction between a vessel and a person, or so Ford had always thought.

Everyone dies and until then you live inside and pilot your body. Someday, it becomes a corpse and you leave it behind.

That is such a cold and callous way to look at it, in retrospect. Because this, is Stanley. He's just- Gone.

With quick hands, Ford begins looking, almost in a frenzy, for the cause.

No blunt force trauma to the back of the head. No perforations to the abdomen, arms, nothing. There is nothing.

But that's not possible, people don't just-

Except they do. Sometimes-

No. NO! Not them, not him! Stanley Pines wouldn't just die, not without a fight!

Death doesn't play favorites, anyone can go, anytime-

"Shut up! No, he wouldn't! He wouldn't leave me!" It comes out in a shout and shakes him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

He never allowed himself to think very far into the future, how could he? Everything was always changing and it was better to live in the now anyway. So long as you were safe now, other things could be handled later-

Except later doesn't always wait for you to be ready. Time has its own plans and you have to work around it or something-

Stanley wasn't supposed to die. Isn't! he can't be-

Except-

There are no obvious injuries, but then again there don't have to be. They may not be old, but they're old enough. Brain aneurysms take hold suddenly, killing the affected almost instantly.

Leaving barely enough time to set down a cup of coffee-

Or a heart attack?

No, Stanley would have come inside, asked for help-

Wouldn't he?

"You idiot!" It comes out in a hiss from where Ford has shifted. He's kneeling right next to Stanley, hand on either shoulder, looking at his half-open but- Dead. Dead eyes. Empty. Gone.

Soulless.

Ford isn't sure who he's talking to. Himself? or Stanley? Both?

"I would have helped you, we could have called someone, I-" He has to pull away, sinking down into the empty space of the couch to hide the tears springing up without permission.

This can't be happening. Things weren't supposed to end like this-

Oh yeah, how was it supposed to go then?

With you, kicking him out next week? Leaving him homeless, again, just like Pa?

"Stop it! I don't know, not like this!" Stanley was always the stronger between them, persevering through everything no matter what happened.

Is this my fault?

What a stupid question.

It forces him to sit up again, one hand covering his face while half peering out at Stanley.

Of course it is. What did you expect? That he would take his life being uprooted lying down?

Did he do this on purpose?

In the rush to pick up the cup of coffee Ford almost knocks it over but finds he can't hold it without spilling some of it over the sides, down onto the porch, anyway. He is left with no choice but to set it back down to avoid wasting the sample.

Maybe.

Ford takes both a physical and mental step back, leaning against one of the columns holding up the roof over the porch, to look around.

Breathing is getting a little more difficult, coming in tight short inhales and smaller and smaller exhales.

What better way to get back at me? Thirty years of a life spent learning math, science, and engineering skills well beyond any normal human's comprehension, for what?

To get a brother back who first chance he got told him to pack it up and get out?

"What kind of brother am I?"

The kind who would rather be right than-

Then apologize. Forgive. Make up. Let go.

And now, it's too late. The train left the station, Stanley is gone, and its all my fault.

"He died thinking I hated him." That realization is what breaks the decade-old dam, tears finally escaping. Ford closes the distance, sitting on the stupid couch and pulling Stanley over into a hug, even if he's not here to feel it.

The lack of strong, still buff, arms encircling him, returning the sentiment only makes him cry harder into the thin and crappy tank top Stanley must have worn to bed.

"I'm sorry." He chokes out between sobs, "I thought I'd have more time, you'd have more time. I didn't think- How could I?" Nothing he's saying is making much sense.

The ramblings of a heartbroken lunatic.

As if we really deserve to be upset, like you'd of cared if it wasn't life or death-

Maybe his own thoughts are right. If Stanley had been alive, sitting here, having his morning coffee they would have traded morning insults before going their separate ways.

But that's not the reality they live in. This one is much worse, much darker.

I spent so much time running away, trying to break apart, and be unique. No longer part of a broken pair, or what I saw as one, I-

"I never expected to miss it when the other half was gone." He is still shaking, refusing to let go, with thoughts still scrambled in a million different directions.

CPR wouldn't do any good now, although it's a nice thought. If Stanley came out here directly after preparing his coffee then that was almost twenty minutes ago, give or take-

Oh god. What about the kids?

Without letting go Ford checks the time on his watch, wincing. A few hours at most, but he'll have to call the coroner-

What does he do?

For the first time, possibly ever, Ford feels lost.

Not only because his twin is currently dead, which is already world-ending, but everything that comes with it.

Who does he say the corpse belongs to? Stanley Pines has been dead for decades-

Is that why he did this? So that Ford could slot right back into his old life, fixing the broken and shattered history? No. This had to be an accident-

Only the testing of the coffee will confirm it or not.

Ford has never had to stick around and deal with a dead body before. Moving on was easier, and necessary. He can't remember attending a funeral, other than their great aunts when they were barely seven.

That's not the same. He'll have to make arrangements, put together pictures, and give a speech-

About a life he knows nothing about.

"God, I'm sorry Stanley. I'm so sorry." It feels safe to let his voice break here. No one is around to see how completely destroyed he feels. "All you ever did was love me, and I pushed you away. I crushed it, refused, and now..."

"Now you're gone. I can't even remember the last time I told you that I love you, but I do. So much, more than I could ever handle." Ford can't let go, but he does shift back to look at his brother's face, holding his limp body with one hand and clearing his own tears with the other.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad I'm here. Thank you, for bringing me back." He has to close his eyes, fresh tear tracks spilling across both cheeks, "Even if only so I could say goodbye. I'm glad I got that, at least. If only you were here-"

With a broken voice, Ford can't stand looking at Stan like this anymore. He reaches up, closing both eyes with feather-light fingers, before leaning close to press them forehead to forehead. Just like when they were young. Before everything.

It's odd. How fast do corpses cool? Not that Ford is going to complain. It lets him pretend, just for a few more moments, that Stanley isn't gone. That they could have this again.

Too little, too late.

"I love you, Stanley." It comes out broken and cruel, like the universe is mocking him. What was the point in protecting them from Bill if death came knocking anyway?

For the first time since coming home, Ford understands.

Finally, he can see why Stanley wasted so much of his life trying to bring him back. Because he loves so much, so big. To his own detriment.

He would do anything, even destroy the world, to have Ford by his side again.

"I'm so sorry, you deserved so much better." How different could things of been?

What would Stanley of done instead? Gotten married? Had kids?

A better family, that's for sure.

Ford knows he can't stay here forever. He needs to let go, head inside, and make some phone calls. To tell Soos to close the shack for the day, get an ambulance to bring Stanley to the morgue.

He needs to prepare for when the kids wake up and figure out what to tell them.

But first, he indulges himself a little bit more by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Stanley's lips. It smells of coffee, cigars, and denture cream, but Ford can't detect any sort of drug or chemical from close proximity alone. It's nice.

Not what you'd expect from a corpse, but it's enough.

A goodbye, a real one in a weird broken way. Just their luck.

The absolute last thing Ford expects, upon starting to pull away, is to feel the body still pressed very tight to his own take in a very deep breath followed by Stanley's discarded hands coming up to grab at him.

"Stanley!" His voice is still broken, mixed with anger and joy in a typhoon of confusion.

And Stanley? He has the nerve to laugh!

"Don't think you're walking away from that so easily!" No longer locked inside his own body without the ability to do anything it's a relief to be able to breathe. But even better, he can pull Ford over on top of his lap, locking one leg in place against the side of the couch.

"Excuse me! I thought you were dead! What the fuck, Stanley! You can't just go around pretending to be dead to mess with people! What if the kids had found you, or Soos, or Wendy?! You would have scared them half to death, you scared me half to death!"

Truly, it's a complicated story. One Stan is pretty sure Ford doesn't want to hear right now when his mind is running a mile a minute.

He has other things that need to be said instead of explaining whoever that weird wizard was who came out of the forest.

Forcibly Stanley grabs Ford's face, bringing him down so they are face to face again, leaving no room for argument in their close proximity. "Shut up, will you?"

Being locked in was sort of a blessing because participating in the conversation is so much harder than he thought it would be moments ago. He steals his nerves anyway, "I love you too, I'm not dead, and I'm pretty sure forty years should have made you a better kisser than that. Otherwise, I've got my work cut out for me. Try again."

By now Ford's face is bright red both out of anger at being tricked and embarrassment at their current position. But Stanley's hands are no longer weak, holding him tightly in place. Not that he seriously wants to argue anyway.

Stan waits, but the longer Ford stares, the more unsure he becomes. Maybe he misunderstood? Or maybe Ford just has a thing for corpses and now that he isn't one, the interest is gone.

Fair enough, Stan knows he isn't much to look at. Age wasn't as kind to him as it was to Ford. All lean muscles, few wrinkles, and barely greying hair. It's stupid, really.

It would be hypocritical to go right back to being mad, wouldn't it?

Just because Stanley isn't dead now, doesn't mean he won't be next time. Or the time after that.

Anything could happen.

Ford knows he should pull away. They should talk about what the hell just happened. He should move off his brother's damn lap!

Or, he could give in to the very thing he's spent two-thirds of their lives running from. The details and tough conversation can be hashed out later, right?

It's the hold on his jaw loosening that yanks Ford out of his spinning thoughts back to the present. Stanley is pulling away, looking down-

How long was he lost in thought? It couldn't have been more than twenty seconds. Did he change his mind? No, then why does he look so-

Well. Stanley looks the same as he always does.

Oh. Briefly, for a few seconds, Stanley was being brave. He opened up and showed his hand. Let himself be vulnerable.

Idiot!

His hands had never fully left Stan's shoulders, but he tightens their grip now, shifting one up to cup along the underside of his jaw. He doesn't feel the need to say anything, because neither of them has ever really been good with words.

He leans down, surprising them both, with a much more insistent kiss.

A hello. And maybe? A new beginning.

[desperate-daydream]

can I request Seth Clearwater x male werewolf reader

plot werewolf are apex predators to the cold ones and are very dangerous so Sam,Billy,Old Quil and Sue forbid Seth from seeing the werewolf he imprinted on but Seth sneaks out to see his imprint Sam,Billy,Old Quil,Sue and the pack soon realize Seth is with his imprint and goes to find him only to see Seth being smothered with love and affection I'm talking hugs cuddles and lots lots lots!!! of kisses everyone see the most dangerous killer is biggest softie for seth

🍎 Twilight

❀ Seth Clearwater x male (werewolf) reader ⚣︎

A/N: Thank you so much for the request. I really loved to write this and sprinkled some own (partly media inspired) ideas about werewolves in it. XD I hope you'll like it.

tags/warnings: reader is a werewolf, Seth imprinted on him, disapproval from pack and council (but don't worry I usually want a happy end)

It's our duty to protect you

“Billy! Sue!”, Sam shouted with the rest of the pack following closely while keeping a complaining Seth in the middle, “We need to get Old Quil too.” The adults were shortly confused but decided to first comply and then figure out what was the great problem this time. Sam seemed really concerned and that meant something. When everyone was gathered the pack hadn’t got out of what seemed like a formation. 

“Seth imprinted”, Sam started right away. Sue was about to congratulate her son who was still in the middle of the circle but then Sam spoke up again: “Wait. Listen first, please.” 

“This is not fair”, the adults heard Seth saying once again. 

“He imprinted on a werewolf”, Sam continued and the rest tensed up immediately, “And even kept it from us for what I can only assume are months.” 

Sue looked at what she could spot from Seth, she couldn’t believe what she just heard. Her innocent and sweet youngest was supposed to be the soulmate of an apex predator - a creature that even the cold ones had feared so much that they tried to completely get rid of them. 

“Who is this werewolf?”, Old Quil wanted to know. “He didn’t want to tell us more”, Sam explained and turned to the pack. With a nod he signalled them to open the circle and let Seth out with Leah at his side. He didn’t want to have to hold back people of his own pack but Seth had already tried to run away several times after telling them. 

“Seth, please tell us, who are they?”, Sue put a hand on his cheek. But her son shook his head “No”. 

“Seth, werewolves are dangerous”, Billy tried then, “They’re not like us. They don’t have control over themselves. They are predators, they kill anyone in their way.”

“We don’t want you to get hurt”, Sue added. It did not help with making Seth comply but he said something at least. 

“So you’re just gonna hurt him first?!”

“Him?”, someone from the pack asked but that was not of importance for the adults at the moment. 

“It’s our duty to protect you”, Old Quil countered, “You can not see him again. I’m sorry, Seth. But it’s for your safety.” 

“No, please”, Seth’s eyes widened and his voice cracked when they filled with tears, “Please, you can’t. I- Please, he’s not dangerous. He would never hurt me.” 

Sue gave her son another look of apology. “Leah, please get your brother to his room.” 

“Make sure he doesn’t get out”, Sam added. 

After sending the rest off, with still a lot of complaints from Seth, the adults sat around the table. They had to figure out how to get around the bond of imprinting because as much as they hoped that Seth had not actually imprinted Sam had to tell them otherwise. Once Seth first told them about it, the pack had felt the connection through the telepathy link for a moment. Their kindest member had imprinted on probably the most dangerous creature known to them. 

While everyone either discussed his future or patrolled around his house, Seth sat on his bed. He held back the tears. He was pissed. So damn furious and frustrated. How could they just decide for him?! They didn’t even know what they were talking about! They didn’t know you. They didn’t know how strong your bond was. They only knew some vague legends and hearsaying. They were caught up in the fear of something and someone they didn’t actually know. 

But he was also sad. Yeah, almost disappointed. He wasn’t allowed to see you again. It hurt. So much. He had imprinted on you. And that wasn’t fresh; you had already spent a few months together. He.. loved you. And he missed you. Seth felt like he should’ve never told the pack about you. He regretted it. 

Then he came to the realization that he couldn’t stay in his room and just comply with the others. No. He decided to sneak out. 

Thanks to a bit more heightened senses he could make out where everyone was. If he climbed out of his window and ran straight towards the forest he might have a chance. 

And so he did. Seth tried to be as quiet as he could while opening the window and getting outside. He shortly checked his surroundings again and then he ran. First as a human to give himself advantage since their telepathy usually only worked in their wolf form. But then he shifted to be faster. The pack didn’t seem to have noticed yet and Seth used the very loose formation of the patrol to get by. 

It wasn’t the first time that he snuck out of his window and through the forest to get to you. That was why he found his way easily to your small cabin. It was in a neutral territory and rather hidden which was probably why no one else had found it by now - at least you and he hoped that nobody had. 

Seth turned back into his human form and knocked on the door. When you opened he was more than relieved. 

“Hey”, you greeted Seth a little clueless and made space for him to come in. Then you saw the distress on his usually soft face. “Are you okay?”, you asked after closing the door and put a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch and sighed deeply. 

“I told them”, Seth whispered. It still hurt how everyone had reacted and he just wanted to stop thinking which was why he fell into your offered hug. 

“Didn’t go well?”, you asked carefully while circling your scarred arms around him. You didn't have that much of a height difference but in comparison to Seth who grew more muscular every week you were as thin as a toothpick. The shifting was painful and you sometimes getting hurt on top of that - mostly because you often locked yourself in to not accidentally hurt anybody else - took so much energy off you that your body reflected it. 

You felt Seth shake his head on your shoulder and sighed too. You had warned him from the beginning. You had told him what you turned into and that it was dangerous to be around you when you were turned. You had also said that others probably wouldn’t react well to hearing about you and your condition. 

But Seth had decided to stay. He had decided to get to know you and before you realized it you fell deeply for him. His sunny and loveable behaviour, his kindness and care, his bright smile and his soft touch. 

Yeah, you’ve expressed several times that you weren’t sure if you deserved him but when he had expressed how sure he was about you you fell even more. 

“Wanna go in the garden?” Seth looked up again and smiled while nodding. Then he leaned forward and stole a little kiss from your bruised lips. You lightly chased after him for a longer kiss but he already turned around and dragged you behind him through your back door. 

You cuddled closely together on the lounger you had standing there. While your hand went soothingly through Seth’s hair you occasionally placed kisses over his cute face. He traced the dark circles beneath your eyes and when he looked at you with a little worry about it you just reassuringly kissed his hand with a smile. You were fine. More than fine now that Seth was next to you and kissed you and caressed your scars. God, you were so gone for him you would do anything he wanted. 

When you attacked him again with kisses all over his face he laughed out loud. But that moment didn’t stay for long. Suddenly you heard a voice calling out Seth’s name and then there were several people standing at the border of your garden. 

Seth braced himself for what was gonna come next. They were gonna tell him off, scold him for sneaking out to see you. But to his surprise none of that happened. He saw the council and many pack members just standing there. Some had the looks of disbelief on their faces while looking between him and you who was still holding him tightly and halfway hiding your face in his neck. 

Yeah, they didn’t expect that and Seth was a bit smug. He had told them that you wouldn’t hurt him but they just didn’t want to listen. They were officially proven wrong now because it was more than clear that you were a complete softie for him. 

In the end most of the pack even got to know you better and witnessed how much effort you put in protecting Seth as well as controlling your werewolfism. And even though she would not admit it out loud for some time, Leah recognized why you had been destined as Seth’s imprint. It seemed almost like a puzzle in Seth’s soul had been completed by being with you - a dangerous creature that was wrapped around his finger. 

[cha-melodius]

May I ask you about your writing??? First of all and possibly most importantly, how do you do it? How do you find inspiration and such? How do you make it happen? Because I sat down with a really juicy idea not long ago and I was excited and it was incredibly hard. I deleted it, I was embarrassed. So how do you first, come up with a great idea (which you do you write such cool stuff!) and then bring it to fruition? I’ve always been a decent writer but I was really frustrated with the fic I set out to write!!!

Hey anon! Sorry for sitting on this for a while but it came in the night before a big academic conference for me, so I've had almost no time for anything, sadly.

First off, thank you so much for the compliment on my writing! A lot of the direct answers to your questions are not very satisfying, tbh. Ideas come to me from everywhere—things I watch, read, random internet things—and how I bring it to fruition mostly involves a lot of planning. I got a lot happier with my work when I started making outlines for my fics, so I always know where I want to go with the story and how I'm getting there, versus meandering around aimlessly.

I'm guessing that there was something about your idea that was particularly challenging, since you said that you've always been a decent writer but found what you produced frustrating. Since I don't know the details I'm gonna give some advice that will hopefully cover a few different aspects. And first, a short list, and then the details under the cut because I'm a wordy bitch.

Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

1. Just keep writing. It can take a while to find your voice.

I started writing fanfic (or, re-started, because I wrote when I was young and then took a looooong break) to get the stories out of my head, and my first fics were not great lol. They were also for a rarepair and approximately 5 people read them, so there wasn't much pressure I suppose. I was just putting them on AO3 because I figured why not? And then I just kept writing, off and on for different fandoms, until the writing bug really caught me and I started producing a lot more, about five years ago. But it probably took me ~20 fics (several of which were quite long) before I'd consider my stuff to be decent. Whether you share your early works or not is up to you, but in general I'd recommend it because there's a good chance someone will love it (even if you consider it to be substandard) and that can help you feel better about your own writing. I didn't start out good at writing action, but I wrote (and read, see below) consistently in a lot of action-heavy fandoms, so I got a lot of practice. I also feel like the more I wrote, the more ideas I got, and the more unique ideas I got.

You occasionally see someone in fandom who's like "this is my first fic!" and it gets really popular or and lots of hype or whatever, but that's not the typical experience. Most of us start out writing like crap. It's ok. It gets better.

2. Get help. Seek out 'subject experts' and people who you think are good at writing the kinds of stories you want to write.

Ok, so you wrote a first draft you were disappointed in. Ask yourself what was disappointing about it? Do you feel like the beats aren't hitting, or the action is wooden, or the language is awkward? The great thing about fandom and fanfiction is that there are so many people that are willing to help out as beta readers or even just someone to talk to. I understand that getting a beta reader can seem daunting. You don't want someone to criticize your work, or it might seem embarrassing to show someone else a work you feel bad about. But if you get someone else to read it, you'll have the chance to both hear good things about it and also get advice about things you're uncertain about. People come to fandom from all walks of life and I'm a big fan of asking for help if you're writing about something you're not super familiar with. I've never actually been to therapy, so getting help from @celeritas2997 was absolutely critical for me to feel good about my couple's therapy AU. Also you can ask people for advice if they write the kinds of fics you want to write—I've had multiple people ask me for help with their action scenes, and I'm always happy to lend an eye and give advice.

Also, related to this: it's ok if you don't like your first draft. But don't delete it! Put it aside, whether you ask someone else to look at it or not, and come back to it a while later with fresh eyes. It may not be as terrible as you thought! Or maybe there are parts you still hate, but there are other parts that you can work on and revise.

3. Read a lot, and broadly, especially in the genre you want to write.

Want to write sci-fi? Read a lot of sci-fi novels. Read a lot of sci-fi AUs. Break out of your fandom and read fics in fandoms you don't know—I used to do this a lot and it was one of the most important steps in my process of finding my own voice as well as understanding how stories are built. When you read in only one fandom, you get used to a lot of the same voices and types of stories, but there is SO MUCH out there. I've been known to scroll through the 'Enemies to Lovers' tag on occasion, but also I will go into fandoms for media I know but have no strong connection to, don't want to write in but know the characters, and read those. I spent a lot of time reading X-men, Good Omens, Witcher, even MCU juggernauts like Stucky even though I don't really ship them. I know it probably sounds crazy to tell you to go read other fandoms when (I'm assuming you're RWRB) there's so much in this one, but I do think it's valuable. This one is not only for getting exposed to a lot of writing styles, but also lots of ideas. I've definitely gotten a lot of ideas that spun off from something else I read.

I feel like none of this is particularly revolutionary advice, but I hope it at least gives you (and anyone else who manages to read this far lol) some confidence to keep going and go after those stories you want to write. Everyone—me, popular fandom writers, professional authors—started out just writing a lot, and they improved over time.

Most importantly: just keep going. You can do it!!

[justageekk]

❛❛ color caramelo ❜❜ — marc bernal x fem!reader

summary: Marc gets jealous when a boy tries to flirt with you.

warnings: jealousy, small discussion.

word count: 1,015

inspiration: “color caramelo” by beny jr

❛❛ Si alguno a ella le tira

Puede que en su mismo barrio yo me plante ❜❜

NOTE : My native language is not English, I'm sorry if I write something wrong.

The music inside the house thumped softly as you walked into the party with Marc. He lightly took your arm and leaned closer to discreetly whisper in your ear.

“Are you okay, cariño?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as he waited for your response.

“Yes, although I’m surprised you agreed to come here.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone. I made an exception for you,” he said with a smile, giving you a quick glance.

The two of you separated as the party began to liven up. You weren’t too far apart, but you both knew you needed to keep your relationship hidden for both your sakes—mostly because of Marc’s rising fame. People lately had been invasive, and neither of you wanted to risk your relationship being destroyed by rumors or other complications.

You were in the kitchen pouring yourself a drink while Marc chatted with Guillermo, though his eyes stayed fixed on your every move.

Taking a sip of your beer, you suddenly heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Alex, a friend of one of your friends, said, flashing a confident smile and running a hand through his messy blond hair.

You chuckled politely before responding, “I didn’t want to stay cooped up on a Saturday.”

He let out a soft laugh, leaning closer to you and starting to play with your hair, curling it around his finger before letting it go. His gaze lingered on your face, occasionally dropping to your body as though he wanted to devour you right then and there.

“I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, beautiful?”

You clenched your jaw, smiling awkwardly as you nodded, gripping your glass tightly before taking another sip.

At first, Marc didn’t pay much attention, thinking you were just having a normal conversation. He couldn’t act like a jealous maniac, after all. But his demeanor shifted completely when Alex leaned in far too close to your face.

The brunet rose from the couch in a fury, striding over to where you were and shoving Alex by the shoulder to get to you.

“Is he bothering you?” Marc asked, pointing at the blond with his thumb over his shoulder.

Alex smirked, as if the situation was a joke to him. “Relax, we were just talking, man.”

“Shut up. Who asked you?” Marc snapped, turning abruptly and shoving Alex again.

“Take it easy, bro. It’s not that serious. What’s your problem?” Alex let out a nervous laugh, stepping back.

“My problem is idiots like you trying to hit on what’s mine with other intentions. Got it?”

Your eyes widened as you stood frozen, unsure of what to do in this situation.

“Alright, man, I didn’t know she was taken.”

“Well, now you do,” Marc said firmly, giving Alex one last glare before turning toward you. His expression softened instantly as he stepped closer, reaching out his hand to you. His fingers brushed against yours with a tenderness that starkly contrasted with his earlier anger.

“Let’s go,” he murmured quietly.

Without saying a word, you took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch as he began leading you out of the party. His body remained tense, his posture firm, as though he was still ready to confront anyone who dared get in his way.

As you moved through the crowd, you felt the weight of people’s stares. Some whispered to one another, probably surprised by the scene they had just witnessed, but Marc didn’t pay them any mind. His only focus was getting you out of there.

When you finally stepped into the cool night air, Marc let out a long sigh, as if releasing all the tension he’d been holding in. He still held your hand, but this time, he stopped and turned to face you, his eyes scanning you carefully.

“Was all of that really necessary?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

“Are you seriously asking me that? Did you not see how he was looking at you? Or the way he was talking to you?”

“Marc, it was nothing. You know I didn’t pay him any attention.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to stand there while someone tries to make a move on you.”

He shook his head, exhaling heavily as his hands gripped yours tightly.

“I’m not going to just stand by while someone flirts with you,” he said firmly.

You looked at him silently for a moment. Before you could respond, Marc took a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he leaned in, his dark eyes locked on yours. Without waiting for an answer, he closed the gap, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips.

The kiss made your heart race instantly, and your hands, almost instinctively, moved to rest against his chest. Marc’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his fingers brushing your skin gently, while his other hand moved to your waist. With a determined motion, he pulled you closer, pressing your body against his as if he wanted to ensure there was no space left between you.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses.