#daily monitor heart to heart
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it is just so demoralizing to be fucking winded when you weren't even standing properly, you were leaning on the fucking counter. or just *walking* like. i'm not DOING anything and yet i feel like i've just run 10 miles like wtf.
#this post brought to you by#my POTSy ass overexerting myself cause i made tortelinis for dinner#i should get a heart monitor so i can say exactly how fast this shit's going on a daily basis#but this was worse than the time i was hooked up to the monitor and did something similar if not even somehow more intensive#and that time i got to 163 all just from leaning on the counter at the store#so it's at least that bad#and like it's fucking exhausting#it's so fucking exhausting like wtf body why is this how we're handling this shit#hhhhhh
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Cardio said my echocardiogram ultrasound, exercise stress test, and week long heart monitor all showed no serious issues, my resting heart rate is fine, but that my heart rate does seem to rise very rapidly under even small amounts of stress (postural changes, taking stairs, casually walking around my house) and rises very high (160+ bpm according to the monitor) so now I get to be put on beta blockers to see if they work and if they do she said that is sufficient evidence to confirm for sure that it's POTS.
Obviously could confirm it as well with a tilt table test but those are TORTURE based off what I've heard from fellow POTSies so I am very thankful that she doesn't think that's necessary and will not be making me do one.
#i was not expecting to get dx and meds this fast tbh but im very happy about it#i think the fact that she also has POTS herself helps because she is very well acquaintaned with what it looks and feels like#and how hard it is to actually catch with orthostatics in office unless youre having a bad heart day#so my orthostatics not being within range was unsurprising to her and she was like#'that doesnt mean anything you clearly still have a heart rate issue going on even if it didnt show itself right now'#i didnt do shit the entire week i had that monitor on to like physically exert myself but my heart rate still hit almost 170 a few times#also the doctor who did my stress test asked me if i ever experience any chest discomfort or pain and i was like hm no dont think so#and he went 'your chart says you have palpitations though?'#and i was like '... those count as discomfort???' akdjaicidjwjcjsn the answer is yes apparently#im just so used to them now because i have them daily that they dont even really register to me anymore#unless theyre bad enough to knock the wind out of me or make me cough#they just make me anxious which... ig is also a form of discomfort#chronic illness and chronic pain problems though lol not having a normal baseline for discomfort and pain#ndr#not dog related#health stuff#not that anyone probably cares lol but im excited about getting things that have neen affecting me for years FINALLY figured out#im not crazy im just disabled!!!!#*been
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Luna has been mentioned in a D.isco chat which means I am contractually obligated to post York.
#honestly that's a damn lie because I regularly update Steph on Luna's daily doings#but I figure I /probably/ shouldn't post pictures of her here every single day#if you make eye contact with Luna for even .1 seconds she'll trot off and grab a toy to go 'playtime???'#may even gruff and bark a little at you to get your attention#or drop it on your feet in case you somehow missed it#:outofcash#Luna and her toys have a very special relationship#and she has a very special process for a new toy#first she runs around the house with it seeing if anyone will chase her (her second-favorite game)#then she'll sit down and TEAR! OUT! THAT! SQUEAKER!#like a woman possessed she will not rest until she's torn out that toy's heart (squeaker)#she's gotten scarily impressive at it and has greatly improved her time score#(we monitor her and grab the squeaker once it's out so we don't risk her eating any plastic)#then-- the guts (stuffing)#targeting the hole she made she methodically pulls out the cotton bit by bit#if she's lucky we'll engage her in a game of tug of war (her first favorite game)#all in all Luna loves tearing up toys and feels great enjoyment from her new toy routine and can tell when she's getting a new one#she once got excited at my friend's baby once because she thought the bundle we were holding just /had/ to be a toy for her...#anyways! enough Luna posting#sigh I miss my little Y.orkie 😂
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⭐
𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐎 ┇ accepting ♡
hello!! i'm happy to see you in my inbox again and let me just say i absolutely adore the way you get super creative about your OC lupin and the way he navigates in your verses tbh!! your world building is marvelous and i always look forward to viewing your replies IC or OOC (even his interactions with other characters!). your writing inspires me to write better ngl!! love to see more from your work in the future and write louise's relationship with her dearest lupin ♡♡♡
#endlss-voiid#˗ˏˋ ༄ ──── 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 〳 ❪ don't let the cold put you off ❫#˗ˏˋ ༄ ──── 𝐎𝐎𝐂 〳 ❪ out of heat sources ❫#louise also is full of life around lupin mind you!#he melts her icy heart 💙💙💙#CHOMP CHOMP because i live for your posts on a daily basis!#it's like i'm in a hospital bed and humming with life through the heart rate monitor
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remembered i can say whatever i want all the time so. gort fucking aeryn’s throat with his head hanging off a bed because at that angle he can wrap one hand around his throat and place the other over his heart. yeah
#gort is never beating the cardiophilia allegations 👍#he would definitely be the one to invent stethoscopes in dnd-verse just to monitor his (HIS) heart. ♥️#your daily dose of idiocy#nsft#aeryn and gortash
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great news! the pre-mcr show nerves have kicked in and im incapable of falling back asleep
#hows everyone doing this fine morning between the hours of 3 and 10 am??#im so glad i dont have one of those exercise watches with the heart rate monitor in it#daily mcr show nerves CANNOT be good for me id hate to see physical proof of it
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Love being in so much pain we consider going to the ER
#we're proooobably not gonna go. today.#but this is a daily issue and it gets worse with each passing day so if it keeps up we're gonna be in the ER screaming in pain#we're already yelling with every wave of it#oooooh thank gods the painkillers + ice pack are working#still hurts but we can exist now#really the only reason we're reluctant to go is that the ER has never actually helped us#theyre so fucking useless man. they never do anything. they'll tell you to stay overnight at best and maaaybe they'll give you saline#painkillers? oh they'll give otc meds that you know dont even work for you. nothing more than that one dose of it too#treatment? whats that?#they WATCHED us have a heart episode on the monitors and didnt offer anything more than a 'huh. neat.'#if youre not bleeding out theyre useless#fuck ERs
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𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒/𝐎
<< yandere genshin men with pregnant S/o >>
Characters : ayato, diluc, kaeya, alhaitham, neuvillete, wriostheley, zhongli , tartaglia
After some inconvenience you end up pregnant with your first child in the earliest part of your marriage, and this is their reaction
⚠️ Warning : baby trapping, non con intimacy, and other disturbing content ⚠️
( Based on the last poll I made, as promised this yandere genshin men Headcanon of pregnant S/o )
<< English is not my first language >>
Ayato
< How many kids he wants : 3 - 6 >
Oh what a joyous occasion, when you tell him you were expecting a child, he pauses and smiles saying what a miracle he was already expecting this would happen. Ayaka is also happy with this news she would visit you and press her ear to your baby bump and talk to the baby or basically rub your stomach.
Having a child with you is the only way you are tied to him forever, by having a child you finally have something to stay with him as well as having the next head of the clan, making sure his clans future is secured. He babyfied the entire house for you as well as babying you, saying these emotions are just your hormones and saying the baby is a blessing
He will not allow you to leave your bed, before you are pregnant you're still allowed to walk around the estate but now you're not allowed or step outside your bed. You were put under strict bed rest and if you need to get around you have him, his sister or thoma to help you as well having the shuutmasuban monitoring you 24/7
Diluc
< how many kids he wants : 2 - 4 >
When you tell him about this news he runs towards you carefully of course not wanting to hurt the baby, and hugs you tightly and kisses your forehead saying you both will be good parents and a thank you for giving him the best present he ever asked for. The entire staff was soon aware of this news and started the preparation for a new born. Adeline will monitor you attending your every need when diluc is busy.
The nursery is all set up, and everything is set. After Kaeya's departure from the mansion as well as his father dying, the mansion has been quite lonely before your arrival, the mansion has started to have more light and after your pregnancy announcement it grows more. It melts his heart knowing he will not be alone anymore. Your babies will be spoiled a lot by him.
You are not allowed to walk around without him or Adeline supervision or not you're not allowed to walk around because he will carry you everywhere thinking it will cause harm to the baby. He will help you with your daily routine and will prevent you from reading your favorite novels cause stress is bad for the baby.
Kaeya
< How many kids he wants : 1 - 2 >
To be honest, he never expected to be a father. He always thought he would be a bad father. But after you tell him you're pregnant he will embrace you and say thank you and you both will get through this together. This is unexpected for him but he was happy having a child
He was anxious and nervous at first, but he handled it like a pro. Soon he started to enjoy the process when days got rough he would put his head on your bump and talk to the baby as well trying to feel it kicking. These small moments that lead him to start enjoying fatherhood.
After the baby was born he started to want more kids because, he really loves this bundle of joy and you know what can make him more happy more bundles of joy he will try to convince you to have another kid. And on the bright side your relationship is more healthier as well giving the outside a perfect image of your relationship.
Alhaitham
< How many kids he wants 2 - 4 >
He came prepared for your pregnancy, he read tons of books about babies as well about parenting he is prepared for this, he would control every aspect of your life food, bed time and other things
He will monitor you every day, he will free his schedule to make sure you will attend as well following the schedule he gives you during pregnancy. He will be there with your every step buying maternal clothes as well as other baby stuff. He has a very good job and is large payment. has a large savings for this day for both of you and the kids to live a comfortable
He wants to have two kids but he does have a feeling of wanting more but it depends on you if you want to have more. Your body is your choice, you're the one that had to carry the baby he doesn't want to tire you and force you to have more.
Neuvillete
< How many kids he wants 4 - 6 >
He was so happy after hearing about your pregnancy, the melusine will help you with your pregnancy and watch over you. Neuvillete will prepare everything as well using some dragon mating rituals for the preparation.
By collecting large amounts of comfortable pillows and soft blankets to create a large nest for you. To make sure you're comfortable. He will help you around with everything normal chores and walking are restricted your only supposed to lay on your nest to relax.
The melusine called your babies as their siblings and will protect you from anything, the steam bird pushy to share your pregnancy they will ask them to back away. The steam bird has been quite annoying following you around when you want to buy baby clothes as well fontainians love for drama they will approach you and ask about everything it has become quite draining dealing with people approaching you for information on your pregnancy. So that's why neuvillete prevents you from leaving the "nest"
Wriostheley
< How many kids he wants 1 - 2 >
After you told him about your pregnancy, it was kept as a secret in the fortress due to how many convicts are willing to hurt you as revenge towards him. So you were mouth to the surface and sigewine will do once a week checks up on going to the surface.
You live in an isolated place in the surface world, very far from Fontaine as well wriostheley office is built secretly to have an elevator going thru to the surface to visit you and your new home, the fortress is not a safe place for children.
He just wanted one but was afraid that the child would grow up lonely, the duke of the fortress of meriopede being your father makes the child stand out afraid they will be isolated by this information. If there were signs that the child was lonely or wanting a sibling he would not hesitate to give them a sibling
Zhongli
< How many kids he wants 3 - 6 >
If this happens during ancient liyue when he's by far much younger than his current timeline, you would already have lots of kids. They would have been grown up when traveler visits teyvat as well them being full blown Adepti. Cloud retainers would love to baby sit your babies and will tell you to rest and let her baby sit.
If you're pregnant in the current game timeline, you would still have a lot of kids but not as much as the other timeline, you have to stay at mt. Aocang under the watchful eye of the Adepti due to the babies not being normal humans. They are half adepti if you're human. So when the babies come you will deliver a safe birth. There is a large chance of you not surviving the birthing process so he will make sure you survive the birth process with the aid of the other Adepti.
But if you're pregnant during the archon war, you will be forced into hiding as well the news of your pregnancy hidden since teyvat are being a battle growns for gods to dominate and control the thrones and he has many rival gods wanting to destroyed him so what can cause him great pain of attacking his beloved. Everyday he would visit you with blood on his clothes and comfort you even tho you tried your best to stay away from him.
Tartaglia
< How many kids he wants 4 - 8 >
The happiest out of all of these yandere , all his life he wanted a family and finally he was given one. He breaks the news to his family and they are ecstatic. He spins you around the room and laughs.
He wanted to have a lot of kids he came from a big family and he has many siblings so expect to have more than four kids. He will buy you many luxurious gifts as well as many toys he can buy heck he buys an entire toy store for his babies. Will love any gender as long as it is his.
Fatui guards are there to guard you no matter, he will not let you get close to the other harbingers only ones he trusts the most who is pulcinella or arlechinno to watch over you when he's out in work, he move you to a more secluded mansion with a lot of servants during your pregnancy and his family will visit you to check up on you. You are not allowed to do any chores only rest in your bed.
#yandere#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact#genshin x reader#yandere genshin x reader#yandere imagines#genshin headcanons#alhaitham x reader#neuvillete x reader#tartaglia x reader#wriothesely x reader#zhongli x reader#diluc x reader#kaeya x reader#yandere headcanons#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere alhaitham#yandere ayato#yandere diluc#yandere kaeya#yandere wriothesley#yandere neuvillette#yandere tartaglia#yandere zhongli#diluc#zhongli#tartaglia
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“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.
PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified
BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.
And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.
The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.
They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.
It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.
Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.
It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.
The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.
“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”
Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”
But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”
Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.
“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”
Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”
Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.
He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”
“The heating system is fine.”
With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.
Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.
“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”
The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.
Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.
“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.
The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.
“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”
Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”
“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”
“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”
“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”
The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”
The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.
“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”
He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.
The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.
The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.
During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.
Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.
It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.
The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.
The game was on.
It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.
Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.
First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.
‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’
The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.
‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”
At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.
The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.
You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.
Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.
‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’
His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.
Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.
Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.
Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.
> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.
And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.
Your conversations became the highlight of his days.
His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.
You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.
Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.
By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.
The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.
Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.
This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.
You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.
That night, he sent you a message.
> Are you free on Christmas Eve?
Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.
> I am. Why?
He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.
> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.
> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.
> You wouldn’t be intruding.
Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.
> Then I’d love to come.
His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.
Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.
When you stepped out, his breath caught.
You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.
“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”
Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.
The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.
It was Bruce’s home.
“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.
“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”
The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.
You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.
The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.
Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.
When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.
“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”
You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”
For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.
#bruce wayne x fem!reader#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne fluff#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne headcanon#bruce wayne dc#bruce wayne fanfiction#bruce wayne#reader insert#x reader#batman x fem!reader#batman x y/n#batman x you#batman x reader#batman imagine#batman fic#batman fanfiction#dcu x reader#dc comics x reader#dc x reader#dcu comics#dcu#dc universe#batboys x reader#batboys x y/n
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Something angsty like the batboys reaction to reader in the hospital! I don’t think we have enough angst here
Jason
The moment he hears that you were hospitalised it was as though he had a pit developing in his stomach and that it was growing ever larger.
His mind wanders towards the worst case scenario as to how you had gotten hospitalised in the first place and that no matter how hard Jason tried to stop thinking such things, they only continued to get progressively worse the more he tried to ignore it.
He was worried out of his mind about you and somehow found a way to blame himself for not being there for you, not keeping you safe and letting you risk the chance of dying somewhere he couldn’t find you. Jason knew you were in safe hands at the hospital, but that knowledge did very little to ease the ache within his chest as he managed to find the room you were in and felt his heart break at the state you were in.
‘Oh baby bird.’ He whispered as though any louder would physically hurt you as his eyes wandered to the machines you were hooked up to. He hated the sight of the heart monitor even more as it beeped at him rhythmically, showing him that you were alive and well, but he couldn’t help but think of each beep as a mockery towards him and his failure to be there when he should’ve.
‘You shouldn’t be in here hooked up to all these machines.’ Jason said a little louder this time as he sat down on the chair beside your bed, immediately grasping at your hand and squeezing it gently. ‘You should be home with me, cuddled beneath layers of blankets only to complain about how warm you get, but when I suggest you stop cuddling me. you then become stubborn and hug me tighter knowing damn well your making things worse for yourself.’ Jason chuckled softly at the warm memory, but that quickly died when he saw your face and being reminded that you were stuck in a perpetual slumber.
A coma is what the doctors said you were under and they had no idea whether or not you’d awake from it, but insisted that he should talk to you regardless.
So Jason swallows down the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. ‘Your stronger then this sweetheart. I know you’ll wake up and will call me a soft teddy bear for worrying but I can’t help but worry about you. I always will worry about you because you mean so much to me, and I don’t want to ever think I’ll never get to see your beautiful smile or hear your laugh ever again. I don’t want that.’ Jason said as he finds himself praying to whomever was listening to keep their filthy hands off of you as he also pleaded you case to keep living.
He didn’t know what he could do other than hope that you healed accordingly and wake up so he could smother you in affection and never let you out of his sight ever again.
Jason doesn’t want to loose you but felt as though he was starting to run out of options the longer you’d remain in this coma. So he vows to himself that he’ll come here on a daily basis to talk to you in hopes that it would keep you away from the edge and back to him, preferably back to him and his arms where you belonged.
‘I’m not giving up on you little bird, for you never gave up on me when you should’ve. So I’m here, I’m right here I’m not leaving.’ Jason says to you and he keeps to his word as he stays by your side the whole night.
Dick
Once Dick is made aware that you were hospitalised from Bruce or Barbra, his smile drops from his face as he quietly excuses himself and starts making his journey to the hospital that you were residing.
The sight before him when he arrived at the hospital left Dick with an ache in his heart as he wordlessly sat down in the chair next to you, vowing to himself then and there that he wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. ‘You’ve scared me sweetheart, still scaring me if I’m being honest.’ Dick said as he eyed the monitors with distain as they hook onto you almost like leeches instead of their actual purpose.
He just wanted to take you home and care for you himself but knew he couldn’t.
‘I know I don’t confide in you about my thoughts and feelings and that’s mainly because I was afraid, afraid of how you’d see or think of me afterwards for you are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me.’ Dick confessed as he risked running a hand gingerly down your cheek, becoming upset when you didn’t lean into his touch like you usually do and tries to keep his composure as he continues.
‘If you wake up- no, when you wake up I promise to be more open with you, more honest with you as I don’t want this being the end of us when I have so much I’ve yet to share with you.’ Dick was quick to wiped away at his eyes when he noticed his vision begin to blur and the persistent sniffling he was doing before pulling out his phone to show you pictures of you, himself and Hayley as though that would somehow pull you out of your coma. ‘Hayley is missing you right now, she needs you as much as I do and I don’t think I have the heart to tell her I lost you because I don’t want to loose you.’ He admits as he puts away his phone and cling onto one of your hands desperately.
‘I need you here with me and Hayley, happy and healthy and laughing and in our one little fairy tale life where nothing else matters but us.’ Dick says softly as he presses kisses to your hand, trying his hardest not to break down into tears, but found it harder and harder to keep it all together when the person he cared for most was in a coma, and with no foreseeable future of awaking from.
‘I don’t want to be alone again…please don’t leave me alone and wake up as soon as you can…please I don’t ask for much but I don’t think I can handle loosing you sweetheart. So please, please remain strong and wake up.’
Damian
Leaves the room without another word, uncaring that he might come across as rude or disrespectful, but to Damian you were more important then anyone else and he wasn’t about to waste time with them when you were hospitalised.
Once he had gotten to your room in the hospital he immediately felt his facade crumble as his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you attached to so many machines. Damian could feel him heart rip in two the longer he looked at you that was followed by the need to search for the people who did this and pay them back tenfold.
However Damian knew that you needed him more then ever right now and that his thirst for revenge would have to be put to the side for the meantime, and if it was for you Damian would do anything just to see you open your eyes and tell him that you were okay; However he knew that reality wouldn’t bless him when you were deep in comatose.
So while he was alone with you Damian allowed himself to silently shed a few tears that he had been holding in the entire journey to the hospital, he didn’t know what to do. You were hurt, really hurt and Damian had never felt more useless than he did in this moment as he looks over your form and finding more reasons to simultaneously feel unbridled rage and sadness.
So without realising he had found himself resorting to one thing he thought he’d never do, beg.
‘Please open your eyes my treasure,’ he starts, ‘call me Dami, call me whatever your heart sees fit and I won’t complain about it, not once. I just want you to open your eyes and tell me that everything is going to be fine, that we’re going to be fine.’ Damian trails off as he finds his eyes blurred with more tears that didn’t fall until he was forced to blink.
‘Don’t leave me. this is all I ask of you, for I do not wish to face a life where you are unceremoniously taken from me, I do not wish to live a life we both promised to have without you by my side.’ Damian admits as he reaches for your hand, lifts it and kisses the back of it all the while closing his eyes, squeezing out the last of his tears as he tried to clam his breath but found no avail in his attempts. ‘Don’t take them away from me. I know my hands are tainted with blood, but spare their soul until you can claim mine.’ Damian could feel himself being torn apart at the idea that his pleas for your life weren’t enough to who ever was listening to him in this moment of vulnerability.
‘They are my heart and my soul and they are worth life more than I am. Their soul is pure in comparison to mine, tainted from a young age but I would do anything you ask of me if it meant keeping them safe and alive.’ Damian opened his eyes to look at your oddly peaceful face and felt the ache within his chest grow more into something more painful that he ever thought possible. ‘Torture me all you want I can handle it, but leave them out of it. I can’t stand seeing them hurt or in pain. Seeing them in pain tears at my soul at its very foundations, cracks my heart into a million pieces as I’m left bleeding profusely from imaginary wounds. Let them live, that is all I ask.’ He finishes as he found a fresh wave of tears brining his eyes as he now leaves it up to time to determine your fate.
Damian will forever hate feeling helpless when your life was considered.
Tim
Tracks down the exact hospital you were in and doesn’t waste a moment in heading over there as fast as he could.
He didn’t know the severity of your situation but he wasn’t about to risk a single second doing nothing.
So when he does arrive at the hospital he wishes what he was seeing before him was a dream, a bad dream and that if he pinched himself hard enough he’d wake up to you in bed besides him and no machines hooked onto you.
He didn’t like the sight as it made him feel violently sick but he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone here, not when you were in a vulnerable position such as a coma.
Tim doesn’t say much as he sits himself by your side, watching with seemingly dead eyes as your heart monitor reminds him that you were alive, while they might’ve been comforting for some, it wasn’t enough for him as he needed to see you awake and fretting over him for how long he stayed up for or the lack of sleep. He needs to see you awake and well to believe that you weren’t gone from his life entirely, not comatose or hooked up to every machine in existence.
He felt like a failure somehow, he was supposed to keep you safe and yet failed to do that, and was now faced with the idea that you might stay like this for months on end without any real progression. If he could easily track where you were in the hospital, then how come he didn’t do the same before you had gotten seriously hurt? Where was the logic in that? he was meant to be one of the smartest detectives in Gotham and yet he couldn’t use everything at his disposal to keep you safe from harm.
What a joke. Tim thinks to himself as he forced himself to look at the damaged you sustained, using it as a reminder of how easily it was for you to be taken from him when he wasn’t on guard and keeping tabs on you.
He didn’t want to promise anything aloud in fear that reality would somehow work against him and take you away earlier than expected. So he just sits there and allows himself to feel the guilt, the fear and the pain that had been building up within his chest from the moment he heard the news, to where he was now. He fisted his jeans angrily as he let the first wave of tears stream down his cheeks, audibly sobbing to himself as he chants to himself;
‘Please wake up, you’ll be okay. Please wake up, you’ll be okay. Please just wake up and take me out of this nightmare, I don’t want this to be real. I’m not ready to loose you yet.’
#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x you#dc fanfic#dc fic#dc comics x reader#dc x y/n#dc fanfiction#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#dick grayson x you#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson imagines#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson fluff#damian wayne x you#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagines#tim drake x you#tim drake imagines#tim drake x reader#tim drake imagine#tim drake x y/n#jason todd x y/n#dick grayson x y/n#damian wayne fluff#damian wayne x y/n
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the v's reaction to someone taking your hearing aid
♥ summary: "what the Vees would do if they noticed their partially deaf s/o being picked on - like the other people would tear out their hearing aid(s) and break them and stuff" @aceduchessdragoness ♥ characters: velvette, vox, valentino ♥ notes: screaming and crying okay so i did val's spanish as spain spanish bc i think spain sign language would be better than narrowing his signs down to a specific latin american country but if the translation is cringe then tell me bc i'm literally using an lse dictionary
Vox
♥ word count: 1.9k ♥ notes: i use [Y/N] for the first time in my career ong, she/her pronouns used in third person, reader doesn't speak and only signs, protective but violent vox, vox in a healthy relationship, reader gets harassed in public
It was never a mystery to you how Vox always knew where you were. Even without the watch on your wrist, you felt his eyes on you, the looming knowledge of persistent monitoring.
Not that it bothered you, of course. If anything, you were worried that he wanted to spend his time watching you instead of running his business. But whatever, it was flattering.
Whenever you went on your routine errands, you would smile at every television or security camera you encountered. On the big screens in Vox's room, he feels like the common softening of his heart. Your smile always seems so genuine. How can somebody like you adore him so much?
.
Blue light illuminates your living room. From the kitchen, you groan as you make your way to the television. Can he stop bothering you at this hour? All you wanted to do was get some damn water, but of course, as always, he's monitoring you.
Words pop up on the screen as you approach it. You rub your eyes, the brightness overwhelming. You reach for your coffee table.
GO TO SLEEP
With the sudden click of the remote, you smile as the screen goes black. One, two, three... it lights up again.
DON'T TRY
Again, the screen goes black. One... again, a bright blue illuminates you.
[Y/N]. The television shakes.
You snicker at him, finally sitting on the floor and putting the remote down. On the other side of that screen, Vox sits on his swivel chair, gazing up at you, your frame taking up multiple monitors. Your eyes look below where his point of view is.
"It's late," you sign, and the light makes your hands shine in the darkness. "Dim it a little."
He listens; his small act of consideration makes you melt. Your eyes soften immensely. Internally, he begs you to stop looking at him like that; it's embarrassing how good it makes him feel.
The television is still a blinding blue as you go from the living room to the bedroom; he follows you per any screen by your side. Worst of all, a flat-screen faces your bed, which was mandatory.
"Goodnight, Vox." You sign while putting your face up to the screen.
You turn this TV off, and to your delight, it stays off.
.
With a yawn, you stretch your morning aches away and lean your head against the table of your vanity. You get a few seconds of shut-eye before popping back up. Vox is watching; if he notices you're tired, he will try to be domestic and nap with you regardless of how much work you must do today. So you rub away your sleepy eyes and massage the tension in your jaw. Putting on your hearing aid is first on your daily to-do list; you'd like to hear if he pops up on your television and decides to update you on his morning. Sometimes, he gets so impatient. Next, while picking up your moisturizer, you try not to shiver at the coldness once it touches your fingers.
You wish yourself a good morning before rubbing it in.
At the same time of day, Vox was already up and doing his rounds, making sure his employees were getting work done. He gets antsy between when you wake up, and you get to the tower. Every morning once he sees you entering the elevator, he'll wait on the other side to welcome you in with a kiss to the forehead.
Vox checks his watch. It shows his favorite things: your vitals, location, and pretty little face whenever you dial him.
You've finally left your place, thank goodness. Pacing aimlessly has never looked good on him.
.
He stands by his window, looking down at the streets below, watching you approach. You're wearing your usual uniform, one that he picked out just for you; it consists of the same red and blue stripes he has on his everyday suit. It makes you an eyesore in the everyday crowd.
If you didn't know any better, you'd lift your head to see if you could spot him among the many stories. The building is beautiful, overpowering. The V tower's magnificent brightness outshines the rest of the V district. The constant noise of people always has you walking with your hearing aid turned as low as it can go without turning off.
With the pink light reflecting off your face, you look both ways before crossing the street, a bright smile on your face, stepping onto the asphalt before a hand grabs your wrist.
Vox furrows his brow at the sight.
You turn your head and see a friendly reporter and a cameraman, the camera not yet rolling. Your pupils flicker between them.
"Hello!" She smiles, removing her hand. With caution, you fully face her, stepping back onto the sidewalk. The 'professional' persona you've been forced to practice is finally coming to fruition.
"Hello! I'm Deaf; I don't think I'd be able to do an interview."
She flicks her hand and rolls her eyes in the most friendly way possible. "Not a problem," she signs, moving the microphone vibrantly, "I can work this out, no problem!"
You widen your eyes in a wowwwww, oh my god, that's perfect... "Oh, what a kind woman you are!"
Vox? You beg internally. Baby? Save me.
Up high, he doesn't remove his eyes from you. With the use of sign language, he can't listen in, and he can't tell whether he needs to intervene or not. There's nothing wrong with going to check, right? Or will he seem possessive, or scared? He doesn't want people to think he doesn't want you to talk to anyone. It's good that you get to sign to someone other than him and Velvette, right?
The camera starts rolling, and you square your shoulders, adjusting your sleeves for more mobility. The news reporter throws the microphone at the cameraman, who does not catch it but ignores it as she shows off her brightest smile.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I have the sweetest person in hell with me, [y/n]! Tell me, how long have you two been together?"
Of course, the news has been recognizing you recently. You've been seen countless times adjusting Vox's tie (he purposely fucks it up so that you'll step close to him) as well as wrapping your arm around his and pinching the corner of his screen endearingly before you give him a babying compliment. Many people have taken pictures and edited hearts around you two. People are obsessed with how "heavenly" your relationship is.
"Oh, many months now!" You nod to yourself, trying to stop your eyes from shining with admiration. You always get so soft when you think about him; it's one of the things people notice. She looks at him as if he's her entire world.
"Beautiful!" The reporter puffs out her bottom lip innocently. "I'm sure you make that man very happy."
What do you even say to that? I hope so.
"The happiest."
"Now," she doesn't hesitate to change the topic. "Are there any challenges you two face about your... differences?"
Your eyebrows raise before furrowing in confusion. Differences? At first, you think she means his television head, but when she notices you pause, she rudely clarifies. "I mean, with your lack of hearing, you know? Don't you find it a little embarrassing?"
You lean your body away from her. "What are you saying?"
The shock of the tonal shift has you freezing in place. The reporter looks at the camera, her eyes squinting with sadistic amusement. Her fingers twitch as she lifts her arm, not even looking at you before plucking the hearing aid from your ears. She crushes it in her hand.
At first, you grab your ear, pressing your hand to it in disbelief. Your face contorts, your shoulders dropping as you try to step away. Why couldn't you see this coming? And on television—is that where this is airing? The air around you goes quiet, the sensation of spatial awareness fading a bit as you stumble back, your hand still grasping your ear. The watch on your wrist hits your cheek, and without a second thought, you tap on the screen repeatedly. The next thing that popped into your head: her bravery is the most surprising.
With a brief fall of light, Vox stands where the lady once was. You eye him with uncertainty, a look you have never given him. He faces the cameraman, not looking your way. Your eyes go up and down his body; his stance is tense, his arms are folded behind his back, and his fingers sparking with small glimmers of electricity.
You see that lying behind him is the woman, body entirely limp, smoke coming from her mouth, and her eyes looking stuck open.
He speaks to the camera, pointing his finger at it, staring intensely into the shaking, blinking red light. Your hands link around his bicep. Composure, you remind yourself. You turn to the camera with a weary smile and lean your head against him.
.
"That'll never happen again." He stares at himself in the mirror. His dressers and tables are filled with claw marks from his previous meltdowns.
You just sit on his bed, crossing your legs uncomfortably, watching him as he goes back and forth between signing to you and mumbling to himself. You haven't said a word. You just keep your eyes on him.
He protected you in the way he knew best. He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on the sides of her head and crush her skull. It would stain his suit, awful. Even worse, your suit would have been ruined, too.
Should he force you to move into the tower? He's always wanted to. The commute would be no more, and you'd be safe from the outside.
Should he prevent you from leaving at all without him? No, that might be too much, but his entire body craves to keep you secure and protected.
He won't ask you what you want. He knows there's a chance you would just coddle him and tell him it's okay. There's no reality where he will do nothing; he must devise his own plan. But first (actually, secondly, after getting his anger out on his furniture), he wants to make sure his sweetheart is okay.
Once he calmed down and sat next to you, rubbing your thigh, he watched as you scrolled through social media, looking at the hundreds of people laughing and reposting the event. He shuts off your phone, grabs it, and tosses it across the room. You roll your eyes helplessly before he lifts his hands and signs to you.
"I will track everyone down and punish them severely, baby. No one will ever touch you again, or else they will the next flashing headline."
"I know, baby," you wrap your arms around his chest and lean into him, rubbing your cheek against the smoothness of his overcoat.
You hum against him, finding it in yourself to smile softly. Protector, protector, protector. You run those words through your head; they're comforting to their own extent. Suppose he ends up locking you inside the tower. In that case, it's better than him leaving you entirely over this (which, obviously, he'd never actually do). Spending every morning and night with him wouldn't be wrong. Everything happens for a reason.
He leans back onto the bed, his feet dangling off as you curl into his side.
Before resting completely, you use a hand to sign into his chest. "Everything will be fine."
Your coddling, though annoying, provides the most relaxing warmth to his body. He groans, wrapping an arm lazily around you, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as you press a small kiss to his collarbone.
.
.
.
Velvette
♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: reader speaks, party scene, getting harassed by a man, vox is in this too ♥ a/n: i completely headcanon that velvette took an asl class in highschool when she was alive, i have no idea how velvette usually acts in fanfiction so this is MY velvette now
Velvette found you, such a pretty thing, in your little corner of the internet, making content for your little community. That little corner of yours is where you told the news and interpreted a lot of banter from the overlords. Your channel was the perfect mix of education and drama, all for the Deaf community in Hell.
You were, as Velvette described, a tea channel.
She invited you to the V tower to show you around. The three V's introduced themselves to you in their own way, offering you a job. The bossman, ever so gentlemanly and charming, didn't let Valentino try and make sex motions to you for longer than necessary. And before Velvette forced Vox to scurry off, she forced him to snap a few pics of you posing with her as a faux collab.
You weren't stupid. You knew Velvette only wanted your attention to spread whatever brand she endeavored to popularize. But this might be a golden opportunity. You'd learn the behind-the-scenes from three different overlords, and the content you can produce will gather insane traction.
.
Velvette is just so sweet; the way she showed her care for you was just through gift-giving.
She loved putting together gift boxes for you, similar to the sorority kind. The boxes went from cute little baskets to a cardboard box resembling a PR send. These would always be set on your desk with a bit of note from her, each time she'd signed off her name with a heart.
Jackets, shoes, candies, jewelry, pens, everything. The gifts are versatile with familiar themes of hearts. Every day was like Valentine's Day when she was 'courting' you (did she even realize she was?).
She made you bags: totes, crossbody bags, clutches, phone pouches, coin purses, anything she thought you would need with an array of colors to match any outfit. She put in hair clips and pocket mirrors, cozy slippers and fancy journals.
She even got you two matching bracelets.
You love the smirk she wears whenever she notices you adorning anything she's given to you. Damn right, she thinks, I knew it would look good.
The most enormous box she'd ever given you was the day before one of her fashion shows. Inside were glorious clothes from her collection, all for you to pick out and wear. She really loved her stripes.
You put your hearing aid on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you watch the charm she made you glisten in the light. With your bracelet ornamenting your wrist, you pat down your stripped outfit before taking a deep breath.
.
Your entrance reeks of reluctance. The temptation to retreat back to your room is unbearable. Seeing Velvette will definitely lift your mood; where is she? Surely, she'd be the highlight of the room, but amongst all the women with their eccentric colors and clothing shapes, you can't find your eye drawing to her anywhere.
The sounds of the party blend together in a nasty concoction; you can't help but turn your hearing aids off. The sound is similar to what it's like being outside in a heavy storm; the wind, the pouring rain, the blur and whine of the hearing aids. And instead of lingering by the double doors, you push into the crowd. You're the least recognizable in the crowd of celebrities, but it doesn't stop people from moving out of the way when you try to wiggle through. You're wearing stripes, her stripes. You're either bold or very special to her; they don't want to intervene.
But your stripes also get some people to stare at you longer than they would have otherwise. Across the room, in front of you, you notice a tall, almost shirtless model coming your way, directly staring at you. You break the quick eye contact before squeezing through a cluster of girls taking selfies. They won't let you through, grimacing but not laying any hands on you. When you turn to go the other way, the man is behind you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to put your hand in his.
You click on your hearing aid and scroll up. "What did you say?" You ask verbally, clearing your throat a bit.
His eyes bounce from yours to your hand, looking at what you're touching. His head tilts in interest. You don't like the sight of his smile.
"Oh wow." He says.
Immediately, "Yeah, no," Velvette puts her hands on your shoulders and tries to push you away. "I swear, don't even look at him, he's fucking insane."
He speaks over her, but you can't process his words over how close Velvette's lips are to your ear. Her warm breath sends goosebumps down your arms, and your spine straightens. This only makes her hum in amusement.
After turning and growling at him, she effortlessly maneuvers you away. Eyes watch you even closer now as she touches you. You let her guide you throughout the room with not a clue as to where she's leading you, if anywhere. But eventually, you two end up in front of a mirror the size of a wall.
She stares at you through the mirror. "Look at you," she signs, "extravagant as ever, darling."
"Thanks to you."
"Obviously." And she bumps her hip into yours. You laugh, mimicking the motion back.
You had ditched your initial motive of getting close to the V's to gain more information about them. They were fine people to hang out with, making you laugh and feel involved. Velvette gave you special attention that nobody in your afterlife has ever given. Her lipstick left stains on your cheek whenever she kissed you, and she made an 'appointment' in her schedule once a week to paint your nails the same black color as hers.
The afternoon went by quickly; you spent time clapping and watching models show off their garb. Velvette is a true talent.
But something ruined your evening. The air hummed with laughter and the rhythmic beat of music. Velvette had been whisked away by the other V's to overlook the crowd and count the people who had attended. Among the colorful crowd stood a familiar figure whose eyes sparkled with mischief. Different from last time, you don't notice when he starts to approach again.
"You," he coos, placing his hand under your chin. You must stare at his lips to comprehend his words over the music, an awful innuendo you wish you could have avoided. He leaned in closer to you, and in return, you leaned back. Valentino had told you a bunch of times to not worry if someone puts their hands on you, that it's a typical formality in Hell. You would always roll your eyes at him, never expecting a stranger to grab you like this.
You were mentally preparing yourself to dodge a kiss. But then, daringly, he leaned in and gently plucked the hearing aid from behind your ear, holding it aloft like a trophy. Fear flickered across your face, your hand instinctively reaching for it, but he pulled it away. The charm Velvette gave you dangles like a jewel.
"Don't," you say with desperation. He puts a finger in front of your face and waves it back and forth. He coos, using that hand to grab your face as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.
Your eyes are locked on the charm, and it's brash jolts. You almost beg for him to just give you the charm back.
In the middle of a conversation with Vox, Velvette raises an eyebrow; shocked and pissed, she glared at whoever had torn off your hearing aid. She mumbles, "I'd tear their hearing aid off and break it."
Before she can move closer to you, Vox puts his hand in front of her while watching the interaction. "Think before acting, Velvette."
Her frustration turns into anger as she pushes his hand away. He lets her run off; he holds a hard stare as her pink hair bobs through the crowd.
Your eyes are stuck wide with shock, and a million things run through your head, all relating to the appropriate situational response.
True to your casual self, you were having a hard time not just jamming your hand in his eyes and kicking his shins. Would you make Velvette mad? Vox?--Would that result in you being removed from the V Tower? It's all so complicated. Though you were panicking over a 'quick' decision, you and the man stayed in that position for a few seconds. He stayed laughing, dropping the hearing aid and stomping on it.
At almost the same time, Velvette threw a glass from someone's hand at the man, perfectly aimed, hitting him in the face. She lets out a small "nice!" before rushing to you.
Her hand runs down your face, and she holds you tenderly, not turning to face Vox as he puts himself between her and the man. Your eyes bounce around the entire room. Will you ever get a break from being at the center of attention?
"We're leaving. Now." she signs in a single motion so quick that it makes you smile, relieving some of the stress that's been making your head pound. She's able to sign so naturally now.
The crowd splits into two.
Behind the both of you, Vox is declaring an end to the event, apologizing to the people for the inconvenience. Velvette keeps muttering about him under her breath; you can see her lips moving and her face grimacing.
.
She has beads in front of her, a bunch of small charms with string. She signs, looking up at you. "I should have killed him."
You just watch her craft another charm, laying on her bed and kicking your feet. "That would have been funny."
She scoffs and smiles, her painted lips turning upwards. Her fingers trace over the beads, deciding which one to pick up. She wants to make it different than the last one, but what should it look like? She picks up a pink heart with a slight hum before sliding it down onto the string. She whispers to herself, perfect.
.
.
.
Valentino
♥ word count: 1.7k ♥ note: reader is a vodka drinker, i'm obsessed with writing a loving valentino, reader doesn't talk very much and prefers sign, sexually suggestive things happening but it's not nsfw, kinda written like ass, drugs mentioned but no named just symptoms, takes place on porn set, valentino kills someone, blood description
Every time you step into the studio, you're hit by the smell of sex, mostly the sweetened stench of that strawberry lube he loves so much. Visiting his work is not usually something you do often, but he's seem to be so busy lately that you can't help but bring him a drink, the most beautiful drink in hell: vanilla vodka. You can already see him licking him lips.
Strawberry lube, so prominent in your nose.
His legs are crossed and he stares at the scene in front of him, his sunglasses hiding whatever his emotions are, but his lips are still in a prominent scowl.
Though, when he sees you, his expression changes drastically. He stands with so much excitement that the actors stop to see what he's reacting to. All eyes are on you, you shy away from the attention a bit but Val doesn't seem to notice, else care.
"Amor mío!" One of his hands signs, running down his cheek while his bottom two motions for a hug.
Before you can initiate a hug, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, trapping your arms in. He's warm, vibrantly so, it's hard not to melt against him. You couldn't be surprised if you let out a small moan at the contact. Oh, how I've missed you so much.
He pulls away quicker than you'd like and takes the bottle from your hand, holding it up close to his face so he can examine it. "Burnett's, oh you shouldn't have!"
He hesitates, torn between his responsibilities and the irresistible allure of having a drink with the person he was enamored with. He's not so easy to whisk away from work, therefore (of course), you seem to be the only person who he is at every beck and call.
You smile softly, "I knew you'd like it."
With a laugh, he takes your hand and spins you, his free hands popping open the bottle, ready to embark on whatever journey you had in store.
He turns and addresses his employees, granting them a small break before turning to you with his sharp smile.
And together, you slip away from the set, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the studio for a simple moment of peace and luxury. Walls blazed with hues of pink and blue, you both find yourselves nestled on the fluffy couch in a lounge, a wineglass in your hand while he chugs from the bottle.
"You've been so busy." You sign. You switch the wineglass into your non dominant hand to avoid spilling any of the contents. Val holds the bottle with his bottom set of hands while signing with his top ones (he was originally going to do it the other way around).
“I know, princesa,” one of his hands comes up and squeezes your cheek. “Business calls, I cannot help myself.”
“Which is why I came to visit.”
The two of you clink glass upon glass before taking a drink. He’s trying not to finish the drink before you, he’s making sure to take his time. He doesn’t want you to leave as much as he doesn’t want to rush the break. His eyes go over your entire form and take you in, there feels like an eternity since he saw you last. Why do you have so much patience for someone like him? It’s astonishing. Surely someone as beautiful as you could find someone sweeter than her. But he’s grateful to have you, he’s mildly addicted to that internal battle of whether he wants to cherish you or own you (perhaps he can do both? Something he’s never done before).
“What?” You ask.
“Hm?” His fingers pinch together in the casual way of signing.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I can’t resist.”
“What were you thinking about?” You sign and lean forward, giving him bright eyes. Your gaze swallows him, moth to a flame.
He matches your body language, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, amor mío.”
When he tries to grab your hand, you pull away. “You're acting as if you're wine drunk.” You sign. You have a sappy smile as you put your glass to your lips.
“Never,” he wiggles his fingers as he signs. You eye him carefully, debating asking if he's kept his favorite gun on him. There's nothing worse than a drunk Valentino.
After the wine break, he has to go back to work. He feels himself getting irritated as he walks back, why can't he just continue spending the day with you? Is it worth sending everybody home? No, he has a job to do, and he needs to complete it before relaxation. But maybe he'll consider taking breaks (his least favorite word) to spend time with you.
You follow, both of your hands holding his, clinging onto him like a child.
Everybody was still in the studio, waiting for his return, not daring to leave in fear of him coming back. Actors were talking to each other casually, away from the camera, it built a strange sense of community for you. They're so nice to each other off-camera.
He drags you to his chair still holding your hand as he sits in it.
Drinking with you had been a much-needed respite from these people. He made a mental note to gift you more wine.
You remove your hands from his and smile. “Get back to work, baby.”
Pearly white, sharp teeth show through his large smile. He presses his lips against each of your knuckles while his eyes skin over all of his actors, counting them. He makes eye contact with one particular one, a woman. They stare at each other for more than a second. She's scowling at him and he squints his eyes at her. The fuck is your problem?
She usually looks at him with sultry looks, but now there's a sharpness to them.
But his eyes peel away from her and go back to you, he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. He signs low, almost as if he's whispering a secret. "I'll come see you after."
You smile and start turning away. "Good."
Upon noticing your departure, the actors and crew start returning to their places, keeping an eye on Valentino and any commands he might make. Their eyes are always on him, worried to test his anger. But not all the actors were worried about testing his anger.
"Hey," an actress grabs your hand before you could reach the door and you turn to her. She talks, her voice making your hearing aids buzz, "Are you guys like, dating? Are you dating the Valentino? Like, literally one of the V's."
Her words all bunch into one. You blink, taking time to think about both what she could be asking and the connotation behind it. "Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an answer. Is that the correct response?
She hums and nods, her eyes wide in amazement. Her pupils are large. Her cheeks are hollow and she has strong eyebags. With a distant sound from Val, him talking to the crew, she looks back at him before turning to you. "I mean like, why? Why would he want you?"
Oh no. You try to move away but she just follows you, stepping in front of you closer. It's like being cornered, being trapped in an almost unavoidable situation.
"Why wouldn't he?" You test with a squint of your eyes.
She just smiles at you. "Uhm," and her arm reaches over, grabbing the hearing aid from your ear, pinching it between her claws, "Obviously this."
You reach for it but she pulls it away from you, trying not to laugh.
So you do what you know is the best solution, you call his name, practically screaming it. "Val!"
At the sound of you using your voice he whips his head around. The air goes still, you can tell from the way she pauses. Her pause is only for a second, she reeks of hesitance and sudden worry. She looks at the hearing aid in her hand as if she's finally realizing what she had done and what was about to happen.
Before she can say another word, her entire body stiffs, her eyes widen before her pupils roll back. And then she's on the floor, almost falling onto you.
You wipe blood from your cheek and groan.
Val stares at you, his expression unreadable. In his hand is his jeweled gun. He pauses for a moment to take a long drag of his cigarette, letting out a cloud of red smoke before he looks at his gun with a toothy smile until he tucks it back into his belt.
He starts to approach you and for a second you're scared, it was a primal feeling. He walked like a king.
All you can do is watch him, frozen in place.
The first thing he does when he reaches you is bend in front of her body, plucking the hearing aid from her hand. It's bloody, the liquid drips from it as he lifts it up. He wipes some of it off on his shirt before handing it to you. He drops it into your open hands.
He speaks, knowing you'd have a hard time understanding. "Laying her slutty hands on my angel..."
You lean into his touch when he caresses your face. His eyes gaze at you, softening, his smile widening at how soft your eyes look. You're his greatest treasure. He gets off immensely from protecting you, he would ravish you to death in this moment if he could. Valentinos eyes drift down at the body and his pupils narrows as he glares at the dead woman. He's going to have to clean this up. Her blood is getting every where.
One of his thumbs rub against your cheek, touching the bloody smear. It stains your skin in a delectable way. So perfect.
He melts when he sees your soft eyes slowly start to match the mischievous smile growing on your face. He protected you and he was open about being dithered over her behavior, he didn't laugh at it or tease you about it. You don't doubt for an instant that he's the man of your dreams. He killed someone for you in an instant.
When you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking the blood, his spine straightens. He pulls away immediately and turns around, yelling at the his workers that filming will be cut short today.
He just can't wait any longer to spend some lovely time with you.
#hazbin hotel#vox x reader#x reader#deaf community#x deaf reader#x deaf s/o#velvette x reader#valentino x reader#velvette hazbin hotel#valentino hazbin hotel
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never doubt the power of the OBX Gender Euphoria Hoodie of Swagness: it doesn't eliminate the sensory issues i've got from the tape on the electrodes but it sure does make me feel less like i want to tear every inch of skin off 10/10 can recommend.
#i put it on and like 8 of the 7 different issues i was having were eliminated immediately#shhh don't look at the numbers it's fine don't worry about it#i'm actively going through an Anxiety Event so bad it made me take a knee when we got home which is yknow unusual#and considering i'm hooked up to a heart monitor today i really kind of need to not be having abnormal heart events actually#i mean i can but like i'm not like... i want it to be indicative of my Usual Daily Activities and i'm just not very active most days#because of the horrors mostly#i'm just not sure if i need to mark every time i'm Super Aware of my heartbeat or not because i don't know if i'm just always too aware#and it's just doing Normal Heart Things or if i'm having a thing and going ''oh yeah that's a normal heart thing i'm sure of it''#because i don't know the difference! this is very fun (: (smiely face flown upside down to show distress)#if the tape didn't itch so fuckin' bad i would probably forget i was wearing the thing#but alas my own personal hell where my skin is So Sensitive To This One Thing In Particular and it's in all the most sensitive places#for the first time ever though someone actually gave me advice on how to fix it#which is to wash the residual stickies off and then put on anti-itch cream like!!!!#if it works i'm gonna be so ecstatic cause i fuckin' cannot stand that sometimes the bandaid rash is worse than the initial thing#that i put the bandaid on for#anywa stay salty obx hoodie of gender is the best hoodie and i am so glad i spent tourist money for it#well worth the expense for what i'm getting out of the experience
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gameboy :: p.js — one
genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more wc: 18.257k
[one] [two]
18+ minors do not interact!
The red letters that flash across your screen read ‘Defeat’, illuminating your dimly lit room with a shy, red hue. The instant the word appears on your monitor, a voice blasts through your headset, erupting in emphatic complaints and protests. You can hear the clatter of a keyboard and mouse being shoved around on the other end of the receiver, and it takes everything in you to stifle your laugh.
“We definitely could’ve won that!” the boy scoffs, “I swear, sometimes it feels like you and I are the only people with any fucking game sense.”
“Wow, thanks for the validation,” you joke, instinctively queuing up for another match. Your eyes trail up to the little icon in the corner of the screen that glows green every time he speaks.
“You know what I mean,” he grumbles, and you imagine he must not look all that different from the little crying cat picture he set as his discord icon. The thought makes you snort, but he ignores you, stating, “I think this is my last game,”
You nod even though you know he can’t see you, “same, I have class tomorrow,”
“First day of the semester for you, too?”
You nod again. “Unfortunately. My days of gaming until four and sleeping until noon have come to an end.”
He laughs, leaning forward in his chair as he realizes something, “You know, I never asked what you’re studying,”
“Oh,” you blink, “Well, the first class I have tomorrow is just a random credit I needed, but I’m actually majoring in-”
It takes less than a few seconds for your words to drown out into a muffled buzz, and the only thing Jisung can focus on now is the silky, smooth sound of your voice.
He would never admit it, at least not out loud, but your voice makes his heart beat just a little faster. The way each and every word rolls off your tongue makes his breath hitch, imagination running wild at the thought of what your lips look like when they mold to form each syllable and sound.
Every night like clockwork, Jisung finds himself rocking side to side in his desk chair, eyes hanging low and round lips curved up into a smile as he listens to you speak.
It’s so easy to talk to him, too. By now, you’ve lost count of how many nights the two of you rambled off in voice chats, watching shows or playing video games or simply oversharing the details of your lives. It’s only been a few months since you met in a game chat, on that night where he practically harassed you for your discord after you carried him up a rank in-game. You’re secretly grateful he did, though you wouldn’t let him know that; the two of you effortlessly became part of each other’s daily routine, and now, calls with you are his favorite way to end the night. Tonight is no exception.
Jisung begins to mindlessly swing in his chair as usual. He’s humming passively between your small pauses to encourage you to keep going as his hands automatically start caressing his torso. It’s a somewhat innocent gesture, or at least it starts out that way: his palms sliding across the ridges of his abdomen as he listens to your voice. It’s better than music to his ears, and it urges his long fingers to dance closer and closer to his waistband.
“–and I thought about changing it, but I think with an degree in Lit, I could probably get a career in–”
Lost in your voice, Jisung slips his hands into his shorts, holding his balls as he fully zones out of the conversation. He knows you’re saying words and forming actual sentences, but his social awareness has dwindled completely and he absolutely can’t seem to get past how sweet you sound, and how much sweeter you would sound under… different circumstances. He moves up to hold his dick gently and furrows his brows. Almost accidentally, his thumb brushes along the underside of his tip, teeth clamping the inside of his cheek and gnawing on it to ground himself. Just as eager as its owner, Jisung’s dick jolts in his palm, progressively swelling up until it’s flushing bright pink.
“You’re into English?” He manages to stop daydreaming and hone into the conversation for a fleeting moment, just long enough to ask you that simple question and keep your attention off of his rapidly shifting breath.
He’s blatantly playing with himself now, ever so distractedly. It’s an autonomous act: the way the pad of his middle finger trails over his slit to collect a bit of the pre-cum that has begun to dribble out in pearly beads. He hisses, then quickly snaps his mouth shut in hopes that you hadn’t heard him.
“Yeah,” he can hear your smile in your words, “I think I always have been. I used to read all the time and—I swear, if you say I’m boring, I’ll personally come over and choke you–”
As he acknowledges reality for a quick moment, his pace falters. His brows pinch, and he feels confused as he realizes he can’t stop or even moderate his actions, despite the shame slowly beginning to wash over him. The more you talk, the harder he grows. His grip is getting tighter, his strokes needier… he must be losing his mind. With a gulp, he thinks to himself, what would you do if you could see him touching himself like this to you? Would you think it’s sick and twisted or would you offer to help him out? His head begins to throb as the room spins around him, but he really can’t seem to slow his motions. By now, he’s bucking his hips up and into his hand while the other covers his mouth, silencing the whines that threaten to leave his throat. He’s breathing heavily, praying to god you don’t somehow notice his perverted actions. Despite knowing that he isn’t thinking straight, Jisung can’t help the thoughts that continue to fog his mind, rampant and obscene.
Could you hear the squelching of his hand pumping his cock, covered in his pre-release? Or the way he’s practically panting, reduced to nothing at the mere sound of your voice? He’s not sure whether or not his mic would even pick that up, but even so, the corner of his lips curl into a lazy smile as his mind continues down his twisted rabbit hole.
In spite of not knowing what you look like, there’s no denying that he wants to give you all of him. He wants to feel himself buried deep inside your throat, your pretty voice vibrating around him as you choke on his length. He feels himself twitch in his palm and he subconsciously nods, picturing it's your walls around him instead of his own inadequate hand. Jisung huffs out once, fucking his fist wildly, picturing how much he’d like to feel himself bust inside of your warm, tight pus-
“Sung? Sung!”
“Huh? W-what?” As he yanks his hand from his shorts, the waistband snaps against his skin and he yelps out at the impact, “Sorry! I promise I was listening, it-its just, I got a little caught up with–” words are tumbling out of his mouth, before he can catch up to them.
“It’s fine, it’s fine! Hurry, just pick your agent before the match gets–” but the timer runs out, and the lobby screen appears once more as you sigh, “–canceled...”
Jisung glances down at his hand, separating his fingers and watching how the sticky pre-cum leaves webbed strings between each of his parted digits. His stomach is also wet, and the tent in his pants is growing increasingly painful with each passing second.
“What were you fantasizing about, huh?” Oh, fuck. The teasing edge in your words makes his nerves tingle, and he throws his head back as you hum into your mic, “Hmm. Well, I guess it was more interesting than what I was saying. Can’t blame you though, the topic of school is boring me too, and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Also, that can’t count as your last game. I literally won’t allow it.”
You queue up for another game and Jisung sighs, watching the timer on the screen tick away. The picture changes, and the two of you are prompted to start a game. A few kleenex wipes collect the mess on his hand and torso, and he settles back in his chair after tossing them, deciding his neediness will have to wait for now.
Bidding you good night is harder than usual tonight, but he knows you need to get to sleep—you mentioned you had an early class and he had his own, so his selfish urge to keep you talking until he came in his hand would, unfortunately, need to take a raincheck.
After logging off of his computer, Jisung drops his head into his hands with a sigh.
What the fuck even was that?
A mix of shame and arousal take over him as his cheeks begin glowing a deep shade of red. He lets out a small scoff, shaking his head to himself as he gets up from his chair. His dick is still as hard as a rock, and he can’t help but feel flustered at the fact that he has, quite literally, blue-balled himself.
With a towel swung over his shoulder and a clean pair of sleeping shorts clutched in his fist, Jisung walks up to the dorm’s nearest communal bathroom. He turns on the faucet, freeing himself of his clothes. The moment his boxers come down past his thighs, his length slaps against the skin below his navel, making him hiss out as he steps into the shower. The cold water, running down against his heated body, seems to be doing the trick of clearing his mind, that is, until his hands find their way to his stomach, rubbing the soap over it.
It’s so hard to expel the thoughts of you when they’re so intrusive and tempting, and Jisung lets his mind drift off once more, imagining how it would feel to be touched by you, sucked by you. All the soft noises you would make are weirdly familiar; he can practically hear them. His head falls back, lips caught between his teeth as he twitches and gives himself an experimental stroke, shuddering as his thumb glides across the slit of his sensitive tip. He clenches his eyes shut tighter, letting out a shaky sigh and letting the water continue to trickle down his body. He doesn’t know what you look like, other than your hair color which you mentioned the other day. Despite that, he still tries desperately to piece an image of you together behind his eyelids, picturing what your lips are like. And just like that, thoughts of you flood him, and he shudders at the vision of you on your knees, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, begging to taste him and take all of him. He longs to feel you swallow around him—to grab either side of your face and thrust into your needy mouth until the tears slip from your eyes and your pussy is dripping from the need to be fucked.
Getting lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realize how loud he’s becoming and how fast his fist is working his dick. Jisung's highly anticipated release is only seconds away when a loud knock startles him, lunging him right back into his body.
“Yo, man! How long are you gonna take in there?” His friend and next door neighbor, Mark, shouts from the other side of the door, knocking again and ruining Jisung’s fantasy once and for all.
The boy takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow, not trusting his voice to not crack otherwise, “Uh.. Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”
It takes everything in him to slow his hand to a stop and pry it off of his shaft, deciding that perhaps, he shouldn’t entertain his filthy thoughts any longer. He quickly finishes showering with another unnecessary interruption from Mark, then drags himself back to his room and gets into his bed, forcing his eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. The longer he lies there, however, the more restless he grows.
His dick feels sore to the touch and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. Every time he adjusts his shorts or moves his legs, his balls throb from how full they are. Knowing he has class to get to the following day, he tries to convince himself that maybe he needs a release to get to sleep. It’ll tire him out, and then finally, he’ll be able to get some rest…There’s at least a bit of logic to that theory, or that’s what he tells himself, anyway.
Against his better judgment that pleads with him to just shut his eyes and count sheep, Jisung huffs out and slips his hands into his shorts to begin touching himself for the nth time tonight. This whole time, he had been unknowingly edging himself and now he’s so, so undeniably and incredibly desperate to cum that it literally hurts.
His free hand brings his phone up and unlocks it, thumb swiping quickly in search of the discord app where your contact resides, the little green bubble next to it signifying that you’re still online. He hovers over the call button, taunting himself with the idea of making a call to you at this time. One little click, and he’d hear your voice again. Just one click and he-
sung ᨐฅ started a call. Today at 11:54 AM
Shit, shit, shit.
He rushes to hang up, but you’ve answered no more than a ring later.
“Hello?”
Jisung holds his rather unsteady breath, staring wide-eyed at his phone. His dick pulses in his palm that now rests still.
“Sung?”
As gently as possible, he lays the phone down on his puffed up chest, letting out his breath slowly so that you don’t hear him.
“I’m gonna assume you called me by accident… ” you sigh out in disappointment, growing quiet in uncertainty. For a second, Jisung is convinced you’re gonna hang up, but when you stay on the line, he peers down at the screen curiously.
Your icon lights up green and there’s some shuffling on your end, presumably from you getting comfortable in bed.
He hears you yawn and smiles fondly.
“I’m tired,” you mumble, “are you asleep? I was actually excited that you called. Maybe it’s my fucked up schedule… or, maybe I’m just dreading tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know…”
You’re speaking slower and quieter than usual, but you’re speaking, completely oblivious of the fact that he’s thinking of the dirtiest things that involve you, getting off while you think he’s sound asleep.
“It’s always easier to sleep once we’ve talked so,” you pause, then sigh out jokingly, “I guess I'll just talk your unconscious ear off until I fall asleep…You don’t mind, right?”
God, no, he thinks.
Jisung silently celebrates your decision with a pump of his hand, shuffling a bit to get comfortable as you go on about genshin and cats and other things he can barely pay mind to. It takes no more than a few strokes, shallow ones where he caresses the angry head of his dick to the velvety sound of your slurred and drowsy mumbling, for him to bring himself to come so fucking hard.
His knees lock as his cock springs up in his clutched palm, spewing streams of white cum all over his stomach, chest, and thighs. The muscles on his abdomen ache from the way they contract, eyes and jaw shutting tightly as he challenges himself to remain quiet. The sheets aren’t spared from his thick load either, his nut dripping down the sides of his tummy to make dark, round puddles on his bed. His toes curl as he tries his hardest to not gasp out when the pleasure dissolves into sensitivity, digging his head back into the pillow with a hand clasped over his lips.
A few minutes later, the blurriness in his vision is relieved, along with the ringing in his ears. You’ve stopped talking; instead, the receiver picks up your short and shallow breaths, as if you’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open. Cute.
As he assesses the aftermath of his much needed release, he wishes he could snap a picture and send it to you, so that you’d wake up knowing this pathetic mess he made was all for you, because of you.
Alas, he can’t, and he hangs up once he’s completely sure you’re resting. With his eyelids feeling much heavier than before, he manages to toss his phone onto the nightstand before he, too, drifts off to sleep.
•.¸¸☆*・゚
The following morning, Jisung wakes up in a bit of a panic. The first thing that throws him for a loop is the fact that his alarm didn’t go off at all. He quickly realizes he forgot to set it amidst the activities of the night before. The second thing that strikes him is his own hand that rests on his stomach, stuck in some kind of damp, sticky liquid. In his half-conscious state, he lifts his fingers and his puffy eyes widen as he identifies the clear fluid that decorates his tummy as his drying release from the night before.
“Ugh…” He grimaces, sitting up in his bed. His phone, which is less than half full of battery since he forgot to plug it in, blinks back the numbers 8:38 at him. Jisung’s eyes widen as he remembers that his first class of the day, of the semester, is at 9.
“Fuck!” In a flash, his blanket is flung off of him and his legs are swinging over the edge of the bed. He moves to grab some tissues from his nightstand, making aggressively desperate attempts at wiping away his cum. When the Kleenex sticks to him instead, he digs around his drawers for a pack of wet wipes, snatching a pair of pants off of the floor at the same time and practically yanking them up his legs.
Despite almost falling over, he manages to get them on and clean off his torso… for the most part. A random sweatshirt is tugged on over his head and he runs his hand through his hair a few times to tidy it before passively telling his reflection, this will do.
Moments later, he’s rushing downstairs and outside of the dormitory with his unzipped backpack hung over his shoulder. He rushes to unlock his bike, cursing as he fumbles with the keys. Once he’s on, he starts pedaling to the Science building on the other side of campus, heavily dreading checking the time in fear it’ll read some absurd number and he’ll wind up being much later than he anticipates.
The breath that’s been caught in his throat all morning is only released when he steps through the door of the lecture room to see that the professor hasn’t walked in yet, and that the clock reads that he’s 6 minutes early.
Finally slowing his rushed pace, Jisung does a quick once over the room to scan the faces of his fellow students before taking his seat somewhere near the back. Thanking the heavens that his notebook and textbook didn’t go tumbling out of his bag in the midst of his previous hurry, he tugs them out, flipping them open and writing the date on the first page. His laptop, which is where he had planned to take notes on, sits in his dorm room where he left it on his desk. Everyone else has theirs out, but he’ll just have to bring his own next time.
There’s a distant click, and the door on the lowest level of the lecture hall opens. Through it walks a relatively tall and slender lady, heels echoing rhythmically as she strides over to set her dark bag down by the podium. Her hair is tied back high and tight, so much so, that all of her features look like they're blending into her hairline. She looks like she’s somewhere in her mid-to-late fifties, and from the instant she walked in, the entire class went silent.
She clearly has a presence that commands attention and undoubtedly, she fits the visual profile of a strict college professor quite well, especially when she picks up the chalk and scribbles her surname onto the green chalkboard beside the larger projector screen.
“I’m Professor Hwang. Welcome to AST1002, also known as Descriptive Astronomy. If you’re here, that means you took AST1001 with Mr. Kwon last year. He has since transferred to a different department.”
There’s no audible response, although some disappointment does flash across the faces of the students in the room, all of whom did have (and seemingly would miss) Mr. Kwon. Professor Hwang doesn’t seem to notice the lack of responses, and continues speaking as she pulls some papers out.
“Firstly, I’ll take attendance. Then, I’ll pass the syllabus around. I would like for you to note,” she pauses to place a pair of red glasses high on the bridge of her nose, “that attendance is mandatory for my class, and worth 20% of your grade. I’ll go over pop quizzes and weekly quizzes, as well as the initial class project, when each of you have a copy of the syllabus. That being said, I look forward to seeing you all here every class. Please call out when you hear your name.”
As she starts to take attendance, Jisung takes the time to sigh into his hands, both exhausted and dreading the fact that he’d have to spend three days out of the week rotting in a lecture hall to attend a class he expected to be fun, or at the very least a break from his much more difficult core classes. By the looks of it, that’s no longer the plan.
It’s easy to zone out quickly while his mind is still foggy, no doubt from the lack of sleep and the subsequent abrupt awakening that followed. He had just begun an attempt to read the syllabus when something made his ears perk.
Immediately, his head snaps up in pursuit of a soft and airy voice that just responded to Professor Hwang. It’s so quick and in passing that he almost thinks he might have imagined it in his delirious state, but the way the hair on his limbs stands on end is unmistakable. His eyes dart around the room, hitting his classmate’s heads like targets, but there’s absolutely no way to identify the individual who just spoke.
Could it be… No. No way.
Jisung is no stranger to daydreaming about you, but he isn’t completely delusional. He knows the chances of being not only in the same city, but the same university and class as you are absolutely slim to none, so he stops that train of thought dead in its tracks.
It does segway him into thinking of you, though. You’re obviously not here, so he wonders instead what class you are in at the moment. He tries to picture what you’re wearing on your first day of class, trusting you look more put together than him in his old hoodie that is slightly sticking to the dry cum on his stomach. Do you like your classmates? Your professor? He sincerely hopes you have a more tolerable one than he does.
“Park Jisung?”
With a slight cough, he spits out a weak “h-here.” and instantly grimaces, raising his shoulders autonomously as if he would get scolded for stammering so pathetically. The professor, to his relief, doesn’t even glance up from the roster. Then, he feels quite silly for even thinking he would get reproached for that to begin with. In his defense, she’s a rather intimidating woman, and his inner monologue is so loud and flooded with thoughts of you that he fears she may have heard it.
She finishes calling for attendance, resorting to striding up and down the aisles as she begins to dissect the syllabus. In an effort to pretend he’s paying attention, Jisung glances down at the size twelve font on the page, skimming over the words without really taking anything in. During one of the professor’s paces, a pen she had resting on her ear slips and falls towards the ground with a slight clatter, and it seems a student picked it up for her, because there’s a slight mumbling, followed by a sharp “thank you,” and a very, very recognizable,
“You’re welcome, Professor.”
His eyes widen at once. Alright, call him crazy, but now he thinks that it really might have been your voice. The familiar timbre, warm and delicate; a sound he’s heard for months on end and knows embarrassingly well… The thought of being in the same room as you out of sheer luck and coincidence makes his abdomen twist and his palms sweat so bad, he has to wipe them on his pants.
He hates that he can’t fully tell, in fact, he’s almost ashamed that he can’t; before today, Jisung would have sworn up and down that he knew your voice better than even his own, but you sound so far and so quiet that he can’t completely bet all of his marbles. Then, he quickly realizes calling it ‘your voice’ definitely makes him sound delusional, even in the safety of his own forgiving conscience. He decides to call it ‘the voice’ for now, at least until he’s a hundred-percent sure.
An irritatingly long hour and half later, the only sound that continues to ring around the lecture hall is Professor Hwang’s monotone one, reciting each and every itemized assignment and rule on the never-ending syllabus. There’s less than fifteen minutes until class is over, and she shows no signs of stopping her dissertation.
“As for the class project: In pairs of two, you will research a constellation extensively to create a presentation on its formation, who cataloged it, and the Greek myth that may accompany it. Please note that this is the first and last time we will talk about constellations in this class, since they are not cosmic phenomenons but instead, a mere roadmap to the objects and themes we will be focusing on. Consider this strictly as an opportunity to familiarize yourselves with another classmate and show me your interest and effort in the subject. That concludes our syllabus,” Thank God, Jisung thinks.
“Any questions?” She glances around at a hand that floats in the air, near the front of the room, “yes?”
“Will we be able to select our partners?”
“No. Partners will be assigned at the end of the week. Yes?” She calls on another hand.
“As for the constellations,” Wait, that’s it! That’s the voice—that’s your voice, he’s completely sure of it! “Will you assign those as well?”
Jisung elongates his neck to try and peek over the heads in his way. It is you, he’s positive now, but you’re turned away from him, and he can’t fully make out which ‘back of the head’ is your ‘back of the head.’ The echo in the hall makes it nearly impossible to pinpoint who just spoke which means he can’t pinpoint you. For some reason, he finds himself slightly panicking, desperate to finally see you in person.
He follows Professor Hwang's line of sight as she answers that she’ll assign the constellations on Friday too, and finally finds you, seated between a few other students. A few more questions are thrown around, but his eyes never leave you, anticipating the moment he catches a glimpse of your face.
Naturally, his first instinct is to approach you as soon as class is out, but when he sees you spin around to pick up your bag that hangs off your chair, he finds himself glued to his own flimsy seat. Feet stuck to the ground, legs not budging, and air hitched in his throat at the sight of you.
You’re so, so much prettier than he could have imagined with whatever unoriginal features he tried to piece together in his lacking mind, and that fact makes him both exhilarated and completely nauseous.
He’s barely been looking at you for a few seconds when he feels his insatiable cock growing fast in the confines of his pants, with no regard for its owner and the fact that he has to stand up within the next minute or so to exit the hall. Jisung curses under his breath, awkwardly rising to his feet when most of his classmates leave, his bag clutched tightly in front of his groin. He prays you don’t glance over, not even because he has a semi-hard on he’s failing to hide with dissimulation, but because he’s staring at you like some sort of freak and can’t seem to look away.
There’s nothing he wants more than to come up to you and say hi and confess he’s the person you’ve been gaming with for months. He’s pictured it countless times before, you’d think he’d have it down by now, but your beauty is intimidating, and he simply cannot and will not make a fool of himself in front of you by greeting you with a raging boner.
You walk out of the classroom and Jisung’s heart settles in his chest as he sits with his decision to stay anonymous for now.
•.¸¸☆*・゚
“She was obnoxious, you have no idea!”
“My teacher wasn’t much different,” he admits, a small, knowing smile toying at his lips, “she seemed like a real bitch,”
It’s later that same evening, and talking to you doesn’t really feel the same anymore. It’s much harder, because now, Jisung can vividly picture you, sitting in your chair with your hands on your keyboard and mouse. Every word you say, his imagination is right thereafter, picturing your pretty face clear as day in the forefront of his mind.
The moment he got home, he fucked his fist until he came in his hand. It took about five minutes, and then he pumped another one out in the shower, (a much needed shower, at that) where he finally washed away the remains of the night before.
After he had lunch with Mark and the other boys from his floor, they had invited him to play basketball. At the same time, however, he received a direct message from you, explaining you didn’t have any other classes for the day and asking if he could get on earlier.
It’s a little ridiculous, but now that he’s seen you, now that he knows you’re so much closer than he initially thought, he can’t wait to talk to you again. And so he quickly came up with an empty excuse related to his studies, took the berating from his friends like a champ, and rushed upstairs to log into his PC and open up your chat.
“Not only do we already have a project, but we don’t even get to pick our partners.”
I know! He thinks.
“Like,” you start, and he pictures the way your cheeks fill up with air as you let out a huff, “what if I get stuck with some weirdo?”
Instantly, Jisung stops palming himself, letting his hand climb back up to the mouse slowly.
He probably shouldn’t let that innocent statement affect him as much as it does, but he can’t help it. He has the advantage, right? Or, at least it seems that way.
When everything is laid out, he has the upperhand of knowing who you are—you haven’t seen him, yet… but what if you did see him, and he wasn’t at all what you were expecting? Or even worse, what if you got paired together for the project and you thought he was weird or the two of you didn’t get along? That option is far less likely, since there are well over fifty students in AST1002.
“I don’t know,” you start, “I’m considering switching out of the class-”
“No!” Wow. Good going, Jisung.
He catches his slip-up and quickly blurts out, “I-I mean, it might not be that bad! You should… at least give it a shot before you try to switch out, right?”
“I guess you’re right… The add and drop period at my school is until next Friday, so I'll try it out until then.”
Great! Perfect! Good save. The only problem now is: Jisung has a little over a week and a half to somehow convince you to stay in his class and at the same time, not completely butcher his introduction to you. Approaching you now seems practically impossible, but he needs you to stay in the class, even if it means he has to come up to you first. He can’t be bothered to care that his insistence is for his own selfish intentions, if it means getting to see you three times a week.
“But anyway,” he clears his throat, changing the topic as quickly as possible, “how did your other class go?”
“Much better than the first, the teacher let us out early once he covered the books we’d be analyzing this semester and attendance isn’t mandatory since most of the material is online or in the library. I think I’ll swing by there one of these days to see if I can get ahead on some of the assignments.”
“Oh, so you’re a nerd?” You gasp and smack his character in-game a few times. He laughs, calling out, “okay, okay, truce! You’re not a nerd then, just an overachiever.”
“How so?”
“We’re barely a day into the semester and you’re already trying your homework that I’m sure isn’t due for at least a few weeks,”
You roll your eyes, knowing he’s right. With a bit of playful flirtation twisted into your tone, you hum out, “What can I say? I like to please.”
One of his eyebrows perks up, “is that right?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He can hear your smirk through the screen, and now, he can vividly picture it, too.
Jisung scoffs, backing away from your character so that he’s out of your sight. He cowers into a corner in game; this way, you don’t notice how he stops moving when his left hand leaves the w,a,s,d keys to cup and rub his needy bulge.
•.¸¸☆*・゚
Wednesday’s class is somehow packed and entirely uneventful at the same time. The first of Professor Hwang’s dragging lectures is so loaded that Jisung actually thanks the heavens that he remembered to bring his laptop. Otherwise, his notebook would have been about halfway full already, and his hand? It would have fallen off.
On another relevant note, he’s struggling to stay focused because today, he is sitting much closer to you. Intentionally, of course. There’s still a few rows between him and you, but in this new seat, he can glance at you as often as he’d like without straining his eyes or stretching out his neck to make his gawking painfully obvious. He can clearly make out your smooth skin, along with other details he wasn’t able to notice before like your beauty marks and your dainty earrings. You’re paying unfaltering attention to the class for the first hour, but after the sixty-minute mark, you appear to have become bored. He catches the way your pencil starts doodling along the corners of your notebook and it takes everything in him not to snort when you scribble down a wonky looking cat.
He’s so distracted by you, that every couple of slides, he glances back to the projector to see that the class is now on an entirely different topic than the one he last managed to jot down. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re a much more enthralling sight than quasars and supernovas.
Halfway through the lesson, you decide to peel off your little black cardigan and hang it on the back of your chair, exposing your arms and neck and shoulders to him. Your hair is tied up neatly right after, giving him all the more to gawk at and envision. Jisung has to remind himself that he’s in a classroom just so that he doesn’t start fantasizing about how it would feel to grip your hair up in a similar fashion and fill your throat up with his dick.
With great difficulty, he directs his focus to the board instead, typing quickly into his laptop all the notes he manages to catch before the slide changes again and Professor Hwang’s narrow eyes can scan the room to see who’s paying attention.
When the class is over, you start talking with the girl next to you, aimlessly reaching back for your bag. The gesture makes your cardigan fall, and Jisung has to fully bite his tongue to keep himself from calling out your name and giving himself away. He waits to see if you’ll notice, or if someone nearby will alert you, but neither one happens. Instead, you stand up, still engrossed in your conversation, and make your way towards the door. Instantly, he jogs down the aisle and between the seats to grab it and wordlessly hand it to you, but by the time he makes a move to head in your direction, you’ve already left.
He feels disappointed at first, but the feeling quickly shifts into relief. Wordlessly hand it to you? Does he want your first impression of him to be awkward and borderline rude? No and definitely no. This problem has a simple solution—it’s a blessing in disguise; he’ll take your cardigan home and bring it to you on Friday and maybe, if his courage allows, he can introduce himself then.
“Hey! I noticed you left your sweater here last class. I brought it for you. Oh, and by the way, it’s me! I’m @sung.ie. How did I know it was you? I can recognize your voice across a huge lecture hall.”
Yeah… he’ll think more on that later.
With your cardigan clutched in his fist, Jisung sighs, making his way outside and towards his bicycle. He tucks the clothing item into his backpack and pedals back home, wondering how he’s going to manage to give it back to you since you always get to and leave class before him.
He knows some of his friends and dorm-mates have their own class today, they had exchanged schedules during lunch a few days ago, which leaves him to hope and pray you’ve decided to skip your class and get online. As he parks his bicycle downstairs and locks it, he slips his phone from his pocket and opens discord, but your bubble remains gray and cold. You’re offline.
Maybe you haven’t gotten home yet. He checks his phone again when he gets upstairs, and again when he goes inside his dorm, tossing his bag aside and crashing on his bed. He checks after losing a round of candy crush, and again after replying to a text from his mom.
By the looks of it, you were in class, or at the very least, not available for the moment. Jisung sighs, pretending he’s not actually as disappointed as he feels. It seems a bit dramatic to feel the need to kill time until he gets to talk to you again so he resorts to doing physics homework—a short baseline his teacher assigned that wouldn’t be graded—and tricking his brain into thinking the former is not what he’s actually doing.
When he pulls his bag off his desk chair to grab his laptop, your cardigan comes into view, and he pauses to look at it. He sits like this for a moment, wondering if he should fold it nicely on his dresser so he can remember to take it to you, but his hands act before his mind can catch up, reaching in and basically shoving the material toward his face.
With his nose buried in your scent, Jisung inhales deeply, sinking into his chair as his legs grow weaker. The trace of your floral softener is the first aroma he gets, and then, the smell of your perfume peeks through, soft and sweet and very fitting for you. Once more, his treacherous hands are acting for themselves and he’s suddenly undoing his belt single-handedly.
Once his dick, growing by the minute, is out and clutched in his palm, he finally retracts your sweater. With little hesitation, he wraps it around his erection and pumps once, throwing his head back in immediate relief.
It’s a fucking miracle that his room is the last one at the end of the hall, and that his next door neighbors, Renjun and Jaemin, are both in their afternoon lectures, because nothing would have been able to muffle the wanton moan that rips from his chest as he strokes himself with your scent. His hips are bucking up into the air, and in only a few minutes, he’s broken a slight sweat. His balls tighten from sheer sensitivity at the act of fucking something directly related to you.
A cry of your name, followed by a few more pumps and he’s coming inside your mangled cardigan, his white release breaching the thin material. It seeps through it like light through a veil, gathering thickly on top before spreading into a dark, wet patch. There’s a shudder that passes through his bones as he sits back, burying his cock into the fabric and keeping it there until he’s given up every last drop.
The only thing that snaps him from his post-nut bliss, is the distinct discord ring-tone that blasts through his headset. His computer monitor turns on as your icon appears and simultaneously, his heart and dick both twitch.
“Hello?” With his output device swung over his head, he presses the green ‘answer’ button and speaks into the mic, hiding his slight shortness of breath with a yawn.
“I’m so glad you answered,” you beam, and he does too, “I was worried I had called while you were in class or something,”
As he speaks, he wipes the remnants of his cum off with your cardigan and puts it aside on his desk, tucking his softening (and still very sensitive) dick away into his boxers, “No, you’re good. I had a class earlier today but now I’m free.”
“What a relief,” you sigh, “Would you want to have a little homework ‘sesh’ with me? I just found out the library doesn’t have any available labs. I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate much with you but at least I'll be in good company.”
“Like an e-date?”
“We can call it that,” you grin, then he pictures your expression becoming a gloom one to match your slightly sadder tone as you admit, “Sometimes I wish we went to the same school so we could meet up and study at a coffee shop.”
He snorts, unable to help but crack a joke, “Like a real date?”
Your laugh makes his heart swell slightly. When you reply, “Maybe,” it starts flipping wildly in his chest.
God, you can’t even begin to imagine how badly he wants that.
“That would be nice,” he agrees humbly, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “What class are you gonna study for?”
There’s a pause before you speak again where you hum in thought, flipping through a few pages and shuffling through your bag. Jisung joins you, grabbing his laptop and school supplies, “I have a project for my astronomy class. It’s related to constellations and I wanna start researching them so that I can make an outline for the assignment,”
He looks through his math notes with his brows furrowed down, “I thought she was gonna assign them on Friday?”
Your icon flickers as you reply, “She is, but I want to—wait. How did you know that?” At your words and the realization of his untimely slip up, Jisung’s body goes rigid. He can only imagine the confusion on your features, and he’s quite relieved you can’t see the look on his. If his eyes were to open any wider, he’s sure they might just slip out of his head.
“Oh, um,” he clears his throat mechanically, then gulps in an effort to lubricate it and keep his voice steady, assertive, certain. “You mentioned it on Monday, remember?”
“Did I?” You didn’t, but he really hopes you think you did. “Probably,” At that, he lets out the air he’s holding, shaking his head slightly at himself for being so careless.
“But um, yeah,” he starts before you can give it any further thought, “If she’s assigning them Friday why are you working on it today?”
“Cause she’s also assigning partners on Friday, and I don’t really know anyone besides the girl who sits next to me and I doubt I’ll get paired with her. I want to make sure my grade is secured, you know? I’ve never liked group projects. I feel like all the work gets dumped on me.”
He’s still not entirely sure what you mean to do, or how you intend to create a blueprint of sorts without knowing what it was for, and so he stops flicking through his page of notes to look up at his monitor and ask, “But if you don’t know which constellation you’re gonna work on, how are you gonna make an outline?”
You ponder his question for a moment, then mumble out, “She didn’t mention a rubric or anything, so I figured that as long as I plan out the different sections and give the project a structure, half of the work is cut out, right? I can just assign parts at that point.”
“You’re that kinda person in a group project? I’m sorry to whoever gets partnered with you,” He’s not sorry, not at all. He’s rather envious, actually, despite his attempts to sound indifferent or amusing. Being granted time to spend with you at your place or his, or at the library or the local campus cafe, would be a no less than perfect ice breaker. Jisung would make sure you never felt like all the research and assembling depended solely on you—in fact, he could see himself now, spending countless hours perfecting the details of his assigned part and inquiring about other suggestions to improve the project, just to impress you or at the very least, satisfy you. The reality that someone else would get to do all of that in his place is disheartening.
You guys had rarely ever talked about school before now, since neither of you actually were enrolled in any classes when you started chatting, but now that it’s relevant, he feels like he understands a whole different side of you. You’re organized, and obviously very studious. Hell, you’ve been itching to get started on assignments that haven’t even been assigned yet. You’re responsible, dependable, funny, beautiful, and every time he thinks of you lately, he realizes that his innocent crush is slowly becoming an insatiable one.
“Hey! I’d be very nice if it was you, you know. Show you some favoritism,” the corners of his lips twitch upwards—“But I’m also glad it’s not you,”—and fall down again.
“What? Why?” He tries to not sound too offended.
“I’d end up talking your ear off, Sung.”
“I’m already used to that, don’t mind it. Kinda like it, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods curtly, even though there’s a monitor and an entire school campus between you and him and he knows you have no way of seeing his gesture. There's a moment of silence that you spend taking a brief breath as a glow tinges your cheeks.
With a stifled laugh, you open your mouth again, “I think it’s just because you like me that you tolerate my rambling,”
“No.” He’s quick to clarify, “I really do like it.” He loves it.
“And me?” your voice is much quieter, almost giving the impression that you’re shy in asking something so decisive and direct. Jisung, emboldened by your vulnerability, and the distance the screen puts between you two, answers with certainty.
“I like you, too.”
•.¸¸☆*・゚
“The constellation project, as I mentioned during your first class, is a tool for you to acquaint yourself with your classmates. It will be due in 3 weeks, and you can check the syllabus for specifications regarding that. After today, there will be no changing partners or constellations so should you need any changes to be made, you have until class is dismissed. Listen closely as I read out the pairs for the project. I will not repeat myself.”
The sharp tone he’s growing more and more distaste for by the day drowns out as Jisung glances over at you. Today, you’re sporting a bone-colored long sleeve and corduroy pants with half of your hair held back in a shiny clip. You look ravishing. Truthfully, he can’t really tell if you’re wearing makeup or not—although he concludes it doesn’t matter. Your features are soft and pretty nonetheless, and your cheeks have turned rosy from the dropping autumn temperatures.
“Yu Karina will be partnered with Lee Heesung. Your constellation is Cassiopeia.”
When you walked into the lecture hall this morning, there was a hot coffee cup with the campus cafe’s logo on it clutched in your hands, which you sipped on while shivering. Taking your usual seat, you greeted the girl next to you, who Jisung now knew was called Yu Karina.
The dark haired girl perked up when Professor Hwang called her name and waved down the aisle at who he can only assume is Lee Heesung, her partner, then whispered something to you. You looked over at the boy and back at Karina, nodding and giggling with her.
“Jennifer Huh, partnered with Ning Yizhuo,” Professor Hwang referenced her other list, “Constellation: Cancer.”
The two girls greet each other with a look and a smile, but Jisung pays little mind. He’s listening intently—for the first time—in anticipation of hearing one of your names be called. He doesn’t exactly know your full name, only a nickname he refers to you as, the one attached to your discord handle. Otherwise, pinpointing you that first day of class would’ve been much easier.
“Park Jay and Lee Sohee, your constellation is Orion.”
Sitting there, he realizes that in all the months you’ve talked, he’s never once asked for your full first name. Is that strange? What kind of friend is he if he doesn’t even know your name? In all fairness, you never asked for his, either, so he supposes it’s okay. Would have been useful to know, though, at times like this.
After his small confession of ‘like’ on Wednesday, the two of you went on studying your respective subjects, with the occasional (and inevitable) distraction here and there. Admittedly, he thought his comment would be forgotten rather quickly. It wasn’t like he outwardly poured his heart out to you, so he figured you’d move on and just crack a joke or two about it later. There was a change, though; a strikingly obvious one to Jisung, who hangs on your every word like it’s a tether that keeps him from floating. And, even if he didn’t pay such close attention to you, there’s no way he could have missed the new flirtatious ambiance that flourished afterwards. Flirting with you is not uncommon by any means—the two of you playfully tease each other with frequency, but it’s nothing he’d allow himself to look into too much, for his own sake.
That changed in the hours following his comments. All of Wednesday evening, the two of you went back and forth, feeding each other compliments in the form of banter. Again, he thought it would end there, but on Thursday afternoon when you logged on, he asked how your progress was going with the outline, to which you texted back, “I was thinking of you all day. Didn’t get around to doing much else.”
It wasn’t the only message from you that nurtured his feelings, either. There were enough substantially flirty messages from your conversation that night, that he was able to scroll through them and reread them a few times before bed.
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 6:49PM
hi did you smile when you saw my name pop up on your phone just now
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 8:22 PM
you’re so cute
i can barely think
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 9:14 PM
i feel like my day doesn’t make sense if we don’t talk
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 10:58 PM
i should get to sleep
but i don’t wanna stop texting you
ynn ᓚᘏᗢ: yesterday at 12:02 AM
goodnight, sung <3 miss you til’ you’re back
Now, as he eyes you with a boyish, lovesick gaze, watching you doodle your stupid little drawings as you await your assignment, he finds himself praying for the courage to come up to you after class.
Professor Hwang calls your name next, something he only realizes at the fitting similarity of your nickname and the way your pen meets the table in alert to being called on, head lifting up and eyes blinking expectantly.
“Your partner will be,”
Jisung holds his breath, chanting in his head ‘please, oh, please let it be me,’
“Lee Chan.”
Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere, then. He ignores the way his heart sinks into the pits of his stomach, unable to help but observe your curious gaze as it looks around the filled seats. For a fleeting moment, you meet his eyes, but he doesn’t react or claim to be Lee Chan who you so evidently are in search of, and so you pass him and keep studying the aisles. After a few seconds, you find no one gazing back, even after you slightly stand to peer above the nearby heads that obscure your view.
“Your constellation is-”
With a cautious raise of your hand, you interrupt Professor Hwang gently, “Excuse me, Professor, but I don’t think my partner is here.”
For a moment, her lazer-like gaze looks like it could light you on fire, a consequence of daring to interrupt her, but it softens only slightly as she realizes the truth in your statement, scanning the room herself and calling out for the missing boy. Upon receiving no call back, she thinks for a moment, then looks back down at her clipboard and crosses something out.
“I did mention attendance was mandatory, didn’t I?” This she mutters to herself, “No matter. Instead, you’ll work with,” she gives the paper another once over, then clicks her pen and speaks, “Park Jisung.”
In an awkward burst of both excitement and confusion, Jisung darts out of his chair. His knee hits his desk with a clang, and his laptop would have gone flying if it wasn’t for his quick hands that catch it before it can fall. The loud ruckus turns several heads in his direction, including Professor Hwang’s and more importantly, yours.
Feeling an awful lot like a deer caught in headlights, Jisung blinks as the two of you make eye-contact, then he takes his seat again, very quickly by the way. “Uh, that’s me,” he announces, heat spreading across his face and eyes darting around, “Sorry.”
Does he feel more sorry to his teacher and classmates for disrupting the classroom, or to himself and you for the absolute fool he has just made of himself? As much as he’d like to tear his gaze away from yours and cast it to the ground in embarrassment, it remains stuck on you, awaiting your impending reaction.
You’re rather unsure how to feel, though given, a little surprised at the commotion. You offer him a small smile through pursed lips, and Jisung nods, willing with all his might for a hole to open in the ground beneath him and swallow him.
“Thank you, Mr. Park, for your remarkably clear confirmation. Your constellation is Gemini.”
You turn in your chair to face the front again, scribbling down his name in the corner of your notebook, as well as the constellation you’d been assigned.
“He’s cute,” Karina comments to you as you look over at her, and you finally let out a small laugh you had been holding in.
“He is. Clumsy,” you snort, “but cute.”
“We both got cute partners. We should meet up at the library later and all get started on the project together,”
You nod enthusiastically, going back to your outline that sits at the ready on your laptop screen and making quick work of labeling the different sections evenly. If it wasn’t so obvious for you to spin around and steal a glance, you might have done so again. You’re certainly tempted to, thinking back to seconds ago and realizing you hadn’t really noticed him the last two classes.
Jisung watches your exchange with his dignity at serious risk. He’s entirely unable to hear or make out what you’re saying to each other, and it makes his pulse pick up and his mind race. He considers many things as he watches the two of you talk: firstly, asking to change his partner, but then realizing that would be an awful idea. Once you knew who he was, how would you ever forgive him for immediately ditching you? Absolutely not. Cowering had gotten him nowhere so far.
Then, he considers switching out of the class himself, and disappearing, never to reveal himself to you—but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Incapable of checking out of your life so quickly and denying himself the treat that is seeing you three times a week (and now, possibly more), he cans that idea, too.
As Professor Hwang finishes reading off the list of names, he begins planning what he’ll actually say to you, as that conversation is just minutes away. There’s less than a half-hour left of class, which means he has to think hard and fast.
As he busies himself with the grueling task of picking an appropriate and redeeming introduction, he doesn’t hear the new instructions from Professor Hwang, which are to find your partner and begin brainstorming, as well as exchanging schedules to set aside time outside of class to work on the presentation. A shadow falls over his desk and consumes his work space in darkness. When his curiously squinted eyes trail up to find the source, only to land on you, hovering above him with your things clutched in your arms, he grips his seat to keep from jumping out of it for the second time today.
“Is this seat taken?”
So much for having time to figure out how to approach you. His heart does a leap of surprise in his chest in place of his physical body, and he resists the urge to clutch it.
“No.” He replies shortly.
With your unfaltering, kind smile still present on your face, you laugh softly and place your things down, introducing yourself.
“You’re Ji-sun, right?”
“—Sung.” he politely corrects you. When you don’t immediately react, he wonders if you had even heard him. He doesn’t put it past himself to have imagined that he replied to you, between his sweating palms and nervous jittering, and your pretty self sitting just a foot away, he’s barely keeping it together. After a moment that feels infinitely longer than it actually is, you raise your eyebrows slightly, round lips parted to ask your question with a palpable hesitance.
“W-what?”
“Jisung,” he quickly replies, pronouncing the ‘g’ clearly and masking the way his eyes widen with a heavy blink that honestly, may not serve as any better of a guise. He pleads with himself to get his shit together but luckily, you don’t seem to notice.
“Oh, sorry… Sorry, It’s just—nevermind. Hi, Jisung.”
“Hi, Y/N.” He savors the way your name feels on his tongue but keeps his enjoyment brief.
“I hope you don’t mind,” you start, lifting the screen of your laptop to reveal the very same outline you had started working on during your last call with him, “but I already made an outline. If you wanna scrap it and start all over, we can—”
“No, It’s fine, we can use this,” when you give him an unsure look, he smiles reassuringly, “It looks brilliant.”
“Thank you.” There’s a pause that is filled only by you clearing your throat, “Ok, I have a literature class right after this one on Mondays and Wednesdays. The rest of my classes are online, so I’m free at any time, really. I usually like to study at the computer labs in the library, it’s nice and private there and I find it much easier to focus. But if you don’t want to go there, we could always go to the cafe or the square for some fresh air. Oh, and either one of our dorm rooms works fine if you’re okay-”
To experience your presence on a phone call is one thing, but to experience it in real life, with your clear voice so arresting and your silky, smooth lips within reach, is absolutely mesmerizing. He’s fighting the urge to glance down at your mouth, but it’s becoming increasingly harder to sustain eye contact, as lovely as he decides your eyes are. Another thing that is becoming exponentially harder, and more sensitive all the same, is his cock, springing to life with an eagerness to greet you.
There’s a bit of panic that flashes across his features as he senses the strain it’s causing in his pants, and only when you look down at your outline does he dare to sneak a glance down at his own groin where as expected, a noticeable imprint was beginning to develop. In a desperate gesture, he slides his notebook over his lap, suppressing a hiss, and leans forward to pretend to use his own laptop.
“Any of those work for me,”
“Okay, great,” You notice the time and turn back to him. “You can just message me when you’re free.”
“Sure.”
“And here’s my number—” you reach over, sliding the protective notebook from his lap and placing it on your desk, scribbling your number in the corner. Jisung immediately readjusts his hoodie, throwing the hem of it over his boner. Professor Hwang dismisses the class as you pass it back.
“Call me whenever you’re free.” With a spin of your heel, you wave goodbye to him and rejoin Karina, who waits for you at the door with her partner.
Jisung lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and looks down at the number you wrote. Beside the digits, written in very neat handwriting, might he add, sat perched on a wobbly branch a little black cat that he recognized from his hours of staring as one of your doodles.
•.¸¸☆*・゚
The time is 4:33PM, and Jisung has drafted over a dozen messages on the iMessage app addressed to your number. None of them have exactly made it to you yet, courtesy of his thumb that keeps pressing backspace and wiping out any trace of a remotely embarrassing text. It’s the next day and no introduction or invitation to meet up seems like it’s good enough to send, though he knows that inevitably, he has to text you first. You left your number behind with the doodle that he has since stuck to the corner of his PC monitor, but you never took down his; so now, the ball is in Jisung’s court, and he knows that if he waits too long, you’d think he was avoiding you or the project altogether.
Realistically, he knows a simple “Hi, it’s Jisung,” will suffice, but he can’t bring himself to send you such an unoriginal and boring message. After pondering for a moment, he then decides the best solution would be to do some research, and then call you with his findings—this way, his interest in the project would be clear, and he knows how important that is to you.
At once, he peels your cum-stained cardigan off of his lap, though not before stealing a glance at the day’s new additions, and places it aside. He tucks his spent dick into his short and turns on his monitor, typing the name of the constellation into Google and investigating nearly every website he could find with any useful information.
In the nicest handwriting he can manage, Jisung bullets a list of all the facts and history he could find on ‘Gemini’ within the hour, including the stars that make up the constellation, the myth behind it, and other relevant statistics. It isn’t until he has filled up an entire page front and back—partially—that he picks up his phone again and makes another attempt at contacting you.
Feeling slightly more confident, he types up his message.
To: 555-111-0205
hi, it’s jisung from astronomy. i did some research and i wanted to show you what i found. let me
know if you’re free to exchange notes. Sent at 5:52 PM.
Jisung rereads over his message for any flaws, though there’s nothing he can do about it now that it’s sent, anyway. After he deems it an okay first message, he takes a breath and moves to put his phone down, but it buzzes in his hand instead.
Incoming call at 5:54 PM From: 555-111-0205
“Hi-”
“Hi! Sorry to just call unannounced but I’m walking to the library with all my stuff and I can’t really text. I was able to book us a computer lab for the next two hours so If you want, we—can you hear me?”
He sits up straighter, “Yeah! Yes, I can hear you,”
“Oh, good, so—wait, hello?” Your voice shifts in volume and proximity, as if you pulled your phone from your ear to check the call screen, then brought it back, “Oh, sorry. I-I thought I had accidentally called someone else… nevermind.” Instantly, Jisung realizes instantly that you must have recognized his voice. It makes sense, seeing as you’re used to hearing it specifically on calls. You seem to show no further suspicion as you continue speaking, though, but perhaps, he should keep talking on the phone with you to a minimum.
“Do you think you can make it? Otherwise I can go work on my own. I saw your text and instantly booked the room. Sorry for not checking in with you first,”
“I’ll meet you there,” He replies quickly, grimacing at the instinctual effort it takes to try and make his voice deeper.
“Okay! Great. I’ll see you there, then.” You hang up, and then your text message comes through with the lab room information just minutes later.
Jisung all but lunges out of his chair and rushes to face himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection. Besides his hair that looks slightly disheveled, he looks alright. He doesn’t want to make you wait long for him, so he quickly grabs his laptop and his notes, shoves them all into his bag, and flies out of his dorm room with the laces of his sneakers left untied.
In the brightly, yellow-lit hallway, Mark and Chenle are popping out of their respective rooms, a basketball clutched under the younger boy’s arm.
“We were just about to come grab you,” Chenle starts, “Let’s play some ball. Jeno’s meeting us at the court,”
“Can’t,” Jisung shakes his head, “I’m going to the library,” he tries to not get offended at the way the two boys snort loudly in disbelief, looking at each other as if they’ve both had the same thought.
“Yeah, right.” Chenle scoffs.
With a blink, Jisung replies meekly, “I’m serious.”
“Since when do you go to the library?” Mark brows pinch and he adds, “It’s the start of term. You’re already studying?”
“Since now, I guess. I have a project for a class so I’m gonna go meet up with my partner at the library, but I’ll catch you guys later.”
“Alright, alright. Oh—remember there’s a party next week at Jaehyun’s frat for syllabus week.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” His answer doesn’t seem to fully convince Mark, Chenle, or even himself, but they seem satisfied enough, because they let Jisung go without any more pestering. He flies down the flight of stairs and out the front door of the dormitory.
The cold September air is biting at this time in the evening, feeling particularly cool on the apples of his cheek, which glow from the light layer of sweat that develops during his jog over to the library. It’s a considerable distance away, which is part of the reason why he, in his two years of being a student at the university, has never seriously stepped foot inside of it. Studying in his room is much more convenient, but you seem to like the library, so the twenty-minute-walk there, or in this case, fifteen-minute-jog, will simply have to be adopted as a new way to get in some brief exercise a few times a week.
More than likely, you have already arrived, and Jisung doesn’t want to make you wait too long for him, especially since there’s a two-hour time limit on the room and he intends to spend as much time with you there as he can. He wipes his cheeks with his gray sleeves and climbs up the stairs of the building quickly, swiping his student card at the door and stepping inside.
The ceiling is massively tall, seemingly taller than when he once saw it during freshman orientation, and the endless rows of shelves are filled with books, ranging from thin, colorful novels to thick, leather-bound classics. It’s quieter than he expects it to be, even for a library, and he clearly can hear the pitter patter of his feet as he follows the sign labeled ‘Study Rooms and Computer Labs.’
The guy at the reception desk in this section seems to be a volunteer, his student ID and name tag shining on his shirt. He glances up from his book when Jisung approaches, nodding once. There’s an awkward silence that feels rather loud as Jisung fumbles with his phone, flipping it between his clammy hands as he searches for your message.
“Computer Lab 4C?”
Wordlessly, the boy nods again, then slides over a clip-board with a sign-in sheet clamped to it.
It’s surprising to see how many lab spots are filled up so early into the term, names scribbled along the lines and time-slots. Your name stands out, partly because of your familiar handwriting, but particularly because of the empty line beside it, where he signs in before handing the clip-board back.
“Down the hall, second door on your right.”
It’s Jisung’s turn to bob his head once and the boy looks back down at his book. He makes his way down the hall until he reaches the correctly labeled door. His hand reaches for the handle, but he withdraws it. Should he knock? Or maybe send you a text? Or both?
To: 555-111-0205
hey again. i’m outside :) Sent at 6:18 PM.
The door creaks open from the taps of his knuckles bumping against it, and he peeks his head in timidly, finding you sitting in one of the desk chairs, nearly hidden behind your laptop and a stack of books. You look up over the screen, eyes squinting in a smile.
“Oh, I had left the door open for you,” you stand up, holding out a cup for him, “and I got you coffee… didn’t know how you liked it so I just got you the same thing I order,”
There’s a fluttering in his stomach as he sets his bag down. There’s no chance he can manage to meet your eyes after such a gesture so he casts them to the ground instead, graciously reaching out to receive with both hands the drink you offer him, “You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, “but thank you. I’m sure your order is great,”
“I wanted to! It’s just—I mean, I did drag you out of your room in the cold and on really short notice—A hot coffee was the least I could do,” you shrug, “One of my friends works at the cafe and I was there doing some work for my literature class before I got your message and I figured I’d grab us both something before I headed over here… Sorry, I’m talking too much. Here, sit down.”
He’s not exactly sure what to say, so he takes his seat beside you in silence, but not without a small smile decorating his face. The notes he had taken down to show you are retrieved from his bag, as well as his laptop. There’s a low screech of your chair dragging across the floor, and he turns to find you’ve scooted closer and you're leaning forward with your cheek resting on your palm, eyes intently looking at his research.
“It isn’t much. I’m sure whatever you found is much more substantial, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.” Jisung explains, sliding the paper over to you. As your eyes scan the page, you make a few comments along the lines of ‘Oh, this is a good point,’ or ‘We should mention this.’
You seem to be very carefully reading his work. Meanwhile, he takes advantage of your preoccupation to let his eyes rake over your person.
The first thing he notices is that you’re wearing a different cardigan, and he suddenly remembers your black one is still on his desk, unwashed and covered in his cum. Your hair looks soft, and when you mindlessly swing it over your shoulder, he catches a whiff of your lavender scented hair wash, and it makes him gnaw the inside of his cheek. You’re not quite close enough for him to catch the perfume you’ve decided to wear tonight, though he can vividly picture the gentle florals that linger still on your cardigan. His eyes trail down, and it’s only then that he notices your skirt—or blatantly, the length of your skirt. Your smooth thighs are exposed, full and fleshy and pressed together, and he suddenly wishes they were wrapped around his head.
“Jisung? You okay?”
“I–Yeah, sorry.” It’s clear that you’ve noticed his staring, and he all but rips his eyes away in embarrassment, “I was just wondering if you were cold,” He gestures down at your legs shyly, pretending the content he’d written on the paper was more interesting the sight of your plush thighs.
For a moment he expects some harsh comment or outburst, but you laugh instead, smoothing the material down a bit, “No, not in here, at least. And the walk over was short, so,” His lips are pursed and his cheeks are burning, but you spare him from any further humiliation when you reach across him to turn the page over and quietly gasp, muttering some surprise under your breath at how extensive his work is. “This is really good. We can use pretty much all of it.”
Failing to hide his beaming at your praise, he snaps his head over to you, “You think so?”
“Yeah, I mean—,” The screen of your laptop changes over to a page of notes, “I pretty much wrote down all the same things. I’m actually so relieved, I was worried I might get paired up with someone who wasn’t gonna contribute.”
“Bet you’re glad you didn’t switch out of the class now, huh?”
Distracted in the notes and in the taste of his coffee, he misses your quick, confused glance his way. Smoothly recovering before he notices, you slowly nod and present to him the layout where you had already taken the liberty to assign him his designated parts. Not that he expected anything else; it’s endearing to see his name labeled over specific sections, color-coded in a blue, bolded font. He wastes no time in pulling up the screen of his computer, exchanging emails with you so the two of you can get to work on the shared document.
The time passes quicker than he hopes, and he realizes just how much he likes spending time with you. Talking with you online is one thing, but sitting beside you as you sip your drink and hum mindlessly, fingers typing away or flipping pages in a book? Completely different game. He’s sure that if it wasn’t because he relieved himself earlier today, he might have popped a boner from the simple act of being in your presence.
Every once in a while, you make an occasional comment regarding a point or two you thought was worth mentioning or adding, and he’d oblige, making a note of it and sharing his thoughts here and there. Occasionally, he manages to steal a look at your thighs, which he swears you’re bouncing and squeezing together on purpose, but for the most part he keeps his focus on the task at hand.
Towards the end of the night, there’s a moment where your hands brush his as you point something out on his screen, and Jisung swears he’s never felt more like a teenage boy in his life. He practically flinches at the contact, failing to mask his awkward reaction and pretending he really meant to fix his hair.
Bidding you farewell is possibly the most difficult of the tasks this evening, even more so than pretending he isn’t completely infatuated with and aroused by you for a whole two hours. When you stand from your seat and walk with him out of the study room, and subsequently, out of the library and into the cold, Jisung faces another of his many dilemmas related to you. He’s not sure if he should offer to walk you back to your dorm, or at the very least halfway there. Perhaps, offering you his jacket would be appropriate, since your skirt wasn’t doing much of a job at keeping you warm.
“You live close by?”
“Yeah! Just a 5 minute walk,” you point your index finger, “In that dorm right over there.”
Jisung nods once, then decides to indulge his impulses. “Here,” he slides his hoodie off with a little less coordination than he would’ve liked, holding it out for you to take, “so you aren’t cold.”
He can’t tell if your cheeks are red from the temperature again or from his gesture, but he hopes it’s the latter. The moment you take his sweater, pretty eyes wide in thanks, he sucks in a breath. It’s much chillier now that the sun is gone, and he fights the urge to chatter his teeth when he offers you a lopsided smile.
“T-thank you,” you tie the sleeves around your waist, covering your lap.
“I’ll see you in class?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod, flashing him a final grin before you spin on your heel to head home.
The twenty-minute-walk-fifteen-minute-jog back to his room feels eternal. All of his hair is standing on end, but picking up his pace too much means that the icy wind, which has so graciously decided to blow in his direction, would just become harsher. His palms soak up the little warmth on his stomach, tucked under his t-shirt, as he alternates between speed-walking and jogging. The minutes drag on and on until finally, his building comes into view and he breaks into a run.
•.¸¸☆*・゚
The following morning when he walks into his astronomy class, he follows his usual routine of checking for you in your seat and is almost distraught when he finds it to be empty. It’s not like you to miss a class, and he contemplates reaching for his phone to check-in on you. It isn't until he pans his vision over to his own chair that he spots you. You’re accompanied by Karina and her partner, Heesung, taking up the empty seats beside his own.
On your desk sit two coffee cups like the ones from last night, and he pulls his lip between his teeth to hide the grin that fights to break out.
You look up when you spot him, and Karina and Heesung look up, too.
“Hi…”
“Hi! Jisung, right?” Karina extends her hand out and he takes it, nodding to confirm, “I’m Karina and this is Heesung.” He mumbles another small hello to the boy, who acknowledges him before looking back at his computer.
“Good morning,” you greet as he sits, placing his cup on his desk. “You never told me whether you liked it or not, but I figured you’d grow to like it eventually.”
“I-thanks but,”
“I know: Didn’t have to, but I wanted to. So just say thanks, yeah?”
There’s a familiar burning on his cheeks that always seems to make an appearance when you’re around, but he doesn’t bother masking it this time.
“I wanted to ask you if you would be free to study tonight?”
Instantly, he bobs his head up and down, and you book the study room on your computer just moments before Professor Hwang strides inside the classroom, her glasses on the tip of her sharp, pointed nose.
•.¸¸☆*・゚
The frat house where the seniors stay is practically next door to Jisung’s dormitory, which is why when Mark, Chenle, and Jeno come banging on his door on Saturday night, he realizes he can’t use walking so far in the cold as an excuse to stay home. He also can’t use studying as an excuse anymore, since Mark had already caught him leaving the dorm a few times throughout the week to go study with you. That, and he ran into Jeno as he was entering the library just the night before.
“You’ve been studying plenty,” they’d say, or “We told you about the party last week, no way you’re not going.”
Anyway—the point is, he’ll have to endure tonight, despite his wishes to stay close to his PC for the chance that you’d want to hop into a game. He’d prefer to spend the night talking with you, but that’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. With a somber look on his face, he shrugs on a jacket and opens the door for his friends, who practically drag him outside.
Jeno slings his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders as if to prevent him from fleeing, and the four of them climb down the stairs and onto the path toward the frat. If Jisung strains his ears, he can already pick up on the sounds of the party, even from here.
“You think Chaewon will be there?” Mark asks no one in particular, but the boys all respond simultaneously with groans of distaste.
“You dated her three semesters ago, why do you care?” Chenle starts, “isn’t she seeing Jungwoo now, anyway?”
“That’s exactly why I care,” Mark grumbles, foot kicking a rock along the pavement. “He’s one of the RAs. If he’s there—”
“He’s always there,” Chenle interjects, earning a glare.
“—then she’ll be there, too.”
“So, what happened with… what’s her name, Minjeong? Why don’t you hang out with her?”
“Nah,” He turns to Jeno, “She’s sweet and all, but I found out from Giselle that her and Chaewon are friends, so,”
There’s a chorus of understanding, albeit a bit pitiful, “aah���s” and “oh’s” as the building comes into view. A few people are gathered at and around the entrance while others litter the parking lot with phones and solo cups in their hands as they wait for friends. Among them, and Jisung has to do a double take to make sure, he spots Karina, who waves someone down from the direction of the main courtyard. For a moment, he thinks it might be you who appears from between the treeline, but it’s Heesung who jogs over to meet her and he realizes how silly his thought was in the first place.
In the months he’s known you, you’ve never once brought up a party. In retrospect, you don’t seem like the type to like partying at all. He can picture you clearly now, tearing through textbooks or novels for your literature class, or maybe even typing away to him on Discord and asking if he was online.
He isn’t and can’t be tonight, and he’s very sorry about that, for the record.
Maneuvering through the crowd of tipsy college students isn’t too difficult,and neither is their entry. The door is propped open, and Jaehyun, with his signature snapback that he wears backwards on his dark hair, calls them over from the drink bar.
“First problem I see here,” he starts, “is that none of you have a cup in your hand.”
“We’ve barely made it through the door, man,” Mark laughs, clapping up Jaehyun and moving aside so he can greet the rest of the guys.
“That’s no excuse, you should be sipping on something by now.” He waves his arm, “Take a look around, boys! This is what life is gonna look like for you guys next year—and the year after for you, Jisung.”
Jisung gives a curt, disinterested nod amidst being handed some fruity, fizzy, white claw resemblant that probably wouldn’t taste much different from an Alka-Seltzer. He cracks it open upon being prompted to by Jaehyun, who initiates a “cheers” between the friend group. The moment the alcohol touches his tongue, Jisung grimaces, taking a few long chugs in hopes that the effect will kick in quicker and make the long night that awaits him a little less long.
“Do you know if Chaewon is here?”
Wordlessly, Jaehyun fixes his cap and points a single finger toward the couch, where Chaewon sits besides Jungwoo, leaning in to hear him over the music and giggling at whatever he says in her ear. The boys look over at the couple, then quickly glance back at Mark, whose face falls despite the fact that he knew to expect this.
“Tough,” Jeno gives him a pat on the shoulder, “Hope you have better luck the rest of the night. I’ve gotta bounce,”
“Yo, what do you mean bounce?”
He gestures toward a girl standing near the beer pong table, who looks slightly familiar to Jisung, though he can’t quite put his finger on it, and smirks, “She smiled at me the moment we walked in. I’ll see you later, but I honestly hope I don’t.”
The realization that his friends, in search of their hook-ups for the night, would eventually be abandoning him one-by-one kicks in just then, inviting Jisung to down the rest of his bubbly drink in one go.
Mark rolls his eyes, “You ever notice Jeno is always the first one to get a girl?” His comment earns a few hums of agreement.
“I’m gonna go find Jaemin,” with his phone clutched in his hand, Chenle turns towards the door, “he just texted me he’s outside with Sullyoon and her friend.”
“Wait, Jaemin is—he’s setting you up and not me?” Chenle only shrugs at Mark’s question, replying with a blunt and concise “yeah.”
“I’m not a dog like Jeno though, so I’ll definitely see you guys later.”
As if noticing he was facing the same unfortunate fate as Jisung, Mark turns to the youngest boy with a fearful look in his eyes. Jisung only shakes his head and takes a quick look around, “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone here, so…” At this, the boy sighs in relief, handing Jisung another drink in solidarity. The two lean against the counter as Jaehyun looks between them, snorting.
“Mark, there’s so many girls here.”
“I know, but—”
“But Chaewon.”
Mark nods, echoing Jaehyun in a quiet, maybe even embarrassed voice, “But Chaewon…”
“Don’t worry, I get it,” he adds sympathetically, “I’m caught up on my ex, too.”
“Uh…” there’s a pause. “Which one?” This comment lands Mark a shove, playful, for the most part. He rubs his shoulder and hisses while Jaehyun, on the other hand, sloshes around the little liquid left in his cup and grabs the closest bottle of alcohol to him, along with whichever random mixer he finds first.
“The only one that really mattered.” He tilts his newly filled red cup back to drink from it, but his eyes peek over the rim and he pulls it from his lips to sigh out, “Speak of the devil and she doth come,” he raises his brows and announces, “there she is now.”
Following his line of sight, Jisung trails his vision toward the front entrance and at once, the sight makes each and every one of his limbs seize up. There’s a twisting and turning in his stomach that almost invites the seltzer he chugged to make a reappearance, and he’s pretty sure the color has drained from his face as he watches you walk inside the frat house behind Karina and Heesung.
So many things go through his mind in such a short amount of time that he fears he may have had some sort of out-of-body experience or hallucination episode; it wasn't really you he was seeing, it couldn’t be. The way your skirt clings to your hips makes him grip his cup tighter within his sweating palm, and the lacy, corset top you’ve decided to wear, which shows off a tasteful bit of cleavage, causes him to swallow down the saliva that had pooled on his tongue.
It was a more provocative outfit than he’d even seen you wear, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, he’s sure he would’ve instantly become bricked up.
“And of course she’s wearing that shirt…” Jaehyun fixes his cap for the second time tonight and straightens out his shirt, “Alright, wish me luck.”
It’s not like Jisung would have interjected anyway, he didn’t really have the grounds to, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought before Jaehyun headed in your direction with decisive confidence. Part of him hopes he was referring to someone else as his ex, perhaps even Karina, since there isn’t another girl in your immediate vicinity besides her, but his bit of hope is crushed as he spots Heesung’s hand intertwined in hers. Surely, Jaehyun wouldn’t be coming up to her if she showed up with someone to his party. It leaves him to reach his regretful conclusion just as his friend and you make eye contact, recognition flashing across your features, along with something else.
Unable to torture himself further by watching your exchange, Jisung tears his eyes away and grabs another drink to make this very, very long night ahead of him somewhat bearable. He turns to Mark, who he didn’t even realize had been talking this whole time, but the loud music and the cloudiness in his mind muffle out his speech.
“—I mean this just sucks! I guess we still have each other, maybe we can find some girls who—”
When did you even date Jaehyun? You hadn’t mentioned him once in the months he had known you. And also, why did you date Jaehyun? Not that there was anything wrong with him, other than his habit of cycling through girls every semester. Mark’s “Which one?” comment had some truth to it, but he would have never expected you to have been on Jaehyun’s roster. It takes him a second to remember that Jaehyun is still his friend, but even then, he can’t fight the bitterness that settles in his bones. What did he mean when he said that you were the only one that mattered? How significant was your relationship with him? There’s too many questions circling his mind, and it isn’t until he downs the fifth drink that they start to blur.
Currently, he’s passing the time conversing with Mark and following him around the party, but more importantly, avoiding you in fear he’ll steal a glance and you’ll be locking lips with your ex. He spots Jaehyun by the bathroom a bit into the night, but thankfully, you aren’t near him. It’s in the middle of a beer pong game with Mark when he dares to glance around in search of you.
First, he spots Karina and Heesung, making out on the couch where Chaewon and Jungwoo once sat. You aren’t near them. Then he spots Jaemin and Chenle dancing with the girls they had met up with, but you aren’t dancing, either.
He’s relieved to find you aren’t with Jaehyun when he spots him, finding instead that his friend is flirting it up with a different girl who is certainly not you. The sight completely pisses him off, and somehow makes him feel immense relief simultaneously. Right around this time, he decides he’s had more than enough of the party. You aren’t here anymore, and Jaehyun’s face is making him fucking sick. Mark is slurring his speech enough that he wouldn’t notice if Jisung just slipped, so he does just that, though he does make sure to mention to Chenle that he’s leaving on his way out so he can keep an eye on Mark.
Outside, the cold is unbearable. The previously crowded lot is empty for the most part, except for a few people puffing clouds of smoke into the air by a bench. Not even the alcohol in his system is enough to warm him up, so he can’t even imagine how a joint could be worth sitting outside for.
The only other person sitting outside is squatted down by the curb with their knees curled up to their chest. As the autumn leaves crack under Jisung’s feet, they turn their head around.
“I told you I don’t wanna—Jisung?”
Your big eyes widen in his direction, and you shoot up from the ground. Jisung’s brow lowers in concern and he notices the only thing you have to cover up is a flimsy cardigan. You and your damn, flimsy cardigans.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Sorry for snapping I—sorry,” you shiver involuntarily as a gust of wind blows through, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I thought you were someone else.”
There isn't a sliver of hesitation before Jisung shrugs off his leather jacket and begins to wrap it around you, grumbling, “Are you crazy? You must be freezing,”
“I’m fine—“
“This should help,”
“But- Jisung, how many of your jackets am I gonna take—”
“As many as you need to.” Your lack of a response makes him look back up to meet your eyes, round and much warmer than the rest of you was right now. He clears his throat, guiding your sleeves into the arms of the jacket as he jokes, “or until you bring your own.”
You smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ as the warmth engulfs you, along with the smell of him and some cheap cologne only a college student would buy. He’s tugging the collar closer to cover up your exposed neck and chest, eyes flickering down at your bare skin despite being well aware that you’re looking. Where this newfound boldness came from tonight, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that his boldness is always rather short-lived when it comes to you, and tends to appear and disappear like random spurts of energy—he’ll take advantage of it this once. Especially now that he knows you’re Jaehyun’s ex and the most he might even get to do is gawk at you, he intends to make it worth it.
“You must be freezing now, though,” you start, “should we go somewhere warm?”
“How about the library?”
You laugh, looking at him in disbelief, “The library isn’t open at this time, much less on the weekend,” “Right…”
“Wanna go to mine?” Your suggestion makes his breath hitch for a second, but he manages to respond with decent clarity.
“You live by the library, though. That’s like a half-hour walk. I don’t think you’ll make it that far without turning into an icicle,”
“Well, I don’t really wanna go back inside…” he knows why, so he offers something else.
“My dorm is five minutes away. We could go there if you want, b-but if you’d rather go somewhere else—”
“Okay,” you nod eagerly, “let’s go.”
As Jisung leads the way, speed-walking to beat the chill that spreads through his newly uncovered limbs, he turns his face to you, watching as you tuck the lower half of your face into his coat.
“I don’t know if you want to work on the project or—”
“God no,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I’m not that much of a buzzkill, dude.” You jog a little to catch up to his longer strides, “Besides, I have like three shots of Pink Whitney in me,”
“Foul.”
“I know. Can’t think about a project right now,”
“I’ve had a bit to drink, too.” he admits.
“I can tell. You’re stumbling.”
He snaps his head around, down to his feet, then back to you. “What? Am I?”
There’s a small, stupid smile on your face as you shake your head. “No.”
He can’t pinpoint why this banter with you is so easy, why it feels so right. Or perhaps, he can, but regardless, his heart leaps in his chest as he scoffs, not fighting the shit-eating grin that spreads on his frosted cheeks.
"It’s that building right over there,” he points.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was close,”
The two of you climb the stairs and he opens the main door for you, watching you sigh out in bliss as you step into the warmth of the hall. You bounce around in a cute way that once more tugs at his heart-strings, still looking all puffed up and adorable in his jacket that entirely engulfs your frame. He leads you up another flight of stairs and onto the floor his room is at, and once the two of you stop in front of his door, he pats his jean pockets.
“Oh my uh- my keys are in the pocket of the jacket.”
You mimic his recent action, patting around until you find his keys, holding them out for him to take.
Somewhat awkwardly, he fumbles with them until he manages to fit it into the lock, opening the door with one hand. He gestures for you to enter his room with a small shrug, “Make yourself at home.”
As you step inside, Jisung makes it a point to quietly thank whatever higher power compelled him to make his bed this afternoon. The rest of his room wasn’t perfectly organized by any means, but at the very least, his bed, which you now sat at the foot of with your legs bouncing, was neatly made.
“You have your own room?” You mutter in surprise as you look around the small space and notice the lack of a second bed. The tall boy beside you just shrugs again, toeing off his shoes in the corner as he pulls the door closed.
“Yeah, uh… I’m one of the RAs for the sophomore class.”
“Wow,” you sigh, “I wish! I mean, I love sharing a room with Karina, but it’s nice to have space for myself sometimes.”
“That’s why you’re always at the library?”
You nod, sliding your palms across his duvet, “It’s nice and quiet,” your fingers move to grip and release the material, and he blinks harshly to erase the sight of that from his mind before it causes him to spiral. It didn’t prove to be very useful, though, because your still-exposed thighs move and press together, just as they did at the library, and his dick gives a little twitch in response.
“I’ll get you some clothes to change into, that way you’re more comfortable.” he decides, more for his sake than yours. You don’t answer, continuing to look around, taking in the details of his computer that flashes in a bunch of different colors.
“You know I gave up extra storage in my bedside table to be able to keep my PC? I let Karina take it to her side of the room so I’d have space for my setup.”
Rummaging through his drawers, he pipes up, “you game?” as if it wasn’t something he already knew about you.
“I love it. I stayed here for most of the summer just because I had my computer here.”
Jisung picks out a pair of sweats for you and one for himself, along with a t-shirt he knows he recently washed, then he turns, handing it over to you. “I’ll change in the bathroom down the hall and then wait outside. You can crack the door open when you’re done,”
“Thank you, Jisung.”
There’s a gentle sincerity in your tone that makes him wanna say “anything for you,” but he settles for pursing his lips instead, leaving to let you change before he can embarrass himself with any baseless comment you wouldn’t really get. The effect of the drinks still hadn’t completely faded, and he fears he’s capable of saying just about any of his stupid thoughts out loud right about now.
You weren’t completely sober either, not by any means. The trashy vodka your ex offered you in an attempt to reconcile was as bitter as the end of your relationship with him, and it was flowing through your veins and giving you that light-headed buzz. You stand up and slip off your boots and Jisung’s jacket, along with your skirt. Your top requires a bit more precision, the lace getting twisted and tangled in your uncoordinated fingers. There’s little huffs and puffs of frustration that leave your lips during your struggle, and you’d almost consider asking for help if it wasn’t completely inappropriate.
Finally, though, you manage to get it off and slip on the change of clothes Jisung has so graciously provided. They’re warm and they smell good, and they’re much more comfortable than your outfit which is now folded on Jisung’s gaming chair, alongside your purse.
When you look up in admiration of his impressive keyboard, which looks to be custom made, and your eyes trail up to his monitor, you notice something on the corner of the screen. The mindless doodle you had drawn beside your phone number that day in class had been very carefully cut out and stuck onto his screen with tape.
“You okay?”
His voice calls from outside, quietly as if not to disturb you even though it’s you who is occupying his room.
“Yeah, I’m almost done!”
“I thought that she was gonna assign them on Friday?”
Sung had asked you that on call, in regards to the constellation project you mentioned you wanted to start working on. Not Jisung, Sung. Sung, who is not in your astronomy class and would have had no way of knowing when or even what your professor would be assigning.
“You’re Ji-sun, right?”
“—Sung.”
The nickname sounded very right coming from his lips, from his voice. You never gave his nickname too much thought, because truly, Sung could just be a display name. And if it is his real name, it could stand for anything: Sungmin, Sungwoo, Daesung, Ilsung, Jaesung… Jisung.
And then, you recall the time you spoke on the phone—specifically, the time you had to do a double take at your screen to make sure you hadn’t actually called Sung. It was the first time you had spoken to Jisung on the phone, and it’s the only way you had even spoken to Sung… something about it seemed so, so strangely familiar.
Could it be…
“Alright, I’m done!” Your announcement comes after the realization that he’s been waiting outside for a few minutes already.
“Coming in…” He warns, eyes still cast to the ground in case you weren’t decent. They slowly make their way up, and something flashes across his features at the sight of you. You try to ignore it, still preoccupied by your growing suspicions. His computer is on… meaning…
“Let me let Karina know I left… I kinda just walked out on her.”
Jisung nods and takes a cautious seat on his bed a few feet away from you.
As you open the discord app on your phone, you scroll to the top to find his contact and type out a simple Hi, clicking send with your heart beating faster than usual. It’s an impulsive act, but you can’t help yourself. If there’s even a chance…
Instantly, his screen lights up and through his headphones you hear the familiar chime of the notification coming in.
“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”
If it’s possible, Jisung’s face grows even paler than it already was naturally, and even more gloom than it appeared earlier in the night when he identified you as Jaehyun’s ex. All of his features are alert and in shock, watching as you spin around to face him.
“Sung? Right? That’s you?”
He’s struggling to read your expression, and it’s beyond obvious. The only change in his demeanor is the now tensed up shoulders and the redness that takes over the white on his cheeks.
“I—” Are you mad? Should he apologize?
“Did you know all this time? That it was me, I mean?”
He nods slowly, unable to find the appropriate words to say.
Two things happen just then. First, your hand smacks his arm, hard. “You fucking idiot!” and Second, you topple into his arms, hugging him. Initially, his hands hesitate to wrap around you, hovering above your waist as you squeeze his neck.
“You’re not mad?” He asks shyly. You shake your head against him, then lift off with your hands on his shoulders to take a real good look at his face.
“No! I’m so glad, I thought I was going crazy. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs again, a gesture he seems to do a lot around you.
“Since when did you know it was me?”
“Since I heard you speak on the very first day in class. I recognized your voice.”
Your eyes soften at this small confession, and you look back towards his desk, “So, this is where you were this whole time while we played? This close? A twenty-minute walk away?” You shoot up from the bed and cross the small distance to the desk, swiping an index finger along the surface, then his mouse, then his keyboard, and all of his other equipment. Your eyes are beaming, looking around and familiarizing yourself with his things. All the things you wondered about him are now laid out in front of you, and it’s exhilarating.
“I was so excited when I found out,”
“You should’ve told me,” you repeat, still taking in his pictures and personal items, your profound curiosity surfacing within you.
“I was worried about making a good first impression, you’re…”
“I’m…?” you press, turning to him for a moment.
“You’re really pretty in person.”
In that moment when you turn away to hide your blush, with the words “you’re really cute in person, too” ready to spill from your tongue in a sweet and shy whisper, a small black pile on the corner of his dresser catches your eye.
“What’s that—”
“Oh nothing! It’s just—”
“Is that my cardigan?”
Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…
“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—”
As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut.
“Are these—” His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—”
“Jisung.”
“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”
“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?”
“I-”
“Were you?” You ask sternly.
He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips.
There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable:
“Show me.”
*. * ·
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Daily Rise Quotes: DAY 584
Raph: So if we have any chance of finding her, we gotta be up to speed with these awesomely cool weapons.
Donnie: While monitoring their power fluctuations, energy patterns, and-
Raph: Yeah. Science your little heart out, Donnie.
(Rise of the TMNT: Issue #0)
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#quote#risequotes#day 584#alt text#tmnt#issue 0#comic#comics#rottmnt comics#the complete adventures#rise of the tmnt: the complete adventures#donnie#raph
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The cage he’s built for you is so beautiful, you almost forget it’s there.
❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.
♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
♡ Pairing. Yandere! Alhaitham x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Diluc x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Zhongli x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Dainsleif x Fem. Reader
♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 1
♡ Word Count. 2,801
♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats
♡ Alhaitham – The Scholar’s Cage.
“Your freedom is the illusion I designed for you. Do you see it now?”
Alhaitham’s jealousy is a quiet, suffocating force, crafted with precision and intellect. It doesn’t roar or rage, nor does it seek to overpower with brute strength. Instead, it threads through the very seams of your life, a methodical and unrelenting presence that tightens its grip with every passing day. His love is not chaotic—it is controlled, sharpened into something surgical, leaving no room for resistance.
You don’t notice it at first, the way he dismantles your autonomy. It begins with simple suggestions, his calm voice dripping with reason. “Why waste time with them? They don’t understand you.” A polite dismissal of your acquaintances, a small reorganization of your daily routine—all done under the guise of care, of making your life more efficient. Slowly, the world outside his orbit fades into obscurity, replaced by the inescapable reality of him.
Each step is calculated, deliberate, like the turning of pages in his meticulously annotated tomes. Alhaitham doesn’t need to raise his voice or resort to crude displays of anger. His jealousy operates in silken whispers, in arguments so flawlessly logical that to disagree with him feels like an admission of ignorance.
“You waste your time on frivolities,” he states, his tone flat but unyielding. His eyes pierce through you, sharp and unreadable. “Do you truly believe anyone else sees you for who you are? I’ve devoted myself to understanding you, shaping a life where your brilliance can thrive. What have they done?”
And when someone dares to overstep, lingering too long in your presence or speaking to you in tones he deems too familiar, Alhaitham does not act impulsively. No, his retaliation is an art form. The offending individual doesn’t disappear suddenly—that would be too crude, too obvious. Instead, they find their world unraveling.
A missed promotion, an inexplicable reassignment to a far-off land, their life tangled in bureaucratic webs they can’t escape. By the time they realize the Scholar’s hand in their downfall, it’s already too late. You notice their absence, perhaps even question it, but Alhaitham’s explanation is maddeningly irrefutable.
“They were a distraction,” he says simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t need people like that cluttering your life. Trust me, it’s better this way.”
He’s maddeningly composed, his jealousy cold and unyielding, a stone wall against which your protests shatter like glass. And yet, beneath his calm exterior lies a hunger so all-consuming it feels like an abyss, ready to swallow you whole.
In intimacy, that hunger reveals itself in the way his hands move over you—not hurried, but deliberate, like he’s studying you, mapping every inch of your body with the same precision he applies to his research. His touch is a paradox, both clinical and possessive, as if he’s documenting every reaction, every tremor, every gasp, to remind you that no one else could ever know you this intimately.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice is steady, each word a carefully crafted statement of fact. “Not just your body, but your mind, your soul. Every thought you have—I’ve already claimed it.”
There’s no room for resistance in his embrace. When he takes you, it’s a symphony of control, every movement deliberate, every whisper a reminder of how deeply he owns you. He doesn’t seek to hurt; pain is a crude tool, unworthy of his intellect. Instead, his love is an overwhelming force, designed to erode your defenses until you can no longer imagine a world without him.
And when he looks at you, there’s something terrifying in his gaze—a blend of devotion and dominance that leaves you breathless. You see yourself reflected in his eyes, not as a partner, but as something precious, something he’s spent his life perfecting. And as much as you might wish to escape, a part of you knows the truth.
“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, his voice as steady as ever. “When you finally understand that no one else will ever love you like I do. Your freedom, your independence—they were illusions, distractions. I am your reality now. Do you see it?”
────────────
♡ Diluc – Ember’s Obsession.
“There’s a certain poetry in the way flesh burns. Shall I show you what it means to belong to me?”
Jealousy in Diluc is not a sudden blaze—it’s a simmering ember buried deep within his chest, smoldering until provoked. And when that ember finally ignites, it consumes everything in its path. His rage is a tempest of fire, and his vengeance is exacting, merciless, yet meticulously controlled. To call it passion would be a mistake; this is something darker, primal, and utterly destructive.
The tranquility of the winery is the first thing to vanish when his jealousy peaks. The birds no longer sing, the soft rustling of leaves becomes an oppressive silence, and the air carries the faint, acrid tang of smoke. The vineyards, once a symbol of beauty and life, become the stage for his wrath. The trespasser who dared covet what was his is gone before you even realize it, their existence wiped away as if they never belonged to the world.
When you ask, his eyes burn with an intensity that freezes you in place. There’s no need to raise his voice—his silence is deafening, his actions more eloquent than words. The blood on his gloves isn’t cleaned, the charred remains of their belongings left just close enough for you to see. He wants you to understand the cost of disobedience, of entertaining the thought of anyone but him.
“Why are you trembling?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like embers crackling in a dying fire. He steps closer, his gloved hand brushing your cheek, a tender gesture at odds with the ferocity in his gaze. “Surely, you knew how this would end. They weren’t blind. They saw you. And I don’t forgive those who covet what’s mine.”
When Diluc kisses you, it’s bruising, his lips pressing against yours with a feral desperation. His hands are hot against your skin, leaving an almost burning sensation in their wake, a reminder of the fire he wields and how easily it could destroy you. He holds you tightly, his grip a cage, as if you might vanish if he let go.
The manor becomes your prison, the towering walls that once promised safety now looming like an inescapable fortress. He replaces the staff with people who would die before they crossed him, their loyalty bought or burned into submission. Your freedom dwindles day by day—no visitors, no letters, no life beyond the world he’s carved for you.
Even in his tenderness, there’s a darkness that pervades. When he pulls you into his arms at night, the weight of his obsession is suffocating. His fingers trace the curve of your throat, his touch almost reverent. His words, however, betray his madness. “If you ever think of running, don’t. Fire purifies everything, even memories. You won’t last without me. And I won’t let you.”
He doesn’t need chains to bind you; his fire does that for him. You feel the heat of his wrath even in his absence, a smothering presence that lingers in every room. The scent of charred wood clings to your senses, a constant reminder of what lies in wait should you ever defy him.
Yet, in the darkness of his obsession, there’s a twisted beauty—a fervent devotion so consuming it becomes poetic in its destruction. Diluc’s love burns, and like moth to flame, you can’t help but stay, even as it threatens to destroy you.
────────────
♡ Zhongli – The Stone Emperor’s Dominion.
“Erosion affects everything… but my love for you will endure until the last star in the cosmos burns out. Whether you want it or not.”
Zhongli’s jealousy is an ancient, unyielding force, as patient and inevitable as the shifting of tectonic plates. It doesn’t erupt like fire or howl like the wind—it seeps into every crevice of your life, an invisible weight that crushes resistance beneath its relentless pressure. His love is not the passionate frenzy of youth but the solemn, eternal claim of an Archon who has witnessed millennia. To him, you are no mere mortal; you are an artifact of immeasurable value, something to be preserved and guarded with the ferocity of a dragon.
The world he creates for you is gilded, opulent, and suffocating. The room he keeps you in is not a prison at first glance—it’s a sanctuary, filled with treasures and comforts that most could only dream of. The air carries the faint scent of incense, rich and intoxicating, lulling you into a false sense of security. But the longer you stay, the more you notice the details: the impenetrable walls, the locks on the doors that click softly but firmly behind you, the way every window seems to frame the same unchanging landscape.
The jewelry he adorns you with is exquisite, every piece a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Gold cuffs around your wrists, delicate yet unyielding; a collar around your neck, encrusted with amber that seems to glow in the light. He drapes you in finery not to celebrate your beauty, but to mark you as his possession. Each piece is a reminder that you belong to him, that his touch lingers on your very skin.
“You are a treasure beyond mortal comprehension,” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone that reverberates in your chest. His golden eyes, warm and commanding, hold an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “And treasures must be protected. The world would destroy you with its greed. Only I can preserve your perfection.”
When someone dares to approach you with intent that Zhongli deems improper, the earth itself seems to revolt against them. Their screams echo through the mountains, raw and unrelenting, as the ground splits and swallows them whole. He doesn’t act in haste—his punishments are deliberate, poetic in their cruelty. He encases them in stone, their faces frozen in terror, their bodies turned into monuments to his wrath.
He brings you to see them, not out of malice but necessity. His explanation is calm, almost tender, as he gestures to the stone effigies lining the mountainside. “This is what becomes of those who fail to understand their place. Do not mourn them, my love—they were nothing but dust, unworthy of your light.”
In intimacy, Zhongli is an overwhelming force. His touch is unhurried but suffused with a quiet dominance that leaves you breathless. Every gesture, every kiss, is deliberate, as though he’s carving his presence into your very being. His hands glide over your skin like sculptor's tools, firm yet reverent, shaping you into something only he can claim.
“You are mine,” he whispers against your ear, his breath warm and steady. His voice carries the weight of an oath, a declaration that transcends mortal comprehension. “The stars may fall, the earth may crumble, but you will remain at my side. You will see eternity through my eyes.”
Even his affection feels like a trap, his love as unyielding as stone. There is no escape, no corner of the world where his reach cannot find you. He doesn’t need to shackle you with chains—his power, his presence, is enough to bind you to him. His jealousy is not a fire that burns hot and fast but an eternal petrification, turning you into a piece of his world, preserved forever within his grasp.
────────────
♡ Dainsleif – The Eternal Hunter.
“You think you can hide from me? You forget, little one—I was forged in the abyss. There is no shadow I cannot find you in.”
Dainsleif’s jealousy is a force older than time itself, a chilling void that consumes everything in its path. It is not fiery or chaotic but cold and relentless, like the creeping frost that settles over a dying world. His love is not the kind that comforts or soothes—it isolates, suffocates, and ensnares, binding you to him in a cycle of obsession and despair.
You only begin to understand the depth of his control when it’s far too late. Every path you walk, every whispered conversation, every fleeting thought of freedom—it all leads back to him. The world feels smaller with each passing day, the shadows deeper, and his presence inescapable. He is always there, watching, waiting, a hunter biding his time.
When he appears, it’s always when you least expect, stepping from the darkness as though he is the shadow itself. His eyes glow faintly, a piercing luminescence that chills you to the bone. Tonight, he drags behind him the lifeless body of the one who dared to think you could be theirs. Blood drips steadily onto the floor, pooling like spilled ink, staining the silence of the room.
“You thought I wouldn’t know,” he murmurs, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of centuries. His expression is calm, unnervingly so, but his eyes burn with quiet fury. “Did you think they could take you from me? That anyone could?” He steps closer, his shadow engulfing yours, his presence as suffocating as it is magnetic. “Not the gods. Not even death itself. You are mine, little one. And nothing can change that.”
Dainsleif does not rage or scream; his fury is measured, deliberate, and terrifyingly methodical. The evidence of his jealousy is etched into the world around you—a ruined village, a bloodstained battlefield, a silence that feels too heavy. He ensures you see it, ensures you know the lengths he will go to preserve his claim on you.
And when his hands touch you, they are impossibly gentle, the contrast as cruel as it is deliberate. He traces the scars he’s left on your skin—some visible, others invisible, etched into the deepest corners of your soul. Each mark is a story, a vow, a declaration of his ownership. His touch lingers, reverent and obsessive, as though you are a relic of his own design.
“You see these marks?” he whispers, his voice a mixture of awe and menace. His fingertips graze the lines on your skin, the memories of his possessive love. “They tell the story of what you are to me. They are the proof of eternity, of something no one else will ever touch.”
There is a madness in his devotion, one born not of fleeting passion but of centuries of suffering and longing. You are his anchor, the one thing that grounds him in a cursed existence, and he clings to you with the desperation of a drowning man. Yet, his love feels like a weight, an unyielding chain that drags you into the abyss alongside him.
“Do you feel it, little one?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear as he holds you in an unbreakable embrace. “The weight of eternity? That is my love for you—boundless, inescapable, unending. You cannot run from it, and you cannot escape me. I will follow you through every shadow, every lifetime, until nothing remains but us.”
Even in intimacy, Dainsleif is overwhelming. His touch is both a promise and a warning, every caress laden with a sense of inevitability. He moves with a precision that leaves you trembling, as though every moment is calculated to remind you of his dominance. His kisses are slow but consuming, pulling you under like a tide, his words soft yet chilling as they thread through your mind.
“You can fight me, but it’s useless,” he breathes against your lips, his tone almost tender but laced with quiet menace. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And the moment you tried to run, you sealed your fate.”
In Dainsleif’s arms, you are both cherished and caged, his love a prison of cold eternity. No matter how far you go, no matter how deep you hide, he will always find you, his shadow stretching across the expanse of time itself. You are his, and there is no escape.
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⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. a Christopher Bahng fiction
🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader
TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, non-idol! au, comfort, worry of unrequited feelings, slight angst, fluff, cuteness overload
WORD COUNT. 6.5k ☆ 34 minute read
WARNINGS. swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?), insecurity, usage of terms of endearment, mentions of inferiority, mention of vomit, reader is said to wear makeup on an occasion
AUG'S NOTES. this was a very soft and sweet opposition to Christmas Blues last year which, notably, was remarkably “blue” in nature. in the midst of writing i found myself worried this new approach to lighter, best-friend-to-lovers feelings would be too plain—but i had to remind myself this isn’t enemies to lovers, nor is it nearly as angsty as Christmas Blues!! though i hope their feelings can be both established and understood well, so thank you for sticking with me this far :) i hope this fuzzy piece keeps your heart warm during this cold winter<3
PLAYLIST.
SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.
or alternatively :
Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.
December 20th.
“Move your arm.”
Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.
A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.
Totally.
Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening.
And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.
But pitiful most of all.
“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.
“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.
“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly.
A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.
“What if we became something more?”
When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.
But then again, it’s always been just that.
Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.
The small things.
So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.
A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?”
With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle.
Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.
Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.
As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).
So, yes, you’re thinking.
And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit.
He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.
And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.
Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited.
He’d be okay as long as he has you.
Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.
“Chris?”
Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.
“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.
Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.
But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.
At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.
“Can I listen?”
Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.
And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.
You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.
It’s too easy to fall in love with you.
He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.
December 21st.
Enough.
If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.
Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.
“Five dates.”
Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.
By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list.
Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.
”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.
“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.
Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.
”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.
The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.
But that’s a story for another time.
Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember.
“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”
You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.
He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.
”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”
”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”
Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.
Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.
“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.
Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.
As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.
But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—
“Can I kiss you after those dates?”
Jerk. For the second time.
”And if I say no?”
He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.
Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”
You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.
Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.
Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.
So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.
Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.
Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.
How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.
“Yes, you can.”
When those five dates are over, kiss me.
His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.
“Is that my shampoo?”
If anything, you feel as if you’ve been having dates over the years you’ve known Chris as he lists out ideas from a website on his phone. Except, yours weren’t touchy feel-y and certainly not regarded as “dates”, but simple things.
Dinners, falling asleep on his shoulder (something he remembers very well), baking together.
It’s a cold day, and after his hug that squeezed every fiber of sanity from your being, you now resorted to trying to figure out what that first date should consist of.
The first of the five, pending.
“Ah,” Lips parting to exhale, you peer from the nearest window, watching hot breath fog up the glass whilst gazing out at vastly falling slow blanketing the ground a winter wonderland. A white abyss from your viewpoint.
“It’s snowing.”
A chaste pause ensues.
“Might as well go out ‘n enjoy it, hm?” His voice, paired with a grin saturated in too much mischief for your liking resounds from over your shoulder.
Unable to react fast enough, Chris, sneaking up behind you without your knowledge, hoists you over his shoulder in seconds time—now (unfortunately) adorning a hoodie over his once bare torso.
Your shocked shriek rings about the apartment in reply.
“Out of the way! We’re goin’ outside!” Chris giggles victoriously, shouting to no one in particular as your fists beat at his back upon making for the door.
The faintest gust of frigid wind has goosebumps slithering up your skin—granting the man a cacophony of “No! Let me down!”’s he seems to soak up like praise.
Well, before relenting.
Because then again, who was he to deny you? To some degree it felt like every bone in his bone dragged him close to you, trailing after your footsteps like a lost puppy.
“One of these days,” Sighing heavily like that of an old man, a firm hand pats your thigh before you’re reluctantly flopped onto the couch, glaring up at him in a manner he deems too pretty to keep from smiling at.
That same hand comes to hold your face, smushing up your cheeks and, in turn, earning plentiful laughter you simply huff towards.
“Don’t pout—“ He whines, your heart rate spiking when another hand comes down towards your hair.
If there was any restraint of yours left, it would be relinquished instantly if he so much as touched your hair—
He flicks your forehead. And proceeds to slump down beside you.
“Oh you prick-“
His hand reaches to gently cover your mouth, bringing an index to rest on plush lips of his own.
“No pouting, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
Oh he’s going to get it.
Playing you like a fiddle.
And damn does he do it well.
.
.
.
Head tipping, your eyes flicker over his features—silently admiring such a side profile. With the perfect curve of his lips and hook of his nose, he could rival sculptures found in museums.
This was after trying to tackle him (to no avail, sadly) and curse his very existence (another fail).
Then, the mediator came by in the form of a movie night and the small sheet of chocolate chip cookies warming in the oven, scent steaming the air with a mouthwatering aroma.
Your first of five, initiated.
“Mm.. Don’t we have movie nights normally though?” The remark offered quietly, you shift closer to his body, pressing your right side to his, knees tucked beneath a blanket he’d arranged across either of your laps.
Love Actually plays on the screen ahead, but your focus couldn’t be deviating more.
Ever the attentive soul, Chris is equal in the shared admiration, honeyed irises fixed upon you in his peripheral prior to a careful finger lifting, looping a strand of hair behind your ear.
In turn, his gentle palm cups your jaw to tilt your head, sweeping an additionally stubborn hair from the other side of your face as well.
Your heart feels moments from bursting, and he looks at you as if you’re his whole world.
You are, but that was a matter unnoticed on your end.
It’s a quiet debate. Dangerous and fickle. Move too quickly and something might go wrong, hesitate and an opportunity may vanish to never be seen again. Do you kiss him? Is that how it works? Or is this a matter of “kissing on the first date”, treated like a taboo?
More so, what happens next? After the kiss?
His eyes flicker upward to yours, lacking that boy-ish, charming smile he usually dons. Instead, he’s serious, calm. Then to your lips, like the melody of a slow song, flickering with the dips and pitches of the rhythm.
Leaning in, you can’t help but comply, and every thought within your mind numbs into nothingness—
Beeep!
A sharp, acrid stench makes your nose burn, face transforming into both realization and panic upon witnessing the tendrils of smoke curling from the oven.
“Shit!”
And after frantically racing to salvage what little remained of the cookies while Chris furiously fanned the smoke detector, your “date night” turned into a shared glance, laughter, and the both of you trudging to his bed for the night, leaving the remaining bit of Love Actually for another day.
So no, rest assured you didn’t kiss him on the first date.
Maybe tomorrow.
December 22nd.
Y’know how Chris mentioned going out into the snow “one of these days?”.
That day was today, apparently.
“You don’t get it I’ll slip-“
“But you can hold onto me, yeah?” He laughs, squeaky still. Gloved hands find purchase on your hips, gently easing you forward where your back rests to his chest. His right hand shifts upward to rest against your spine, a feeling you have to swallow down wallowing in your stomach.
“Slow steps, I won’t let go.”
Don’t ever, you wish to say. Don’t ever let me go.
And not to keep me from slipping.
Maybe if you were ice skating or slow dancing this would be romantic, but the ugly, waddling manner you make down ice-coated stairs kills off any hope for swooning.
That is, until you do slip, and the man is a fraction too slow until you’re flat on your bum outside his apartment complex, heated from both annoyance and the knowledge far too many embarrassing pictures have been added to his camera roll just now.
In which.. a wonky, slightly-melting snowman comes to be not long afterward, neither of you willing to admit your creation is not “creative”, but horridly unsightly.
“I love it!”
Of course he does. Random pipes substituting as two arms and a carrot nose while Han’s fedora from 2016 awkwardly sits atop a head disproportionate from its body.
Your second date ideas offered a galaxy of possibilities, but after awakening late and coffee’s failure to open your eyes further than half-lidded, you figured today would mimic yesterday as a day spent at home.
He’d get some assignments done in the evening, and you’d probably turn on another Christmas movie while waiting to finish Love Actually in his company later on.
“We should come up with a name,” Nodding proudly at the aforementioned abomination, you cross your arms across your chest, your partner in crime brainstorming in a seriousness practically comical to the situation at hand.
“Hm.. something happy! I mean, look at his face, it’s happy, isn’t it?”
Mind you, cold, visibly dead extra coat-buttons are what stares back at you as its “eyes”, and you easily nod in feigned agreement as he takes ceaseless pictures of the thing with obvious delight, likely to send to friends and family alike.
The bottom snowball is melting, and a pipe has already fallen off what was supposed to be its arm, but Chris is beaming, and you'd rather slice off your own tongue than keep him from enjoying this moment.
Happy.
You feel as if you’d do anything in the world to see him smile.
.
.
.
“Eh? Who’s that?”
5pm, and you’ll probably have to pummel the door open in the morning thanks to the blizzard-like conditions outside.
Among plenty of assignments he told himself he’d fret over in the evening, an unfinished paper sits in front of Chris while his thumbs twiddle along the keyboard of his phone, your chin hooked to his shoulder to glance down at the device—a habit of yours he finds himself unreasonably fond of.
Changbin came home early from the live-house, with most events cancelled from the cold and too little work to be done, there was no need to keep workers around. Dinner beckoned conversation and knowing glances from the roommate whenever you and Chris spoke, earning a scolding scowl while he simply grinned innocently in reply.
It seemed your love was obvious to everyone but you two. How tragic.
Though, amidst photos of both your earlier wipeout (a matter you don’t mention) and snapshots of the snowman he’s currently trying to send while seated at his desk, a certain name within the text catches your attention:
Mister Sunshine.
Chris chuckles sheepishly, your brows lifting in silent inquisition.
“It’s.. the snowman’s name. I named him.” He murmurs, the back of his neck doused pink. A facet of his embarrassment.
He named the snowman Mister Sunshine.
That smile of his making an additional appearance lies responsible for an internal scream to ring throughout your body, deafening your brain despite an external silence.
And in that moment, your feelings become harder to ignore than ever.
December 23rd.
“You should get all pretty today.”
Your attention, once drawn to the different kinds of cookie-cutter molds, flickers up to him when he speaks.
As it always does, hanging onto his every word as if fearful there’d be a day you couldn’t.
Quizzically does your head tip in confusion, spurring the heat blooming by the back of his neck all the way up to flushed ears.
He waves quick hands, having been eyeing through the assortment of donuts Changbin brought home last night after his “buy one get one free sale” turned into buying a dozen at the shop by the live-house.
“I mean, ‘s not like you aren’t pretty every day, but- y’know- like—“
It feels cruel letting him futilely try explaining, but gosh is he too cute.
And hearing him call you pretty feels too good to end abruptly.
It also makes you wonder what happened to the smug-grin-wearing, playful person he could become at times. The one so confident and sure, now rosy.
An alter-ego sounded too far-fetched most days, but as for today… fairly accurate.
“What I meant is,” Turning, Chris extends the mug of coffee your way, heated glass warming your palms as you take it.
A part to your shared daily occurrences, routine.
“I want to take you out tonight. We can go window shopping, see decorations, yeah?”
Perhaps the steam of your cup is what warms your cheeks, and very quickly do you come to recall you’re the one making him wait.
He was willing to go all in from the start. And then you feel even crueler.
“Okay, tell me when to start getting ready.”
But you nod and pretend, because maybe you’re good at staving down things you know will come up anyway.
He’d always chided your procrastination.
.
Too long have you spent burning holes in your mirror with each scrutinizing glare, and the longer you stare, the worse what’s reflected becomes.
Chris had sent a small text proposing a forty minute window before heading out, in which ensued your frantic scouring around your room for both an outfit and coordinating accessories.
Sure, you may have known the guy since your ugliest years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to spend some extra time on yourself, right?
Your third of five dates, and you should be bouncing up and down with cheerfulness, looking forward to “getting all pretty”, dolling up for an evening with your favorite person, your best friend. And, come recent days, your admitted love interest.
But you aren’t. You don’t feel cheerful, ecstatic.
And walking out to his awestruck form doesn’t feel revitalizing, and sure as hell far from a confidence boost.
“You look.. wow.” He gapes, drinking in every article of clothing, the way you’ve got the prettiest of ribbons in your hair a crimson red, your cute socks and warm sweater.
An angel, he wants to say. That, along with many things you’d slap him on the shoulder for speaking aloud.
Worst of all? He knows your tell-tale signs in and out.
“Hey.”
His face seems to melt. Like crying, and it makes you want to cry. The sad, tiny crease of his brows, the puff of his bottom lip.
Worried.
“But, I mean,” Your voice chokes up, and you hate every bit of it, the emotions compiling to the surface—ones impossible to stave down.
You don’t feel nice. Putting on an outfit you both liked and thought you looked good in, fixing up your makeup, the little accessories to compliment certain colors, elements.
Yet, your heart still sunk when looking in the mirror, and now, looking at Chris, it feels like all that confidence is beginning to melt—salt sprinkled on the snow of the driveway.
Greater than that, it frustrates you. It isn’t his fault he’s attractive; beautiful, even, but every second by his side feels akin to a blazing inferiority, causing the already-chilled, flushed fingertips of yours to burn, your ears to grow unusually warm.
Like a child.
How irritating.
“Hey,”
His voice, like honey and pastries and all the bestest, warmest things when in need of comfort.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
The endearment isn’t teasing this time, not even in the slightest. It’s soft and delicate, an ornate vase constructed of glass, capable of breaking from a mere breath.
Standing outside his apartment, snow dappling the sky in endless flurries, it’s only you two in the world.
Your lip wobbles, but Chris always catches you before you fall.
“I’m the man honored to walk around with you tonight, hm?” He starts, thumbing away bubbling tears from your cheeks.
“You look too pretty for these tears, ‘don’t want to mess up your makeup now do we?” He cracks a feeble smile, smoothing down your brows and adjusting your scarf with utmost care from his mitten-clad fingers.
“Ah,” His face lights up with recognition. “You added the glittery eyeshadow.”
You can’t help but crack a laugh. Pitifully croaked, but there no less.
First day of high school and you’d shown up with a downright awful amount of glittery eyeshadow, looking similar to a human-disco ball with the sheer amount alone.
Chris, ever the kind soul knowing you since birth, gave you a two thumbs up, a tight smile, and a “looks great!” that’s lived as one of your best inside jokes even now.
Luckily, this time around the amount is agreeable, just above your lashes and shimmering avidly beneath falling snow.
“I did,” You whisper softly, gaze fluttering down to your shoes before flickering back up to him. “And um.. is it true? That..”
Oh this is embarrassing.
“I look okay?”
Perhaps if he says it, tonight you can believe it’s true.
This time he breaks your heart, with such a heart-wrenching smile on his face.
“You always look beautiful, ‘doesn’t matter how much you think you’re not, you’ll never be able to change my mind. Now let me take you out, yeah? ‘Can grab some hot chocolate,” He ushers, winding your arm to link with his as you make forward, his black trench coat swaying with the click of dress shoes, chilly nose finding sanctuary in a ruby-red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.
Beneath the streetlights and dark skies, Chris could be a prince if he so wished.
That’s another thing you can believe is true tonight.
Curious eyes of awaiting children and scolding mothers litter the streets, tiny fingers pointing to toys through the glass, busied chatter and shared affection blooming within a once blue atmosphere, now dappled in ribbons of color.
The transition from monochrome, like shutters of an old camera capturing technicolor for the first time.
Or maybe Chris was the one responsible for each flourish of color, painting your world the prettiest of hues.
“Do you remember it?”
His voice, honeyed, accompanied by a plume of air in requite of a warm exhale evokes a skip to your step, catching your footing on the stone sidewalk with an awkward clearing to your throat.
“The things you used to want for Christmas?” He continues, and you chose to ignore the knowing smile on his face, gaze shifting upward in hopes of recollection, to no avail.
“Hm.. Do you?” Quietly offered, a change in attention grants you momentary escape from the spotlight.
Well, before it truly does become momentary.
He never has been embarrassed easily, you’d like to add. A matter speaking for itself in the way he automatically clings to your side in response, swaying back and forth whilst singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” you didn’t realize was blaring through overhead speakers above passing until this moment.
Predictably, he earns the bemused grins of passerby and your face (as an individual who does in fact get embarrassed easily, to your own dismay) growing fifty shades of crimson.
“Yah! Quit!” Though your efforts are as futile as your voice and it’s involuntarily chortled-ness, you smack at his hand no less.
Of course, he persists.
Until the sharp turn to a small, annually appearing hot chocolate truck ceases your complaining and his singing in synonymous tandem.
An array of memories come washing across you with each gust of winter wind, and you can practically hear the manner of squeakiness his voice used to be, the foam from whipped-cream topped cocoa sitting atop his top lip like a mustache. You’d always laugh at that.
When you burnt your tongue one year after the beverage was too hot and he remained resilient in his belief you could and would taste Christmas dinner.
You did not, but it was worth a try. Also worth seeing his big, hopeful eyes peek up at you excitedly.
Back then he was always shorter than you, until that fateful day in High school he arrived with a far taller stature than the pipsqueak you knew of most days.
A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one.
Seems his memory remains as sharp as ever, evident in the gentle squeeze he gives your hand—his you hadn’t even noticed was held in your own up till now.
“Get some, hm? My treat.” He quickly urges, watching you pad forward like a child to admire the menu in adoration, waving to the old woman you’d known since a child, always manning her tiny miracle of a truck.
He would keep the fact he’d looked up the hours the truck would be in town to himself. That, along with the tiny heart drawn on the side of the cardboard coffee sleeve you had yet to acknowledge, one he discovers is the old woman’s doing, her knowing smile matching his own when he looks up for silent clarification.
Encouragement.
Go for it.
He feels his palms grow clammy, internally thankful you weren’t holding hands at the moment(which was enough of a heart-attack inducing experience in itself).
The trace of lipgloss on the rim of your cup, the batting of those precious eyes.
Worst is, you don’t even know what you do. The little things compiling into something downright torturous.
And when you look up at him for that split second, his breath catches.
Ah.
He wants to kiss you.
From the scrunch of your nose when you begin to laugh to the snowflakes already dappling your lashes.
Because loving you is easy, and then it’s not. Over and over again. He’s afraid, but his mind is fuzzy and jumbled with feelings, and that small bit of melted marshmallow on your bottom lip he finds himself longing to taste. Lick up the sweetness and sink his teeth into the plush skin–
The tiniest drop of hot chocolate clings to your lips, and Chris wonders if you’d taste like it too.
December 24th.
“Hm?” His hum of confusion falls upon deaf ears, too preoccupied with a call from your mom to take note.
Something must’ve piqued his attention, though you’d have half the mind to guess what.
That is until hanging up, and curious brown eyes boring into your skull from afar transform into this itch you can’t ignore.
“Chris.”
Like an annoying older brother, he is sometimes.
Then there’s that sheepish sort of sound, the “i-got-caught” giggle testing your annoyed facade.
“Hey now,” He begins after a moment, pointing an incredulous finger your way like you’ve said something outrageous, looking like some perplexed old man whilst running a hand through his hair in an odd, cheap rendition of exasperation.
He looks more like he’s choking, but you give full points for effort.
“You haven’t put up your tree or anything? What are you, the grinch?”
Oh, so that’s what this is about.
For context, your conversation minutes prior with your mother consisted of the formalities: “How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well?” which turned into the personal portions: “Classes? Boyfriends?”
As for the last question, you’d keep her posted.
But what seemed to grab his attention most was the additional part where you not-so-discreetly told her you likely wouldn’t bother putting up decorations in your own place this year.
Granted, you spent most days at Chris’s anyway, Christmas as well. Why not skip the hassle to freeload?
Also, you weren’t aware this was chastising season, Mr. Bahng.
“You’re serious?”
Nope. All a joke, every bit.
“…I usually just stay here anyway..?”
Which was true! He knows this!
“Nuh-uh, ‘s gotta change. What if one year I go overseas to visit family and you’re here alone?”
Horribly fast, your stomach sinks, and you’re hasty to scorn the sensation.
This fear, innate and uncontrollable. That on a certain season, you won’t have that certain someone to spend it with.
I won’t, you want to say; treat the words like some totally unrealistic joke, treat his argument like a fable.
The clapping of his hands wards you from your incomprehensible nightmare.
“Alright! Let’s go! We’re decorating your place!”
This year at least, he’ll be by your side.
So you nod, as you do to most things concerning Christopher Bahng.
Love makes a person so.. strange, does it not?
Maybe that’s just you. Or him, or all of it. Who knows.
Crunching of white sheets beneath your feet keep your head from falling astray, as if dancing atop dove feathers amidst your trek to the car.
Too many thoughts, too many questions likely to be left unanswered.
The moon, in her full, glowing glory blinks down from above as a feeble solace.
Of the most beautiful of love stories. For when her lover, Sun, grows tired of arduous laboring in the day, she will arrive to establish her night so that Sun may rest for another day. A night of waiting for the one most beloved to her.
It reminds you quite a bit of yourself, oddly enough, as frosted fingertips shuffle beneath your legs to bask in the passenger seat’s seat heater as a source of warmth.
Each exhale fogs up the windows as the engine rumbles to life, and it’s a wonder you didn’t have to scrape off ice beforehand.
“Mm, in Australia it’d be so warm since ‘was summer, even on Christmas Eve. I remember one year ‘got the chance to get out there during the Holidays. Jisung sent me a text saying it was four degrees celsius in Korea and he was wearing three jackets. Meanwhile, I was outside in a tank top with Berry in twenty-seven.”
His eyes adorn the same sweet crinkle of happiness, ring-clad index tapping an inaudible beat where it rests on your knee, the other finding purchase on the steering wheel as you continue onward through late-December snowflakes.
He lights up your world without even trying. His smile, his excited talking. The way his words grow shorter and shorter the more excited he is to explain something.
Nerd.
You love every second of it.
“And what I said about Australia earlier.” Chris begins quietly, sparing you a glimpse. His palm squeezes your knee gently, and you want to shout, jump, do something to alleviate the scream wishing to claw from your throat in reply.
Since when have you become so susceptible, so easy?
Simple. Since you fell in love.
Or, more like when you realized you were in love.
This was nothing new, after all.
“You wouldn’t be alone here over the holidays. I’d take you with me.” His eyes squeeze shut momentarily in thought, tone this quieted whisper you have to crane to discern.
“Back in October, during my birthday. Do you know what my wish was?”
A wordless look of wonder urges him on, thumb smoothing along your skin in a tender rhythm, never to break.
“One of these days, I’ll take you to Australia with me. Home with me.”
“So my first love can meet my last love.”
The second portion is barely intelligible, as if it were a mere whisper in the night.
You wonder if it was a figment of your imagination.
Nevertheless, the less-than-inviting (compared to Chris’s), pale glow of your flat’s porch light eventually comes into view, and either of you clamber from car doors with evident struggle—abundant layers against the chill making for an awkward toddle to your snow-muddled doorstep.
Quick to retrieve the boxes from your attic, the both of you get to work. Chris frets over shoveling snow from your front porch, and you set to Christmas-ifying the interior.
It’s domestic, almost. His humming from the front door to songs playing on the speaker inside, the slow transition from your usual flat to a festive explosion.
Then, of course, the tree.
In which you awkwardly shift your weight from foot to foot while awaiting his assistance, only for you to make eye contact and want to shrivel into a ball and never come out.
Again, shy. It’s bizarre.
“Hm.. You wanna put up the star?”
After far too long trying to figure out the logistics, a makeshift (albeit lopsided) tree resides in your living space, a few ornaments here and there clothing the sad excuse for a normally grand view.
But it’s yours, together.
You think with that knowledge alone it could’ve been a single sprout and would have been your world all the same.
His traces, everywhere. Both of your hands clutching onto each one you can grasp.
However, spontaneity comes back to haunt you. This time in the form of his hands curling around your hips, giving you a chaste countdown before you’re lifted up to place the star on the very top.
Good luck not having a heart attack, huh.
Miraculously, you don’t. Neither do you combust or squeal or any of the wild thoughts racing through murky depths of your brain.
Instead, you’re placed on the ground once more, his index and thumb taking the side of your top to gently adjust back down where it had ridden up.
Like a gentleman.
Shoot.
He makes it hard, doesn’t he?
Leaning to prop his chin on your shoulder while you admire the twinkling lights, you’d like to believe it was a hallucination that he pressed the most imperceptible, tiniest peck to the clothed junction of your neck and shoulder before pulling away.
“C’mere,” His words fall a near murmur, having to lightly tug at your wrist to truly garner your undivided attention without blood rushing to your face.
As for him, he simply had to pull you from the tree for the sake of his own wellbeing, the sight of warm lights reflecting in eyes he’d easily get lost in making each swallow harder to manage.
That, and there was.. a surprise of a sort. The sweep of a hand on the way out from his apartment, the fretful (clumsy) fastening of this so-called surprise under the guise he was clearing your porch.
Which he was, respectfully.
Just with a little something extra involved.
Nonetheless, oblivious to his plan, you follow along, anticipating some sad copy of Mister Sunshine to be made from fallen pine needles and buttons.
So when he points upwards, nothing short of a roller coaster occurs in your chest.
A spider, a roach, something scary—
A mistletoe.
Right above your head.
He’s got this giddy, nervous grin wobbling on plush lips, eyes searching yours like some little boy seeking a reaction. And you feel like you’re staring at elementary schooler Chris all over again.
At his cheery face knowing he’d be getting ice cream on the way home, when you lied about being able to taste Christmas dinner with a burnt tongue.
A single lightbulb flickers orange, illuminating the mistletoe residing just beside.
Finally not-burnt cookies sit in their container back at his apartment, Love Actually long since completed. Your snowman, named Mister Sunshine, occupies the complex’s front walkway, and too many mugs of hot chocolate have been downed these past few days to count.
When your own place gets lonely, a tree you had put up together keeps you company, so that those nights alone this winter won’t be so cold.
“Can I..?”
Chilled temperatures nip at your nose, and you feel like crying listening to the softened manner he asks, the tentativeness in the way his hand reaches to cup your cheek.
The sound is more like a plea, and you’d be beyond embarrassed if it was anyone but Chris.
“Please.”
And beneath that mentioned mistletoe, Chris kisses you for the first time, and December 25th makes its slow approach above the horizon.
When becoming more grows scary, Chris holds your hand to remind you there’s nothing he won’t step into with you. No matter the doubt, the fear.
It seems this winter you won’t be lonely. Because you won’t be spending this Christmas alone, nor many to come.
He’ll make sure of that.
One day till Christmas, four dates till you told him you felt the same.
You never got to five anyway.
sunboki, may 2022 ©
FIC TAGLIST. @allaboutsan, @velvetmoonlght, @minij-one
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