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roosterforme · 3 months ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 26 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You've given Bradley one job to do, and he's not quite sure how successful he has been. But he couldn't care less whether or not you're on birth control. Not when he's in love with his family. Not when there are so many other things starting to press on his mind.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, body image, oral sex, smut, DILF Roo

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley loved La Jolla. He loved this hotel. He loved the people that you and he became every time you stayed at this hotel. By Friday night, he'd eaten two seafood platters at the beachside restaurant, taken two naps on a blanket in the sand while you played with his hair, consumed a lot of your breast milk, and fucked you all over the hotel room.

"Let's call and check on Rose again," you mused, laying across Bradley's lap on the couch. He had his hand tucked inside the front of the fluffy, white robe you were wearing, gently caressing the soft underside of your breast and your belly. He had just finished making sure you didn't feel too full, and now you were yawning and snuggling up against his thigh.

"If you want to FaceTime your parents, we should get dressed."

"Why? I think the robes are fine," you said, gesturing to the matching one he was wearing that was a little too small on him. "It's not like they don't know what we're doing here."

Bradley felt himself blushing. He supposed anyone would make the same assumption, but he pulled your robe tight up to your neck and tied the sash anyway. As if that would ward off the idea that all he wanted to do for the rest of the weekend was fuck you until you couldn't walk.

"Okay, let's call and check on Rose."

A few seconds later, you were sitting next to him on the couch, and both of you were staring at your phone screen. Rose was on her play mat in the living room, holding her head up like a total boss, trying to reach Tramp.

"I swear she's almost crawling," your mom's voice said through the phone.

"She's only three months old!" you replied, rolling your eyes.

"Almost three and a half," Bradley supplied, pulling your phone closer to him. "I told you she's a damn genius."

"She is," your mom said. "She holds the bottle by herself when we feed her, and she reaches for the pages in her board books when she likes the colors."

"See?" Bradley asked you, gesturing like he was right all along.

"And she's just adorable, too," your mom gushed, moving the phone closer to Rose's face. "Such a sweet baby. Just like you were."

"An adorable genius," Bradley reiterated, making you bury your face against his neck while you laughed. "Everything's going okay there?"

"Of course," your mom promised. "Dad's taking a little nap so he can do the nighttime feeding. He took Tramp for a long walk earlier. Rose has been eating like a pro. Everything is good. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

There was a hint of teasing in her tone while she said the last sentence, and Bradley cradled his face in his hand as you said goodbye and ended the call.

"It's like she knows we did a bunch of dirty shit on the balcony last night," Bradley murmured.

"Do not start with me, Bradley. Dr. Morris knows you've had your cock in my ass because you can't keep your mouth shut."

"Oh," he said, immediately perking up. "Can we do that again? Zero risk of you getting pregnant even if I don't pull out."

Your lips were all over his even as you laughed. "I didn't bring the fancy lube. It's probably on my nightstand with my pill pack."

He wanted to suggest he knew how to get you so wet you would be fine without the fancy lube, but he wasn't about to press his luck or hurt you. And now he was distracted as you yanked at the sash securing his robe before kissing your way down his chest. "Okay," he grunted, watching your every move. "I like this, too." Your wide eyes were aimed up at his as you trailed your tongue down along his abs and settled on the floor between his legs. You let your cheek rest on his thigh, close enough to his hardening cock that he could feel your breath when you spoke.

"I have an idea."

"Jesus," he whispered, licking his lips as yours grazed his sparse leg hairs. "Tell me, Baby Girl," he coaxed, running his knuckles softly along your cheek. "Anything you want is what we'll do."

Your lips brushed his balls, warm and deliberate, and a shiver surged through his spine like electricity. A low groan escaped before he could stop it. His eyelids fluttered shut, head tipping back as you kissed him delicately.

"How about we get drunk on champagne and mess around for the rest of the night?"

He cracked his eyes open. You were waiting for an answer, but you'd never rush him when it came to this. He didn't love the idea of drunk sex. Consent was important to him, especially because of the manner in which he'd lost his virginity. But you were the only woman he ever trusted with his whole heart, and he knew you would never take advantage of him.

"Change drunk to tipsy, and you've got yourself a deal, Sweetheart."

----------------------------

You kept tugging your robe shut while Bradley kept trying to discreetly open it further. "Roo," you whispered on a laugh, perched with your legs straddling his lap.

"Hmm?" His own robe had been discarded behind him on the couch, and he was holding a chilled bottle of champagne against your thigh while he sucked on your neck. His mustache was sinful, and his thick cock was heavy against your core. "You're so pretty." He flashed his brown eyes up at you. "I love you so much. Why you trying to hide those titties from me?"

Oh, he was definitely a bit tipsy now, but so were you. Getting him to mess around like this was always a bit of a hard sell, and you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. But he really turned you on when his lips loosened up a bit. It was always a perfectly mixed combination of sweet sentiments and dirty talk, and you ate it right up.

This time, when he tried to nudge open your robe with his nose against your collarbone, you let him. His eyes lit up as he pushed the sleeves down your arms. "That's better," he whispered as the fluffy fabric fell to the floor at his feet. He leaned back and took a long sip of champagne while he studied you with half lidded eyes. "Oh god. Sometimes I can't believe you married me." Your cheeks felt warm from the champagne as well as from his words as his cool fingertip traced your dainty rooster tattoo. "You didn't have this last time we were here."

You shook your head slightly. "That was your wedding gift."

One big hand slid down your back until he was cupping your ass, and he stood up in one fluid motion while you scrambled to hang on. "Bradley," you shrieked as he walked past the open balcony door and carried you all the way to the bathroom. "Where are we going?"

"I want to fuck my wife," he replied casually, setting you down on the marble counter. "Where we can get a little messy."

You shivered when he tipped the champagne bottle and let some of the bubbly drink trickle down your breasts and across your hard nipples. "It's so cold!" you complained, but his mouth smothered your words and you moaned. When you tried to squeeze your thighs together, he was wedged firmly between them. You were grabbing along the vanity, at his mercy, and you were so turned on.

"I want to fuck you," he repeated before another kiss left you reeling. Then he trailed sloppy kisses down to your breasts, licking away the sticky, bubbly mess. "I want to fuck you so hard, Sweetheart."

His cock was right at your opening, begging for entrance, but all you could do was whimper his name. Then there was more cold champagne on your sensitive skin followed by his warm tongue. You were so turned on, you wanted to cry as you scooted closer to his body.

"Please?" Bradley begged as just the tip of his cock slipped inside you. His voice was like honey as he set the bottle down and wrapped his hand around your hip. "I'll make you feel so good," he crooned, staring at your lips while he stroked your tattoo. He pushed his cock a little deeper still and kissed your forehead.

"Fuck me, Bradley," you moaned as he held eye contact. You were a little tipsy and very needy at the moment as you added, "Hard."

You wrapped your calf around his hip, trying to get what he promised you, but instead you got another slow inch and his cool lips on your temple. Gently, he tipped your head back and whispered, "Are you sure that's what you want? Because you're allowed to have anything. I'll gladly give you anything."

"Why are you like this, Roo? You're sweet and so fucking dirty. Just fuck me."

You squealed when his big fingers dug into your thighs, guiding them further apart, watching the place the two of you were intimately connected. His gaze trailed slowly up your body to your face. "God, you are so fucking sexy," he whispered with a snap of his hips. He bottomed out as you reached for his shoulders to keep yourself steady. "You look like my little slut, the way you're taking me. But you're my wife, which is so much better."

Bradley's words were filthy, and his lips were soft and sweet. But his hands and the pace at which he fucked you were demanding and unrelenting. When his thumb found your clit, circling at a pace that left you breathless, your teeth began to chatter as your back arched. When you came for him, he slammed into you. He let you have him, hard. Breasts bouncing and voice jerky as he went all the way. Sweat beading on his brow as he moaned your name like he'd never get enough.

Your head was spinning with desire, and he went until he was gasping and grunting, using your body to coax him through his own orgasm. "I love you," he murmured breathlessly, his glistening cock still gliding in and out of your pussy before he pulled himself free, shooting cum all over you. The back of your head tapped the mirror as he kissed you just as hard as he'd fucked you.

When he finally let you breathe again, he whispered, "Somehow I love you even more now than the last time we were here."

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On Sunday morning, Bradley got carried away. There was no more champagne, and the two of you had been out late on the beach watching fireworks the night before. You were tired, and he was tired. But when he woke with your body nestled on top of him like usual, your lips were pressed to his neck, and your tits were leaking onto his chest.

"Fuck," he gasped softly. He'd already had you all to himself so many times this weekend, but he wanted one more. He stroked himself as he whispered your name, but you just snuggled in closer against him, working your lips along his skin. It just turned him on even more.

Sometimes he wondered what on earth happened to him that made him go from countless one night stands to a one woman kind of guy. Then you moaned his name, and your eyes fluttered open as you looked at him. Your pretty lips were parted, and your cheek had a soft imprint from cuddling against him. And you kissed him, replacing his hand on his cock with your own.

"Good morning," you whispered against his lips, and this was the reason why. You were all the reasons why.

"I need it," he whispered, and you settled on your back with your engorged breasts in your hands and let him have everything. He fucked you so slowly, barely moving as he drained your milk until you were comfortable. You combed his hair back from his forehead, in no hurry as he plucked at one nipple and then the other, nuzzling his way along your breasts. He rocked into you with steady pressure, making sure you could feel his body against your clit as he kissed you.

It was a slow build, and the two of you would most definitely be late for your check-out time. But he didn't care. Your fingers were laced with his against the pillow. His nose found the curve of your cheek and then your ear. He inhaled your sweetness and your warmth. He could feel it at the base of his spine, the way you were his. It was powerful. You were close, and he knew it. But he drew it out until your body was tense beneath him before going limp. You shook your head, making the most feral sounds, and when he looked down at you, it was almost too late.

"Oh, shit," he grunted, jerking his hips from your body, sending ribbons of his cum against your pussy and thighs and the bedding.

"Did you pull out in time?" you whispered, circling your pert nipples with your fingers and looking up at him through a lust-filled, post orgasm haze.

"Uh," he replied, gasping for breath as he parted your thighs and kissed your rooster tattoo. "Yeah." But he didn't sound convincing even to his own ears as he waited, looking for the telltale sign of a cream pie in your pretty pussy. He saw no evidence there and repeated himself with a bit more authority as he worked his thumb along your opening. "Yeah. I did."

You propped yourself up on your elbows and raised one eyebrow. "You don't sound so sure." Then you paused and chewed on your lip. "Did you pull out last night? Or when we were on the bathroom counter?"

"Yes," he promised, remembering how badly he didn't want to, but doing it anyway. But now your brow puckered in concern.

"Seriously, Bradley. Are you sure?"

He had offered to drive back to Coronado to get your pills. He'd been good about all of it until this moment, and he was afraid to remind you that he came inside you on the balcony as soon as you and he arrived at the hotel. "I'm doing the best I can here, Sweetheart. Okay? Have you ever tried to pull out of your delicious pussy? No. You haven't. It's hard, Baby Girl."

A smile found your lips as he knelt there between your thighs, red-faced and frustrated. "Oh, Roo."

He kissed your bent knee and climbed out of bed. "I'm sorry I like cumming in my wife," he murmured, starting to pack his stuff to head back home. He really didn't see what the big deal was about you being on the pill or not being on the pill anyway. What difference did it make in the long run?

You scrambled out of bed after him, kissing his scarred cheek as you said, "Thank you for pulling out. I'll get back on the pill as soon as we get home. It's the first thing I'm doing after we give kisses to Rosie."

He paused and smiled. "I missed the Nugget. A lot. Next trip we take will be the three of us."

"Agreed."

-----------------------------

"Did she get bigger since Thursday?" Bradley asked, completely scandalized when you and he ran inside after parking the Bronco in the driveway. "I think she grew!"

"I think you're right." You were on your knees next to the play mat where Rose was chewing on one of her crinkly toys and trying her hardest to roll over onto her back. Neither you nor Bradley greeted your parents before you were both cooing at how cute your daughter looked. Bradley ended up with his big body stretched out on the floor, pressing kisses to Rose's forehead as she looked at him.

"We missed you," he whispered, tickling her cheek. "Next time, we'll all go away together, okay?"

"He's such a good dad," your mom muttered behind you, giving her son-in-law heart eyes. "You picked a good one. Proud of you."

You wanted to roll your eyes at her, but you just smiled. "Thanks for staying with her so we could have a break."

"Your mom wants the house in Maryland up for sale by October at the latest," your dad said casually from the couch. "Less than three months away."

"Really?" you asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them now as Bradley rolled onto his back and placed Rose on his chest. "And you'll start looking for a house here pretty soon?"

Your parents shared a look. "Well... we may have already found one," your mom said slowly.

"Rose and I found it when I was pushing her in her stroller," your dad added.

"It's cute. Two streets over from the water," said your mom.

"You better not be joking," you whispered.

"I would never joke about being able to see my granddaughter every day," your mom promised.

"Well, maybe not every day," Bradley muttered, giving you side eyes while Rose reached for his mustache.

You nudged him with your foot and stood with tears in your eyes. "Keep us posted, okay?" you whispered, giving both your mom and dad a hug at the same time.

Once again, your parents were there to stay with Rose when you went to work on Monday morning. Going back to your regular routine in a few more days was going to be hard and exhausting when they were gone again.

"You really wore me out this weekend," Bradley muttered as he rolled his shoulders at a traffic light on the way to base. "I might need a night off."

"Thirty-eight years old seems rough, huh?" you asked between sips of your coffee. You also desperately needed a night off, but you'd never tell him that as he just grunted at you. Three days of nonstop sex and champagne had been lovely, but you wanted a solid nine hours in your bed tonight. And you knew you wouldn't get it any other night after your parents flew back east again and you had to get up to feed Rose alone. "You may have a night off, Roo. But I expect a foot rub."

"So fucking demaning," he muttered, leaning in to kiss your cheek before the light turned green. "You know you can ask me for that whenever you want it."

"I know," you whispered, still yawning as the guard towers came into view. "I hope to god Bickel doesn't pull some three hour long meeting or something today. I just don't have the patience for it."

"I'm kind of hoping to avoid Maverick altogether," Bradley replied, finding an empty spot in the parking garage. "He's always extra hyper after a holiday weekend."

When the two of you parted ways, you dumped your stuff in your office and grabbed your computer before heading to the lab. You just had a feeling something was going to happen, but your boss wasn't even in there when you arrived. In fact, it was just Cat sitting quietly at the counter, tapping away on her keyboard, entering code with a big, fat diamond engagement ring on her finger.

"Are you serious?" you gasped, nearly dropping your computer as you ditched it on the closest counter to make your way over to her. "Jake proposed?"

Her dark eyes seemed to be all mixed up with emotion, but a smile spread across her lips as she held her hand up for you to see. "Yes," she whispered. "Didn't I tell you the ring was massive?"

"Your sure fucking did," you replied examining the rock which was easily four times the size of Carole Bradshaw's ring on your own finger. "Holy shit."

You pulled her in for a hug, wrapping her up tight. "It's too much," she said. "I told him it's too big and that it could pay for college for Jeremiah, but he said he'd make sure that happened, too." When you released her from the hug and gaped at her, she whispered, "He wants to adopt Jer."

"Let him," you replied immediately. "Oh my god, Cat, he loves you both so much."

"I know," she said, pressing her lips together. "We're talking about the next steps that we want to take together." You watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "You're right. He'd be a good dad."

You sat and listened to her recount the way Jake proposed as the two of them tucked Jeremiah in bed in his room at Jake's place. He waited until the Independence Day fireworks were over and they were all alone to do it. She used the word perfect to describe it.

Just before lunch, you couldn't wait another minute to talk to Jake yourself, so you jogged out through the hangar and across the tarmac to the tower. You were hoping to catch him as well as Bradley in the rec room, and you weren't far off. You could hear both of their voices before you turned the last corner. They must be out in the hallway. Then Bradley said your name with a laugh.

"Fuck you, man. She's going to want another ring if she learns the one you gave Cat is three carats."

You rolled your eyes at the teasing tone in his voice as he went on to congratulate Jake, but you stayed tucked out of sight when Jake asked, "What did Maverick want you for?"

Bradley groaned, keeping his voice low. "This new opportunity to train incoming pilots at Top Gun. Originally I thought the idea of fewer deployments was appealing, but Mav is all hyped up about me going to Fort Worth for a week or two. He wants me to hand pick some promising aviators to train at North Island starting in the fall. It's starting to sound like a lot more work."

"What's the problem?" Jake drawled. "You'll be home with your family more in the long run."

"Yeah, I know," Bradley said with a sigh. "But my in-laws want to move from Maryland to Coronado, and Maverick wants me to transition to this new role as quickly as possible. There's just so much shit going on, and you know how my wife gets. I don't want her stressing out. And... sometimes I just don't know what I want."

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him through the wall. He told you he was excited about all of these things. If he didn't want you to be stressed out, maybe he shouldn't make things difficult.

You ducked around the corner to find them both in their flight suits, and while Bradley looked surprised, he didn't look at all annoyed. "Hey, Sweetheart," he said with a smile, but you threw your arms around Jake instead.

"I heard congratulations are in order," you told him as his arms wrapped around your back. "A wedding and hopefully an adoption?"

He chuckled. "Thanks, Angel. Yeah, I better get both."

"I think you will," you whispered, pecking him on the cheek. As soon as you released him, Bradley pulled you in his direction. "Hi, Roo," you said quietly.

"Does this mean you didn't come all the way over here to see me?"

"I did not," you confirmed. "But since I'm here, you can have a kiss, too." The peck you gave your husband was on the lips, but that's all he got.

"There better be more where that came from," he muttered, cocking his head to the side.

"It's your night off, remember?" you asked, patting his abs. "We can talk about some things when you're rubbing my feet later?"

He nodded in the affirmative, but when the time came, he didn't say a word to you about Maverick or Fort Worth or his new position.

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Well, let's just see where this goes. Thank you for reading! And thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 27

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oatmilk-vampire · 8 months ago

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Steve's been playing the apple twist game since he was a young boy able to feed himself.

He finds himself holding out hope the letter he lands on will be some grand sign of who he's supposed to end up with, and some part of him hopes it'll be an N despite that seeming impossible. But at this point he'll take just about anything if it is real--and God, does he hope its real.

One day as life slowly gets back to normal Steve and Eddie are hanging out at Steve's when Eddie witnesses Steve play the game almost subconsciously, saying the first four letters of the alphabet before sighing as it breaks on the fifth.

"Did you not think that was gonna happen?" Eddie muses at his friend who seems to be pouting at the broken stem.

"I was just hoping for something different. It always lands on E."

"So?"

"It's supposed to tell me the first initial of my soulmate's name, but I don't know anyone with an E name."

Eddie fixes him with a look that he usually only gets from Robin. "Oh come on, I know you're not that dumb, Stevie."

Steve's head makes a sharp movement to him, surprise coloring his features. He tilts his head. "What?"

"Seriously, man? Did the apple gods ever say it had to be someone of the opposite sex?"

Steve blinks only to repeat himself. "What?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, fixes him with a wild smile.

"My name starts with E."

#I'm playing the apple game and I always land on E #i dont actually know what its called though because it looks like it may not be common #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #apple twist game

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dreamwritesimagines · 5 months ago

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The Eye of the Hurricane [35] - Confessions

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A nightclub can be a good place for confessions.

Word Count: 2400

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You knew Bucky was trying to stay out of your way, you just knew.

Since you had first gotten married, he had never spent the night outside until tonight. When you woke up, the spot next to you was empty, so you huffed out a breath and went to the bathroom to take a shower. After that, you made your way downstairs to feed Alpine but the noise by the door made you turn your head.

Bucky hadn’t seen you just yet -he probably thought you were still asleep- and he made his way upstairs while you tilted your head, crossing your arms but keeping completely quiet in the kitchen. Even if you wanted to go upstairs after him, he didn’t take long, probably just changed his clothes and came back downstairs, stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said and he offered you a small smile.

“Hey,” he said, already making his way to the door with you following suit. “I have a meeting, I’ll see you tonight at the—”

“Bucky,” you said, your heartbeat speeding up and he froze by the door, then cleared his throat and turned to you.

“Hm?”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

You pulled your brows together. “What? The fuck does that mean, no?”

He bit inside his cheek, averting his gaze from you.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “You heard what I said, so—”

“So what, we just don’t talk about it?”

Bucky paused for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Charm, I have this meeting—”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It doesn’t change anything, okay?” he said. “What was I supposed to say? I was an ass to you because I took all my anger at my father and projected it onto you?”

“George never said anything to me,” you mused. “Neither did my father.”

“I doubt he mentioned it to him,” he said. “I mean…at least not until you came back from college.”

“But before that, only to you?”

Bucky pursed his lips together, still unable to look you in the eye and nodded.

“That was still an asshole move,” you pointed out and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, then nodded his head again.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck before his eyes found yours. “I’m sorry Charm. I really am, I was a dick. I never should’ve—that whole bullshit was between my father and me, you didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for it, but I’ll try to…make it up to you. I’ll make sure you get that crown.”

You crossed your arms, pursing your lips and Bucky swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat.

“I’m just gonna—” he motioned at the door. “Uh, see you tonight at the club.”

With that, he walked out of the apartment and you leaned your back to the wall with a groan, pressing your palms on your eyes.

“The club,” you muttered to yourself. “Right. Great.”

The whole reason why you were going to the club was because of Rhett. He had mentioned wanting to go out and Clint’s brand-new club sounded perfect for the occasion, and you figured once everyone drank a little, making the deal would be much easier.

“Please tell me it’s a good club,” Rhett said as you both got your coffees and sat down to your table. The café you had picked was right across your father’s skyscraper, your surname shining against it and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back.

“One simple listener would think you don’t trust me, Rhett.”

“I flew here because I trust you,” Rhett reminded you. “Your taste in clubs however…”

“We met at a club, dumbass.”

“I’m still not convinced it was a club of your choosing, but your friends’,” Rhett pointed out, making you scrunch up your nose at him, then lightly kicked his shoe.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What does the rest of Chicago think about you doing business with New York?”

Rhett heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his curls, his rings catching your attention for a moment.

“They don’t necessarily love the idea.”

“None of them?”

“Most of them,” Rhett said. “My father thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

“Ah.”

“Caleb—you met Caleb, he also thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Caleb is a dick.”

“And Alice and her family as well,” he said and scoffed. “But that one has more to do with you than the business.”

“Did you tell her I’m married to Bucky?”

He hummed. “She knows,” he said. “Still thinks…”

“That you and I are going to sleep together?”

Rhett shot you a small grin. “Yep.”

“I’m not the cheating type.”

“Never thought otherwise,” he said. “One does wonder though…”

You sipped your coffee. “Wonder what?”

“If we broke up for no reason.”

You lowered your coffee cup to give him a reprimanding look.

“There was a reason,” you said. “Business.”

“You don’t think we could’ve made it work?”

“Nope,” you said. “I’m not the type to play the housewife, you know that.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“But that’s how Chicago works,” you said with a laugh. “And I would never be a mistress either so…”

He opened his mouth to retort but before he could, someone cleared their throat behind you, making both you and Rhett turn your heads and you rolled your eyes when you saw Ian.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I just left your father in his office,” he said. “You’re not gonna go and say hi?”

“Nope, I’m busy with my guest,” you said and motioned between them. “Ian, Rhett. Rhett, this is Ian, my cousin.”

“And her father’s heir,” Ian corrected you, extending his hand and Rhett raised his brows, eyeing his hand before looking up at him with a quizzical glare. You bit back your smile and nodded at Ryan by the door before turning to Ian who lowered his hand.

“Why is an heir who’s not even a firstborn talking to me?” Rhett asked you, completely ignoring Ian and you shrugged, smirking.

“No idea. Ian?”

“I speak for my uncle.”

“I’m not talking to your uncle either, buddy,” Rhett said with a snort. “We’re in the middle of a conversation and you’re interrupting us.”

A look of surprise crossed Ian’s features before he threw his shoulders back.

“Mr. Davis, if we’re going to do business, it is important that you respect me, if my uncle hears—”

“Oh we seem to have some miscommunication here,” Rhett said. “I’m not doing business with you, or your uncle. Go tell your uncle the only person who I’ll speak to in terms of business is his daughter, and that I don’t appreciate being put in a situation where I have to talk to a second-choice heir who doesn’t even deserve a title that moves through family.”

You pursed your lips together to hold back your laughter as Ian gritted his teeth.

“I’m his nephew.”

“Not his firstborn,” Rhett stated. “Not even his spare. Back in Chicago heirs have to prove their worth, and nothing I heard about you is worth anything, Ian. So why don’t you go back to your kids table and leave the grownups to have actual conversation about business? Because unlike you, your cousin here knows what she’s talking about.”

Ian looked like he was considering saying something and Rhett tilted his head, smirking as if daring him. Ian lingered there for a moment before throwing you a glare, then scoffed.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said and stormed out of the café while you let out a giggle.

“Aw,” you mocked him. “I think you hurt your feelings.”

“Someone had to, you guys are being too soft on heirs here,” Rhett pointed out, making you laugh. “Anyway, we were saying?”

Clint really did have a good taste in clubs.

A couple of years earlier, you would be dancing on the dancefloor and drinking to your heart’s desire. Your father’s notorious name always worked in your favor in the city, and clubs weren’t an exception to that. With a wave of your hand, your bodyguards, -or Bucky’s, Steve’s or Sam’s- would be dragging anyone who bothered you or Becca outside, but now that you came to the clubs only to make deals, you didn’t dance or drink too much.

Rhett seemed to be in a good mood along with everyone else as he laughed at something Steve said, then sipped his whiskey while Bucky had his arm thrown over the back of the sofa you both were sitting on, and as much as you wanted to keep your conversation from earlier going, you knew you couldn’t in front of Rhett.

“So yeah he turns to me and says, ‘Chicago will not like this’ and I’m like, ‘Motherfucker I am Chicago!’” Rhett said, letting out a laugh. “Apparently this guy he was working with, he didn’t even tell him my name, just sent him there.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Which wasn’t even the first time someone within my father’s ranks tried to kill me.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Even family, once.”

“How did you get out of that?”

Rhett smiled and nodded in your direction. “You’re looking at my guardian angel there.”

Bucky raised his brows. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “And I barely did anything.”

“No no, she had the opportunity to actually cross me after she dumped me,” Rhett said. “But she didn’t.”

“Yeah well…” you said, leaning your head to Bucky’s shoulder. “I just don’t like traitors.”

“No, loyalty is—” Rhett motioned at you. “Her loyalty is something else. So you might be the luckiest man I’ve ever met, Barnes.”

You let out a laugh while Sam tilted his head and Steve stole a look at Bucky whose jaw clenched.

“Oh he knows,” you said, squeezing Bucky’s arm. “I remind him in case he forgets.”

Bucky hummed, pressing a kiss on top of your head, nuzzling into your hair and making your heart skip a happy beat even if you knew it was for show.

“And you don’t have to look so tense man,” Rhett said with a grin. “She rejected me earlier, so…”

Your eyes widened as you looked from him to Bucky whose glare turned sharp.

“I have no problem starting a war between Chicago and New York, Rhett,” he said. “Careful now.”

Rhett scoffed a laugh. “Or what?”

“Alright, before anyone says anything they might regret,” you stopped Bucky before he could retort and stood up, tugging Bucky by the hand. “Buck, a word?”

Bucky looked like he would say no, but you led him out of the VIP room to the nearest bathroom, nodding at the girls inside.

“Out,” you said and they scurried out of the bathroom before you slammed the door behind you and turned to Bucky.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying really hard not to shoot your ex,” Bucky retorted. “How about you?”

“Bucky…” you said, running a hand over your face. “We are not starting a war between Chicago and New York just because you’re feeling a bit territorial—”

“A bit territorial?” he repeated. “A bit territorial? Charm, the whole reason why that asshole can still talk is because you told me not to shoot him, but if he keeps pushing his luck—”

“That’s a joke!”

“I told you though, didn’t I?” he insisted. “I told you he’s here to…fucking steal you away.”

“The fuck am I, a loaf of bread?” you snapped at him. “This is not Les Mis, no one is stealing me away, do you hear yourself?”

“Do you?” he asked. “What did he mean, you rejecting him earlier?”

You looked up at the ceiling, reminding yourself to be calm.

“He was talking about when we used to date,” you said. “And I said we couldn’t have made it work anyway, that’s it. That’s what he means.”

“But he still hopes for it.”

“We’re married, Buck,” you reminded him, “It may be because of the business, but I’m sure you remember our deal—”

“Yeah, for you maybe.”

You pulled your brows together. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Bucky.”

“It’s business for you, Charm,” Bucky spat. “Which is fine, but don’t stand there and assume that it’s the same for me, okay? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your frown deepened.

“You married me for business,” you said. “So that I could get to the top, so that Ian wouldn’t break the truce, so that—”

“That’s what you think, huh?” Bucky asked, a dry laugh climbing up his throat and your heartbeat sped up as you stared at him.

“Then why?” you asked back and Bucky licked his lips.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Bucky I’ve had it up here playing this fucked up game with you,” you said, your voice low. “What, you’re pretending to be jealous of Rhett—”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah and you’re bluffing to start a war over some pissing contest—”

“I’m not bluffing.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since we left the therapist’s office—”

“Charm.”

“And I want us to talk but you keep running away from whatever nonsense—”

“I’m in love with you.”

The simple sentence managed to make you stop talking, your eyes snapping up to his as you gawked at him, your mouth half open.

��I married you because I’m in love with you,” he said. “I’m willing to start a war with Chicago, with New York, with your own father, because I’m in love with you.”

Bucky loved you.

He was in love with you.

The happy disbelief pinned you to your spot while the music echoed in the bathroom, and he let out a dry laugh.

“There,” he said. “Now you can reject me and we can just—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when you snapped out of the haze and turned around to lock the door, then made your way to him to pull him into a kiss, a pleasant warmth spreading from your chest to your whole body. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and you let out a giggle when he pulled back a little to look at you.

“You’re…you’re not rejecting me?”

“Bucky,” you said, grinning wide. “You can be such an idiot sometimes.”

With that, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him again, a squeal leaving your lips as he lifted you and carried you to the bathroom vanity.

Chapter 36

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nariism · 1 year ago

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{REQ, ONLY IF YOU WANNA! <3]

Can you do a Wriothesley one where we take care of him when he's like sick or injured 👉👈 gotta treat my husband ykyk😞

a/n: hii i'm sorry this is kind of late! got busy with life stuff so i died a bit. anyways please take this sickfic <3

you've been spoiling him to no end.

if his sinuses weren't painfully congested and his throat didn't feel like he just swallowed glass, he would probably be smiling.

right now, he just feels miserable.

wriothesley has always prided himself on being the picture of health. to your utter jealousy, there was absolutely nothing in the world that could get him sick. even in the deepest winters with the chill of the sea sweeping over fontaine, he would walk around with only his jacket dangling off his shoulders.

you'd like to think that this is karma for all the times he rubbed in your face how he would never get sick.

"you didn't have to dive into the water like that," you scold him.

"i did have to," he replies stubbornly, lip jutting out like a child. you smear your finger across his pout to effectively wipe it off his face, laughing when his head falls forward against your shoulder in response.

"it’s just a necklace."

"it’s your favourite necklace." he quickly corrects, as if that would justify the extremity of leaping into the sea and not surfacing for three whole minutes.

"oh, sweetest..." you coo, holding his head against you and laughing again (much to his dismay) when he sniffles in a weak attempt to clear his sinuses. "you didn't have to do that."

you can feel him physically deflating in your hold so you stammer out: "but i really do appreciate you getting it back for me!"

the man just pulls away with a scowl, looking like a mixture of a kicked puppy and a cranky old dog. "you owe me for that."

"owe you?" you repeat in disbelief. "and what would you like, hm?"

"feed me."

"..."

his face lights up again with amusement as you freeze, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water trying to process what's just been requested of you.

if it were anyone else, you would have thought it was a joke. but you've known wriothesley long enough to know the telling pull of his smirk, the lazy yet smug expression screaming that he's being dead serious.

and, well, he did leap off a bridge 30 feet in the air after your charm slipped off your neck. and he did manage to recover it, returning to you like a matted wet animal all pouty and shivering from the cold.

the cherry on top of it all was that he insisted on clipping it back around your neck, prolonging his state of being drenched in freezing sea water and guaranteeing his sickness.

so... you suppose you do owe him this at the very least.

that's how ten minutes later you end up straddling his lap, warm bowl of porridge in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"open." you demand, spoon already squeezing past his lips. he chuckles, allowing you to feed him even in such a compromising position.

you look completely flustered, too. he can feel the tremble of the spoon in his mouth as he swallows his meal. maybe it's the iron grip he has on your hips. maybe it's the fact that your bulky, brooding, monster of a husband is acting like he can't feed himself.

either way, your embarrassment doesn't go unnoticed and you're sure he's enjoying every second of it.

"i should get sick more often," he muses.

you groan, realizing that you'd rather take his endless gloating over this.

"no... please don't."

#— whispers in the wind ✧#not proofread :p i'm sorry #genshin impact #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact fluff #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin fic #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x gn reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley genshin

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ohmy-gojo · 21 days ago

Text

geto suguru falling for an underclassman reader ෆ (no curse au) pt.1

it was a new year— geto was already on his 2nd year at jujutsu high with the same two friends, not that he really cared about making friends. satoru just appeared one day and called him his 'best friend' and shoko tagged along. it was actually a quite comical group he thinks; a rich kid, a chain smoker and a boy who just wanted to die. but he supposes they were also popular around the campus (though he doesnt understand why)

he was casually strolling near the pond in front of the campus during break (actually hiding from gojo bc a new episode of digimon aired and he really doesnt want to hear his rants) when he saw a trail of... chips? leading near the back of the campus

his first thought was 'this is too weird imma dip' but alas curiosity got him and he decided to follow the trail of.. chips. who knows if thats how they lure people and kidnap them nowadays? if so hes sure people like satoru would surely fall for the trap (he thinks as he himself follows the said trap)

after reaching the end of the trail, he was surprised to face a young girl instead of an old beefy hitman. this was his supposed kidnapper? she was pretty cute so he wouldnt really mind he guesses. but the girl actually looked equally surprised to see him. the two stared at each other and owlishly blinked.

"um.. what are you doing.. here? if i may ask." geto broke the silence

"oh uh i am waiting?" she spoke softly and didnt elaborate further

'maybe for a friend?' geto thought and didnt ask for more details. though the reason he was even here— "do you know who placed these chips in the grou–"

before he could even finish his sentence, the girl pulled him and hid behind the concrete plankets. okay, this girl was nuts

"i was the one who placed the chips," she whisper-answered. "for him" she gestured to their front. geto followed her gaze and saw a.. puppy? he raised his brows at that, if she wanted to feed the puppy why not just give it that directly instead of doing whatever the hell that was.

she probably understood what he was thinking and finally told him, "that little guy was actually trapped in one of the slabs. i tried helping him but he was probably afraid so i decided to lure him with these chips and into safety."

oh, he thinks. that makes sense. they both then sat in silence watching the puppy eat the chips. it was a comfortable silence though. this is not a bad day, he muses. the nice weather, watching an adorable puppy eating chips with a cute girl sitting beside him.

after some time, the puppy left and he realized they were still holding hands from earlier when she pulled him. she let go of his hand after realizing herself and blushed lightly (he was a little disappointed).

"what you did was kind." he smiled at her.

"oh its nothing. i felt bad for him and i dont even like chips that much."

geto laughed at her reasoning. he was getting enamored by her weird charm and awkward mannerisms. they were starting to walk back inside their campus. "well.. whats your name?"

"i am (name)," she bowed her head lightly "please take care of me."

"of course, nice to meet you. i am geto." he smiled. "are you a 1st year?"

"yes i am. are you one as well?"

"no," he shaked his head. "i am a 2nd year."

"oh!" she suddenly stopped. "youre a senpai!"

he laughed at her matter of fact tone and nodded his head. this girl was actually weird but in a.. cute way.

before he could ask more about her, his white haired friend appeared and he just sighed heavily

"suguru??? what are you doing?" he looked at (name) and gasped "do you have a secret girlfriend? oh my god! shoko!"

"lord help me," he sighed again. he looked at the girl with him and saw her blushing and looking bewildered. as much as he found her blushing face adorable he decided to help her

"this is not my girlfriend you doofus," he slapped gojos back of head. "shes an underclassman, be nice to her."

"ohhhh?? shes a kouhai?" he gasped once again. "i always wanted one!"

geto deadpanned at that. look at this weirdo talking about the girl like shes some shiny rock. he was starting too feel weirdly possessive over her. after all he was the one who found her first so she should be his kouhai only, it's only natural.

with gojo blabbering about himself to her and her politely nodding at his words, they made their way to their classes. geto wanted to ask her about herself but found himself being cut off by gojo everytime. he was starting to get pissed but then saw (name) smiling reassuringly at her which made him calm down a little (he was almost pouting). then she had to leave for her class and waved at them bye. 'oh well,' he thought while waving back. he could try to meet her after school maybe? but this time without that blue eyed freak he huffed.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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hotch hiring spencer to tutor his (college aged) daughter, and hes so impressed with how much theyve been studying and how hes helped her grades, until one day he walks in on one of their "study sessions," but they're not really studying at all.....

Aaron knew there'd be no better person to turn to than Dr. Spencer Reid when his daughter began struggling with her college course load. You're having trouble studying efficiently, you spend so much time at your desk scribbling down ineffective notes that you forget to eat, sleep, and take care of yourself. He's worried about you, his heart aches for his baby girl, so he asks Spencer to start coming over on Saturdays to help you.

It works great. Not only do your grades skyrocket, but your mood does too, no longer sullen from having no free time or sleep schedule. You're back to your old self, maybe even happier now, and Aaron can't hold back the smile on his face as he ascends the stairs, an array of your favorite snacks in hand.

Spencer's inhumanly obsessed with cheez-its, and your own snack of choice is held in his other hand. He thinks the least he can do to thank Spencer is feed the man, seeing as he's so skinny sometimes his snug sweater vests are loose. You swing the door shut during your study sessions, at Aaron's own request, because he couldn't hear the television downstairs over the sound of your chatter. He doesn't think to knock, he's sure the creaking of your door's old hinges will be enough of a sound to break you out of your study stupor.

"Y/N, Spencer, I brought- oh my god."

Your dad's voice nearly goes down a full octave, sending your stomach swirling. He speaks low when he's mad, and watching you scramble out of Spencer's lap and straighten your wrinkled top, you're sure he's livid.

"I- uh, Hotch," Spencer babbles, but you smack the back of his hand to get him to shut up. He runs his fingers through his hair instead, combing out the strands that you'd mussed while licking over his bottom lip.

"Dad!" You chime, "Um- I'm sorry, we- I didn't know you'd come in. We just- we were studying, but then, I- I got distracted, really, it wasn't Spencer's fault, we- I just- I-"

"Stop." Aaron shuts his eyes, snack bags now shoved carelessly onto your bedside table as your dad brings a hand to his face. You're sure this is scarier than any situation Spencer's ever faced before, including aggravated unsubs and near-shootings.

Your dad buries his face in his hand, one large enough to cover his features. It's almost scarier not seeing his stern face; you wonder if his eyes are glowing red.

"Hotch- sir, I'm so sorry." Spencer tries again, and your dad holds up his free hand to silence him. He doesn't need to be told twice, or- thrice, and he closes his mouth.

"How long have you two been doing this?" He asks, muffled by his hand in front of his face.

"Only two weeks. Or- Saturdays, only two days. Just- this time, and, uh, the last time."

"It started last week?"

"Yes." You confirm, nodding even if he can't see.

"Are you studying?"

"Yes." You promise, smoothing out a rumpled study guide and hoping he can't hear it, "Uh- this is our- well, my break."

"Fantastic." Your dad drawls, finally dragging his palm down his face and looking you dead in the eyes. It looks like it almost hurts him to do so, and you feel residual pain in your stomach, churning away again.

"I suppose there are worse people you could be doing that with." He muses carefully, "Though I wish you weren't doing it at all. But you're in college."

"I am," You nod.

"And you're an adult."

"I am."

"And I can't tell you what to do anymore."

You stay silent, not wanting to push your luck.

"Okay. There's nothing I can do," He decides, face still more stoic than when he'd entered, intent on giving you snacks. If he'd had known you'd been eating Spencer's face, he would have saved them for later.

"Don't do it here." He pleads, "At least not while I'm here. And- and while I'm here," He warns, looking at Spencer this time, "This door stays open. Understand?"

"Yes, dad." You nod, and Spencer echoes it with 'sir' as a replacement.

"Study." Aaron narrows his eyes at the both of you, pointedly jamming the door stop beneath the door until it's practically punching a hole through the wall where the knob hits, "If your grades drop again, this is over."

"Yes, dad." You call again, waiting until he storms off down the stairs to even breathe in Spencer's direction.

"Oh my god," Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands, "Oh my god, that was- that was awful."

"He didn't say no!" You point out, grinning at the blushy man beside you, "That went, like, a thousand times better than I was expecting."

"At least I don't have to hide it anymore. Do you know how hard it was for me to pretend I wasn't putting the moves on his daughter while we were in Dallas this past week?"

"I know how hard it was to pretend I wasn't tonguing his agent during dinner last night," You shrug, grinning at Spencer who looks like he's not quite ready to be relieved yet, "No more secrets for either of us, pretty boy."

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tusswrites · 4 months ago

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The Appa, The Piglet and The Tanghulu

“Seungcheol stays home with the kids and begins his descent into madness. One kid hates him, one kid dreams about confectionaries and one kid cannot stop licking their toes. One thought reigns supreme- he needs you and he needs you now. Could you perhaps buy ‘tanglooloos’ on the way back?”

🍭Seungcheol (S.Coups) x Female Reader (Est. Relationship)

🍭word count-5k

🍭master list is here Part 1 is here . Part 2 is here

-~_~_~_~_~_~~_~

"Appa I am done." His daughter tried.

'No you are not. Here, last bite."

"That's what you said the last time too." She tries again.

"Oh so you do know the drill. Come on, open up."

Vigorous shake of the head comes from a little mini you.

"Choi Arin. You are not leaving the table till you are done. Or at least halfway done."

"Stop feeding me. I can feed myself.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice , final moments before she has a full on meltdown. He’s bracing for it.

"Then why is the plate still full?"

And cue her tear filled eyes blinking at him furiously.

"I am a big girl. I don't need you". She screams with all the ferocity a little child can muster.

Okay that stings. But his fathering experience has taught him to pick and choose his battles. Some war fares are better left alone

"Alright kid." He leaves the table and comes back with a small clock.

"Arin look up."

Her defiant eyes stare back.

"When the big needle reaches here, I want you to finish your food. Do we have a deal?"

"Can it wait till the big needle reaches seven?"

"I suppose that's alright. At 1:35 I will be back. I better see an empty plate."

"Oh Appa how about eight then? Eight is my lucky number."

"No bub. You were supposed to be finished when the clock reached 8 an hour ago."

"B-but-"

"Arin." His voice was wagering on warning tone.

"Fiiinnne." She reluctantly agrees. A little too whiny and a little too on the verge of crying.

There's nothing worse than a child crying over a plate of food. One would think she was being denied her basic rights. How someone could refuse your kimchi fried rice was beyond him. He would never admit it, but your cooking did play a small part in him falling for you. Who wouldn't. Your skill was blessed by the gods indeed! Why your own kids don't acknowledge that never ceased to amaze him.

As if to diffuse the impending tantrum, he gives her a kiss on the forehead, brushing back the bangs from her forehead. She needs a haircut. Hopefully not from her mother whose last experimentation ended with a bowl cut Hansol. Thank God he outgrew that.

"Appa just wants you to be strong and healthy okay? Please eat at least a little. "

A shaky nod from her.

He goes back to the room, to check on his youngest. He worries these days he's not spending enough time with her. It doesn't help that she is a mama's girl, always clinging on to you and needs you to carry her around all the time. But on days like this, when he doesn't have competition he supposes he can finally get her to say "Appa". Hansol and Arin had said ‘Mama’ as their first word and he was beyond indignant both times. All that love and for what?

He enters the room and watches little Hana, unbothered by her loud brother, fiddling with her thumbs and sucking on her toes.

"What an odd child." He muses.

Well if the kids are at peace and not in need of attention from him, who was he to bother them? Your advice to him was always "Don't trouble trouble." He supposed he could leave them alone for a minute to check on his socials.

He knows he's five minutes earlier than said time to check up on Arin but he can be sly about it. He could pretend to do something in the kitchen. Peripheral vision should assist with his snooping on the children agenda.

What greets him at the dining table however, makes his blood boil. He grits his teeth in annoyance. Arin was feeding Hansol her food. After she had skipped her breakfast and eaten only an apple?

"Choi Arin." The suspect in question jerks and looks at him in absolute shock. His son looks unphased, still opening his mouth awaiting the next feed.

"Sollie was hungry, Appa." Arin was quick to blurt out. He knew that was a lie. For one, Sol just finished not less than half an hour back, citing he was 'full'. Two, her voice was high pitched and reeked of lies.Three, Hansol's stomach was a dead giveaway that he was more than just full. He was bursting.

A lying child, a starving child and now a child who decided to change the time because he could swear it was 1:30 on his phone, when did it go back to 1:20? A glance over at the cuckoo clock by the wall proved she had changed the hands on the clock. Smart move.

Too many offenses to not be dealt with right now. He's got to solve this step by step.

"Hansol, are you hungry bud?"

Sollie looks at him with his large eyes blinking owlishly.

"No Appa." he says promptly.

He saw that pinch. As subtle as Arin was trying to keep it, it was unmistakably a tweak of her fingers against her brother’s hand.

"I am hungry Appa." said Hansol pronto.

Great now he's got two lying kids. 'Are you lying to Appa bud?'

Hans looked torn.

"No Appa, he came to me asking for a bite. That's why I offered him my kimchi." That was Arin, a spokesperson even when she wasn't asked to be one.

Lying was fine, but lying to cover up more lies? He stared down at his son. He was weak, he'll break quickly.

"Hansol tell the truth. You know what happens when you lie."

Like clockwork, Sollie confessed while his elder sister furiously started scarfing down on her food. Well, too late for that. Even before he could confront her, the tears came out followed by the hysterical denying. He's been a parent far too long to tell apart crocodile tears from real ones.

Give it a break Arin.

He couldn't fake the disappointed look even if he tried. He was beyond mad, provoking someone else to lie was a grave offense in his books. Thankfully she had managed to eat half her portions. He didn't want to push her, instead ordered her to wash her mouth and come back to talk to him in her room.

Finishing up the rest of her meal, wiping down the counter, he contemplated how to deal with this. They had dealt with her tantrums over being a picky eater for several years now, but this was new. Adding her brother to the mix. Is this the first time or was this going behind their backs for a long time?

Arin was such an extremely slow eater that after the first twenty minutes, they'd have let her eat at her own pace and come up to them once she was done. Having three young children denied them the luxury of sitting down with her till she was done with her food. Is that why she was mad? Because she needed attention? But wasn't she the one who told him she didn't need to be fed? Didn't that insinuate he leave?

He wants you right now. He had the day off and you had gone for work leaving him alone with the kids. Ten minutes later, and he knew she was stalling the inevitable, a teary Arin came and sat in front of him on the floor, right near the bed where he was at. Most of his anger had dissipated. Which was good, he didn't want to deal with her in a state of rage.

She looked upset and even if he wanted to get this over with, he decided to hug her. There was no parental book that advised him against a hug for your child. Lord knows how he would have fared had he been hugged by his parents once in a while instead of being dealt with a belt for every small offense.

Gently cradling her, he rocked her back and forth on his knees. Then set her opposite him, fixing her awry spectacles. She was a little cutie pie with her big glasses and the string tied around them to keep them from being lost. His little angel. That needed discipline.

"Arin". Full names come out when the punishments are coming. He let out an invisible shudder remembering how he knew was in trouble with you when you called him by his full name. But the kids need stability. They can't always be coddled.

All his train of thoughts completely vanishes from his head when he hears those dreaded three words from Arin’s mouth. He had in fact decided to cut the punishment to ten minutes once he had wrung out a confession from her for lying. Then why did his small reprimand get her screaming an "I Hate You"?

It felt like a bucket of cold water had splashed onto his face, freezing his stance. Where had she learned those awful words from? Hate was a no - no word in this household. Dislike at best. It took everything in him not to break down having a seven year old scream at his face, with a vengeful tone, that she hates him. Was he a bad father?

It was an agreement between you both to never mask feelings when the kids said mean things to their face. Showing hurt when they said rude things, not hiding the pain when they were hit by tiny fingers. The goal was to show the kids that their words and actions mattered and they could hurt others.Except right now, he wanted to sit on the floor and bawl his eyes out.

Because Arin kept going! She repeatedly kept chanting that she hates him and he didn't want to be here anymore. He needs to leave before actual tears fall out and he distresses her even more.

Kids were capable of such spite sometimes. Looking around, he takes note of Hana who had fallen asleep mid tumble and Hansol who was quietly playing with his helicopter. He was perceptive enough to recognize the mood. Picking up Hana from the floor, he places her in the bassinet shushing her distressed wail. Arin was sniffling now, the cries had died down.

He blew her nose, wiped her face dry, ensuring once again that all the kids were safe and sound, and left the room.

He will leave the disciplining to you later.

For now, he goes to your shared room, sits on the bed , muffling his anguish beneath his wet palm.

(Six Years Back)

Arin and he go way back, to six years ago when he first met her. A quiet baby, never one to fuss or throw tantrums, never hesitant to go to any stranger's arms, in which case he was fine because he was a stranger back then.Except, he was skeptical about holding any babies at all. He grew up as the baby in his house, even amongst all his cousins, he was one of the youngest. He had an irrational fear of being peed at or puked at, which, when confiding in you, was met with rolled eyes.

It was a wonder you loved him at all because how would anyone else excuse his sorry ass for how he was six years back? He had been disowned by his parents, his dad on the lookout for him- which was hilarious - he lived right next to the goons that were in charge of bringing him back to them, dead or alive.

It was a scandal that had his father losing millions, in wealth and face- the young ambitious Choi settling for a widowed mother? Atrocious! Your parents had stayed with you for a while, which is where he was offered shelter.

While your dad and you toiled away for long hours, your mother, who was also working two jobs (the poor just works he realized. No retirement savings awaiting them) had to quit to take care of her granddaughter. He did feel guilty, he was staying in your apartment being an absolute slob of a person unable to find any job.But your family had grown to love him, your dad's dream about having a son finally came true, even if it was through someone like him. Someone to watch football with or share in some drinks. He might have missed out on a lot of family wealth, but your mothers cooking made up for all that, he warrants. No more cold pizzas or takeaways or empty dining tables. He loved family times like this.

He was loved and cherished and under your parents and your care, he thrived.

Except for one toddler. He could swear Arin hated him. He was terrified of her judgmental stare that never left her face when he stepped into the room. Which was why he had begged you to not let him be a babysitter. While your mother did the cooking, she would place Arin next to him in your room where he was supposed to rot away. If not for a judgy baby.

Under her scrutinizing gaze he sent out applications, started picking up the clothes he'd left around and thought twice before chucking a paper onto the floor.He knows deep down, you were conspiring with your daughter to keep an eye out on him.

One woeful day, bored out of his mind, the phone placed for charging, he sprawled on the bed, with no idea where to go from here. Reaching for the first object his outstretched arm caught on the nightstand, he retrieves a book- "The Three Little Pigs". Well he supposes he can always read a little something with pictures.

He feels the bed dip and looks on as your mother places an Arin on it, stating that the onion she was chopping was causing Arin to tear up. Makes sense, her little fingers were rubbing her eyes. He’d offer to take her hand and soothe the ache if he could get over his fear of a one year old baby.

He watches with bated breath as Arin, abandoning her stuffed toy, crawls across to him. This is the closest he's ever been with her without you in the room. Not that he didn't love her but he was a little scared okay.She leans against him and he's bewildered. She never comes this close to him voluntarily. Not wanting to scare her away, but unsure about how else to entertain her he begins to hold the book higher, reading the words aloud.

He tries to turn the page and he sees a tiny, pudgy palm crossing over his much bigger hand, preventing him from changing the page. Is that her sign to get him to read again? He turns to see her sit criss-cross applesauce, expectantly waiting for him. What does she want? He sits a little higher , reading aloud, adding more feels to the words.

"So he HUFFED, and he PUFFED,-" He comes to an abrupt pause.

In a delicate breath, he hears it float across his ears. Baby giggles. Arin was giggling because of him! He wanted to scoop her up kissing those cherubic cheeks, tickling her, never wanting to stop hearing that musical giggling. She was squealing, hands on her chubby legs.

Not wanting this moment to ever end, he kept reading, this time with more fervor , more animations, fueled by her louder giggled followed by baby claps.

He didn't have to worry about this moment never reaching you because behind the closed door was his now mother in law, recording the whole thing with a proud smile on her face.

Baby steps indeed.

Despite having established that he was now officially the storyteller to Arin, their relationship hadn't progressed beyond that. He was slightly less scared but still unnerved by her judgmental stares. Why couldn't she just smile?

Except for one cold night, you had called him up from work tearfully explaining that the rains were too bad, public transport was canceled and you had to lodge in with one of your friends for the night.

He began to panic. Your mother had gone out with your father to visit some relatives, leaving him to babysit Arin for a few minutes. Minutes that rolled into hours because the log that fell on the side of the road had blocked all traffic causing them to stay at said relatives for the night. His first babysitting stint and it was a huge disaster.

Well it's getting worse because Arin has woken up now ,crying. He supposes it's the thunderstorm that took her out. He's never held a crying baby before, what does he do? He can't do this, what were you all thinking leaving him alone with a baby. A baby whose cries were growing louder and alarming him further. He runs to the room in a state of panic and picks her up, by pure instinct. He has no idea what to do!

Arin, wailing the loudest he's ever seen, finally rests her eyes on him and he waits with suspenseful breath expecting a bigger storm, only to have his heart squeezed watching as her face relaxes immediately on registering that it was indeed him holding her. Immediately, the tears stop and she takes a deep sigh of relief, causing his heart to contract painfully again. He did that? A toddler looked at him and stopped crying?

She puts her head on the crook of his neck, at peace with herself now, her tiny finger tips silently thrumming his back, calming him down. "It's just you and me bud." Holding her tighter than ever, he takes her to the window, hoping the sound of the rain will calm her down. Imitating the actions he's seen you do, he walks around the room with her cradled to him.

In a few minutes she's fallen asleep and he holds her horizontally, in an infant stance, observing her peaceful features.This tiny bean, a fatherless child, had no idea how she had brought peace to a man who was unsure of where he should be in life. Her accepting his presence to hold and bring her comfort, entrusting her tiny life to his was promise enough that life can only get better from here. And on that rainy day, Choi Seungcheol made the decision to step up to be her father.

He had not chosen to be one, but she chose him and that's enough.

You decided to take a half day, already missing your little family. Plus your husband was home, Lord knows how much you craved being in his arms except for the obligatory good night kisses you share.

Something felt off in the air upon entering the Choi Residence today. Only a wild Hansol came to meet you, running under your legs to hug you. Arin didn't even bother acknowledging you which was fine, you were used to her being too engrossed in her books to miss anyone's presence, a bad habit you were trying to break her out of. But where was Cheol? Where was your husband who was always sweeping you up and giving you a loud kiss right in front of the kids, rousing up their groans , and thanking you several times for having blessed him with you?

Walking over to Hana's room, you see that she is asleep. Good. "Not troubling trouble."

Your pout deepened on entering your shared bedroom door and seeing Cheol hunched up over the study desk doom scrolling through his phone. Was that more important than you?

A not so quiet scratching of the throat emanates from your soul. He looks up and startles on seeing you. Clearly he was not expecting you this late. Seeing his face , you are taken aback at the puffiness and red rimmed eyes. Had he been crying?

You run off to where he was seated and he shies away from your curious fingers. You however, have a strong grip tilting his face to look up. You see him fight back the tears from his bambi eyes, giving you a watery smile and kissing your stomach, the closest place he can reach. Naturally , you take a deep breath.

"Baby?"

"Nothing happened"

"Did I say something happened?" You smirked down at him.

"Don't be mean to me."

"Well then, what happened bubby?"

He shrugged dismissively.

Stroking his hair, you pulled his head to look back up at you once again. He was looking everywhere but at your face.

'Cheollie."

"Hmm?"

"Are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to ask Arin?"

Seeing his drawn out shoulders, it was obvious you had hit a sore spot. You couldn't place a finger on what exactly.

It was nearly impossible to believe that Arin and Cheol would ever have a falling out. Although not related by blood, they were closer than you and Arin were, something that had upset you before but you were slowly working over. It made complete sense with time. He was stuck at home all the time initially and even when he did get a job, he could afford staying indoors.

Arin followed him around the house like a little duckling, mimicking his every move. Your texts during those days were spammed with selfies of the two loves of your life, in different poses- Arin in a onesie, Arin in a romper, her walking first time, her spitting , her gurgling, her laughing at a cockroach while Cheol shrieked and hid behind your mother(that was from your dad). Eventually when your parents did move out, deeming Cheol capable of taking good care of Arin ,you saw no reluctance from his side, no begging you to come home quick before 'your demon child finishes him'.

There was a time when they both wouldn't fall asleep till they were in their right positions- him flopped out with her on his chest,a hand over her head whilst she happily sucked on her thumb- a habit you had to gently break them out of.

He held her hand and cried into your arms for her first day of school, her first accident from the bike he taught her to ride and gushed with pride at every 'Parent Teachers Meet' when the teacher acknowledged that Choi Arin was indeed the topper in the class and well ahead of most of the kids. You both knew those genes came from her father.

So why did this man who loved her far more than her own father could ever have , flinch on hearing Arin's name? You choose to let the topic rest for now. He seemed reluctant to talk. You can wring it out of him later.

"Bub?"

"Mhmm?"

'It was Juria's birthday today". He flinched again and you smirked. Choi Seungcheol feared no person like he feared Park Juria. Except for maybe your mother. She was extra protective of you. Just like Juria. Thankfully his mother in law has fallen for his good charms but there was poor prognosis of a friendship being mend by Juria and him. You weren’t complaining. He was stealing all your people anyway.

"She bought doughnuts for everyone and sent me over with the extras."

His eyes lightened up. Juria had money that she never shied to use on her best friends. Case in point, you. Couture doughnuts were his weakness before life screwed up but by some mercy granted to him, your best friend loved them and never failed to gift you extras. His pride was never going to come with such luxuries.

"The Crème Brûlée ones?"

"Yeah, and a Strawberry Crumble "

He shot up from his chair running to the kitchen. He has to get a hand on them before his little gremlins take it away. Yes, sometimes food means war.

Dinner today was a quiet occasion, save for Hana burning her fingers by dipping them into a hot bowl of soup. In her frustration, she hurled the bowl with surprising strength, breaking it and spilling the soup all over the floor. Baby strength was no joke. You were both accustomed to this. What did surprise you was Arin finishing her bowl with no complaints whatsoever.

No whines , no tantrums , no tears. And no praises from her daddy except for a fake smile and a pat on the head. Somebody needs to start talking and if no one was going to, you were going to use the ultimate weapon.

A loudmouthed Hansol.

No amount of pacifying could get Arin to sleep, who was still blinking guiltily at you from up her bed. You sit down to intervene and finally ask her what happened. But she refused to talk. Hansol had run away, seizing the opportunity, scampering to hug his dad goodbye. His dad who had refused to come say goodbyes stating he had some laundry to fold. Liar, he would never willingly agree to do chores unless nagged by you, pouting his eyes away from it.

"Sollie, come back to bed you rascal!" You run behind a pair of feet padding across the hallway, giggling cause this was fun to him.

"Sollie!"

You rush into the room to see your son giving your husband a bear hug, and Cheol tightly squeezing him right back. "I wuv you Appa!"

The dam had burst. You could see your husband visibly hold back his sobs, shaking in your son's hold. Quickly, you run up to take Sollie, not wanting to let his son see him have a breakdown. Taking Hansol to the kid's room, gently setting him down, you ask what had happened. Everything came spilling down in terms of baby talk.

"I saw dream of tangloolo, Appa said noona to eat, buut noona said me to eat, I eat but Appa got angry, I play with helicopter, Hana lick her toes, Appa said no eww Hana , I saw dream of tangoolo, noona said I hate you Appa and Hana broke my toy car, Eomma can I have tangoolo please?"

You couldn't make head or tails off his wild collection of tales. When did your toddler ever have a tangoolo tanghulu?

And most importantly, did your daughter tell her father she hates him? Where did she hear that word from? Cheol was always warning you her advanced books were speed running her vocabulary. You looked over at Arin, staring guiltily at you, a woeful expression sporting her face. Patting your son down, promising him an extra story tomorrow, you look back up at your daughter.

"Come here baby, I am not mad, I just want to talk."

Cheol was angry cleaning or as you teasingly called it- 'sulky cleaning', rapidly folding baby clothes, throwing the odd sock together into a ball, calling them a pair, haggardly buttoning up the buttons to onesies when he was met with the voice of his baby girl, tearfully calling him.

"Appa?"

Immediately, he stopped,dropping the sleepsuit , turning back to look at his daughter. Glasses too large for her small face lay askew on her nose, her fingers clenching and unclenching - a nervous habit he knew from years of experience. She had a wobbling lip on her remorseful face. You stood behind her ,arms tied up and watching the reunion with a gentle smile.

You proceed to clean up the kitchen and close it down for the night, shooing away Cheol when he offered to help. He needed this moment with his daughter. Besides washing the dishes with a pair of headphones, listening to music was therapy enough.

You come back to see a sight you were so used to seeing till up to three years ago. A sleeping Arin on her dad sucking her little thumb, whilst her dad rubbed her back, the old and torn book, well loved and stuck together "Three Little Pigs" strewn across the bed.Perhaps this is why she had acted out, maybe somewhere she was feeling neglected. You both tried to ensure each child received equal amounts of attention but kids- they can be unpredictable. Sometimes your best is never good enough for them.

But as Cheol and you had once said, as long as your kids were well fed, no tummy aches or snotty noses and well and truly in one piece, you guys were doing a decent job. This was no competition to being the perfect parent.

Coming out of the shower, leaving behind a foggy bathroom, you are greeted by Cheol expectantly waiting for you.

"Hey hot stuff!" you call out.

"Hey pretty mama." he says with a cheeky grin

"There are more layers to me than just being a cow you know."

"Yes babe, continue twisting my words like that. I compliment you and you turn it over into an insult, the farthest thing from my mind by the way."

You chuckle and go over to peck him on the cheek, unable to turn because his hold on you had tightened. You groan exaggeratedly seeing his faux glare.

"What?"

"What dry ass kiss was that? I want the real deal. Minimum six minutes, and that's without the tongue."

"Six minutes? Aren't you , I don't know, being a little greedy love”?

"Don't be mean to me, I have had a long day with your hooligans. Devil's little ones they are"

"Oh so they are your kids when they are angels and mine when they act out?"

"Glad we are both on the same page. Come sit. I will dry your hair, I know you've had a long day. Sorry I didn't greet you at the door."

You ask the question that's been burning in the back of your mind for some time while you await a towel on your hair.

"Has Sollie ever had tanghulu?"

"Funny you should ask because this morning when I went to wake him, he kept talking about 'tangloolo' in his sleep."

"So we literally did wish sweet dreams on our children didn't we"?

"Manifestation powers right there.We’re killing it as parents"

He was now patting down your head, fluffing up your hair causing several tangles.

"Stop." You warned.

Who were you kidding, this is the biggest baby you have ever known.

"Seungcheol stop, I am gonna get knots in my hair with the way you are-.

"Did you just call me Seungcheol? Take that you-" And before you could stop, his hands descended on you, messing your hair and when you went to stop him, resorted to tickling you, ultimately sending you into a spiral of giggles.

"Alright cut cut CUT!"

"You surrender?"

"Yes?"

"You apologize?"

"For what?"

"You know what you did."

"I called you by your name?"

"Correction, my name is Cheol or baby. Who's Seungcheol, your side chick?"

You gasp- "How did you find out- no no no wait- I take that back- cease fire , CEASE FIRE-"

But it's too late, Cheol had thrown you onto the bed, rolling on top of you, tickling you everywhere.

Your peeled laughter had him in a chokehold, his twinkling eyes winking down at you. You see a tiny dimple pop out. You bite the urge to poke it.

Hovering down, he placed your hands to the nape of his neck, wanting you to hold on to his curls while he ravishes you in an exhilarating kiss. You couldn't let go even if he tried, he had pinned you down with his full weight.

"Baby-

"Five more minutes please" he said , pecking you all over giving you some time to recuperate.

"You are still onto that?"

"Yeah, and I didn't hear a no from you so , good luck trying to resist these kisses bub" and in saying so, he dived right in making good on his promises.

"I'd like the ability to breathe, you know?"

Seriously, the man was at it for three long minutes. How can he keep up?

"You're the air that I breathe honey".

You begin to gag showing your disgust.

"Baby no", he pouted at you."I want to love you. I love you for three beautiful children, for this family we've build together, for this life we've started, for believing in me-"

"Where's this coming from Cheol?"

"Well, I was thinking about the the Three Little Pigs"

"The kids story book." You deadpan.

"Hey I'll have you know I've learned a good deal of lessons from there. I believe we are the third little piglet, we built our house with bricks and straw-"

"I am sorry I can't take you seriously after you just called me a pig."

"What's with you and taking everything out of context"?

"What's contextual about a children's fable and our lives.?"

"Yaaah, you take that back! This is a kid's world and we are living in it."

"Pray tell, what other kid tales do you associate with our lives?"

"Well for starters, we could be ummm-" he starts to scratch his throat.

"Shrek and Fiona?"

"Did you just call me an ogre?"

"The same way you called me a pig!"

"I said we are all piglets. They are cute. Ogres are not."

"But that's contextual is it not?" You were batting your lashes at him innocently.

"Fine then I will be Fiona, you be Lord Farquaad." Cheol exclaimed triumphantly.

"How come I am not the princess?"

"Alright stop whining. I will be Lord Farquaad. You are Shrek. You fit the part well"

"I know you are doing this to get a rise out of me."

"Alright if you want to be a princess, you can be Rapunzel."

"You think you are badass enough to be Eugene?" You smirked up at him.

"How are you allowed to bully me? '. His eyebrows were furrowed , lips jutted out.

You grin mischievously ."Because my love, I am your bully. A bully for life. Plus I love watching your cute face every time you pout. Makes me wanna smush your wittle face in my hands and just-"

Your cuteness aggression was getting the best of you, you topple over him biting his cheek with as much softness as you could muster.

A small flush was blooming on his face.

"Stooop" He whines.

You stop.

"No, why did you stop?" He whines cutely pouting up at you.

"I thought consent was sexy."

He gapes at you, eyes wide. “I—okay, fine. You want sexy? I’ll show you sexy.”

And in saying so, he flips you, taking back the control that he had granted you for a few moments.

You have no choice but to humbly submit.

Fallen from grace, into your arms- his arms were now outstretched, cradling three young ones, who'd entrusted their lives into his, the man who stepped up to be a father.

A.N: All of this, just because I remembered me as a 7 year old kid furiously tell my dad I hate him and him hugging me and telling me that he is hurt, straight to my face. Never played with the man's feelings so bluntly like that again.

What inspired me for this fic

Please don't hate on any of the characters, this is what parenting looks like, trust me this is the good part.

Comment, Reblog with Thoughts - if you liked it

Tag yourself in the comments for the next work-

"Hurricane Hansol Hammers Havoc"

@skzbangchanniee , @ateez-atiny380 , @minhui896

#thediamondlifenetwork #K-Vanity #choi seungcheol #scoups dad #seungcheol x you #seungcheol x reader #dad cheol #dad seungcheol #dad svt #husband seungcheol #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #dad seventeen #svt slice of life #domestic seventeen #scoups x reader

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h5eavenly · 7 months ago

Text

blank canvas — park sunghoon. ➢ one - run your hands over me. ➢ mlist.

— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first. wc: 17k

'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'

You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.

“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.

Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.

"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.

4:35 pm

31st December

"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.

Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.

'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'

You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?

Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.

With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.

You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.

Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.

Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.

You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.

“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.

The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.

“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.

“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.

“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.

“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”

“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.

“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.

“Why do you think so?”

“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”

An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.

“That’s interesting.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.

“Your words? Not at all.”

“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”

There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.

“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”

You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.

It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.

“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.

You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.

Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.

Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.

They looked so empty.

"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.

A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.

"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.

Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.

Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.

You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.

"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.

"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.

"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.

Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.

"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.

Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.

How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.

"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.

"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.

Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.

Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.

And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?

Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.

It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.

Off

On.

A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.

You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.

Beep Beep Beep!

Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.

'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.

The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.

The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.

in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.

Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.

You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.

Oh my god they’re waving at you.

Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.

Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.

You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.

What the fuck

With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.

You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.

A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.

The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.

It was blood.

You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.

"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.

"Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"

you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.

"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.

You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.

“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.

“Okay.”

As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.

The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.

You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.

But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.

You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.

Blue

Violet

Red

It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.

You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.

Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.

You cannot escape.

"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.

You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.

You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.

You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.

With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.

"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.

Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.

When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.

"What happened?” he asks.

"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.

Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.

He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.

It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.

You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.

The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.

"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.

"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.

His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.

"Yes."

You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.

“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.

"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.

"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.

Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.

"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.

"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.

"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.

"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.

"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.

12:45am 7th of January

your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.

There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.

Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.

Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.

"yn, 'm hotter yea?"

You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.

"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;

"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"

All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.

"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.

She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.

"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing.

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.

"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.

You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.

“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.

You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.

It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.

“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.

“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.

The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such.

Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.

You ignore him, too used to such situations.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.

“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.

“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.

Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.

“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.

The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.

White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.

It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.

Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.

The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.

“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.

“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.

“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.

You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.

A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.

“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.

Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?

“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.

“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.

Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.

“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.

"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.

"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.

There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.

The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.

“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.

Extending it to you.

“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.

“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously

“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.

A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.

You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.

"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.

Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.

Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.

“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.

At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.

“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.

“Are you interested in me?”

“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.

“I’m only teasing, darling.”

“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.

“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.

“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.

His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force

“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.

“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.

“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.

“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.

“I can, see?”

“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.

Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.

“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.

As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.

Can

See

Your

Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.

As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.

Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.

“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”

In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.

Heady and sweet.

“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.

Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.

It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.

With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.

You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.

With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.

"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.

"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.

"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.

“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.

“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.

“Was it?”

“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.

“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.

“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.

“Just some guy.” You shrug.

“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”

“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”

He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.

“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.

“So?”

“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”

"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.

"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.

"Stop telling me about it then."

"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.

His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.

“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”

You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.

You are walking home from work.

The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;

off

you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.

You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.

The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.

I need to go home.

Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.

I need to go home

You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.

You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.

With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.

Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.

Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.

The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.

He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.

There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.

You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.

You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.

A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.

You’re okay, everything is okay.

Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.

Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.

You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.

Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.

You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.

The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.

The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.

"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.

It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.

“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.

“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.

On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.

"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.

You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.

"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.

"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.

"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.

The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.

"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.

Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.

A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.

Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.

Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.

As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.

You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features

"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.

"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.

But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.

"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.

You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.

Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.

"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.

You stand still for three full seconds.

On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.

On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.

On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.

You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?

The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.

"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.

You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.

He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.

"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.

If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.

"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.

He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.

“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.

“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.

“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.

“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”

“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.

“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.

“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.

“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.

Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.

Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.

"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.

"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.

“It’s hard not to.” You admit.

“How come?”

You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.

“they’re fascinating to say the least.” You settle with the truth.

“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”

“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.

“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”

“No.” you answer, airily.

He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.

“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,

You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.

“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.

All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.

When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.

You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.

You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.

His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.

"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.

Just how big is this room?

“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.

“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.

As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.

“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.

His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.

“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.

“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”

“Well y-yeah.”

“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”

“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.

“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.

“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”

“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.

"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.

There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.

"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.

You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.

At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.

“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,

With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.

You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.

Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.

It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.

"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.

Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.

He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.

"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.

You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.

“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.

"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.

Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.

You should head home soon before it starts raining again.

"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.

Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.

"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.

“What were you doing then?"

“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”

"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.

“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.

“It made me happy.”

“What?”

“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”

“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.

“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.

Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.

“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.

“I did!”

“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”

“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.

Your chest warms at the sight.

“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.

“I got it wrong?”

“It’s a T, not an F.”

“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.

“Yeah.” he answers softly.

“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.

You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.

"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.

“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.

“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.

“yn,” you answer.

“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.

He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.

"W-what?" You stutter out.

His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.

“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.

“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.

“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.

You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.

You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.

"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.

You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.

Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.

But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.

"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.

"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.

"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.

It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.

"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.

"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.

“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.

You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.

You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.

He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.

As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.

"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.

“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.

There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.

You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?

Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.

"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.

"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.

It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.

"There's no need. You have done more than enough."

"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.

“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”

“No need for apologizes, darling.”

You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.

“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.

The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.

“They look better on you anyways.”

You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.

colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.

The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.

Although your living conditions were much better than now.

Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.

You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.

"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.

Like a fucking creep.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.

"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.

"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."

He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.

He gave you, his number.

Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.

"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.

“What happened today?”

You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.

Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you

"I'm confused?"

"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.

"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.

"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.

"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.

"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.

"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.

“Just say it.”

"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"

“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.

"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.

"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"

"I'm not."

"You're into him-"

"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.

"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.

"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.

"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.

"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"

"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.

"You're grieving your dad, yn."

You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.

Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.

Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.

“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."

"It's okay."

"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.

"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."

As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;

"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,

"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.

“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.

“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.

As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.

"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.

"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

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