#gravel around fence posts

[littleroaes]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, tbz

PAIRING ⏵ ( 2nd pov, you ) fem!reader x lee hyunjae, lee juyeon, ji changmin, kim sunwoo, eric sohn

at the last two weeks before the semester; your younger brother leaked your old love letters. when you return to university, you work as a part time assistant for the hockey team. the charming crush of your youth has read your letter and makes a deal to not spread it if in return, you'll be his fake girlfriend for the upcoming house party. that night sets off an event with all five letters.

GENRE ⏵ FLUFF, college!au / university!au, setting around 2013 ( 2010s!au ), 2000s!au ( childhood ), to all the boys i’ve loved before!au, summer!au, some angst since we do only have one end game, childhood friends2lovers, hockey player!hyunjae, playboy (with a soft side)!hyunjae, short fake dating!au side plot, boy next door!eric, frat!eric, rich kid!eric, flirty but shy!sunwoo, old summer love!sunwoo, reader is an medical assistant, lots of pining, mutual pining, cats!!!, nerdy oblivious juyeon, literature major!juyeon, history major!changmin, changmins bad at sports (sorry bub), 3 different types of parties!, a pool party, a house party, a beach party (i don’t even like parties irl!)

WARNINGS ⏵ reader is good at sports ( volleyball ), hyunjae is a little mean/ manipulative at the start, reader gets drunk twice, sunwoo once ( oufff ), swearing a few times ( fuck, shit ), some jealousy, bad dancing (specially from reader), reader's zodiac sign is a capricorn (for a joke), kissing, pet names ( angel, princess ), proofread once ( i feel like ive forgotten something but hope not😭 )

WORD COUNT ⏵ 19 k

playlist i listened to while writing

this is my fic for @deoboyznet the love letter collective event ! if you specifically want to know which members will have more romantic storylines and who reader will end up with; i have written it out at the end of the post! ( if it being your bias is important for reading ex ). though all five will have cute/ flirty moments with reader! i changed to 2nd person pov for no reason😭 i hope you don’t mind here’s a 500 word teaser before commitment ( it’s in 3rd pov for now! )

like and reblog are highly encouraged !

01 . CHAPTER ONE 

IMAGINE THIS; ONCE UPON A TIME, FATHER OF YOURS SAID THAT TO SCOUR THE EVIL THOUGHTS OCCUPYING YOUR YOUNG MIND, ONE ONLY HAS TO WRITE LETTERS. What a magical solution to all the finite problems of youth! That’s what you thought even as you started to come of age and the inevitable falls of love. Each time, when your innocence was consumed, little by little, by the harsh realities of romance; you spit it out on a piece of paper, enveloped it, stored it in a box (extra security measures) and sheltered underneath your bed. 

And now, you’re in university. Back home for the last two weeks before the autumn semester. Laying against the bed–it reeks of school mornings of 2005–and still holds those letters beneath. The pink hues on the pillows are still there, maybe a little washed out. All butterflies stickers from magazines are plastered on furniture that shines, just slightly, when the sun goes down underneath the neighboring roofs, lucent through the open windows. 

You’ve hung out with Eric, a childhood friend. Bicycled down the gravel paths fenced in lines through houses. Side by side, always trying to one up the other like you always did. Take a swim in the same lake, in the same spot those old pictures show. Like those days; the sun never falters until it all stands on the edge between diagonal roofs. 

And amidst your childhood lies your younger cousin. Bare arms touch each other as you lie side by side with feet over the pillows, and noses –the paper box of letters. She told you about a longing crush she has for a boy in the parallel class. When overconsumed by nostalgia; you couldn’t refrain from dusting off the old box. And that’s how you ended up back with the letters you swore to withhold. 

There are five of them. 

The first one is Lee Jaehyun, a three year older popular student who you had a trivial crush on in middle school ( together with everyone else). In all honesty you didn’t know much about him; just that he was cute looking. There’s a sort of emotional torment in recalling the one sided adoration while leaned out the school window to see him play football. Even his name haunts you still in uni as your roommate had a crush on the shining hockey player the entire two semesters.

In short, everyone liked Lee Jaehyun. 

Next is Eric Sohn, your childhood friend, the boy next door, even first love? He has many titles you realize. He lived in an impressive house north from here, one that hosts many parties every time his parents take the trip to their summer resort. At some point, it felt like he knew every kid in town. Luckily, you have never been the jealous type. Despite being each other’s ride or die since ten, you never confessed the secret ways you looked at him back in the sandbox.  

Third is Sunwoo–just Sunwoo; you never got his last name–from summer camp who you even ( jokingly ) got married to. Your first summer at thirteen, away from parents, with kids the same age. When recalling it all back, that summer feels as if taken out of a movie, and you fell head first, three meters deep with the boy. Sunwoo always stood in the center ( bad and good…mostly bad tbh ). You got paired up for the kayak; it pissed rained and your coordination couldn’t take you ten meters. But you remember every word he said as butterfly inducing nonetheless. After that, at night you snuck out of your cabins to watch the stars. And when that summer too ended, you swore your heart shattered into million pieces.

The fourth is Lee Juyeon, a boy you had never seen before until his cat got pregnant by yours. Scuba Steve ( long story ) had been gone for some days until another family came up to their door with him. For half a year, it felt like you saw Lee Juyeon everyday. He was just as enchanted by kittens as you ( if not more ) and you two would visit each other just to cuddle with them. The teenage heart used to rush with the mere presence of him and together you named all the kittens–until they were sold off. Then they eventually stopped seeing each other. Though he still lurks around as a poet’s ghost around campus ( source Eric ). 

The last one, Ji Changmin, the son of your mother’s friend. He teached you calculus for a while in high school. To be fully transparent, you didn’t learn much from him that year because all you did was leaning on the kitchen table while adoring him until the rims of his glasses slipped. He always scolded you endearingly when you didn’t listen ( which was the majority of the time ). Ji Changmin always wore cute polos with neat pants–now when thinking about it, mother might have approved if you got together. But it’s too late. He went to uni; and simply left you with a newfound thing for glasses ( still wearing cute polos in uni ). 

And that’s all. You sometimes wonder if it was a mere symptom of youth that resulted in those letters. Since uni–outside a campus crush or two-–that compelling yearning for someone has never come back. 

Eventually the bird’s cease to sing once the sun swallows entirely by the horizon, and cicadas can be heard through the open windows. You leave the letters as the two of you close the door. Mother asked if you and your cousin wanted to go with the rest of the adults down to the green field at the center of the neighborhood, you said yes. 

When the heavy door shuts against the frame, voices from your younger brother’s room at the highest floor seeps through the windows.

( next morning ) 

“Mom, you haven’t seen some letters?” You stand at the stairs to look down the kitchen counter where mother and your brother turn from the pantry light. 

“Three’s blue and two pink envelopes?” You ask again. 

Mom shakes her head, “No, I haven’t?” 

You sigh, sprint up the second floor. 

“Y/n?” 

Call of your name echoes through the frame into your room. To look over the bed and see your younger brother centered at the white rectangle. His fringe like curtains reluctant to open as he looks elsewhere. You come up completely. 

“What?” 

“The letters…” 

Your ears perk up, “You’ve seen them?” 

“No, I took them…” He says guilty and starts tearing off paint from the wall. 

“The guys wanted to prank you yesterday, we sent them, I’m really sorry.” 

He looks up again, “But I told them to not do anything more.” He reassures, but his voice trails off as you neither alienate or sigh at this confession. Eyes, lifeless as the posture in your arms hanging off your stale corpse. 

“You did what?” You ask; wishing you heard incorrectly the first time and he crashed a vase instead. 

“We sent your letters..” He says hesitantly with eyebrows knit. 

You close your eyes. Take your hands up your face to cup it and breathe in. Autumn semester starts in exactly 13 days and you know at least half of the letter receivers attend. And definitely all five live in the city. 

To breathe out, hands fall in your lap. He cocks an eyebrow at what one could guess is a meditation session before you open your eyes. 

“I’LL KILL YOU!” 

02 . CHAPTER TWO

( tuesday afternoon ) 

The letters were out; an existential dread running on two bags of pure sugar surged within you. A sensation you were oblivious to existed. First week went, and you hoped the mail man had fallen over and left the letters on the highway, doomed to get run over til their unreadable. But those wishes perished the very moment Eric Sohn came chanting underneath the window. The characteristic bird chimes and mowers intertwined in green leaf rustle; his voice echoed through open glass. You told mom not to tell him you were here; that you had already taken the train to the city. 

Destiny was in your favor for once, and your mother did lie when Eric came to the front door. 

So far, none crossed fate with the receivers of your letters has ensued. Eric was the only established friend in your life, hence you held yourself far, far away from any business major hot spots. Though, just after achieving three days. The first afternoon at the start of your part time; rulers leave you forced to stare eye to eye with receiver number one.

“This is Y/n, she will work as your athletic trainer assistant for this semester.” The trainer lifts hands to his side to make it even clearer than it already was. It is damn cold beside the ice rink–which you thank god for since your face would be blistered red otherwise. As he presents for all tall men in thick layers of hockey protection, they stare; you’re left to make a timid jazz hand motion with a strained smile. 

“I’m Y/n.” Hands fall back to your side and concentrate all might to look at the other eight people–not the one to the right. 

“She will be helping me with equipment and aid; so you’ll see her around a bit.” 

The players wave past you in turn; to introduce themselves in a mere identical manner. The last name pains deeply as you pretend to find shoelaces loose. 

“Jaehyun.” 

You can’t see his expression, not even when eyes come up. Only his back covered in blue jersey greets you as he steps off the plastic flooring and onto the ice. 

Though, it is an immediate opportunity for breathing room when all players go to practice. The plastic walls become solid and you look over the formations on ice. Maybe you got yourself free from this one? Maybe Hyunjae also thought it was so damn awkward that it’s easier to ignore it. You hope deeply while taking off one glove, as sultry temperatures rise beside the rink. 

Followed by the 30 minutes of relocating equipment around the center, the next time you come back into the ice hall, the trainer greets you with sweat outlining his sideburns. You knit your eyebrows before taking eyes off him and onto the player in navy; halting out the rink. Turns out Coach yelled two different instructions, followed after one another; which resulted in a collision of two players. 

He tells you to take him, who limps to the clothing rooms. By immediate compliance you approach his silhouette; leaning on the plastic divide. You can’t make out the exact expression as he faces the ground, but when you ask him if he needs help walking. That horribly handsome face from your childhood looks up. Breathing heavily, but smiles through the fringe. 

“Yeah.” 

You purse your lips into a thin line. To force sight away from him. You look at the entrance to the ice hall while taking his arm over your shoulders. Come to the clothing room after taking off his ice skates. The two intentions of your own conscience fought while walking. Nothing would be more awkward than looking at him again, on the other hand, the concern over his weak state is true as the continuous breath sounds loudly beside your ear. 

Hyunjae’s now on the bench before one side of the lockers. He watches attentively as you round the sport’s bags to take the first aid kit on the other side. The ventilation is the loudest thing in the room. At some point it becomes bothersome as you hold his clothing. You haven't made eye contact since the rink, but senses his gaze fixed over your scalp.  

He talks suddenly.

“You know Y/n, I got your letter.” He says while looking down at your hand; securing the bandage around his ankle. 

Fuck. 

Fingers stale from suspension for a moment on the bandage edges. The material loses around his ankle and you force it towards you. 

A sigh, still looking down, “Listen; it was my br–” 

“It’s appreciated Angel, but it will never happen.” His lips curve higher at one opposite edge, leaving his eyes on you with pleasure like he knows something wrong. 

You let go off his legs; weight from your hands fully on your knees as you observe–rolling your eyes. 

“I know, okay.” You breathe in, “What I was about to say was; my little brother sent it, it was not meant to be seen by you.” Another sigh before you force yourself up from the floor; coming in greater height than Hyunjae. 

“Also; I wrote it when I was like 11.” To turn to the first aid kit, “So don’t get your ego too high, Ice God.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you say, Angel.” Hyunjae takes his palms on the bench surface; leaning against the locker. Arch of his lips might rewrite your life when he proceeds to stare.  

“Why do you even call me that?” You return to the opposite side and cross arms; to perceive him roughly as if to build similar strain in him. But it leaves to no avail. 

“Why?” He quotes, “You’re sitting here healing us, our team’s little angel.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

You look away as to not blossom of rose pigment–instead start organizing the materials in the aid kit. 

“Either way, Jaehyun. You can go now, it’s done.” 

No length of his voice waves via the dead locker ocean. After eyes set on the sections of the green bag; you glance at his bench. And to make you uncertain, his white bandage leg is still in frame. After you pull the zipper and leave the kit in your lap; you stare at Hyunjae who, with the usual smile, stares back. 

“I said you can go…” Quietly and tilt your head towards the door. 

“I know.” Hyunjae voices in the same tone as before. 

You side eyes him still and sits up. 

“I have a deal. Would you like to hear it?” He says suddenly, causing a rupture across the room and stacked tension weighing on your shoulders.

“Okay…” There’s an uncertain principle, written like a formula over your expression, layered in your voice. 

“You go with me as my girlfriend for Jeno’s party this Friday.” He says monotone. 

The first aid kit frees from your hands. Eyes drifting between two points and you’re left looking eyebrow knit at him two meters away. Then, forced to turn when he smiles contempt. You swiftly bend down to take the aid kit before returning gaze. Hyunjae sees in center of two bags hanging; your lips sunder to shove down the offer. Right through the concrete to the core mit. 

“--Or else I’m putting up your letter for the whole campus to see.” 

You immediately shut sealed and eyelids folds half over the curvature. He smiles so hard it borders on comical. And with his arms crossed over his jersey, you only wait for them to fall and see him burst out laughing; tell you he got you. But the silence prevails your thoughts and you start to believe he’s actually serious. 

“I don't believe you.” You look tired at him. 

“No, I’m serious.” Hyunjae still nonchalantly crossed armed and slack raised shoulders. 

As another passage of ventilation comes through, beckon time like the minute visor. You finally sigh and sit down at the bench again. 

“Why even me? Can’t you just ask someone else?” Frustration over the seemingly complex idea for a deal when he could make it ten times easier for himself.

His expression falters for a second after the question. Hyunjae holds his lips sealed; unaltered high posture cause he hesitates to give away his shortcomings. But on the other hand, just a little empathy might do it. 

“I’m actually in a bad position, Angel.” He leans forward, voice quieter.

“Everyone knows I’ve got a girlfriend, but she broke up with me before the semester. They want to finally see her, but I got none” He pauses and leans his chin on his hand and pouts a little, “--just you.”

The withered corners of your face perks slowly up as he ends his sentence. Hyunjae smiles harder, believing he a white winged victory, but it disappears the very second you laugh in his face. Your back comes against the support of the bench while eyelids close to the bottom of laughter.

“She dumped you?” Hands gather in your knees. 

“Too bad, too bad.” 

It’s Hyunjae’s turn giving stale eyes. Though, just as fast; he gathers himself back and leans onto the lockers again. 

“Yeah, is it a deal or not, Angel?” 

You breathe in and look at him still. Hyunjae is more foolish than his appearance gave off, you don't have faith in first impressions. He might as well scan your lost letter and create a chain mail across campus. Partying wasn’t on your list for the first weekend of the semester, but maybe you could get away with lurking against the wallpaper?

You swing your left foot and finally look back at him, “Okay, deal then.” 

Hyunjae smirks. 

“Just this, then we're equal. No grudge, no obligations.” 

“Sure.” He nods. 

You tilt your chin down, “...I don’t trust you, Jaehyun.” 

He lets his hands up, “Look, I’m keeping my promise. I told you my dirt too.” 

“Like not having a girlfriend is as embarrassing as a love letter written in 2002.” 

( friday evening ) 

“Okay, should we go in then?” You take a step forward but get pulled by the shirt. Shoulders come up against him and the arm sleeve of his clothing folds against your nape.

From your first encounter until Friday; you were forced to persevere through charming–bordering on foolish–remarks. The weekend prophesied as projection on the glass entrance that Friday. And it shattered the very moment Hyunjae’s voice echoed from the changing rooms. That he’ll wait for you outside the women’s dormitory. With not a twitch in own expression, he disappeared behind the frame with a wink. 

One of your two roommates was also invited to the house party. The thought of having someone else other than ice god settled some relief. But as you stood waiting in the summer heat of night; the first bus went and fifteen minutes later, you saw a familiar silhouette to the left of the stairs you sat on. 

He didn’t say anything when you refused to sit up and just glared tired at him. 

“What’s with the face, Angel?” He had asked laughing lightly, “We’ll miss the bus.”, you are forced to stand. 

“You’re late, Ice God.” You muttered and started walking towards the bus stop. Hyunjae ran up beside.  

Both talked while the streetlights behind the glass window became all the more distant. Though, it didn’t become hopelessly quiet, as it was a loud friend group behind. You cursed your half sleeve arms when Hyunjae didn’t know the way to Jeno's house from the bus stop. Forced to traverse between bushes when he pointed at mindless directions. Swore that he knew the “shortcut”. And ants might as well have climbed up your toes and into your underwear. 

Now, as either stands before the three stairs and the entrance door in the midst of the front yard. You're pulled against his chest (still covered in leaves). 

“Not so fast.” 

Though he’s out of peripheral vision; the self satisfied tone at every articulate visualizes his smile. His hands like a thin veil across your shoulders–you take a step back from them, to face him fully. 

“Okay then? What’s the plan, Ice God?” You cross arms to build some fence–to match his pride. But either only shares an instant of eye contact before you press your lips and look towards the sad flowers hidden in the corner. 

Hyunjae has always enjoyed teasing people. Of course, a bit apprehensive to strangers, but nonetheless; he waits no time to poke at the first friend closest in sight. He himself has probably no thought about it, but he has a thrill for watching people’s reactions. You were no different. Like the sun; secret behind the trees, it’s always so obvious. You were flustered by his turns of nicknames and comments; so much that you feel to defend your blemished garden. There’s something endearingly professional about you, he thinks. 

“You have a lip balm or something?” He cocks an eyebrow. 

You look at your belongings; eyes looking as narrow threads when apprehensive. To wait for his signature laughter but instead nods his head. You roam around the bag; hands helping to widen your vision, but not enough to notice his fingers below the tender sprout against your head. You look up to see him with one of your two hair clips. Curious what he’ll do; you try no fence when he sets it on his fringe. 

“Now I’m yours.” He smiles. 

Hyunjae comes down to you slightly before returning; taking his eyes off and onto the entrance before brushing past your shoulder. Because of the evening shades, the red pigments on your cheeks withers out with skin as you look behind your shoulder to see Hyunjae’s figure let the deafening conversations from inside, out. He doesn’t look back towards you, and you knit eyebrows before taking double steps up the stairs and into the house. 

With one step you push yourself off the wallpaper; feel shoulders brushing up against your own as the living room opens. 

Hyunjae held your hand for the first half an hour. He then let go when something happened between the friends (you didn’t know). But even then you tailed after like some home cat. Though, as anxiety arose after seeing a group of Eric’s friends in the same room, you cautiously backed into the corner. Some stranger did the rest for you when they collided with the table and Jeno’s grandma fell lid first and shattered on the floor. It became a bit quiet when poor grandma(s ashes) laid there, all spread out. 

After Jeno panicked and some helped clean up; the chamber of incomprehensible conversations started again. 

There’s cliques scattered between the couches. You reach on high toes to see past all the height and hair to locate the frame you came in from. Soon you fall back to your heels, just as the chorus waves through the walls. The crowd suddenly opens up before you when two people walk away. You’re left still and see the open door to the hallway. Shoulders come down in height just as you breathe out. Relieved to take a step to finally leave; but your feet barely touch the wood until eyes widens and air asphyxiates in your throat. 

At the end of the high walls; Eric stands half a meter from the door frame. A lamp shines from behind him, lightning up his half body. Like the sun; he becomes the very essence of the narrow square. 

You turn in a desperate attempt for survival. This season heat and packed building; it all bends backwards through the grass field in all four directions. 

Immediately you see diagonally behind, a staircase up to the second floor. You don't even look back to Eric before colliding with someone's back and sprint up. There’s no lighting up the wooden stairs, just Earth’s wailing moon through the pier glass. 

All those voices–through speakers or chords–wanes like the full to crescent moon month. 

There’s closed doors around. It burns pace from behind and you take the handle of the door left to the stairs. Without letting it open even half way; you slip past the glimpse and lock it shut.

You lean close to the door; feel the cold wood on your left cheek. The party’s over on this side. Like the melancholic memory of falling asleep to the adults in the other room. 

When you expect nothing; a clear voice from behind reiterates peculiar sentences. 

Not strong enough to take your chin off the door; you look past your shoulder to see someone in the bathtub with a damned annotated book. 

It takes about three seconds from first contact until the bathtub guy flinches, “Ah!?” 

“Oh my god!” Your eyes widen while your shoulders contract as wings. 

It echoes between the tiles when his book lands on the bathtub floor. To face the sudden him, distressed; your hands come up in height with your wing like bone. 

“Sorry.” You deadpan. 

“No, it’s okay.” He answers, soft spoken. Eye contact stays fleeting as his fringe–like curtains–falls before the mirage window when he reaches for the book. He mends the awry strands into place; scour the wordy dimensions to where he left off. 

You recall his soft silken halo. Hands come down to its sides and you lean off the door. Like a main character from an academic tale; he looks deeply dreamlike–always somewhere else. The guy feels your presence still as above the title cover; his eyes peeks. 

At this point, you look at him with wide eyes horror; ready for him to either aristocratically roast your fourteen old writing, or condense into second hand embarrassment and hide under the bathtub. 

Lee Juyeon sits in the damn bathtub of a house party. 

As you’re deep in fourth dimensional torment; Juyeon speaks first. 

“Oh, Y/n.” 

He smiles, still holds the book before him. 

You refuse to move, “Hi…Juyeon.” 

“That was a long time.” He switches between your eyes and the next sentence. 

The tension in your frame aids in turn for every second. Juyeon doesn’t mention any letters, but still, you eye him suspiciously. 

“Yeah.” You agree awkwardly. 

“Why are you here?” You ask. 

Juyeon pauses in sentence once again to shift his fringe and look up. You had nearly forgotten the patterns of silence and speaking he so often followed. Back when they always met; they spent so many seconds simply waiting for him to talk. 

“I would ask you the same thing.” He sort of tilts his head attentively. 

With your lips pursed instead of answering, you look to the mirror above the sink. Water in delicate droplets dive in while he turns the next page. 

“Escaping things?” He asks, still reading.  

You nod. 

“We all do.” 

You see him through the mirror reflection. His eyes bent like a faint wave from shore; reassures her lone presence. 

As he closes off himself again; you figure he doesn’t mind their shared space. There’s no sign of knowledge about your letter. Juyeon always reeked of innocence, so maybe you’re wishing. 

But Eric’s still one floor below (taking the safe option). 

You take a seat on the bathtub edge. Shoulder faces Juyeon who leans his back on the discolord cream white tiles. . 

“Should I read something for you?” He asks soothingly. 

You hesitate before letting your hands comfortably down the edge, “Okay.” 

“You want some?” He reaches out the green glass bottle. 

Your shoulders scoff when your mind affirms, “Thank you.” 

Juyeon asks suddenly, “How’s Scuba Steve?” 

Truly the only thing left that protects from not spitting out the alcohol is embarrassment. You do an expression tainted by drinks or unease, and let the bottle down your lap. 

To wonder how in the passage of all years; Juyeon recalls your insignificant house cat that mated with his own (or maybe it’s not that weird when you think after). 

There’s a sort of foolish–bordering on stupid–touch in your chest that he actually never forgot Scuba Steve. One could guess we live on, assuming we’re the only one that remembers. 

“Oh, he’s dead.” You deadpan.

“Oh.” 

The room reaches–what resembles closest to silence– in a house party. Both their lips are pressed in thin lines as they view the tiles above each other again. 

“You then?” Silence starts to torture you briefly in your fingers.

“How’s…” Your face contracts in parallel to the ceiling when scattered bleached cuts from that black little cat sleeping on his floor. 

“Mindy?” He says. 

“Oh, Yeah.” 

They both laugh. 

“She’s still alive.” He lets the book down for the first time (excluding the jumpscare), “She’s with mom and dad. Though she's getting very old now, she eats less and doesn’t even go out anymore.” 

As they sat there talking about cats and poetry; eventually the boundary past the toilet door ceases. You didn’t leave that end of the bathtub (aside from running down the kitchen with Juyeon for more alcohol). 

Now they lie on opposite builds against the cold edge. It’s been sometime since you drank, specifically this much. You can’t talk for Juyeon, but he seems pretty damn wasted too. Your eyes dares to fall while Juyeon’s shirt climbs up his chin as he comes deeper down the tub. 

“I can’t wake up here.” You mumble. Either to yourself or decked out Juyeon; you don't know. He answers something incomprehensible back as a bottle in the scattered line before the bathtub falls. While you grasp for the handle, you turn barely to Juyeon who has his eyes half open. 

“Bye, Juyeon, it was epic.” You wave your free hand, “Tell Mindy I said Hi.” 

“I’ll do.” He tiredly answers back. 

The alcohol withers boundaries within your body. Turns it weak for the downstairs crowd, like poison inducing nausea. In line with poison; You walk as if zombie apocalypse smitten down the stairs without holding onto the railing. Somehow reaches the ground floor and passes through the living room. 

Whatever mechanisms your mind built to defend its dignity from Eric; it took the place of the alcohol in its glass bottles. You’re in the hallway, three meters from the entrance. It’s overheating–worse than a sauna–in the house. Mere presence of tepid air has your hands trailing along the walls. 

A warmth presence dividing the you and outside blocks. In a desperate drunk attempt you push against it and complain. 

“Out the way, you’re fucking hot.” 

“I am?” 

It speaks back, in a tone rather mischievous than what your state calls for. With a shift of the inner lightning; you realize you have your hands on a uni jacket. The logo turns and you would accuse him of motion sickness. 

From your face-low angle, his hands are tied between the blue pockets. You lean harder on the wall to force your chin where his head is tilted with a smile to the same degree. 

“You’re still here.” You still complain and his face drops. Eyes fleet between your face, the opposite wall, and the entrance door to return. 

“That wasn’t a compliment, right?” His fingers directed to his chest. 

“No, Einstein.” Eyebrows knit when realizing you’ve drifted off the main mission. Two shoulders on opposite ends collide as you hastily drag along to the frame. 

“Woah, woah.” The male student takes your wrist lightly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“I think it’s a great idea.” You defend without knowing. 

“You’re gonna fall down the stairs.” 

His voice is strangely worried which you would have been touched by, if it wasn’t for the drunk state. 

Mid temperatures of night may have transpired any senses as you don't answer. He takes this to come up in line with you; one decimeter away from the first stairs. 

There’s two people, solitude in a hammock to the right, and prey like shadows of two around the grass. Music from inside is still too loud, and it probably hides someone puking at the other end. 

“I’ll help you, okay? I’m not a weirdo.” 

You turn your head to side eye him. Either promise respect or sacrificially bow down, he throws his hand up. To then gently lie it on your shoulder, lead you down. 

“That’s what a weirdo would say.” You mumble without working against him. 

Gravel scratches underneath their feet and the male student takes his hand off your shoulder; though still twined by the wrist. 

He starts, “I need your name, I should call–” 

“Sunwoo!” 

It seizes pulsations from inside, and the male student takes his head from you. Features on his face and the blue jacket is immediately recognised by the one below. The student's eyes are wide and Sunwoo’s eyebrows hold a neutral position above. 

“Jaehyu–”

“She’s my girlfriend!” Hyunjae takes your wrist from him. 

“Why are you still standing here?” He agitates before wandering off the gates with you. 

Sunwoo shoves his hands up in height with his chest once again; not risking to start fighting with the reigning hockey player while he’s half drunk, half angry.

“I don’t think I’m allowed in here.” Sounds tense. 

“It’s not like you’re here to hook up.” 

“They don’t know that.” Hyunjae deadpans. 

After both left Sunwoo at the stone stairs, Hyunjae coursed through the shrubbery once again. You seemed confused over the interaction; he doesn’t think you even realized the hand on your own changed. He thought you would sober up during the train ride, but you still took irregular stepping patterns down the warm lighted gravel path. 

While down the glass entrance to the soaring female dormitory; Hyunjae motioned you to walk in. But as fast he let go of your shoulder, you stumbled three steps back. 

“What should we do then?” Hyunjae asks, frustrated. 

“I don’t know, it was your idea to go the party.” You cross arms. 

“And yours to get so drunk that you can’t stand.” He spits back. 

The night pulls them close when they wait lonely, as if exiled. Summer cicadas swallow their venom words and when one street lamp flickers; Hyunjae sighs and takes a seat down the stairs. You follow. 

Once the peaceful moon renders all its light, leaving it to its bones; your head falls to his shoulder. While you carve shapes in its craters, your arms mindlessly pull him close. The strands of your hair accumulate on his neck, and while filed under the same sky, your breath sounds like a soundtrack to him. 

Like the passage from day to night; he notices his heart like it’s vastly alive. How many eyes have looked at him adoringly, but he can’t even anxiously look down your side. It’s familiar yet strange, he refuses to acknowledge it. And still you are oblivious, can’t even see his blushing face. 

“Shouldn’t you go home?” You ask softly. Tired and slow in contrast to the previous sentence. 

“I can’t leave you here.” He finally looks down at you. 

“Then you're going to be tired tomorrow.” Guilt visually lines your sunken silhouette. 

Hyunjae smiles, “You’re gonna be too.” 

He speaks gently again after silence, “Sober up a bit more and you’ll walk up.” 

03 . CHAPTER THREE

( saturday midday )

Not because you thought you were immortal anyway, but the next morning came crashing through the roof. While grieving your roof (it wasn’t broken), you swore the ceiling fan was up to mock you in its circles. All while last night lingers as a supercut. 

Your two roommates had woken up earlier, they were supposed to go out. Where? You can’t remember; at that point you were still trying to figure out who you bickered with outside Jeno’s stairs. 

Either way, the bottom line is; you didn’t throw off your clothes, and no texts from Eric. 

The campus is idyllically still in late summer. Bird whistle intertwines with the wind who walks like you through the grass, under the same gravel path Hyunjae led you yesterday. Sun drenched tree crowns and your eyes yearn through the gaps. 

There’s a yellow haze over the world and when you take another step; charge in gravel comes from behind. How your legs sway towards the grass border, fleeting levels with your eyes over your shoulder. A bicycle comes half a meter before; stops it with his right foot.

“Oh–Hi, Y/n.” 

“Oh, Juyeon?” 

He jumps off the saddle and they fall in same line. 

“You look a bit tired?” Juyeon asks in a voice, perfect sync with the bird song. Once again the world falls so dream-like behind him. 

“Yeah, yesterday was…stressful.” You take a palm up to your forehead. 

Juyeon’s smile falters, anxiously tilts his head, “Did I do something last night?” 

“No,no–something else happened…not you.” Hand between the open space which you wave reassuringly. His eyes become concerned and yours only redder. Hyunjae’s touch still lingers on that half of your body; you’re afraid Juyeon can see it. 

You ask something else instead, “You then? You’re not tired?”

He laughs softly, “A bit.” “But I’m supposed to meet a family friend.”

You nod. 

Leaving the last tree behind; the blue sky opens up, just in time for his revelation. Juyeon turns to you fully. Merely one can make out the contour of a light bulb above his head. 

“She bought two of our kittens; Lemon and…” He knits his eyebrows, unable to see your eyes, brilliant with curiosity. 

“I forgot.” He laughs, “They’re big now, I see them sometimes.” 

“Really?” 

Juyeon hums, “Do you want to see them?” 

“Of course!..if it’s okay for your friend?”

“She’s a lady my mother knows.” Juyeon takes one leg over the bicycle saddle and tilts his head–so that his hair too–points to the rack. 

“Jump on.” 

To exchange his eyes with the bicycle rack; you purse your lips and walk behind. Hands immediately cling to the metal frame, but as Juyeon weighs forward, you hold onto his shirt. 

Juyeon looks back and smiles as you struggle, “Hold my waist or you’ll fall off.” 

At this moment, you’re so deeply relieved he hasn’t read your letter. It eases the touch in your hands as they come to his front. Shirt folded above your clasped hands lies like a veil.

That feeling, of when a perfect alignment of past and memory presents. It washes over one as soften, melancholic, whiplash. You hadn’t thought about his scent in years, but as they chase the sun yet never pass it, his shirt touches your cheek. In his home where they used to sit on knees beside each other. It flutters your heart tenderly. 

At the high end peak you felt burdensome. Juyeon reassured you while weighing onto the pedals standing. He seemed to quietly persist in breathing through his nose, even when he was audible panting. 

He led the bicycle to the front, beneath the shadowed roof; you cast your eyes over the asphalt end. The wind rushes through nature up here. As such the foreground, alive, before the still concrete and bricks. 

Juyeon called your name to where he waited beside the door. With a half a shoulder hidden by his own, the bell goes off. A lady opens and smiles instantly as she sees Juyeon. Her wrist in rose patterns reaches out for his shoulder, comforts it gently. Since you’re a stranger; you’re left to awkwardly observe and retell like a narrator. 

“Oh, you have a girl with you?” She smiles at Juyeon, which he returns. He introduces you to the lady while she weakly widens the door gap. 

She still talks when three cats come to the hallway rug. Curiously they silently circle your legs, but they too can tell you’re no threat. 

An orange cat, clothed in layers of orange fur, brushes its head against your calf. You immediately bend down to pet it. To figure out if this fox-like complexion existed in your past too; you tilt your head. But your cat’s were more like crows than foxes. 

Apparently something must have shown because Juyeon says from beside. 

“This is Belle, they had their own kittens here. Ours are probably resting on the couch.” 

You look up, “Oh.” 

The old lady goes to the kitchen to take out tea and biscuits. Meanwhile Juyeon guides you to the living room where three other cats lie in the cushions of a worn down brown couch. Their socks tenderly span across the clear floor, and it must have woken them up. You smile briefly when they instantly seem to recognize him; reach their heads up for touch once he sits. All weights deeper down the material once you sit beside him. Touching shoulders to see a cat lick his finger in his lap. 

Like a jet black scarf in his jeans pattern; it contrasts from the faint white mark–like a moon at night–on her head. 

“She’s so big now.” You say when visions from those evenings before the TV playing Sailor Moon. You called out her name–Luna–that day when you saw her cramped between her siblings. 

Juyeon also named a kitten after a TV show he watched..

“Is that Mum Mew?” 

Now in direction towards the floor; a larger cat, half underneath the couch, half on your feet. 

Juyeon laughs, “He’s Oscar now.” He leans closer and whispers, “I don’t think I’ve ever told her that was his original name.” 

They sit there until the lady comes out again. 

“It’s so lovely that you got a girlfriend, Juyeon.” She puts down the plate and the two look at her, “I’ve all actually thought about you a lot. I’ve been thinking about calling your mother to set you up with someone, I started to get a bit worried.”

The lady has an attentive x on her face. The skin on her forehead hides nothing as it folds, deeply contemplated. Only with your head down and suppressed smile, can you clearly notice the plates against wooden surfaces. Juyeon scratches his nape frantically while laughing. 

"Yeah, uhh–” He stammer. 

“You know, by your age, I was with many guys.” She sits down on the opposite chair. 

“We got together, then we broke up. I had a guy in Paris who I really liked.” She leans forward, “Back then I was so in love I wanted to stay. I thought he was perfect! Kind, handsome, sex–”

“What’s the type of cookie?” Juyeon suddenly bursts out. Leaned over the table pointing at the brown one that’s obviously chocolate. But the lady doesn’t seem to bother. 

“Oh, you see!” 

You press your lips, the color might have vanished. Though it was painfully awkward; Juyeon was just adorable enough to turn the situation endearing. She still describes in detail over her mother’s mother recipe; and Juyeon from the side nods his head attentively, like he always does. 

After another conversation, the topic returns. 

“So when did you meet?” 

Turns to exchange question marks between you. His eyes don't say much and you guess yours neither. 

Juyeon scratches his nape, “We’ve been friends for sometime.” 

Lady nods, “Since when?” 

“Like…” He looks at you for confirmation, “...fourteen or fifteen?” 

“Did you confess, Juyeon? Or Y/n?” She smiles and looks at you, “Juyeon is a bit shy, I’ll be surprised if he confessed.” 

He retreats back to the couch; sinks down the heavy material. You laugh lightly at how his shoulders, swallows by waves of brown textile. 

“Y/n actually liked me first back then.” He points out gently.

You freeze. 

“Then I confessed in university.” 

The old woman does a sweet smile; hands patterned of life lie like a cover over her heart as she looks at both. 

For the longer you’re in someone’s presence; one starts to adjust to the traits. But even how many conversations went on and the sun above crossed her roof; your shoulders hardened. Like irreversible death does to your physical state, you seem unable to look to Juyeon’s side. By all stars in the universe; you’re suddenly transparent. Obvious, translucent piercing glass. 

You looked out the window at the old woman’s house; terrifyingly, the sky was pink. All the world disappeared at fatal speed when they bicycled back to campus. There must be a sort of brilliant snow, in a color out of our spectrum, that rains down on Earth in summer evening. It leaves the landscape quiet and calm. Cicadas sing when everyone else ceases to. 

None of you felt like going to the dorms just yet, instead; you now sit in the auditorium. Though either laugh echoes throughout the wide open space, there’s a dissolving acid in your lungs, begging to drink all air. 

All those characteristics of a person reveal to the open world after all these years. Because you can’t remember Juyeon being so persistent in apologizing. They came in on the “girlfriend” incident; he smiled embarrassingly, felt guilty for forcing you in on it. You told him it was okay. 

After echoing silence; it soars through the auditorium. Juyeon reaches down his backpack with all its scattered papers. There’s a velvety pulse keeping the space next to you occupied while he’s elsewhere. Once Juyeon comes out of the canvas material; your eyes widen in terror, contrasting the melodic decoration of red velvet and wood. 

Your conscious runs desperately from this room, but physical state is in the same seat. 

Juyeon holds out a blue letter with your handwriting on it. 

“I should’ve said it sooner, I’m sorry.” He says in that gentle tone he always speaks to you with. Maybe a soft arch at the end of the sentence. Nonetheless, you imaginary stabs the mind resting in your bone cradle. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You look at him once before turning to the empty seat and make an expression. One of deep second hand embarrassment that comes from the very narrow part of ‘me’ and sends like shivers. 

“I understand.” Juyeon follows your movements, “You were not supposed to see that letter, they shouldn’t have been leaked.” 

Worried you might have genuinely caused borderline trauma for the poor guy; you turn to him, “I’m really sorry.” 

“No.” The corners of his lips turn into leaves of a red apple. His eyes clouds the color round the pupil and his height convulses barely as he leans into the seat. 

Parts of us never veins, and in front of you, he’s the same boy who patted kittens and was deeply sad when they parted from their mother.  

“I’m honestly very touched by it.” He admits. 

He was back in his childhood home for the last week before semester. When folding the navy sheets of his old bed; his mother came up. A letter in her hand with turquoise color and bubble arch letters in pink ink. Already, it couldn’t be something written in ‘today’. 

And Juyeon is truthful towards you. He read it on the train back home. Always oblivious but grateful nonetheless. Used the window like a passage to the time where you sat beside him on the bedroom floor. 

“Really?” You say surprised. 

He nods, “I’ve never gotten a love letter before.” 

You would scoff and tell him he’s lying, but as his appreciative eyes blur with the blue envelope; you don’t. 

“You know, I think you should join the writer’s club here on campus.” Juyeon smiles at you suddenly. 

“What?” You lean away. 

“Really.” His eyes shapes of honest o’s, “Like–of course there’s some grammar mistakes and you spelt ‘desperatly’ wrong, but you got the feeling!” 

Still the same skeptical expression answers him back. 

“I’m really serious Y/n.”

Own hands in your lap trail towards each other like opposite poles, “I’ll think about it.” 

You watch how he timidly holds the edges and opens the envelope again. Lips shaped in pout like he wonders. 

“Does it bother you if I keep it?” He asks. 

Head shake, though still confused, “No, you can keep it.” 

“Thank you.” He smiles endearingly and tucks it back between the papers and folders. 

A revelation wasn’t as horrid as you thought. Hyunjae’s was deeply embarrassing, but there’s a brief space for contemptment in your heart where anxiety wandered before. Like a visual sight of the butterfly; you look up at the auditorium and ponder over the hidden connections.

You didn’t expect anything from Juyeon; that time has passed. But his now grown up presence seems to fulfill this daily life too. 

“Did others get letters?” Juyeon breaks silence. Like always, his expression paints past the physical boundaries, and one could make out white lines of curious cat ears. 

You figure he means the “they shouldn’t have been leaked”. 

You nod and he tilts his head. Visual intrigue and anticipation from his seat, but you close off in rose pigment like tired flowers. 

“I'd rather not tell you, it’s a bit embarrassing.” You laugh and Juyeon leans back, reassuring. 

This anticipating silence doesn’t cease. It exists as a continuation, a ‘more’ before the ‘end’. One person can’t seem to leave the edge undiscovered, rather, you wait for the red thread to tie its last loop. 

“You know Eric has been looking for you? He seems to miss you a lot.” Juyeon finally says. Tone serious than anything else that left his lips. 

A stone grows between your throat, not acid. There’s no dissolving, just constant aching as you try to move. 

Juyeon continues to talk as you’re silent, “I don’t know what it is, but he’s very understanding…”

He pauses, “...and you know, cause you know him better than I do.” 

04 . CHAPTER FOUR

( tuesday, morning )

“Where’s the psychiatrist?” 

“At the library.” 

“No, I can’t talk to Juyeon anymore.” He groans. 

To drift from the flat roofs outside the window; Eric looks at Sunwoo, further the beige walls. Sunwoo’s head is deep tucked beneath the bedding; Eric crawls over from his own bed to the end of Sunwoo’s. When the weight leans towards Sunwoo’s feet, he closes the pink envelope and lets the navy sheets hide it. The cover comes off Sunwoo’s head by Eric. His face like the moon causes an eclipse over the sun and Sunwoo stares unenchanted back at it. 

“Y/n still haven't answered my messages, it’s been like three weeks!” Eric forces the pillow down. 

“I wouldn’t answer you either.” Sunwoo pats bedding over his chest while Eric throws the pillow at his side. 

They just became friends at the end of the last semester and decided to room for this year. As one’s social circles opens up in double doors whenever Eric comes; your name was one of the first he heard. Sunwoo immediately leaned intrigued at the name, but figured it was just a mere coincidence. He was bound to grow from youth and twine old names with new faces. 

Either way, destiny doesn’t exist, and he won’t take a bait from the universe. Though, Sunwoo threaded over that principle the week before uni started. He worked at the old summer camp and a letter came during the closing week. 

“To Sunwoo”, nothing else. Curiosity took the best of him and he opened the letter to see “From Y/n'' at the end of a massive paragraph. 

The universe got him this time, he admits. In how many positions has he reread the letter and dreamt of the yellow filtered summer from when he was thirteen. In truth he reminiscenced about you those summer’s after. Once reaching adulthood, he realized there was no point in yearning, it’s been years. But this late season has turned into the car ride home from that camp, still with you in vision, so close but not here.

At this point ‘Y/n’ feels like a mere fragment of his imagination; therefore he wont tell. Keep your name from any seekers and contemplate. 

After laughter; Eric plummets to the bed and looks up at the ceiling, feeling Sunwoo’s legs at his elbow. 

“I just don’t understand why she can’t talk to me.” He murmurs. 

“Did anything happen?” 

Only Juyeon knows about the letter Eric received from his best friend. A confession he has longed for since he lived in his castle (big house), but never would be granted. 

Eric thought their connection was stronger than this. Why did you send it if you weren't seeking answers? Why now, this place at this time? 

He has traced every curve of your letters; stared at facebook and mail box. Even the refrigerator at night for answers. 

Though everything the roommates did this summer; Eric can’t tell him, not yet. It’s the luminous memories coming to his ruins. Sunwoo is his presence. 

Silent melancholia climbs above the horizon together with the bleeding sun at the football field. Lines of the goals, rigid and angular, separate the pink-orange growing fragments. Breeze from east colds your heated heart while waiting on the bleachers for Hyunjae. 

You were forced to wake up; not following the united routine of the dormitory when he needed help for a training pass at dawn. But he’s not in sight. 

Half asleep leaning on the backpack, center of your lap; waiting for something holy to run past. 

World’s colors fade into abstraction behind the pupil and a small figure crosses the field. You don’t notice how it leaves the red tracks, closer to the bleachers. Same breeze that touched you passes through its shirt and by mere coincidence. He turns his head opposite from the sunrise and sees you lone illuminated. 

Sunwoo recognises the person despite different clothing. There’s an unconscious underlying characteristic in posture. Sunwoo has been entranced by his own world, but he did think a lot of the pretty girl who fell drunk out of the entrance at Jeno’s party. 

Slowly his feet take him further from the white lines. 

“You’re okay?” His voice tears the plaster away from your vision. 

To look up from the bleacher, a ruler higher than the green grass, they make eye contact. It takes a pattern of blinking but at last you speak. 

“What?” 

“I saw you at the party last Friday, I just wonder if you’re okay?” He repeats. 

A sort of second hand deja vu like nausea, spreads from the visual, coming back. Forces the parallel expression to the feeling, down and instead scratches your head. 

“Oh.” Eyes widen, “Yeah, I’m okay now, thanks.” 

Solitude pushes down into the field with the next breeze. The two of them linger in the same place though the conversation seemed to have ended long ago. You who tie eyes on the far tower of the male dormitory, look back towards him. He stands with barely knit eyebrows, two meters away. It’s not an uncomfortable stare whatsoever, rather curious as the sun rising above the world. 

You smile, “You’re trying to place me…” 

Trying destiny runs through him but nonetheless he’s taken by the sudden realization. You see how the expression unravels and a single shooting star passes the brown coloration of his left eye. 

“You’re Y/n; Y/n from summer camp?” 

You don't react as quickly and are now left blaring into the past and present and the same time. 

“We went kayaking together, don’t you remember?” He points at himself, “I’m Sunwoo.” 

The star falls in east and transcends pink orange shine throughout the campus. For a second; you would have fallen from first row down the grass field with knees bruised of embarrassment, but just in time, you realized that the address written on the letter wasn’t his, just the camp. 

“Sunwoo?” Your posture folds higher to come into view with his own. Truly there’s exciting nostalgia within. 

“I didn’t know you went here.” You say slowly. 

“Me neither.” Sunwoo laughs. 

While in awe over the struck of fate; eyes momentarily drift to the right. Another shadow cuts through the horizon and appears closer while jogging across the field. All light still shines in your eyes while standing up. They come in equal footing and quietly watch each other. He looks over behind and sees Hyunjae. Sunwoo doesn’t quite feel like leaving yet; wished they were stored a moment longer. 

His arms just barely lifts off his sides to embrace you, but the sharp sequence of Hyunjae and you strikes him at the spinal cord. Not wanting to disrupt your relationship again. 

You’re left with wide eyes as Sunwoo runs off the direction he appeared from. 

“Bye Y/n, see you around!” 

It all just played as if at two times speed. One hand lifts to wave from your side of the world while the last strands disappear beyond the goals. 

By peripheral vision, Hyunjae traces Sunwoo. Once more, there’s a torturous sensation growing between marrow bone and heart. When you look his way he feels your eyes held down on him only. 

“You never take water with you, Ice God.” 

While still a meter across, you throw the water bottle to him and he captures it perfectly. Hyunjae looks up with eye-framed windows like staring at the sun. 

“You’re close with Sunwoo?” 

Your bag falls to the ground, “We went to summer camp together, I didn’t know he studied here.” 

Briefly nod while his bag too comes down the grass. You lucid leaning onto the bleachers again–until Hyunjae starts sprinting in one place. The end strands of his hair in parallel motions and his child-like smile shine between the pauses. 

“Let’s run.” He says. 

“I have a volleyball match later.” Back falls to the second and third row as you complain. 

He laughs and takes your wrist, “Running helps with stress.” 

White ribbons knitted along the green corners; they jog the red track field and do a few rounds. Each passage closest to the bleachers you see the shadows diagonally downgrade across the seats. 

Despite having their lungs barely reaching air; Hyunjae persists in conversation. It presses from Earth towards your upper body as you unconsciously choose words before steps. But Hyunjae too seems incredibly out of breath for someone that trains as much as he does. 

You won’t admit it just yet–if ever–that his company is actually enjoyable. 

He lingers across the sport’s center until the shift has ended, and talks to you in insignificant states. In one way; your long shadow at the end of your feet feels guilty. An idea of a self serving dude with too much attention. In truth; he laughs a lot. 

“When’s the game?” Hyunjae asks as their feet come out of synch. 

They stand still catching breath. 

“At three.” You sigh and start walking to the bleachers. 

“Then, I’ll skip this lesson.” Hyunjae stands next to you. 

He takes out the water bottle you gifted him. Presence from your side lingers on him as he drinks, and he raises his eyebrows at the long look. 

“You don’t have to come though.” The lines above eyes cross in a slight perplexed X. 

“You were at my game last time, I should come to.” Hyunjae smiles gently. 

( tuesday, afternoon )

“Need to go to the toilet; nervousness makes me pee.” 

‘21’ in bold font disappears behind the bended wall. You direct towards people in fitted shirts as patterns before the teal walls.

It’s not usual for you to be nervous before games; nor to be completely absorbed by else’s. Now you’re unconventionally a bit more dreamy. The halo in your eyes, up at the sky and shoulder’s slack as if moon-touched. Your teammates pointed it out too when you didn’t answer after ‘Y/n!’. 

Sunwoo reentered your life this morning. The boy that had caused such a heartbreak it was unbelievable. And despite your time changes, you found yourself counting the star constellations he told you that summer. 

This sort of unending chase starts again, that the letters dated to the old camp will find its way to him. Like a foolish child's secret. 

You also wonder why Hyunjae was so persistent on going to your match. One could thread through the interactions and guess he’s become comfortable in your life too. But there’s a brief self reflection. You neither rejected him to come or encouraged. Maybe you want someone up on the bleachers shouting your name, even if it’s not Eric. 

Wooden floor reflects the studio lights like water. Eyes wanders immediately from teammates up to the bleachers. Blue plastic seats on row, to the very windows where it barely collides with the roof. There’s a few silhouettes in groups up on the high rows. Everyone waving their hands to someone, not you. 

When you see number 21 stop before the white line and bring her arm high up to one standing; you suddenly regret not messaging Eric. Though, just as fast; he maybe wouldn’t even have showed up? 

One loud whistle comes from the left; your head directs off the green line tracing vertically. Sees teammates reach their hand out for you to the ring building at the side of the rectangular room. On the opposite, mirrors like theirs in green shirts, they gather.

Thin water like bubbles trace down the narrow row from your temples. All these bubbles that have accumulated beneath the shirt, down knees and threading your throat like a transparent necklace. 

Once the last whistle soars across ceiling; you return to the corner of teammates. Someone touches your arm while running for water; a teammate smiles sincerely but exhausted. 

When shoes are in line with the white painted diagonal; your name chants above all noise. From the floor, your eyes see Hyunjae coming down the blue seats. You aren’t able to reiterate his name before arms of his own wrap around shoulders. 

The invincible spot of cologne sits beneath his shoulder blade. Evoking gently as your chin, supported by the broad shoulder. You hesitantly hug him back and try to look at his face but only reaches his ear. 

Suddenly you feel a bit insecure. 

“I’m really sweaty, Hyunjae.” You laugh awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” His hands retrites without walking back. 

Lips curve to gentle his face and the eyes like porcelain. 

“, and it fits you.” 

A strand falls before your eyes; tucked in by his hands like a dove’s wing. 

Once the match heat flush red, another round of pigment paints your cheeks. There’s no hinder above your eyes left, but still you shake your head and cough; all while Hyunjae still smiles. 

“Thank you, Jaehyun.” 

His expression, more blinding than the long lights above. It’s impossible to not curl up before. You have a certain love for looking away when adoration blooms like spring season on him. Somehow you seemed to have missed when he came to the bleachers too. 

It’s quiet, but Hyunjae still feels like hearing your voice. 

He starts, “You did grea-”

“Y/n!” 

A voice so deeply teared apart and assembled within your mind, that it exists stored in the furthest corners. There’s a certain nerve created just to react to that tone fall, you believe. 

With eyes widened and fingers loosen from each other; you pierce towards the blue door. People still run past your double vision, but for a second the world stopped. 

Eric stands with hands in the blue frame. The universe must’ve heard that wish you prayed before, and in some way, full of relief and exhaustion, you’re happy it did. Eric is visually as hesitant as you, bearing fear and soft in heart pulses. 

“Sorry, Hyunjae, it’s something important.” You jog up to the double door determined. With one last glance to the bleachers, “See you later! …Thanks for coming!” 

Confinement exists excruciating; you hoped it was just the sunbleached walls with square hole windows that trapped them. But not even the open atmosphere, heaven to the infinite universe could save them from what’s been left unsaid. 

Eric asked while passing doors “I have messaged you for two weeks, why didn’t you answer?”. You could only look at him for a second before turning to the open field. His expression begs of confusion, but truly you think he knows why. 

It’s silent. Wind from east campus brushes between the grass. You become the only thing stagnant along the heavy constructions weighing down on Earth as Eric walks up the bleachers. Blue faded denim pockets console his hands as he holds sight on his converse before white plastic. 

“You didn’t even tell me you had a game today.” He refuses to make eye contact. 

Head falls low; everythings to remind you that guilt is the heaviest matter on Earth. 

Theoretically, it’s supposed to be useless feeling alone or unloved with a person like Eric. Sometimes you catch yourself staring in mirrors to search for another pair of eyes. But it’s hard to be miserable when Eric’s been a phone call away. 

It was lonely without you, but I pushed you away. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally say. 

It’s the only thing you get out as you walk up the bleachers. Together on the second row; they watch the green grass and its maroon building boxes. A mellow sun on the edge of disappearing while the land continues flat forever. A wind of different temperature while the concrete still radiates warmth. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you Eric.” You speak again. 

Their shoes in different font over the white row; you look at them before his side appears in the same position as you. They make eye contact in what feels timeless and it trips on your heart. 

“I was-” 

“It’s oka-” 

There’s silence as they stare at each other; anticipating the other. Though the ink period of the passage becomes laughter as their shoulders collide like the southern and north pole. It ends up being Eric who speaks. 

“You’re forgiven.” He smiles and Earth sighs of relief with you. 

The two poles of their angular edge bind them gently. North and south diasporas sit in silence, whispers of the flat city come from all directions and it smells like grass or nothing in particular. 

A closed connection where everything flows freely without hinder; you had nearly forgotten about that feeling. 

Courage drapes whatever embarrassment was left in you. To breathe in before honest confession. That you love him deeply still, though any romanticized visions are of the past. 

As you think of it; a part of the old self frees and runs with you back towards the grass field. 

“I actually like you too, Y/n.” 

It hitches in your throat. 

“You don’t have to answer yet.” His smile reeks of cotton candy, and the hand on her shoulder before he leaves radiates in puddles like theme parks. 

“I’ll wait for you, princess!” Eric shouts with his hand in his pockets before turning his back. The same nickname he’s called you since seven, never understanding why. 

The stark contour of the real world fades as he disappears towards the dormitory until he’s just a mere dot. 

It’s still warm, but summer has made one privileged. You feel like wearing a jacket as your old self now takes the empty space beside. 

05 . CHAPTER FIVE 

( thursday, afternoon )

Ji Changmin has never been great at sport, and that’s never with a big N. Last night the breaking news of a 2 day beach party got delivered by the infamous friend group, and of course, everyone would be playing the mandatory volleyball games. 

Changmin took his backpack and ran, hoping Eric would be too busy arguing with someone else to notice the empty chair. But at last, Changmin walked up the dormitory corridor with Eric hanging from his left calf like chained. Desperately begging that it wouldn’t be the same if everyone doesn’t come. 

One thing led to the other and every dorm heard a passing march of footsteps to the other end. Changmin was running after Eric whilst he screamed of absolute terror (traumatized from the year before when changmin chased him down the campus, drunk). In a last attempt of escape; Eric jumped Juyeon’s room and made a borderline olympic leep down the bedding before Juyeon processed the door had been opened. 

Like the unofficial therapist he is; Juyeon told Changmin he has a friend in the volleyball team that can teach him this afternoon so as to not embarrass himself completely. 

And that’s how you stand in the same hall; wide eyed and chills growing like rose stems it might strangle you. Though, you could’ve been more embarrassed as Changmin looks about the same. 

With an aggressive tilt to your shoulder while eyelids reach your eyebrows; a firm stare directed at Juyeon. Quietly it signals “what the fuck didn’t you tell me it was Changmin?!”. 

He doesn’t get it. 

“...and he’s really bad.” Juyeon ends while smiling. 

“I’m not that bad.” Changmin side eyes the taller one; also in search for some backup. 

“Yes, you are silly.” His eyes crease in turn with the ends of his lips. From the right side, his hands come up to ruffle the sprout of Changmin’s head. 

All three compiled the net up. You had no interest in bringing up the letter for either Changmin or Juyeon; therefore you rigid and pale served the first shot. 

But thankful for Juyeon’s excitement and obliviousness (surprising) to the reunion he just set up; the tension wore off Changmin’s shoulder and your pigments returned. 

All would rotate between the two sides of the net. You would purse lips to a thin line and turn the plastic of your shoes on the hard floor before running up to Changmin to show him how to serve. At first you stood a little less than a meter behind him; shoved gestures in the air to somehow manipulate his own body to do the same movements. But at last you went up to him, held his hand like gentle rain. 

There was not a bruise or patterns of shades on his palms. Either he’s absolutely addicted to hand cream or those text books of his must enchant his skin while turning pages. 

Changmin felt fragile like all ancient history when you showed him. He tried to be quiet, shyly only talking to Juyeon, but couldn’t help but let out shrieks every time he missed or won. It was just like board games at the dinner table when their parents whispered in the other room. 

You suddenly shout, “Move!” 

Juyeon’s on the opposite side of the two and forced the ball up to the roof with neck breaking power. 

You see how Changmin doesn’t; instead glued to the floor with knees rigid and his hands come up in chest length as if it will save him. You desperately swing your shoulder to the right, but all actions are in vain when their foreheads collide. Force acts up on them and leads them to the ground. Swear it was visible stars circling both heads. 

As the collision wears off and presence hits you as a second impact; terrified you watch Changmin between own two arms down the floor. Legs have his stomach tied to the flooring; 

where in all directions you are. And when they both blushes of embarrassment; Changmin’s hands come a little higher up his chest. 

“You’re supposed to chase the ball.” You stutter and hastily push up from him but miserably fails as the clothing material slips on the floor. 

“I’m sorry-” 

Changmin, just as terrified, apologizes while pushing himself off the floor. One way and two directions; they shut their eyes painfully as the point between their eyebrows hit each other again. One step further down his stomach.

“You didn’t even tell me we had started.” Changmin complains and holds his forehead, looking at Juyeon who climbs under the net. 

You slide off him; knees supporting any weight while at the end of his calves. Great silence from the tunnel system in the high ceiling expands over the yellow walls. It scratches in their throats that you cough. It was enough to crack the tension layered like a glass dome. 

“I don’t feel the same, Y/n.” Changmin sits up. 

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh because you know what he means without asking. Fingers left racing the floor.

“Old story; you were not supposed to get it, I’m sorry.” Guiltily purse lips in, “Also, sorry for falling on you.” 

Suddenly gentle, his legs come over in crisscross and he leans closer to your figure. 

“Yeah…it’s fine.” He confirms in same tone, “Though, I appreciate it. The letter.” 

He pauses. 

“...I had no idea.” Changmin admits.

You laugh, “Really? I was super obvious.” 

“You think so?” He skeptically smiles. 

To bring your arms to an imaginable table and articulate, “I literally held my arms over the textbooks to lean over to you..” 

“I just thought you were a bad listener.” Changmin smiles, bothered, like he always does.  

They both laugh. 

Another shine made by the sun outside draws with a ruler down the yellow wall. It has an angular cut in where it has a darker wooden frame just above the floor. Like the highlight is a window to the midsummers of one’s childhood; you dare to hold eyes open and watch. 

They used to sit at the dining table where the pattern cloth folds at your knees. Because you were way too shy to invite him behind your room door. Sometimes, laughs loud enough for them to hear came from the living room where both their mom’s sat. Mostly they whispered; never understood why. 

When they were younger, he was mostly intimidating. So much taller and just his glasses felt like a sign of great intelligence. But truly his personality held some sort of shine you believed was a leftover from some ancient spell along the yellow fields. 

With their families having dinner sometimes; the two of them used to play board or card games late into the afternoon when the adults still sat along the dinner table. You didn’t want to invite your brother when you finally had time to talk to Changmin without it being about math, but he was way too nice to leave him out. 

“Is your cat good?” Changmin asks suddenly, “Or is he dead?” He knits his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, he’s dead.” Smiles and thinks of how Scuba Steve, in his orange white complexion used to jump into Changmin’s lap while he was tutoring. And when he talked to him so sweetly and petted him along the long fur; her teenage self used to dream about their future (delusion). 

“It feels like he liked everyone more than me.” You admit while leaning into your palm. 

“I’m sure he liked you too.” He laughs. 

“Are you going to the beach party?” Changmin suddenly asks, “You’re close with Eric, right?” He knits his eyebrows, “Aren’t you together with Jaehyun too?” 

“No, no, no, I’m not with Jaehyun.” You fall back to the floor and hands melt down your face. 

“Don’t tell him I said that though.” You add, “But no, I’m not going.” 

“Why not?” 

Visions from the past weeks pass like a bad trailer and you close your eyes. Sunwoo and Eric run across the field in a sort of evangelical light and Hyunjae in the far corner.

You sort of lie, “It’s complicated. I don’t want to meet Eric.” 

Changmin stands up, “I’m only going if you do.” 

“Don’t do this.” You complain. 

“No, whatever’s going on, we’re fixing it now.” He takes your shoulder and forces you up. You whine again and try to make the weight fall back to Earth. 

“I’m fighting volleyball and you’re fighting Eric, great!” He cheers.

There was a lot more than Eric you had to fight this weekend. 

The ball goes flying in their direction again. It lands on Changmin’s head and forces his glasses to the floor. They both look to the right and see Juyeon stand awkwardly upright, hands hanging like leaves as he longs for the ball. 

“I missed.” He deadpan. 

You take the ball and look at Changmin. He smiles knowingly before you both rush at Juyeon. 

( friday, morning )

“Do you want some?” 

Your head turns to the right where the sun shines through the glass brighter. It ceases through the back of his loose strands like the tree crowns from summer camp. 

When you came down to the bus station, Changmin waved at you from a stack of backpacks piled like a mountain. Juyeon stood slightly behind and followed the shoerter’s movements. You asked them if they plan on moving with that; Changmin answered it was Juyeon’s and Eric’s bags. He had–while straightening his posture–just taken the necessary. 

When all had arrived, you got a third row seat at the back beside Sunwoo. You had met again on campus. It turned out between all those words that both were going to the party this weekend. You mentioned how you’re mainly here as Changmin’s emotional support.

Sunwoo– a little horrified– told you he’ll have eyes in the back of his neck for this trip. Hyunjae, Eric or anyone else for that matter could come up from behind and throw hsi poor body in the water. With both in desperate situations, they jokingly built a pact to have each other’s back on this trip. 

So when you sit beside Sunwoo, and look down the space created against the armrest where he reaches out a pink package. He shakes it and you smile before taking a hand off the backpack. 

“You stole my pocky?” 

Tearing away from that space; they look behind the red seat to see Eric leaned over the two. He pierces down at Sunwoo with a dumbfounded O of his lips and starts pointing at the roots of Sunwoo’s hair which he ducks away from. 

“I didn’t steal it.” He defends. 

“It’s mine, I bought it this morning.” Eric looks at you, begging for sympathy, “Now I have no snacks.” 

“You said you weren’t going to eat them.” Sunwoo hides them. 

“They’re mine!” Eric hangs down the seat. Immediately you take the edge of his sleeve as if he’ll fall on you. 

“You’re gonna eat them now?” Sunwoo taunts, “Take the jelly grapes.” He throws out a plastic package from his bag while still chewing. 

“Let’s split it.” Eric deadpans while holding out his palm. 

“I’ll buy you one later.” Sunwoo repeat. 

Eric laughs from above, “You literally just asked Y/n!” He points. 

Sunwoo gets quiet for a second; looks up et Eric, before back at Y/n. 

“Can’t you just eat the grapes?” He shakes the package up in Eric’s face. 

Feet fall back to the floor, the row behind them and Eric, still dumbfounded, points at Sunwoo while stunned searches for assent in you. 

“He’s shameless.” Eric sits down. 

Where the dense complexes only ends when shore starts, the bus ride isn’t long. Despite constant traffic, conversations over the unconscious roaring of the bus engine; you resisted the falling weight of eyelids but at last, gave in. The last minutes when blue hues start to form between the windows and houses lined up against the sand. Head falls onto Sunwoo’s shoulder. 

Changes surprises him, but just as immediately he gently falls back into his seat and your head comes between his neck like the last piece of a 100 puzzle. How could he describe the violent but gentle flutter that grows from a part in his chest and blooms into all directions. And when each stem leaves its youth and creates rosen petals at his fingertips; the playlist in his headphones changes song. 

A melody of 80s slow paced rhythm and a voice soft like silk; lies over the muted woven chorals and yellow of the beach houses. Tiny flowers in perfect composition, like a trail across each street and when he sees the roof of the largest beach houses, just below the shore; Sunwoo wishes the bus would take one more round. 

He dares to look down.  He has seen this image before. All those movie nights in the dining room at summer camp evening. When he rushed to take the seat beside you before anyone else. And towards the end of the long hour you couldn’t keep your eyes open and leaned just like now, on his shoulder. It’s been so long but it doesn’t feel like a season has passed since that summer when he sees your hand lightly touching his own. 

“You need sunscreen, Jaehyun!” You wave the blue plastic tube while slipping down the sand. Hyunjae looks over his shoulder, smirking questionably to her while you come closer. 

“You’ll get skin cancer.” You squint when the blue sky shines behind him. 

“You do it then.” He smiles. 

Holding hands above your eyes, hoping it’ll cease all rosen blushes, “I’m not your mom.” 

“Please, Y/n.” He shakes your forearms, pouting. At first your own hands come up to his chest to force him off, but retrites like touching a hot stove as he’s shirtless. 

“Okay, okay.”

Overarching sand, up to the wooden porch, frees from the rest when they walk up. Hyunjae quickly takes the lead when he jumps up on fixed ground and takes a seat on the edge of the porch. How he wiggle his legs like an excited child while smiling so brightly; you didn’t know he could. You fall to knees behind him and awkwardly look over his hair. 

“Can’t you just do it yourself?” Sun highlights his skin from above. The sharp points of his shoulders, down to his arms, seem soothing against the sharp sand. That specific smell of sunscreen, so deeply ingrained into summer, trace along the porch. Your palm hesitantly moves back and forth between the flexed spot of his shoulder. 

“Just do it, Angel.” Hyunjae looks back at you encouragingly, but you quickly lie the cold sunscreen on his skin to divert him. In the clear summer sun spotlight, your cheeks luminates of struck pink. 

“Ah, it’s cold.” Hyunjae’s shoulder rises up and you continue soothing it in one hand. 

“Don’t complain.” You try to sound normal. 

They got along more than you originally thought. Hesitant to calling people friends, but you guess that's what they are. Though, friends shouldn’t blush of nervousness from innocent touch, right? Especially when Hyunjae leans back further into your hand, and you wonder if it’s wrong. 

At the same time; Eric peeks from the doors to the beach house. He tries to convince himself he’s longingly looking at the open shore, but it’s merely a background to Hyunjae and you.

It’s not that you’re lying, he thinks. You looked more than authentic that day, he asked if they were together and you denied. It’s not a competition, but still he feels a burn coming from another direction than the sun when your hands go to his neck and Hyunjae laughs from tickling. 

“Y/n!” 

You turn from Hyunjae and see Eric coming closer. All that in one motion, you forgot about the painfully obvious red of your face. It isn’t until Eric’s eyes widens and he falls in height to take your left cheek. 

“You’ve burned yourself, Y/n.” Eric traces with his thumb the rose colors of your essence and  to feel it coming off your skin, embarrassingly paint your soul. At this point,  nervousness would leak out from your skin, but by Eric’s and Hyunjae’s wide eyes and open mouths; they’re completely oblivious to their work. 

“N-” Stuttering out the beginning of a no; you stop suddenly as there’s no good excuse for the color. 

“Let me help you.” Hyunjae reaches for the tube down the wood and you immediately try back from Eric’s gentle palms. 

“No, no, no, it’s just heat.” 

“Water.” Eric wants to get you on foot, take you to the kitchen. 

“You need a cold bath.” Hyunjae says quickly after and without looking at Eric takes you in bridal style. Hand lets go of Eric’s and he’s left standing as you in panic tries to convince Hyunjae to turn away from shore. Hyunjae laughs while shouting that you’ll overheat.

It’s a dark seemingly normal, but guilty jealousy Eric watches the older one throw his best friend down the water. You’re quick on your feet again, and start chasing Hyunjae further down. Laughs come from that side while Eric tears his eyes off the new waves; clench his fist because frustration might visibly leak out his skin, and turn back to the house to take his mind off. 

It was only a limited amount of sups, you shared one with Changmin. They had agreed to alt the paddle in interval, but it was you who ended up dragging them both along the surface while Chnagmin sat behind, criticizing the solo sups. 

His victim was mainly Juyeon who traversed the first ocean layer for a good minute playing God until he lost balance. The entire group laughed while he tried to climb up. At the same time Sunwoo laughed so hard he was second to fall in. 

Changmin did well, all things considered, when it was beach volleyball. Juyeon and you cheered on him. That brought him enough confidence to stand at the front. Which wasn’t his greatest moment as he fell head first into the net. 

Sun’s, fleetly asleep above the horizon. All those hours of shine still left like a memory in the sand while four of them still play, the rest swimming, taken a seat with the group who grills or in the house. Laughter with the waves collide, creating a divide of foam. Breeze ensues their hearts. 

It smells of garlic smoked marinade from behind once the ball comes over again. Though at first refusing to go, you’re still thankful for Changmin who desperately forced a game over either way. 

Soon there’s food and you sit on the porch once again. Sunset like a filter over the shore and its houses, maybe the heart too. 

“I have some for you.” 

You look up at who you thought was Eric, with a brightly printed paper plate, gathered of the same choices since childhood. But you blink once, realize it’s Sunwoo. He takes the space beside where only vague music accompanied earlier. 

“Oh, thank you, Sunwoo.” You smile and take the second plate. 

“No worries.” He bends down to eat a bite of his own food. 

A scenery in fleeting composition, scattered of dust passes through the peripheral. 

“I remember you used to take food to me back then too.” Unconscious of the tender light you hold while tracing the oil leaking across plastic shine. 

“Yeah,” He looks at his chicken, “Cause you were always busy sorting stones.” 

You scoff, “Why? You’re judging my hobbies?” 

“No,” He answer truthfully, “It was cute.” 

“My stones?” You tilt. 

“You.” 

Sunwoo’s voice is monotone like it wasn’t supposed to blemish your heart like the orange and dark blue sky divide. The bones across your shoulders and hover over chest convulse in like wings of the delighting butterflies. 

Sunwoo looks up from the food, “I don’t really remember how your stones looked.” 

You smile and take a bite, “I guess that’s why I married you back then.” 

Still confined between your own frame to prevent any sheer wings of escape; you miss how his ears perked up together with his horrible posture. Him in his sharp complexion becomes adorably curious. 

“You remember that?” He says surprised. 

“Of course.” She says as if it’s obvious. Sunwoo looks down at the sand as if to see the smitten reflection of his face in them. 

“I actually didn’t think you’d remember.” He says quietly. 

Another song on the playlist comes on and a group of people rush beside them. Jumping off the porch; their silhouettes darken in pink contrast as water evaporates on their burnt arms. 

Sunwoo dares to look to your side; still eating and it further reminds him of times in circles when they sat next to each other. Something absurd with seeing you again like this. For some nameless reason you have lived all these years as a little girl in his memories, constantly visiting when summer’s approaching. Now you're here, finally at the same age. 

He knows he shouldn’t advance, shouldn’t take a step closer on the porch. Since behind him just some meters further, Hyunjae sits. How adoringly he thinks of Hyunjae because he has you unconditionally by one side. 

“I remember you told me about the stars.” You suddenly say. 

Sunwoo looks at you then the skies, vaguely guilty that there's nothing's left to see yet.

He smiles,  “Damn, I can’t see them, otherwise I would’ve told you about them again.”

You hold head tilted at his side while his eyes still squint for a light away to hit them, “You can show me later.” 

 You don't know what has crawled into you lately, but it’s dependent and has zero abstinence. 

As if the hangover from last week wasn’t enough to convince you; you’re drunk once again (this time in the kitchen). Juyeon worriedly came over, asking if you’re always this bad with alcohol. In turn you took his shoulders dramatically and said no, shaking him. 

And you weren't the only one. In the same vein, at another window by the house; Eric found Sunwoo staring dead into the reflection. When asked what he was doing, Sunwoo simply replied he’s staring at bird shit and laughing like it was the funniest thing. 

Most people are still outside. Fairy lights might look like fireflies in this state as it cradles lightly from night weather. As people cross the sand it changes patterns. It lays a plastic cup further away which Eric runs to pick up. You don't know what song is playing when the high frame expands as walls in all directions, but you think it’s good. 

“Can you dance?” You look at Sunwoo. He turns confusingly with bad posture from the bird shit. An awkward beat drop passage muffled by the walls takes the silence. 

Suddenly you jump up to him in another rhythm than the beat. Smiles wholeheartedly while waving arms.

“I can’t.” You answer your own questions and do a spin. 

Sunwoo’s hangs down its sides like towels over the branches. You reflect in highlights by his porcelain eyes. He must look extremely out of it as the pupils can’t concentrate on the shifting lights and his amused smile. But you couldn’t tell. 

You force his tired arms up in an awkward rocking-back-and-forth swing. He laughs that his teeth show when you start complaining how he’s stiffer than the expensive couch behind them. 

“Let’s tango.” You take his arms and they start circling around the room with either hand on their shoulders and next in each other’s clasp, straight forward. Sunwoo’s laugh overpowers the music as they nearly collide with the couch. Through the window frame they must look like a middle school couple. 

And as if galactic alignment was truly divine; the next song on the playlist slows to a vintage soundtrack as if from an old romcom. They’re still laughing when the circles haste and all weight stills on the carpet lining. 

They’re so drunk, Sunwoo can’t hold himself when your face comes so close. 

“You know…” He starts. 

“No.” You deadpan.

“Don’t speak.” Sunwoo complains and you fall one step backwards from laughing. 

“You know, we’ve reached our 11th marriage anniversary.” He smiles drunkenly, “I think I deserve a kiss for surviving our long distance.” 

“You haven’t even shown me the stars yet.” You whine and curl his hand in a weird way. 

“I know, I know.” He screws his eyes, it looks like it hurts.

“Just give me a kiss and we’ll go outside.” He purses his lips out. 

“Can you even name the constellations still?” You knit your eyes. 

“Of course, there’s Little bear.” Sunwoo points at your nose. You contract your head and watch his finger tip with big eyes. 

“I’m actually a Capricorn.” 

Sunwoo’s lips curve harder as his head falls between the space created from their chests. You watch the root pattern of his hair before he comes up again. 

“You’re really cute.” He smiles. 

You can’t help clasp his hands and twine fingers even harder, “Really?” 

He nods that his fringe follows. 

“Am I cute too?” Sunwoo asks, leaning in.

You think, rolling your eyes slowly, “No.” 

He pouts with big eyes. 

“Again,” He flicks your nose lightly. 

“Me or the flowers?” Sunwoo points at a vase beside the couch. You turn over your shoulder to see the arrangement of pink blemishes with white roots. 

You pretend to think, “Hmm.” 

There’s a anticipation like a butterfly on the last leaf, flickering its sheer patterned wings before taking off. Just like that, it pulses of thousand wings in both your hearts. All as Sunwoo lean in closer. Fingers laced through the other like silk and he pulls you closer by them. When the heat accumulated in the chests collide, with your lips merely touching his own. The tension weighs heavy, it might impend on the room. 

The door from the kitchen beside them forces open. 

Both Sunwoo and you loosen the lace and throw yourself onto the couch. A painful thud erupts from the back rest when Sunwoo crashes nape first. Your condition is in dangerous state, therefore you land about 10 centimeters too short and glide off the couch to the floor. 

When the outer door closes and Eric passes by the frame, he sees Sunwoo decked out; arms hanging lifelessly and his mouth opened, supported by the backrest. 

The cup in his hand nearly topples over when he rushes to stand it on any flat surface. It pulses through the floor when Eric comes down to you. A cold hand from all the ice soothes your forehead and you look up to see Eric’s fringe like a sheer curtain before his eyes. 

“You’re okay?” He asks worriedly, “How much have you drunk?” 

Eric takes your arm and scolds you gently. As you stand up you incoherently try to defend yourself, but quit abruptly as Sunwoo comes into the story. 

Eric guided you up to the bedroom’s at second floor, leaving Sunwoo to die. 

“Eric?” You lie down. 

“Mm?” He flatten out the sheet above you. 

“I forgot.” 

Eric snorts, “Really?” 

“Mm.” You insist. 

Two essence divided between the mattress line in the mit; still staring at the same ceiling. Eric never leaves your side; instead insists on talking about nothing and everything while time wraps in a 4th dimension of one's mind until you can’t rhetorically answer “Mm?”. 

Eric finally ceases to babble when shifting his head to your side. The pillows bud like a flower on his cheek when his body completely draws to your field. He knows you will probably feel like shit tomorrow morning, but for now you lie neatly above the creases like white flower of a heaven’s cross field. 

The incredible magnetic field of your essence seems to draw in more admirers than just himself, Eric understands. He barely convinces himself that the letter is an eventual sign of their destined love, but just barely. 

I can’t know who you dream about as you sleep soundly right now, he thinks while admiring. A face or two flashes before him and Eric sits up. Quietly look at the framed picture on the wall before back down at you. 

For now, he’s in denial. 

Eric takes one hand off your side to lay on your stomach. His bare fingertips dare to soothe out nothing’s on the cheek just to feel your warmth. He hesitates for a second, but before fully walking off the bed and closing the door; he bends down to kiss your cheek, just gently. 

06 . CHAPTER SIX 

( monday, midday )

The day has finally come–or not come as in an anticipated date set in stone from the past–rather Hyunjae woke up and felt courage. The last weeks they’ve seen each other nearly every afternoon, and for each time he imagines himself having persuaded you a little closer. And the last beach party seems to have been the silver lining for his confidence to finally confess how he feels. 

This afternoon they will meet on the track field for some regular training, but what you don't know is that he will be asking you to be his girlfriend, seriously this time. 

Though, between the lecture times, staring at strangers from the row tables; he consciously realized he doesn’t quite know what you like. Or of course, he knows you like astrology, biology, cat’s, exercising but just enough that you can walk guilt free home to the bed. That you always walk around with a first aid kit, and like a mother bandage burnt skin or wrecked ankles. 

But none of that is of use when your heart is supposed to flutter at his mere sight this afternoon. 

So at a table in the cafeteria; Hyunjae takes the opposite chair of a round table where Eric sits alone. Enticed in his own world; he jumps when the chair creaks of his weight. 

Hyunjae figured it was just to ask Eric, your best friend for advice. The older may stand a ruler inferior in emotion to Eric than Juyeon, but nonetheless they have spent many house parties together, jumping off the high roof or throwing pillows at the third. 

Eric always looks at him with a smile, nearly identical to his own. But right now, the red blisters' contours wave lower than what it usually does. His eyes adverts between the sad glass divide over the sandwiches and Hyunjae. But the older forces it in an identical manner to the left. 

Eric nonchalantly told him he doesn’t know what you would romantically like from him. Hyunjae complained saying he should know since they’re best friends, but Eric reiterates his line, “Yeah, just friends.” 

Hyunjae doesn’t cease from the chair, neither his voice. Eric looks at the sandwiches again and guilty bruises his fingers underneath the table. In Eric’s eyes; Hyunjae could win over anyone by just slowly articulate every crook of their name. 

It’s not to admit that he’s threatened, Eric thinks. To rationalize the frustration he theorize Hyunjae hasn’t taken enough of a time to get to know you. 

Eric’s never been evil. His moral compass holds him on the sane lane; even when emotions begs to pull the other way. But right now, while in silence, the magnetic field of the Earth pulls on the arrows. 

“Okay.” Eric puts down the drink. Hyunjae leans in attentively. 

“She wants a big, HUUGE confession. You know, those in rom coms where the guy comes out with a huge boombox and gives her flowers and has a big sign.” Eric takes his arms up in the, above his chest in height with his hair. To visually stun him he waves his hands down like confetti and shakes a hypothetical boombox. All while Hyunjae’s expression all visually gets more nervous.

“Okay.” He walks up without looking at Eric. Head deep down the floor as if thinking. 

( monday, afternoon )

The white streaks wrapped as a present lining across the field is the same as every time he walks past. But even when the scenery is familiar to his conscious, the heart anxiously breathes in quick patterns. It causes invincible scratches at the inner side of his hands while his eyes can’t hold a scene for longer than a second. There’s a couple walking past the fields down the west campus; Hyunjae’s head follows them until their backs are a mere blemish along the sidewalk. 

With his hand tightly knitted behind his back he looks at the grass growing up from under his shoes. Suddenly he looks up again. 

Like the world just ended; the sun’s growing, tearing all the accessible and it rounds the golden halo. You’re just left in trance watching how it all beautifully collapses. That’s what your presence does to his troubled heart when your upper body comes up the staircase. 

You wave with your free hand as you see him at the center of the rectangular land. Hyunjae doesn’t mirror it, instead refuses to change any position. You tilt your head in wonder for a moment, but nonetheless carry on towards his figure, until there’s just a meter across. 

“Hi, Jaehyun.” You say gently. 

“Hi, Y/n.” He shifts his head so that a part of hsi fringe falls forward. 

You turn to see his side profile, as if he’s sick. With concerned woven shape of your face, you ask, “Are you okay?” 

An awkward tenderness in his fronting psyche. To touch his shoulder might cause it to splinter in its frozen preserved state. Hyunjae clasps his hands that’s still behind; gaze your face as if though you were the first he’s ever seen. 

Silence insists to frustratingly exist after your question. 

When a scene of the entire world, flipped in your eye; he breathes in and falls with one to the grass. His hand trails as if cold to the pocket and takes out his phone, turning the speaker outlet in your higher direction. 

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world, Y/n?” 

A bouquet in pastel silk tightly concealed in a ribbon of a darker shade. 

“Hold on.” Hyunjae drops the mobile to the ground; the music practically disappears as it swallows by the grass. 

All eyes on the thin space of his front pocket as he struggles to let loose the bits of red paper. At last some gather in his palm and he throws it up in the air as enthusiastically one can without a canon. The flowers now fully extended as the last bits of craft paper adorn his head. 

A sore spot on his left knee aches under this weight. The teeth of his smile, slowly together as he bear witness to your expression, blinking cause your lips are opened but stunned. Though he can’t read good or horrible. As he starts tilting from instability he clenches the flowers tightly. 

“I didn’t find a boombox, and the party store was closed.” Hyunjae looks behind you instead of up. Embarrassingly wonder if you would have wanted a grand confession in the college cafeteria. He won’t say it, but in all honesty he didn’t have the guts for that. 

It feels like you’ve seen this scene before; in some movie lost to time, you’re sure it has crossed you once. The sad petals taken by the wind, fallen on his shoulders or thread beneath your feet. But still might be the most soft of all thousand interactions of your life. 

Hyunjae seems embarrassed, you can’t fully tell; he looks at you from passages but sways towards the right at the end. How the past and present crashes at once to see him fully and clearly without cover. He’s such a vision that this should flutter all the lonely parts in the arch marrow body, but nothing goes off. 

It’s like standing on the fourth of may, but no fireworks light up. 

You finally smile gently, still eyes on Hyunjae. His expression waits for even a whisper, but instead a hand crosses between the fragile space. Yours takes his wrists, behind where the fingers cross the stems. Gently tugging him up from the grass as the last bits of paper rock down his shoulders. 

“It’s really lovely, Jaehyun.” You smile and he’s finally up. 

The space opens again. 

“But I can’t.” You look at him as both lips synchronize withers. 

“I’m sorry.” 

A heavy wind brushes past; lies a weight on your hearts. Hyunjae, who has never once been the one pushed away, hears lone footsteps echo in the boned structure. It’s a bit embarrassing, it’s a bit sad; he feels like he maybe shouldn’t have said anything. 

You see in full vision how his mind travels elsewhere. Still with flowers and the barely audible mobile that now has changed track to a mellow love song of 80s nostalgia. How depressing everything suddenly became. 

“I still like you, Jaehyun,” You break the silence, “You were honestly a lot nicer than I originally thought.” 

He looks up. 

You smile weakly, “When I saw you on campus I thought you flirted with every woman and acted all big.” You gesture with your shoulders and Hyunjae laughs slightly. 

“But you’re actually very kind.” 

He reaches out the flowers once again. You look up at him with eyes, x-ed expression. 

“It’s still your flowers, I want you to have them.” He says gently. 

You hesitate but he shakes them in front of you. Once loosen on the tensioned shoulders; you take one hand out for the stems and look at them closely. Deeply pink with faded inner circles. 

( wednesday, afternoon ) 

That table at the cafeteria where they always meet has been occupied two days in a row. You come by between classes and yearn through the window, but at last; there’s always a shirt in a color Eric wouldn’t wear sitting in his place. 

At the changing distance through the evening, at the lone table beside your bed; all those papers in painful yellow highlight, tire sore eyes and vision yearns for the computer at the other side. Watch the letter box they communicate through everyday, but is now quiet. 

You’ve messaged Sunwoo through facebook; asked him why Eric ceased from Earth. He answered through digital letters that he’s busy, but truthfully Sunwoo knows better than anyone Eric scatters to avoid you. Eric won’t fully admit why; the closest to a confession Sunwoo got was a bleak understanding of inner guilt over something. 

“You’re sad.” 

You turn to the left where Juyeon sits with curious eyes before the library shelves. Side by side at the communal computers; he has watched you stare at the search page for four minutes without intervention. 

“Do you want to go and see the cats?” He asks gently. 

You sink down on the table. Hands curl up at the keyboard while the wooden surface catches your chin. 

“No, but thank you, Juyeon.” You say tired. 

“Is it Eric?” He asks, leaning down. 

You nod. 

“I don’t want to hurt him, I’m afraid we won’t be friends anymore.” You pause, “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” 

“You should tell him that.” Changmin peaks from behind the computer, opposite you and Juyeon. 

“Honesty is always valued.” 

“You know, whatever it is..” Juyeon speaks from the right side, “at least having it said will lift the weight off. You have an assignment next week, right?” Juyeon points at the screen. 

“Eric would make fun of you for worrying about boys instead of studying.” 

You smile weakly. 

07 . FINAL CHAPTER 

( saturday, evening ) 

Edges of sharp stone scratches against your old bicycle. Those few streetlights with meters in between emits across the gravel. On the path from your old house, it was quiet like it always is in family neighbourhoods. But as you come closer to Eric’s old house; ruptures in form of music and laughter leak out the open windows. 

You had to stay longer in the library working. Time passed like it never does when one’s bored, and suddenly you had missed the first train and waited for the other. It isn’t too far out your old neighbourhood, just a few stations that with each passing minute gets dimmer and dimmer because of lack of lining lamps. 

Running the last passage to your front door to take the bike, and now you’re standing at his post. The same sign that hangs on the door, rusted of all year’s weather, intimidates you serenely. 

At last, with one foot you force down the supporting metal where all other bikes stand. Close eyes on the handle while the laughter is still muted. 

It has never felt so hard knocking on his door. 

The blurred window at the roof of the door; you stare at it when finally knocking. Anticipation hugs your knees painfully as you take a step back. Look at all places except the white door. Drag your hands along the clothing fabrics as if it’ll obscure you. 

Speakers frees from the door while you feel like running towards the woods. 

“Welcome in!” 

You don't recognize the man holding this door you’ve walked through since five. His expression contrasts your neutral one. There’s a red cup in his hand, he asks if you want some; you thank him, but reject. 

As you come in line with each other through the hallway with mountains of shoes, you look at his back, insecure, before speaking. 

“Do you know where Eric is?” 

He turns, “Hmm..” Scratching his nape and leaning toward the opening frames of all the different rooms. 

“I think he’s in the living room?” The guy points further into the apartment, you thank him. 

Despite all open windows and meters of space; the air is horribly suffocating. People sit two and two, talk in five’s, and a path like pattern goes through the crowd. You let it take you, hoping it somehow brings you to Eric. 

Your feet, that still have shoes on, cease to motion diagonally towards a large couch group. Between all those mere strange faces you’ve may seen once; a face so deeply dissected and remade sits in between. He’s at the center like the sun itself, and people gravitate towards him. 

Somehow you would go back to your corner, sink down quietly. But you’ve been running for too long. Hand behind your back, wrists rope tied while your conscious threats to slaughter from behind, push you forward. 

“Eric?” You say above the laughter, and his couch group turns towards you. 

You swallow when his expression changes to something calmly unreadable, “I need to talk to you.” 

A filter falls like a sheer cover of snow when he closes the door. They’re alone behind the house, blue illumination like an upside down universe highlights you from below. Neither Eric or you had said something, but it wasn’t noticeable until the world ran out of sound too. 

Eric’s silhouette leaves your side and sits by the edge of the pool. With his barefoots into the galactic mirror, his face shades and colors like the moon. You too walk to the edge, sit by his side and see his legs make waves throughout the water. 

He’s unfamiliarly quiet; similar to when you know something someone else doesn’t. 

“I think I like someone, Eric.” You say gently without wasting. 

He looks at you, soft and tender, “You do?” He smiles. 

You smile too and nod. 

His feet make water soar before becoming whole again. Your fingers tear at the concrete lining the pool. 

“...and I’m not sure he likes me back…therefore it can’t be you.” 

Heavy silence like the Universe itself weighs over them. World’s full of life, yet there’s an empty echo in the marrow arch of your cathedral body. 

Eric gazes at the transparent surface of the water, smiling weakly because it’s the only thing right to do.

“Though, I still love you, Eric.” You lean towards his shoulder. Tear his side profile like you beg it is not the last time you see it. 

“So much as you can possibly love someone, and a little more.” 

He looks up, fringe falling, “It’s okay, I know.” 

Voice fragile, so heartbreaking against the smile that could light up the entirety of the solar system. He’s like the pool beneath, a galactic universe tightly compacted into a pond. 

His mere existence makes your eyes glisten and words frail, “I’m sorry.” You whisper.

He smiles and takes your wrist, “Why are you saying sorry, princess.” 

They both sit there for a moment. The constellations pass a centimeter above the bended celestial before you walk up. Half disappear behind the wall while Eric is left at the pool edge. You can’t bring yourself to leave; having one eye on his back as if it'll fall when you go. 

Eric looks back to your wall suddenly, like he knows. 

“I’m sorry.” You say it again, nails exhaustingly tearing at the house. 

Eric shakes his head, waving you off gently before speaking quietly, “Go get your prince.” 

Stones shatter beneath the weight of two tires. All houses are drowned in nightshade glistens of warm lighted windows like the stars above, that is childhood. 

Grass divided into squares lined with fences; streamline, down the gravel path until it opens up in a wide circle. You know this place because here’s where everyone always met. 

All those gravel paths, identical to the one you just left maze down to a grass circle. The very heart of all these houses, a meter lower than the rest. You pass the path contouring it and all these strokes of green nature hinders you down. You stop with one foot off the pedal and lean your weight while standing up. 

Where all distance creates a perfect cross; a boy much familiar to you lies. His own bicycle stranded a meter or two from his still body. Laying on his back with his head tilted on its forearms. Sunwoo’s completely still like midnight around him. It calms you just how water drains from head down after sunshine, but heart tears at its veins. 

You found him. 

To let go of the bicycle; forcing down the metal to leave it standing. Eventually you walk towards him, slowly as if you’ll scare him away. 

About three meters from his feet; Sunwoo suddenly looks away from the star fields and up to you. 

“Oh, hi Y/n.” He says like he always does. 

You cease to stop, “Hi, Sunwoo.” 

He can’t quite place why you’re here. You seem to come up in unexpected moments; take him by heart like a sudden season though he’s been admiring the trees for an eternity. It begins with your hair; how it seemingly floods down on your shoulders. Just like the jewel reflection like glitter under your eyes . 

“You’re crying?”

You’re taken back by his question; taking a hand to the cold skin beneath your vision. Liquid dried tight to your complexion.  

“It’s a long story,” You stutter; head turns to the ground before your expression becomes decrepit, but poetical. 

“I’ll tell you later.” 

After silence, you sigh; lending a bit of your worry to Earth. All the heavy mountains, all heavy oceans.

You start, “I have something to tell you.” 

Grass stands in between his fingers when they lie flat against the ground. Sunwoo forces himself up while observing your expression. You neither walk closer or further; chin falling in patterns as pupils pierce onto the sight behind him or the grass beneath his feet. Only in mere passages eye contact lasts. 

You open your mouth to speak, but realize you have a bad habit of coating everything in a thin layer of sugar as if feeding your words to a child. But there’s a certain bitter aftertaste in being honest. 

“I love you, Sunwoo.” The words free from a deep part within. Tears off the inner skin and momentarily aches the body cathedral. He doesn’t say anything. Sitting in place, whether it’s of shock or horror, one can’t tell. To expand the details of his expression, but there’s always two possibilities to his wide eyes and space between lips. Hurriedly you continue. 

“I really like you Sunwoo, I’m sorry.” You look down to the left, “I just needed to say it.” You open your arms, not like a hug, rather an impediment. 

“So do what you want, Sunwoo.” You breathe in heavily while searching for the world reflected in his window. 

“Just break my heart if that’s what you have to, please, just–” 

“I love you too.” 

“...do–what?” Your arms fall to their sides and the pupil without dimensions expands across the pearl, reaching the far edge of its colorization. 

“I love you too.” He stutters more this time. 

Every cosmic mass bulging on your shoulders and tearing your back convulses from behind. It like everything eventually does; changes form and frees for the roof without limit. It has compressed your lungs into tiny pulses, you didn’t even notice. Yet the milky way’s worth of celestial bodies frees from you; only eyelids show movement. 

You breathe heavily while looking at Sunwoo with parted lips. He looks just as cosmically affected as you. 

“But aren’t you together with Jaehyun?” He suddenly says. 

You’re quiet for a second before bursting out in laughter. 

“No…no.” You take your hands up before your chest and smile “You’re still there?” 

Sunwoo’s still crossed brow of confusion. Neither laughing nor speaking. 

“I was his fake girlfriend for the parties, but we’re not like that.” 

You pause. 

“We could never be like that…” You hold your arms behind your back, titling your head when a star aligns with his position. 

“Not when you exist.” 

He admires you deeply in the same way, one layer below. Knees have come up to his chin and he hugs them slightly while hypnotized following the last season’s breeze across your face. 

You’re not sure what is supposed to happen now. But truthfully, you could live adoring the opposite like this for an eternity longer. 

Though, Sunwoo has other plans. 

The surface of his shoes bend down the grass as he stands. The last meters dying to collapse cease from existence; all before you even lift your head from your shoulder. Just as your eyes widen he’s against you gently. Sheer touch of his fingers across your lower face before he tilts. At last you touch and love-soul bitten sensations fill two hearts. 

You look at him again after the kiss; his face so beautiful you believe he could overthrow the world. 

© littleroaes, written and all

a/ n : i kind of broke my own heart by writing reader and juyeon just being friends 😭 it took all my will power

love spectrum spoiler

have flirty/ cute dynamic in the beginning but becomes friends : juyeon, changmin

romantic storylines but do not end up with : eric, hyunjae

end game : sunwoo

tagging : @darcymariebraun-blog @sungbeam @tbzhub @sanaxo-o

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 2

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

Part 2 of a little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. ILYSM!😘

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by saradika part 1

2. 

You’re a heavy sleeper, but this takes the cake.

When you stagger into your kitchen and look out the window Tex’s Chevelle is parked half in your gravel driveway, half in your yard. And tethered to your fence post munching green grass to his heart’s content is a certain miniature equine who you’d tried to acquire with cold hard cash the night before.

Fuck.

You march outside in your threadbare nightgown and your bare feet, finding Tex asleep in the driver’s seat. How the hell did he even get this horse here with that car?

If he put Ziggy in the trunk you are going to murder him.

You pound on the window, and he wakes with a violent start. “Popsicles!”

“What?”

He looks around, before fixing on you, and seems to relax a hair. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

“What. The fuck. Did you do?”

“Uh…funny story…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Didn’t you want this horse?”

“Yeah, but…” You pull at your hair, feeling a migraine coming on already. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

You turn in the dew-wet grass to go check on Ziggy. You hear Tex exiting the car behind you. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

“I’m not mad,” you answer sadly, running your fingers through the little horse’s coarse blond mane. “I’m scared.”

Ziggy nibbles at your fingers with his meaty lips, wanting the treats he associates you with. He was going to need a whole lot more than molasses cookies though. You could already tell how your day was going to go.

“Don’t be scared either, darlin’,” Tex says behind you.

“Easy for you to say. You realize this is the first place Dale is gonna come look? And he’ll probably bring Donnie too.”

Nevermind the restraining order you have. It won’t stop him. He’s friends with half the sheriff’s deputies anyway. The Barksdales are damn near untouchable. You learned that the oh so hard way.

“Honey, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” 

For the sake of the horse you keep your temper in check, moderating your voice when all you want to do is yell. “What are you going to do? Watch over me every minute of the day?” He lifts his brows like he likes that idea–you do too, which is batshit insane, because you don’t actually know a goddamn thing about this man.

“Hold on. How did you even know where I live?”

He shrugs. “Not hard to find out, if you know where to look.”

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

You guess all he’d have to do is ask at the gas station–your family’s been here long enough that it’s basically common knowledge.

You stand there in your faded floral muumuu and your bare feet, toe to toe with this tall dark man and if you had any sense you would be afraid…but you’re not. You’re not because you just don’t think he’ll hurt you. You feel it in your bones and you haven’t had that certainty about any man in so long you can’t remember, and it’s driving you a little wild inside.

“I need my boots,” you sigh, and brush past him to go back to the house.

***

You put Ziggy in the farthest back stall of your barn, where he’ll be out of sight should anyone come looking. With a flake of hay and some grains in his bucket, he seems perfectly content, the sweet sound of him munching filling the old oak building. You lean on a rough sawn post and watch him with a storm in your heart, wondering how long its been since he’d been able to eat his fill.

There will be a price to pay for this little horse’s well being, and you decide whatever it is will be worth it, even if you are afraid. Tex’s presence might deter vengeance for a little while, but he won’t be here forever. You know he won’t, no matter how nice it is to think it, so you’d better be ready.

You were going to have to think on this.

But first, you were going to have to call the ferrier. Luckily you had a friend who wouldn’t rat you out to the Barksdales. Angela was tough as nails and didn’t kowtow to their bullshit. 

It occurs to you that maybe the best thing for Ziggy, and the best thing for you, might be to get this horse far away from here. You wouldn’t put it past Dale or Donnie or one of his other heartless relatives to sneak into your barn in the dead of night and do something awful. There wouldn’t be a whole lot you could do about it either.

You’ve had this horse for about 5 seconds, and the thought of giving him up already breaks your heart.

Tex has been standing silently beside you. You feel his eyes on you, but in what you suspect is a rare occurrence, he’s not running his mouth, giving you space to think. But when you give a heavy sigh he finally breaks. “Come on, darlin’, I thought this would make you happy. It kills me to see you sad.” He opens his arms to you, but you eye them warily. It’s too tempting by far. The way this man is dangerous to you, is that you could get too used to his company too quick.

“You want breakfast?” you deflect.

He nods, those dark eyes taking the measure of you, looking through you, you’re afraid, right into your soul. “Sure.” But he doesn’t move, still just looking at you. 

“What?” you grouse.

Your annoyance only makes him grin.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest little thing in a muumuu and muck boots this side of the Mississippi?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a minute. Your hair is still in its bird’s nest of a sleeping braid and you haven’t had your coffee yet. With hands on your hips you look him over too. He’s still wearing the same shirt as last night, and his eyes are a little bloodshot.

“Did you tie one on last night and steal that horse?”

He scrubs at the back of his neck, looking all the while like a guilty schoolboy. “Well…about that…”

This is the thing that finally breaks through your black mood, lifting your sorrow like a blanket. The thought of this man committing grand theft pony–dare you think it, for you–brings a small smile to your lips, and a whole lot of sunshine to your heart.

“Tell me in the house. I’m hungry.” When he doesn’t immediately budge you turn him by the shoulders and give him a shove. Without really thinking about it, you smack his ass for good measure. That tight little behind is round, and firm, and you bite your lip without meaning to, wishing it was something else.

He makes a show of jumping with surprise, smirking at you knowingly over his shoulder. “Watch it, baby girl, or I’mma get myself a handful next,” he warns you with a wicked glint in his eye that makes your insides churn. 

You don’t know what insane notion possesses you, when you stick out your tongue at him– and run. 

You're smarter than this. You know you don't run from a predator. You face them down and smack them on the nose. 

His laughter from right behind you makes an electric thrill zip from your heart to your toes. Dear Lord. No man should be this much fun. 

He really is like a drug, and you don’t know what you were thinking running from him, because you are not fast, and you are clumsy, but somehow it’s him behind you who lets out a surprised yell.

You turn to find Tex with his foot in a hole up to his calf. “Oh my god. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He extricates himself, and you both peer down into a tunnel running under the aisle of your dirt floor barn. You look at the direction, and follow it to an unoccupied stall. Throwing open the door, you find mounds and mounds of freshly disturbed earth.

“Motherfucker. That groundhog is back.”

Tex looks at the impressive damage with eyebrows raised high. “Goddam. You sure it ain’t a bear? Or a rogue bulldozer?”

“Yes. I can’t deal with this now. Come on.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the house, and he happily follows.

You pause at the front door. “Umm…it’s going to be chaos for a minute. Fair warning.” Then you lead him into the fray.

Chichi is a tiny black and tan tornado at your feet, yipping and screaming. You shake a treat can and hand one to Tex. “Give this to him if you want to live.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tex complies, crouching down to the little dog’s level to offer the morsel. Chichi gobbles it and quiets down, switching to sniffing and licking as Tex scratches his side. His hand is almost as big as your dog, and it touches your heart, how sweet he is to the little creature. Satisfied, Chichi runs back to you for a snuggle.

“We good now?” you ask the little chihuahua. He licks you fervently, and you laugh, setting him back down on the floor. Your bulldog reacts in the exact opposite manner, not even getting out of her bed, only deigning to open one eye to regard your visitor. Your conure has joined in the cacophony, and will not quiet until you give him a piece of apple.

“I hope you like fresh eggs and bacon, it’s all I got.”

“Alright.” He seems amused by you, and the happy mayhem of your home, looking around with a sparkle in his eye. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” You point him in the right direction and go to the kitchen, lighting a burner under your cast iron skillet. You busy yourself with frying bacon and cracking eggs and filling the kettle for coffee. You are so concentrated on your task that it takes you a moment to notice Tex leaning on the door jam–sans shirt.

You blink, and nearly put your hand in the hot pan. “You forget something?” you ask, trying like hell not to stare at the broad expanse of muscled torso before you. Jesus fucking christ, that’s not fair.

“My clean shirts are back at the motel,” he defends. 

His hair is slightly damp from washing up, looking unfairly edible.

He sidles closer, and you notice the top button of his jeans is undone. A long scar runs down the center of his abdomen, leading your eye to a dark patch of hair that disappears into his waistband. 

Evil. This man is pure evil–and you want to taste every inch of him.

“My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he says with a smirk. 

“You are a menace,” you grouse, holding up a spatula in defense as he just keeps getting closer. He smirks, looking down at the implement.

“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d like it.”

You are warm all over, and it has nothing to do with slaving over a hot stove.

“Can I help?”

Like he hasn’t helped enough.

“Sure. Pour that hot water into that carafe.”

He looks between the french press, the kettle, and you. “Ever heard of a Mr. Coffee?”

“We don’t tolerate weak coffee in this house.”

He grins at you, doing as he’s told. He even knows to stir it with a wooden spoon, which makes you think he was just pulling your leg.

While you are flipping bacon you feel him zero in behind you, the line of warmth from his body like a heat lamp at your back. “Smells wonderful,” he says, daring to touch your waist.

“It’s meat candy, what do you expect?” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the bacon, or him. 

“Hmm.” His chuckle is a low rumble behind you. You feel it reverberate in your bones. The tips of his fingers press into your sides as he grips fistfuls of your nightgown–and you–as he nuzzles your hair. The sound you make as you wiggle in his arms is almost cartoonish. He takes no mercy, laughing and holding you closer. The warm, solid line of his body behind you is divine, so wonderful you can hardly stand it.

“You are going to make me burn the bacon!” you screech in an attempt at self-defense.

“That’s alright, I’ll just eat you for breakfast,” he tells you in that low growl that makes your knees weak, ducking to nibble at your ear. It’s possible you give in for a few seconds, your head rocking back against his shoulder as he holds you. Why does it have to feel like you fit together so well? When his long fingers bunch in your skirt, pulling it up as his other hand reaches for your breast you think you might combust. In a panic you smack his hand with the spatula with a little scream, trying not to giggle. 

“Go sit down!”

With a wicked chuckle he skips out of reach before you can smack him again, collapsing into one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. His smoldering gaze meets yours, and you feel unsettled. 

This man. Lord save you.

Or not. Maybe…you don’t want to be saved.

“I don’t know how you do things in Texas, but here you don’t get to feel a girl up just because you rustled a horse for her.”

He grins, baring his teeth like he means to eat you.

“Sorry, darlin’, blame the muumuu.”

You try to keep a straight face, but in the end you fail utterly. 

“You gonna tell me how all this happened?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No, but I should.”

“Hmm. Well, after the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met abandoned me at the fair–”

“Oh save it, Mr. L.A. stuntman.”

He grins but goes on, “I had to do something to nurse my broken heart. So I went to the aforementioned TJ’s by the creek…”

“Ok, this is starting to make sense.”

You start setting dishes of food and plates on the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, and of course, coffee. “And I only had one drink, because I’m a cautious sort of fellow…”

“Yes, that has been made glaringly apparent in the short time I've known you.”

He nods in agreement with a fey glint in his eye all the while. “And who walks in, but our friend Dale…”

“Oh god. You didn’t pick a fight with him, did you?”

“I did not. I went out to the parking lot, to find his horse trailer still full of petting zoo employees conveniently two cars away from mine.”

You cover your mouth, so he can’t see the absolutely feral grin forming on your lips. “You didn’t.”

“I so did. Let the goats out to disperse in the woods there, and wouldn’t you know Ziggy fit right in my passenger seat?”

You are picturing this big tough man in his muscle car peeling out down the road with that cute little horse as a co-pilot. That must be the point when you officially lose your sanity, because you crawl into his lap, planting a big kiss right on his mouth. He lets out a low moan of appreciation, cupping your rear end in his two big hands.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You’re a goddamned hero.”

“I know! I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says with a grin, stealing another kiss.

You try to extricate yourself to go sit in the opposite chair, but he will not let you. You eat breakfast together, sitting in his lap, his big warm hand on your thigh while you giggle and feed each other morsels and talk, and you can’t help but feel like things might turn out afterall.

***

Tex is helping you do the dishes, or maybe distracting you from doing the dishes, because he keeps plying you with toe curling kisses, when the two of you watch a battered red Chevy pickup pull down your driveway.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing it immediately.

���Here we go. Later than I expected.”

You look up at him open mouthed, an involuntary fear response coursing through your veins, turning your limbs ice cold. “You expected?”

“It’s alright, darlin’. Stay inside.” He kisses your forehead, cradling your cheek with a sweet assurance that you want to believe in, more than anything. It would be too good to be true, to have a man who could really protect you. Someone you could just…depend on. You want it with every fiber of your being, and rather than get your shotgun and run out to the porch on bare feet, you stand there in the kitchen and watch Tex go out the door, pulling a white t-shirt down over a blocky black object tucked into the back of his jeans.

Oh Lord. 

Predictably, Dale is driving, and your blood turns to ice as your piece-of-shit ex spills out of the passenger seat. And even though you know the very Devil is standing there in your driveway, your first thought, as ever when seeing Donnie Barksdale, is damn he looks good. 

There really is something wrong with you. 

He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and his usual trucker hat advertising some manner of farm implement (as if he’s ever worked that hard). As always, the sight of Donnie feels like a sharp knife shoved up between your ribs. No matter what he did to you, a part of you will always love that man, or at least, the boy he was when he was your friend, your first love, before he became so hell bent on destroying you. To this day, you do not understand what you ever did to that man, to make him turn on you so violently. You offered him all the love in your heart, and in turn he made you feel worthless. For a time, you actually believed it was true. Now you know better, but it’s been a long, hard road.

“Who the hell are you?” barks Donnie up at the self-assured man standing sentry on your front porch. 

“That’s not what you should be worryin’ about right now,” answers Tex, leaning on the post. 

“That a fact?” 

“Yep. The thing you should be worryin’ about is that you’re trespassin’.” 

Dale exits his truck, leaning on the dented hood. “That’s the fucker that hit me last night, Donnie.” 

Donnie nods, sizing Tex up. The thing about Donnie is…he doesn’t like to get into a fight he doesn’t know he’s going to win. And Tex is a helluva wildcard. It’s possible your no-good wife-beatin’ ex finally met his match. 

“He’s leaving out the bit about askin’ for it. Is beatin’ on y/n y/l/n just a universal pastime in this county for you boys when you run outta pigs to fuck, or what?” drawls Tex, picking at his fingernails. 

Donnie bristles at this, taking a step forward. “Motherfucker–” 

“That’s as far as you go, son,” warns Tex, producing the object from the back of his jeans. You knew it was a gun. You did not know it was that big of a gun. Donnie is wearing his usual inscrutable aviators, but Dale’s eyes go wide. 

“We’re just here to get my stolen horse, mister,” says Dale, holding his hands up. 

“Aww, you boys missin’ your lil’ pony? Better check the lost and found then. It ain’t here.” 

“We’ll have a look for ourselves,” spits Donnie, stepping towards the barn. 

Boom!

The report of the pistol is deafening, and the bullet sends up an explosion of gravel right in front of Donnie’s feet. The dogs and the bird go crazy, starting up and barking and screeching. Donnie jumps backwards three feet, his glasses falling off into the dirt. The expression of fear on his face is as rare as it is priceless. 

“You crazy asshole!”

You scoop up Chichi, trying to comfort him. The little dog trembles like a leaf in your arms. You murmur nonsense to it, but your eyes are glued to the confrontation outside, adrenaline rolling through your veins like flash flood water. You realize you’re shaking almost as badly as the dog. 

“Guilty. Ever seen a Desert Eagle? Shoots a big fuckin’ bullet. A .50 caliber round will explode your kneecap like an apple.” Tex whistles with appreciation, and you’re pretty sure Donnie goes pale. “Wanna test my aim today? I might miss and hit you in the balls.” 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this the way you are, but God did that man have it coming. 

 “We should call the Sheriff on you!” 

“Please do. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. We can tell him about how you’re trespassing, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to be within 300 yards of that pretty little thing watchin’ us from the kitchen.” 

Donnie’s attention zeroes in on the window, and you sense it like a laser sight fixed upon you. You hate it, how just that hateful look makes you flinch. 

“Y/n!” Donnie calls. “Come out here!” 

“She don’t need to come out here,” says Tex. “She ain’t gonna save you.” 

Donnie seems actually surprised, when you do not obey him, staying put in your spot in the kitchen. 

When the two men just stand there in the driveway, frozen and speechless, Tex cocks the pistol for show. “You need another demonstration? Git!”

“This ain’t over, fucker!” spits Donnie, pointing menacingly–from a safe distance. 

“You better hope it is. Don’t come back, and if either one of you ever touches her again I’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here!” 

Spoiling for a fight but clearly outgunned, the two men back towards the truck, slowly climbing in. “There you go. See ya, bronies!” 

Tex waves the pistol in their direction, and you hear Donnie yell at Dale, “Fuck! Drive! Drive!”

Dale peels out, leaving ruts in your gravel and a dust cloud as they go.

Tex stays on the porch watching until their truck is good and gone. When he finally makes it back into the house you are a teary-eyed little mess. When he sees you the flint in his eyes immediately softens. “Aw, don’t cry honey, c’mere.” You do, and with your head resting on the solid warm wall that is this man’s chest you start to lose it. 

“You actually did it.” 

“Course I did. I told you I would,” he says, stroking your hair as he holds you.

“But…you actually did it,” you say again, because you still cannot believe what just happened. No man has managed to stand up to Donnie Barksdale since your Grandpa, at 80 years old, who stood between you and Donnie in the very same spot on the porch, with the same 12 gauge you still keep behind the hutch, and threatened to cut your then-husband in half if he took another step closer. 

It was the last night Donnie beat on you, and broke your orbital bone, two of your teeth, and your arm. You’d escaped into the dark woods that night, and even though you are not stealthy or fast you managed by some miracle to make it through the brush and thorns and barbed wire fences the two miles to your grandparents’ farm house. It was the last straw, and you finally set the wheel in motion to divorce him the next day. 

You are not a pretty crier, but Tex lets you soak his shirt with tears and snot, holding you and murmuring sweet nonsense. “That’s right, honey, get it out. It’s ok.”

For once, it doesn’t sound like an empty placation. Donnie seemed genuinely scared of Tex, and Dale is an even bigger coward than Donnie. Maybe…they really will just leave you alone. 

Stranger things have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to pull away to get a tissue. “I’m a mess.” 

But Tex pulls you back, not seeming to care one bit, and when his lips touch yours it really does seem like everything in the world has turned right. 

Amusingly, Chichi has been sandwiched between all this in your arms, and only just begins to put up a grumble of protest. “Oh hush, lil buddy,” says Tex, not unkindly, scratching the little dog under the chin. He does nearly the same thing to you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod and offer a watery smile, setting the dog down on the ground. It’s not what Chichi wants, but he’ll live. “Yes. Thank you.” 

If Donnie believed what Tex said…you do too. There is something dangerous about this man. A wildness that makes his threat feel like a promise. You guess that when the law fails you, what you truly need is an outlaw who keeps his word. Yet you truly believe he’s not a danger to you. You feel safe with him, and maybe that’s the biggest miracle of all. 

“As silly as this sounds after the morning we’ve had…I really do have to go to work.” 

“Alright. I’ll drive you.” A part of you wants to say it’s not necessary. But the other half of you? Just wants to bask in this new found feeling of security while it lasts. You can’t expect Tex to stick around forever to babysit you. But for right now…god, it feels good, to not have to carry this weight all on your own shoulders. 

You kiss him again, and it is warm, and sweet as sugar cookies fresh from the oven. You melt into him, and with his strong arms around your waist, then lower, it is very hard to get up the motivation to go clean up and put on your uniform. 

“Honey, you keep kissin’ me like that and we’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

It’s embarrassing, but you know the sound you make in answer is something like a cat in heat, your fingers curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You feel his words inside you–in the rhythm of your heart, and the throb of your loins. It’s damn near unbearable, this sudden restlessness you feel inside.

You don’t have anyone else to depend on, so you always have to do the responsible thing. Go to work. Get the money. Pay the bills. No one escapes the bullshit death march of Capitalism, except the fuckers who are running the game.

And yet. Maybe…just this once…you could call in sick. 

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy waves of his now dried hair. “Tex?” 

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is pure honey dripping golden in the sun. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His big hands flex against the soft curves of your hips, grabbing fistfuls of nightgown like he’s thinking about tearing it off of you. Incredibly, he says nothing glib, just nods. But when he looks down at you for a long, heated moment–you think he could burn down the world, with the fire in that dark gaze. 

“Lead the way, darlin’.” 

You take his big, beautiful hands in yours, and pull him towards the stairs.

[frankenkyle19]

Graveyard Adventures

🎃Kinktober fic 1- Peter x Fem!reader🎃

Description: Peter and reader go explore a graveyard trying to hunt for ghosts but end up having sex in the car instead.

Word count: 3k

Wanted to get this posted tonight even though it’s a day early because I have to work all day tomorrow. Enjoy!! Also I am unsure how many of the other fics I am going to be able to publish this month.. My life has… Drastically taken a turn downhill at the moment :/

“Why exactly are we here again?” You asked, turning towards Peter who had just gotten out of the car. Glancing around the dark graveyard laid out before the two of you, only illuminated by the car's headlights you let out a soft sigh, until you took the keys out and turned off the car.

The air was chilly, a breeze blowing through as you wrapped your jacket closer around yourself to try and block out some of the cold. It didn’t do much, but you liked the weather enough for it not to really matter either way.

Peter turned on his flashlight, the first few feet in front of him now lit with a yellow-ish glow as he scanned the entrance of the graveyard. The old rusted iron gate that was just slightly propped open and the gravel trail that led inside. There were a few visible tombstones in the path of light from the flashlight, the rest swallowed up by waves of darkness.

“Because we’re ghost hunting, silly.” Peter scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Of course the two of you had snuck out of the school against the professor’s wishes to go ghost hunting on a chilly evening in October. Where else would you be?

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Oh? Just like mutants with superhuman abilities aren’t either?” Peter shot back. He had a good point there so you just rolled your eyes and turned on your own flashlight, shoving the car keys into your bag before zipping it up. The combined light from both of your flashlights allowed the two of you to see a bit further into the graveyard. It looked spooky but as long as Peter stayed by your side, you weren’t worried.

“What would we even do if we found a ghost?” You asked as Peter began to step towards the gate, silver shoes crunching gravel underfoot with a harsh sound in the otherwise silence.

“Communicate with it. Obvi.” Peter slipped through the opening in the fence, an eerie creaking sound following from the old iron bars being moved slightly. It looked like it’d been a while since anyone had visited this place and for a moment you felt a bit sad about all the forgotten lives that were laid to rest there.

You followed after him, the both of you now inside the graveyard. The air seemed still, something about the place was frozen in time. There was not a single sound besides the sound of yours and Peter’s footsteps. It was as spooky as it was amazing.

Graveyards had never been inherently creepy to you. If anything you found them beautiful. A final resting place for so many souls that were once living and loved. A place for people to visit and remember people that had passed. They’d always been portrayed as terrifying when in all reality it was one of the most peaceful places you could ever be. That aside, visiting at night was a bit different and immediately put you on edge.

Peter didn’t seem to react the same, much too eager to check things out. He walked in front of you, shining his flashlight over the graves to read their names and dates, seeing if there was anything interesting. After a few more moments of silence he turned back to look at you, grinning. If he wasn’t so adorable it would almost be threatening.

“What?” You asked, pausing. What was it now?

“Oh, nothing. Just- was kinda getting bored.”

“Peter we just started not even five minutes ago-“ You raised a brow, shining your flashlight near him, making sure you didn’t get it in his eyes and momentarily blind him.

“I know but I don’t think there’s any ghosts here…” He pouted. What had he expected? Even if there were ghosts here, which you seriously doubted, you were sure they wouldn’t just show themselves to two random people exploring the graveyard at night. It didn’t work like it did in the movies.

“Then let’s go back, I’m sure we could watch a movie or something- eat some popcorn..” You had glanced away from Peter for half a moment to read another headstone and when you looked back, he was gone.

You turned around in a full circle, your flashlight gripped tightly in your hand as you tried to make out Peter’s outline. Where the hell had he gone?

“Peter? Peter, this isn’t funny!” You called out into the darkness, waiting for a reply. None came. At least not verbally. A twig snapped towards the tree line on the edge of the graveyard to your left and you froze, a chill crawling its way up your spine.

You took a few steps backwards, towards the direction of the car, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable. If Peter was messing with you it wasn’t funny at all, but you didn’t really want to imagine what else could be going on.

“Peter!” You shouted again, voice echoing in the crisp night air. Still no reply.

You felt your heartbeat quickening as you took a few more steps blindly backwards, trying to close the distance between you and the car. At least you’d be safe(er) inside.

There was another snap of a twig, this time closer before a low sounding growl came from the darkness. That was it, you dropped your flashlight and ran towards the car in total darkness, which wasn’t a great idea but you weren’t thinking that far ahead. You just barely saw the iron gates in front of you before you slipped through them, your shirt getting caught on one sticking out. The harsh sound of ripping fabric was amplified in the otherwise silence as you tore yourself free and scrambled inside the car.

You were just about to reach for the car keys in your purse when none other than Peter opened the passenger’s door, doubled over while laughing his ass off.

It took your adrenaline filled brain a few moments to catch up before you reached over the console and clocked Peter right in the jaw, sending him flying backwards out of the car.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shouted, getting out of the car and coming around the side, ready to hit him again.

Peter had stopped laughing but he still had a little shit eating grin on his lips as he held his jaw where you’d hit him.

“That- was hilarious.” He said breathlessly, looking like he was about to burst out laughing again.

“No it wasn’t!!” You shouted, pausing a few feet from him

“Well it was to me. You were so scared! Running back to the car- Peter! Peter!!” He mimicked your voice, sounding much too high pitched. He was… Making fun of you.

“You’re lucky I don’t hit you again Peter Maximoff because I swear you’d deserve it-“ you glared at him, barely keeping your anger under control. What an asshole! You knew he liked to play tricks but this was cruel.

Peter just shook his head, stepping towards you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest. “Okay I’m sorry baby, I won’t do it again.

“Damn right you won’t.”

“But there is something else I’d like to do instead.” Peter grinned as he pulled you into a soft kiss, letting his lips envelop yours. He closed his eyes, thumbs tracing circles into your hips gently.

As mad as you were, you couldn’t resist kissing him, so after not even a full second you kissed back, eyes closed as you let him hold you and kiss you. His little apology.

Kissing was one of Peter’s favorite pastimes besides pac-man and eating twinkies so really it was no surprise when he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slide into your mouth as he let a playful huff leave his lips. You let him, tongue meeting his as your hands rested on his shoulders.

The two of you began to get a little more heated. Pushy. Before you really knew what was happening Peter was backing you up towards the car, his lips falling from yours as he went on to kiss and leave bites on the soft, exposed skin of your neck. He loved marking you up, showing everyone just who you belonged to.

“Peter!” You practically squealed, eyes wide as you tried to pull away from him for a moment, managing to open the door behind you before sliding into the backseat, quickly followed by the silver haired speedster.

You leaned forward, placing calculated kisses to Peter’s jaw which had him melting, a pleasured sigh making its way from up his throat.

“This better than ghost hunting?” You asked against his skin, hands coming up under his shirt to run over his muscled waist.

“Y-yeah, much better.” Peter mumbled, cheeks already burning up and red as a tomato as he ever so slightly tilted his head to the side to give you better access.

You had him right where you wanted him now. Like putty in your hands.

You helped him shrug off his jacket and pull his shirt over his head before you were back on him, sucking on his skin like some sort of leech. Peter let out a throaty moan, leaning back against the window, his hands firmly grabbing your hips.

Peter got increasingly whiney in no time at all, hips trying to subtly grind against any part of you he could reach without making it too obvious. But you knew him better than anyone so you weren’t sure what he was trying to accomplish by being sneaking. It never got him anywhere.

“Peter?”

“What? Yeah- I mean, hmm?” He asked, blinking at you in a daze. It was crazy how just some kissing could turn him into a mess who didn’t even know his right from his left.

Your hands crept up his thighs to the front of his jeans, letting one rest over the warm bulge under the now excruciatingly tight fabric.

Peter swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he glanced down to where you’d placed your hand.

“Oh- I- please? Can you just- please can you touch me? Just a little? I promise I’ll be good-“ he was already begging, arching into your touch like a desperate whore.

“Oh? I’m not sure, Peter… You were really rude with that little trick you pulled on me, what makes you think I should just give you whatever you want? Bad boys don’t deserve that now do they?”

Peter mewled, bottom lip quivering. He really really hoped you wouldn’t go too hard on him. He wasn’t going to be able to take it.

“I’m sorry- it was mean, I’m so sorry please you’ve gotta give me something- I don’t even need- I just need your hand that’s it I swear just your hand is okay please need it wrapped around me. I’m so hard it aches, baby please.”

Seeing him like this was always absolutely amazing. How you truly had him in the palm of your hand. Could play him like a puppet really.

You squeezed him firmly, causing another moan to jump from his lips, his hips stuttering against your touch.

“Please- please please just- I need something baby. It won't take much, I promise it really won’t- just a few strokes..” He tried to bargain for his pleasure which was rather adorable because either way you were going to do what you wanted to do.

Lucky enough for him, you didn’t want to torture him tonight. You were just as desperate as him and needed something soon before you exploded.

Your hands expertly undid his button and pulled the zipper down before you were reaching into his boxers and taking hold of his rock hard cock.

He twitched in your hand, instantly thrusting into your touch as you gave him a gentle squeeze.

Peter shut his eyes, biting his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to steel himself. Have some sort of self control. Something he majorly lacked, especially in this regard.

You let him fuck into your hand a few times, the tip catching on your fingertip, leaking pre-cum across your hand as he let out a shaky sigh.

With one hand busy stroking him, you used the other to begin to pull off your pants and underwear, letting it rest on your ankles. There was no reason to take it all off right now. You were sure this wasn’t going to last long with the way your bodies ached for each other and it would just be difficult to try and put it all back on again in such a cramped space.

Once Peter saw that you’d undressed your lower half, his fingers were instantly toying with your cunt, flicking over your clit gently before he plunged two fingers into your awaiting heat.

You let out a gasp, the air getting knocked from your lungs at the unexpected intrusion.

“Peter- Fuck..” You breathed out, barely able to make out his face in the darkness as the two of you played with each other.

He began to vibrate his fingers inside of you, thumb pressed against your clit and you had to shove his hand away before you came.

“Get your pants down- sit back.” You panted out, trying to move into a better position so that Peter could get where he needed to be.

His brain cells must have been fried from the pleasure because he had no idea what you wanted from him.

“Hmm?” He asked, to which you just shoved him down onto the seat, climbing over him a second later as you positioned his length at your sopping wet entrance.

You slid yourself across his tip, letting him feel how wet you were for him but not plunging his cock into you just yet.

“Fuck!” Peter gasped, trying to thrust up into you but you held his hips firmly in place, to which he whined out something about this not being fair at all.

Finally after a few more moments of teasing you slowly lowered yourself down onto him until he was full inside of you.

You sat on his lap, breaths mingling between you as you both adjusted to the feeling. Peter was always so sensitive that you needed to give him a minute to adjust to being inside of you before you started to move.

Slowly you began to come back up off of his length but Peter held your hips and plunged you back down, eyes wide.

“N-not yet- I can’t, not yet. I’ll cum.” He whispered shakily, body practically shaking against yours with the restraint it took to hold himself together.

Nodding in understanding you wrapped your arms around his neck, touching your nose to his, sharing his breaths. You placed a few gentle kisses to his panting lips which he quickly chased after, hands tracing over your back.

It was so tender now, a whole 180 from what it had been moments before.

“You feel so good baby..” Peter whispered against your lips. He was always vocal with his pleasure and always wanted to make it known how good you were to him.

“Can I move yet, sweetheart?” You asked to which he gave a little nod.

“Slow, please. Not too fast.” It was a funny request coming from him but you nodded, palms resting on his shoulders as you slowly lifted yourself up before lowering back down again.

Peter let out another little whimper, looking up at you with teary eyes from how overwhelmed he felt.

“Shh, that’s it my sweet boy. I know it feels good. Making me feel so good too.” You whispered and he buried his face into the crook of your neck with a little cry, his hips bucking up to meet your thrusts.

You made sure not to go too fast, taking your time as you bounced up and down on him before grinding down into his pelvis which perfectly applied pressure to your clit, making you arch your back.

Peter placed sloppy kisses to your skin, nearly drooling on you as he got lost in the pleasure, really beginning to fuck up into you.

You could tell he was close by the way his hips began to lose control and the speed in which he was fucking you. Each thrust upwards had you gasping as he impaled you on his long cock, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Peter! Just like that- oh f-fuck. I know you’re so close, baby, let go for me. Been so good.” You encouraged. He always came ten times harder as well as faster when you praised him. He loved knowing that he was doing a good job.

Peter let out a guttural cry as he clutched onto you, pulling you down roughly onto him one last time before he came, hard, biting down on your shoulder to stifle some of his sounds.

You followed not long after, grinding down against him as you squeezed his cock tightly inside your walls, milking every last drop of cum from him until he was a whining mess, begging you to stop moving.

You collapsed against his chest, Peter wrapped his arms tightly around you, laying his head on top of yours as the two of you caught your breaths. It took Peter minimal time to recover whereas it took you a bit longer. You weren’t graced with whatever recovery time he had because of his powers.

“That was so good..” He whispered against your sweat slicked skin. His warm breath against your skin was addictive and you hoped you’d always be able to have him this close.

Finally managing to catch your breath you pulled back from him, moving off of his lap to try and pull your clothes back up for the drive back to the school. You were both a sweaty mess, covered in each other's scent and it was agreed upon that when the two of you got back you’d shower together, ultimately leading to another round where Peter would no doubt pound into you against the cold tile of the shower.

You pulled up your clothes as Peter did the same, crawling back into your designated seats. You drove back, not really speaking. Peter hummed along to whatever song he was listening to as you kept your eyes on the dark road ahead.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

[coffentyme]

I should have known you hiring me was more than just to help around the pasture.

You came into town one day looking for a couple guys to help you on your ranch, just through the season until the upper grazing fields were lush and ready for your cattle.

Of course, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Tending to peaceful angus, away from most anything/one, surrounded by just the sound of gentle wind and rustling denim? Who could say no.

It took a couple weeks for me to notice, I’m fresh faced after all and wasn’t all too familiar with farm hand etiquette. Slowly though, over time and visits to town on my off days, I realized you needed me, no, wanted me for more than just up-keep and tending.

I knew the ropes by then, you’d shown me all I needed to know, hell I even started or ended earlier than you some days. That didn’t stop you from checking in, staring, correcting - you were getting more handsy too, not hesitant to yank me by the belt loop, or by the back of the shirt.

I couldn’t assume though. I needed to know, really know.

On hot days I’d sweat through my cotton t-shirt, strip it and work the rest of the day without it. Sometimes I’d share morning coffee with you half dressed and sleepy, and maybe I’d pull my jeans a little higher or lower than normal.

I’d be damned if that didn’t do it, and it did. You’d advert your gaze but catch glimpses before tilting your brim down and turning away. You’d lean up against a fence post and tug at your belt buckle before having to walk away. You’d always make sure to leave that lamp on a little later than normal, to cast a shadow over to my cabin.

And even as I lay here, huffing the freshly disturbed dirt on the pebbled barn floor, feeling your calloused hand gripping the back of my neck like one of your misbehaved livestock dogs, my knees digging into gravel, and hearing between blissful grunts “It’s your damn fault boy.” “You think I want to do this?” “Serves you damn right windin’ me up like this for weeks.” “I ought to teach you this lesson.” I can’t help but think this won’t be a one off. In fact, I hope it isn’t.

[daryltwdixon]

Part IV

Warnings: only slightly nsfw, overall pretty angsty

word count: 6.3k

The next day, the sun beats down mercilessly as you make your way through the yard, the air heavy with heat and dust. Saviors bustle around, stacking crates, hauling debris, and organizing supplies. It’s chaotic, as usual, but your eyes land on Daryl almost immediately.

He’s hunched over a pile of rubble near the fence, his shoulders taut with exertion as he shovels the debris into a wheelbarrow. Sweat drips from his brow, streaking through the grime on his face. His movements are mechanical, his gaze fixed downward, but you can tell he’s aware of every pair of eyes on him.

Including yours.

“Mrs. Smith,” one of the guards– Joe–says, nodding in acknowledgment as you approach. He’s leaning against the fence, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. “He’s been workin’ hard. Barely said a word.”

You glance at him briefly before looking back at Daryl. “Good. He’s supposed to work hard.” Your voice is steady, cool, but your chest tightens as you watch him. “You’ve got other things to do, don’t you? Get over to the loading dock. I need those crates inventoried before sundown.”

The guard hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave his post. “Negan said to keep an eye on him.”

“And I’m saying I’ll keep an eye on him,” you reply sharply, your tone brooking no argument. “Go. Now.”

He nods quickly, straightening and heading off toward the dock. The other Savior who had been watching the scene follows without a word, leaving you and Daryl alone in the yard. The air feels heavier now, the silence stretching taut between you as you watch him work. His movements are stiff, his body worn down by exhaustion and sweat, but he doesn’t falter. Doesn’t stop.

You don’t call out to him right away. You just watch, your chest tightening as the seconds drag on. He’s changed, and yet he hasn’t. That same quiet strength is there, the same determination, but it’s buried beneath layers of pain and fatigue that weren’t there before. And it’s your fault. Not directly, maybe, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been standing on the wrong side of this for far too long.

“Daryl,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He straightens slowly, the deliberate way he turns to face you making your breath catch. His blue eyes lock onto yours, piercing through every shield you’ve spent years building. They’re darker now, stormy and turbulent, filled with anger, exhaustion, and something else you can’t quite name.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Y/N?” His voice is low and rough, like gravel, but there’s no mistaking the bite in it. 

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. His gaze feels like a spotlight, exposing every choice you’ve made, every line you’ve crossed. You’ve faced Negan’s enemies, his critics, even the people you’ve condemned to their deaths, but none of that prepared you for this—standing here, face-to-face with the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“It’s complicated,” you finally manage, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

He’s silent, like he’s waiting for more, a real answer. One you’re not sure how to give. 

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been here for a long time,” you say, your voice faltering under the weight of the truth. “For nearly the whole time, Dare. It was how I survived.”

His bitter laugh cuts through you like a blade. He shakes his head, his jaw tight as he takes a step closer. “You call this survivin’? Standin’ next to a guy like him, lettin’ him do whatever the hell he wants?”

“Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, the anger rising unbidden. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve had to do to keep myself and others alive.”

The words feel weak as they leave your lips, but you press on, desperate to justify something you’re no longer sure can be justified. You want to tell him that you built the Sanctuary to save people, to give them a chance when the world had taken everything. But the truth is more complicated than that. You’ve made sacrifices, compromises, and somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. What started as survival turned into something else, something darker.

“Then ya must know what he’s done,” Daryl retorts, his voice dropping to a growl. His eyes burn into yours, and you can’t look away. “He killed my friends. Good people, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a blow, and your resolve falters. You knew about the people Negan killed—he’d told you himself, not with smugness or bravado but with a weariness that night. He’d been tired, frustrated. He justified it as a necessity, part of the rules, part of keeping order. And you let yourself believe it because it was easier than facing the truth. But hearing it from Daryl, seeing the pain in his eyes, makes it feel heavier. Realer. Like a wound you thought had healed but never truly closed.

Your stomach churns, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides. What can you say to him? That you’re sorry? That you didn’t know? That you thought it was the only way to survive? None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

“Daryl, I—” you start, but the words stick in your throat. What can you possibly say to undo the weight of this moment? To undo the choices that led you here? “It’s not that simple.”

“Never is, huh?” Daryl steps closer, his voice low and sharp. “You jus’ stand there. Defend ‘em. Like ya don��t give a damn about the people he’s hurt. The people he’s killed.”

“I do care,” you snap, the words bursting out of you before you can stop them. They hang in the air, trembling, brittle. “You think I don’t? You think this is easy for me? Seeing you like this?”

“Then why the hell are ya still here?” he demands, his voice cracking. He takes another step toward you, his eyes blazing. “Why’re ya standin’ by his side?”

“Because I love him,” you blurt, your voice rising with the frustration bubbling over. He flinches at the statement, and your chest heaves as you struggle to keep your composure, but the words pour out like a dam breaking, “When I lost you—when I had to leave our house that day—I thought it was over. Everything was gone. The world had fucking ended, Daryl. And then I found Negan after a while, and we built this place. Together. The Sanctuary isn’t just about him—it’s about the people here. The workers, the families. The ones who don’t have to starve because of what we’ve created.”

Daryl stares at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. “You really believe that, huh? That you love that asshole? That all of this is for some greater good or some shit?”

Your voice trembles as you answer, “it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s better than wandering out there, waiting to die. It’s safe here.”

“Safe?” he growls, his voice rising. “For who? For you? For Negan? Sure as hell ain’t safe for the rest of us.”

You flinch at his words, your chest tightening as his anger crashes into you. “I know it’s hard to see–” you start, your voice quieter but no less sharp, but you take a steadying breath, “That the decisions we’ve made have been for something bigger. You think I don’t live with it every day? But what he’s done– what we’ve done–it’s for a reason. I’m still here, Daryl. I have to be.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re here, alright. Standin’ right next to him. Like the people he’s hurt don’t matter.”

“They do matter,” you say fiercely, your voice breaking slightly. “But this place isn’t just about Negan. It’s about our people too. It’s about all of them. And those at Hilltop, the Kingdom and beyond–they’re all a resource.”

Daryl’s eyes burn into yours, his hands twitching at his sides. “And what about me?” he asks quietly, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. “Do I matter?”

The question takes the breath out of you. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, and you open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. What could you say that would make any of this better? Of course he matters, more than anything, more than maybe you’re ready to state. So, instead, you just stare at him, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

Finally, he shakes his head, turning his back as if distancing himself from the wreckage. “You ain’t the same,” he mutters, his voice soft but full of hurt as he throws his shovel into more rubble. “The person I knew—my wife, goddammit. She’d never stand by and let this happen.”

You want to tell him he’s wrong, to make him see the person he remembers is still here, buried beneath the choices you’ve made. But the truth is, you don’t even know if you believe that yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper finally, the words hollow and inadequate. “I’m so sorry, Daryl.”

He doesn’t respond. He just stares at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you like a chasm too wide to cross. His eyes bore into yours, wild and hurt, and it feels like he’s waiting—waiting for something you can’t give him.

The weight of his gaze becomes unbearable, and your chest tightens as you take a shaky step back. “I have to go,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I can’t—”

Your words falter, and you turn sharply on your heel, walking away before he can see the tears threatening to spill over. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the distance between you and him is sinking into the pit of your stomach, twisting like a blade.

You don’t dare look back. You don’t know if you could handle what you’d see if you did—whether it’s his anger or his pain, or worse, him watching you leave like you mean nothing. Like this means nothing.

Your legs carry you toward the main building, your pace quickening as you push through the ache clawing at your chest. By the time you reach the door, your hands tremble against the handle, but you force yourself to pause, to take a breath, to pull the mask of composure back into place. The Sanctuary’s walls feel cold and unyielding as you step inside, their familiar chill a stark contrast to the fire still burning in your chest.

You’ve made your choice. You’ve told yourself that over and over again, but for the first time in years, you’re not sure you believe it.

You don’t stop walking until you reach Negan’s quarters. The sting of Daryl’s words still lingers, cutting deeper than you want to admit, and your chest feels like it might collapse under the weight of it all. You need to feel something else—something that doesn’t hurt.

Negan is lounging in one of the leather chairs when you push the door open. Lucille leans against the wall nearby, and a half-empty glass of whiskey rests on the table beside him. He glances up at the sound of the door, his grin lazy but sharp as his eyes sweep over you.

“Well, don’t you look like hell warmed over,” he drawls, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Rough day, baby?”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you stride across the room, your hands going straight to his shirt as you climb into his lap, your lips crashing into his with desperate force. He huffs a laugh against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist to steady you.

“Damn,” he mutters between kisses, his tone shifting to something softer, though still teasing. “Someone missed me.”

You don’t stop, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers digging into the warmth of his skin as if grounding yourself. His grip tightens, his body responding instantly to the need in your touch, and for a moment, you lose yourself in him, in the way he feels, the way he always makes you forget everything else.

There’s a sharp knock at the door, and you freeze, your breath hitching as Negan lets out a low growl. “Who the hell is it?” he barks, his voice laced with annoyance.

The door opens hesitantly, and one of the guards steps inside, his expression tense. “Sir, we’ve got a problem with the prisoner.”

Negan sighs, his hands leaving your waist as he leans back in the chair. “What kind of problem?”

The guard shifts uncomfortably, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Negan. “He was left on his own. When we went to collect him, he fought back. One of the guys got hurt pretty bad.”

Negan’s expression darkens, his grin fading into something more dangerous. “Left on his own?” he repeats, his tone deceptively calm. “And why the hell was that?”

The guard hesitates, his eyes flicking to you again.

You swallow hard, “It was me,” you sigh, your hands now resting against his chest, no longer playing along his hot skin but out, supporting yourself up, “Something came up, I didn’t think–”

“Fat Joe?” Negan interrupts over your shoulder.

“Yes, sir?” Joe says eagerly.

“Get the hell out.”

“Yes, sir.” he turns tail as quickly as he can, shutting the door behind him.

“You ‘didn’t think’,” Negan snaps, standing and setting you back on your feet as he towers over you. His tone isn’t loud, but it carries enough weight to make you feel cornered. “What the hell was goin’ through your mind, leavin’ our newest prisoner—our greatest asset against Alexandria—on his own?”

You flinch, your shoulders tightening as you meet his gaze. “I made a mistake,” you admit, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” he says, stepping closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. He lifts your chin with a single finger, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re better than that. You know this place doesn’t run on mistakes.”

There’s a beat of silence before he exhales, the sharpness in his gaze softening slightly. “We’re takin’ a trip to Alexandria tomorrow,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And you’re stayin’ here this time.”

Your head snaps up, your expression hardening. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he replies, his tone clipped, the sharp edge of authority unmistakable. His fingers remain under your chin, holding your gaze firmly as his eyes bore into yours. “You’re stayin’ here, end of discussion.”

Your chest tightens, heat rising as you step closer, your jaw tightening against his hold. “I should be there, Negan,” you argue, your voice low but unwavering. “I’m your second. If this is about Alexandria, I need to be part of it.”

He huffs out a short laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “You don’t need to be anywhere but right here. The Sanctuary runs smoother when you’re around, and I’m not riskin’ that. It’s not up for debate. You’re stayin’ put.”

“You’re not ‘risking me’,” you bite back, your voice sharpening as you take another step forward. “You’re keeping me in a box.”

“Maybe I am,” he counters, his voice calm but weighted with finality. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been stretched thin, the way you’re actin’ all… distracted lately.” His hand shifts slightly, the grip on your chin softening, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “You’re thinkin’ too much about things that ain’t your problem.”

Your stomach churns, but you keep your expression steady, your glare locked on him. “This is my problem. Everything here is my problem. You can’t shut me out of it.”

Negan sighs, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly as he leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Baby, I ain’t shuttin’ you out. I’m keepin’ you right where I need you—alive, safe, and in one damn piece. Is that so hard to understand?”

For a moment, you don’t respond, the weight of his words settling between you. His grip on your chin doesn’t falter, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your jawline. You hate how it disarms you, how the frustration inside you starts to fray at the edges under his touch.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice quieter now. “I can handle myself, Negan.”

“I know you can,” he murmurs, his tone softening. “But you’re not goin’ this time.”

The tension lingers for a moment longer before he exhales, his hand shifting lower, fingers trailing down the column of your throat. You stiffen as your back presses against the wall, his palm settling against your neck with just enough pressure to keep you rooted in place.

“Always gotta argue, don’t ya?” he mutters, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he leans in closer. “Drives me crazy, you know that?”

You can feel his breath against your skin as his mouth brushes the curve of your jaw, then your neck. The heat from his touch seeps into you, his fingers firm yet careful as he holds you there. The shift in him is palpable, the earlier sharpness giving way to something deeper, something primal.

“Negan…” you murmur, but whatever protest you were about to voice dies on your lips as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear. His teeth graze your skin, drawing a soft gasp from you that you try to swallow back.

“Yeah,” he mutters against your neck, his voice rough. “That’s more like it.”

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips trail lower, pressing firm, possessive kisses along the column of your throat. The tension between you melts into something else entirely, the heat of his body against yours grounding you, consuming you.

His lips trace a deliberate path down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that spreads through your body like wildfire. The wall at your back grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“Always pushin’ me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice low and gravelly. “Always gotta make me work for it.”

You gasp softly as his teeth scrape over the hollow of your throat, a mix of pleasure and tension coiling in your chest. Your hands find their way back under his shirt, your fingers curling against the heat of his skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You love it,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly, and his responding chuckle sends a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I do,” he murmurs, his mouth moving lower, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “But you still drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

His knee presses between your thighs, urging them apart, and the pressure is enough to pull a quiet whimper from you. His lips return to yours, claiming them in a kiss that’s as demanding as it is consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who’s in control.

Your hands tighten on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in him—in the way he feels, the way he takes and gives in equal measure. But just as the heat threatens to overwhelm you, the door creaks again, a faint sound that yanks you back to reality.

Negan’s head snaps up, his glare shooting over his shoulder. “I swear to God,” he growls, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air, “if it’s Fat Joe again, he’s gettin’ a date with Lucille.”

The door doesn’t open further, the silence outside heavy as whoever it is clearly rethinks their timing. Negan’s hand stays firm on your waist, his body still pressing you into the wall as his attention shifts back to you.

“See what you do to me?” he says, his tone lighter now but no less intense. “I can’t even have a second to myself with my wife without someone interruptin’.”

“Maybe they’re scared of you,” you tease, though your voice is breathless.

His grin returns, wide and wicked, as his thumb brushes along your jaw. “They damn well should be.”

The hand at your waist slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip as his lips find yours again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“You’re stayin’ here tomorrow,” he mutters against your mouth, the words a reminder of the conversation you’d been having moments before.

“No, I’m not,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous, and his hand tightens on your thigh. “We’ll see about that.”

You want to argue, to push back again, but the way his mouth trails down your neck, the way his hands grip you like he can’t let go, makes it impossible to think straight. You don’t want to think about Alexandria, about Daryl, about anything but the way Negan is making you feel right now.

For now, you let yourself give in, your body arching into his as his name falls from your lips in a quiet, breathless plea. And for now, that’s enough.

In the end, you had convinced him to let you come. 

“Hot diggity dog, this place is magnificent!”

Negan's voice booms as your caravan is let inside. You have to admit, he’s right. The suburban community of Alexandria is picturesque—trim lawns, pristine white houses, and quiet streets. Of course, the quiet likely has more to do with terrified parents pulling their children inside.

The leader—Rick, now that you can put a face to the name—stands at the forefront, his icy blue eyes locked on Negan.

Negan struts forward, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “An embarrassment of riches, as they say! Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You step forward, keeping close to Daryl. Your thoughts spiral as your gaze flickers to him. These were his people. Never before had you considered the full implications of taking from the communities Negan had subjugated. You always justified it as survival—a necessary evil for the greater good of the Sanctuary. Protection. Resources. Options. But now, seeing Daryl’s averted eyes, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself invisible… something inside you twists painfully.

Rick’s attention shifts to Daryl, his expression flickering with something you can’t quite place. 

“Daryl—” Rick begins, stepping forward.

“No,” you and Negan growl in unison. Negan’s tone is chipper and mocking as he echoes the word again.

“Nope!” He steps between you and Daryl, his leather jacket glinting in the sunlight. Lucille rests casually on his shoulder as he faces Rick with a smirk. “He’s the help. Tell ‘em, honey.”

Negan’s grin slides to you, his tone light, though there’s a hint of steel beneath it. His arm loops casually over your shoulders.

“You don’t look at him,” you say, your voice cold and deliberate. “You don’t talk to him.”

“And in return,” Negan adds, leaning in close to Rick, “I don’t make you chop anything off of him.” He chuckles, then pulls you into a rough kiss. “Pretty sweet deal, huh?”

You shove him off, ignoring the way his smile widens at your annoyance. “Let’s get to work.”

Negan straightens, turning to face the group of other Alexandrians, “Same goes for everyone!” he sings, his voice deceptively light as he zeroes in on a young woman nearest to him, her dark hair up in a tan hat. Her lips are full, pulled into a disgusted scowl as she looks at him with arms folded tight across her chest. Something burns in your chest, how much you’d like to rip at her ungrateful face.

She doesn’t answer, just glares harder and stalks off.

To your surprise, Negan doesn’t stop her. Instead, he looks delighted, his grin stretching wider as he turns back to Rick. He exhales dramatically. “A lotta suspense there. I don’t even think she knew how much!”

“Alright,” you say, cutting through the tension as you look over your shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road. See what they’ve got for us.”

“We set aside half of the supplies—” Rick starts, his tone controlled but biting.

“No!” Negan snaps, Lucille’s tip tapping against the asphalt. His voice is no longer playful. “No, Rick. No. You don’t decide what we take. And you sure as hell don’t talk to my goddamn wife unless she speaks to you first!”

He shifts his gaze to you, a proud grin spreading across his leering lips, “Shall we?”

“You heard him,” you bark, turning to the group. “Let’s go!”

Eventually, you find yourself inside one of the houses, scoping out the place for furniture to take back. The house is pristine, a quiet luxury in the apocalypse that feels jarring. The walls are lined with family photos, smiling faces frozen in time, untouched by the horrors of the world outside. The smell of lavender lingers faintly in the air, likely from the carefully placed diffusers still sitting on the side tables. The people who stay here have built something warm, something safe. And now you’re tearing it apart piece by piece.

Your stomach churns as you glance at Daryl. He’s in the living room with Dwight, silently dismantling the carefully curated space. Paintings are taken down, tables and couches examined for worth. The atmosphere is tense but quiet, the only sounds are the occasional creak of floorboards and the shuffle of furniture being moved.

Daryl’s movements are slow but deliberate. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched, and though he doesn’t speak, his disdain for all of this is palpable. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance your way, but you can feel the weight of his anger like a shadow between you.

You steady yourself, drawing a deep breath before turning to Dwight the next time he walks through the doorway, arms full with a framed painting and a decorative lamp.

“Leave us,” you say curtly.

Dwight stops mid-step, his brows shooting up in surprise. He glances between you and Daryl, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“Need me to repeat myself, D?” you enunciate his nickname with sharp mockery, your tone daring him to question you.

Dwight’s lips press into a thin line, and his gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, his discomfort clear. He knows better than to argue, but the tension in the room is unmistakable, heavy like a storm on the verge of breaking.

“No, ma’am,” he mutters finally, his voice subdued. He shakes his head, setting the painting and lamp down by the door before stepping onto the porch without another word.

“Then get out,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. Dwight doesn’t look back, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening in the quiet that follows.

Daryl’s eyes track Dwight’s retreat, his posture tense as he slowly turns to face you from the threshold. You glance outside, taking stock of the Saviors milling about, their arms full of furniture and boxes, before shutting the door firmly.

“Get in,” you order, jerking your head toward the staircase. “We have to check upstairs.”

Daryl doesn’t respond, but he follows you without question.

Once upstairs, you set your gun down on the edge of a dresser, the weight of it making a dull thud against the wood. You watch as Daryl begins rifling through drawers and cabinets, his movements mechanical, avoiding your gaze.

“Daryl,” you say softly, the sound barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look up.

“Daryl, please,” you repeat, your voice louder, a tremor breaking through.

His hands still, though he doesn’t turn to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.

Daryl’s scoff is low and bitter, his head shaking almost imperceptibly as he turns back to the drawer in front of him. His fingers scrape against the wood, rummaging aimlessly. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, like the word is a bad taste in his mouth. “Don’t mean much now, does it?”

The sharpness of his voice cuts deep, and your chest tightens. You take a step closer, hesitant, watching the way his shoulders hunch as though he’s bracing for something that won’t come.

“It means everything,” you say quietly, barely able to trust your own voice. “At least, it does to me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, low and humorless, his hands gripping the edge of the dresser. “Yeah? Meant somethin’ back then, too. What the hell happened to you?”

Your throat tightens as his words land heavy between you, full of hurt he won’t name. You glance down, your hands trembling at your sides. “I didn’t mean to run, Daryl. That day… everything went to hell so fast. I thought—I thought if you were gone, that if somehow you did manage to live, you’d be safer if I got out. To find Merle. I didn’t know how to—”

“Safer?” he growls, spinning to face you. His eyes are dark, full of something too raw to name. “You left before I even made it home. Blood all over the floor, walkers still there. Thought you were dead.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. The memory of that day—the day everything fell apart—burns fresh and vivid in your mind, clawing its way back to the surface despite years of burying it.

“I thought you’d find me,” you whisper, the words trembling on your lips. “I waited, Daryl. I waited as long as I could.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and jagged. “Waited? Don’t sound like it. Don’t look like it now, neither.” His knuckles whiten where they grip the edge of the dresser, his body taut with barely-contained anger.

Your chest tightens, and your gaze drops for a moment, the weight of the memory crashing over you. You can still see the living room as it was that day—your living room, once filled with warmth and life, now smeared with blood. The shattering of glass as walkers broke through the windows. The metallic tang of blood in the air. Your own shaking hands as you grabbed what you could—your bag, your knife, Daryl’s jacket off the hook by the door—and bolted.

“I tried to fight them off,” you say, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze again. “I did everything I could to keep them out. But they were everywhere, Daryl. The house wasn’t safe anymore. I thought—” You stop, your throat tightening. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“Time,” he repeats bitterly, shaking his head. “You had time to run, didn’t ya? Time to leave blood all over the damn floor.”

“I thought you were dead!” you snap, the words exploding out of you before you can stop them. Tears sting your eyes, but you press on, your voice rising with the emotion clawing its way out. “I thought—I didn’t know if you were coming back! There was blood, there were walkers, and I panicked. I was alone, Daryl. You don’t know what that felt like.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glares at you. “I made it back,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I made it back, and you were gone. I searched that house, Y/N. Looked for signs—tracks, somethin’—but all I found was a mess and no damn clue where you’d gone.”

The image of him searching the house for you, calling out your name to silence and ruin, twists your heart in a way you can’t describe. “I thought you’d find me,” you whisper again, weaker this time. “I thought you’d know where to look.”

His blue eyes blaze as he takes a step closer, his voice trembling with barely-controlled anger. “You thought wrong.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, cutting deeper than you thought possible. The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I never wanted to leave. But that day… I thought it was the end. I thought if I stayed there, I’d die.”

You pause, swallowing hard, then shake your head, your voice gaining strength. “I never thought it would end up like this, that this is how we’d find each other again. God, i’d dreamed of it for so long, Daryl. But then…I had to let go, I had to move on. Didn’t you? After I left, after I realized I couldn’t go back, I had to keep going. I had to do something, make something out of the mess I left behind. That’s why I kept moving, why I ended up here. I thought—” You falter for a moment, your words catching.

“I thought if I could build something strong enough, something that mattered, maybe it would be worth it. Maybe it would mean I didn’t run for nothing.”

Daryl’s expression hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And this is what you wanted?” he growls, his voice low and sharp. “This? Workin’ for him?”

“I don’t work for him, Daryl.” you say softly, “It was him and I that created this. Together. We found a way to survive, to protect people. To keep the world from swallowing me…us…whole. I didn’t realize what it was costing me until…”

Your eyes lock on his, the weight of everything between you heavy in the air. “Until I saw you again. Especially like this.”

Daryl shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “So now what? You just decided it don’t matter no more? That you’re gonna fix it all like none of it happened?”

“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” you say, your voice steady despite the crack in your chest. “I’m saying it doesn’t have to stay this way. I’m saying I’m going to do what I should’ve done the second I saw you.”

His eyes narrow, his breath coming sharp and shallow as he glares at you, his walls still firmly in place. “And why the hell should I believe that?”

The question slices through the air, his voice rough and filled with doubt. You hesitate, the weight of his distrust pressing against your chest like a heavy stone. Then, tentatively, you step closer, your hand lifting but stopping just short of his arm.

“Can I touch you?” you ask quietly, the words trembling as they leave your lips.

The question hangs between you, heavy and uncertain. For a moment, you think he’ll push you away, that he’ll turn his back on you completely. But then his eyes flicker, something soft and hesitant breaking through the anger, and he gives the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Your fingers brush against his hand, and though his body stiffens, he doesn’t pull away. The contact is electric, a spark against the cold distance that has grown between you. “I know I don’t deserve your trust,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve made choices you can’t forgive. But I swear to you, Daryl—I’m going to make this right. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll keep you safe. No matter what it takes.”

His gaze drops to where your hand rests on his arm, his shoulders sagging slightly as some of the tension begins to bleed out of him. His jaw works, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, tinged with disbelief. “You say that like it’s so damn simple.”

“It’s not,” you murmur, your hand inching upward to brush a strand of his matted hair from his face. He flinches slightly at the touch but doesn’t move away. “None of this is simple. But neither was surviving without you.”

His breath hitches, the sound barely audible but cutting through the quiet. His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, they’re unguarded—just a moment, a fleeting crack in the armor he’s wrapped himself in. The pain is still there, raw and visceral, but there’s something else, something fragile and aching.

You don’t dare move, don’t dare breathe too deeply, afraid of breaking whatever tenuous connection you’ve managed to grasp. Your hand lingers on his arm, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the icy walls between you. His eyes, stormy and unrelenting, search yours as if looking for the person he used to know, the one who used to stand beside him, not against him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and bittersweet, and you cling to it, desperate for him to see the truth in your words. To see the part of you that’s still his, even after everything that’s been shattered.

Your throat tightens as the moment hangs precariously in the air, fragile and fleeting. Slowly, you take a deep breath, pulling yourself together. You force your hand to drop from his arm, the loss of contact like a cold gust against your skin.

“I’ll give you a signal,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache clawing at your chest. “It won’t be today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll know.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the weight of everything between you is too much to bear. But then he nods, just once, and it’s enough.

You turn and leave before the cracks in your composure can spread too far. Grabbing your gun from the dresser by the door, you steel yourself, forcing the cold, unyielding mask of leadership back into place. It’s a shield, one you’ve worn so long it feels like a second skin, hiding the turmoil underneath.

You’ve made your promise. Now you just have to keep it.

[saltofmercury]

I love your writing so much that I check if you posted anything new right after I wake up and before I go to bed 🥹 I have a little request for you, if you don’t mind. I would like to see König’s POV of anything. It would be great to read fluff (or angst 😭), for example him feeling like a teenager when he’s around reader at the beginning of a relationship, you know, butterflies in his stomach, bit of anxiety, trying to act cool and look best OR if it’s angst then maybe something about him being jealous, because he finally found someone who gets him and who attracts other people (even just in a friendly way!), so he kinda doesn’t know how to control his feelings, BUT he’s working on it? (your König goes to therapy sooooo you know we love self aware king). Idk, but I’m begging on my knees to get into König’s mind 🧎‍♀️

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

The yellow blob bounces from the ground to the wall back to the massive hand. The ball moves so swifty, it's blurry and looks stretched in his peripheral vision.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

He’s pretty sure he should cancel, there were never third or fourth dates. Usually by the end of the night it was a mutual decision that it would be best to not continue dating. But if there’s anything keeping him on the fence it’s you.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

He reflects on the small moments he’s saved and logged into his brain. For example, last weekend when you had been sharing a dessert and you saved the last piece for him.

“Please! It’s too sweet for me.” You had said while scrunching up your nose. You placed the piece of cake on his spoon, went back to sipping your coffee.

It was a small gesture but it was a clear indication to him at least, that you were caring, willing to share.

There was another time he knew he wasn’t making eye contact with you, he mentally killed himself for it.

“Just look at them for three seconds…” he replayed the demand in his head.

“Three seconds….”

He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t until you had pointed out the birds in formation flying overhead.

“Hey look at those guys!”

Your head shot straight up, along with your left arm, and he caught the perfect opportunity to look at you. He thought maybe you would look back at him, but your concentration went to the birds.

He stared at you. The curve of your nose, how your eyes widened, your smile perked up on the corners of your mouth, but your gaze stayed on them.

Birds… he thought. you’re his bird.

He found himself smiling. He likes spending time with you. He likes hearing about your day. He likes making you laugh and hearing you gasp when you hear stories that he tells about being away.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump —

He catches the ball with his left hand.

He wonders what you’re doing today. He knows your schedule already. He knows that you head off to work, you have a sandwich and a soup for lunch everyday, you make an afternoon coffee to keep your energy level up. He already knows how you take it too —extra sweet with hazelnut flavored creamer, no extra sugar, preferably hot in the morning and iced in the afternoon.

He likes knowing the little things about you.

Like how many pet animals you had as a kid.

How you don’t sleep with socks on.

You brush your teeth on the left side of your mouth and not the right side.

There are also things he’s seen that he’s taken mental note of.

Like how you eat your vegetables before you eat meat on your plate.

How you blink slowly when you're getting sleepy. There’s even times your lip curved just a little bit to the right when you get excited about something.

Small things he’s picked up, locked into a file in his brain and loves.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba — thump-thump-ump

He stops, hears wheels on the gravel crunch outside his house.

He stands up from the living room, walking towards the front door. He only catches a glimpse, realizing the color of your hair, leaving a package on his doorstep.

He doesn’t open the door, but can hear you giggling outside and then running back to your car before driving away.

A smile curls up his face, he catches it, and gets embarrassed.

Once the coast is clear, he feels the ping and vibration from his phone, checking it.

“I was driving by and someone left something on your doorstep!”

He smiles at your text.

“Oh really?”

“Yes!”

“Funny… I saw someone giggling outside driving your car and had your hair color too.”

“So weird!”

He puts his phone down, he’s smiling. Opening the door, seeing the small cream colored package on his porch. Picking it up gently; he brings the package inside.

A small hint of worry comes to his head. What’s inside the package?

He sees it’s sealed with thin, clear tape. He grabs the knife out of his sweatpants, flips it open, quickly swiping the knife against the tape.

The scent hits him. It’s sweet, and vanilla?

He opens the package and there are four cupcakes inside. Perfectly frosted, decorated with rainbow sprinkles. There is one word written on each of the cupcakes.

“Happy. two. month. anniversary!”

Fuck. He can’t help the smile that appears on his face. He’s never celebrated any anniversary before and now he feels stupid that he didn’t even remember.

He quickly texts you back��

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Buuuut how else are we supposed to celebrate?”

His tongue licks his bottom lip, attempting to hide the smile that keeps appearing. At this rate, his cheeks are going to be sore from all this happiness.

“Can I see you tonight?”

“Yes. Your place or mine?”

“Yours.”

*

There’s a small hesitation when he reaches the door to your apartment. He leans against the doorframe after the first 3 knocks. He hears you running from the living room to the door, where you take 3-4 breaths? He counted three for sure. Then you collect yourself and slowly walk to the door.

Once opened, he prays mentally that you don’t notice how fast his heart is racing when he envelops you in a hug.

“Hi!” You chirp at him, he can see how far your neck cranes up to see him.

He bends down to kiss you, pulls up his face mask.

His heart keeps pounding on his chest, it’s so loud, thumping in his ears. Please don’t let her hear or feel it.

You bring him towards the couch, laying on him immediately. He likes that you’re so comfortable with him. You don’t hesitate with him.

“Well?” You ask.

“Well what?”

“What’s up? What’s new? Why are you nervous?”

He covers his face with his enormous hand, blushing instantly.

“How do you know?” He says sheepishly.

“What? That you’re nervous? You’ve been red since you opened the door.”

He doesn’t know if this is going to last long, part of him hopes that it does because he can’t grow tired of hearing you run towards the door when he comes by. He can’t get over how you greet him with so much love, and he can’t get over meeting someone so… so special like you.

[luvissues]

cold as a wagon tire

groundskeeper! ghost x reader, inspired by this post

cw: death, murder(?) kinda

His rugged boots have long since dug their soles into the mud of the sullied ground, treads worn and tired (somehow, the steel toes always shine spick-and-span, rain or shine).

He walked a familiar path each day, the hours lapping into one another- a rhythmic lull. Every day, for as long as he’d counted, he’d take the path that stretched miles and miles around the length of the graveyard.

And then, when he stopped counting, he kept walking it anyway.

It wasn’t just walking, though. Simon did *everything*. He did everything for the rotting bastards buried deep beneath the soil, because the families and friends and lovers who had rightfully left them to be forgotten wouldn’t.

Regrettably, it was his home. Tethered to him by the macabre work he’d found himself in. It wasn’t so much as tie to the job, as much as it was a metal chain anchoring him there.

There was no iron ball at the end. Only the weight of hundreds of gravestones, dirty and ugly and languishing, just like him.

He knows the name they all give him. It’s from the people who do come back; stupid sods who keep themselves indebted to remains long gone, to a soul that rests far lower than where the body was ever buried.

He doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t speak to them, anyway. In somewhere along his long haul, he’d started to associate with it, too. They’d done him a favor, ridding him of his name- because no person would ever work this job, would ever keep themselves so close to the dead that even something as human sleeping was reduced down to shortening the hours until he had to work again.

They called him Ghost, and the name rested well with that enigma of a man. But he did the job well.

The grounds are always clean. Not pretty, but oddly well cared for. He doesn’t respect the people who lie underneath his feet, no, but he was never one to half-ass a job.

The iron fence shines. The grass is always trimmed, weeded. The gravel path is a neat, straight line, the only out-of-order being the marks scuffed into it by one hefty pair of boots.

At the end of the day, there’s always a fire burning in the house that lies just behind the thick canopy of trees at the yard’s border. Because even though they call him Ghost, he hates the way his cold fingers tremble as if he’s just seen one when he tucks in for the night.

But of course, he never holds a spark to that kindle during the day. Perhaps that’s why maybe you presumed the home to be abandoned; for how orderly the graveyard was, the house seemed not to warrant the same type of care.

It wasn’t like you had ever seen anyone around the cemetery, anyway. And that kind of privacy is what you needed.

Naturally, Simon notices when there seems to be a second pair of footprints along his daily route. The grit was wet and muddy after the previous day’s rain, and it only made the marks more apparent.

If he didn’t know better, he might’ve guessed that it was a pair of heels tracing his walk. What was more concerning, though, was the long streak of mud that followed right beside it.

Not that the groundskeeper was deterred one bit. He followed the tracks in the same way a hunting dog would follow the spoor of it’s catch, attention unwavering. And when those prints veered off course and into the grass, he was sure to follow.

The rush had grown long and thick over weeks of rain, never seeming to dry enough for him to go in and crop it. Water caught on the rough fabric of his jeans as he waded through the overgrown blades, passing through the rows and columns of headstones, following the thick line of mud that had sprouted off the pathway.

Strangely, it stopped in front of his house.

Not that his home was very visible from here, not with the stocky blanket of forest that enveloped it. But you had lead him all the way to the end of the acres, past the fence and into the encompassing woods.

Simon wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected to be at the end of his hunt. Maybe a canine had dragged it’s sorry meal through the winding field, or a sorrowing lover had carried with them a wagon of sorts when coming to visit their spouse’s grave. But you?

No, he can’t say he expected you to be standing there; wet, cold body lying helplessly at your feet. Living up to his name, Ghost doesn’t say a word or move even an inch as he watches you bring up your shovel, only to use all your strength to haul it back down over the poor cadaver.

It’s admirable, really. He notices the blades of your shoulders flexing with each swing, muscles tensing and straining. If anything, you’ve piqued his interest.

But he knows that any successful chase lies in the wait. So, he watches on with sick interest, simply surveying the way that this corpse is becoming more mangled and unrecognizable with each blow you throw at it.

Eventually, your shoulders rise and fall in time with your chest. Deep, heavy lungfuls of putrid air he has long grown adapted to.

And like that, you’re walking. Waltzing off as if you hadn’t left a mutilated mess just practically on his front porch.

So he wastes no time closing distance. Before you can even register who it is, you’re turning around at the sound of bulky steps moving through the sod.

When you meet his eyes, you know that your shovel will be of no use against this man.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. His masks conceals just about everything except for his eyes, deep and brown like the dirt beneath your feet. He makes no attempt to conceal the way they rove over you, though.

Truthfully, you look harmless. Not the same woman who’d maimed the body at the edge of his woods. In the back of his mind, a voice from years past stirs in his head, a click of a tongue and a murmur about what a wee lamb you appeared to be.

“Y’ve got no business leaving me such a mess to clean,” he gruffs. When his voice finally raises, it’s rough and low, and exactly what you’d expect from a man like him.

The only thing you can think to do in the moment is blink up at him owlishly. Clean up? This was a matter of court, of prison, of the worst crime, and he…

didn’t seem anything more than a bit agitated. His indifference to it all was enough to make the skin at the back of your neck prickle.

“Leave him.” Is all there is to say. You’d beaten that measly man for a reason- he didn’t deserve any more grace. You’d already given him a quick death, an easy regret, and this was making up for it.

Simon doesn’t reply. He’s still trying to figure you out, gears clicking and chugging along in his head.

Your stockings are absolutely filthy, shoes ruined and peeling with mud and grime. The shovel slung over your shoulder is damn near bent ninety degrees with how much you’d put it to work. Brows pinching together, he tsks.

“Leave ‘im?” He scoffs. “And let the ugly bastard sit t’ rot in my yard? You ‘ad a shovel, the least you could do was bury him.”

Like him, your mind is hard at work. He‘s just witnessed you drag a dead body for well over a mile, beat it senseless, and for what? He’s more concerned about digging a proper hole for the grubby remains. You’re half convinced he might pull a measuring tape from his pocket and start mapping out six feet beneath your feet right now.

Somehow, you’re voice doesn’t waver as much as you might’ve thought. You shake your head at his suggestion. “Doesn’t deserve it.”

The keeper’s gaze darkened a bit at that. He was plenty sure that the man didn’t deserve it- why else would a little dove like you have gotten herself into all this trouble? Still, he can’t let you go just like that.

“You thought you were gonna get away?” He hums quietly. You’re both painfully aware of how he’s shortened the space between you.

Once he’s close enough, he leans down to get a better look at your face. The rain that drips copiously from the trees has mingled with your sweat, leaked into the cotton of your clothes.

In any other circumstance, he might’ve passed you up as another ditzy bird. But all dirtied up, you couldn’t have looked any more appealing.

Simon had long grown tired of trying to break in whining little women all by himself. He hadn’t considered finding one who was already well worn to the rugged edges of the world.

“What if I turn you in?” He proposes, and the following silence hangs heavy. He’d have no issue slinging over your shoulder to march you off to the sheriff, and that’s a certainty.

“Then at least it’ll be for the right cause.”

He almost wants to laugh. God, no, you’re no precious lamb. You’re a damn wolf, an ugly little beast, and you’ve fallen right into his hands.

They always said that opposites attract, but Simon can’t help that his tattered soul is becoming determined to pin you down. Maybe they lied.

“Tell you what,” he murmurs, tone deep and steady as if mulling things over. “I’ll cut you a deal. You sit nice and pretty while I clean up yer mess, and we’ll go from there.”

When you don’t respond right away, a gloved hand comes up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your lips pursed together. He’s no fool to think that you’re powerless- no, not after this- but there was always something rewarding about getting those girls to settle in.

You’ll be different, that he’s sure of, but the thrill is familiar.

“Deal?” he presses, pulling you in until you’re near eye to eye. And when you do give him a stiff nod, he’s quick to let up, ushering you along with a big paw heavy on your back and promises of an ashy fire waiting to warm you up at home.

Your tongue is a bit too tied to correct him at the suggestion that it’s your home, not his. But that’s okay. He prefers it better like this anyway.

[anamelessfool]

A Naming (part 3 of 5)

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid Anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU with Seocondo being Papa from 2001-2008

CW: Underage Drinking, Strong Language

Paul does the ritual. It goes exactly as expected.

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin🎃 I’m on AO3 with all my other fics but Tumblr gets mad at me when I post links check out #anamelessfool halloween tag for the prev chapter, #anamelessfool halloween start to start the fic.

The car full of teens crunched along the gravel path behind the old church. Headlights illuminated the rickety silhouette of a swingset, beyond which the old churchyard loomed. The kids unfolded themselves from the car and mingled in the grass.

For most of the short ride here it was a joke. Get the weird gravedigger kid to do some magic or something, see some ghosts. But as they surveyed the headstones cast about like old crooked teeth juxtaposed beside the children’s covered picnic area they fell into a reverent silence. The big junior boy attempted to lighten the mood by dragging his body down the metal slide meant for preschoolers and he wasn’t even rewarded with the dumb grins he craved. Brian was still taking furtive nips from the flask in his jacket but Paul hadn’t been interested for two hours now. This didn’t seem like the place for it.

He wondered how he’d do it, whatever he’d decide to do. He knew he needed to create a circle and surround it with the right symbols. Something would need to be inside, maybe the candle; and he’d utter the syllables while tracing the circle once more with his tibia wand. He knew enough about magic to know that most of it was about just thinking about what you wanted and letting whatever happened after that run its course, but a good show was in order. He didn’t want to look stupid on top of failing to procure a decent paranormal event.

Dana smiled again at him, but she still held her friend Tiff’s hand. “What are you going to do for us?” she asked. In the low light emitted from the nearby streetlamp her eyes were wide, glittering. She was living her favorite quote, and all Paul needed to do was to let her soul take her where she wanted to be. Some sort of dark, mysterious place where demons and magic are fun. Paul left all that when he was too young to remember, but knew enough that gothic drama had a price.

“Maybe…” Paul analyzed the scene beyond the fence, where the ancient headstones were planted. “Spirit communication?”

“Ghosts? We’re going to talk to ghosts?” Tiff could barely contain her excitement.

“Yeah,” Paul replied quickly. “Let’s use the picnic area to set up.”

Under the awning studded with dead wasp nests was a smooth platform of sidewalk concrete. The kids gathered around and Paul felt the fear settle in. He was a natural performer as long as he was lodged in some hole with only his music to be perceived by. Now five older kids stared into him, getting more restless as he scrambled through his father's journal to find an enticingly arcane image to entertain them with.

He finally discovered a page drawn with a ring of syllables that he could reasonably pronounce. He got to work, drawing on the white concrete with the dark sidewalk chalk. He placed the candle in the center of the small circle along with the obsidian chunk and a sprinkling of the dried rose petals. The two girls were captivated while the boys half watched and half play wrestled with each other. Brian swayed a little and handed him a lighter for the candle, chuckling.

“Now I uh…call in the energies,” said Paul. He was supposed to start facing east and go clockwise, but in the dark there was no indication of true direction. He remembered observing a few of these gestures and repeated them here. Just recently at the equinox he had helped Secondo circumnabulate the property line of his home, restoring the energy buried along with all the nail-filled mason jars holding up the wards. He replicated the careful gesture of drawing a pentagram in the air with the wand, but refused to include the deep sonorous chant that went with it. He knew they would laugh.

At last he returned to the circle. “I…cast my will as a net,” he mumbled. “The Void will provide. Nevertheless I will endure.“

“Now what?” Muttered Brian.

“I circumambulate the circle.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Grunted the boy from the backseat that Paul thought was named Tyler.

“Walk around,” said Paul. “Say the words.” He held out the tibia, pointing at the syllables as he stepped toe to toe past them. The other hand held the book as he read out each symbol slowly, his voice cracking. “Ab-Che-halva-ach-aleph-namu…eke…ab-Che-halva…” In his circumambulation he kept passing Dana and Tiff, trying not to meet their eyes. He wasn’t certain whether they were fascinated or bored and he didn’t want to find out. The sounds were guttural, cruel, and unknown. He was not sure of when to stop.

And then the candle went out.

The boys stopped mugging. Paul cautiously brought the tibia back into his hoodie pocket, blinking. “Should we…go out and check?”

“Check for what?” Whispered Dana. He hadn’t realized how close she came to him, her eyes wide with excitement. The boys were already out on the grass, still pretending to be half-interested but silent and watchful all the same.

“I dunno…” Paul held out his hand and Dana took it, Tiff linking arms with her. The three of them stepped cautiously back onto the grass to scan the treeline.

There was the chainlink fence, the gravestones beyond it, solid as always. The candle went out, but nothing happened. Paul felt stupid, wondering with a growing sickness in his gut that all he did tonight was look like the weirdo gravedigger kid they thought he was.

“So does your dad talks like that to all the dead grandmas he works on or…” Tyler was already done with all this, and Dave laughed in response.

“I told you there’s no spirits there,” muttered Paul. “And he’s not the one that works on them ,okay?”

“Yeah. This is all a fucking joke. Honestly.”

Paul heard Dana’s voice and it warmed him, just for a small moment. “Listen, come on, it’s just all in good fun, ok?”

Paul felt something small bounce off his shoulder and fall into the grass. “Ouch, fuck!” snapped a kid nearby, clapping a hand over his own head. “What the hell is that?”

Paul ducked down to retrieve the items that fell by his feet. It was an ordinary quarter and two pennies. He heard someone else stir, disturbed by more items falling on their head. “Coins.”

“Coins? Oh! Yeah!” said Dana, holding one up. “Where are they coming from?”

Something fell behind Paul, bouncing off his back. A cigarette lighter phone charger. Nearby, a few crumpled receipts and empty paper soft drink cup dropped onto the grass, followed by more coins. “It's…stuff from the car…”

“Car’s fucking locked,” hissed Dave. He swore again and Paul heard another coin bounce off his head. He felt old crumbs collect in his hair, sprinkled by something inexplicable above them all.

Paul glanced over to the car.

Then something happened. It felt like his brain was broken; his eyes lied. He saw the air above the car, the negative space empty there for a moment, and then watched an object pop into existence. Something big, dark and heavy that then was dropped down on top of the car so forcefully the hood crumpled into a crush of metal.

It was a small headstone from the churchyard.

“Everybody under the awning,” Paul commanded hoarsely, running backwards while still staring fixedly at the car in front of them. Coins continued to drop seemingly from nowhere, the soft sound of them hitting the grass all around them.

Paul couldn't process what he just saw. The rock was not there, and then yet it was there. And absolutely totaled the car right before their eyes.

The night taunted them with its normalcy. There was nothing out of place. No stirring leaf, no swing disturbed. The single streetlight buzzed and threw stark highlights across the asphalt by the ruined car.

A small stone fell from the awning, skidding to Paul’s feet. But there was nothing there except those empty husks of paper wasps and cobwebs.

“The car, man!” Dave whined. He bit his lip and wrung his hands. “My fucking car…”

“Would you shut up about the car?!” the junior boy rasped. His hands were over his head. “How did that stone—”

Gravel dumped across his head and skittered to the floor. The boy yelled, hopping backwards into Dave, who nearly punched him in terror. The sliding hiss of gravel falling behind them made their heads whip around to see when more would drop.

“Just like that,” said Paul, pointing. He stared fixedly at a spot where another stone had dropped. He squinted, trying to steel his nerves. Name it, his father’s voice uttered. Name what?

Just as before, a new stream of gravel was there in the air as matter-of-factly as how they were not there moments before. The space became filled without even a blink of an eye. And more stones fell.

“I’m getting out of here,” shouted Tyler. He made a few steps towards the edge of the awning and another heavy grave marker dropped, barely missing his head and cracking the concrete. He scrambled back to the group just in time for Paul to read the date 1812 carved upon it.

“It doesn’t want us to leave!” shrieked Tiff. “What did you even do?!”

Another fall of small stones from the parking lot; this time a steady, almost luxurious stream of tiny pebbles appearing, falling, and pooling into an aggressive pile right before their eyes. The sliding, angry hiss rustled terror up Paul's spine as he bit the inside of his cheek and drew blood. Satisfied, the gravel stream ceased as if someone turned off an arcane spigot. Another rock dropped onto the Junior boy's head, and he screamed, prompting yet another small rock to be pelted at Tiff and Dana.

In the silence between the bursts of stones across their heads, one of the girls started sobbing. Paul stared down at the circle in front of him, tears blurring his own eyes. “Oh, fuck! Fuuuck!” shouted Dave and Paul whipped his head up to the sound of tires on the gravel. Another spurt of rocks fell to the ground, these much larger and thrown fast enough to bounce off the concrete.

Beside the wrecked car loomed a black hearse. The headlights dimmed as the door opened, a form gingerly rising to its feet and affixing a crutch. Tall, wide shoulders slung back. The face was obscured, but the Eye shone. The eye, a brilliant beam in the dark.

“Fuck, run!” Brian yelled, but his drinking got the best of him and he stumbled across a picnic table. The other kids were frozen on the spot, the spurts of rocks scattering around them forgotten as a storybook nightmare materialized in front of their eyes.

“No,” Paul said softly. “Don’t run.”

The hearse, the Eye, the shambling gait on the large proud form was an image out any slasher movie. But Paul knew this visage more than anyone. And more than anyone, he felt an intensity of fear only experienced by a son who had completely, utterly, and wholly fucked up.

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Next part in comments!

[zabo-writes]

Hanging Around (Scar + Grian)

Grian gets spooked and his avian tendencies make him stress grip the ceiling of the Barge. Scar encounters him in this awkward predicament.

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

Grian was in a bit of a pickle.

His day had been fairly normal:

He mined ten full shulker boxes of sand and gravel to restock at the Barge. 

He avoided the back of his base like a plague. 

He fed Mumbo’s weird sentient base… all very normal, non stressful activities.

Inside the Barge, as Grian was opening the chests to collect his diamonds, he suddenly slipped and set off a firework rocket. It made a loud BANG sound, and left lots of pretty purple paper bits all over the floor that were going to be a pain to get out later. It had been mostly harmless really, only a tick or two of damage, but on instinct Grian jumped and grabbed onto the campfire-thatched ceiling of his upper floor for dear life.

This would not have been a problem, were it not for the fact that his talons had caught the wood in a stress grip, and now he couldn’t let go.

Grian was stuck on the ceiling.

He sighed. It wasn’t often that his avian behaviors interfered with his day to day, but boy did they choose the most awkward times! Grian stretched his wings in annoyance.

Okay! Let's assess the damage: 

His entire left foot’s talons were wrapped securely around the campfire wood on the roof of the barge. He had no control over the vice-like grip strength that his talons held in these situations. Depending on the level of stress that induced it, this could keep him stuck for anywhere from minutes to hours. 

His right hand had grasped a fence post on the wall to stable himself in his fright. That grip was less… grippy? His knuckles were still white with tension, but in his experience he was usually able to gain control over his hand far more quickly. Grian wasn’t really sure why, maybe it was because his feet were more bird-like, and his hands were less so? He wasn’t going to question it.

Right foot, left hand, and both wings free to flail idly while he waited. And bump awkwardly into all his chests.

With a bit of focus and begrudgingly calm breathing, Grian managed to dislodge his other hand. Great! Now he could hang upside down like a bat while he waited for his foot to be less grippy. Nothing to see here, just an average day at the Barge, doing his stretches… 

Grian really hoped no one came in to see him like this.

But it seemed luck was not in his favor today, as he began to hear singing in the distance growing slowly louder as someone approached. And singing generally only meant the arrival of one person in particular.

“Why, hello there! What are you up to on this fine afternoon Grian? Hanging around?”

Grian leveled Scar with his most unimpressed expression, though the effect was slightly diminished by his predicament. Scar shamelessly eyed the avian down and up, undeterred.

Growing a little self conscious of his jumper slipping and showing his stomach, Grian adjusted his arms so he was leaning extremely casually against the wall. Very casual and also comfortable. He hoped Scar left soon because he could not keep this up for long.

“Hello Scar. I’m doing quite well actually! Just doing my daily stretches.”

Scar nodded sagely, “Ohh I see! Always good to stay fit, that’s good, keep the muscles strong.” 

“Yes, precisely! So, did you need something?”

“Hmm, I actually came by looking for some lanterns, but I think I’ll do some leisurely shopping around the Barge! I’m sure you don’t mind, do you, Grian?”

Grian did mind, actually! He minded very much, Scar! Grian cursed his bird luck under his breath, but gritted out “Don’t you have some mayoral duties to attend to? More evil lasers to build?”

“It’s not evil! It has solar panels,” Scar said as he brought himself face to face with the hanging avian, placing his hands on the sides of Grian’s shoulders, “And besides. I’m much more intrigued on what’s going on with you. I think you’re lying, pesky bird.”

Grian felt his face grow hot. He tried to shift away, to no avail.

“Scar…”

“C’mon! You can tell me, what's up?”

“..... I’m a bit stuck.”

“Really?!” Scar gasped, “Stuck in your own shop? If this isn’t Grian-safe, it surely isn’t Scar safe… I may need to write you a citation!”

“No, no, it's like a bird thing. I got spooked by a rocket and then I stress-gripped the ceiling.”

Scar’s face lit up in a way that usually did not mean good things for Grian.

“Oh, I can help you calm down! Hold on right there Grian, I’ve got just the wizard crystal for this occasion…”

“I really don’t think that's needed here,” Grian protested as Scar rifled through his enderchest, coming out triumphantly with a pink piece of glass. 

“Here we go! A one of a kind calming crystal just for you! Oh, and I can go get Jellie for you as well, she’s very calm…”

In the midst of Scar’s rambling, Grian felt his talons release from the ceiling. He tumbled gracelessly to the floor, taking out Scar in the process and landing them both in a tangled heap on the ground.

“You deserved that,” said Grian fondly, making no move to get off of Scar.

Scar looked up at him with a smile, “Another satisfied customer! Can I interest you in a bulk deal?”

[kpopsexstories]

TXT MOST MEMORABLE SEX – Story #2: YEONJUN

A new story/member every Monday between September 16-October 28, 2024. Click here to view the posting schedule.

Story: Yeonjun's adopted cousin rides him in a barn.

Type: MEDIUM/UNCONVENTIONAL

Content: Standing, Riding, Sex in a barn

Word Count: 2,767

Members: Yeonjun

Story #2: YEONJUN

Yeonjun had an uncle who owned a dairy farm in the Korean countryside. Every summer for as long as he could remember he spent some time on the farm with his family.

When he became an adult – and an idol – long summer breaks were no longer an option. But since the uncle's wife had passed away, Yeonjun made it a point to visit and help out at least a few times a year.

On this hot August day, he was high up on a ladder outside the uncle's barn. He was wearing light blue suspenders over a white t-shirt, and had a bucket of red paint hanging on a hook beside him.

Yeonjun was deep in his own thoughts while he painted the exterior of the large structure, but was abruptly pulled back to reality when a car approached from behind. He turned to look, and saw a pickup truck racing down a gravel road leading through a fence and up to the main house. It stopped just a stone throw away from Yeonjun on the ladder.

“How's it going?” his uncle asked and waved when he stepped out of the vehicle. He had a toolbox in one hand, and a plastic bag full of groceries in the other.

“I'm nearly done with this side,” Yeonjun replied and dipped the brush in the bucket. His clothes were stained with paint and a red streak ran across his cheek.

The uncle had a daughter – Ye-jun, Yeonjun's cousin – who stepped out of the passenger side of the truck. She was wearing dark blue overalls but had taken the top down and tied the arms around her waist. Her chest was covered by a tightly fitted white top.

She smiled at Yeonjun on the ladder but didn't say anything as she walked with her father into the house. Yeonjun couldn't help but stare at her perky breasts. There's no way she's wearing a bra under that, he thought.

He continued to work in silence while a song played in his head. He began to hum along to it, until Ye-jun came back out to greet him properly.

“Hey,” she said, looked up, and shaded her eyes with the back of her hand. “Looking good!”

“Hey,” Yeonjun replied. “Thanks. It's not my first paint job.”

Ye-jun smirked. “I didn't mean the wall,” she said and winked at her cousin. ”Dad asked me to come help you. Can I do something?”

Ye-jun was not like other girls. She was a country girl. Not by blood, but by a genuine interest. She was born to live and work on a farm. Now, Yeonjun enjoyed the feeling of being the one to tell her what to do, rather than the other way around the way it usually was when he came to visit.

“You could move the hay in the barn,” he said. “I started earlier but never got to finish.”

Ye-jun smiled, put her hand down and walked around the ladder. She stopped in the large opening leading into the darkness of the structure Yeonjun was working on.

“Aren't you hot?” Ye-jun asked and winked again.

“Insanely,” Yeonjun said and wiped his forehead with his arm.

“Come take a break with me.”

“Later, I promised I would finish this.”

Ye-jun looked around the farmland. “Hey, will you do something for me?” she asked in a lower voice. She had a naughty, playful expression on her face. ”Take off your shirt.”

Yeonjun laughed. He and Ye-jun had always been flirting and loved to tease one another, but nothing had ever happened between them. He knew that the request was meant to embarrass him, to make him uncomfortable. He decided to not let her get to him that way, and to give Ye-jun exactly what she asked for. It was his way of teasing back.

She stood patiently for a few long seconds, waiting for his reaction. She was chewing gum and blew a large, pink bubble. The moment it popped, Yeonjun put the paint brush on the edge of the bucket and pulled down his suspenders. He took the t-shirt off, and confidently maintained eye contact with her down below.

Then Yeonjun pulled the suspenders back up over his bare shoulders. The fabric felt weird when it touched his bare and sweaty skin.

Ye-jun smirked up at him while chewing her gum slowly. She admired his slim and toned figure. But the stare soon became too awkward for Yeonjun, who broke the connection between them by laughing nervously. He wiped his face with the shirt, then tossed it down at her.

“Ew!” she said when she caught it. She immediately dropped it to the ground. “It's soaked!”

Now it was Yeonjun's turn to wink and smirk. “I told you I was hot,” he teased.

Even though the two cousins had grown up together, and seen each other grow into young adults, they were both totally fine with the flirting and sexualizing that had been going on between them at least for the last few years, since Ye-jun's mother passed.

You see, Ye-jun wasn't Yeonjun's natural cousin. She was adopted. Though she'd always been a presence in Yeonjun's life, the fact that they were related only spiritually but not by blood, meant that they both dared to say and do things they otherwise wouldn't have said or done. They would never tell or show the uncle this, and it did indeed feel forbidden and even wrong, but that sort of secrecy and naughtiness only made it all the more exciting.

Ye-jun giggled when she walked away and disappeared into the belly of the barn. Shirtless and sweaty, Yeonjun resumed his duties.

The song in his head had stopped playing. Now, he imagined Ye-jun with her perky breasts in the tight top, forking away at the hay inside the barn. The mental image was an insane turn-on, and he would surely masturbate to the idea before going to sleep tonight.

His horny thoughts were interrupted when the uncle came back out and headed for the truck. “Hey,” he called out to get Yeonjun's attention. “I forgot something in town. I'll be back in twenty, okay?”

“Okay,” Yeonjun replied. He suddenly felt embarrassed after all, just as he knew Ye-jun had wanted him to feel. Sure, it was hot, but why would he suddenly have taken his shirt off when he was nearly done with the wall, and only when his cousin had come out? It wasn't something he usually did.

His uncle didn't question it though. He started the truck, made a hasty u-turn, and drove away through the opening in the fence and down the dirt road. As soon as the sound of the engine and the tires on the gravel disappeared, Ye-jun called from inside.

“Hey Yeonjun,” she shouted. “Get in here!”

Yeonjun was confused. Had something happened? Was she alright, or was this another one of her jokes or tricks? It didn't matter, because if it was either of those he was eager to get to her.

He quickly stopped his work, climbed down the ladder, and jogged to the dark opening of the barn. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the difference in light, but he quickly spotted Ye-jun.

She was seated with her legs crossed on a tightly packed square hay bale, half-way into the belly of the barn. The fork she'd worked with stood beside her, in the pile of hay she'd been separating and moving.

“Come,” she said and smiled. She wasn't in any kind of trouble, which was a relief.

Yeonjun walked over to her and stood in front of her. He struggled to keep his eyes off her chest. “What?” he asked.

Ye-jun held out her hand. “Come closer,” she said.

Yeonjun took another step forward and grabbed the hand. When he did, she un-crossed her legs and yanked his arm until his whole body was standing between her thighs.

As flirty as they had been in the last few years, this was new territorry. Yeonjun had always wondered what Ye-jun felt about him, and what she made of the fact that they were cousins only by adoption. He was about to find out.

When he didn't immediately show any signs of wanting to get away, Ye-jun placed a hand behind his head and pushed his face towards hers. Yeonjun's heart almost stopped. He opened his mouth a little, closed his eyes, and they kissed.

The kiss felt amazing. It was one they'd both secretly longed for, something they had hoped and wished would one day happen, and now it finally did. So suddenly, so unexpectedly, and at Ye-jun's initiative.

Yeonjun responded well to it. It felt great. They made out for half a minute, until Ye-jun took the suspenders and pulled them over Yeonjun's shoulders. When he realized what was happening, he reached out to feel the breasts he'd been eyeing all day.

“Uncle,” he said in between kisses.

“We've got at least ten minutes,” Ye-jun replied.

That wasn't a long time, but it was all they needed.

When Yeonjun's suspenders slid down his arms, Ye-jun suddenly let go of him and took off her top. Yeonjun froze and stared at her naked breasts in awe. He quickly snapped back to reality and reached out to touch them. He was in awe.

With Yeonjun's hands and lips all over her, Ye-jun stood up. She untied the overalls around her waist and pulled them down to her ankles. If she was wearing anything else underneath it all came off with them. She suddenly stood naked in front of Yeonjun, who could hardly believe that this was happening.

Ye-jun sat back down and spread her legs. Yeonjun was quickly and instinctively onboard. He pulled the one-piece down and his boxers off with them.

Ye-jun leaned back and admired his body, and the hard dick as it was presented to her. She smiled, then grabbed the shaft and yanked it, causing Yeonjun to take a leap forward.

“Ouch!” he said and laughed. But he quickly forgot about the pain her eager movements had caused.

He wanted to kiss and fuck her desperately. To play with the gum in her mouth and pass it between them with their lips and tongues. To feel the warmth of her vagina as it swallowed his meat, and rub its walls with the head and shaft.

Ye-jun spread her knees a little wider, and Yeonjun reached down between their legs. Things were happening fast, two horny young people who had been flirting for a long time, and who now released their desires and sexual tension all at once.

When he penetrated her, he quickly pulled his hand away and started to feel his cousin's breasts and soft skin again.

He stood with his feet firmly planted on the ground and clenched his ass cheeks. His hips immediately rocked back and forth. The shaft pushed inside, then came back out, as he began to fuck his adopted cousin with passion.

Their kissing was sloppy and hot, their bodies slippery with sweat. Yeonjun kept thrusting fast and hard, pushing in and out of the girl. She used her tongue to push the gum out, and he gladly took it in his mouth before returning it.

Ye-jun leaned further and further back on her elbows on top of the hay bale. Then she suddenly sat up straight again. She pushed Yeonjun away and leaned forward to remove her shoes, and pull the overall over her feet.

Yeonjun bent down and did the same to his own clothes. He nearly lost his balance as the shoes and suspenders came off, and he suddenly stood completely naked before his partner.

Nude, horny and filled with years of built-up sexual tension, Ye-jun stood up and swirled around. She took the fork and pulled it out of the stack of hay she had created, then threw it on the ground. With her free hand she pushed Yeonjun on the chest to show him what she wanted him to do.

He fell backwards onto the makeshift bed. The dry grass pricked his skin, but once he'd sunken into it, it felt soft and cozy.

Ye-jun sat down on top of him. She dug her knees into the hay on either side of him and grabbed his boner between her legs. Eager to get it back inside her, she lowered herself onto the stiff shaft.

Yeonjun had his eyes wide open and fixed on the beautiful figure on top of him. He rested his hands on her thighs while she got into position. When she began to rock her hips back and forth, he took a firm grip around her waist.

Ye-jun soon began to bounce up and down. She straightened her back and reached behind her neck with both hands, to collect her long hair and brush it to one side. Yeonjun held on tight around her waist, had his mouth half open, and took in her body with his eyes.

Ye-jun's perky breasts jumped up and down with the rest of her. As she rode him, Yeonjun reached up to feel them. He massaged and cupped them with his palms. They were round and firm and felt amazing to touch.

From the large opening leading into the barn, all that could be seen was Ye-jun's upper body peaking out among the hay bales around them while it bounced up and down, and Yeonjun's outstretched arms and hands on her breasts.

Yeonjun started panting as Ye-jun's vagina slid up and down his dick. “Uh, uh, uh,” he moaned repeatedly.

“Fuck me,” Ye-jun said. She leaned forward and placed her hands on Yeonjun's chest, pushing him deeper into the hay. She moved her hips faster up and down, and Yeonjun matched her speed with rapid thrusts.

“Ahh, I'm gonna come,” Yeonjun announced and suddenly closed his eyes. In that very moment, they heard the pickup truck approaching on the road outside.

Time was suddenly of the essence. Yeonjun's heart nearly stopped when he heard the engine, and imagined the dust behind the car as it raced toward them.

But Ye-jun was determined to finish things. She suddenly pushed herself up again, straightened her back and bounced even faster. Yeonjun let go of her breasts, squeezed her thighs, and moved his ass up and down at an insane pace. He grimaced and moaned as he pushed and pulled her body, determined to reach a climax before it was too late.

Yeonjun orgasmed just as the car stopped outside the main house and the engine was shut off. He groaned when he ejaculated inside his cousin. Ye-jun, in turn, quickly leaned far down to kiss him, effectively hiding herself from view. She moved her hips slowly back and forth on top of him, as he fully emptied himself inside her.

When they heard the car door close, Ye-jun quickly rolled off. Yeonjun stood up and put his feet inside the suspenders on the ground. He pulled them up while Ye-jun reached out from behind her hiding spot to grab her clothes. She giggled and pressed herself close against the nearest hay bale to stay out of sight.

Her father appeared as a dark silhouette against the bright sun outside, just as Yeonjun pulled the second strap over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” the uncle asked when he spotted Yeonjun inside.

“Nothing,” Yeonjun said, flustered and still with a semi-boner between his legs. He hadn't had time to put his underwear on under the suspenders. “I needed a break.”

“Where's Ye-jun?”

“I don't know. She said she'd help me but I haven't seen her since you left.”

Ye-jun swallowed her gum and kicked his leg. Fuck you, she mouthed but smiled when Yeonjun briefly glanced down at her.

“Alright,” his uncle said and turned around to walk away. “Finish the wall, then get back to moving the hay. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Okay,” Yeonjun said and watched as the man's silhouette disappeared.

When it was gone, he turned to look on the ground beside him. Ye-jun was huddled up, naked and giggling in the hay. They both burst out laughing, and covered their mouths to keep the sound from escaping the depths of the barn.

When she was dressed, Ye-jun gave Yeonjun a kiss on the lips before leaving him. Red-skinned and bare-chested he started walking toward the sunlight, while Ye-jun took a door at the other end of the barn to walk around the house and avert suspicion.

To this day Yeonjun had no idea if his uncle saw or suspected anything. They never said a word about it. But from this day on, visits to the farm became so much more interesting, until one day a few years later when Ye-jun moved out.

When she did, the uncle finally sold the farm. The place that had been a fixed and cherished location for the cousins their whole lives soon became a distant memory. The memories, however, of both the farm and of their hot sex, forever lived on in Yeonjun's mind.

[virtualreader]

the thrill of the shot

rickgrimesxfem!reader

summary: handling a gun can be challenging and tough, yet essential for apocalypse survival. so when a little shooting incident takes place during the prison conquest, Rick decides to give you shooting lessons himself.

word count: 2,5k.

warnings: gun handling, blood and walkers, sexual tension, very mild smut (if you squint), not proofread (yet).

a/n: so this was an idea of mine I had requested @sinsandsweetness to write a while ago. seeing as I started to write my own fanfics she suggested I did it myself, so here it is, hope you all enjoy it!

Approximately one hundred walkers crowded the prison's patio, leaving you to wonder how many of them would be inside waiting for you when you enter the building. Foul-smelling blood splattered through the air as the bullets pierced their rotted skulls.

The plan was clear: as Rick had decreed, Gleen, Maggie and Beth would drawn as many walkers as they humanly could to the fence killing them through it. Meanwhile Daryl, Carol, Carl, Hershel and you took the vigilance towers, so Rick could run for the principal gate.

Despite being far from an expert shooter, Rick had entrusted you with one of his guns to take down the walkers from the tower. You recognized your lack of experience and skill, but you had held a handgun before and even shot it a couple of times. In this apocalyptic world, the need for survival often outweighed any apprehension you may have had about using a weapon. Still, it was difficult for you to aim and shoot, especially with the rifle that you firmly held. You took a deep breath, steadied your grip on the gun, and focused on the task at hand.

You kept shooting every walker in Rick’s way with the best of your efforts, uncluttering his path to the main gate, with Daryl and Carol’s help, whose aiming was way more ameliorated than yours.

The leader ran hurriedly to his destination, only halting momentarily to eliminate a rotter or two. Sweat drenched his shirt, dying the fabric a darker hue of brown. In his hands, he held a pistol that appeared almost small due to his large, calloused hands. His expert stance and accuracy with the firearm was a testament to his years of experience as a police officer.

As he approached the gate, a nearly pristine Remington rifle hung over his back, secured by a sturdy strap that caused the weapon to sway with each step he took.

Your newly acquired shooting abilities were successful, and you were feeling confident until one of your bullets hit the ground a few inches before Rick's cowboy boots. Startled, Rick skidded upon the gravel as he abruptly halted his jog. Rick's eyes widened with surprise as he realized that he had narrowly avoided being hit by the bullet. After a sheepish little "sorry" came out of your mouth, he regained his composure, giving you an accusing look before resuming his run.

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you like a hot flash. You could feel your face flush as you realized that your nerves had gotten the best of you. However, you refused to let that stop you.

You took a deep breath and focused again on what you were supposed to be doing – help Rick to reach the gate safely. You knew that you had to be alert and precise in your actions if you were going to survive in this post-apocalyptic world.

You scanned the area for any walkers that might be coming towards Rick. Your fingers tightened around your weapon as you prepared to shoot down any potential threat. You were determined to prove to yourself and to Rick that you were a valuable member of the team.

After what seemed like an endless wait, Rick finally arrived at the main gate. You could feel the tension in the air as everyone watched him approach, wondering if he would make it in time. The sigh of relief you breathed when he finally reached the gate was almost palpable as you watched him close it securely. It was a small victory, but an important one nonetheless. With the gate closed and the yard secured, you and the rest of the group could finally take a much-needed break and relax for a bit.

As you looked out over the yard, you could see that there were still a few walkers left to take care of. It was a daunting task, but one that you knew you had to tackle in order to keep your campsite secure for the night. You and the rest of the group set to work, taking down the remaining walkers one by one. It was hard work, but you all knew that it was necessary to ensure your safety.

Although you felt a sense of accomplishment when the last walker fell, you couldn't shake the memory of the mistake that almost cost Rick his feet. And you could not help but think this would most likely make you a liability to the group's survival.

You rested in your assigned bed among the many vacant ones in C block, which was now your home. It was a strange feeling, knowing that you were living in a prison. In the pre-apocalyptic world, such a thought would have been unthinkable, but now it was a reality that you and your fellow survivors had to face.

That morning, you and the others woke up early at sunrise to clear the rest of the prison, or at least a block of it. Living in a prison would have been unthinkable a couple of years ago, but things had changed. In fact, they had changed a lot.

Glenn and Maggie had managed to scavenge some armor from the walkers they had killed, but it was an arduous task as the dead wore it. You were grateful for the armor, as it made you feel safer while clearing out the prison block.

As you and the others moved through the cells, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The prison was dark and foreboding, and the sound of your footsteps echoed off the concrete walls. You moved cautiously, scanning each cell for any potential threats.

After what felt like hours, you finally finished clearing the block. You and the others gathered in the communal area, exhausted but relieved that the area was secure. As you sat down to catch your breath, you couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with your fellow survivors. It was a feeling that was hard to come by in this post-apocalyptic world, but one that you cherished nonetheless.

As you gazed around the cell you now laid in, taking in the various objects scattered throughout, your eyes fell upon Rick, who was leaning casually against the doorframe. You could see that he was meticulously cleaning his gun, the metal gleaming in the light. Despite feeling nervous, you knew that you had to approach him in order to make amends for your earlier mistake. As you drew closer, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

After what felt like hours, Rick looked up, his piercing blue gaze meeting yours. You could sense the tension in the air as you began to speak, your words tumbling out in a jumbled mess as you tried to convey your sincere apology.

"Rick, I—uh," you began, trying to figure out how to earn his forgiveness. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday. It was my fault, and I'm sorry. I should have aimed better, taken more care with my actions.”

Rick's eyes studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, and you were left to wonder if he was angry with you. You could sense the tension in the air as he weighed his response. He let out a sigh and set his gun down on the small ramshackle table in your cell.

"Y/n, it's okay, mistakes happen," he said, his voice calm. He paused for a moment eyeing you as you nervously stood before him, playing with your silver ring, before continuing. "I’ll teach you to shot.”

Rick’s statement caught you off guard. You couldn't believe your ears. Was he actually willing to teach you how to use a gun? You took a moment to process what he had said, and you looked into his clear blue eyes, perplexed and stone-still.

The thought of learning how to use a gun from someone like Rick, who had years of experience in the field, was both exciting and daunting. You knew that learning to use a gun was not something to be taken lightly, and that it would require discipline, patience, and dedication. But at the same time, you felt a sense of urgency and responsibility, as if knowing how to handle a gun could be a lifesaving skill in certain situations.

“Will you?”

“Yeah, we can start right now," he said as he exited the cell. "C’mon, I’ll go easy on you.”

You followed him out of the cell block, feeling a sense of excitement building inside of you. As you made your way to the prison yard, Rick began to explain the basics of gun safety and handling. You listened intently, taking in every word he said.

Rick started by explaining the different types of firearms and their respective functions. He described how to properly hold a gun, how to aim, and how to shoot. He also shared some tips on how to improve accuracy and how to reload quickly in case of an emergency.

As you continued walking, Rick told you about the different parts of a gun and how they work together. He went on to explain the importance of gun safety and the different rules that must be followed when handling firearms. He emphasized the need to always treat a gun as if it were loaded, never point it at someone unless intending to shoot, and to keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to fire.

The more Rick spoke, the more you realized the complexity of gun handling and how much there was to learn. You asked him several questions, which he patiently answered, and you felt grateful for the opportunity to learn from someone with so much experience.

You were surprised at how quickly you picked up the basics, and how much fun you were having in the process. It was a strange feeling, knowing that you were learning how to use a weapon that was designed to take lives. But at the same time, you knew that it was a necessary skill in this post-apocalyptic world.

Upon reaching the prison yard, Rick handed you a gun. After hesitating for a moment, you picked the gun and aimed it to the target -a makeshift board, made with an old milk cardboard.

You would have expected Rick to lend you any gun to practice but his symbolic Colt Phython 357 Magnum. The sentimental value that the object held for the leader only made your hands tremble even more.

"We'll start off easy, the rifles can wait." he explained seeing the confused look on your face.

With Rick’s gaze pinned on you, the only thing on your mind was whether or not you were making a fool of yourself. You were going over the basic steps of how to position yourself properly, aiming the sight at the exact center of the target, when you felt the heat of Rick's body against your back. He towered over you, his tall and broad figure making you feel smaller every second. Rick adjusted your hands as he placed his over yours, helping you to align yourself properly.

You surely find him attractive, maybe even desirable. However, the situation you found yourself in was unexpected. It was not lost on anyone that Rick and Lori’s relationship had not been the same since he had discovered her affair with Shane, and this had given you hope of having a chance with him.

"Your arms are too straight," his breath brushed your ear as he corrected you. "Unlock your elbows. Your arms should be slightly bent, we don't want the recoil to knock you on your ass.”

You didn't respond, the words clogged in your throat. You could sense the electricity in the air, and the fine hairs on your arms stood on end at his gentle touch.

His hands traveled down to your forearms, his touch both comforting and commanding, as if he was signaling you to do as he said. It was as if time had slowed down, and you were acutely aware of every sensation in your body, from the pounding of your heart to the warmth of his touch.

The resounding thump of your heart speed up as something hard contacted your back, positioning itself between you both.

“Rick.” you gasped when realization came to you.

“Don’t lose sight of the target. Finger off the trigger,” he continued, ignoring your interjection. “Relax your shoulders, and when you’re ready, shoot.”

You took a deep breath and closed one eye, focusing intently on the target. You felt a sense of pressure, knowing that Rick was watching you, but you refused to let that distract you. You pulled the trigger, and the sound of the gunshot echoed through the prison yard.

Your heart raced as you looked at the target, surprised to see that you had, in fact, hit the center.

"Looks like you're a natural," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, as he held onto you to make sure you didn't fall backwards due to the recoil's force.

His hands lingered on your shoulders for a moment before you turned to face him. You shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze as you handed him the gun, suddenly aware of how soaked your underwear had become.

Rick could never imagine the effect he had on you—how your heart raced at the sight of him, or how you struggled to suppress the urge to shift your hips when you saw him holding his revolver. And, undoubtedly, he could never imagine the sick, dirty fantasies you made up in your mind, him being the main character of every single one of them.

Briskly, your gaze shifted to his groin and then back to his face, where a suggestive smirk adorned his slightly aged features.

“Rick.” you reiterated in a husky whisper, practically begging this time.

Rick's left hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch warm and comforting as he set the gun aside. A few seconds was all it took Rick to gather enough courage to lean in, locking his smooth lips with yours in a tender kiss. The feeling of his growing beard brushing against your face added a new layer of intimacy to the moment, as his mouth nuzzled yours with a delicate touch. You could feel the beating of his heart through his chest as he held you close, his embrace strong yet gentle.

When you could not bear anymore with the arousing feeling of his throbbing boner, you placed your hand over it. Rick pulled apart momentarily to let out a surprised yet satisfied gasp.

“Bribery won’t work with me, little lady.” he teased you.

You pulled away from the kiss, your heart racing and your mind in a whirl. You couldn't believe what had just happened, and you were still trying to process it all. You looked up at Rick, who was smiling down at you, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I think we should stick to shooting practice for now," he said, his voice low and husky. “We’ll leave the rest for later, ay?”

[leiawritesstories]

That Well Runs Deep

@throneofglassmicrofics July prompt: "horizon"

a completely random addition to The Rancher AU ehehehe!!! inspired by "Cowboys Cry Too" from Kelsea Ballerini & Noah Kahan ;)

word count: 725

warnings: references to bad upbringing, emotions, angst/comfort

enjoy!!!

(also!! @writtenonreceipts happy birthday!!!! all the best to you friend :D)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin woke up to bright unfiltered sunlight, rumpled bedsheets, and a distinct lack of her favorite cowboy lying next to her. A quick glance at the clock atop the dresser informed her it was seven-fifteen in the morning, and she relaxed a bit, knowing that Rowan was probably out in the corral with the colts. She pushed herself out of bed, got ready for the day, and headed downstairs to find her travel mug of coffee filled and waiting for her on the kitchen counter, right next to a plain yellow sticky note--the only kind Rowan would buy--that bore a simple Love you, Fireheart.

She smiled as she tucked the note into her wallet, adding another love message to her collection. Her cowboy might be a man of few words, but the ones he gave her were kept close to her heart at all times. Blowing a kiss in the general direction of the corral, Aelin left Rowan's cabin, locked the door, climbed into her car, and drove off towards town. Much as she wanted to throw on jeans and an old t-shirt and watch her cowboy train the colts, she had a diner chain to run.

That evening, as the Wyoming sunset chalked smudges of orange and gold through the scattered clouds, she pulled back up to the cabin and found it...empty.

She glanced at her phone, blinked, and looked at the date again. June 24th.

Oh.

Locking the front door behind her, Aelin jogged back down to her car, pulled out of the gravel driveway, and headed southwest, towards the corner of the ranch that overlooked the river. When the dirt road became too narrow for her car to pass through, she pulled over, parked, and headed down the worn treads of the path on foot. Years of footsteps and horse treads had worn this path into the tall grass, and it was barely visible in the fading evening light. The tracks ended at a section of weathered wooden fencing, and it was atop that row of wide, long-since smoothed fence planks, that Aelin found her cowboy.

Rowan slumped atop the fence, his back half-leaning against one of the vertical support posts, his legs dangling off the fence that separated his ranch from unclaimed territory. The last embers of sunset brushed gently across his weary profile, lighting him and the river below in soft splashes of crimson.

Silently, Aelin climbed up onto the fence beside her cowboy, gently placing one hand on his tattooed right wrist. He didn't move, but as her hand slipped down, his fingers curled around hers. She tucked herself into his side, sliding her free arm around his waist, and his breath came shuddering out in a long, unsteady exhale as his body melted against hers.

"'M'sorry," he whispered, his voice a hollow rasp as the horizon darkened into a spill of blue-black, star-dappled night. He turned his head to meet her gaze, and she freed her hand to reach up and brush away the tears tracked down his tanned cheeks.

"It's not your fault, love," she murmured.

His shoulders shook as he leaned into her soothing touch. "I miss her so much." Twelve years ago to the day, Rowan had lost his mother, who had been the shield between her son and his father's temper.

"I'm sure she's looking down with so much pride in you," Aelin said softly. She nudged Rowan's side, coaxing him to follow her as she climbed off the fence. "She loves you so much, Ro."

"She'd love you just as much, darlin'." He wrapped his arms around Aelin's waist, pulling her close to him as he tipped his head back and gazed into the stars. "Just wish it didn't hurt so much."

Aelin rose up onto her tiptoes and placed a kiss right over Rowan's heartbeat. "I know." She reached up and cupped his jaw, tilting his face back down towards hers. "Cowboys can cry too, y'know."

He sighed heavily, the tension gradually seeping from his body as she held him. Under the cover of the night, she led him down to her car and drove back to his cabin, keeping one hand linked with his, rooting both of them in the security of each other's presence. And he finally fell asleep wrapped in her arms, surrounded by the love she gave him.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

[tuttle-4077]

First Draft, Chapter 2, Untitled Post-war Story

Too much exposition? Too much exposition, right?

Gravel crunched under the wheels of his jeep as Hogan brought it to a stop outside the gates. A sergeant emerged from a nearby hut and straightened his uniform as he approached.

“Papers,” the sergeant said, holding out his hand. Hogan reached into his jacket and pulled out his identification, which he handed over with a polite nod. He hid his face in his elbow for a moment to cough.

“I hope you had a chance to celebrate, Sergeant,” Hogan said as he cleared his throat. He coughed again and then turned to look at the guard as he checked over his papers.

The guard shrugged. “Yeah, we were able to get out this morning.” He jerked his thumb back towards the huts and tents on the other side of the fence. “Not much celebrating there, I imagine.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hogan said.

“Hmmm. Well, you’re good to go, Colonel. You’ll find the command hut just there.” He pointed to the first building inside the gate. “Colonel Stewart’s not here, but Major Davies ought to be.”

“Thanks.” Hogan took his papers back and the guard motioned for someone to open the gates. Hogan drove the jeep through and came to a stop in front of the command hut.

The door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out. Judging from his American uniform and silver oakleaves, he was Major Davies. “Colonel Hogan?”

“That’s me,” Hogan confirmed. Davies offered him a salute which he returned. Then the Major jogged down the steps and up to the jeep.

“Colonel Stewart said we should be expecting you at some point. Didn’t think it would be today though what with all the celebrating there is to do,” Davies said with a hint of surprise.

“The celebrations aren’t over,” Hogan assured him. “Where are all the prisoners from Stalag 13 being kept? Away from the general population, right?”

Major Davies nodded and pointed to a hut in the corner of the compound. Several guards stood watch around the barracks. “Yes, just as we were ordered. If you don’t mind me saying, sir, I know they’re a special case, but I don’t like the idea of—”

“Thank you, Major,” Hogan said, cutting him off.

“Yes sir,” Major Davies replied with a salute.

Hogan cut his engine and hopped out of the jeep. Reaching over to the back seat, he grabbed a satchel and made his way to the barracks. As he approached, a corporal banged on the door.

“Hey, you lot, you have a visitor. And you better not give him any trouble,” the guard barked. “Colonel,” he said, turning his attention to Hogan and offering a salute. “Do you need someone to accompany you?”

“Not at all,” Hogan assured him. He climbed the steps and opened the door.

As Hogan pushed open the door, a wave of warm light and the scent of wood smoke washed over him. The room was well-lit, with rows of cots lining the outer wall. He couldn't help but notice the plush mattresses, plump pillows, and thick blankets that adorned each cot. In the center of the room, a wood stove crackled and popped, its flames casting a cozy glow. In a corner, a phonograph played a Lili Marleen.

A pang of bitterness shot through him as he thought about the meagre conditions of his own hut back at Stalag 13. But he tamped it down quickly. He would not hold the comparative luxury this particular group of prisoners enjoyed against them.

A few men lounged in their cots, reading magazines, while the rest huddled around a table in the center of the room near the stove, playing a game of cards. None of them had looked up when he entered.

Someone at the table threw down a card. “Welcome, esteemed visitor,” he sneered. “Come to visit the z—” the man, who Hogan recognized as Corporal Schneider, looked up and immediately dropped his cards. Beside him, Schultz looked up and beamed.

“Colonel Hogan!” Schultz exclaimed. “Up, up,” he said to his companions. The prisoners, Hogan’s former captors, stood and all saluted him respectfully. Hogan returned the salute.

“Hiya, Schultz,” Hogan chirped as he rocked on his heels.

Schultz toddled over to him. “You are looking much better, Colonel,” he said with genuine relief in his voice. “You have colour in your cheeks again.” Schultz raised a hand as if he were about to pinch said cheeks, but dropped his hand and smiled bashfully.

“I feel better,” Hogan confirmed. “And how are you Schultz? They treating you okay?”

“Oh yes,” Schultz said. He patted his stomach. “I do not think I have eaten so well since the war started.” Hogan couldn’t help but frown at the unfairness, and Schultz matched his expression. “I am sorry, Colonel Hogan. If it were up to me, we would have fed you all as well as they are feeding us now. But of course I did not make the rules and—”

Hogan held up his hand. “It’s fine, Schultz. I’m glad you’re okay.” He patted Schultz’ arm and moved past him to address the others in the room. “How about you, Corporal Langenscheidt? Private Berger? Any complaints?”

Both men shook their heads. “Nein, Herr Komman— I mean, Colonel Hogan,” Langenscheidt said. “We are all doing well.”

“I could do without all the questions,” another German, Corporal Gantner said. “I know now you were not regular prisoners, but that does not mean I know what they think I know!”

“I know nothing!” Schultz said. That earned a laugh from everyone, including Hogan.

The truth was most of the guards had no idea about their prisoners’ extracurricular activities. Schultz and Langenscheidt were the only ones who were consistently roped into their shenanigans, and both were more than content to look the other way. But as things quickly deteriorated near the end of the war and certain rules were broken, none of the guards were particularly surprised to learn that Hogan was the infamous Papa Bear. And, in fact, they all seemed grateful to have Hogan’s leadership, limited though it was due to his bout of pneumonia, to get them through to the end in one piece.

“Sorry fellas,” Hogan said. “But the history books want to know every detail. Any other complaints?”

“Do you know when we’ll be able to go home?” Private Zeiger asked.

Hogan shook his head. “No, sorry. Have you all been able to write your families?”

“Yes, but we do not know if the mail has arrived,” Schultz said, the worry evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” Hogan said as he scratched his arm. He turned his head a coughed and, once the fit passed, his pounded on his chest. “Yeah,” he repeated. “It’s a bit of a mess over there. But, look, you give me addresses and names and I’ll make sure someone over there checks in on them to see that they’re safe.”

A chorus of “thank you, Colonel Hogan”s rippled throughout the barracks.

“In the meantime, I brought you this.” Hogan reached into his satchel and pulled out a bottle of wine. “It’s not much, but I think we can all celebrate the end of the war.” He passed the bottle to Schultz who took it and looked it over.

“Oh, ja, sehr gut. This is a good bottle,” Schultz said. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked around. “Where’s the Iron Eagle?”

Schultz pointed down a small hallway at the back of the barracks. “His room is on the left. Captain Gruber is on the right.”

Hogan frowned. “How’s Gruber taking all this?” Though not a Nazi, Gruber has been a little more zealous in his duties than the rest of their captors. While no one else had seemed surprised by the revelations about Stalag 13, Gruber had nearly had an aneurysm.

“He… does not socialize with us much,” Schultz reported.

“Well, as long as he stays out of trouble,” Hogan said. Unfortunately for Gruber, he was stuck here. The special camp was dedicated to enemies with knowledge of the Papa Bear organization. Gruber might not have been a fan, but it would be too dangerous to put him in with the general population, who might take their frustrations out on him. “Anyway, enjoy the wine.”

“We will,” Schultz said. Hogan left them to it as he approached Klink’s door. He gave a curtesy knock before coming in.

The room was about the same size as his own at Stalag 13, but far nicer. One cushy bed sat in a corner. There was a desk set, a plush armchair, a phonograph, and a stove. How many times had Hogan wished to have his own stove?

Colonel Klink was sitting in the armchair, reading a book. He snapped it shut when Hogan stepped in.

“Colonel.”

“Hogan.”

“Hi.”

Klink eyed him curiously. “I didn’t expect to see you today. You aren’t celebrating?”

“I was. Still am. You got any glasses?”

Klink, dressed in a pair of pyjamas, stood and grabbed two glasses from off a nearby shelf. He set them on his desk and Hogan pulled out a bottle from his satchel for fill them.

“To victory,” Klink said, holding up his glass.

“To victory,” Hogan echoed.

They both drank. “Mein Gott!” Klink exclaimed. “What is this?!”

“Good old Scottish whisky,” Hogan replied with a cough. He kept coughing and Klink quickly steered him into the armchair.

“Are you all right, Hogan?”

Hogan finally caught hold of himself and nodded. “Yeah. Smooth. Want some more?”

Klink gave him an incredulous look. “I do not think you should be drinking in your condition.”

Hogan waved off his concern. “I’ll sip it.” He reached over and refilled both glasses. He took a tiny sip. It still burned the way whisky ought, but this time it didn’t trigger a coughing fit.

Klink shrugged and also took a sip. Reaching over, he turned on his record player and the strains of Mozart filled the room. Then, he sat down on the edge of his bed. The two men drank in companionable silence.

“Damn it, Klink!” Hogan suddenly exclaimed. “You could have told me!”

Klink chuckled into his cup. “It would have made things much easier. But that’s the way Nimrod wanted it.”

Hogan grunted. He still didn’t know who Nimrod was– and he assumed he’d never know– but he wanted to punch the man in the nose. The whole time— the whole time— Klink had been an agent of Nimrod. He had known everything.

“I still can’t believe you knew what was going on.” Hogan had to hand it to Klink, he was an amazing actor.

“There were times I wish I didn’t,” he said as he swirled the contents of his glass. “I think I made myself prematurely grey with worry.” Hogan raised an eyebrow and Klink laughed. “There were other times I wished you knew. It was hard playing against you, but Nimrod thought a few easy victories would boost your confidence.”

Hogan felt somewhat insulted by that. Winning against Klink, after all wasn’t much of a victory. Still, if he were honest with himself, he did enjoy the small wins Klink offered.

“I just don’t get why I couldn’t know.”

Klink shrugged. “If you knew I knew, then perhaps you would have expected more of me. Maybe you would have been bolder— although I doubt that’s possible— and that might have gotten you caught.”

“Still…”

“And, anyway, I had to play the incompetent fool for everyone else. I think it may have been too hard for me to switch between the two. It was easier to just keep one persona. And… well, it just became a part of me after a while. I was never a strong man you know.”

“But why?” Hogan asked, feeling frustrated. How much easier would his operation have been if he knew Klink was on his side? Half his problems had come from Klink causing trouble.

“If you and your men were caught outside the wire, it would have been easy enough to lay the blame on me without digging any deeper. I might have been transferred. You might have been shot, but there would be less chance of someone finding your tunnels and everything in them. You and I were expendable. But everything underground would have been to hard to replace or replicate elsewhere.”

“Indeed.”

Hogan grunted in frustration. That was probably true. “Seems like Nimrod thought of everything.”

“I still want to punch him in the nose though.”

Klink laughed. “I do too. I don’t think I quite comprehended what he was asking me at the time.”

“So why did you do it?” Hogan asked.

Klink looked down into his empty glass and let out a long sigh. He held it out to Hogan who poured in more whisky.

“After the war, the first one… My life… I had lost so much, including my confidence. You don’t know, but… I was once a good pilot. I dare say, I was even dashing.” Hogan bit back a snort of disbelief as Klink continued. “But then…” He waved his hand. “War. It is never kind, even to dashing young pilots.”

Hogan frowned and nodded in understanding. He had seen too many good young men killed in the most recent war to think otherwise. And many who hadn’t died had still been irrevocably altered by it.

“And then my father was killed in the trenches. I spent the rest of the war at a desk. And I stayed there. I just… floated through life. I didn’t pay attention to anything, not even the papers on my desk. Not really.”

“So what changed?” Hogan asked.

“My friend, a hero, was dismissed from service for no reason other than being Jewish. Another was sent to a camp for political dissidents. It woke me up and I started to look around and saw what was happening in Germany. And it horrified me.

“I was never a Nazi, you know. It’s important that you know that.”

“I do,” Hogan replied honestly. “I never thought you were.”

Klink blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling. When he met Hogan’s eyes again, he looked relieved. “I thought I should do something, but what? I was one man with no resources, no power. Then the war started and I felt even more helpless.” Klink sighed. “Another friend, shot for disagreeing with Hitler in a meeting. And still I could do nothing. Until Nimrod came.

“I don’t know why he chose me,” Klink continued. “And I almost said no. But if I continued to do nothing then wasn’t I just as bad as the Nazis?” He searched Hogan’s eyes, as if searching for some sort of judgement. Hogan kept his expression neutral. He would like to think that, if he had been in Klink’s position, it wouldn’t have taken a mysterious messenger to urge him into action. In fact, Hogan had known and worked with plenty of common Germans who did what they could to fight back against the Nazis. But, on the other hand, Hogan knew that not everyone could be risk-takers, even when— or especially when— faced with such evil.

“So I said yes and thus our unlikely friendship began,” Klink said, finishing his tale with a laugh.

Hogan grinned, but stopped short of laughing. “I guess you could call it that. So it was all an act, huh?”

“As I said, it became less and less of an act. It was easier that way.”

“So let me guess: you’re really a virtuoso on the violin.”

Klink tilted his head and gave Hogan a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean your whole violin schtick was an act too.”

“Schtick?” The furrow in Klink’s brow deepened as he stood up and set his glass on the desk. He walked over to the phonograph and stopped the record as it span, cutting Mozart off mid symphony. Turning back to Hogan with a determined look, he strode over to the corner of the room where his violin case sat. With careful hands, he opened it and gently pulled out his beloved instrument. He caressed it and ran his fingers lovingly over its strings. “I’ve always played the violin well,” he finally replied proudly. “If that’s what you mean by schtick.”

Klink place his violin on his shoulder and grabbed his bow. He pulled it across the strings. It made a horrendous sound, but Klink seemed completely oblivious to it as he started playing. The noise sounded similar to a dying cat.

But Hogan didn’t fuss. Instead he simply refilled his whisky and sunk back into his chair. After everything Klink had told him, Hogan could endure one last bit of torture.

[kimmberleeex]

18+ NSFW, TW: choking, spanking, breeding

.

.

.

It was 1989, four years after you graduated high school. You had moved out to California to go to college after having had a really messy break up with your high school boyfriend, Eddie Munson. Back then, he had no real aspirations other than to be a big rockstar and he just had no goals at ever creating a life with you. Or at least that’s what you had thought back then. It was easy to assume that because while you graduated and went to college, Eddie was held back again for the second time for his senior year.

You often thought of him and if he ever left Hawkins and made it big somewhere. Secretly, you wished for his success and still listened to all the rock radio stations to see if you’d ever hear him on there.

After you graduated college, you decided to finally go home to visit your parents. Once you caught up with them, you made plans to go to the local bar with Steve and Robin who were still around town. When you walked into The Hideout, you scanned the room of all the barflies, secretly hoping to see your favorite metalhead. That’s when your eyes landed on a messy mop of long, dark curls splayed across a leather coat wearing Eddie. Your heart flew straight into your stomach.

Steve saw him and put a hand on your arm. “Y/N, we can go somewhere else…”

Waving his arm off, you walked over to Eddie who had his elbows propped up on the sticky bar, hunched over and scribbling on a bar napkin as he sipped on a big mug of cheap beer. Taking a deep breath, you posted up on the bar stool next to him. “Hey, stranger. Come here often?”

Eddie turned his head to look at you and his face grew pale, almost like he had seen a ghost. Steve and Robin slowly walked up behind you with sheepish smiles painted on their face as they gave a half assed wave. “Hey Munson.” Steve said half heartedly.

You watched as Eddie swallowed hard, sitting up straighter on the bar stool as he turned his body more toward you. “Y/N, you’re the last person I ever expected to see here…” he started. “What are you doing here?” His tone was cold, clearly he was still upset with you for breaking up with him.

Internally, you felt your heart break a little at his harsh tone. “I graduated college, I came back home until I figure out what I wanted to do next.” Gesturing towards Steve and Robin, “I was grabbing drinks with these two trying to catch up. I was kind of hoping you were here.” Slowly, you reached across the bar, attempting to touch his hand for reassurance. Eddie quickly slinked away from you.

“You hoped I was here? After you broke my heart back in high school? Fuck off, Y/N.” He slammed down a few dollars to pay for his drink and he stormed out of the bar. Watching as he left, you could feel the tears stinging your eyes as they welled up.

Steve put a hand on your shoulder. “What did you expect, Y/N? You really did destroy him after you left.”

Your anger was building and you felt like you could burst. Turning your head to snap back at Steve, the tears spilling onto your cheeks. “Did you think I wanted to do that, Steve?! It broke me to do that. I HAD to. Eddie didn’t have any goals of wanting to start a life with me and I wanted out of this shithole.” Brushing past him, you storm out of the bar yourself. As you emerge out of the door, you’re just in time to see Eddie peel out of the bar parking lot on a Harley. Dust and gravel flying around as he disappears onto the evening road.

Quickly, you hop into your car and peel out of the parking lot. Feeling desperate to make things right with Eddie, because he was the love of your life and still was. You do your best to keep up with him and follow him back to his home. You were surprised to see him pull up to a house with a white picket fence, a garage with what seemed like a couple project cars (including the big old van he drove in high school), and a nice big front porch. It was just like the house you always told Eddie you wanted.

You get out of your car as Eddie slams the front door, sighing heavily you go up to the door and knock frantically. “Eddie, please. Can we at least talk? I’m sorry! I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I never wanted it to be like this. I never stopped loving you.”

Slowly, Eddie opens the door with a very stern look on his face. “Then why did you do it?”

The urge to wrap your arms around him and just bury your face in his chest was overwhelming, but you resisted. Tears stinging your eyes still as you look up at his raging, molten, chocolate ones. “I-It felt like we were going nowhere. I was going to college, you got held back because you had no aspirations for your life. You just kept saying you were gonna be a big rockstar. But you had no plans that included me, that included us.”

He scoffed as he left you in the doorway, he stormed off into the hallway that was connected to his living room. Slowly you stepped inside, waiting for him to return. Eddie came back in, his voice almost booming. “I didn’t have any plans that included us? Then tell me why I bought this and was carrying it around with me a couple months before you broke up with me?” He practically throws a small velvet ring box at you, inside was a small diamond ring. It wasn’t much but you know back then he must have been saving for awhile just to afford it. The tears were spilling down your cheeks with what felt like a never ending stream.

“Y-You were going to propose?” You choked out through the ball forming in your throat.

“I was waiting for the right time. But then you left me. And I knew if I proposed, you would have given up on your dreams. I couldn’t do that. But you didn’t have to fucking break my heart the way you did.” He grabbed a beer, slamming the fridge shut and plopping down onto his couch. His legs spread far apart as he always did.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I just thought if I didn’t…you wouldn’t have let me go.” You sniffle softly, you didn’t really know what to say to make things better.

Eddie scoffed before taking a big chug of his beer. “Y/N, I’m not your dad. I won’t tell you what you can and can’t do.”

Sighing softly as you slowly made your way over to the couch. You sit on the edge of it next to him. “Did you ever do anything with your music?”

“Nope, gave it up about a year after your left. I still play but not like I used to. I run my own auto shop now so I just don’t really have the time.” He swallows another sip of his beer, his anger still seething but his body has relaxed a bit more with the alcohol.

“Do you want me to go?” A whisper that’s barely audible is all you’re able to say because you’re worried about his answer.

Eddie leans over to put his beer on his end table before he turns back to you, he shakes his head as he leans in and wraps his hand around your throat. That molten anger is still brewing in his eyes and it makes his lip quiver before he crashes his lips against yours. It was the first time in 4 years since you’ve felt him like this and you’re unable to stifle the moan that escapes your throat.

He’s rough because he’s angry and in that moment you can tell he’s going to take his frustration out while fucking you. It was just like in high school, whenever you two would fight, you’d just fuck the anger out of each other. After feverishly making out for a moment, he pulls you up into his arms, gripping your ass tightly as you wrap your legs around his waist. The stubble on his face is rough against your skin as he carries you into his room and throws you on the bed.

He watches you like you’re prey and his voice is husky with desire as you can see the raging hard on straining against his jeans. With quick fluid motions, he undresses and commands you to undress for him. “If you don’t do it yourself, I’ll tear your clothes off and you won’t have anything to wear home.” You couldn’t help the grin that turned up the corner of your lips at the thought. When he started to pounce, you chuckled and quickly begin throwing your clothes off onto the floor.

That infamous, crooked Munson grin is plastered on his face as he drinks your form in. “Fuck, have you gotten hotter?”

“Me? Have you looked at yourself?” You looked over his toned body, he had even acquired some new tattoos on his chest and upper arms.

Eddie flipped you onto your stomach, this was almost ritualistic for all of their make up sex. He wanted to do it doggie style so he didn’t have to see your face and that way he could be more rough with you. Pulling your hips up into the air, he slides his calloused finger over your already slick folds. He chuckles to himself. “Already wet? Did you really miss this cock that much?”

Unable to control the soft mewl that came out of your mouth, you push your hips into his hand, demanding more of his touch. You nod your head. “Mmf, yes, Eds. I missed you and your fat cock so much. Please?”

“Good girl.” He lands a hard smack to your ass that is deliciously painful and you hear him spit into his palm to lube himself up. He makes sure that you’re wet enough before slamming his entire length into your wet heat. Groaning as he feels that familiar grip of your pussy. “Fuck, almost forgot how fucking tight you are, princess.”

His hips slam into you over and over and you rock yours back to meet his, his skin slapping against yours and the moans from you two are filling the room. Eddies grip is etching white fingerprints into the skin of your hips, one of his hands grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head up. “Need to hear your pretty moans, babygirl.” Eddie always knew what to do and say that would drive you absolutely wild. His anger was melting away as he roughly fucked towards both of your orgasms.

As you got closer, you gripped him tighter which caused loud grunts from Eddie. “Fuck, princess. You gonna cum on my dick like old times? Tell me where you want my cum, baby.”

Moaning even louder, feeling the tightness growing in your belly, threatening to snap. “Mmf, yes, I will. Please, inside. I need all of you, Eds.”

With this, Eddie begins thrusting even harder and faster. Slamming into that spot deep within your core that brings you over the edge. Grunting loudly as his body pulsated inside of you, filling you to the brim as you both chase your highs. Once you both come down, he slowly slips out of you with his softening length. He watches as his cum begins oozing out and down your thigh. You feel as he stuffs it back inside, which causes another desperate moan out of you before you slump into the bed.

He collapses next to you and the both of you bust out laughing as he wraps his arms around you. Placing a soft kiss against your temple.

“I really missed you, Y/N.” He murmurs into your hair and you can hear his heart racing against your ear.

“Can we pick up where we left off? Or is that too selfish of me to ask?” Your heart raced as you were terrified of his answer.

“Hey, do you wanna be my girlfriend?” He pulled back to look at you, that crooked grin on his face.

“More than anything, Eds.”

[enjoythesilentworld]

Simon's Month - Home (Improvement)

day 30 @youngroyals-events one more to go i could cry

Simon owns a home renovation business with his sister. Wille has recently purchased a fixer-upper.

read below or on ao3 (T, 1.3k)

“You have to be nice,” Sara says as they drive down the unassuming backroad, lined with thick vegetation.

Simon scoffs, staring out the window and peeking between the gaps in the trees to get a glimpse of the types of homes around here. That one needs a new roof, but that one's got some good landscaping.  

“I am nice.”

“You’re nice in a special Simon way. Once someone has had time to get to know you.” Sara puts on the blinker, turning up a gravel street. “There’s a reason I usually bring Ayub with me— Get out and open the gate for me, please.”

Rolling his eyes, Simon climbs out of the car and swings open the simple metal gate, which could really use some oil on the hinges. The fence has a few nearly broken posts, too. If this is what the entrance looks like, he can only imagine the actual house. It must be further up the hill, but it’s way too overgrown for Simon to be able to see anything yet.

Usually, Ayub went with Sara on these consultations, because, allegedly, he's the better at talking to the clients. Apparently it didn’t matter that, technically, Simon was in charge of the construction half of his and Sara’s business. Not that it really bothered Simon. At the end of the day, he trusted Ayub to do the initial walkthrough and markup, allowing Simon to focus on getting everything ready to start the actual construction. Today, though, Ayub is busy, so Simon’s been tagged in.

“I’m just honest,” he says, once back in the car. “You are, too, Sara. That’s why people like you as a designer. Because you'll tell them if their shit is ugly.”

She pulls further up the drive and the house comes into view. That is, if it can even be called a house. Simon barely hears Sara’s response, his mind already flitting through the long, long to-do list that will be required to get this pile of wood back to living standards.

“Yes, but I do it in a nice way. This is Felice’s very good friend, okay? She said he’s great. Don’t make him go back to Felice with a bad review.”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Simon waves her off, stepping out of the car to get a better look at the building. “This place looks like a piece of shit.”

“Hey, that’s my piece of shit you’re talking about.”

Simon turns at the sound of the new voice. In the front doorway of said piece of shit, there’s a tall, handsome man with auburn hair and a crooked smile. It’s quite the paradoxical image, this pretty, clean-cut man walking down the porch steps of such a dirty, overgrown house.

Sara steps up to greet him, apologizing for her brother's snark, while Simon hangs back, still assessing the integrity of the columns holding up the overhang roof. Most of the shingles are in place, at least, and he doesn’t see any sagging that would indicate leakage. Not yet, at least.

“Good to see you again, Wille,” Sara smiles, using that sweet customer-service voice of hers.

“You, too, Sara. Thank you for agreeing to take on this project. I know it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Well,” Simon cuts in without introduction, “she’ll only be able to do her part once we make sure this place won’t blow away in the first storm.”

Wille turns to him and smiles brightly, somehow rivaling even the midmorning sun that shines above them. “You must be Simon.” He extends a hand. “I’m Wille. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Simon takes his hand and shakes it once. They’re bigger than Simon’s, but less calloused. He probably works for some stupid finance company and sits in a fancy ergonomic chair all day, drinking filtered water and fucking off to business lunches with Sweden’s elite.

“Yep. I’ve heard almost nothing about you. Shall we take a look inside?”

If Wille’s surprised by Simon’s attitude, he doesn’t show it. He just nods, still smiling like the sun.  

Sara hisses at him as Wille leads them inside, telling him to cool it. Simon nods distractedly, but he really can’t be bothered to be nice because he’s already annoyed with this rich kid who’s probably bought this house to fix up and turn into a 20,000kr per night rental.

It’s not as bad inside, thankfully. The remaining yellowed wallpaper is peeling, and there's random trash scattered around, but there are no cracks in the walls or water stains on the ceiling. Wille leads them through, pointing out which rooms are which. The whole tour doesn’t last more than ten minutes as it’s only a two-bed, two-bath. The windows are half-boarded, and there are a few unnecessary walls, and Simon is already itching to get started. 

“I want to keep as much of the original structure as possible,” Wille explains when they stop again in the kitchen. He runs a hand over the dusty countertop, looking lovingly around the small, cramped space. “I might want to add an extension in the future, but it’s just me here, so this is definitely plenty of space for now.”

“You’re going to live here?” Simon asks, surprised.

Wille tilts his head at him. “Yes?”

Simon hums, crossing his arms and leaning back on the archway that leads into the living room. “Damn. I would’ve thought you’re more of a city high-rise type. You seem too posh for country living. You know, I don't think take-out drivers come out here. And the nearest Michelin restaurant isn’t for, like, 100 kilometers.”

“Simon!” Sara glares at him.

“It’s okay,” Wille chuckles. “No, I’m not the high rise type. I prefer the quiet of the countryside, and I also prefer to cook my own food. Michelin restaurants are way too overhyped, anyway.”

He’s smirking through his smile and has met Simon’s challenge, and so Simon decides he can let up a bit.

He and Wille spend the next two hours walking through the space again, more slowly this time, while Sara steps outside to make a few calls. She can’t do anything yet, anyway. Not with the house in this state. This part is Simon’s job, his specialty.

“Knocking down this wall will open up the space a lot, especially if you still want to be able to host while in the kitchen. It’ll give you a good view out of the front of the house, too,” Simon rambles, marching through the space and gesturing as he goes. Wille is hot on his heels, nodding along. “I’d put a countertop bar here, though, for some extra seating and to break up the space a bit. We’ll have to rip out all of these cabinets, though. I’ll need to get my plumber out here, too, to check the piping. These old builds are a little iffy sometimes on how well things have held up.”

Simon continues to talk, and endless stream of consciousness and notes about electrical wiring and comments about the state of the hardwood floor. Wille follows him all the way, making notes in a little notebook and asking the occasional question.

They finish just as Sara’s car pulls back up the driveway. Simon hadn’t even realized she’d left.

“I brought lunch,” she tells them, holding up a brown bag. “You two were pretty distracted, so I figured I shouldn’t bother.”

Wille thanks her graciously, and they all sit on the porch together to eat. Simon starts to make notes in his phone, setting reminders to call certain inspectors and logging how many people he’ll need for demo-day.

After lunch, they take a loop around the outside of the house, inspecting the gutters and stonework. Now that the initial tension has faded, he and Wille get distracted a few times by other topics. Simon learns that Wille is actually not an insufferable spoiled brat. In fact, he’s quite nice and quite funny. He keeps up with Simon’s jokes, and when Simon pushes him, he pushes right back.

Simon tells Wille he’ll have to check with his team, but he’s pretty sure most everyone is in between jobs and will be able to start in the next few days. Wille agrees to meet them at the house for the first day of demolition, and Simon and Sara leave for the day.

“You like him,” Sara says once Simon’s back in the car after closing the front gate behind them.

He shrugs, refusing to give her the satisfaction, and casually admits, “He doesn’t totally suck.”

Perhaps, Simon thinks, this renovation job won’t be too bad.

[racheyace]

Home

A Luke the size shifter G/t short story, a cute little fluff story featuring Luke just being himself at home around his family, plus we get a first look at his super adorable little sister Ivy! Thanks for the awesome suggestion @8-bitlurking, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Approx. 2.8k words

Home

Luke walked slowly down the long gravel drive toward his home, it had been a long day at school, and he was ready to flop on his bed and play some video games.

Luke’s Father, David, meanwhile, was shovelling hay in the field behind his family’s home, he looked up from his work for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow when he saw his son Luke meandering down the drive, he gave him a wave and a tired smile.

“Hey Luke! Wanna help your old man out?”

It had taken some great adjusting for their family since Luke’s unique abilities showed up when he was six years old, almost ten years ago now.

David was immensely proud of his son and the man he was growing up to be, any other teenager might use their abilities for petty or even malicious reasons, but Luke remained humble and never used his power to intentionally hurt anyone, in fact he tried not to use them on purpose at all.

When Luke was at home however, he was free to be himself, his family never made him feel like a freak in fact on days like today, his gifts came in handy when helping out with chores.

“Sure Dad, what’d ya need?” Luke dumped his bag beside the wooden fence post and ducked under it, stepping into the field beside his father. Since hitting puberty Luke had proven to be a tall lad, at his normal height anyway he stood a few inches taller than his father, an impressive six foot five.

“This is taking me hours to shovel, do you reckon you could help me lift it all over to the stables?”

Luke nodded and eyed the large pile of hay that had been stored in the shed, his father had been shovelling small amounts into a wheelbarrow and wheeling it over to the stable across the field, only being able to move small amounts at a time.

Their truck was having issues and currently at the mechanic, so this task which was usually a simple one had become much more difficult.

Luke stepped backwards a couple of feet until he was a safe distance away from his father before closing his eyes and focussing.

Concentrating on the tight pulse in his skin, he urged himself to grow into his giant height, a staggering sixty-five feet, that should make things a little easier. Opening his eyes again, he looked down at his father who was smiling up at him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing things from such a vastly different perspective, but at least at home he didn’t have to worry about scaring anyone or keeping his gifts a secret.

David felt the ground quake beneath him from the dropping weight of his massive son as he kneeled down before him, and watched in amazement as Luke nudged the whole pile he had been working on into the palm of one hand. He’d seen him things like this before, but it was equally impressive every time.

Once the pile was loaded into his hand, Luke then offered his other hand to his father palm up and flat on the ground, asking permission to pick him up. Luke knew his father could easily follow him over to the stables on his own but even being used to being this size around his family, he still felt uneasy having them around his feet when one foot was easily bigger than their family care.

He would never risk the safety of those he cared about most, no matter how comfortable he felt around them.

“Thanks son.” David said, jumping onto the teenager’s hand with no hesitation at all before promptly sitting down, he was fully aware of the natural sway and motion of a giant hand, he didn’t want to have to keep fighting for his balance.

With all aboard, Luke slowly stood up and walked what was to him only a few steps over to the stables, the horses whinnied from within, undoubtedly feeling his arrival through the floorboards.

“How was school?” David asked casually sitting cross legged and looking skyward at his son’s magnified face from the palm of his hand.

Luke shrugged slowly, trying his best not to jostle his father around too much from the casual movement.

“It was fine, Matt was away, I think he’s got the flu or something.”

Luke lowered his hand to the ground, letting his father step off first before dumping the hay at the entryway of the stables. David nodded walking over to the hay pile to start moving it into the individual stalls with a rusty pitchfork.

“You should invite him over for dinner, your mother’s making a vegetable soup as we speak, it would be good for him as well, lord knows that boy doesn’t get anything green to eat at home.”

Luke sat down in front of the stable, idly pinching small amounts of the dried grass between his thumb and finger, thinking over his father’s words.

“Yeah, I guess I could.” Luke loved his friend, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with Matt’s high energy today; however, maybe sick Matt would be more subdued, he would think it over.

“He knows, doesn’t he?” David said casually, he continued to move the hay into different stalls not looking up at his son who still hadn’t shrunk back down yet.

“What?” Luke dropped the grass he had been playing idly with and his eyes shot up to stare into his fathers broad back.

“Matt knows about your abilities.” David reiterated, he dusted off his hands and crossed them over his wide chest before meeting his son’s large pale blue eyes.

“Wha- No, why do you think-?” Luke floundered for a good lie but let’s face it, he wasn’t very good at lying, he was honestly surprised with himself for keeping it from his family for a few weeks already.

“Matt hasn’t been round here in a few weeks; you’ve been acting funny when we bring him up, and Ivy read your journal.” He listed each on his fingers while Luke had dropped his mouth open in shock.

“So, it was either Matt knew about your secret, or you’re in love with him.” David smirked at the shocked expression on Luke’s face and shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Now shrink down already, I told you I needed your help and your big ass hands wont fit in the stables.” David gathered another fork of hay as Luke shrunk behind him.

“Ivy read my journal!?” Luke shouted once he was back at his regular size, still processing the revelation his father had dumped on him, his little sister had been snooping in his room, she had read about his most private thoughts and then blabbed them all to his parents!

Luke’s face was so red with embarrassment he thought he might be able to fry eggs on his cheeks.

“Yeah, sorry bud, she said she found it, and it was full of sappy stuff about Matt and how you wanted to tell him about your secret. Your mother and I have already spoken to her about the privacy issue, so it’s been dealt with.” David had finished spreading the hay in one of the stables when he turned around to find Luke right there in his face, cheeks red with embarrassment and disbelief.

“Dad!” Luke groaned in frustration; he couldn’t believe his ears.

“So, you did tell him then?” David continued unphased, grabbing a brush to start brushing down Mayfair’s golden coat, their blue ribboned, prized horse three years running.

Luke ran a hand through his short curly brown hair, threatening to pull it all out in annoyance. Luke closed his eyes taking a deep breath, he would deal with Ivy later, grabbing a handful of oats to feed to Mayfair he nodded his head in answer to his father’s question.

“Yes, Matt knows, but I didn’t tell him, he kinda found out…” His words faded into a mumble; he knew that his parents wouldn’t be too upset about Matt knowing his secret, but more so in the way he had found out.

“And how exactly did he find out Luke?” David’s voice was stern, and he knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

“After that big test, I kinda… grew. I made it to the forest though, no one saw me I swear, but um, Matt kinda followed me, so… Yeah.”

His father sighed and Luke waited with bated breath for the lecture to come.

“You don’t need me to tell you how dangerous that could have been, you and I both know how badly that could have gone.” David sighed again, closing his eyes to think. Over all the years Luke had gained a fair amount of control over his ability but he still wasn’t in complete control, his emotions always seemed to get the better of him.

“Maybe we need to do some more practice this weekend yeah? You need to stay in control of this Luke, it’s too dangerous for yourself and others if you continue to shift uncontrollably.”

Luke nodded in quiet agreement, their practice usually consisted of shifting all day until complete exhaustion and practicing calming techniques.

“I’m sorry Dad, I am trying.” Luke hung his head, absently petting Mayfair’s snout.

David pulled his son into a hug. “I know bud, it’s okay.” After pulling away from their embrace they both headed for the house, walking through the field in mostly silence until David spoke up again.

“So has Matt been, okay? Ya know, since finding out?”

Luke smiled widely then, thinking back over his friend’s dramatic reaction and constant wild chatter about being a superhero.

“Yeah, he’s cool with it.” Luke answered casually and thought to himself that Matt was more than cool with it.

“And you’re not in love with him?” He was actually going to kill Ivy.

“No Dad, I’m not in love with Matt.” Luke face palmed as they approached the back door, kicking off their boots before entering the house.

“Hey, just checking, your mum and I will love you and support you no matter what, we are very modern.” He said with his hands up in defence.

Luke groaned and rolled his eyes, why were parents so embarrassing.

“Damnit.” Luke heard his mother curse from the kitchen, he and his father eyed each other before heading into the kitchen to see his Mother peering through the gap between the kitchen bench and the oven. Her hand was reaching for something in the gap, her arm only going as far as her forearm before getting stuck.

“What have you lost honey?” David was at her side immediately helping her gently pull her hand back out again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s my ring, I took it off to do the dishes and I must have bumped it, it fell down there.” Karly looked so guilty and so upset, David rubbed her back soothingly telling her it was okay, they’d just pull the oven out to get behind it, no problems. Luke had a simpler idea.

“It’s okay Mum, I’ve got this.” His parents turned to him to find that he was already shrinking and heading right toward the gap like it was no big deal.

Carefully stepping around his father’s socked feet he approached the space between the bench and the oven, it was a thin gap and even being so small he had to turn on his side and sidestep through. Quickly he realized just how often this space got cleaned which was definitely never, his clothes quickly were coated in oven grease and dust, but he persevered.

As he approached the wall, he could see a gold ring with small sapphires dotting the surface in an intricate pattern. He picked up the admittedly heavy chunk of metal and pulled it over his head until it sunk down to his shoulders like an extremely thick and awkward necklace before making his way back towards the light of the kitchen.

Finally stepping out from the gap, he pulled the ring over his head once more and held it up in triumph.

“Got it!” He shouted with a wide grin across his freckled features.

His mother knelt down in front of him with a soft smile, she laid out her hand for him to step onto, instead Luke approached her ring finger and pushed the ring until it fit snugly where it should have been all along, only then he stepped lightly onto her palm to be lifted up to her face.

“Luke you are precious, thank you.” She held him to her cheek in an appreciative hug before letting him off on the kitchen bench, where he proceeded to grow back to his normal height, legs swinging off the side of the cool white surface.

“No problem at all, though I might recommend cleaning back there, it’s gross.” He indicated to his grotty clothes; his mother scrunched up her nose taking in his appearance.

“Go take a shower and get changed, dinner will be ready in an hour.” She agreed.

Luke nodded and headed for the front door right as it opened to reveal a dishevelled looking twelve-year-old girl, her brown hair was coming loose out of her two long plaits, her face was covered in dirt and her knees exposed to reveal bruises. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for young Ivy though, she was a risk taker and if she didn’t come home from school dirty then she didn’t have an awesome day.

“Hey Ivy.” Luke said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall to peer down at her.

“Luke!” She shouted in excitement, a wide smile revealing two missing front teeth, she made to hug him, but he held a hand up to stop her, his expression serious.

“Got something you wanna tell me?” He asked carefully, the colour drained from her face, and she gulped audibly.

“Oh shoot!” She cursed before diving between her brothers’ legs and bolting down the hall to her bedroom.

Luke was hot on her tail, as quick as she could she slammed her bedroom door behind her and sat in front of it as he pushed on the door to be let in. The banging on the door went silent and Ivy let out a deep breath of relief, he must have given up already.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” Came a voice from beside her, she shrieked upon seeing Luke’s six-and-a-half-inch form beside her, he must have shrunk to get under the door, she stood quickly and jumped onto her bed, hiding under the covers.

Luke meanwhile grew once more back to his standard height and approached the bed sitting down beside the lump under the covers.

“Come on Ivy, I know you read my journal, I’m not mad, I just want a hug.”

Slowly she peeked out from under the covers to see a soft expression on her brother’s face coaxing her out gently, she relented and pushed back the covers. Quick as a flash Luke wrapped his arms around her pulling her into his lap and holding her tightly, she hadn’t noticed before how dirty he was, but Luke hadn’t forgotten.

Upon inhaling the scent coming from him she gagged and writhed to be let go but his arms held firm.

“Uh ah, no you don’t.” He chided.

“God Luke, you smell like a toilet, get off of me! What is this stuff!?” She screeched, the guck had smeared onto her clothes, through her hair and on her face, she wanted to be sick.

“Nope! This is what you get for snooping through my things!” He held her more tightly and smeared more of the guck into her clothes.

“Ahhhhh.” She screamed for help, but none came, only an overbearing brother who smelt like a skunk and unfortunately proved to be a lot stronger than she was.

“Okay, okay! I promise I won’t go through your stuff again! Get off of me, I’m gonna be sick!” She cried.

The pressure around her eased and Luke let her go, she flopped back on her bed panting and gagging dramatically, glaring daggers at her brother who only smirked mischievously at her.

“Pinky promise?” He held out his pinkie finger to her, it was also covered in guck, and she gulped before grasping the greasy finger with her own, quickly making a pinkie promise before snatching her finger back like it had been burnt. “So gross!”

Luke laughed, ruffling his little sister’s knotty hair before leaving the room and heading for his own little granny flat beside their family home to take a shower and change his clothes, he really did smell like a toilet.

He sighed in contentment as he entered his own space, his little sister irritated him, and his parents were becoming more and more embarrassing, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world, he felt like he could really be himself at home.

There was no one to hide from, no one to judge him or treat him like a circus freak, he could just simply be Luke, size shifter and all.