#happy strike day take some pain

[formulawolff]

nothing else matters — m.v.

pairing: max verstappen x wag!reader

word count: (idek tbh)

warnings: mentions of menstrual cycle, reader is on her period, some cursing, max being tender, bf mode to the max (i think i’m hilarious), tooth-rotting fluff

a/n -> i’m on my period (for the second time this month!) and im miserable rn. (+ fried) so i apologize if this is terrible (i typed it on my phone) i just wanted to write something self-indulgent af.

euphoria radiates off of him, the energy so contagious it brings an entire crew to their feet.

his cheeks are flushed, tinged a rosy hue from the rush of it all. his eyes are bright, shining as the team surrounds him, jostling him back and forth. you can hear his laughter, the way it rings so wonderfully in your ears as they shout his name.

“max! max! max! max! max!”

“all right, all right,” he catches his breath, “let’s not get too excited. it’s only pole.”

“only pole?” you find yourself scoffing as another familiar voice fills the air, “max, this is huge for us!”

“well the race isn’t won yet,” the corners of your lips twitch, a smile forming as max clears his throat, “we can celebrate when we finally win a fucking race.”

christian horner exhales, the remark from max clearly striking a chord, “well, i can’t disagree with you there. all right everyone, let’s get to it. we have a lot to do before the race tomorrow if we want to remind everyone of who we are.”

you remain in the corner of the space, arms folded across your chest as the crew disperses. you take in the way max’s jaw clenches as people flurry around, his gaze brimmed with desperation.

he was looking for someone.

and that someone was you.

however, you don’t move a muscle, sitting as still as possible. another ripple of pain courses through you, yet you clamp down on your tongue. the cramping sensation originates from your lower abdomen, this wave far worse than the last.

hanging your head, tears well up in your eyes. the cramps started just this morning, right around nine. now, the austin sun was dipping below the horizon, promising of dusk.

your hands ball up, squeezing into fists as the pain intensifies. the adrenaline from qualifying was wearing off, and fuck, was it wearing off quicker than you expected.

“hey,” there’s a figure in front of you, his voice soft as he kneels, “baby, what’s going on? do i need to get a medi—“

“no,” you hiss, “i’m fine.”

“come on,” hands envelop yours, “follow me.”

you want to protest, yet he’s already helping you to your feet, wrapping an arm around your waist. you instinctively lean into him, grateful for his touch. a few members of the crew pause from their work, murmuring among themselves. you shrink a little, shame burning within as max practically allows you to lean against him.

fuck, was this utterly embarrassing.

oh, how the rumors were going to fly.

max verstappen’s girlfriend was so drunk at qualifying that he had to practically carry her out.

what. a. headline.

the walk from the garage to the motorhome is a blur.

before you know it, max has you in bed, prompting you to lay down. you obey, pulling the cover over you as he follows, bringing you in against his chest.

he hasn’t showered yet, and you pick up traces of his cologne mixed with perspiration. his hair is a haphazard mess, ruffled from the gear and his cap. his clothes cling to his body, more than likely from the sweat and heat of the suit.

lips graze your temple, fingers tenderly massaging your scalp.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you shrug, “i’m okay.”

“bullshit,” he tuts. fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to look upward, “what. is. going. on?”

“i started my period,” your lower lip trembles, “and i’ve been dealing with cramps all day.”

“and you didn’t say anything?” concern dances in his intense gaze, “baby, there are medical staff on site who would be happy to provide you with anything you need. i’m sure asking for a couple of pain relievers wouldn’t have been an issue. you’ve been suffering like this all day?”

“it wasn’t a big deal,” you retort, warmth flooding your cheeks as tears overflow, “i wasn’t suffering. it’s just my period. i was fi—“

“don’t say that shit,” he cuts in, “when i saw you, you looked miserable. absolutely fucking miserable. you were nearly curled up in the fetal position in that chair.”

“maybe i just didn’t want to draw any attention to myself,” you mutter, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “i didn’t want to seem like i was high maintenance.”

“baby,” a chuckle rumbles in his chest, “asking someone for some medication or somewhere to lay down is not high maintenance.”

tears splatter against his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut, “now i just feel fucking worse because i took you away from you job. you’re going to get into some shit with the fia and it’s my fault.”

“listen to me,” his arms pull you in even tighter, his mouth planting gentle kisses along your forehead, “are you listening to me?”

“yes,” you nod, sniffling, “i’m listening.”

“when it comes to you, nothing else matters. you are my only priority. ensuring that you’re safe and sound comes first. taking care of you is what’s important to me. i would much rather make sure you’re feeling better than attend a press conference. i’ll deal with the repercussions in the morning.”

“are you sure?” your voice shakes, threatening to crescendo into a sob.

“yes,” he murmurs, “i’m sure. i love you.”

“i love you,” the words are a strangled cry, the fabric now soaked as the tears spill, “i love you so much, max.”

“i love you more,” heated hands find your back, kneading, “what do you need from me baby? say it and it’s yours.”

“i just want you.”

a laugh bubbles up in his throat, “you can have me, but you’re going to get a hot shower. then we’re going to go to hospitality to get you some food. after that, you can have me as much as you want. deal?”

“deal,” you shake your head, “can we get something sweet too?”

“we’ll get all the sweet things,” the words are tender, just what you needed to hear, “and we can pick you up a stuffy from the airport on our way home. we can even look for a trinket or two. the ones i know you like, the sonny angels or calico critters. how does that sound?”

“that sounds perfect,” the tears have ceased, a sense of relief rippling within max, “i would love that, max. thank you for being the best boyfriend ever.”

at that, he can’t help but melt a little at the sincerity laced within your tone, “of course, baby. anything for you. i can’t bear the thought of you in pain or uncomfortable. i’ll do anything to help you feel better.”

“even if it interferes with your job?”

“even if i have to pull out of the race tomorrow.”

“you’re ridiculous,” a light giggle fills the space, max’s lips forming a wide grin, “you wouldn’t do that.”

oh but for you, max verstappen would.

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part one

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part one word count: 19.3k

part one warnings: swearing, blood and all sorts of other vampire-y things, semi graphic descriptions/depictions of violence, I don't know anything about publishing and wrote about it anyway, not quite as much in this part, but I want to forewarn you that while there is still nothing explicit, we do get a little ~sexier~ than most stllmnstr fics

note/disclaimer: I have been itching to write an enha vampire fic for ages because hello? the material is RIGHT THERE!! this is a story I'm super excited about, and it's definitely gotten me out of my comfort zone. in order to help build this world, I did draw from some outside sources. primarily, a lot of the vampire lore and some plot elements are inspired by the dark moon webtoon series. I did also pull some things from twilight and other well-known vampire myths. lastly, there is a section with "poetry" in it. these "poems" are translated lyrics from still monster, chaconne, and lucifer by enhypen. some are in their original form and some I altered slightly. everything else is straight from yours truly! as always, happy reading ♡

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The last sip of your coffee tastes bitter on your tongue. Acidic, like it was left to brew too long. Or maybe not long enough. Your limited knowledge of coffee extends to its effects on your alertness and little else. 

Taste has always been an afterthought, something of little consequence. Besides, some bitterness is to be expected when you take your coffee black. 

Suppressing the small wince that always follows your final sip, you set the reusable thermos down on your desk. Next to your open notebook and favorite ballpoint pen, it settles in nicely with your other class essentials. 

Call it poetic or romantic or unbearably pretentious, but you actually do prefer to take your notes by hand. Partly because it feels more fitting for a literature major and mostly because your laptop is on its last leg and between tuition and rent, you don’t exactly have the funds to shell out for a new one. 

Frowning at the bitter taste that still lingers on your tongue, you feel another pang of regret for forgetting to pack your water bottle this morning. But no matter. Today is a day for optimism. The bitterness now only means that your imminent victory will taste that much sweeter in comparison. 

Because today is the last day of the fall semester of your third year. Which means that this is the last morning you’ll be sitting here in this lecture hall in the minutes preceding 9 am. 

Which means that today is the day of your professor’s long awaited announcement. You still remember the day, nearly four months ago, when he first told the entire room of undermotivated, overcaffeinated students about it. 

A publishing opportunity. A real, actual publishing opportunity. Something most literature students would sell their soul for. 

Because Professor Kim, while a rather mediocre professor who prefers to dish out criticism and bite back praise, has an excellent eye for great writing. So much so that nearly twenty years ago, he founded his very own publishing house. 

Known by the name New Haven Publishing, it’s a small operation that deals mostly in short pieces that are marketed more for niche literary circles than mass public appeal. Being published by New Haven may not be a straight shot to the New York Times’ Best Sellers List, but it’s still professional publishing. 

And a week into classes, he announced that for the first time ever, he would be choosing one of you to not only intern at New Haven the following semester, but also to publish an original piece of short fiction with them. 

You’ve been fantasizing about it for months now. You can already imagine it. A piece of your very own, marketed and edited by professionals. Published and complete with Professor Kim’s stamp of approval. 

It’s what you’ve been craving ever since you decided to switch paths and pursue literature studies at the end of your first semester. It’s everything you’re sure you need. Validation that your writing is good, that your words are worth reading. 

Hell, maybe it will even earn you the approval of your parents. 

And, perhaps most satisfying of all, you will have officially beaten Lee Heeseng once and for all. You don’t want to speak poorly of the rest of your classmates and their writing abilities, but this has always been a competition between you and him. 

Or, at least, it has been for you. 

It’s the last day of the semester, and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if Heeseung still had a hard time remembering that the internship was even happening. Then again, you wouldn’t exactly be shocked if he couldn't remember your name, either.  

And if you were hard pressed to choose only one thing, that would probably be what annoys you the most about him. Not the way his hair is alway somehow perfectly mussed. Not the way his writing is painfully beautiful and poetic that you swell green with envy just thinking about it. 

No, the root cause of your infinite ire when it comes to Lee Heeseung is how damn aloof he is. Like his classmates and professors and even his greatest rival aren’t worth the effort of remembering. 

And it’s not like it’s because he’s got some kind of crazy social life outside of academics. Other than mandatory discussion groups, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so much as talk to anyone. 

But that’s just the way he is, you suppose. 

Perfect Heeseung with his perfect hair and his perfect writing and perfect attendance record doesn’t need anyone but himself—

Wait. 

Perfect attendance record. 

Glancing at the clock mounted high above the front door of the lecture hall, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing. 

8:59. 

There’s no way. There’s no fucking way that the universe is rooting for you this hard, that the stars are aligning this perfectly. 

Despite your doubts, the second hand continues its onward march. You suppress the sudden urge to bounce your leg in a matching rhythm. 

He has five seconds. 

Four. Three. Two. One. 

And it’s official. A ridiculous amount of pent up tension drains from your shoulders as your spine straightens. You can’t believe it was that easy. 

A semester of agonizing over every word, every sentence, every assignment you handed in for this class. A semester of panicking over missed buses and waking up way too early just to make sure you always beat the clock. 

But today is the day where everything comes to a head. 

And Lee Heeseung is officially late. 

Professor Kim, at the beginning of the semester, had only two pieces of advice to offer his students that were suddenly all gunning for a shot at being published:

One: “Don’t make me read awful writing.”

And two: “Don’t be late to class. I have zero tolerance for tardiness.”

Heeseung has just broken a cardinal rule. One row down, nine seats to the left from where you sit. It’s the place that would usually be filled with an annoyingly broad set of shoulders and distractingly sharp jawline. In fact, Heeseung usually beats you here most days. Not that you’re keeping track, of course. And not that it matters. 

Because this morning, this fateful morning, that particular seat, his seat, is glaringly, gloriously empty. 

Your eyes flicker over to it again without your permission. But you can’t help it. You’re so antsy now, teeming with self-satisfied excitement. It’s almost unbelievable actually. A golden stroke of luck that he chose today, of all days, to be late.

In fact, you think the more you stare at the empty seat, Lee Heeseung is such a reliable presence that the entire lecture hall suddenly seems a bit off kilter. Tilted too far in some precarious state of imbalance. 

Your smugness is still there, yes, but now there’s also a heavy feeling beginning to settle at the bottom of your gut. Why on earth is Lee Heeseung late?

You’re so distracted by his absence, the endless loop of possibilities and explanations running through your mind, that you almost miss the second abnormality of the morning. 

Because now the clock reads 9:04, and Heeseung isn’t the only one missing. 

All at once, your attention is on the podium at the front of the lecture hall. It’s empty, too. And Professor Kim may be a hardass, but he’s no hypocrite. Never once throughout this entire semester has he ever begun a class even a millisecond late.

Frowning, you pull out your phone to confirm that the clock on the wall is not playing tricks on you. Maybe there was a power outage or something, and maintenance hasn’t had time to correct it yet. 

But your phone screen lights up, and 9:05 is the time that stares back at you. 

Glancing around, no one else seems too particularly bothered by this. There are a few titters, a few annoyed grumbles that sound like hypocrite and double standard where they reach your ears. 

But still, the clock ticks forward. 

The minute hand has fallen another two notches when the front door finally opens, Professor Kim striding in unhurried. Despite his lateness, his steps are steady, even. There’s nothing frantic or apologetic about the way he sets his briefcase down next to the podium, pulling out his laptop and a small stack of notes before clearing his throat. 

As the students around you fall silent, class begins as it always does. Other than the time, nothing is out of the ordinary. 

But your spirits are still high, and you figure you can cut your professor some slack. Maybe he ran into a bad bit of traffic or spilled coffee all over his shirt. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to draw more attention to his error and has decided that not acknowledging it at all is the best course of action. 

Oh, well. It’s no use ruminating on it now. Settling back into your seat, you do your best to focus your attention on the front of the room and not that damn empty chair. But the distraction isn’t necessary for long. 

The clock is just striking 9:12 when a second late arrival draws the eyes of the class to the front door of the lecture hall. Like your professor, Heeseung maintains a certain air of composedness as he makes his way towards his seat wordlessly. 

There’s a moment, a fraction of a second, where Professor Kim pauses, letting a sentence drift into silence. 

Twelve minutes late. It’s a rookie mistake. For a fleeting moment, you almost feel bad for him. Because surely Professor Kim is about to make an example of him. No one walks into his lectures late and leaves unscathed. 

Wincing, you remember a handful of weeks ago when a poor girl that sits a few rows behind you arrived late. Not only had Professor Kim stopped the entire flow of his lecture to draw attention to her tardiness, he had also assigned her an extra short story for homework. One on the merits of punctuality.

But the ebb in the lecture begins to flow again, the moment passing as soon as it comes. Heeseung settles into his chair. Your professor resumes his sentence. 

For the remainder of the class, you do your best to pay attention, but you’re having trouble finding a point. It’s not like he can assign homework or an exam or a discussion on the last day of the semester. 

Like you, most of your peers are fully zoned out, just waiting for him to get to what everyone has been dying to know for months. 

Who’s interning at New Haven? Who’s getting published?

But distractions in this class have never been hard to come by. More than once, you find your wandering gaze drifting to the back of Heeseung’s head. Usually, you’d be bitterly admiring how soft his hair looks. But today, there’s only one question that plays in your mind as you stare. 

What on earth happened that made perfect Lee Heeseung late?

Your thoughts are only interrupted by the sudden shuffle of small movement around you as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their seats. 

“Ah,” Professor Kim glances at the time. “That wraps up our semester, then. As promised, I would like to announce the student who will be interning with New Haven Publishing this upcoming semester. And, of course, the student that will have the opportunity to publish an original piece with us.”

He pauses for a moment, looking down at his notes. You wonder if the people sitting close to you can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest. 

Please be me. Please be me. Please be me. 

The rushing in your ears is so loud that you almost miss it. But not quite. Because the sound of your own name is something you’d recognize anywhere. 

Because it was your name that he said. Not anyone else’s. Not Heeseung’s.

You. You did it. 

You’re officially going to be interning with New Haven. You’re going to be published. 

When he asks you to stay a minute after class to discuss the details, it’s all you can do to nod. Butterflies are still scattered in your stomach. 

As the rest of the students begin to file out, you pack up your materials with hands that shake slightly. It doesn’t feel real. It feels too good to be true. You poured your everything into this all semester long, and now it’s actually happening. 

Your mind is a mess, and an erratic movement almost sends your empty thermos flying. Luckily, you snap out of it long enough to  catch it before it hits the ground. With everything packed back into your bag, you make your way down to the podium on slightly unsteady feet. 

A handful of passing classmates congratulate you on their way out, and you smile in return. 

You’ve almost made it to the front of the lecture hall when a body blocks your path. It takes a moment for your brain to register the identity of the offender. And once it does, it spits his name with venom. Heeseung. 

Oblivious and self-centered as always, he nearly knocks you over. Rolling your eyes, you move to step around him. Apparently whatever gift he was given for writing doesn’t extend to his spatial awareness or consideration for others. 

But as you lean to the left, he follows the movement, still in your path. Your gaze snaps up, eyebrows raised when you find him already looking at you. 

Oh. So it’s not a spatial awareness problem, then. He’s in your way on purpose. 

As always, his expression is infuriatingly blank. You can’t get any sort of read on him, and it unnerves you. Irritates you. Here he is, blocking your path, and the only thing he has to offer you is an empty, silent stare.

You could just say excuse me, force your way around him, and be done with it. You should. The semester is over, your professor’s decision is made, and you have no stake left in this game. 

But you’ve been biting back snarky comments and masking irritated expressions with mild indifference for months. The nerve he has to block you. The utter gall of it all. To physically stand in your way when he’s been your metaphorical obstacle to success all semester. 

When every time you look at him, you still remember that one sunny afternoon, early in the semester. The time you tried, actually tried to be his friend. When he waved you off like a buzzing fly that was nothing more than a nuisance. 

You inhale, weighing your options. His head tilts slightly at the movement, and it’s your last straw. 

There’s poison in your voice when you bite, “Oh, what? Now that I’ve proved myself, you can spare some time out of your day to talk to me?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly. It’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, and he’s wasting it on shock. As if he can’t quite comprehend why the girl he’s been giving headaches for months might not want to stop and have a friendly chat with him. Not that you imagine he’d even be capable of that if you tried. 

Already, you regret your comment. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have said anything. You’d be just as detached and cold and aloof as he was on that day you hate to think about. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Without your permission, the memory floats front and center to your mind. 

It was warmer, then. The last clutches of summer were still holding on tight. Sunlight was bright in the sky, and it felt like a good time to breach the barrier of your comfort zone. 

Class had just ended. Usually, Heeseung was one of the first to leave. You had to pack up abnormally quickly just to catch him in the quad right outside the lecture hall. 

But you did catch up to him.

And in a voice braver than you felt, you asked, “Hey, it’s Heeseung, right?” 

You’d been brighter, then. Still full of an energy you haven’t been able to muster since midterms. Not yet burdened by the weight of assignments and rejection, your disposition was as sunny as the sky above. 

Heeseung hadn’t bothered to dignify your question with an actual answer, but he had at least stopped walking, and that seemed like an invitation at the time. Now, with the power of hindsight, you wince. You should have spared yourself the regret.

You remember watching as he pulled out his earbuds, tucking them back into his pocket before turning his attention to you. Or at least half of it. Even then, you never felt like he was truly looking at you, hearing you. His mind always seemed off in the distance, preoccupied somewhere you could never quite reach. 

You recall being nervous, heat in your cheeks as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes tracked the movement like a cat tracks a ray of sunlight. Lazily, intently. With an energy you weren’t quite sure what to do with. 

Instead, you had stuttered, “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I thought your analysis today was brilliant.” The worst part is that it really was a brilliant analysis. Although you’d never admit that today, and much less to his face. 

Instead, you cringe just thinking about it. You should have taken his blank stare as a sign. You should have just let the one-sided conversation die there. With at least a little dignity and some of your pride left to spare. 

But you hadn’t. 

“I never thought about the use of sunlight as a metaphor for life. I mean, now that you’ve pointed it out, it seems kind of obvious.” The memory of your nervous giggles settle like rocks in your stomach. “Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling, but if you ever want to get together and look through assignments or review each other’s analyses, I’d love to—”

You’d heard his voice before, of course. In class discussions and presentations. But never this close. And never directed at you. 

He kept it short, his interruption, his response to your shaky offer. 

“I’m busy.”

And that was it. Two words. Two fucking words. And not even an explanation or an I’m sorry or a sheepish expression to go along with them. 

With that, you’d watched, a bit helplessly, as he pulled his earbuds out of his pocket, put them back into his ears and turned away from you before you could realize just how thoroughly you’d been rejected. 

With a sudden haze in the air and hope dying in your heart, your friendly smile slipped into confused dismay as you watched him track a steady path across the quad. 

If your cheekbones felt warm before, you were sure they must have been aflame by then. After all, it was your body’s natural response to the crushing weight of the embarrassment and thoroughly bruised ego he’d left you there standing with. 

Fine then, you’d resolved after walking as quickly as you could in the opposite direction, sending a prayer to the heavens that no one from your class had just witnessed the most mortifying interaction you’ve ever had. If Lee Heeseung wanted nothing to do with you, the feeling could be mutual. 

In fact, it was probably for the best. You were vying for that internship and if the past class discussions were anything to go by, Heeseung would be your only real competition. If he was too busy for you, then you would just have to be too busy for him. 

Too busy perfecting every assignment and acing every exam. Too busy drowning in dictionaries and thesauruses and reference materials to make sure everything you submitted was perfect — no, scratch that — better than perfect. 

Too busy to attempt another conversation or interaction or do anything but nod along politely whenever he did make an unfortunately great point in class. 

So, no. Heeseung doesn’t get to dictate your time or attention or conversation now that you’ve actually been awarded with a publishing opportunity, now that all of your efforts and dedication and late nights have paid off. 

If Lee Heeseung wants a bit of your attention on today of all days, at this moment of all moments, then you’re just going to have to be too busy to entertain him. 

Standing in front of you, still blocking your path to the podium, Heeseung has the nerve to look confused. As if you have no reason to give him the cold shoulder. As if you’re the one being unreasonable here. 

His brow furrows further. “What?” It’s the third word he’s ever spoken directly to you. It makes your blood boil. “No, I…” he trails off. You can practically see the gears running in his mind, like this wasn’t the conversation he expected to be having. Like he has no idea how to navigate it now. “I was just going to say that you should maybe reconsider.”

Your voice is ice when you ask, “Reconsider what?” 

“Well…” He’s treading in dangerous territory, and he seems to realize it too. “The internship,” he clarifies, and it’s the second most insulting thing he’s ever said to your face. 

You screw your eyes shut. Cold and detached. Blank and aloof. All the things you should be. But you’ve always run a little hot. And end of the semester exhaustion finds you more willing to throw caution to the wind. 

“You have got to be fucking with me.” Eyes reopening, you’re met with that same expression of mild shock. Brows raised, lips parted. And god, he even looks good like that. “Yeah, right. Let me guess, so you can do the internship and publish a piece of your own? If all you came over to do is insult me, then save your breath.”

“What?” He still looks so damn confused. “No, I—”

You don’t want to hear it. “I have nothing to say to you.” If he won’t get out of your way, you’ll just have to go through him. The shoulder check is maybe slightly more intense than it needs to be as you shove your way past him. He barely stumbles back an inch. It makes you want to rip your hair out. “Besides,” you add, not bothering to turn back to look at him. “I’m busy.”

It’s a dig at him, yes, but it’s also true. You are. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Lee Heeseung is not about to ruin it for you. 

To your unending gratitude, he doesn’t try to intercept you again. Your path to the front of the lecture hall is clear, and Professor Kim is just tucking his laptop back into his briefcase when you reach the podium. 

Ultimately, it’s a watered down version of the million times you’ve imagined this moment in your head. Even coming on the tail end of the most annoying interaction you’ve had in months. Professor Kim congratulates you again, and hands you a printed schedule of when you’ll be expected at the publishing office for the first time. 

There are also submission dates. Deadlines for you to submit drafts of the piece that you’ll be publishing. You take it all in with a beam and enthusiastic nods, mishap with Heeseung from minutes ago all but forgotten. 

That is, until Professor Kim’s gaze lands somewhere over your shoulder after he tells you he’ll also send you a follow-up email with all the information you need. 

You watch as his expression shifts, something uneasy, distrustful entering his gaze as he looks beyond you. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Lee?”

Following his gaze, you turn to look behind you. The lecture hall is empty, students cleared out from the class that dismissed nearly five minutes ago. All except for one, that is. 

Gone is the shock from Heeseung’s delicately sharp features. Instead, he wears his mask of indifference again, betraying no emotion. You must be imagining the way it looks almost strained this time, as if he’s forcing his expression into neutrality instead of it there of its own accord. 

Wordlessly, his gaze shifts to you. 

And now it’s your turn to be confused, but you won’t let it last long. At least not outwardly. You’re quick to match his gaze with nothing but pure ire, venom dripping seeping from every inch of your glare. 

Is he seriously still trying to ruin this for you? So much for being busy. 

“No, sir.” Heeseung shakes his head. He’s addressing your professor, but he’s still looking at you. A muscle ticks in his jaw, betrays a hint of tension. “I was just on my way out.”

True to his word, he begins a steady descent towards the front door. 

Your professor clears his throat, turns his attention back to you, resuming the wrap-up of your conversation. 

You’re extra grateful for that follow-up email now, given the way movement in your periphery distracts you from Professor Kim’s last few statements. Instead, your focus hones in on the even footsteps that carry Heeseung to the door, allow him to slip through it silently. 

It must be a trick of the light, must be a figment of your overworked, over irritated imagination. But you swear you see him linger there, just on the other side of the small glass window carved into the door. 

Professor Kim says his parting words, and you thank him one final time. If there’s an unnatural quickness in your footsteps as you turn to leave, you tell yourself that it’s because you’re excited to get started on your draft, not because you have the sneaking suspicion Heeseung is still standing just on the other side of the door. 

But you swear that’s his silhouette you see as you draw closer, shrouded in shadows but distinct all the same. You’re debating the merits of shouting at him or maybe accidentally shoulder checking him again as you pull open the door handle, a little more roughly than you intend. 

But the only thing that greets you on the other side of the door is a nearly empty hallway, save for the pair of students bent over a laptop a few paces away. You ignore their twin expressions of shock as you let the door fall closed behind you, much more calmly than you opened it. 

…..

The blank expanse of your notebook stares at you accusingly. 

You’d stare back, if that would somehow make words appear on the page. Sighing, you reach for your long forgotten cup of tea sitting on your desk. Taking a slow sip, you realize it’s gone cold. 

That just makes you double down on your frustration. How long have you been sitting here, waiting for inspiration to strike? 

People always talk about the merits of a change in scenery, but ever since you started your first semester of university three years ago, your favorite place to write has always been here, at the small, simple desk that sits in the corner of your bedroom. 

Back then, writing was a hobby. Something to do when the last of your biochemistry homework was finished. A way to release pent-up stress and tension from long days in the university lab and long hours feeling like you were drowning between all of the extra study sessions, TA workshops, and office hours. 

At first, it had been worth it. You maintained high grades and high spirits. Mostly because of the small sprinkles of support your parents showered you with. 

Every little You got this! that lit up your phone screen on dreary afternoons and We believe in you! that made your evening lectures a little more bearable felt like tokens of your parents’ affection. Something tangible to show for the care they held for you. 

Most of all, you cherished the We’re proud of you messages. You can’t remember the last time you received one. 

And it’s not like they were mad, exactly, when you told them you wanted to change majors. They did their best to be supportive in the ways that they knew how. 

For your father, that was concern. “Are you sure? Literature? What do the job prospects after graduation look like?”

And for your mother, that was letting you know that she thought you were capable of more. Of better. “It’s not that literature is bad, sweetie. It’s just… Well, you’ve always been such a smart girl…”

You get it; you really do. All the questions and prodding comments that felt like criticism were wrapped in nothing but love. But that didn’t do much to soften the sting. 

In the end, it was this desk that made you follow through with your change in major. Slumped in your hand-me-down chair late one Friday night, half finished lab report sitting untouched in your bag, the threat of tears burning at the corners of your eyes, all you wanted to do was write.  

To put into words the feelings and emotions and fantasies and frustrations that you could never seem to express otherwise. To commit a piece of your soul to paper and wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was someone else out there who would read it and find a sense of solidarity, of common ground. 

You submitted your official change request the next morning. You never regretted it once. 

But your parents still make comments, still share their concerns. And for the last three years, you haven’t had anything to show for it except for empty promises. But now, you have something. A real something. 

Publishing a story of your own is the exact validation that you need that your choice was the right one. And it’s the proof you need to assuage your parents’ fears, to show them that pursuing literature was the right call. That you can carve out a life for yourself with it. 

You’ve fantasized about this for years. For the chance to have your voice heard, your words read. There are a million half-baked thoughts and partially written drafts scattered in your notebooks and digital documents and on the corners of takeout napkins that have been lying in wait for a moment just like this. 

But no matter how hard you stare at the page in front of you, the words just won’t come. The more old drafts you scour, the more amateur your writing feels. The more you feel like maybe Heeseung should have won the internship over you. 

It’s a miserable cycle your brain works itself into. The less you write, the more you criticize, the more you wonder. 

What if he hadn’t been late that morning? What if Professor Kim was hoping to choose him instead? What if the reason he didn’t say anything when Heeseung finally arrived in class was because he was so disappointed that his first choice wasn’t an option anymore?

Groaning out loud to an empty room, your head falls on your desk with a muted thud. 

It’s there, facedown on your desk, where an idea strikes you. If you can’t manifest a draft out of thin air, maybe you just need some parameters. A general guide to get the creative juices flowing. 

Lifting your head back up, you push your notebook to the side and reach for your laptop. Opening a web browser, you navigate to New Haven Publishing House’s homepage. 

It’s a simple website, reflective of its simple namesake. Chin in one hand, you click the link that reads Recently Published. 

The list that pops up is modest. Unlike a larger, more corporate publishing house, your professor’s self-made enterprise is churning out new releases at a slower rate and smaller volume. 

Perusing the titles and descriptions, you note that the vast majority of the works are short form fiction. There are very few full length novels. The majority is made up of essay and poetry collections, short stories, and memoirs. 

Scanning the list again, a title close to the top catches your eye. 

The Thirst for Revenge: An Analysis of Contemporary Vampire Activity. It was published less than a month ago. 

Your cursor hovers over the link, brow furrowing. It strikes you as odd that something so… archaic would be published so recently. 

Professor Kim has always come across as a discerning man. Someone that prides himself on his well curated taste. 

But vampires… that’s hardly a headline worthy topic these days. 

While most people still practice caution walking down dark alleyways at night and some even go so far as to carry charms infused with garlic cloves, monsters of the night are by and large a thing of the past.

The entire species of bloodthirsty, ravaging immortals were hunted to near extinction almost two hundred years ago. Those that survived relocated to remote areas. Some adapted to life in the countryside by learning to enjoy the taste of animal blood. Others found humans willing to donate small portions of their own blood intermittently. You won’t pretend to understand, but you suppose it’s preferable to the alternative.  

Some still hunted in the traditional way, of course, but vampire attacks on humans are few are far between these days. After all, vampires, as a means of survival, have all but forsaken major urban areas. Population density spells demise for their species. 

You’d have to confirm through research, but if you remember correctly, the last recorded vampire-related death in your city was nearly two hundred years ago. 

Without bothering to click on the link, you continue scrolling down. Honestly, it was probably just a fluke. After all, who knows? Maybe there’s some niche circle out there that enjoys analyzing vampire literature, regardless of how outdated it is. 

The next title seems a bit more promising. Shadowless Nights. The brief description marks it as a short story published half a year ago. 

You click on it, take a sip of room temperature tea while the page loads. 

Night was my favorite time of day, the first line reads. 

I loved the stillness of it all, the all encompassing serenity. With the moon in the sky and stars in my eyes, every moment felt like a secret between me and the universe. Something we alone shared. 

I whispered secrets to the earth and held hers in return. My days felt like dreams. Distant, blurry, faded. It was only then, in the distinct stillness of midnight, that I truly came alive. 

Interesting, you think. It’s a bit more melodramatic than you expected, but maybe your professor prefers a poetic touch. 

In the night, I earned peace. And in the night, I learned fear. 

It came slowly at first, that sinking feeling of dread. The horrible suspicion that made the hair on the back of my neck feel sharp, the air in my throat feel shallow. 

But if I have learned anything of monsters, it is that they revel in that fear. That sickeningly overt reminder of mortality, of humanity. The way I couldn’t help the racing of my pulse, the darting of my eyes. 

He enjoyed it, toying with me from the shadows. Watching me become desperate, watching me become weak. 

But it paled in comparison, I’m sure, with what came next. Every story has its climax, and every beginning has its end. For him, it was the sweet, clean taste of my blood. 

Wait. Another vampire story? One was strange enough, but for the last two published works at New Haven to be vampire related doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Especially since the more you read, the more you realize it’s not as much of a story as it is thinly veiled anti-vampire rhetoric. 

The dramatized descriptions of a weak, innocent female lead being victimized by a faceless, bloodthirsty monster. It just feels… strange. Outdated. Irrelevant, even. 

Clicking back to the list, you scan over the next five entries. All of them are more or less the same. Some are more metaphorical than others, abstract in their rhetoric, but the topic is always the same. And the conclusion always affirms the immense, inevitable, irredeemable blight that vampirism is to the world. 

It’s just bizarre. Especially considering that Professor Kim never once had you analyze any anti-vampire propaganda throughout the entire semester. In fact, you were never assigned to read anything vampire related at all. 

If this type of literature is so central to his professional career, it doesn't make sense to you that he wouldn’t incorporate it into his class. Especially considering the fact that he was awarding an internship at New Haven to one of the students. 

You take another long sip of cold tea. Well… you could try to come up with something that aligns with the current profile of New Haven’s recently published works. It’s not like you’ve ever written anything related to vampires. Maybe you just need to think of it as a writing exercise, a challenge of sorts. Producing a piece that feels relevant and fresh even if the central topic is a bit out of style. 

According to the revision schedule Professor Kim gave you, your first draft issue in a week and a half. The same day that you’re set to go to New Haven for the first time and tour the office you’ll be interning at once winter break is over. It’s an ambitious timeline, but he did specify that he’s looking more for a solid concept than a well polished draft. But something in you wants to have more than just a concept. You want his approval, to impress him. 

So you have a week and a half to come up with a draft that will catch his attention, that will convince him that you were the right choice for this opportunity. Not anyone else in your class. Not Heeseung. You. 

A concept that will excite New Haven Publishing House’s usual reader base, that will maybe actually earn you some commercial success. 

A story that will prove to your parents that literature was the right choice for you. That your words do matter, that you can make a name for yourself with your writing. 

Well, you think, suppressing an internal groan, it looks like you have your work cut out for you. 

…..

Despite your admitted lack of vampiric knowledge, once you have your topic, the words start to flow. You’re not sure if it’s your best work. You’re not even sure if it’s good. But it feels a hell of a lot better than staring at a blank page for hours. 

This afternoon finds you in the corner of your favorite coffee shop. Mostly because they offer half priced lattes on Wednesdays. As you make a dent in yours, the pen in your other hand continues to fly over the pages of your notebook, occasionally stopping to scratch out a word or rewrite a sentence. 

The bare bones are there. Just like in the handful of stories you perused on New Haven’s website, your plot features a young woman. It’s a historic setting, mostly because you still can’t quite bring yourself to write vampires into the modern day when the reality is so starkly different. 

And it’s not a vampire story. At least not at first glance. Instead, you weave an enduring metaphor to symbolize a parasitic relationship between two lovers.

The woman in your draft is young, full of life and energy and optimism. And she dreams. Vivid, brilliant dreams that she clings to in order to escape the harshness of her reality as a lower class woman in the countryside. 

Her husband, however, is a brute. Older than her and with a decidedly less sunny disposition. When he learns that his health is failing, he discovers that he can heal himself temporarily by stealing these dreams from her. 

So, no. It’s not overtly about vampires. But it does fall into step with some of the more abstract anti-vampire tropes you came across in your preliminary research. 

Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh. 

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer. 

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity. 

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional. 

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes. 

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice. 

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips. 

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim. 

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete,  well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features. 

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday. 

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task. 

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed. 

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening. 

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door. 

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in. 

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day. 

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips. 

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance. 

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person. 

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you. 

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?” 

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe. 

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came. 

Heeseung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it. 

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches. 

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost. 

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you. 

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway. 

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to. 

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes. 

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego. 

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.” 

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now. 

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly. 

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life. 

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heeseung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all. 

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

Sensing your disdain, Heeseung doesn’t respond. Instead, he accepts the notebook you reluctantly hand him with an outstretched hand and an open palm. The transfer between the two of you is gentle. You have the distinct sense that he’ll treat your work with care, in more than one way. 

Still, something in your heart seizes at the thought of letting your work be read. Of letting him be the one to read it. 

In return, he offers you a notebook of his own. Bound in brown, aged leather, it’s certainly much more refined than yours. Of course. 

He hands it to you still closed. Staring down at the cover, you ask, “What page?” It feels intrusive to start flipping through his writing uninvited. 

“There’s a bookmark.” Heeseung nods his chin towards the small piece of paper sticking out of the top edge that you missed at first glance. 

And then the transfer is complete. A piece of your heart is spread open on his desk, and a piece of his soul is in your hands. 

Ignoring the way your fingers tremble with a slight shake, you delicately open his notebook to the bookmarked page, letting it fall open on the desk in front of you. 

At first glance, the writing strikes you as odd. The paragraphs are strange lengths, ending at random junctures instead of extending all the way to the margins. And then it hits you. They’re not paragraphs. They’re stanzas. 

Poetry. Lee Heeseung writes poetry. 

You sneak a sidelong glance at him out of your periphery. He’s already engrossed in the pages of your notebook, pausing occasionally to jot a note down on a scrap piece of paper. His brow is furrowed, and there’s a tension in his jawline that only makes it sharper. 

Still, the image of his profile is shrouded in a distinct sort of softness. The kind of effortless beauty that feels like it should be reserved for intimate moments in the dead of night, secrets passed between lovers. It’s wasted under the fluorescent lights and patchy, beige walls of an underfunded classroom, but you waste another minute staring at him all the same. 

For a fleeting moment, it’s not hard to imagine those hands, those long, delicate fingers maintaining an even grip on a ballpoint pen to write something as romantic as poetry. 

Shaking your head, you clear the errant thoughts. Instead, you turn your focus back to the page in front of you and begin with the first poem. Forcing your eyes to focus, you read. 

As if nothing happened,

She looks at me

With shadowless eyes.

But it is me who has been 

Forgiven and reborn countless times.

You inhale. Exhale. Short and succinct with a distinct twinge of tragedy. That was… not what you were expecting. Pushing forward, you move onto the next entry. 

Even the stars in the universe

Will close their eyes one day.

Underneath their watchful gaze,

All of these moments are precious.

For memory, for regret,

I will carve them

Into the repetition of the moment.

Again, you pause, taking a moment to breathe. It’s so… melancholy, so poignant in its evocation of pain, of regret. While you’ve been familiar with Heeseung’s ability to analyze the hell out of a novella, this was not something you thought you’d find in his repertoire. And the more you read on, the more you realize these aren’t flukes. This is his identity as a writer, or at least a significant part of it. 

The world that abandoned us

Slowly turns to ash. 

But I don’t feel the pain. 

I only feel the cold.

My god. You nearly close the notebook on instinct. Without your permission, your eyes flick ove to the desk next to you. The broad set of shoulders that fill the seat. What has this boy been through? Why is he letting you read this? 

Heeseung looks up. Not at you, but the movement is enough to startle you out of your staring. Returning your eyes to his notebook, you read the last entry on the page. 

A shaded castle with no sun

The thick scent of dying roses never fades. 

In a broken mirror, I see myself. 

And my reflection whispers, “Monster.”

The breath you release is long. Audible. You’re overcome with the urge to run your fingers over his words, to feel the indents his pen made as he carved pain into the page. His writing is gorgeous. It’s beautifully, tragically haunting. Of that much, you’re certain. But you have no idea what to do with that information. 

His words feel too raw, too terribly intimate. Like something that was never meant for your eyes. You can’t understand what on earth possibly possessed him to let — no — to encourage you to read these. 

You can’t fathom any kind of feedback you could offer him. These feel like pieces of his soul, not something to be commodified or commented on in a writing workshop. Discussed in the cold, unfeeling walls of an old classroom.

Despite the discomfort that lingers with each passing stanza, his writing has an almost addictive quality. Over and over, you find yourself rereading each brief poem. You’re searching for meaning, for clarity, for something hidden between the lines that you missed on your first handful of reads. 

Thirty minutes pass in a trance, and Heeseung, true to his word, is the one to break the silence when your half hour is up. 

Mind still reeling, you realize with a sinking feeling that you have absolutely no feedback to give him at all. 

Instead, you turn to face him. Throwing a meaningful glance at where your notebook still lies open on the desk in front of him. Doing your best to not look too hopeful, you ask, “Well?”

For a moment, Heeseung just looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Tension pulls at his temple, his jaw. Frustration seeps from beneath his skin, and you can’t tell where it’s directed. 

“Oh, come on,” you prod when his silence extends even longer. “I know you’re dying to spill the gory details of how grossly incompetent I am and how horrifically amateur my writing is, so don’t—”

Heeseung wastes no fanfare. “This is awful.”

Your lips flatten. “Or just cut right to the chase.”

He’s quick to clarify. “But not for any of the reasons you just listed. I mean, sure, there are some craft issues here, but even those seem like a result of your concept.”

“What’s wrong with my concept?” The edge of defensiveness in your voice escapes without your permission. 

Heeseung just levels you with a look. Returning his gaze to your notebook, he reads from your draft verbatim, “...Stashing away the light from her life. Tucking it into his back pocket like extra change just for the satisfaction of temporary happiness. It was never love that bound him to her, but the promise of a never ending fountain of life. Of wishes and thoughts and hopes and dreams that he could use to sustain himself as long as he subjected himself to the numbing pleasure of existing at her side.” 

He raises an eyebrow, turns back to you. “I mean, really, ____? I’ve read some nauseatingly vitriolic vampire pieces in my life, and this just about has all of them beat. Besides, the whole vampire thing just feels so… irrelevant. Do people still read this stuff anymore?”

Your first instinct is to defend yourself, your work, even if his thoughts mirror your own. Before you can, Heeseung is pressing on. You don’t have the space to get a word in sideways. “I mean, what happened to the writing from that piece you presented back in September? I don’t remember all the details, but there was something about watching birds land on water and connecting it to the feeling of belonging but never truly fitting in.” He looks at you again. There’s more emotion, more glittering life in his eyes than you’ve ever seen from him before. “That was a fresh take and a well done metaphor.”

Your mind is reeling. It’s far too much information to take in all at once. But something stands out amongst the rest. Because that almost sounded like— 

“Was that a compliment?” It seems unlikely, but you can’t find another way to take his words. “You paid attention to my presentation?” 

You liked it? You don’t ask that question out loud, but the needier parts of you crave his answer anyway.

“Yeah, of course I did. Peer review was a mandatory component of the course.” Heeseung’s cheekbones remain the same, even, honey-tinted tone, but you swear you see a flash of embarrassment in the way he averts his gaze. 

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a justification that holds much weight in your mind. “But you don’t exactly seem like the type to really pay attention to other people’s stuff. Especially if you think it’s not worth your time.”

“I just told you your presentation was good, didn’t I?”

You arch a brow. “Yeah, right after you finished calling my draft horrific.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I didn’t say it was horrific…”

“Oh, please. Spare us both the semantics. That’s what you meant.” You’re not sure why your mind always goes back to that day in the quad, but you find yourself still sore from his rejection, his new assertion of your work poking at old wounds. Picking at poorly healed scabs. “And it’s not like you were jumping for joy at the chance to review my work back then, either.”

Heeseung’s brow furrows. You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You’re not sure if it makes you feel better or worse, the fact that he doesn’t seem to remember that day at all. 

In the end, you decide to spare him the effort of empty recollection. With a sigh, you spill your shame. At least this time around, you’re the only two that will bear witness. “That one day in class. Back at the beginning of the semester. We had to present our analysis of that one short story. You remember, the one about planting seeds in bad soil.” Heeseung nods, but there’s no spark of realization. Not yet. 

Continuing, it only pains you slightly to admit, “Your analysis was brilliant, and I gushed about it in front of the whole class. Laid it on thick with the compliments. And then after class, I stopped you in the quad.” Something flickers over Heeseung’s features. A memory tugging at the back of his mind. “When I asked if you wanted to review each other’s pieces for the next assignment, you completely brushed me off.”

Brow still pulled downwards, Heeseung is thinking back to that day, too. But it doesn't seem to hold the same awful, leaden weight in his mind. “I didn’t brush you off,” he argues. “I think I said I was busy.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to let your jaw drop open. “That’s brushing someone off!” Your voice is too loud for the near empty classroom, for your close proximity. “Like literally the textbook definition. Everyone knows that ‘I’m busy’ is code for ‘leave me the hell alone.’”

Almost imperceptibly, Heeseung’s features soften as he watches yours strain. The fluorescent light bulbs that fill the room suddenly don’t seem quite as harsh when he says, “Well, that's not what I meant. I was busy.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer. But you suppose it makes little difference. If he wants to stick to his story, you’ll continue to feign indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters now anyway.”

And then your mind is back on his poems. His beautiful, tragic, gorgeously phrased stanzas scribbled in his handwriting. Fragments of vulnerability that he handed to you without hesitation. 

It’s like comparing apples to oranges in a way, but there is no doubt in your mind that between the two of you, the writing he brought tonight is better. Better than your story, better than most things you’ve ever written, probably. The imagery is evocative, striking in a way you’ve never quite been able to achieve no matter how many seminars and workshops and lectures you attend. 

Not for the first time, your brain dangles a dangerous thought in a place where you can’t avoid it. What if Professor Kim chose wrong? What if Heeseung hadn’t been late to class that day? Would you be sitting here with a mediocre draft and a raging inferiority complex?

You’ll never know, not really, but you find yourself asking anyway, “Why were you late to class that day?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. It’s not like his answer will change anything. And it’s invasive. Far too personal to ask someone you barely know. That up until thirty minutes ago, you actively avoided. 

But maybe the universe is on your side for once. Maybe you got ridiculously lucky and he didn’t hear you, despite the fact that it’s dead silent in this classroom. Maybe—

“What?”

Or not.

Well, you’re committed now. “The last day of class. When the winner for the publishing opportunity was announced,” you clarify. “You were late. Honestly,” you add with a wry smile, “you’d probably be the one writing overdramatic vampire slander right now if you hadn’t been.”

It’s a self-deprecating joke. It might land poorly, but you’re hoping it will lighten the atmosphere. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “Trust me, ___. You winning had nothing to do with me being late that day.”

If he thinks flattery will get him anywhere, he’s wrong. You can feel your frustrations bubbling in your throat, clawing at your mind. You won. You beat him. So why doesn’t it feel like it? Why doesn’t it feel like anything you do is ever good enough?

“C’mon, Heeseung.” He doesn’t deserve your anger. At least, not now. But he gets it anyway. Insecurities and inferiority and frustration all wrapped in rage. “You were practically a shoe-in, and everyone knows it.”

He’s just as insistent. Leaning towards you slightly, he looks anything but aloof now. “No I wasn’t. Professor Kim chose you to intern with him. He read both of our submissions all semester and chose you to publish with his firm. I told you, your writing is good. Really good.” Glancing down at your notebook, he adds, “Even if this one is a bit… uninspired.”

A compliment and a slight. His version of the truth, wrapped up in a bow and delivered right to your waiting ears. You don’t know whether to be furious or overjoyed. Maybe it would be best to feel absolutely nothing at all. It scares you, just how much weight his opinion holds. 

But approval from him has its way of feeling like a long sought victory, and now the air feels fraught with something delicate, fragile. Precarious, even. 

It’s early evening in a threadbare classroom. The most neutral territory imaginable. But it’s the two of you, alone, secluded. And suddenly, that frightens you. 

“Right.” You won’t tell him ‘thank you’ for the compliment or ‘go fuck yourself’ for the criticism. Both options feel like you would be revealing too much. 

Instead, you take a glance at the clock. It’s not late, but it’s an excuse. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung exhales. Leans back in his seat. “Of course,” he concedes easily, reaching to hand you your notebook.

You do the same with his, almost sad to watch his poetry pass from your hands to his. It’s odd, the way his words already feel like something you’ll miss. 

You realize then that he hasn’t asked you for your opinion on his work. For your advice on how to make it better. In all honesty, you’re relieved. You haven’t the slightest idea what you would say. 

So instead, you busy yourself with repacking your tote bag. In your haste, you knock your pen off of your desk. The sound it makes as it strikes the thinning carpet can’t be loud, but it feels thunderous in your ears. 

As you reach to pick it up, Heeseung does the same. There’s a moment, fleeting but unmistakable, when the skin of his hand brushes against yours. 

Instantly, Heeseung recoils as if you’ve burned him. His hand is back in his own space at a speed so fast you nearly miss it. 

It was an accident, a tiny blip with no real consequences, but the way he’s looking at you with those damn eyes makes you feel like you should be apologizing. 

“Sorry.” The severity of his reaction stings like rejection. It’s not like he’s exactly your favorite person either, but at least you have the common decency to not look repulsed at the thought of touching him. At the accidental brushing of your hands. 

Heeseung frowns. Shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. “No, I…” he trails off, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he concludes, but it feels disingenuous. And he doesn’t bother to elaborate. Looking over your shoulder, he reads the clock on the wall. “It’s getting kind of late. Where are you parked? I can walk you to your car.”

His hands are busy putting his notebook back in his back. It’s a considerate offer, but coming on the tail end of everything else, it doesn’t hold much weight with you. His words don’t match his actions, and you decide you’d be a fool to take them at face value. 

“Don’t bother. I’m walking home, not driving.”

Heeseung freezes, hand still inside his bag. He’s not looking at you, but you feel the weight of his attention all the same. “Do you need someone to walk with you?”

The way he phrases the question makes you feel like a burden. He’s asking if you need someone to walk with you, not offering because he wants to. A subtle difference maybe, but the last thing you want is to feel like you owe him any favors. 

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He does look at you now, concern painted across his features. “It’s getting dark earlier these days, and—”

His words are wasted on you. You’re already halfway to the door. “I’m sure.” But before you leave, you decide one more hit to your pride can’t worsen the damage that’s already been done. At least this time, it will be by your doing. Standing under the doorframe, you turn back to him. “Thank you for your feedback. It was good to hear an honest opinion.”

Your words sink into the air. Linger for a moment. 

Heeseung nods. Something in his jaw tightens. “You know, if you do decide to change topics, I’d be happy to read whatever you write.”

It almost sounds like another compliment. Or maybe another insult. Either way, you’re sure that even if you figure it out, you’ll still have no idea what to do with it. You nod, only once, and then your back is turned again before you can linger too long on any of it. 

But his words, the sweet ones this time, replay in your mind the entire walk home. 

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by the ghosts of compliments, you’d have noticed the pair of quiet, even footsteps that trailed after you in the distance. That only retreated once the front door to your apartment was pulled shut and locked tight behind you. 

Then again, maybe not. Heeseung has always had a knack for going undetected. 

…..

You wake up the next morning with Heeseung’s words replaying in your mind. 

Awful. Irrelevant. And of course your favorite, ‘nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece.’

In the faded glow of morning light, you groan out loud to your empty bedroom. The worst part of it all is that he’s not even wrong. But it’s Saturday morning, and your first draft is due on Wednesday. The thought of starting a new story from scratch and writing it to completion within that time frame is enough to make you want to curl into a ball and screw your eyes shut until you can pretend the world outside your bedroom is nothing but a figment of your imagination. 

So no, you don’t think you can start over entirely. But maybe, just maybe, you can rework things. Tweak the narrative to feel less cliche, less outdated. More true to you. 

Part of you wants to abandon the vampire concept entirely, convinced it’s what’s holding you down. The other part is hesitant to do so based on New Haven’s list of recently published works. 

And while Heeseung’s criticism was the confirmation you needed that your story needs reworking, it’s not like he gave you any ideas as to what you should change. What direction you should take.

Nauseatingly vitriolic vampire piece. That seemed to be Heeseung’s biggest problem with your draft. Not that it alluded to vampirism. No, you think he disliked that it was a tired and rehashed propaganda piece on the inherent evilness of vampires. 

Everyone knows that vampires were monsters. Writing about it, no matter how many metaphors and symbolic phrases you wrap it up in, just isn’t interesting. 

That’s the route you’ll take, then, you decide. You don’t have to invent a new concept out of thin air. You just need to find a way to bring something new to the table. Something worth reading. Climbing out of bed, you switch your pajamas for clothes more acceptable in public. 

And then you make your way to the university library. 

Just as you suspected, it’s essentially empty. Between long rows of meticulously shelved books, vacant study rooms, and community computers, the only other person you see is the librarian that greets you as you arrive. Even her eyebrows raise in mild shock to see someone else during the break, and on a weekend at that.

Heading to the second floor, the first section you peruse through is historical records. But between old newspapers, reports, and journals, the content itself is quite cut and dry. Detached descriptions of vampire attacks that only contain details of the date, time, and death toll aren’t exactly riveting. And you don’t think they’ll do much for your feeble draft. 

Before long, you move away from the nonfiction section. Navigating to supernatural fiction on the third floor, you start browsing titles. Vampire stories make up a rather small portion of the texts, and from what you can tell, the vast majority align with what you found on New Haven’s website. 

From Demons of the Dark to Left in Cold Blood, you doubt that most of what you find will offer any kind of new perspective. But on your third, slightly desperate scouring of the shelf, you make a discovery. 

It’s a small, nondescript book. The muted tones and faded lettering on the spine go easily undetected amongst the much flashier copies of anti-vampire propaganda it’s nestled between. 

Pulling the book out from the shelf with a delicate touch, you flip the cover face-up in your hand. 

Sacred Monsters: A Collection of Essays on the Origins of Immortality

It piques your interest. At the very least, it seems different from all the other novels. 

Book in hand, you make your way to a nearby desk. Once you’re settled in, you pull out your notebook, opening to a new page with the intention of taking notes. 

The book you lay on the desk next to your notebook seems like it’s lived a long life, the old scent of dust and aged paper and time all contained within its pages. Flipping open the front cover, you look for an author or publication date. But there’s nothing there, not even a title page or a table of contents. 

Glossing over the slight oddity, you decide the beginning is as good a place as any to start. 

The Taste of Blood, is the title at the top of the page. 

And the first sentence begins:

It is neither sweet nor particularly savory. There is no distinct aroma, no compelling flavor profile, nothing that appeals to the eye or excites the taste buds. The only merit is the fact that it is necessary. For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die. 

Frowning, you flip back to the cover, as if that will provide any clarity for the strange passage you just read. But nothing is different. Nothing new stands out. Just the same, faded title. No author or indication of any kind of publication date. 

Intrigued, you turn back and resume where you left off. 

Some are said to enjoy the act. The purity of release, of giving in to the instincts that can be convinced into domesticity but never fully silenced. I have never found such relief. The ghost of my humanity has always been stronger than the voice of the monster, even as he screams with unbounded ferocity. 

Without it, I feel incomplete. With it, I feel irredeemable. Even now, I dodge the truth, omit the profane. I have seen many moons, enjoyed their silver glow. I have stolen the very same pleasure from countless others. And yet, I struggle to call it by name. I cannot reconcile the battles waged in my bones, the war fought in my mind. 

There is no winner in either. All that remains in the taste of it. Lingering on my breath. Haunting my waking dreams. That which I cannot name. 

The taste of blood. 

In my fervor, it soothes like honey. In my regret, it turns to ash. 

And still, nothing changes. And still, nothing remains the same.

-- Anonymous

Well, if you were looking for something different, you found it. Because what the absolute fuck are you reading? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it were written from the perspective of a vampire. 

Then again, shelved in the fiction section, you suppose it’s plausible. Actual vampires may have housed little room in their consciousness for anything outside of bloodlust, but it is an interesting idea to think of vampires as conflicted. Haunted by the brutality of their innate instincts. 

You’re not exactly sure how or if this will be able to influence your own story for the better, but something about it makes you want to keep reading. 

Alone, tucked amongst the dusty shelves of a neglected section of the library, you lose yourself between the pages of the mysterious book. 

As the title indicated, it’s a collection of essays. Most are quite short, around the same length as the first one you read. And none are claimed by an author. All are signed off with the same boldface type that spells Anonymous. There are subtle differences in the writing though, stylistic choices that make you think that more than one person wrote these essays. 

Despite that, they’re all woven together by a common thread. The first essay, as you discover, was not a fluke. Every single one is written in first person from the perspective of a vampire. 

The writing is compelling, humorous in places and deeply upsetting in others. It seems odd to you, just how much humanity is captured within the pages, within each turn of phrase. 

You feel inclined to root for the narrator in some stories and abjectly horrified by them in others. But never once does the writing make you think that vampires are incapable of self-actualization, of reflection, of morality. 

In all honesty, aside from Heeseung’s poems, it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in ages. So much so that by the time you realize you’ve finished the last essay, the winter sun is teeming dangerously close to the horizon, and the library is nearing its closing hours. 

The notebook page you intended to use for notes, to jot down points of inspiration, is still woefully blank. But as you make your way back to the front of the library, the small, strange book comes along with you. 

Stopping at the front desk to formally check it out, the librarian frowns when she enters the number from the spine into the system. She clicks around on her computer for a moment longer before handing the book back to you. 

“I’m sorry, but the book isn’t coming up in our system for some reason. Would you mind writing down your student ID number for me? I’ll have to enter the information manually.”

You oblige her request, tucking the book into your bag before you leave. 

It’s chilly outside, the cold clutches of winter gaining a full grasp on the crisp, frigid air. After a long day in a stuffy library, the freezing air is almost soothing. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you turn towards the direction that will take you home. 

You’ve barely taken five steps when a voice calls your name from behind. Pausing, you turn to find the source of the sound. 

“Heeseung?” But there’s no mistaking it. That is most definitely Lee Heeseung, currently jogging towards you on the otherwise empty sidewalk in front of the university library. 

He catches up to you easily, no sign of perspiration or even a hint of breathlessness when he asks, “What are you doing walking alone at night?” As if you’re the strange one in this situation.

You give him a once over. The loose jeans and dark winter coat he wears are nothing special, but he wears them well regardless. You suppress the urge to sigh. “I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough.” His tone is too light, too casual. Like he’s forcing it. Like he’s hiding something. “Are you headed home? I’ll walk you there.”

And if you weren’t suspicious before, you sure as hell are now. Why on earth would he want to walk you home? “I’m fine, thanks.” You turn away from him, heading in the direction of your apartment and hoping he’ll take the hint. 

Your wish goes ungranted. He matches your pace easily, even as you try to quicken it. “It’s after dark, ___. And there are a lot of…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “strange people out at night these days. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

Lips tight, you don’t bother looking at him. The idea of Heeseung letting you do anything makes you want to throw things. “I’ll be fine.”

But he’s persistent. He’s all smiles and a strange amount of desperate when he says, “Either you let me walk you back or I’ll just follow you at a weird distance, which will be far more uncomfortable for both of us.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. And now you do turn to look at him. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Heeseung nods, “Exactly. So—”

You arch an unimpressed brow, crossing your arms over your chest. “It sounds like you’re the strange person at night I need to stay away from.”

Heeseung sighs, matches your eye. A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it away with long fingers. “Are you gonna start walking or are we gonna stand here and argue a little longer?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“What a great night to find out.”

You stare at him a moment longer, lips tight. You don’t want to be the one to give in, to hand him any kind of victory, no matter how small. 

But it is getting late. The walk from campus to your apartment is never one that’s made you uneasy, but it never hurts to have someone at your side. Besides, you think he was serious about following you. He’s made it clear that he’ll be tagging along one way or another. 

“Fine,” you huff, arms still crossed over your chest. “But only because the streetlight a few blocks away is out.”

Heeseung inclines his head, a minute acknowledgement. There’s a hint of movement at the corner of his lips. “Naturally.”

You resume walking, and he falls into your pace with a practiced ease, hands in his pocket, eyes on the stars. It’s a cloudless evening. The sky above you feels vast, immense as the last rays of daylight lie to rest on the distant horizon. 

With a slight shiver, you pull your jacket tighter around your body. Heeseung notices the movement. Parts his lips as if he wants to say something. Changes his mind. Closes them. 

You’ve just reached the far edge of campus when he breaks the steady silence. 

“How’s your draft coming?”

“It’s…” You trail off, not sure how well honesty will serve you here. It feels vulnerable, like a blatant weakness to admit that you’ve got nothing. But something about cold air and the vast expanse of night has you wanting to tell the truth. “Not great.”

Heeseung lets your response settle. Turns it over in his mind a few times. You’ve noticed that about him. He’s careful with his responses. Weighs his words before breathing them to life. “Still looking for inspiration?”

“I don’t know if it’s inspiration I need.” It’s easier to talk to him like this, when your eyes have something to focus on, when your body has the constant repetition of steps to occupy part of your mind. Without little distractions like these, Heeseung has a way of becoming all consuming. “I feel like I backed myself into a corner with the vampire concept. I’m not sure if there's really anything there to explore that won’t feel outdated and irrelevant.” 

“Mm,” Heeseung muses. It’s noncommittal, neither an agreement nor an argument. “Maybe. You said it yourself; vampires are nothing but bloodlust. Riled completely by instinct. Nothing left of their humanity.”

Frowning, your footsteps almost falter. “I didn’t say that.”

“Forgive me.” If there’s a tinge of bitterness in his tone, you suppose it must be because of the cold. The fact that he’s wasting his Saturday night walking you home. “Heavily implied it.”

“Honestly, the only reason I even wrote that story was because there were a lot of similar ones on New Haven’s list of recently published works.” Your reasoning feels almost stupid when you admit it aloud like this. You’ve always prided yourself on your originality, your commitment to staying true to yourself as a writer. But when push comes to shove, you let your desire to impress your professor get in the way of that. “I wanted something that would align with their usual publications.” 

You’ve admitted a weakness, a poorly made choice. You’re expecting ire, more of that haughty contempt. But Heeseung’s mind is going in an entirely different direction.

He’s not questioning your abilities, not even alluding to them at all when he asks, “What do you think of vampires, then?”

His question catches you off guard. Why on earth would he care about that? “What’s it to you?”

“My bad. We can just walk in awkward silence if you prefer.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of your energy to swallow the laugh that bubbles in your throat. Since when did Heeseung crack jokes? Since when did you have to fight the urge to giggle at them like a schoolgirl with a crush? You suddenly find yourself grateful for the cover of night, the way shadows make the heat on your cheeks undetectable. 

But his question still lingers. Ruminating on it, your mind flickers to the small, odd book currently sitting at the bottom of your bag. 

Sacred Monsters. 

It feels like a strange combination of words, two concepts that shouldn’t fit together. 

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” you breathe. You don’t know if it could possibly be true, the idea that creatures of the night have a high level of consciousness, the ability to moralize, to feel conflicted. But it certainly makes for a more interesting story. 

“I mean, vampires had to have some level of base cognition, right?” You’ll never know for sure, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. “They were hunted to near extinction, but they put up a good fight. They hid. They fled. They tried blending in as humans. Some resorted to drinking animal blood. I guess there’s no way of knowing, but that doesn’t feel like pure biology or an evolutionary response alone. It feels like… something a human would do.”

“Wouldn’t that be worse?” Heeseung’s voice is low. If the faint hum of faraway traffic were any louder, you might not hear him at all. “For them to know what it means to be alive and still make the choice to take that away from someone else? To exist as a parasite.”

“It would certainly be tragic.” The words of the first essay come back to you. 

For even those blessed with immortality know what it means to survive. And even those cursed to live forever know what it means to die.

“It’s a fatal flaw, a cruel design. They need blood to survive. The very thing that their bodies used to create on their own. It’s parasitic, yes, but that doesn’t make it animal instinct. I can’t imagine the horror of having to experience that with the burden of human consciousness.” 

You feel the weight of Heeseung’s gaze on the side of your face. “It’s still evil, is it not?”

His words feel heavy, weighted under moonlight. Though you can’t imagine why, you have the distinct sense that your answer is important to him. 

“Like I said, I think it’s more complicated than that. Taking someone’s life is evil, yes, but that was never unique to vampires. Is a vampire that chooses animal blood still evil just because they’re a vampire? Is a human that chooses to kill another absolved of their crime just by virtue of being human?”

Your words settle into the space between you. 

“That,” Heeseung finally breathes, “would make a much better story than the one I read last night.”

This time, you do laugh, a light airy thing. It feels easy, lighthearted as some of the tension drains from the atmosphere.

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure Professor Kim would agree. Based on everything New Haven publishes, he seems to have some weird anti-vampire vendetta.”

As you round the corner, your apartment comes into view. Nodding toward the staircase that leads to your front door, you tell him, “This is me, by the way.”

Heeseung glances at the stairs, then back at you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “When is your draft due?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “Wednesday.”

“Mm,” he winces, an offer of understanding. “What time?”

“I’m supposed to be at New Haven by three, so—”

“What?” Heeseung cuts you off, expression suddenly tense, voice suddenly sharp. “You’re going to the publishing office?”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, unsure why that would possibly warrant such a strong reaction. “I’m dropping off my first draft and getting a tour. The internship starts right when spring semester does, so he told me I could come in person to familiarize myself with the space first.”

“Right.” Heeseung nods. The tension in his jaw doesn’t relax.

It’s all so strange. He always seems to be speaking in riddles, dealing with invisible problems you can’t detect. 

You’re tired and confused, and the moon that hangs above you doesn’t feel like a remedy for either of those things. In fact, it might be making things worse. 

Because despite the way you feel like you’ll never quite understand him, bathed in the shimmering glow of moonlight, Heeseung looks… 

He looks like all the things you’ve been trying to avoid calling him for the duration of the semester. Ethereal. Beautiful. Maybe even kind, at least when he wants to be. 

After all, you’re standing at the base of your staircase with company, and it wasn’t due to any insistence on your end. 

The silence lingers. A string somewhere is pulled taught. 

You’re standing still, and you’re still a little breathless when you tell him, “I should go.” You don’t want to. You’re not sure why. 

Again, Heeseung only nods. 

The movement sends shadows dancing over his features. The bridge of his nose. The plane of his cheek. The line of his jaw. Things you’ve never let yourself linger on. Things you’re having a hard time looking away from now. 

 But he’s seen you home safe and sound, and even nights under the stars have their inevitable end. 

It occurs to you then that you have no idea how he plans to get home, or even how far away he lives. 

After he walked you home,it’s the least you could do to offer, “Do you live far? I could help you pay for a cab or something if—”

Heeseung shakes his head. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It won’t take me long. Besides, I like to walk at night.”

“Okay.” It feels strange, trading these bits of kindness. You’re craving some normalcy, something unwavering. So with a final wave and a small goodnight, you climb the stairs to your door. 

You couldn’t say for sure if his eyes follow you on the way up. You feel the heat of them, the weight of a steady gaze on your spine. But it’s a fickle sensation and you’ve been wrong before. And you can’t quite bring yourself to turn around and look. 

The door closes behind you. Surrounded by the stillness of an empty apartment, you release a long held exhale. It drains out of you audibly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. 

…..

Dawn breaks Wednesday morning and carries with it a certain kind of dread. 

Despite your efforts, and there have been many, your draft remains far too close to its original state for your satisfaction. No matter how many times you pour over Sacred Monsters, you can never quite seem to find a way to make your submission more interesting while also staying true to New Haven’s general themes. 

If anything, the book has been a distraction. Long hours that you could have spent editing or revising or rewriting were instead dedicated to detailed web searches with a variety of keywords and spellings that never seemed to bear any fruit. 

It doesn’t matter which search engine you use. It doesn’t matter which database you browse. Other than the copy sitting on your desk, Sacred Monsters doesn’t seem to exist. 

But the annoying, wonderful, awful thing about time is that it passes. Time doesn’t care that you haven’t found it in yourself to produce a draft you’re proud of. Time doesn’t relent just because you always feel like it’s slipping through your fingers. 

And Wednesday morning turns to Wednesday afternoon with the same steady predictability as always. 

You’d like to think that you know the area around your university quite well, but New Haven’s main office is in an entirely different part of the city. You’ll have to leave now if you want to catch the bus with a little cushion of time to spare. The last thing you want to do is be late to your first day. Especially since the draft tucked neatly into your bag isn’t one you can hand over with confidence. 

To your relief, the bus is relatively empty. You tuck yourself into a seat and thank your lucky stars that you missed the afternoon rush. 

Popping your headphones in, you’re searching for something to fill the time. There’s the draft sitting in your bag, of course, but the last thing you want to do is spend the next thirty minutes agonizing over it. For now, it will just have to be the mess of mediocrity that it is. 

Instead, you reach for your phone. Maybe some mindless scrolling will be what you need to put your nerves at ease. 

But when the app loads, the first post you see doesn’t have you giggling or rolling your eyes or scrolling on without a thought at all. Instead, your spine straightens, shoulders suddenly tense. 

Because the words you’re reading are not something you ever expected to see in your lifetime. 

Three dead in suspected vampire attack, the latest headline from your local news reporting channel reads. 

Clicking on the article, the details are hazy, but that does little to lessen the grip of fear that makes a sudden grab at your throat. Fragments of sentences capture your attention as you scan the page. 

Three bodies found near the river…

Bite marks on their necks…

No trace of recent animal activity in the area…

Eyes widening with every new piece of information, fear claws at your throat. 

Bodies completely drained of blood.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of the belief that vampires have all but been eradicated. Shattered in one fell swoop. 

And in your city, of all places. At the river. Somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you wouldn’t think twice about going. It’s not particularly close to your apartment or university, but it’s not exactly far enough away for comfort.

You shudder, suddenly grateful that Heeseung was there to walk you home last night. Not that he would be able to do much if you did stumble across the path of a vampire, but—”

Oh god. Oh god. 

Heeseung. 

You have no idea if he made it home safe after parting ways with you and you have no way of checking. He hadn’t made any indication as to where he lived before saying goodnight. For all you know, he could have been heading in the direction of the river. He could have been at the river. Right when the attacks occurred. 

Doubling down on your phone, you scour the article for any information you can find on the victims. Objectively, it’s probably a good thing that they’re described only vaguely. Probably an intentional choice to protect the privacy of grieving friends and families. 

But ‘three victims, two men and one woman, all in their early twenties’ does very, very little to assuage your terror. In fact, it only heightens it. 

Blood pounding in your ears and dread pooling in your stomach, thirty minutes passes in the blink of an eye, you nearly miss your stop. But as you get off of the bus, you’re spiraling. Should you even be here? It feels wrong, leaving such a terrifying loose end untied. 

But then you think it through a little further. Even if you got back on the bus, rode it all the way to the stop by your apartment, you have no idea where you’d go from there. You may have shared insults and confidence and a moment under the moonlight with Heeseung, but you don’t know anything about him. Where he lives, where to reach him, where he could possibly be right now. 

But Professor Kim might. You’re sure that student information is strictly confidential, but if you explain the situation to him, he might be understanding, might just be willing to bend the rules a bit for you. 

So with a heaviness in your heart and fire in your footsteps, you double check the address of New Haven’s office and start walking away from the bus stop. Your surroundings are not a primary area of your focus, but it does strike you as odd how deserted the whole area seems. 

Other than a few residential looking buildings, the street you walk is mostly empty lots. Abandoned houses. Not the kind of place you would consider ideal for any business. 

Despite the cold morning sunshine, the afternoon has brought a cover of clouds. Squinting towards the distance, you wonder if you should have brought your umbrella, just in case. It almost looks as if it’s going to rain. 

When you do finally find the building, you have to stop to double check the address. Not only is there no signage, but New Haven’s supposed headquarters looks just as run down as all of the other buildings in the area. 

Frowning, you reread your email. The address does match the faded numbers next to the front door, and Professor Kim seems too meticulous to make a mistake like an incorrect address. Then again, he also seems too well off to run his publishing company out of a decrepit building far away from any of the city’s major business centers. 

But you won’t bother worrying about it now. Even your dreary first draft feels like an afterthought at this point. Who cares if the building’s not what you expected, if the location isn’t ideal? Right now, you need to focus on finding Heeseung, on making sure he’s okay. 

Because the alternative…

No, you refuse to let yourself spiral there either. But the pressure of grief borrowed from the future is already pressing firmly against the backs of your eyelids, blurring your surroundings. 

As you approach the front door, you notice a small, faded placard. 

New Haven. Well, at least that confirms that you’re in the right spot. Even if it is a bit odd that they left off Publishing. 

Standing at the door, you hesitate. Should you knock? Just walk in? You take a sidelong glance at the window, scanning for any sign of movement. But there’s nothing there. In fact, it looks as if the lights are off. 

Dark, quiet, desolate. Strange, yes, but not something you’ll waste time ruminating on now. 

You knock once. Twice. The sound echoes; the only response is the whistling of the wind.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease begins to build. It feels off, like something is wrong. Senses on high alert, you force the feeling aside. You need a way to find Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. Besides, the lingering unease is probably just the anxiety of not knowing if he’s safe. 

Steeling your resolve, you reach for the door handle, twisting it tentatively. It opens slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. As if the building itself doesn’t want you there. Stepping inside does little to shake the feeling. Dark and devoid of any decoration, the interior is nearly as gloomy as the sunless sky outside. 

And even the layout of the building is strange. The front door opens to a long, dark hallway with no lights on. It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet. Too empty. You weren’t expecting a welcoming party by any means, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less Professor Kim, even being here. 

“Hello?” You call, clutching your bag a little closer to your body, suppressing the shudder that licks at the base of your spine. “Professor Kim?” You wait a moment, but sustained silence is the only response. 

Forcing your footsteps forward, you tread tentatively down the hallway. After all, you didn’t come this far just to turn around. Especially now that Professor Kim might be your only way of finding Heeseung. 

Taking slow steps down the dark hallway, you pass two doors, both of them pulled shut. The end of the hall opens into a larger room, still empty of any furnishings. It certainly doesn’t look like a publishing house. It doesn't look like much at all. At the very least, there’s a bit more visibility here, faint traces of faded daylight streaming in through the half drawn blinds on the other side of the room. 

Turning to your left, you see another door. This one is also pulled shut, but there’s a name placard on the front. Drawing closer, you read your professor’s name. It still doesn't feel right. Ducking down slightly, you check the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor for any sign of light, of movement. But it’s just as dark, just as quiet as the rest of the strange building. 

As you stand back up to your full height, you raise a hand to knock. Just before your knuckles make contact with the door, you see it. An odd array of crimson stains near the handle. Peering closer, your brow furrows in a combination of disgust and confusion. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think it looked like blood. 

But that doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. You won’t pretend to know Professor Kim, but he’s never shown up to a lecture with so much as a hair out of place. Why on earth would he run his publishing company out of a building that’s nearly falling apart? Why would there be strange, suspicious looking stains on the door to his office? Why would it be empty at the time he asked you to come present your draft and tour your future internship location?

You have no idea what to do. Opening the door to his office and letting yourself in would feel like an inappropriate invasion of privacy, but you’re at a loss. This entire thing is so strange. 

Before you can decide how to proceed, you hear something. A faint noise, barely there, but distinct from the wind that still whistles outside. It’s disjointed, arrhythmic like the sound of hushed voices. Overlapping. Arguing, maybe. 

Inclining your head, your brow creases further. It sounds like it’s coming from your professor’s office, but how could it be? The noises are too muffled, too distant to be coming from right in front of you. 

You lean closer. Deciding you’re past the point of maintaining decorum, you press your ear to the door, careful to avoid any of the suspicious looking stains. 

For a moment, you hear nothing. Half convinced the voices were nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination, you almost pull away. 

But then you hear them again. Still muffled, still indecipherable, but undoubtedly louder than before. Which means they must be coming from behind the door. The voices pause, suspend you in silence once again. 

And then you hear another noise, different this time. Less like a voice and more like movement. Scuffling, maybe. Feet dragging against the floor. It’s punctuated by a strange gurgling noise. Something wet and thick and throaty. The kind of sound that makes you wince in a subconscious reaction. 

And then a sudden thump has your bones jolting beneath your skin, everything muscle in your body tensing as you suppress an uninvited gasp. Because that didn’t sound far away. It was loud, too loud to be anywhere but right on the other side of the door. 

Mild unease is quick to transform into sheer panic as you stagger backwards on shaky footsteps. You need to leave. You need to leave now. 

You’ll find another way to get ahold of Heeseung, to make sure he’s okay. And maybe there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Maybe this is an old New Haven office and Professor Kim forgot to send you the new address. Maybe there’s an email in your inbox now, and he’s apologizing for the oversight and rescheduling your draft meeting. Maybe he’s—

The sound of the front door you walked in through minutes ago slamming shut kills the train of thought. This time, you can’t bite down the noise that crawls up your throat. 

It’s stupid, from a logical perspective. A fatal flaw of human nature that your first instinct is to scream. To alert whatever danger surely lurks nearby of your exact location, the precise depth of your fear. 

But the terror that leaves your lips is muffled. It comes from behind, the palm that covers your mouth. The outline of a body that presses into your back, forces you into submission with a hand around your wrist.  

You thrash against the ironclad grip to no avail. Dig your heels into the ground but find little purchase in the hardwood floor as you’re dragged backwards, every nerve in your body singing with terror as you’re forced into a dark room. Even with your elbows flailing and head jerking, the grip on you remains steady, firm. 

In the end, it’s a bite that frees you. The hand that covers your mouth drops away as soon as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your captor’s fingers. There’s a muffled grunt of pain in your ear as you spin on your heel. 

Again, it’s stupid. You should be running, sprinting in the opposite direction, but everything in you is begging to know. To gain some sense of control over the situation. Eyes still adjusting to the dark and blinded by fear, you turn to find—

“Heeseung?” Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. There are too many thoughts, too many emotions to keep up with. Relief. Fear. Confusion.

Relief, because he’s okay and he’s here, but—

“What are you doing?” You have a million questions that demand answers. “Why are you here? Why did you grab me like th—”

“Are you okay?” Heeseung takes a step closer to you, reaches his hands out as if to grab you again. Thinking better of it, he lets them fall back to his side with a slight shake of his head. There’s terror in his eyes too when he clarifies, “You’re not hurt?”

“No, I…” What the hell is going on? “I’m fine, but—”

A flash of relief makes itself apparent on Heeseung’s features before they’re morphing again, regaining all the urgency, the fear that was there before. He’s serious, gravely so when he tells you, “We have to get out of here.”

“Okay,” you stumble forward as he reaches for your wrist again, intent on tugging you behind him. “But I don’t understand. What’s—”

“I’ll explain everything later.” He’s frantic, you realize. Desperate. And so terribly afraid. Emotions you’ve never seen him wear. Not in the cool, calm mask of indifference he had in class. Not in the faint flickers of vulnerability from stolen moments under moonlight. This is different. This is so much worse. “But we have to go. Now.”

With that much command in his voice, that much fear in his eyes, you’re putty in his hands. But in the end, it makes little difference. The door to the room he’s dragged you into opens with a resounding bang before the two of you can make your escape. The sound is so loud, so frightening that you feel reverberations in your marrow as the door collides with the room’s interior wall, no doubt leaving a sizable dent.

And standing there, shrouded by the gray tones of sunless winter daylight, your professor blocks the room’s only exit. 

Instinctively, you take a step closer to Heeseung. He does the same, pulling you towards him, behind him, until half of your body is covered by his. Peering over his shoulder, the sight that greets you is one that will haunt waking nightmares for a long time to come. 

Professor Kim, who always prided himself on maintaining a neat, clean appearance couldn’t be further from that now. His clothes are ripped, hanging from his body at odd angles, adding an element of disfigured monstrosity to his silhouette. 

And his eyes. His eyes. Bloodshot and so wide they must hurt, they dart around the room, narrow in on you and Heeseung like he doesn’t see humans. Only targets. Enemies. Prey. Mouth open and snarling, you swear you see a glint in his mouth, the shape of a tooth far too long and pointed to belong to any normal person. 

But even those things you could force yourself to forget. 

What horrifies you the most is the blood. Even in the shadows, the unnaturally potent shade of crimson is unmistakable. It stains him, covers him, drips from him. Seeps from his clothes and his skin and his mouth. 

Panic clawing at your throat, you suppress the urge to vomit. 

“Get behind me,” Heeseung whispers, low. “Now.”

But a split second of averted attention is all your professor needs. Professor Kim, lover of literature, beacon of taste, a role model you’ve looked up to since the first time you stepped foot in his class a handful of months ago, pinches a tiny object between his long, bony, blood-covered fingers. And then he throws it. 

With startling precision, it whistles through the air, races through a hazy cloud of confusion and panic before it strikes its target true. 

It doesn’t hurt, not really. The hand that flies to the side of your neck is instinct, more than anything. But the fingers that linger on your pulse point don’t find the smooth expanse of your unblemished throat that they usually would. 

Because there’s something there now. An object lodged just beneath your jaw. Delicately, you draw your hand back in front of your face. There’s no blood on your fingers, but that doesn’t stop them from shaking. 

As you look over Heeseung’s shoulder, the world starts to blur around the edges. Darken, as if your eyes are closing of their own volition, against your will. You see him retreat, the terrible ghost of your professor. In the dark, he looks almost forlorn. Regretful. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung whispers. He doesn’t see the way your professor spins on his heel, runs in the opposite direction. His attention is trained fully on the space beneath your jaw. “Fuck.”

“Heeseung?” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. Distant, muffled as if you’re submerged beneath water. You have so many questions. 

But it’s suddenly so cold. And you’re so tired. Wouldn’t it be nice to just lay down? Rest for a moment? Surely that couldn’t hurt anything. 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you, and you would collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap if it weren’t for the two hands on your waist, supporting your weight. 

“I’m here,” he tells you. Cold. When did it get so cold? Your eyes try to focus on Heeseung, but your vision is swimming. You wonder if he would be warm. “I’m right here. Just… fuck.”

Gently, he eases you both to the ground. The floor is hard beneath you, but it feels like a reprieve. You’re tired of holding the weight of your body upright. Your blinking is becoming slow, lethargic. Your head is suddenly far too heavy for your neck. 

Slowly, Heeseung removes his hands from your waist, relocates them to either side of your jaw. With the care of someone well versed in patience, he delicately maneuvers your head to the side, exposing the length of your neck. 

Whatever he finds there must be displeasing. You can’t imagine why. You can’t think much of anything. The world has taken on a sort of dreamlike quality in which everything feels loose, fluid and unburdened by the laws of any physics. 

“Fuck,” he whispers for the fourth time. The curse scatters over your cheekbone like a kiss. 

Pulling back slightly, he meets your half-closed eyes. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a prayer. “This might…” he swallows, something in his resolve wavering. “This might hurt.”

Pain. You can barely conceptualize the sensation. It feels like a distant memory. 

And then he’s tilting your head to the side again. His face draws closer, overcomes the last of your remaining senses, demands the full attention of what’s left of your consciousness. 

You think he might kiss you. Whatever desire remains in you almost wishes he would. 

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as your eyelashes fan against the tops of your cheeks. 

But his mouth never finds yours. Instead, you feel the soft caress of his lips against the side of your neck, a fleeting touch against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. Inhibitions whittled to nothing, you shudder against the sensation, release the airy ghost of a sigh.

He was wrong, you think. With his mouth on your neck, pain is the last thing you feel. 

You feel his lips part against your skin, chasing away some of the cold that has only seeped deeper into bones, into the very essence of your being. 

And then you feel it. Whatever capacity for sensation that remains all focuses on the sudden flash of agony as his teeth pierce the skin of your throat. 

The tiny moan that escapes your lips is pitiful. Your ability to think, to rationalize, feels like something that’s dangling in front of you, just out of reach. Your body is too heavy, too weak to respond to the flash of searing pain as your skin is pierced deeper. 

He can’t speak, but you feel the shallow vibration of a hum against your neck. Soothing, calming. His hand that doesn’t bear the weight of your head moves to push a stray strand of hair from your forehead. It’s gentle, reverent. In complete opposition to the war he wages against your neck. 

Mouth still full of you, a groan escapes him. It’s heady, throaty, and you feel it travel the length of your spine, settle in the pit of your stomach. Sensation is the only thing tethering you to this world, and you can’t quite tell if this is pleasure or pain. 

He pulls back, the absence of his steady heat leaving your jaw vulnerable to the chill in the air. 

“Hold on,” you hear. You can’t pinpoint where the noise comes from. Sound surrounds you, washes over you in a strange uniformity. You feel the ground fall away, something warm and solid behind your shoulders and under your knees.“We’ll be there soon.”

Floating, you think. You must be floating. It’s hard to tell. Moments are bleeding into one another too quickly for you to keep up. 

Eyes closed, body molten, you relax into the steady grip that carries you. 

And the last thing you hear before reality loses its hold is the fervent, whispered sound of your name. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CONTINUED IN PART 2 (which can be found on my masterlist!)

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: THANK YOUUUUU for reading!!! this is pretty different from what I usually write plot wise, so I hope it made for a good read. vampire heeseung and this oc are near and dear to me, and I'm excited to continue their story. the rest of this fic is fully plotted and partially written. I'm actively continuing to work on it, and hearing your thoughts/theories/screaming/feedback/etc. is great motivation! as always, I love know what you're thinking. ♡

[asahicore]

bad news first - sjy (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact pairing. jake x fem!reader synopsis. From the moment you'd met at eight to the day he moved to South Korea at fourteen, you and Jake were inseparable. But after years of being apart, you've come to terms with the fact that at twenty, you and Jake just aren't what you used to be. That is until you get a text from him, and all of a sudden, he's back by your side, doing his year abroad at the university you study at, and all your feelings for him float back up to the surface. genre. college au, childhood friends to ???? to lovers, painful mutual pining, one bed trope..... a sprinkle of angst (my hand slipped) but mostly fluff i promise and smut (mdni!!!), also i made sunghoon really weird in this and idkw, this is set in scotland.. edinburgh uni rep!! word count. 23k author's note. everybody say happy belated birthday to @zreamy.. happy belated birthday zo!!! being 22 years and 6 days old is cooler than just 22 years old anyway.. hope you like it bestie... if you dont... well theres a building on campus thats 17 stories high sooo.. enjoy! i hope everyone else enjoys too, since this is a bday fic for zo she couldnt beta read so i had to raw dog this so if its terrible.. not my fault! lmk what u think!! i also made a playlist for this, do listen along!!

“Alright kids, good news or bad news first?”

You looked at your teacher, then at the boy next to you, then back at your teacher. “Bad news first,” you said in unison.

You were only eight, but you were both wise enough to know that hearing good news second would assuage the blow of whatever these bad news were. Miss Dawson sighed as she crouched in front of you. “The bad news is your bus driver is on strike and won’t be coming. The good news is that your parents have been informed and are coming to pick you up soon.”

Following her instructions, you headed to the gymnasium and sat there silently among the other kids. Not many kids in your class rode the bus home, and the ones who did seemed to have drivers not on strike, so it was just the two of you. You were used to that, though - over January and February, you had made a sort of silent pact to stand and wait for the bus together. You sometimes shared snacks, but you never spoke. For some reason, you felt at ease with this boy, even though you didn’t know much about him. You had heard he had moved to Brisbane just at the start of this year, all the way from South Korea. You were pretty sure his name was Jake.

You handed him one of your Twix bars. Then he spoke. “I thought a strike was when you did really well in bowling.”

“Same,” you replied, mouth full of chocolate and caramel. “I’m not sure why that would keep the bus driver from picking us up.”

Jake looked at you with wide eyes, distress clear in them. “Do you think he went bowling instead of picking us up?”

This made you frown. “That’d be really rude.”

“It would. I always make sure to go bowling on the weekends, ‘cause if I missed school that’d be rude to Miss Dawson.”

You nodded your head in fervent agreement. “For sure.”

That weekend, his mum called your mum to ask if you wanted to go to the bowling alley with them. From then on, for the next six years, you were stuck together by glue. 

--

Twelve years later, Jake’s name appearing on your phone screen has become such a rare sight, you don’t believe it right away. It takes you a few seconds of intense squinting at the letters to actually realise your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

jake.sim15 hey y/n!! you go to edinburgh uni right?

You type and delete three different responses before settling for a simple yeah, I am! what’s up?, hoping you sounded nonchalant even though you very much felt chalant. You thought that whatever you sent wouldn’t be as weird as taking forever to answer such a straightforward question. 

As you wait for Jake’s reply, you scroll through your previous shared messages, noting with sadness that for three years in a row, the only instances you’d texted were to wish each other a happy birthday or when he reacted with a fire emoji to Stories of your dog, Milo. Before that, your last conversation was to congratulate each other about getting into your top choice universities and to discuss plans for your respective futures.

Futures that used to include each other, you think. His reply appears at the bottom of your screen before melancholy can fill your heart.

jake.sim15 i applied to go there for my year abroad next year annnnd i got in !! heh

You shoot up straight from your seat on the lounge chaise you’d been sunbathing on, a loud “Oh my God!” involuntarily escaping your mouth. 

“What? What happened? Is everything okay?” Chaewon asks frantically, rushing over to your side. “Oh,” she says when she sees your phone. “It’s a text… from a boy?” 

This makes Yunjin, previously unbothered by your panic, rise from her seat and take off her sunglasses. “A boy? Show me,” she demands, snatching your phone from your hands before you can protest. Upon seeing the texts on your screen, she lets out a loud gasp. “It’s not just any boy! It’s the one and only Jake Sim himself.”

“Give that back!” you plead, hand reaching for your phone, but Yunjin is already walking away.

“And he’s coming to Edi this September, apparently. He says he’s sorry for not saying anything earlier, but he was waiting for an answer up until now.” She scoffs. “Leave it to our uni to tell someone they’re in less than two months before term starts. Oh, you’re the first person he’s told, Y/N! After his parents. How cute,” she coos, protesting when you snatch your phone back from her. “Hey! I was reading that.”

“Those are my texts, Yunjin. I’m the one who’s meant to read them.”

She shrugs. “You would’ve told us anyway.”

“What are you going to reply?” Chaewon asks. With the both of them hovering over your shoulders and watching as you type a response, a sort of stage fright comes over you, making you send what might be the most unoriginal reply known to man.

“Awesome? Seriously, Y/N?” Yunjin reads, disproportionately disgusted with you.

“That’s a lot of exclamation marks. It almost makes it look like you don’t mean it,” Chaewon says.

“I do mean it!”

“Well, he seems to like it. A smiling-with-teeth emoji is a good sign, right?” she asks in an attempt to make you feel better.

“He has automatic caps off. That man is run-through,” Yunjin says, shaking her head as she walks back to her sunbed.

“You were excited about him texting me just a second ago,” you reproach.

“Yeah, before I found out he was a whore.”

“Yunjin, you know we don't slut-shame here!” Chaewon exclaims. Before Yunjin can say anything even worse in response, your phone starts ringing, and Jake’s name appears on your screen. “He’s calling you?” Chaewon gasps, making Yunjin sit up with a start for the second time in less than five minutes.

“This man is insane,” she remarks with all the seriousness in the world.

You run away from your friends, finding refuge in the outside kitchen area out of earshot. They don’t need to hear your conversation with Jake. You love them, but they can be weirdly unsupportive in moments like these.

“Hey, Jake,” you greet, hoping he doesn’t notice the breathlessness in your voice. It was because you had just ran, of course - you didn’t want him to think you were so nervous about talking to him after such a long time, you could barely breathe. Because you weren’t. At all.

“Hey, Y/N!” he replies, and the excitement in his voice makes your heart melt. “I hope it’s not weird that I called, I just thought it’d be nicer than texting, is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s nice to hear your voice,” you say before you can really think about it, and cringe at your own words. Years without talking and the world’s worst line is the first thing you say to Jake. Thankfully, before you start excruciating yourself, a chuckle pours out of Jake’s throat and blesses your ears.

“It’s nice to hear your voice, too. What are you up to?” 

“Oh, I’m on vacation with my friends. One of them has a rich aunt who owns a villa in southern Italy, so we’re just chilling by the pool right now.” 

“You always wanted to go to Italy! That sounds so nice,” he says. Your breath catches gently in your throat - he remembers, you note.

“Yeah, it really is. What about you, how are you spending the summer?”

Jake tells you about the local bookstore owned by a grandpa that’s always had a soft spot for him and that gave him a part-time job for the summer. “I’m trying to save up as much money as I can before I leave. If I treat you to a meal, will you show me around the city?” he asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice. It makes you realise how much you’ve actually missed him.

“You don’t need to treat me to a meal, I’ll show you around anyway.” 

Still, he insists, and you find yourself giving in quickly - because it’s Jake or because free food is on the table, you’re not sure. Probably both. 

You and Jake get to talking, but fitting years and years of catching up into one conversation is an impossible task, and before you know it, when you check your phone, you’ve been talking for over an hour. Yunjin is angrily waving at you, pointing at her stomach to indicate hunger like a caveman who’s just learned how to communicate. You apologise to Jake, telling him you have to go, and plan to meet during fresher’s week before you hang up.

A few hours later, you get a text from him saying it was nice talking to you and jokingly asking whether Yunjin was satisfied with lunch. It’s innocuous, but it opens a gate for more texting, which leads to long, rambling voice messages, which leads to late-night phone calls that remind you of when you were fifteen and still kept in touch. When August fades into September, you feel like you’ve got your best friend back. 

You remember why you were so in love with him at fourteen.

--

You see Jake before he sees you.  

Among the throngs of people, you manage to spot the dark, messy flop of hair on his head weighed down by a nice pair of wireless headphones. After a thirteen-hour flight from Seoul, a four-hour layover in Frankfurt and a final, two-hour flight to Edinburgh, he looks rightfully exhausted, using what looks like the last of his energy to spot the exit and the airport bus stop. Even wearing a simple denim jacket, white tee and grey sweatpants, he’s so gorgeous you forget what you came here for, until he almost walks right past you without seeing you. You put yourself in his path and hold your hand-written banner up, making yourself as obvious as you can as you call out his name. 

When he sees you, he stops dead in his tracks for a second, someone almost running into him before he remembers the crowd behind him. His tired features break out into a bright smile that has your heartbeat speeding up so much, you think it might run out of your chest. 

He had told you not to come, that it would be late for you and he didn’t want to bother you, but you had managed to get the information of his arrival before he forbade you from picking him up so you did it anyway, wanting to surprise him. After years of being apart, rather than waiting another day, you wanted to see him as soon as possible.

Jake briskly makes his way to you, dropping his bags next to him on the floor as he engulfs you in a hug, warm and tight as if he’s trying to make up for all those years. You hug him back as if someone would appear out of thin air and take him away from you again.

“This was the longest day of my life, I’m so happy to see you,” he says when he pulls away, and you’re so happy you can’t even say anything back, resorting to giggling and lightly swatting non-existent dust off of his shoulders. 

As you wait for the bus, he tells you about every trivial thing that happened to him on his trip, from how expensive a sandwich is at the airport to the German kid sitting in front of him that kept turning around to stare at him on his second flight.

“How did you know he was German?” you ask, amused.

Jake pauses. “Just vibes.”

Conversation on the bus is slightly disjointed as you jump from topic to topic with random pauses here and there before one of you finds something to talk about - but it’s okay, you hadn’t expected for the two of you to be as easy as before. It’s more awe at seeing each other after such a long time than awkwardness. Even though you’d caught up over summer, there was a world of difference between speaking on the phone and actually sitting next to him. You notice things like the shine of his hair, the creases that form on the sides of his lips when he smiles, or, unfortunately for you, the veins that run along his forearms and hands - things you hadn’t noticed previously thanks to the sometimes questionable quality of the front camera of his phone. Once in a while, your thigh brushes against his, and it reminds you that he’s really here. Even that he’s real, at all. 

In a tragic turn of events, Jake lives in the student accommodation you used to live in in first year, and coming back to it two years later is slightly traumatising. His three-person flat is in a different building as your old one, and you marvel at how it somehow still smells the same - like dusty, decade-old carpeting and the permanent stench of students’ dubitable cooking. He’s the first one to move in, which makes the place slightly eerie, but it means that you’re not bothering anyone by unpacking Jake’s stuff and cooking Shin Ramyun the previous tenants had left behind at 11pm. 

Your late dinner was meant for you to take a small break, watch a couple episodes of Friends which Jake had been shocked to learn you’d never watched, and you had been shocked to learn he was a die-hard fan of (since one year ago), then get back to unpacking. But the ramen sends an already exhausted Jake into a food coma so intense, he falls asleep on your shoulder five minutes into the second episode. 

You let him sleep as long as he needs, turning the volume down on his laptop and stifling your chuckles as much as you can. You feel like a cat has fallen asleep in your lap - you are now obliged by law to stay still until Jake wakes up. It’s not until an hour later that Jake’s uncomfortable sleeping position forces him awake, lifting his head off of your shoulder with a grunt. He looks around himself, at his room that’s not quite familiar to him yet, then at you, eyes still scrunched with sleepiness as a grin blooms onto his lips.

“Sorry,” clearing his throat of its grogginess. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost one a.m,” you reply, and his eyes go wide.

“You should’ve woken me up! Does your shoulder hurt?” he asks, much more alarmed than he should be, and it makes you laugh.

“It’s all good. But now that you’re awake, I should probably head home.” 

“I’ll get you an Uber,” he says, already pulling out his phone. 

“It’s fine, Jake, my place is a ten-minute walk from here. I live just up the road.”

Jake’s fingers on his phone pause as he looks up at you. “Then I’ll walk you home.” He lifts a finger in warning when he sees you start to protest. “And don’t fight me on this. You did so much today, it’s the least I can do.”

As much as you love the idea of spending more time with Jake, even if it’s just ten minutes, you still don’t want to bother him when you know how tired he is. “It’s really safe around here. I can just text you when I’m home, if you’re worried about me getting kidnapped or something,” you say, taking his jacket from his hands and placing it back on his desk chair.

He grabs it back, putting it on before you can take it from him again, and rummages through one of his suitcases for a black, woolly scarf. Neither of you speaks as he wraps it tight around your neck, even though the early September weather isn’t cold enough to warrant it. His hands stop briefly on the scarf and a small smile spreads on his lips. You hope he doesn’t hear your sharp intake of breath when your eyes meet. “It’s not about that,” he says simply, voice low and unlike you’ve ever heard it before. You don’t think his voice had quite finished cracking when he’d moved away back then. 

Suddenly, he steps away, grabs his keys, and heads for the door. “Let’s go!” he says, voice back to its usual cheery tone. You don’t find it in you to question him, so you just follow him out, welcoming the night breeze that cools down your burning cheeks with open arms. 

The walk to your place is mostly done in comfortable silence, but it still goes by too quickly for your liking. You keep your hands in your pockets to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like reaching out for Jake’s hand that swishes back-and-forth as he walks. Instead, you bury your nose in his scarf and relish in the unfamiliar but comforting smell that his cologne has left behind on the fabric. You hug goodbye when you reach your flat, and you have to remind yourself to let go. He insists on you keeping the scarf. “My mum packed me, like, three, so you can have that one.” 

“Your mum still pack your things for you, does she?” you ask, tone playful.

“No-” he says, voice slightly whiny, before he realises you’re just teasing him. “Whatever,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair. You hope the streetlights aren’t bright enough for him to notice the flustered look on your face. The both of you stand there awkwardly for a second, before he lets out another chuckle. “Right. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you beam.

“Okay,” he says, but still doesn’t make a move to leave. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll be off then.” He gives you one last smile then turns around, burying his hands in his pockets, and you watch as he walks away.

“Get home safe,” you call out after a few seconds. 

He pivots on his heels, and, with a wave of his hand, says, “I will! Go inside.”

“Good night!”

“Night, Y/N!”

When you walk into your living room, Yunjin is sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, gaze trained on the wall opposite her, one lamp lighting the otherwise completely dark room. She looks like a detective in one of those bad cop shows.

“Gosh, what’s all this for?”

“You’re back awfully late,” she says, neither looking at you nor answering your question.

“Yeah, I was with Jake,” you shrug, heading into the kitchen for a glass of water. She abruptly gets up from her seat, following you into the other room and staying close behind you.

“And?” she demands, mouth way too close to your ear and making you start.

“And what?” you ask. 

“What do you mean and what?!” she says, clearly agitated. “I want to know everything!”

“There’s nothing to say, really. He seemed happy I picked him up from the airport, then I helped him unpack. He lives in Riego, by the way.”

“Ew.”

“I know, it was awful going back there.”

The two of you stare at each other as you drink your water. “Well?” she asks.

“What?”

“Is that it?”

You fill your glass again to take it into your bedroom. “I don’t know, we just ate and watched Friends.”

“You hate shows with laughing tracks,” she states like it’s an accusation.

“It wasn’t actually that bad,” you reply, shrugging.

She tuts. “Love will do ugly, ugly things to a person.”

“You’ve been in a loving relationship for the past two years.”

“This isn’t about me. Can we talk about how you’re still in love with the same loser from when you were ten?”

“I was fourteen, and don’t call Jake a loser when you haven’t even met him.” You ignore the roll of her eyes. “And I’m not. Not anymore. I’m just happy to have my friend back.” Yunjin gives you a look. “Okay, maybe I’m still a little bit in love with him. But it’s so little, it’s barely there.” Her expression is unchangingly unimpressed and you can’t help but throw in the towel. “Alright, fine. I still love him, what about it?”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I know that, no need to remind me.”

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

“My patheticness? I’ve tried, didn’t really work.”

“No, idiot, about Jake. You should go and get him! It’d be so sexy if you got together as 20-somethings after knowing each other since you were babies.”

“We were eight when we met. And I don’t know if sexy is the word I’d use here.”

“Anything is sexy if you try hard enough,” she says, and you have to laugh. “Anyways, you should confess your undying love and tell him you’ve felt that way since you met.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Guys might not show it, but they probably get all hot for stuff like that. Boosts their ego and shit.”

“Yunjin, I just got my friend back, I’m not gonna risk it. Plus, who knows, I might not actually be in love with him. It might just be my emotions acting up, like, seeing someone I used to like after a while. We’ve both changed so much, once I get to know him more now, I might not even feel the way I used to.”

“Notice how you’ve used the word might twice in ten seconds? You’re just trying to find excuses.”

You groan. “This is why I hate English Lit people.”

“You do English Lit.”

“I know, and I’m the only nice person that does it.” In your head, you add and Jake, but saying it out loud would only make this conversation worse for you.

“What’s that scarf, by the way? Did he give you that?”

You look down at the scarf like it’s a piece of incriminating evidence. “Can you stop grilling me, please? It’s late.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You sighed deeply. “Fine. Yes, he gave me-”

“It’s not even that cold outside!” she exclaimed in an outrage. “Don’t tell me he also walked you home?”

You pause. “He did.”

She gasped. “He walked you home because he’s in love with you.”

“He walked me home because he’s a good friend that looks after me.”

“He walked you home because he realised how hot you’ve gotten and he wants some of that.”

All you can do is sigh. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“If you weren’t such a coward, you wouldn’t be going to bed alone.”

“Whatever!” you say, shutting the door behind you, shaking that preposterous conversation out of your head. When you get into bed, it takes you at least half-an-hour before you can settle down, but you know your constant tossing and turning isn’t due to your inability to find a comfortable enough position to sleep in. Between your evening with Jake and Yunjin’s pestering, thoughts run wild and incoherent through your head. 

You want to tell her every little thing that happened with Jake tonight, but you’re afraid it might do you more harm than good. She is most definitely the type of friend who will take the smallest action a guy did for you or the most meaningless thing he might have said and turn it into a sign that he has the hots for you, which usually does wonders for your confidence, but right now, you don’t need that kind of delusion. Did seeing your childhood best friend you used to secretly harbour feelings for make you feel some type of way? Of course, but that doesn’t mean you still love him after all this time, after six years of being apart, the majority of those years spent with no contact. It wasn’t like you parted ways with resentment, or anything of that sort, far from it; rather, you drifted apart naturally, as two teenagers with over 7000 kilometres between them would. At first, you’d call frequently and even write each other letters - but as you became more preoccupied with school, friends, and extracurriculars, your phones gradually rang less and your mailboxes became gradually emptier. You don’t even remember who sent the last, unanswered letter. 

Tonight isn’t the first time you replay the moment Jake announced that he would go away, but it’s the first time it’s a bittersweet memory. It used to only be bitter - but now that you’ve reconnected, you can look back at it with fondness, wishing you could tell fourteen-year-old you the hurt would only last so long. 

It hadn’t started unusually.

“So, bad news first, right?”

In your six years of friendship with Jake, this had been the first time you’d really been wary of what he would say next. The look on his face told you that this bad news wouldn’t be as easy to shake off as usual. Your definition of bad news was things like I got grounded so I can’t hang out, I forgot we had a test tomorrow so I can’t hang out, my allergies are acting up again so I can’t hang out.

“I’m moving to Korea next month.”

I’m on another continent, so I can’t hang out.

You remember the words not quite making sense at the time. “Oh? How long are you staying there?” you said, taking a bite of your strawberry ice cream which Jake had insisted on paying for, even though you knew he didn’t get much allowance.

“Forever.”

You stopped chewing, and the ice cream melted uncomfortably in your mouth. You don’t know how long you stayed there, frozen as you stared at your best friend in disbelief. It wasn’t until he lightly shoved your shoulder, only meeting your eyes for a split second, that you remembered to swallow and to say something.

“Forever as in… You won’t live here anymore? At all?”

Jake shook his head. He kept his eyes trained on the vanilla-chocolate ice cream sandwich he’d left in its wrapper. In the blazing hot Brisbane summer, it had probably fully melted two minutes ago. “At all.”

“Oh,” was all you found yourself able to say. For some reason, you hoped that continuing to eat your ice cream would stop you from crying, but to no avail. Hot, salty tears quickly started raining down your cheeks, mixing with the sweetness of your ice cream when they reached your lips. 

“It’s my dad’s work. Same reason why I moved here when we were kids in the first place. They wanted him here then, they want him back there now. We just have to follow,” Jake explained, sounding just as upset as you felt.

“Right.”

“Are you mad at me?” Jake asked, worry clear in his voice, and finally turned to face you. At the sight of you crying, he let out a small oh, tears of his own pooling in his eyes.

You frowned. “Of course not. I’m never mad at you, you know that. I just… You’re my best friend, Jakey. It’s gonna be so lame around here without you.”

“It’ll be lame there without you, too.”

You attempted a smile. “Well, of course. But at least you’ll get to make new friends, see new places. You’ll be in a whole other country, I’m sure you’ll have fun there. I’m gonna be stuck in boring old Brisbane for the foreseeable future.”

“Do you know how offended our friends would be if they heard you speaking right now?” he asked, nudging your shoulder with his.

You sniffled and let out a chuckle. “They’re all great, but… I don’t like them nearly as much as I like you,” you said, staring down at your hands, hoping he wouldn’t realise exactly what you meant by that statement.

A weight was lifted off of your shoulders when Jake answered. “I like you the most too, Y/N.” You tried not to think too much about whether he’d meant it platonically or romantically - none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth enveloping your whole body, his familiar scent that you already missed. 

You felt him take a deep breath against you before he pulled away. He sniffled and did his best to put on a smile. “Right, enough of that. I’m not leaving until next month, so don’t think you’re rid of me just yet,” he joked, and it helped alleviate the weight on your heart, even if just a little. “You said you had something to tell me? Good news after bad news, and all that.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that.”

You thought for a second. Today was the day you had planned to confess your feelings to Jake - you’d only told him you had good news to share. But what was the point now that he was leaving? If he felt the same way, it would only make his departure that much harder, and if he didn’t, it would ruin your last moments together. It just wasn’t worth it.

Jake tilted his head, waiting for you to speak. In a split second, you made yourself forget your disappointment over having built the courage to tell him how you felt only for it all to fall through, and resolved to make the most of Jake’s last month here. You wiped your tears and mirrored his small smile as best you could. “Um, it wasn’t anything much. My mum made those cowboy cookies you like.”

Jake’s head fell back as he groaned in anticipation. “If she wasn’t happily married with three kids, I’d marry your mum. Let’s go right now.”

You laughed. “There’d be a bit of an age gap there.”

“We’d make it work,” Jake joked, throwing his arm around your shoulders as you walked towards your house. He beamed down at you, his bright, boyish smile that you loved to bits, and you beamed up at him as you grabbed the hand that hung off your shoulder in your own.

You walked as happily as you could. “Do you even speak Korean?” you suddenly asked.

Jake halted abruptly in his steps, a gravely offended look on his face. When you looked back at him in confusion, he rolled his eyes and started walking again, pulling you with him. “It’s literally my mother tongue, Y/N. I speak it every day at home.”

“Oh, right.”

At the time, you thought nothing could come between you and Jake. Not anyone, not anything, neither distance nor time. But they did. A week after he’d left, a boy from your class you’d talked to maybe once or twice asked you out on a date. You weren’t sure why, but you said yes. Then you said yes to being his girlfriend, even though you didn’t like him all that much, and you even said yes to reducing your texting with Jake because it made him jealous. When you’d broken up with him and wanted to catch up with Jake and apologise for your absence, you’d found that his new school in Seoul was a lot more demanding than yours in Brisbane, and he had to spend most of his evenings in academies if he wanted to get into a nice university. It’s when you learned that he’d be staying in South Korea for college that you decided to leave Australia too. Brisbane was a lot less fun without him there - why bother staying? You couldn’t go to him because of the language barrier and the cost of university there. If you were to essentially uproot your life, might as well go somewhere you could get a scholarship and understand the people around you. 

It seemed insane that someone you had thought would be by your side for the rest of your life, someone that was part of your most cherished memories, had been reduced to someone you casually texted once in a while. It seems even more insane that now that you’re finally done essentially grieving your friendship with Jake, he stands in front of you again, six inches taller but still donning those puppy-like eyes and smile of his.

For your sake, you just hoped you wouldn’t be as in love with him at twenty as you were at fourteen.

--

The next day, you show Jake around campus, which wouldn’t normally take more than ten minutes, but takes double that time because of the sheer amount of people there. Between the Societies Fair taking up most of the square, the tour guides leading freshers, walking slowly and taking in their new campus, and the pizza and drinks stands, freshers’ week always turns campus into what feels like the busiest place on Earth. You try not to let it hit a nerve for Jake’s sake, who’s clearly ecstatic at all the activity, but you like this place a lot more when it’s quieter. You walk through the Fair, laughing as Jake marvels at all the different clubs and societies at the Uni. 

“Gardening Society? Dungeons & Dragons Society? Wine society?” he exclaims, astonishment growing with every passing stand.

“And this is only the first day. They also have a Taylor Swift Society.” He grabs a flyer from about every society, even though you know he’ll join between two to zero of them. 

When you walk out, there’s a girl handing out samples of shampoo and conditioner, and you let her give you one, more out of politeness than anything. 

“These are so useless,” you start, and Jake chuckles, unaware of the incoming rant. “I had that job of distributing them last year, and we would get a tip if we gave them all out. So naturally I put a bunch in my bag, but then I had to use them for like two weeks.” You sigh. “First of all, my hair did not like it. And second, the ratio is so off. There’s way more conditioner than shampoo when it should be the other way around, so you have to condition your hair even though it’s not properly clean. So stupid.”

“Sounds terrible,” Jake says, laughing. “Is that why you’re not doing it this year?”

“Oh… Not really. I dated the guy that takes care of this promo stuff, so it would’ve been kinda awkward…” you trail, immediately wishing you could backtrack on conversation. Talking about your ex with Jake wasn’t on your to-do list for today. Or ever.

“You dated your boss?”

“The manager, yeah, I guess. He was only 24, though, don’t worry.”

“I’m more worried about the power imbalance than the age gap there.”

You shrug, looking down at your shoes. “It’s not like he was that high up.”

“So, what happened? Why did you break up?”

“Well, he acted like our four-year age difference meant he could treat me like a little kid. It was nice being taken care of at first but then I realised how condescending he was and dumped him.”

“How long were you together?”

You pause. “Two weeks,” you admit abashedly, making Jake chuckle. “At least he didn’t waste my time and showed his red flags early on.”

“Any boyfriends since?” he asks, and you wonder whether you’re making up the unsure tone of his voice. As if he’s curious, but doesn’t want to show it too much. You hope you’re not making it up.

“A few, but they never last very long with me,” you say, a meek smile on your lips. “Furthest I got was three months.”

“And why didn’t it work out with three-months-guy?”

“He started comparing me to his mum a bit too often.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I ran out of there without looking back.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve got high standards. I would hate to see you date just any loser.”

You want to say, High standards or issues?, but you don’t want to make it weird, so you play it cool instead. “I would never. I have a mental checklist with everything a guy needs to have for me to date him.”

“A checklist? I have to hear about this.”

You sigh, debating whether you should tell him about it. Would he notice it’s based on him? Would he notice the only person that could tick practically every box was none other than him? Jake gently elbows your side, goading you on. When you look at him, he’s got a shit-eating grin playing on his lips, and you give in. You look off into the distance as you start listing your requirements. “Well, there’s all your basics like funny, taller than me but not too much, ‘cause I don’t want neck cramps, smart, takes uni seriously, has plans for his future, easy to talk to, not emotionally stunted and can actually have a vulnerable conversation. It’s also a bonus if he has a nice face.”

“How much of a bonus?”

You think for a second. “It’s more a dealbreaker than a bonus, actually. Nice smile is a must, definitely.”

“Okay. Got any more specifics?”

“I do have some particular ones. It’s nice if he’s a reader, but it’s terrible if it makes him think he’s better than everyone or if he tries to sound smarter than me. I like it if he has experience, I don’t want to have to teach him everything. But obviously I don’t want him to still be in love with his ex. Guys and their first loves, I swear… I also don’t really like picky eaters.” You look over at Jake and take a double-take. He’s typing away on his phone, but because of his privacy screen protector, you can’t see anything. You huff. “I also don’t like it if he has those protective screens on his phone. What’s on there that’s so important that I can’t take a peek? What are you even doing?”

The sweet sound of Jake’s giggles erases any trace of annoyance that you felt seconds ago. He turns his screen towards you, showing the list of mostly ticked boxes that he’s written up. “See? I check most of these,” he says with a proud smile. “Guess your standards aren’t that high.” You don’t tell him that your standards are high, he’s just that amazing. 

You do your best to look only amused at this even though inside, you’re all but freaking out. “Which are you missing?”

“Well, I clearly own a privacy screen. And I don’t have much experience. Not nearly as much as you, by the sounds of it,” he admits, somewhat sheepish. “But other than that, I’m practically the perfect man for you.” He looks down at you with a smile so bright, it makes you wish you had brought sunglasses. It takes everything in you not to scream right then and there. Yes, Jake, you are the perfect man for me, but I wish you wouldn’t say it like it was a joke.

You let out a stiff chuckle, and, rather than saying something stupid and possibly damaging, shift the conversation to him. “What do you mean by not much experience? Have you not dated anyone?”

Jake sighs. “Nope, not anyone. I went on a few dates, you know, went through a few talking stages and all that, but it never went much further. There was always something…” He glances at you then. “Missing.”

“I know that feeling,” you say with a chuckle, and he laughs too, a breathy sound.

“I don’t have a checklist to pinpoint what it is, though.”

You smile. “You should try, it might help.”

“I just… I guess I’m like you in that I also have high standards. But it made me not even want to give anyone a chance, especially since I knew it wouldn’t end up anywhere.”

“Don’t tell me no one has ever managed to reach the great Jake Sim’s standards?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course someone has. She’s the whole reason I have standards in the first place. It’s not my standards I compare people to, it’s her.”

Jealousy has never made you feel as sad as it is right now. “And… it didn’t work out between you?”

Jake looks at you, eyes searching for something in yours but seemingly not finding it, and so he turns his gaze away. You don’t know why you feel so disappointed. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “She didn’t feel the same way.”

Whoever this girl is, you can’t believe how stupid she is for passing up the opportunity to have Jake Sim. “That’s… It sucks, I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t think spitting on this girl would make him feel any better, so you keep those thoughts to yourself.

“It’s okay,” he says with a small smile. “It was a while ago already.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re quite over it, though,” you say, and you’re surprised but glad to see his smile widen.

“That’s true.” His eyes meet yours again. “I don’t think I’ll be over her anytime soon, either.” You have to look away to shield the pain that flashes through your eyes from him.

Pretending you don’t have feelings for your best friend and that you’re okay with him being in love with someone else is like riding a bike: even after years of not doing it, it only takes a few minutes for you to be able to do it perfectly again. Muscle memory, if you will. So you sigh dramatically and throw your arm around Jake’s shoulder, slightly pulling him down to your level. “Don’t worry. We’re going to have so much fun this year, you’ll completely forget about her. Promise. She doesn’t know what she’s missing. Yeah?” 

He smiles down at you. You want nothing more but that glint of melancholy in his eyes to be gone. “Yeah.”

--

Jake is only half-glad to see you haven’t changed much from your childhood and early teenage years. You’re still just as pretty, just as warm; it’s still as comfortable to be around you. You’re also still as dense.

Then and now, he did everything he could to make his feelings for you very, very obvious. Either you’re completely oblivious, or the idea of dating him is so horrifying to you, you understand but pretend you don’t. He really hopes it’s the former. 

He arrived in Edinburgh just a bit over a week ago, and you’ve seen each other almost every day. Out of those times, there isn’t a single one where he hasn’t tried to send something your way - something that says, hey, what if we stopped being friends and dated instead? Wouldn’t that be cool? Can’t you see how desperately I love you?, but you never latch on. The ball’s in your court, and he wants you to throw it back, but it’s been feeling more like a boomerang that always hits him right in the face when it circles back than a game of catch.

But he’s reminding himself not to be too greedy. Even if it’s just as friends, at least he has you back, so he’s satisfied with that. For now.

His first class of the year is on the following Tuesday morning, a ninety-minute seminar specifically made for exchange students called Discover Scotland. (He has Mondays free, resulting in a three-day weekend, which you and your 9am Monday tutorial are very envious of.) As interesting as the English Lit courses he’s taking seem, it’s this one he’s most looking forward to - except for the one class he shares with you, of course. Not even because of the seminars themselves, which will be about all sorts of topics on Scottish culture and history, but because of the coursework, as crazy as that sounds. It consists of a singular project, not due until the very last day of the semester, in which he has to travel to at least three different places in the country, research its background and provide a detailed account of his experience there. It can take any form: a written report, an in-class presentation, a podcast, anything. He could even film a TikTok if he wanted. Jake knew that being part of the Arts & Crafts club for two years in a row back in Seoul wasn’t for nothing - his scrapbooking skills would finally have their time to shine. 

That afternoon, he practically snatches you as you come out of your lecture, giving you little time to say bye to your friends, and makes you take him to the biggest stationary store you know in the city. If he wants to ace this project, he will need supplies. Many, many supplies. And it’s more fun shopping if you’re with him. You seem happy following him around the store, and when he asks you if you want to come on his trips with him, he can pretend it’s because you seem so excited about his project and not because he had thought of you accompanying him as soon as he heard about it.

As you stand in line at the till, you tell him that if he wants to start his project now, you could go to the beach together. You raise your eyebrows at him when he snaps your head towards you. “There’s a beach here?!”

“Did you not look at a map before coming here?” you ask, amused.

“I guess I didn’t…” he says, distraught at the new information. It only lasts a second, though. “Okay, let’s go now.”

“Now?” you echo, and he nods. “But-” you start, but are interrupted by your thoughts. “I guess there’s no reason not to. The weather’s nice and it’s not like I have any uni work yet. Let’s go,” you agree, looking up at him with a smile. You’re so pretty he almost forgets to look away, until the employee calls Next in a bored drawl. 

An hour later, you’re at the beach, barefoot on the sand and ice cream in hand. Strawberry for you and vanilla for him, he notes with a smile. Really not much has changed, he thinks. From the sand, to the water, to the promenade along the beach, Portobello is worlds away from the beaches back home in Australia, or those of Jeju Island. But it’s still nice, and because you’re with him, it’s even better. You’ve been walking around for an hour, splashing each other with water and mercilessly ruining sandcastles left behind before he realises you technically came here for his project. He writes down things he doesn’t want to forget on his phone and snaps a few pictures, sneaking a few of you when you’re not looking. He wants to tell you how beautiful you are with your hair blowing in the wind and the way the chill bites at your cheeks, but he keeps it a secret between him and his Notes app. 

Even though he lives two stops further down, he gets off from the bus with you, containing his excitement as best he can when you invite him up for a cup of tea. “Depends. What tea do you have?” he asks, trying and failing to play it cool. He’s just grateful he doesn’t have to come up with an excuse to spend more time with you.

You roll your eyes playfully as you unlock the front door to your building. “I can make you hot chocolate, Mister Tea-Is-For-Old-People.”

He chuckles. “Actually, I’ll have you know I started drinking tea at uni.” When you turn around to look at him, a surprised look on your face, he nods proudly. “Mh-hm. I got addicted to caffeine very quickly into first year so I started drinking black tea for the sake of my heart,” he explains.

“God,” you say breathily, sounding mildly horrified. “A caffeine addiction sounds intense.”

“It was, yeah,” he says, laughing as he follows you into your flat. 

Yunjin and Chaewon are sitting at the living room table, watching an episode of what he thinks is Gossip Girl, and they greet him as normally as these two can, but he wonders what the knowing look they exchange is all about. He’d met them the previous weekend when you had all gone for drinks together, along with Jay, Yunjin’s boyfriend, and they had all but grilled him on his relationship with you. He hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it up to your friends feeling protective of you, and truthfully, he was just happy to get to talk about you. But now, he was wondering if you had told them anything about him that made them so curious about him. If you did, he hoped it was something positive.

He stands awkwardly in the kitchen, chatting with you as you boil the water and get cups out, but he can feel their gazes burning the back of his head. Clearly, whatever conversation he’s having with you, he’s also having it with them. “How do you take your tea?” you ask.

“Um, three sugars and lots of milk, please,” he says, smiling innocently when you slowly turn to look at him, a mix of disapproval, disgust, and offence on your face. 

You sigh deeply. “I mean, I’ll do it, but I’m not sure that’s even tea anymore.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss Caramel Frappuccino,” he says, recycling your bad joke from earlier.

“At least I don’t claim to be drinking coffee when I order a frap,” you argue. “And this is how you battled your coffee addiction? You’ll be getting another kind of heart problem, Jakey.” He doesn’t know if you even notice your use of his old nickname - the first time you’ve used it since he’s been here - but you don’t make a big deal of it, so he doesn’t either. Not outwardly, at least. Mentally, he’s running laps around your small kitchen.

Jake laughs it off. “I thought I came here for tea, not a health check-up,” he says, smile growing wider at the sight of yours. 

“Right, sorry,” you say, giggling. “I’ll make your tea just how you like it,” you add in a sweet voice. Jake knows you’re just doing it as a joke, but it still manages to make butterflies erupt in his stomach. 

His tea tastes even sweeter that day.

--

A few days after your impromptu trip to the beach, you’re waiting for Jake outside of his class. He heard of this donut shop he “absolutely needs to visit” and is dragging you along with him - well, “dragging” is a big word considering you’d follow him anywhere. You got here a few minutes early, not needing much of a reason to leave the library, so you scroll through your feed until Jake calls out your name. You’re only mildly surprised to see Jay leaving the classroom behind him.

“Y/N! Can you believe that Jay and I are in the same class?” he says excitedly as the two boys walk toward you. You feel like a dog owner being greeted by their over-enthusiastic dog after a long day (about three hours) of being apart.

“I can believe it, actually. You two do the same degree.”

You exchange quick greetings with Jay before the three of you start heading out. As you walk, Jake throws his arm around your shoulders so casually, it almost throws you off balance. Physical contact always came easy to him, but there’s something about him doing it next to someone else that catches you off guard. It reminds you of walking somewhere with Jay and Yunjin as they discretely held hands. It makes you feel like it’s not the three of you, but Jay with the two of you. Like you and Jake come as a pair rather than as two individuals. 

All of that from a simple arm around your shoulders.

Jake asking you in a very unsubtle whisper whether Jay can come with brings you out of your head and back into the conversation. “Yeah, of course,” you say, smiling. It’s not a bad idea to have Jay along: hanging out with someone else might snap you out of your delusion.

Most of the walk to the shop is done in laughter as Jake and Jay realise how much random stuff they have in common, from their peanut allergies to the embarrassing Harry Potter phase they had as fifteen-year-olds. Grassmarket is really busy on Friday afternoons, and there’s a bit of a queue of other donut-enjoyers in front of the boutique, but you don’t mind. The sun is shining down gently on the square and it gives you time to choose your donut out of the ten or so flavours available. In the end, you go for white chocolate and raspberry, while Jake chooses Biscoff and Jay, tiramisu. 

“My friend Sunghoon would love this,” he says after taking a hearty bite. “He goes crazy over tiramisu. Like a cat with catnip.”

Jake chuckles, mouth full of Biscoff. “That’s funny, I also have a friend named Sunghoon who loves tiramisu back in Seoul.”

Jay punches Jake’s shoulder, eyes wide in amusement and shock. “Bro, that’s crazy. You have to be lying at this point,” he says, but Jake shakes his head fervently. 

“I promise I’m not. I’ve even saved his number with the tiramisu emoji.”

“There’s a tiramisu emoji?” Jay asks, already over questioning the existence of Jake’s Sunghoon.

The conversation circles back to the courses you’re all taking this semester, and Jake tells Jay about Discover Scotland and the trips he’s planned so far. “Well, if you really want to discover Scotland as a student, you need to go on a night out in Glasgow,” Jay says. Going by the look on Jake’s face, Jay’s idea seems to have struck a chord in him.

“Y/N?”

You nod, finishing your mouthful of donut before speaking. “Yeah, Glasgow’s really fun. We should go,” you say, laughing when the two boys high-five in victory. Between the train, the drinks and the club entry, going out isn’t a cheap ordeal, and getting to and fro also takes a while - even so, the smile on Jake’s face makes it worth it. 

He wipes some raspberry jam from the corner of your mouth, shooting you a wink, and you want to disintegrate right then and there, become one with the bench you’re sitting on and never have to face him again. The conversation resumes as Jay tells Jake about all the best places to go out in Glasgow, but you don’t hear a word - the feeling of Jake’s thumb so close to your lips takes away your ability for coherent thought.

“It’s decided, then. We’re going out tomorrow night,” Jay loudly announces. “Let me gather the troops.”

That’s how you find yourself in line for the club the next day, already tipsy from pre-drinking on the train and at the pub. It’s still warm enough for you and the girls to wear as little clothing as you want, but Jake insisted on giving you his flannel jacket anyway. If not for the warmth it brings, you’re glad to have his scent enveloping you.

The five of you work exceptionally well together. You, Chaewon and Yunjin have been a given since you met in first year, and Jay and Yunjin went so well together that he was but a natural addition to your little group. Jake’s only been here for over a week, but it’s like he’s always been around, and you couldn’t be happier about it. Him and Jay hit it off immediately, and although the girls needed some time to warm up to him (it’s not everyday that you meet your friend’s ex-best-friend she’s practically always been in love with; you understand why they might’ve been wary at first), they now tease him just as relentlessly as they do Jay. He takes it like a champ.

For a little while, you watch your friends speaking over each other, bickering over nothing, a smile on your face. Two pints of cider and some of Jay’s fancy vodka have made you more grateful than ever for them - if you drink too much in the club, you’ll be hugging them and crying about how much you love them. You’re not sure what that might look like around Jake, so you decide to keep yourself in check for the night. 

It takes about thirty minutes before you manage to get into the club. It’s not coat check season yet, so you head straight to the bar. “Sunghoon said he’d meet us here,” Jay says, lifting his head to spot his friend in the sea of drunk students. “Oh yeah, there he is! Hoon, hey!” 

You hear a loud “Jongseong!” being shouted from somewhere in the crowd, but you’re not sure who Jay is waving at until a boy whose face is mostly eyebrows is standing - well, standing as best as he can, with the copious amount of alcohol he’s obviously already consumed - in front of you. He gives Jay a hug and the three of you a nod of his head, a lopsided smile on his face. When he turns to Jake, his eyebrows lift first, then his face breaks into a wide grin.

“Jake, my man!” he shouts, taking a stunned Jake’s hand and bringing him into a hug. 

“Sunghoon? What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, chuckling and frowning in confusion. 

“I’m just partying, man! Same as you!”

“No, I mean here in Scotland, you dumbass!”

“You two know each other?” Jay asks, looking back and forth between his two friends.

“Jake’s my man!” Sunghoon exclaims, unhelpful and stumbling as he throws an arm around his man’s shoulders. Jake shoots you a distressed look but you just laugh at him.

“This is Tiramisu Sunghoon I told you about,” Jake says, helping Sunghoon stand up straight.

“God, what I would do for a tiramisu right now,” Sunghoon says, looking at Yunjin like she might relate. She chuckles awkwardly.

“I have no idea what he’s doing in Scotland, though. Hoon, I thought you were going to NYU for your exchange?”

Sunghoon pauses to think for a second, looking like he’s never heard of NYU in his life. “Oh, that! Yeah, I did an online orientation thing and… it did not go well. Let’s just say there’s someone in New York City who wants me dead,” he says conspiratorially. You all stare at him but he gives no further explanation. On your right, you hear Yunjin whisper what the fuck under her breath. “So I transferred here instead!”

“I didn’t know you were an exchange student,” Jay says, still looking just as confused.

“Yeah, man! But anyways, let’s not talk about uni right now. I’m on a bender, day three, baby! Do not talk to me tomorrow,” he says, chuckling until the smile suddenly drops from his face. “I mean that.” You look around yourself, glad to find everyone is just as baffled as you. “Let’s party!” Sunghoon cheers, intoxicated grin back on his lips. Jake and Jay follow, but you and the girls stay back for a second, taking in everything that has just happened.

“That. Is the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” Chaewon blurts, staring blankly at the spot Sunghoon stood in a second ago.

“Yeah, he also seems to be a raging alcoholic. And he’s what, twenty-one?” Yunjin says, a scowl on her face. 

“I could fix him.”

“Okay, let’s go,” you say, grabbing your friends by their wrists before either of them can say something worse.

Feeling generous, Sunghoon buys shots for all six of you, and you quickly down them before heading to the dancefloor. On your way there, a group of sober-looking girls hand Chaewon a giant, still almost full jug of red liquid, something that costs at least twelve pounds here. They say they’re leaving and don’t need it anymore, smiling as you profusely and astonishedly thank them. You look at your friends, mentally weighing the risk and drugging possibility this might present, but shrug and pass the jug around after taking hearty sips anyway. It tastes so much like fizzy cherries that you wonder if it even contains any alcohol, but sure enough, twenty minutes later, the three of you are spinning around on the dancefloor, screaming the lyrics to your favourite pop songs at the top of your lungs. Jake at a club is a completely foreign sight to you, and you can’t stop laughing at all the silly moves he pulls. 

You’re shaking your whole body to a Nicki song from the early 2010s when you suddenly feel a hand on your hip. Before you can turn around and slap whoever this random man is that thinks he can touch you, a familiar voice whispers it’s just me in your ear, and you simultaneously relax and tense up knowing that Jake is standing right behind you. “There’s a creep staring at you,” he explains, lips and breath gently tickling your ear as he speaks. You look around the room and quickly notice a man standing in a corner, drink in one hand and the other in his pocket, unmoving as he eyes you with a smirk so slimy it makes your stomach turn. To avoid his gaze, you turn around, but you’re not sure the sight you’re met with is much better for you.

Jake peers down at you, eyes slightly glossed over and cheeks flushed from the alcohol, jaw locked in annoyance. He glances at the guy in the corner, who you assume is still staring when you feel Jake’s hands brush along your sides until they reach your waist. His gaze returns to your face as he brings you a step closer to him. Reflexively, you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Is this okay?” he mouths. All you can do is meekly nod. You watch as his eyes deliberately scan your face, going down and down. Time stills when they reach your lips and stay there. It’s like someone has put the booming music of the club on mute, and the only thing you can hear is your heart loudly beating in your ears. You suddenly feel very sober.

You swear Jake’s face is slowly inching its way towards yours when you’re abruptly taken away. Yunjin has grabbed you by the forearm, leading you and Chaewon to the bathroom as she chants “Bathroom break! Bathroom break!”, clearly unaware of the moment she’s just interrupted.

Because of the queue for the girls’ bathroom and Chaewon’s decision to console this random girl who was in the middle of a breakdown, it’s not until half-an-hour later that you emerge back into the crowd. You spot the boys at a table, two empty shots each in front of them and all three with a beer in hand. They will not be happy checking their bank accounts tomorrow morning. 

“Y/N! You’re back!” Jake calls out happily when he spots you, and you can tell right away that he’s much drunker than when you left him. His whole face is flush, his eyes don’t open quite all the way, and a lopsided smile won’t leave his lips - even like this, he’s so pretty that you want to grab his hand and take him somewhere it’s just the two of you. 

Chaewon gets drinks for the three of you and then you’re dancing again. It’s already one am at this point, and the remaining two hours until the club closes, fueled with alcohol and good music, go by in a flash. Before you know it, the DJ is playing All of Me by John Legend and the lights have been turned on, clear signs that you’re overstaying your welcome. The few people that have made it to closing time stumble out of the club and into the street, heading for either the nearest subway stop or the next party of the night. Since there are no trains at this time, your group walks to the close-by bus station, listening to Jake and Sunghoon grumble about how the clubs in Seoul don’t close until at least five or six and how trains run all night there. 

The bus is already at the station when you get there, and the driver doesn’t seem too pleased about having six mildly drunk kids get on his bus, but he’s probably used to questionable people taking public transport at this time of the day anyway. Physically, Sunghoon is sitting across from you, but mentally, he’s off somewhere far, far from this bus. With his head against the window and mouth wide open, saliva pooling at the corner of his lips, he looks like he’s any second away from obnoxiously snoring. Jay and Yunjin are sitting somewhere you can’t see them, probably eating each other’s faces; she once told you they had their “most mind-blowing sex” when both a little drunk, and much to your dismay, you haven’t been able to get that piece of information out of your head since. Chaewon is on the phone to her long-distance bestie Sakura, for whom it’s a nice eleven in the morning right now. 

This means that you and Jake are left alone, both of you still tipsy and not tired enough to fall asleep. You drop your head on Jake’s shoulder, and not only does he let you, he also takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers and placing them atop his thigh. Clumsily, because he now has to use his left hand, Jake slips his phone out of his back pocket and shows you the photos he took all evening. As the night progresses, they get blurrier and blurrier, so much so that towards the end, you can’t tell what he was even trying to capture, and you laugh at how inappropriate some of these would be to submit in a university project. 

When he softly says your name, you don’t raise your head, simply humming to let him know you’re listening. You close your eyes, cherishing the way your name sounds on his lips. It’s his tone, tentative and vulnerable as he tells you there’s something he’s been wanting to ask you, that makes you look up at him. He, however, won’t meet your eyes, and settles his gaze on the window, even though it’s so dark outside you can’t make out a thing.

“How come you never replied to my letter? I know it’s been ages, but… I still find myself wondering about it.” The question is softly asked and you know he by no means wants to hurt you, but it still feels like a punch to the throat. You hadn’t remembered who it was that had sent the last letter, while he’d been wondering all these years why his words had been left unanswered. 

He seems set on not looking at you, so you rest your head back on his shoulder. Your hand is still in his. “I’m not sure, Jakey. I’m sorry,” you say, aware it’s not a satisfying answer. You’ve thought about why you and Jake had stopped talking for hours on end; you’ve discussed it with your friends and your mum, looked at it from all sorts of angles, tried to come up with real reasons other than time pulling you apart. But now that Jake himself is asking you about it, the words don’t come easy. You’ve theorised that you were afraid putting effort into sustaining your friendship would only hurt you in the end, because it was just that - a friendship. You could fool yourself into thinking you were okay only being friends with him when he was with you, that putting your feelings aside was worth it since you could at least spend time with him. But now that he was away, you didn’t have that anymore - it just hurt. So what was the point? And how could you phrase all this without betraying your feelings for him?

“Our letters were so sparse anyway back then, even our texts and calls were getting less and less frequent… And whenever I had a new boyfriend, I’d get into the same argument about being too close to you over and over again, even though you were literally on another continent.” 

“You know, I always felt sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“Those boyfriends of yours. I felt like you waited for me to leave before you started dating-”

“It wasn’t like that!” you exclaim, lifting your head again. Finally, he meets your eyes, gaze softening upon seeing your affronted expression. “It wasn’t like that,” you repeat, relaxing your tone. “If anything, they were the ones that waited for you to be gone. I'm sorry I let their jealousy get to me.”

Jake smiles, the tenderness in his gaze making your whole body turn to jelly. He squeezes your hands. “It’s okay. I just… I felt like I was always in the way of your relationships, even after I left.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry about that. They should’ve had more trust in me.”

He pauses, gaze dropping down to your intertwined hands. “I would’ve been jealous.” When his eyes find yours again, there’s something in them that you quite can’t place. It creates a ball of nerves that pull at your stomach. “If I were dating you, and you had a guy friend you were as close with as we were back then, I’d be jealous. You know, I’d assume he had feelings for you. And that you might have feelings for him, too.”

Because I did, you think. I did, and I still do. You try to communicate that thought to Jake, but telepathy works especially bad when one has as much alcohol coursing through their veins as you do right now. So instead, you say the opposite of what you’re thinking, turning away from Jake to avoid his gaze. You watch the dribble of saliva trickle from Sunghoon’s lips. “That’s not a great view of male-female friendship.” 

Jake’s retort comes immediately. “But we were different, right?”

His words echo through your head until they make even less sense than they did initially. Different from what? From who? You’re not sure - but you like the idea of you and Jake being different, special. You especially like the idea of Jake thinking so. So you look at him and smile. “Right.” 

Slowly, his grin fades and turns into a worried expression. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“We’re still different now, aren’t we?”

You want to wrap him in your arms so tightly neither of you can breathe. You settle for running a hand through his hair and pinching his cheek. “Course we are.” Your whole being relaxes when his face breaks into a smile again. 

--

The next morning, you wake up to Yunjin plopping down on your bed unceremoniously, shaking you awake, and asking you if you want anything from Snax Café. On one hand, you’re grateful that she thought of you and that in thirty minutes’ time, you’ll have the greasiest sausage wrap and hash browns known to man in your hand; on the other, you’d like to think that she knows you well enough to know to order your regular from there without asking. But that’s probably the hangover talking.

You stumble out of bed, thanking last night’s you for having remembered to take headache medicine before crashing. Even if your stomach is very upset with the copious amount of alcohol it needs to rid your body of, and your throat is begging for water, at least your head doesn’t feel like it’s been split into two. As Yunjin barges into Chaewon’s room just as she had done yours, you head for the kitchen to get yourself a tall glass of revitalising tap water. You’re only mildly surprised to find Sunghoon passed out on your living room couch - it takes you a few seconds to remember that the three of you took pity on him when you learned he lived over an hour’s walk from the station, so you let him spend the night on your uncomfortable, cold leather sofa. While you down your glass in three gulps, you hear Yunjin shaking Sunghoon awake and asking him loudly if he wanted something from Snax.

“Fuck, I’d kill for a Snax right now,” he groggily says before he’s even opened his eyes. When he does, they dart around the room until they land on Yunjin, who's crouching in front of him. He looks like he thought her question was asked in a dream and not in real life. He also looks like he's not quite sure where he is, or who Yunjin is. It isn’t until Jay comes wobbling out of Yunjin’s bed to the couch opposite Sunghoon that the memories seem to piece back together in his head. The three of you watch him like he’s an unstable mental patient and you’re his doctors. 

“No need for that, I’m ordering it on Deliveroo.” He nods his head and goes back to sleep for the time being. 

Just as you’re about to text Jake, your phone rings with a call from him. His raspy morning voice as he asks you whether you slept well makes you want to put your head in an oven heated at 200 degrees Celsius. However, you resist the urge, and answer him with a smile, then ask him the same question.

“I slept pretty well too. I’d have slept in longer but one of my flatmates decided to have a Sunday fucking brunch and his friends are so loud. Can I come over?”

You’re very aware of the other people in the room, especially of Chaewon who has just walked in and is eyeing you suspiciously as if to say, Why are you smiling so hard at ten in the morning? You know the girls would jump at any opportunity to tease you about Jake, and with the added presence of Sunghoon in the room, you can’t have that. So you stifle the giggles bubbling in your throat and answer as nonchalantly as you can. It also gives you the chance to reflect on why Jake Sim asking you whether he can come over makes you want to giggle like a giddy schoolgirl so much.

(Maybe it’s because when it comes to him, you’re still the giddy schoolgirl you used to be.)

“Yeah, of course. I was going to ask you if you wanted anything from Snax, actually.”

“Snax? What’s that?”

“Oh my God, Jake, am I about to introduce you to Snax right now?”

Twenty minutes later, the six of you are sitting around your small living room table, all varying amounts of tired, dehydrated and famished as you dig into your breakfast. Given your current levels of energy, it’s fairly quiet; plus, the food hits such a spot that it’s hard to talk and eat at the same time. Jake eats like he’s never had a breakfast wrap and hash brown in his life. It’s an endearing sight if you’ve ever seen one. 

You spend the afternoon together, watching movies curled up in your bed, and you try desperately not to think about the implications of that - except that’s hard to do when Jake is right next to you, legs and arms ever-so-slightly brushing against yours, his warmth so close yet so out of reach. You purposefully let him pick movies you’ve already seen so that you don’t have to focus on anything but your own thoughts and the faint but dizzying scent of his body wash. The both of you had an innumerable amount of sleepovers as kids, so this shouldn’t feel weird, but it decidedly does, probably because you’re much more aware of him now in a way you weren’t before.  

As hard as you try to figure out what exactly he meant by “different,” you draw a blank. The only way you’ll understand is if you ask him, and you’re far too scared to do that. You don’t want to seem so hung upon a singular word he used when he was tipsy. It might be slightly dramatic, but you felt like some sort of balance had been restored since Jake was back in your life - the problem was it made you scared to do anything that might threaten this newfound equilibrium. It at least seems like different means a good thing to him, and that’s enough for you. 

You look over to him when the second movie comes to an end. He’s sleeping peacefully, lashes caressing the skin under his eyes and cheeks looking rounder than usual. It’d be so easy to reach a finger out and trace the line descending from the top of his forehead to his chin, gliding along the bump of his nose and feeling the plumpness of his rosy lips, but you settle for drawing that line with your eyes instead.  

You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep with him next to you and your heart beating so loudly in your ears, but you find yourself waking up a few hours later, the sun already starting to set. Jake is already awake, scrolling on his phone, one arm casually behind his head as if being in your bed is as comfortable to him as being in his own. When he sees you’ve woken up, his honey-coated smile washes warmly over you, and he makes a joke about how he keeps on falling asleep when he’s with you. “I feel that at ease, I guess,” he says, and you hope you’re not making up the small blush that spreads over his cheeks. 

--

Semesters are always a short and intense affair, but this one passes by even quicker with Jake by your side. Before you know it, it’s midterms already, and you and Jake have travelled enough for him to complete his project and make another one just for the hell of it. He had scoured the internet for the cheapest train tickets and most noteworthy sites, planning trips that lasted anywhere between three hours and a day for the two of you. All you needed to do was follow and trust him, which was the easiest thing anyone could’ve asked of you. 

You’ve gone back to Glasgow, during the day, this time, as well as St. Andrews and Aberdeen. You’ve practically visited every loch and castle in a one-hour train ride radius of Edinburgh, and Jake has more lined up for the second part of the semester. He’s even said that your trips should continue being a thing next term, and you couldn’t have agreed faster. With every new destination, every train ride spent looking out a window or laughing about everything and anything, any odd Scottish food you try for the first time, you somehow fall for him a bit deeper. You didn’t know your love for him could bloom any more than it already had - but Jake is the gift that keeps on giving, and, unwillingly or not, he always finds new ways to make your heart speed that much faster.

Attentionate, affectionate, sweet Jake who always makes sure you’re comfortable wherever you go, always gives you his jacket or tucks your hair behind your ear to prevent it from falling in your face. Who, as time passed, grew more touchy, would hold your hand, ruffle your hair, pinch your cheek, which was simultaneously devastating and elating. Who, you could tell, started to linger more, both in his touch and in his gaze. Questions of does he love me back or am I seeing what I want to see? nearly drove you mad. 

--

“I feel like at this point the only way she’ll understand that I like her is if I kill myself and write in my suicide note that it’s her fault for not loving me back.”

Jake has been pacing back and forth in Jay’s living room for approximately twenty minutes, with no end in sight. At least he’ll have gotten most of his ten thousand steps of the day in.

Jay sighs heavily. “Okay, I really don’t think you need to go that far.”

“Sounds romantic to me,” Sunghoon says, mouth full of salted caramel popcorn.

“I hope you never get a girlfriend,” Jay retorts, looking at his deranged friend with a scowl. He turns back to his (slightly more) normal friend and gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“I mean, I told her we were different. Different. That we weren’t like regular friends. I tell her she’s pretty every chance I get. I give her my jacket all the time, even though this country is fucking cold. I’ve even given her a t-shirt of mine, sprayed with my perfume and everything. And don’t get me wrong, I do it ‘cause I love doing that for her-”

“Simp,” Sunghoon snickers.

“But what the hell else can I do? Like, she has to be ignoring it on purpose at this point.” 

“You could always, you know… tell her?”

Jake scoffs, fixing his friend with a derisive look. “Wow. What a great idea, Jay, I never thought of that one before!”

A popcorn lands right on Jay’s cheek. “You’re so clueless, man,” Sunghoon says, a shit-eating smirk on his lips. As if he knows any better.

Jay looks back-and-forth between his friends, an expression on his face like he’s been disparaged. “Sorry, I didn’t know being straightforward and honest was such a bad thing. It would just make things a lot clearer for the both of you.”

“But… I’m scared,” Jake says. 

“Man up!” Sunghoon suddenly yells, punching the sofa next to him, making his friends jump. “How can she ever figure it out if you don’t tell her?”

“You were on my side just a second ago, man, what are you doing?” Jake asks, confusion written all over his face. Sunghoon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two boys, retreating into silence as he stuffs his mouth with another handful of popcorn.

“Just ignore him,” Jay says. “But for once, he did say something that makes a modicum of sense. You think you’re being really obvious, but you might not actually be. Which could be a good sign, you know. I heard girls were super aware of a guy liking them if they weren’t into him, but being totally oblivious if they did like him.”

“Where did you hear that?” Jake asks, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“...Instagram Reels,” Jay reluctantly admits, frowning at Sunghoon who bursts into laughter. 

Jake holds the bridge of his nose between two fingers like his head aches. “You’re both so useless, I’m never coming to you with my problems ever again.”

“I’ll pretend I’m not offended by that.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, anyway,” Sunghoon says. He’s smiling but Jake genuinely can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“But seriously, if you think you’ve done everything, then just do one last thing that’s so obvious she can’t misinterpret it,” Jay says.

“Like what?”

“Like kissing her, or some-”

“Kissing her?!” Jake echoes.

“That’s wild, man,” Sunghoon uselessly butts in.

“It’s just an example, calm yourselves,” Jay says. “Or, again, just straight up tell her how you feel. It’s what I did with Yunjin, and it worked.”

“You and Yunjin are dating?” Sunghoon asks, bewildered.

Jay shakes his head at him. “Where the hell have you been, bro? We were literally cuddling on the couch the other day.”

“I just thought you were really good friends, or something.”

Jake groans, holding his head in his hands. Sunghoon was of no help whatsoever, and Jay was so on point that it annoyed him. Confessing was the only solution - but Jake was so afraid of being rejected and losing your friendship that he had barely entertained the thought. But he had found the courage to do it once, and even though his planned confession had fallen through back then, he could get himself together and do it again. 

It was the day he had told you he was moving to Korea, which he himself had learned that morning. Originally, he’d texted you because he had news to share - good news. Or at least, he hoped they were good. He hoped the soft, lingering looks you gave him weren’t a figment of his imagination but rather the confirmation he needed that you liked him back. He hoped that like him, you cared too much about your friendship to make the first move into something else; that by confessing first, you’d be relieved of that responsibility; that his wish to hold your hand and kiss your forehead wasn’t one-sided. 

He decided not to prepare anything - just a couple sentences that he’d rehearsed over and over in his head. Declarations of love, bouquets of flowers, chocolate and couple keychains, all that could wait until after you’d said yes to being his girlfriend. He didn’t want to win you over just once, he wanted to show you every day how much he loved you. Fourteen-year-old Jake was absolutely head over heels for you; so imagine his disappointment when, as he was getting ready to meet with you, his parents called him downstairs, a tone to their voice Jake wasn’t familiar with, but that couldn’t mean anything good. 

“Your dad’s job is sending us back to Seoul next month,” his mom announced, not beating around the bush. He felt everything quite literally crumbling down around him. His friends in Brisbane, his school, his hobbies, but above all, you. He’d lose it all. And what was the point now in telling you how he felt? If you felt the same way, it would only make his departure that much harder, and if you didn’t, it would ruin your last moments together. It just wasn’t worth it.

What he had planned to be good news turned into the most awful ones. The thought of it happening all over again makes twenty-year-old Jake shudder. But he wouldn’t let himself be trapped by time again - sure, in seven months, the academic year would be over, and he would go back to Korea. But that didn’t mean that those seven months should be spent in agony, or the following ones either, for that matter. You would make it work. What was long-distance to someone who loved someone else as much as Jake loved you?

But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. He has to start by really resolving to do this, and in the off-chance that it actually goes in his favour, he’d start worrying about long distance then.

First, he has a trip to plan.

--

You should’ve known that a trip to the Scottish Highlands in the middle of November was a risky choice in terms of weather. The day started off nicely enough - no sign of rain when you woke up or as you watched the sunrise through the train window. Clouds turned the sky a bright white at first, then increasingly greyer and greyer. You feel the first drops of rain after lunch as you walk around a small village. By four pm, it’s pitch black and storming like you’ve rarely seen before. You head into a pub to grab a drink as you wait for the rain to subside, but subside it does not. You end up ordering fish and chips, one each, although one serving is enough to feed three. Even after taking your time eating, the bad weather does not let up. The last train, which is meant to be at eight pm, has been cancelled. Luckily, there’s an inn right across the road from the pub; you have no choice but to spend the night. 

The inn receptionist is sitting so low on her chair, you can barely see her over the desk until you’re standing right over it. Her face is hidden by a book and it’s only when you say hiya that she seems to realise you’re there. You had never heard of the book or of its author, but you recognized the cover design as that of those romance novels with repetitive plots and weirdly misogynistic love interests your mum and every other middle-aged woman was obsessed with.

Her smile widens as she looks between you and Jake. “Hi there. One room for the lovely couple?”

“Oh, we’re not-”

“Yes, please,” Jake interrupts, smiling down at her, then at you. “It’ll be cheaper if we share a room.”

“Our only room with two single beds is already taken, I’m afraid. One double bed okay for you two?”

You feel like you’re about to faint, so you’re glad Jake is there to answer. “Yeah, of course.” How the idea of sharing one bed with you is so okay to him, you’re not sure - granted, you’ve done it before, but this feels different. For all intents and purposes, this is a hotel room you’re staying in. And you’re staying in it with Jake. 

You try to calm your breathing as the receptionist guides you to your room, chatting casually with Jake on the way there. As she unlocks the door for you, she informs you that check-out must be done before eleven in the morning tomorrow, then bids you good night and leaves you to it, still wearing that smile you swear has mischievousness to it. The door clicks shut behind you, and it’s just Jake and you again, together in this small room until tomorrow morning. Your chances of survival are very, very low. 

Your room is a humble one, consisting of a desk, a cupboard, two armchairs, a small, separate bathroom and the infamous bed. Every surface seems to be covered with wood, from the ceiling, to the walls, to the old-fashioned furniture. Only the floor is a soft, beige carpet. Especially with the darkness outside, it makes for a gloomy room until you turn on the lamp by the entrance; it casts a warm, golden light in the room, one that would make you feel at ease if it wasn’t for Jake’s presence next to you. The implications of being essentially trapped in a barely-lit room with him are heavy on your mind, especially when he looks this gorgeous with his hair still damp from the rain and the soft lights playing on his face. 

His voice brings you out of your thoughts. “Right. Do you, um, do you wanna shower first?” he asks, setting his bag on one of the armchairs.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” There has never been such an awkward tension between the two of you, but you know you’re not doing anything to ease it. You hope a shower will help you get out of your head and make you relax.

You feel the tension leave your muscles under the hot water, but your stomach is still in knots. You’ve never been this nervous around Jake before; back when you were fourteen and again in these past few months, you’d gotten so used to dealing with your unspoken feelings for him that you could almost forget about them when you were with him. They’d come back to you when you were alone and dwelling on the moments you’d spent together, on his words and actions you desperately tried not to read too much into but always ended up doing anyway. But right now, they’ve floated to the surface, becoming as obvious to you as a stain on your skin you can’t rub away. You’re scared Jake will notice it, and, in the worst case scenario you often thought about, would run away and never speak to you again. 

At least the raging storm outside would make that a bit harder.

When you step out of the shower, you curse yourself for not having worn more comfortable clothes on this trip. You definitely can’t wear these jeans and button-up sweater to lounge around. Thankfully, the inn provides two long bathrobes that you could wear over underwear and your tank top, but you wonder where on the scale of inappropriate this would be to wear with Jake in the room. He’s seen you in short pyjama shorts before, but this, like everything else that would usually be normal between the two of you, feels weird today. 

You wrap the bathrobe around yourself, tying it in place around your waist, and decide that it’d only be weird if you made it weird. And if Jake found the sight of your bare legs weird, then he was the weird one.

The scene you’re met with as you walk into the room makes you want to retreat into the bathroom immediately. Jake is lying on the bed with his upper half against the headboard, one leg extended and the other one bent, resting his head against one palm, using his free hand to scroll through his phone. His t-shirt has ridden up slightly, putting the waistband of his Calvin Kleins into view. Worst of all, when he sees you, his face breaks into a grin. 

Your stomach twists when he gives you a once-over, letting his gaze linger on your legs. “Did you bring a bathrobe with you or was it included?” he asks with an annoyingly handsome smirk.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I bring a bathrobe with me wherever I go,” you say sarcastically. “Now shut up and go shower, you stink.” Reverting to insults is always the solution when you’re internally freaking out.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He takes so long in the shower that by the time he comes out, you’ve dozed off in bed. As if you were a child, he wakes you up with a boop to the nose, crouching next to the bed and smiling at you. His wet hair falls on his head like that of a movie star in a shower scene, which you find extremely unfair, and his cheeks are red from the warmth of the water. 

“It’s still early. Do you wanna go grab another drink?”

“In our bathrobes?” you say, laughing. “Nah, I don’t really feel like drinking anyway.” Read: I’m not sure what I’ll do with alcohol in me.

“Okay, no worries. Um, I think I saw they had board games in the lobby?”

Your ears perk up at this. “Ooh, what kind of board games?”

Putting jeans on underneath his bathrobe, Jake slips away for a minute and comes back with Monopoly, Uno, and a deck of cards. “They didn’t have much for two players,” he says, dumping everything on the bed. 

You already knew that anything would become fun if you did it with Jake, but you definitely didn’t expect to spend almost five hours just playing Monopoly and card games with him. Neither of you stays put for very long, always switching from sitting criss-cross to laying on your stomach, making fun of the other’s bathrobe even though you’re wearing the exact same thing. You make each other laugh as you make up your own nonsense rules and disregard the laws of your games, attacking the other ruthlessly for a couple extra points or coins. Jake even makes you go get snacks from a corner store that’s miraculously still open because you lose the first round of Uno. 

After some time, Jake lets out a loud yawn, which in turn makes you yawn too. He checks his phone to find that it’s close to midnight already. “Time for bed?” he asks, and your nervousness that had finally dissipated as you played came rushing back. 

You nod. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you clean up before brushing your teeth. Even that, with Jake by your side, becomes a silly affair as he pulls faces in the mirror and nudges your hip with his. You stay behind to use the toilet, and when you come back out, Jake’s already in bed, bathrobe tossed on one of the armchairs. This means that Jake is just casually in a t-shirt and boxers, waiting for you to join him in bed. Luckily, his back is turned to you, so you quickly take off your own bathrobe and slide under the sheets, careful to keep your distance from him. The sheets are cold underneath you, and you know it’ll take a while before your body heat warms them up - although you feel very hot and bothered because of the man lying next to you. 

“Gosh, I’m really sleepy all of a sudden,” he says, words distorted by a yawn. You only hum in response, and he reaches for the lamp to turn it off. Just like that, you’re in complete darkness, and Jake’s body is mere inches from your own. 

It’s eerily quiet for a while, and when you’ve managed to slow your heartbeat and regularise your breathing, you start trying to fall asleep. You toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position until Jake’s low, sleepy voice breaks the silence. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, and you freeze.

You sigh. “No. I’m sorry for keeping you up,” you say guiltily.

“It’s okay. I can’t really sleep either. It’s a bit cold in here.”

You pause. “Right. Yeah, it is,” you say, even though you feel like you’re sweating buckets. 

The room plunges into silence again, long enough for you to think Jake has fallen asleep. You feel something cold against your foot, only realising as it slides up your calf that it’s his foot. “Jake!” you whisper-yell, withdrawing your leg as he bursts into giggles that warm your heart. “Your feet are so cold,” you say in-between chuckles.

“I’m cold all over,” he whines. “Have they not turned the heating on yet? It’s already mid-November.”

“People are used to the cold here.”

“Well I’m not. Can we cuddle?” he suddenly asks, and he must somehow feel the way you freeze in place because he stammers out a justification straight away. “For, I mean, just for warmth, you know. I don’t think I’ll sleep otherwise.”

His foot finds yours again and you can’t help but laugh. “Sure, fine,” you say with a sigh as if you were doing only half-heartedly for his sake. As if this was some big sacrifice you were making, and not something you’d daydreamed about one too many times before. 

Your heart is beating a thousand miles a second when you scooch closer to Jake, his hands finding your waist as easily as if they’d been there a hundred times before. He pulls you in much closer than you had expected, holding you tightly against his chest, one arm for you to use as a pillow and one hand resting on your lower back. You try to calm your respiration so that he can’t hear how short of breath you are, but based on his own breathing, he seems to be out in five minutes. It takes you longer to fall asleep, every shift of his body sending shivers down your spine, but you manage to relax after some time, letting his warmth envelop you as you drift off to sleep.

--

The feeling of waking up with you in his arms is so unreal, Jake thinks he might still be dreaming.

He looks down at your peaceful sleeping face and can’t stop the smile that spreads on his lips. Jake always thinks you’re pretty, but this is a sight he particularly wants to commit to memory. He watches fondly as the bright sun rays of the early morning hit your face, making you scrunch your eyebrows and bury your face deeper against him. You grunt softly, and when he feels you shifting and stretching your legs, he pretends to fall asleep so you don’t catch him staring. It seems like you’ve raised your head, chin tilted towards him - if he’s lucky, you’re watching him “sleep” just like he did seconds ago.

He contains a smile at the joke that forms itself in his brain before shooting his eyes open, catching you off guard during what you thought was a private, secret moment. 

“Shit!” you yelp, practically jumping off of him and rolling onto the other side of the bed. He bursts into laughter, proud that his little prank was effective. Before you can scold him, he makes his way to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing your back against his chest. He thinks he feels your body tense; but then you bring your hand over his, swiping your thumb back and forth against his skin, and you relax in his hold. “You’re so annoying,” you complain, but your voice is tender, almost weak.

He buries his face in your hair, trying not to be too loud when he inhales there. “Sorry,” he says, the smile evident in his voice. “The opportunity was right there. Caught you staring, huh?”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Jake is more than happy to enjoy this moment in silence, but there’s something burning the tip of his tongue. It’s been there for a while now, but he thinks he’s finally found the right moment. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“There’s something I couldn’t tell you last night, but I feel oddly okay saying it right now. Are you listening?” 

“I am, yeah,” you say gently, voice so soft it caresses his skin and draws goosebumps from it.

His chest expands and falls with a deep, shaky breath. With your back right against it, he’s scared you’ll hear that his heart is beating faster than it should. “Bad news first?” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“Uh-oh.”

“There’s no roundabout way to say this, so here goes, I guess.” He takes another breath. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.” You tense in his embrace, and he waits for you to say something, anything before he continues.

“Oh,” is all you say. He hopes it’s a good oh - even if it isn’t, he doesn’t let it deter him.

“Yeah. I really debated telling you this… I know you might not feel the same way. But I also know that if I don’t say anything and make the same mistake twice, I’ll beat myself up over it for the rest of my life.”

“The same mistake?” you ask, looking at him over your shoulder.

He gazes down at you tenderly, pushing hair away from your face with a gentle hand. “I already felt that way back when we lived in Australia. I was about to tell you but when I learned that I was moving, I didn’t wanna risk ruining the little time we had left together.”

The look on your face both breaks his heart and patches it up again. “Jakey…” you say, voice just a whisper. You turn around to face him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. The fact that you’re not saying much is making his stomach twist in agonising stress, but he takes it as a good sign that you’re still holding him tight and not running away.

“I think I’d be the luckiest guy on Earth if you felt the same way,” he says, hopefulness clear in his voice. 

And then he finally hears the words he’s been dying to hear all these years. “Of course, I feel the same way, Jake,” you say, eyes meeting his. “This isn’t bad news at all, it’s like, the best possible news ever.”

It takes him a few seconds, but when your words sink in, a bright smile graces his features. He feels tears coming up - tears of relief that you feel the same way, of sadness that it took the both of you so long to get here, of happiness that something new might start - he’s not sure. Perhaps everything at once.

“Of course?” he echoes, smiling wildly. “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

“Oh, gosh,” you murmur, burying yourself into him once more. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

He tightened his hold around you, bringing you to him as close as physically possible. “Me neither.”

The feeling of you tangling your bare legs with his and bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt in your fist awakens something in him - he had been in his head, thanking the heavens that you loved him back, reeling from his belated confession, but he was now very aware of his body. And of yours. He was reminded of Jay telling him to kiss you - although he hadn’t needed to go there to reveal his feelings to you, it was still a possibility. It was even more so now that he knew you felt the same way. 

He tries to be subtle as he brushes a hand up your back to the nape of your neck, gently grazing his fingernails against the skin there. He has to suppress a self-satisfied smirk when he feels you squirm under his touch, lifting your head to fix him with a scolding look. Your stern expression fades as soon as his eyes fall on your lips, however, and you quickly mirror his gaze. His lips part, and he feels his whole body shake as he takes a deep breath in. Who knew that you’d share your first kiss on a random Sunday morning in the fuckass middle of nowhere in Scotland?

Maybe you take pity on him, or you recognise the effort put into being the one to make the first move, or, as he’d like to think, you just really want to kiss him - either way, you’re the one who closes the gap and presses your lips to his.

Your lips. So soft, so delicate against his, absolutely perfect. It’s a simple, tentative touch, but he’s craved it for so long that it makes his head spin. He frowns, despite himself instantly needing more than this feather-like feeling of your lips brushing against each other. His mind tells him to calm down and take it slow, but his body takes over, urging him to grab the nape of your neck a little harder, to hold you a little closer to him, to kiss you a little stronger. Thankfully, you let him do all of this and more, hands finding purchase in his hair and returning his intensity tenfold. 

He doesn’t know what’s better - the fact that you’re kissing him or the kiss itself. The way your lips move against his is intoxicating; it wraps itself around its mind and leaves no room for thoughts that aren’t of you. You seem to want him as desperately as he wants you, to have waited for him as long as he did for you, and this is what drives him crazy. You press your body against his and he sees stars; you let out a moan against his lips and he kisses you deeper, ready to do anything to hear that melody again. 

Unfortunately, the only melody he gets to hear is that of his phone alarm, informing you that it’s quarter to eleven and that you have fifteen minutes to leave. Check-out at eleven am had sounded nice yesterday; now, he would stay in this dingy inn his whole life if it meant he got to keep kissing you. 

The both of you reluctantly break apart, bursting into giddy laughter when your eyes meet. As said before, Jake always thinks you’re pretty, but with your pupils blown and your lips plump from kissing, this might just be the prettiest he’s ever seen you. 

“You know, I like you a lot, but I’d like you even more if you could stop time,” you say.

He looks down at you with a smile, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen on your face. “Sure, I’ll learn how to control time for you.”

“Thanks, Jakey.” You peck his lips, lingering, and he closes his eyes to savour your sweetness. 

“Anything for you, baby.” His eyes widen at the nickname slip, but you erupt into giggles.

“Baby?”

“Would you look at the time, we really got to go,” he says, detangling his limbs from yours. He pauses for a second. “Baby,” he repeats, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before bouncing from the bed.

You get ready together, and the mundane tasks of stripping sheets from a bed and packing bags become the funnest things he’s ever done. You’re all over each other, attacking the other with kisses and hugs; Jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this happy. 

And this is only the beginning.

--

There’s a glint in the receptionist’s eyes when you check out of your room, as if she knew something you and Jake had been oblivious to all along. It’s the only one in town, so you go back to the little pub for a full breakfast with eggs, hash browns, haggis, and sausages. You get coffee so strong you think you might not sleep for the next four days, while Jake drinks tea that is equal parts sugar, milk, and actual tea.

From the moment you leave the pub to the moment you arrive at your doorstep, Jake’s hands barely leave yours. When they have to, like when you’re searching for the perfect seat on the train or when the controller checks your tickets, they’re back together within a minute, like two magnets that can’t stay apart for too long. The rain has long subsided, leaving place to a bright blue sky and wet blades of grass that shine in the sun. 

Now that your mutual feelings don’t need to be kept secret, you tell each other about everything you had to go through, like you pretending your good news was your mum having baked the cookies Jake liked and him seeing your new boyfriends every two months on your close friends story. He tells you about all the hints he’s dropped, causing you to facepalm over and over again. It feels like two friends catching each other to speed on all the latest gossip, except the topic of that gossip is you.

The juxtaposition of your familiarity with Jake with the novelty of behaving like a couple, of not having to hold back with your touches or gazes or words, is nothing if not jarring. But you have a feeling you’ll get used to it in no time. 

As you unlock the front door to your building, you don’t ask him if he’s coming up - to you, it’s a given that you’ll be spending the rest of today and every day after that together. So when he doesn’t follow you, staying still on the threshold, you turn around with a questioning look on your face. 

“There’s something I need to do this afternoon,” he says, taking both of your hands in his.

“Can’t I come with?” you say. Jake wavers for a second, but sadly, he stays firm in his decision.

“Sorry, baby, it’s a surprise. I’ll be back at seven with takeout?”

You can’t possibly be mad at him when he calls you baby and offers food in the same breath. “Only if you bring takeout.”

“You only love me because I feed you, don’t you?” he asks, a smile on his face.

“Yup,” you reply. You’re standing on a step, so you bend down to kiss him - you intend for it to be a peck, but when your lips touch, you’re unable to pull away. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips on yours, in the warmth that takes over your body and makes your brain all fuzzy. 

A loud, affronted gasp from behind you makes you jump from Jake, and when you turn around, Chaewon and Yunjin are standing in the stairwell, staring at you with wide eyes and gaping mouths. 

“So this was a sexcapade?” is, much to your horror, the first thing Yunjin says.

Thanks to Chaewon, neither you nor Jake have the time to dwell on this sentence as she comes running down the stairs and pounces on you. You don’t know how a woman so small can have such force, but her hug is so tight you can barely breathe, let alone hug her back properly. “I knew you could do it!” she exclaims. When she pulls away, she seems so moved, it looks like she’s about to cry. “You finally popped your Jake cherry,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for Jake to hear. A bark of laughter escapes his throat.

“Okay, thanks, guys,” you say, escaping this awkward situation and going up the stairs. “I’ll see you later, Jake!” you yell over your shoulder. The girls seem to be on their way out, and you’re more than happy leaving him to deal with them on his own. God knows you’ll get the worst of it when they come back. 

As soon as you get to your flat, you make a beeline for your bedroom, plopping on the bed. You’re the same person, and this is the same room. But something within you feels entirely different, like a scar that you had been carrying around had, without you even noticing, healed so well you could barely see it anymore. You lifted your hands in the air, looked at the back of them, then at your palms. They were the same old hands that had been with you your whole life, and you were almost shocked that there wasn’t something utterly different about them after having held Jake’s hand for so long. Just to be sure, you sniffed your right hand, but it didn’t smell any different, either. But you still felt Jake’s hand on yours, like headphones you’d been wearing for hours and still felt on your ears after taking them off.

Yunjin and Chaewon are back from their shopping half-an-hour later; they got you a chocolate fudge cake from Tesco to congratulate you. “You guys are acting like this is my birthday…” you say, eyeing the cake greedily as Chaewon cuts it into three equal parts (even though it says serves eight on the packaging). 

“This is more important than your birthday, Y/N,” Yunjin states as she pours oat milk into three cups of Earl Grey tea. “This is, like, the moment of a lifetime.”

“Are you saying a girl’s importance depends on her having a boyfriend?”

“Yes, Y/N, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Especially when said boyfriend is the guy she’s been pining after for all of her teenage and adult life.”

You sigh. “Well, he hasn’t exactly popped the boyfriend and girlfriend question yet.” They both turn to look at you, an annoyed look on their faces. You stand up straight, uncomfortable under their gazes. “What?”

“Usually, I’m all for clarity on this issue,” Chaewon starts. “But isn’t it pretty obvious here?”

“You’re still gonna have to tell us everything in minute detail, but Jake’s already told us what happened. He had no qualms referring to you as his girlfriend, so I really don’t think this is something you need to worry about. What you should worry about is when and where you’re going to hop on that dick.”

Chaewon bursts into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit. “Gosh, Yunjin, you really do have a way with words.”

“I know. This is what having a Jane Austen hyperfixation at fifteen will do to you.”

Following Yunjin’s orders, you tell them about the events of the previous day and this morning over tea and cake. They ooh and ah and gasp in all the right places, ask you very specific questions and even make you draw a picture of the room you stayed in. You’ve talked to them about Jake so many times that there’s only so much to say now - but still, you talk for hours on end, deviating off-topic so often you end up talking about something else entirely. 

You’re in bed reading for your Middle English Literature class when the doorbell rings. It’s seven on the dot, so it can be no one else other than Jake. It’s been mere hours, but you’ve missed him enough to last you for weeks. 

He brought takeaway from the Indian place you’d raved about a hundred times but hadn’t brought him to yet. Somehow, your heart grows even fonder as you watch his reaction to the food, the raise of his eyebrows, the widening of his eyes, the excited shimmy of his shoulders. When you ask him about his afternoon, a wide smile breaks out onto his face, like a lightbulb illuminating a room. Without a word, he scurries to your room, bringing back some sort of book with him. He hands it to you  with a shy smile and curious eyes, eagerly anticipating your reaction. The cover reads Y/N and Jake in his clumsy but endearing handwriting, with the date of his arrival in Edinburgh and an em-dash scribbled underneath. “I haven’t booked my flight home yet, so I’ll add the second date later,” he explains. 

When you flick through it, you’re met with photographs of you and Jake on all of the trips you’ve done so far, as well as the various adventures you got up to in the city. There’s even one of you sleeping in the library at two am during midterms when you had forgotten about one of your essays, due at midday. Jake had come with coffee and words of encouragement, and now he could brag that the high mark you got was thanks to him. It’s not only photos - it’s also ticket stubs, receipts, stickers, and even a dried flower you had found pretty on your trip to St. Andrews. He’s also written quite a lot, from diary-like entries about what you got up to that day or songs that reminded him of you. 

“You misspelt right here,” you say, pointing to a sentence that reads This is the café write next to the hotel where the last Harry Potter book is said to have been written!!! under a photo of you drinking a massive cup of hot chocolate. The more you look at the typo, the more it makes you laugh, until you have tears brimming in your eyes.

Thanks to Yunjin’s messiness, pens and pencils are strewn over your coffee table. Jake, flushed red in embarrassment at the small mistake, snatches a pencil and aggressively erases write, spelling it correctly the second time around. “This is the level of today’s English Lit undergrads,” he murmurs under his breath. His frown disappears when he looks at you and he laughs along.

You continue looking through the album until you land on a page titled Why I love Y/N. From top to bottom, left to right, it’s filled with Jake’s tiny handwriting. You can tell he put effort into making it neat. There’s a singular photograph of you, one that dates from the first days after Jake’s arrival when you were walking around in the Meadows, the park right next to campus. The sun shone down on you and you smiled brightly at Jake behind the camera.  

You’re not a quarter through reading when tears swell in your eyes, rendering your vision blurry. You wipe them away before they can fall and stain the page. Jake has detailed every last thing he loves about you. It can hardly get cornier than this, but the fact that he wrote this about you makes your heart so full, you’re afraid it might explode in your chest. It ranges from basic things like the way she makes me laugh or her pretty face when she falls asleep in the train (or anywhere, for that matter) to more you-specific things like the strict pastel colour-coding she uses for her notes and her perseverance when eating spicy food even though she can’t take it. He mentions things about you that you didn’t even know, and that feeling of being known in-and-out, of being really seen by someone else only brings more tears to your eyes. Your favourite line comes at the end - the way she makes any place feel like home. A proper sob pushes past your lips at this, and Jake, who had been watching you with an anxious smile, rests a palm on your knee and inches closer to you.

“Why are you crying, is- Did I write something bad?”

You shake your head fervently. “No, no, Jakey, this is… It’s perfect. I’m just…” you trail, letting out a half-sob, half-chuckle. You look at him with a smile before pulling him into a tight hug. “I love it so much. I love you so much.”

You can feel Jake relax against you. “I love you too, baby. I’m glad you like it.”

You pull away after a small while, and turn the next page over. It’s a picture of you over breakfast this morning, with words WE’RE DATING!!!! written underneath it, and those simple words make you so happy, your cheeks ache from smiling. But every page after that is empty. Jake scratches the back of his neck. “I, um, I thought we could fill the rest out together. I debated just doing it myself and giving it to you at the end of the year, but I thought it’d be more fun doing it together.”

“It would. This is such an amazing idea,” you say, flicking back through the pages.

“I thought of it because of that project I had. When I started working on it, all the photos I wanted to include were of you, but I wasn’t sure how much my professor would appreciate that… So I decided to make one more personal. One for us,” he says shyly, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“Thank you so much, Jakey.”

He smiles. “It’s no worries.”

“Did you do it all this afternoon?”

“I had started it before, but I added it most of today, yeah. Which, by the way, awful timing. I wanted nothing more than to spend today with you.”

Your heart leaps. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to hearing such words from Jake’s mouth.

Sometime later, you’re laying in bed with Jake between your legs, watching the most recent animated Spiderman movie. With the tips of your fingers, you draw random patterns on his forearm, and if it wasn’t for his occasional chuckles, you’d think he had fallen asleep. You chat for a bit after the movie, but you find that after such an emotionally-packed day, you’re ready to call it a night fairly early. But when the lights are off and it’s just you lying against Jake’s chest, his fingernails grazing your scalp and his familiar, comforting scent clouding your judgement, all thoughts of an early night are thrown out of the window.

You shouldn’t feel so nervous - you had fallen asleep in his arms last night, and it had gone well. Really well. 

“This is different from yesterday, isn’t it?” Jake suddenly says, breaking the heavy silence with a low voice. It’s like he read your mind.

“Yeah,” you whisper against his skin.

No other words are needed. You brush the tip of your nose along his neck until you reach his jawline, pressing soft kisses there and delighting in the increasing shakiness of his breath. The feeling of your lips meeting is so intense, so all-encompassing, that you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle anything more.

This is still new territory, but you’re both so eager to discover it that it makes for a messy kiss, lips moving against each other ravenously, tongues beckoning moans from the other. It’s a kiss that somehow leaves you breathless and breathes oxygen back into your lungs at once. 

In a matter of seconds, Jake has flipped you on your back and is hovering over you, one hand holding him up and one hand free to roam your body. He slips it underneath your t-shirt, brushes it along the side of your waist, his touch leaving behind a trail of fire blazing on your skin. It’s so distracting, you can’t even kiss him back properly anymore. Jake doesn’t seem to mind. At first, when he starts pressing hot kisses to your jawline and your neck, you think he’s giving you a respite - but when he gently sinks his teeth into the skin there, leaving marks that will later remind you tonight wasn’t a dream, chuckling as you squirm and whine under him, you understand that this is anything but a respite. 

You curse your earlier decision of not wearing a bra, because it gives you no preparation whatsoever to the sensation of Jake brushing his thumb against one of your nipples. With a loud gasp, your back arches off of the bed, which only aids Jake in raising your t-shirt up over your breasts. 

He takes a minute to admire the sight of you panting and half-naked underneath him. It makes you feel shy, and you want to do something so that he stops looking and starts doing, but his gaze holds you in place. His pupils are blown with lust, eyes raking over your body and taking everything in. You have a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that it’s you he’s looking at with those eyes. 

His soft lips attach themselves to your nipple while his fingers continue their work on the other one. You’ve never felt this sensitive, never felt this on edge, like you might fall apart at any second even with so little simulation. Your core throbs, impatiently waiting to be tended to, but you’re already trembling so hard from Jake’s attention to your breasts that you don’t know what will happen to you once he actually touches you down there.

“You doing okay, baby?” he asks, the rasp in his voice making you want him impossibly more. You grip his hair and he looks up at you, a tender smile on his lips. You nod your head yes and he laughs. “Yeah? You want more?” You pause at his question. You do want more, but is it worth your sanity?

It takes you a second to decide that it’s worth that and more. You nod again. 

Jake seems to have sensed your hesitation. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I am. It’s just a lot.”

His expression of worry softens into a smile. “I’ll take it slow for you, love. It’s a lot for me, too.” He leans in to press soft kisses to your cheek, and some of the tension in your body diffuses. Whatever happens, Jake will be there to take care of you. “But it feels good, right?” he asks, lips moving against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“So good, Jakey,” you reply shakily.

“Good.”

You can tell that Jake really does want to take it slow - his movements are more deliberate, gentler. But eagerness, both yours and his, soon takes over, and a minute later, he’s trailing kisses down your body until he reaches your lower stomach. Your breath quickens as he hooks fingers underneath your leggings and underwear, sliding both garments down your legs and leaving you bare to him. You think the feeling of his lips on the fleshy parts of your inner thighs is what might actually do you in, make you lose your sense of reality forever - but then his tongue darts out against your clit, a barely-there touch, and your whole body flatlines. 

Your reaction eggs Jake on, who, more confident now, takes the sensitive bud in his lips and alternates between sucking and licking motions. A knot ties itself embarrassingly quickly in your stomach, a knot that tightens and tightens as Jake flattens his tongue against you, licking up your juices from your entrance to your clit; a knot that threatens to come loose when he slides a long finger inside of you. You can’t take more than thirty seconds of this.

“Jakey,” you say, voice practically a moan. Your brain is fuzzy and it takes a distressing amount of time to form a simple sentence. “Can you come here?”

“Is something wrong, baby?” he asks breathily, sliding his finger out of you and coming back up so that his face is right above yours. 

“No, just… I want you.”

Any trace of worry on Jake’s features dissipates as he cocks an eyebrow, one corner of his lips tugging up into a smirk. “Is that so?”

This kind of boldness would usually have you rolling your eyes, but here, it only makes your core throb more violently. It’s almost humiliating how much you want this man. It’s definitely humiliating, how easy it is to swallow your pride and play into his game. “Yes, please,” you say, eyes pleading with him.

He smiles almost giddily before burying his face against the side of yours. “My baby’s so polite,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Take this off, then,” you say, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt. 

“So she says please and gives orders,” he jokes, quickly obliging anyway. 

Not once in your time apart had Jake posted any sort of beach trip or pool photos, so this was the first time you saw his bare chest. God, was it one for the history books. You trace the defined lines of his muscles with a finger and wonder how he had managed to get even more perfect. He lets you marvel at him for it, clearly proud that you’re gawking so shamelessly, but your mind drifts back to more urgent matters when he presses himself into you, his clothed cock, hard and hot, brushing against your folds. “Fuck,” you sigh, bucking your hips into his to feel him over and over again.

It’s so much, but it’s not enough; Jake instantly gets your message when you hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, pulling him to you and kissing him feverishly. Your lips don’t part as he slides his boxers off, and you drink up the nectar that are his moans as you take him in your hand, pumping him a few times.

“Condom?” he asks, but you shake your head.

“I’m on the pill. And even so… I usually always use a condom, but I don’t want to now. Not with you.”

Jake closes his eyes as he takes a deep, stabilising breath. “I feel totally normal about that. Not crazy at all.”

You giggle, and he opens his eyes, a wide smile gracing his lips before he bends down to kiss you. “You ready for the night of your life?” he asks against your lips. “It’s gonna last five minutes, tops,” he says, making you laugh again. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t do anything about it. I think I could’ve cum just from eating you out.”

“That would’ve been hot.”

“Really? We’ll make it a challenge for next time, then.”

When Jake plunges into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He fills you up, slow inch by slow inch, until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. You both need some time getting used to the feeling - Jake drops his head in the crook of your neck and lets out a sound between a grunt and a moan, something you’ve never heard from him before. You grab onto his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as you try to tether yourself to him. You hold him so tight that he has no choice but to let his body rest on top of yours, his arms coming to circle your waist and bring you even closer. 

His movements start out halting, the pleasure so overwhelming that it makes it hard for him to move steadily. In time, he falls into a torturously slow rhythm, but it’s the perfect kind of torture, the kind that has tears brimming in your eyes. It’s so hard to take, and yet you want more. You’re brought closer to the edge with every thrust of his dick into you, especially as he picks up the pace and lifts your hips to meet his. The new angle has his tip brushing against that spot deep inside you that makes it hard to breathe. 

You can tell he’s just as close as you when he loses that steady rhythm he had found, his motions growing more desperate, harsher, quicker. Conscious of your roommates, you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as your orgasm washes over you, your whole body on fire, so sensitive that the few more seconds Jake needs to come undone himself drive both your body and your mind into overstimulation. Even the feeling of him pulling out, drops of hot liquid dripping out of your entrance, is too much and makes you let out a small, tired whine. 

Jake peppers your face with kisses as he holds your waist tightly, brushing his thumb back-and-forth on your warm skin, sticky with sweat. “You did so well, baby. So good for me.” You think you might be ready for a second round if he keeps talking to you like that. “I love you so much.”

You sigh deeply, as if you were just told disconcerting news. “Okay.”

“Okay?!” he echoes, looking up at you with an outraged expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, I love you too, I just- I’m not used to this yet! You can’t just tell me you love and expect me to be normal. You have to warn me first.”

“Can I just warn you now that I’m going to tell you I love you every time I get the chance?”

You sigh. “I guess.” 

“Can I tell you now?” he asks, and you hum. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Jake tuts. “I highly doubt it, but whatever makes you happy.”

You hold Jake close to you, one arm around his shoulders and the other hand playing with his hair as you come down from your high. You think he might’ve fallen asleep, and you’re close to drifting off yourself when he speaks. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Not just the sex, although that has been on my mind for a while now,” he says, making you laugh, “but all of this. Being together, getting to be in your arms like this, kissing you whenever I want. Calling you my girlfriend.”

“Me too, Jakey. I waited so long I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

Jake chuckles. “How stupid were we not to have noticed we felt the same way?”

“Very stupid. I think we felt so sorry for ourselves that we were stuck in one-sided love, that we didn’t even realise the other was going through the exact same thing. But at least we’re now.”

“At least we’re here now.” You and Jake yawn at the exact same time, making you burst into giggles, giddy with sleep and love.

“Let’s sleep, baby,” you say.

Jake hums, burying himself deeper against your body. “Sleep well, my love. I’ll be here.”

--

After years of pining after each other, you and Jake find it a bit hard to keep your relationship to yourselves, or your hands off of each other.

At the beginning, all of your friends had been happy for you, but that quickly went away when your and Jake’s honeymoon phase never died down and the PDA just kept on going. If the glue you were stuck with previously was metaphorical, this one was pretty close to being real. Superglue kept you together, your moments together rarely spent without some sort of physical touch. Yunjin fake-gagged so often, you were afraid she might actually vomit one of these days. It took Sunghoon two weeks longer than everyone else to clock you and Jake had started dating.

This meant that in private, there was truly no holding back. Jake back-hugged you any chance he got, to the point you started to think he was more koala than human - although that’d imply he saw you as a tree. Make-out sessions were a particular favourite of yours - how could they not be when your boyfriend’s lips seemed to have been carved by God himself, soft and plump to the heavens, like they were made to be kissed. Really, you were just honouring God’s will when you kissed Jake.  

The goodbye that comes at the end of the year is not an easy one, and the month spent at home before you fly to Korea seems to never end. But you get there eventually, and as nice as it is to catch up with Jake’s parents after so long, you feign sleepiness after lunch as an excuse to get some time alone with your boyfriend. Ironically, this “time alone” is spent so intensely that you do end up falling asleep afterwards. 

You have to admit, you really did a number on your boyfriend this time - what can a girl do when she missed her boyfriend this much? Jake is still passed out when you wake up from your nap, so you slip out as discreetly as you can from his embrace and get out of bed. You head for the closet first and swipe the comfiest looking sweater of his that you find there so you can stay warm as you look around his room. A pang of melancholia hits your chest - most of the pictures and objects on his walls and shelves are parts of his life you weren’t around to witness. Friends you don’t recognize, places you’ve never heard of, phases you’d never known he’d gone through. But then you see the frame on his desk, a faded photo of the two of you at ten years of age, eating ice cream on the bench outside of your house. Milo is sitting at your feet. Jake’s family hadn’t adopted Layla yet. You realise that even if there’s whole parts of your life you didn’t get to share with each other, nothing could touch your memories, or your future.

You want to go back in time and tell fourteen-year-old you that no matter how painful it might seem at the moment, it will all be worth it for the sight of Jake Sim slowly drifting into wakefulness, patting the bed next to him, and noticing you’re missing with furrowed eyebrows. When he opens his eyes and they settle on you, a sleepy smile will grace his dazzling features, and he’ll say, “Come back to bed.”

You’ll be even more in love at twenty than at fourteen.

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz (ask to be removed/added!)

© asahicore on Tumblr, 2023. please do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works. support your creators by reblogging and leaving feedback!

[starsainzjr]

Baker's Dozen

Pairing: Toto Wolff x baker!reader Faceclaim: None Requested: yes no

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mercedesamgf1 Silverstone

Liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 509,074 others

mercedesamgf1 Always a pleasant day when the real boss comes to visit! Thank you for the sweet treats, @/yourusername and @/brackleybakery!

View all 13,927 comments

yourusername My favorite clients! Thank you for letting me be the good luck charm!

lewishamilton I have never, nor will ever, have a better vegan cake than yours

yourusername It's only that good because you were my taste tester georgerussell63 It was vegan????? yourusername You're lucky you're good at driving carmenmundt And pretty georgerussell63 Is all I'm good for my looks? carmenmundt 🤷‍♀️

wolffie YN is the true queen of Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team

forzaformula YN is the queen of the grid, let's be real without ourselves here

l.h.eight She makes them accommodating for Lewis I can't do this that's adorable

totos92 I am going to miss YN and Lewis content so bad

yourusername Silverstone

Liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63 and 30,846 others

yourusername It's rare that I get out of the kitchen but when I do it's to celebrate with my favorite people. And annoy my husband while he's trying to work

View all 3,147 comments

mercedesamgf1 If we could hire you as our onsite baker we would

yourusername I do not doubt it for a single second

georgerussell63 What, I don't get a spot in the post?

yourusername You hid every time I had my phone out carmenmundt It's true I watched you dive behind a pile of tyres yourusername See? I have witnesses georgerussell63 Fine

lewishamilton I didn't even see you take that

yourusername I'm sneaky

l.h.eight He looks so happy 😭

totos92 Queen YN strikes again this weekend

wolffie YN and Toto are actually goals I cannot be convinced otherwise

brackleybakery Brackley, England

Liked by yourusername, carmenmundt, georgerussell63 and 2,792 others

brackleybakery We are pleased to announce that Brackley Bakery will be opening a second location in London!

Doors will open on 15th October 2024. We look forward to seeing everyone on opening day!

yourusername Brackley Bakery

Liked by carmenmundt, georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and 30,927 others

yourusername Trying out some new recipes for the second location! Featuring Toto's reaction when ten boxes of cookies showed up at his office captured by @/georgerussell63 thank you for my new blackmail picture

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georgerussell63 Anything for the Queen 🫡

yourusername 🫡 carmenmundt As if you didn't benefit greatly from it

mercedesamgf1 We will be your taste testers any time you need us

lewishamilton Thank you for the vegan box

yourusername I hope you got those ones to yourself lewishamilton @/georgerussell63 tried to steal a few georgerussell63 I did not! I realized they were vegan and promptly put them back down

l.h.eight What I wouldn't give to have ten boxes of cookies made by YN

wolffie Party at Brackley Bakery to get some of these cookies who's in

mercedesamgf1 London, England

Liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, yourusername and 687,055 others

mercedesamgf1 The boys are on the way to support YN Wolff and the opening of the new @/brackleybakery location! So proud of our Queen on this special day!

View all 20,763 comments

yourusername So beyond grateful for the support today! Thank you boys, thank you team!

lewishamilton Particularly excited for the vegan section

georgerussell63 Tell our physios not to look

carmenmundt You better be bringing me back some treats I swear to God georgerussell63 I will bring you back one of everything

l.h.eight I cannot believe we only have like two months left of this content

wolffie No literally it causes me physical pain that we'll be seeing Lewis in red next year. It doesn't feel right

totos92 Crying for the YN and Toto content we're going to get today

yourusername Brackley Bakery

Liked by carmenmundt, georgerussell63, lewishamilton and 44,873 others

yourusername This has truly been one of the best days of my life. Thank you to everyone who has helped me in opening this second location of @/brackleybakery. Including @/mercedesamgf1 and both @/lewishamilton and @/georgerussell63. And last but not least, my wonderful loving husband. I give him a lot of shit on here, but he truly is my favorite person on the planet and I could not have done any of this without him. I love you, Schat.

Comments on this post have been limited

mercedesamgf1 Mercedes family has expanded! So so proud of you!

lewishamilton You deserve all the success that has come to you!

georgerussell63 Best croissants in the city tbh

yourusername High praise, high praise. Only higher if it were coming from Pierre pierregasly No no, he's right. They are

carmenmundt You are the best! So so many good things coming your way!

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All photos from Pinterest, Instagram, or Google Images

[on-the-clear-blue]

So you know how there is a common fan theory that ghosts go through their death again on their death day? What about Jason going through it?

Feeling angsty crew, prepare yourselves

Trigger warnings: Jason death and all that comes with that, SA implications.

---

The first time it had happened it was in a LOA base, still catatonic and barely speaking, Jason was forced to train through the dark bruises that slowly appeared on his body, from his ribs and chest, to his fingers getting bent and crooked.

His trainers watched, not filled with concern but curiosity, an effect such a this had not been seen in the leauge in some time

As smoke was coughed up from his lungs and as bits of his flesh turned the same ghastly green as the pits, they watched, documenting it, unable to look away as the man boy seized and went still, finally.

---

The second time it happened, Jason was in Gotham, set up in a safe house, sirens and gun shots ringing out into the night, the sounds of his childhood.

He hadn't planned to stay long, only stopping by the safe house to grab a restock of ammo

Then came the phantom pains, tightness around his wrists, a deep, ever increasing sense of dread.

Jason staggered at the first ghostly strike to his head, hands flashing to his guns, scanning the room for what ever invisible foe that had struck him.

The next blow brought Jason to his knees, it hurt, oh God did it hurt, his head was pounding in a way that he barely remembered.

The feeling of his ribs crack robbed him of breath, a bone spur puncturing his lung, then came his hands, finger bones broke one at a time.

Jason curled himself up in a ball, just as he tired to years ago, tears streaming down his face under the metallic hood. The ticking demination of a clock ringing cruelly in his ears.

Then came the explosion, leaving his ears bleeding, eardrums ruptured, brain addled even more than the blunt force trauma caused.

With broken hands, Jason struggled to take off his helmet, as smoke poured out of his already damaged lungs. Smoke that clogged the helmet filters, that trapped it all around his face.

Jason Todd died a third time, the same way as the first two time that night.

---

It was a few years after the first time (that he remembered), that he found himself on a very bad day, he had found out that it always happened on the day he died, and he still didn't know what God had cursed him to relive it over and over again.

To add even more crap to his shittiest day, he was stuck in Wayne Manor.

The sense of dread was running though him, his hands were shaking terribly as he tried to just get away but his body wouldnt listen, he needed to leave get to his room, any room, hid away from his family, he didnt want them to see him like this didnt need them to be worried for him, he was so stupid, so idiotic to have forgotten what day it was, so wrapped up in having his family again that he forgot his curse.

---

Dick had a smile on his lips as he was about to jokingly throw a gaming controller at Jason, knowing he would likely start something to get his gaggle of siblings to do something together.

Yet it never left his hands, as he noticed Jason's eyes had gone glassy, a distant look in them, and a dull green sheen emanating from them.

Fear wormed it's way through him, Pit episodes had become less and less of a thing with his brother, something he was more than happy to see, but...this didn't seem to be the same thing.

Sending a concerned look to Tim, who has just walked into the room, even though he hoped (he thought they were over these, that Jason was getting better) Dick waved him back, if this was actually a Pit episode, he didnt need Jason to go off on Tim anymore than he had in the past.

Slowly approached his brother, Dick saw his eyes look into the middle distance, lost in his own head, "Littlewing? Jay I-I didnt..." His hand moved cautiously, coming into Jason's space and-

He flinched...Hard. Eyes flashing up at Dick but not seeing him, stuck deep in something else

Dicks heart dropped, Jason hadn't flinched when he had tried to touch him in years, not since a small boy in a ratty red hoodie was in Dicks old room, crying as he begged to not be sent back to the streets for them to "P-please don't t-touch me...I-Im sorry I-ill be good I promise"

But the words that came from Jason were far more haunting than what he uttered in fear, a voice hoarse and small came from him, slurred and heady with pain "Just...just let her go...C-can do anything to me...j-just let mom go..."

Bile, that was all Dick could taste as he held back what wanted to come up, he knew in a second what Jason was seeing, who Dick was to Jason's mind, trapped in memories.

He didn't know when he took a step back, didn't know when he had pulled away from his little brother until his back hit the wall, taking a shaky breath he forced himself back, He needed to be there, be there for his brother unlike...unlike last time.

"Jaybird it's me, Dickie? Jason..." he reached out agian, only to cringe back as his little brother flinch back, curling in on himself, his head tucked between his legs.

Dick didn't know Jason could look so small still, a distant thought bubbling up about maybe that's why he got so big, so he could never be that small again...but yet he was...

And Dick Hated It.

His hands fumbled for his phone, his fingers felt like lead, and all he could do is dial Ina number.

"Dad? Jason needs you..."

---

Bruce tore through the halls of his home with a fervor, his mind spinning with thoughts, from Dick’s description of what was happening this was a Pit episode of some sort, far different than any he had seen before.

The halls of his home never felt so long and never felt so claustrophobic.

Old demons in his mind cackled, bringing back the doubts of himself...if only he was just a little faster, a little less prideful...

Coming into the den, Bruce scanned the room, seeing his eldest kneeling by Jason, trying to be soothing while not touching him.

Dick face was hard and worried when he looked up at Bruce.

They shared a silent conversation, ending with Bruce taking Dick place on the floor, Dick in turn leaving to try and figure what was happening.

"Jaylad, Sweetheart, you have to breath, Jason?" It hurt to see his son flinch as he reached out, but Bruce pressed on, his fingers softly pressing against his son's pulse point on his wrist.

Dread spreads across Bruce's mind as he can hardly find a pulse, pulling his hand back the dread turns to horror as he see red and deep blue bruises start to from across Jason's face.

His eyes were open, dull instead of the bright they should be, his breathing sounded forced and-

It was his nightmares all over again.

Pushing past the fear, Bruce forced himself to pick Jason up, holding his dear boy so...so close to his chest, jaw shaking as he rushed through the halls once again.

He can't let his son die in his arms yet again.

---

Hours later, Bruce watches as Leslie called time of death, they did everything they could but it wasnt enough...his mind is disconnected from his body, a deep dark numbness burns within him and he just can't understand why...

Why the world seems to determined to make his family suffer? What had he done other than try and help, to cure the throbbing cancer that is Gotham? To help his fellow man live better and be happy...

His numbly looks around the med area, his children gathered, Dick is crying onto Cass's shoulder, Cass herself has tears but she refuses to shed them, Duke held his head in his hands, small shakings in his shoulders could only be crying, Stephanie was by Leslie, demanding answers and what happened with emotions think in her voice

Tim wasn't there, he was on the other side of the cave, running through data files, looking for anything that could cure this...Bruce would need to tell him to stop, that it was already over.

And Damian...his youngest just stood there, arms crossed and...politely blank was all Bruce could see, no mourning as the others. Just...waiting.

He was the only one not shocked when Jason groaned, sat up, cursed and promptly fell back onto the bed.

---

Damian sauntered over to where they had placed Todd, all of them still so careful with him, as if he would up and fall dead if someone was to as much as sneeze in his direction.

"Tt, Honestly it is as if they don't know this happens every year..." His own reliving of his deaths was far less dramatic.

Todd had the gall to look at him with confusion, and it took a moment for Damian to realize what his look ment "You never told them did you, Tt...Typical" shaking his head, Damian sat next to Jason's has-been death bed.

"Not all of us brought back from the dead suffer so spectacularly as you do Todd, as Jon would say...I believe this is a *Skill Issue*? Hashtag get good?" He didn't use the lingo lightly,

And of course, instead of being offended as he should, Todd just stared dumbly at him "This is when you banter, or has your repeated blunt force truama to the head bludgeoned you into stupidity?"

Shaking his head, Damian tutted "Clearly I have to do everything in this poor excuse for a social interaction" clearing his throat Damian put on a deeper voice as to mimic Jason "Shut it Demon Brat. I do truly hate that nickname. Oh woe is me why am i just a little bitch that can only suffer. Worry not dearest fuck up of a human being I can help you. Oh glory be you, you turly the greatest Robin. Oh only you say it now~"

Damian gave a dead pan stare at Todds slackjawed look, "Shut it, Jon is rubbing off and me and i cant for the life of me make it stop...but honestly if you wish to know more, seek out Phantom, though...you look pathetic enough that he might just find you first."

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

If you already made a request like this or if this request makes you uncomfortable in some way you can just ignore it, I don't mind

Could I request a headcanon with the Octavinelle trio, Idia and Malleus with a s/o who's always wearing clothes that cover as much of their body as possible? Like hodies, pants, long skirts, etc

But one day s/o finally takes the courage to tell and show the reason for that. The reason is that s/o has various scars across their body and they're pretty insecure of them (you don't need to specify where they came from)

Love your work and hope you have a great day 💜

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul understood perfectly well how it felt to be insecure about your body. While your issues didn’t perfectly align, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand at least part of your pain, though he tried to keep that secret close to his chest while he comforted you. He assured you that your sense of style had class and that’s why the other students didn’t get it, imploring you to ignore the rumors as only you had the right to pick what suited you best. He doesn’t know if there’s a way to help you gain confidence but he would try to support you to the best of his ability.  

Floyd Leech:

Floyd did notice your fashion choices but it had never bothered him, he just figured land-dwellers had their own thing going on and thought nothing else of it. Scars, however, were cool as hell in his eyes and he told you to show them off more often, even if it was just to him. He’s interested in the story behind them but even he shows tact at times, or perhaps he was simply distracted, but either way he didn’t push the subject much further. He’s already threatening enough that most people aren’t stupid enough to speak poorly of you when he’s around, so you could at least have that peace of mind.

Idia Shroud:

Idia had never questioned your fashion sense even when others might’ve, as he was used to rumors or gossip spreading about him. He never suspected he’d unlock another portion of your potentially tragic backstory, avoiding direct eye contact with your scars to avoid being rude. He thinks it’ s true that everyone has scars, some more visible than others, and hiding them away is another form of defense. He quietly appreciated the level up in trust, becoming more vocal if he heard people speaking negatively about your clothing choices.

Jade Leech:

Jade had sneaked peaks of scarred skin once or twice but had never questioned it, happy to smile on and pretend he saw nothing until the right moment strikes for him to ask. He’s highly aware of the rumors being spread, listening to each carefully and locating their sources for further investigation. He can see how easily you’re bothered by the words of others and when you finally tell him about your scars, he began to understand Floyd’s ‘protective instincts’ a little more. Thankfully he had already done the work of finding out who was causing your stress and he'd have them handled in no time at all.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus listened intently to your story, hiding the anger gathering deep in his chest as he remembered all the rumors that drove you to confess this now. He had no doubt he could shut them down but the pain they had inflicted on you was already clear, meaning he was just a tad too late to completely protect you. He won’t make that same mistake again, stroking your hair and soothing you as he thought of the best ways to strike at your foes quickly, in a way that would assure their silence without drawing too much attention back to him.

[mytokyodebunker]

Asking The Ghouls To Do Your Hair

Frostheim

Jin Kamurai

Jin… Doesn't know. Probably hands it off to Tohma- I'm just joking…UNLESS-. He's actually pretty caring of others so he might learn one or two different braids but that's it. He seems like he's probably good at putting your hair in a clip or a bun but nothing else.

Tohma Ishibashi

Tohma…..He would be good at it probably. If not, then surprise!!! He is now. He's used to taking care of Jin anyways, adding hairstyles or braiding to that list wouldn't be that bad.

Kaito Fuji

Kaito would absolutely love to do it but he would probably be bad at it. He's SCREAMING at the fact that he's touching your hair with your permission, extremely happy the entire time. Might be confused during the process but he's not complaining at all.

Lucas 'Luca' Errant

He doesn’t know but won't give up until he knows every hairstyle humanly possible. Every time he asks you with earnest eyes to let him practice again, and every hairstyle is more elaborate than the last. The process is always long and painful on your scalp, but the end result never disappoints!

Vagastrom

Alan Mido

Our young grandpa himbo. We all know he wouldn't know how and he would rather not accidentally hurt you in any way, even if you flinch at the slightest tug, he'll stop immediately.

Leo Kurosagi

Leo knows different hair styles, but doesn't know how to execute it. He knows what's trending and what looks good on a person. Little bastard wouldn't give the advice until you mess up though.

Shohei 'Sho' Haizono

He wouldn't know until he get comfortable with your hair and he'll pick up on it after awhile. The type to learn quickly. Alternatively, he does Leo's hair when Leo makes him do it, and he always does a good job. Very gentle.

He also strikes me as Leo's unwilling makeup artist and lighting/photoshoot assistant so you know that he has some sort of experience.

Jabberwock

Haru Sagara

He's the best person to ask if you want someone to brush your hair nicely (and quickly), since he's the one who grooms all the animals at Jabberwock. Can't do much else to your hair - maybe add a bow? Would still somehow injure himself in the process though.

Towa Otonashi

Surprisingly good at hair. Would probably also put flowers in it too while he's doing it. Sunny sunny day the entire time....may or may not eat the flowers while it's in your hair. He knows One (1) style and proceeds to make everyone he can get his hands on look like a fairy princess. There's no choice.

Ren Shiranami

Doesn't know. Doesn't WANT to know. Frankly, he is offended you asked him. He hasn't touched a comb in ages, his hair is short enough and it'll get messed up again anyway.

If anything, you would be combing his hair. But be warned, he will loudly complain whenever you get the comb caught on a tangle.

Sinostra

Taiga Hoshibami

Taiga….Nope. He will pull and tug on your hair. Forget anything about braiding or any hair styles, he'll fuck up your hair worse than you ever could. Taiga would rip your hair out or else cut the tangles out with scissors if you ever asked.

Romeo Lucci

He had strong opinions about your hair (and the rest of your look) from the start, so if you let him he'll give you a full makeover.

he'll know what your face shape needs and wash & style your hair nicely, then complain that your skin is crap and give you a facial and apply your makeup, then put you in a better outfit so that your shitty clothes don't ruin his hard work. Then make you work the casino floor because his services don't come for free and no he won't pay you. Do you have any idea how much the perfume you're wearing costs?

Ritsu Shinjo

Doesn't know. Could learn. Will he though? Probably not, it's nothing he needs to be a lawyer. If you insist, then he proceeds to over-gel your hair while you die inside. Later, he'll genuinely ask why you haven't asked him a second time.

Hotarubi

Subaru Kagami

Subaru would say he doesn’t know anything about hair but if you insist then maybe he'll just brush it out for you, but secretly he probably knows all of the theatre hairstyles for kabuki. He prefers leaving your hair loose though.

Haku Kusanagi

He can, and is ridiculously smooth at it too. No head pain, can tell if you've got a sensitive scalp, knows all of the staple styles - ponytail, bun, braid. It's strangely therapeutic to get your hair done by him, like spending time with a big sibling.

Zenji Kotodama

Zenji would make some rendition of maiko and geisha hairstyles but with his own spin on it, but it will take hours and your scalp will be screaming at you and he won't shut up all through the process. He would spout off poetry while at it. Might sing too. If you don't like his voice, too bad he's doing it every time he does your hair if he gets the chance.

Mortkranken

Yuri Isami

He insists that he, a genius doctor, is adept at everything that requires dexterity, but he refuses to spend his incredibly precious time braiding your hair. Suggest he's not actually that good, and he'll change tune. He'll sit you down and plait your hair with perfect surgical precision (ha), then demand endless praise and fawning.

Jiro Kirisaki

Doesn’t know. Probably hasn't used a comb before. He could learn, but that's so much effort. Thinks it'd be easier for both of you if you just cut it all off.

Obscuary

Rui Mizuki

Rui won't touch your hair, because he's worried about his curse, but he'd notice right away when you change your hair. He'll happily compliment it, and might suggest hairstyles he'd love to see you wear in the future.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Door.7 ~ Riding out in the morning ~

Emperor Geta x wife!reader

warning : fluff, kissing, comfort, mention of war

Summary : Running an empire wasn't easy, not when you have to take care of your damaged brother and keep the people happy. But in the little free time he had, he had one who stood by him, and with the rising of the sun, two people from the palace faded into love.

info : If Caracalla had a day, then of course Geta had to have a day too, have fun ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rome was a world power, an empire that would last forever, something that had been fought for since father and his ancestors. All the emperors Rome had seen had contributed to its preservation in one way or another, be it conquests, the building of monuments or alliances.

But above all it was Geta's and Caracall's brutal conquests of the lands, which had continued since the beginning of their ascension to the throne.

For fear of losing all this, they preferred to strike first before they didn't get anything, a tactic that was risky and became more difficult each time, ,,We have to make another move by the end of the fall, only then can the troops rest” his decision was still echoed in the senate.

Hours had passed and Geta could not be swayed, Caracalla was also of the opinion that a final blow that would provide them with the necessary supplies was a good end to the year, but the senate had been holding out for days and Acacius was not exactly keen on having to set off again.

Since then there seemed to be no sign of Geta, his brother or the empress, who tried to take the weight off her husband and brother-in-law as best she could, ,,Find them and bring them this,” she said again to a servant as she had a small tray of food and small charms prepared.

Geta didn't want to burden her, didn't want her in the senate for fear she would succumb to melancholy, but his loss was the greater pain now especially as the temperatures were dropping for a long time, summer was ending and fall would be short. Winter would come soon and then Rome would have to survive a difficult time.

A time that also hit her when she once again fell asleep alone in Geta's room, her own bed too empty for her to sleep in...until the creaking of the large door startled her and a figure approached her in the dark and she pulled the covers tighter around her.

But in the light of an oil lamp she saw who it was, ,,A fright from your own husband? Are we already such strangers?” he asked, but the small smile on his lips made her relax as she scrambled to the edge of the bed and felt his arms around her.

Finally feeling him again, his heartbeat, his warmth and love, ,,You're finally back,” she murmured into his chest as she slowly disengaged and saw that it was almost light outside again, a look that Geta followed and he pulled her from the bed, ,,I thought a few hours of being together under the morning sun might do us some good,” he said, pulling his wife out of the palace with him.

The horses were already saddled in the stables as the emperor and his wife rode out of the first city and onto the dew-covered expanse, ,,The gods send us blessings!” she called out as his hand slid to her and they both watched the sunrise.

The liquid gold covered them both as they could finally be together in peace, hands held, kisses exchanged and no need to worry about anything happening. They were finally together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@cottoncandiescupcakes , @potatoesenpaii , @k-yurieee

[alexander-23]

Come Home

A/N: This made me so happy to write because I’ve missed writing and I know what happens next since it’s my story lol. Anyways, sorry for any grammar issues, I’ve got the sprinkle of dyslexia and such and messes with me lol. Part two is coming soon!

TW: angst, mention of torture, mention of injuries, fluff, fear, comment if I missed anything please

Masterlist

Not many know, but Ambessa and I have been an item for quite some time now. At first, the secrecy was due to the fling, then emotions taking hold and she couldn't risk the damage to her reputation, now it's to keep me from being a pawn in war against her. I understand, if I was in her position and they took her from me, I'd be weak, my emotions coming into play, controlling my actions. I would do anything, even lose a war and all power if it meant she was alive and safe. I understand Ambessa’s need for secrecy. We simply want to protect each other this way, and it works for us.

Ambessa is extra protective of me because I’m not like her, not a fighter. I know enough to defend myself until I can get help, it was a requirement from Ambessa, to ease her nerves. She is the all mighty warlord of Noxus, feared by many, and she has many enemies. Ambessa was the one to train me until she was satisfied with my skill level. If I was a soldier of hers, she would have pushed me harder, but when I reasoned with her, she understood my role in war was far from enemy lines, a safer place where fighting was barely even needed, at least for her army. I played my part in wars though, typically her strategist, and a good one at that. Ambessa appreciates my input when planning, I always think of things she doesn't, my mind thinking of things that would keep her safe when she is fighting for her life and victory. War strategy was never something I saw myself doing, but it became a talent when I realized I enjoyed the research; more so when it meant I was contributing to the protection of my love.

The day of the war was stressful to say the least. Ambessa always gives me five minutes to share my feelings, my concerns and clingy behavior, talking through my anxiety about her going into battle, scared she won't come back. She knows my concern isn't about my belief in her abilities, but rather the fears that scream in my head out of love for her. She displays a gentleness no one else has ever seen, something for my eyes only. Cupping of my cheek, arm around my torso that pulls me close, and her soothing voice reassuring me of her return, but validating my feelings. She will pepper my face with kisses before I help her with her armor, and her with mine. This was a month ago and the last time I saw her.

While she was fighting, a team made a strike on us in our camp, taking me as well as a few others. I don’t remember much of the ambush, just some yelling, a hit to the back of my head, then everything went black. Now its a month later and I'm stumbling through the battlefield. I can feel the dirt under my bare feet, a cool breeze causing a shiver to run through my body. They had stripped me of my armor and kept it, the armor Ambessa had made specially for me, an extra layer of protection from weapons and any environment our battles brought us to. I’m thinner from the lack of food I was given to scrounge on when they felt it was time to feed me, which wasn’t often enough. My body is covered in cuts and bruises from the interrogations as they called them trying to get information out of me, but I gave them nothing. I’m frigid, weak, and exhausted, but I push on, determined to get back to the love of my life, my safe haven.

When I look up, I can see our base camp far in the distance, it’s so close, but so far still. Smoke rises from what must be fires in the camp, and torches at the entrance to the camp. I want to scream out for help, anything to get their attention, but I can’t. My voice is so weak from my screams of pain when I was being tortured, my voice doesn’t even reach five feet in front of me, but I keep trying.

“Hel-“ *I immediately cough, but try again, “Help”.

I can just barely see movement up by the entrance, hoping they will see me and help me. I keep pushing forward, scared as my vision starts to blur.

“H-help”

The edges of my vision start to fade and I trip over my feet and fall to the ground, too weak to move again.

“H-h-help”

I look towards the camp while I lie on the ground, my eyes are starting to water. My eyes shut for a long period of time, but when I finally open them again, I see a shadowed figure running towards me. Tears stream down my cheeks as they get close, but my vision starts to go black again.

[cevherien]

Our blood stains the future and my tortured senses

Yandere!Ellie Williams, | chp, i.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ After your mental decline and inevitable psychological collapse, Ellie gives you a taste of your new life, and whats more to come.

warnings. Smut, Porn With Plot, Yandere, Angst, Fluff, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy. Vaginal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Finger Sucking, Lesbian Sex, ww, Sapphic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality Stockholm Syndrome,

a/n: finally out omg,,, chapter zero (of sorts) is here

Ellie knew she didn't have any other choice one way or the other, when the time came, she'd have to do it. Take you away, keep you somewhere safe from all that could harm you.

The musky, airless basement never felt this claustrophobic since your arrival; getting you to the edge with never ending panic attacks where you'd hold yourself back not to hyperventilate much and use up whatever breathable air was left in this hell hole. Lack of oxygen in your lungs making you feel dizzy and weaker than you already felt.

You were sick and hungry, enraged and betrayed. Cheeks stained with your dried tears, nose runny and mouth dry. It was a cold night. Fear and hunger getting the best of you.

How long has it been since Ellie, the girl you thought was the love of your life, the girl who couldn't dare hurt a single hair on your body had kidnapped you?

Days? Weeks? Years even? You've lost your sense of time here in this basement. The only thing you know for sure is that you lost the strength in you. At first you'd fight back, scream, refuse to eat or drink. Not speaking to her whatsoever, denying her of everything. Not even sparing her a glance.

Ellie was calm and collected throughout this entire process. Even to your surprise, since you know how violent and outraged she got when frustrated.

And oddly she wouldn't do anything to you against your will, at first atleast. Seemingly waiting for your outbursts and meltdowns to come to an end, then she'd strike.

Resolve fully broken, half conscious laying down on the cold concrete of the pit you dare call a basement, with the occasional visit of Ellie to check up on you to see if you're okay. Well shit you're not. Not since the day of your arrival.

You don't even remember her previous visits down, how she'd inject you of something after you completely reject any kind of supplement or food from her, or how she'd try to talk you out of your 'stubbornness' and how you needed to 'accept things as they are now'.

Nightmares and hallucinations, your mind must've been playing tricks on you with the isolation and your situation doing numbers on your mental. Seeing visions from the corner of your eye and waking up screaming in the middle of.. you don't even know. Going through psychosis while your brain blocks out the memories of your stay here from how harsh they had an affect on you, well naturally.

You don't remember anything she has told you throughout her visits or even when you had first opened your eyes to this place. It's all in a haze, memories foggy and grey. Dozing off whenever she tries to speak to you, closing off your senses as a defense mechanism.

Which, also near blocked your good memories with her, your past normalcy and happiness.

You felt dirty, head to toe. Not only by your physical state but your mental and psychological state too. How could she dehumanize you like this?

This couldn't be love, how could it ever be. But you were starting to believe it was.

-

Ellie knew she didn't have any other choice and one way or the other she'd have to do it. Take you away, keep you somewhere safe from all that could harm you.

It broke her heart too, seeing you in pain like that. But she had to, for your own good. It's all because she loves you and wants to protect you, wants you on her side forever. She just loved too much, cut her some slack. As if.

She gave you the alone time that you needed to accept your new circumstances, gave you her patience and her time too. Knew you'd crumble at one point. Come crawling back to her like you always do.

Ellie unlocks the trapdoor leading downstairs, to the basement, to your prison, coming in to do her daily check in. You were at your usual spot curled up, fingers cold and your skin an unhealthy pale yellow.

Walking towards you with the daily syringe of supplements, she kneels before your corpse-like spent body. You feel her presence and the movement, making you jump up -with much or less what energy you got left- but instead of pushing her away or kicking your feet, tears dwell your lash line. Tired. Worn out.

What would standing against this do you any good? You had no resistance left.

And guess, it was about time you get out of that shell now. Took you long enough, 5 weeks to be exact, but she'd happily wait five more if it means to be with you forever afterwards.

Her hand reaches out to cup your left cheek, you don't pull away. Shivering under her still perfectly intimate touch, even after everything she's done, still as warm as the day you fell in love with her for the first time.

”Oh angel..” you sniffle as her thumb soothingly caresses your chin. Softly nuzzling against her palm, you let loose a sob. A single tear roll down your cheeks, then one more, and more.

”Ellie,“ you sniffle between each word, ”Ellie I'm so exhau– sob `m so exhausted, please,“

Weary eyes settle on her relieved and content ones, almost like a puppy finally getting it's much anticipated treat. Restless nights has finally paid off.

”Come here,“ she pulls you into her arms, squeezing you tight almost as if you could slip away from her grasp, ”finally decided to be good now, princess?“

You nod your head like a makeshift bubblehead, ”Please.. please,“ almost like you were at the brink of another mental collapse- as if there was anything left to break down, all was in ruins anyway.

Her nose buried into your neck, feeling you all so close. Even though you smell like rust, dried blood and sweat, even your foul odor relaxing her muscles. Your filth wasn't something she was repulsed by, seen and felt way worse anyway. You were her divinity, every aspect of you was flawless. Even your perfect imperfections.

She pulls away after remaining like this for some time, then pushes your greasy unkept hair behind your ear and softly whispers, ”I'm so glad baby, so so glad honey.“

Feeling lightheaded by her breath hot on your face, soon you find yourself pressed against her wet mouth, lips warm and soft against your chapped dirty ones. You let her guide your lips, losing yourself in her touch, not even realizing how drowsy you've been getting. Slowly feeling yourself slip away. Passing out on her arms

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

-

The distant but close sound of still water and the warm embrace of the bathtub pick at you to open your eyes, faintly. Lids still half closed you try to make out whats going on, why it is so calm and why do you feel so euphoric.. Did you die, was this heaven?

Slightly making out the delightful shine of light wherever you were, it wasn't dim like that fucked up jail of room. Nor did it smell bad of rot and old spices. It smelled like a spring breeze when the sun shined brightest in a vogue haze.

The tender bosom of it's flow making you hazier, all the worries gone without question. Where were you anyways? You didn't give much thought to it though. Instead with heavy arms you moved your fingers through the water, a smile tugging at your face. You felt like a little baby, your head felt fuzzy -almost inebriated- until you finally noticed Ellie.

You were so out of it that you didn't even realize she was there all along. Her hands were busy with some materials -yet, you didn't give much thought to that either. Maybe unable to do so would be a better way to put it.- Soon she turned back to you, hands full with hygiene products and brushes. A razor and some cotton too. Softest towels you could ever find in a place like this. Pretty.

Your head falls to the side, pouting lips opening involuntarily. You look at her with your weary but rather relaxed eyes. Her eyes meet yours in a spark, kneels before the tub and puts her palm to your cheeks.

Neither of you spoke, but for different reasons. You felt defeated, weak, feeble... She was excited, stoked to finally have you give in.

Soon, she puts some of the lotion to the bath water with the droplet, then puts the shampoo bar in her hand and gathers up enough to massage it to your scalp. Her hands were gentle. She was going easy on you, slowly washing your hair so then she can continue to care for your other needs.

That must be then where you fell asleep again, she couldn't blame you. You needed rest. A lot of it.

-

When you wake up, you felt the gentle touch of the back of her index finger caressing the apple of your cheek. You flutter your lashes and mildly bat them to open your eyes to her. Seeing the contagious smile on her lips makes you question everything you went through. Was she still the Ellie you knew and loved, your Ellie that you adored oh so much? You felt crazy for thinking that.

"Morning angel, slept well?"

You get yourself higher with your elbows, looking at her curiously. She was acting as if none of that even happened. Maybe making you feel strange for still tugging on the past. Your face sours a little, getting uneasy at your own thoughts.

Ofcourse Ellie notices "Shhh," she mutters almost to pacify you, "You're okay now, with me." her calloused hands find the small of your back and pulls you close, laying you down on top of her.

"Ellie-"

You were really too sweet for this world, a naive little girl, a little bunny in a dirty and dangerous world that would prey on you. Hurt you and take you away from her. She nodded to herself about taking you, convinced she did the right thing.

"Angel?" she leaves a small kiss to the crown of your head while her thumb drew circles to your skin.

You could hear her heartbeat from laying directly on top of Ellie, head to her chest. You look up, she drops a peck to the tip of your nose. You felt dizzy and complaint. Must be the drugs.

Everything was happening way too fast.

"I made you breakfast."

"T-thanks.." Breakfast meant another dose of meds, her service meant payback.

Ellie's hands trail lower, holding onto your ass. She had dressed you in Satin, they were oversized. She tugged at your shorts to pull them higher, revealing your buttcheeks. You felt the cameltoe of its material on your folds with her yank, no underwear. Ofcourse.

A small gasp escapes your lips when her hands slide inside the confines of the material to grope your butt, each hand kneading your ass inside your shorts.

"Ellie,–" feeling hot all over, you groan. Pretty sure you weren't supposed to be getting aroused by your kidnapper. But you were a simple girl.

Her hands continue their exploration, middle and ring finger finding your slit and teasing your hole, making you involuntarily rise your ass to meet her hand and open your legs wider. You try to hold in the breathy moans trying to escape you, yet fail.

You yelp when she turns you on your back and sets you down to the mattress, caging you over with her arms at either side of you. Wetness had started to pool on the material of the shorts already, giving a darker stain on its faucet.

She leans in to kiss you and you reciprocate, tongue and spit covering your lips, her hands undoing the buttons of your top to leave you bare. Once the fabric is off you feel the cold air hit you, making your nipples hard and sensitive. You felt so needy and aroused, one part of you wanted to believe it wasn't because of her drugging you but because you genuinely wanted this. A girl can dream.

Her kiss deepened while she pawed at the elastic waistband of your shorts to lower them and reveal your pussy that she missed oh so much. You help her take it off, once removed she forces your legs apart and dips her head down to your tits, suckling and nibbling at your nipples, leaving kisses along your areola and biting down hickeys to the fat of your breasts.

She was purposefully avoiding your aching cunt, puffy lips ready to be played with. But she wanted you to know how much you needed her. Your want for her tenfolding with her tease and shunning.

"Ellie please,-" that's been the only words you've been uttering, funny enough.

"Please what, angel? Use your words with me." She stops her attack on your tits "Let me hear you say it."

You gulp down your dignity, if any was left to begin with. "Need you to take care of me.. down there, please–"

"Down where?" her hands settle down on your thighs still keeping them apart. She never breaks eye contact.

Taking a deep breath, "My p-pussy, please- Need you to play with my pussy s-so bad."

"Good girl."

With that she spits at your pussy, not that you needed it, you were as wet as it gets. Pussy so eager it would cream on her abductors hands.

She uses her knees to keep you apart while one hand lands on your mound and the other holds the side of your waist. Fingers graze your wetness and tease your clit lightly, not giving you enough friction whatsoever.

You whine and she decides to not make you wait any longer, thumb firmly caressing circles to your clit and two fingers aligned at your fluttering hole.

"Missed your sweet pussy, baby." without warning she shoves to digits into your pussy, two knuckles deep, then to the hilt, works you open with her fingers. Your slick making it all the easier.

"Missed it so much," leans in and gives you a sloppy open mouthed kiss, tongue urging itself in. You accept her intrusion, embrace it and take it on.

Fingers find the mushy spongy spot deep and played with it, making you cry out and tremble under her. Turning you into a moaning mess in no time. She was playing you like a puppet. And you happily obliged.

"So good, Ellie so good please don't stop–" you beg, eyes watering from how much you feel, you've been locked down for too long that you missed touch. Missed pleasure.

Her hands take up the pace, moving in and out of you faster, you push down on your heels and crumble the sheets under your clenching nails, digging down and mouth agape, you'd almost start drooling.

She pushes you over the edge with one more stroke to your clit and you cum instantly, either because you haven't had a orgasm in months or a good one ever because this one feels euphoric. Overwhelming.

She doesn't stop though, riding through your orgasm with an even faster pace, making your already oversensitive pussy throb with overstimulation. Making you moan, hard.

She pulls her fingers out but not before earning a breathy whine from you and gathers your slick juices on her two fingers, raising them up to her lips and giving it a kitten lick but stopping herself from sucking it, instead she looks down on you and decides you should have the honors.

"Baby, come here" she leans into you, squishing your cheeks together and forces your lips into a deeper pout, expecting you to open your mouth.

"Open up, say aah." And you do so, obviously. Cause you are a good little girl for her, aren't you now?

She slides in her two fingers that were inside of you, slick with your juices which you greedily suck on, tasting yourself on her fingers.

Once you're done, she pulls her hand away, your lips and her fingers linking with a trail of saliva.

"Good job baby," Then she laps at your lips and mouth, feeling all of your slick from all over your body at once. When she pulls away you are a boneless mess.

Lovestruck, addicted.

Guess this is your life now, not so bad is it?

[cheegu3]

Hi

Can you write the reaction of yander skz when the reader ignores them?

warnings; yandere relationship / yandere themes, abuse, torture, violence, jealousy, possessiveness, depression, mentions of blood and punishments, choking, talks of sex, swearing, sadism

Stray kids - reaction to reader ignoring them

Bang Chan

He would have none of it. Like most times when you knew you'd fucked up, his face went stoic; dead of emotion, smile dropping in a second and his voice disappearing, fading immediately.

He would give you a death stare, which he admittedly enjoyed doing more than anything. He'd give anything to see that look of pure terror striking your face be replayed over and over again in his head.

You ignoring him once was all he needed to lose any bit of happiness he had felt during the day. It didn't matter if you'd been good all week; on your best behavior. None of that mattered as soon as you turned away from him when he asked you something, lips sealed tightly shut.

A few seconds of silence passed. You could practically envision his blank face in your head despite not facing him.

'' Did you not hear me? ''

You jumped at the sound of the chair scraping when he got up abruptly, and your blood ran cold the louder the steps got. He stopped right behind you, standing so close that you could hear him breathe, the shakiness of his breaths telling you he was seething with anger.

Closing your eyes shut, you hoped by some miracle that he would leave you alone like a normal boyfriend would. But you knew - he wasn't a normal boyfriend, not at all.

'' Y/n, I'm gonna give you a few seconds, '' he lowly warned.

What were you thinking? This was insane. You hadn't thought it through at all, it was supposed to be a small payback for Bang Chan ignoring you and being cold to you many times during the week.

You should've known, nothing's ever small with him.

In the blink of an eye, you felt pain shoot through you. Feeling confused, you opened your eyes and blinked, hazily taking in the situation. Time was up.

You were pinned against the wall. He had slammed you against it and was pressing his forearm against your throat, already making you gasp for air so easily.

His jaw clenched as he spat out his next words. '' It will take a lot more than an apology to please me now. ''

Lee Know

Cool - two can play that game, you'd see who would last the longest. Big chance it was him who would win, he'd always win, either by scaring you into submission or just due to his pure pettiness and competitiveness.

And naturally, if he didn't win he'd sulk and punish you of course. That was his right.

The first time you pushed him away when he tried initiating skinship, which he often did, he just raised his eyebrow and scoffed at you. When you did it again, he started getting angry and realized something was up.

The third was his final straw. He tried pulling you close to him when you were going to sleep as he liked cuddling before sleeping. You pushed him away, rolling your eyes and sighing loudly.

'' Stop it. I don't want to, '' you mumbled, already feeling sleepy.

He sneered. '' When have I ever cared what you wanted? ''

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh, dry of humor. At least he was self-aware. But that added more fuel to the fire, he felt mocked; hating being laughed at.

'' So what did I do this time to piss you off, princess? ''

'' Everything. I want to break up. ''

'' Not gonna happen. ''

'' Then I will ignore you until it happens, '' you shot back and rolled onto your side, away from him.

'' Fine, I love games. But...we both know I always win. ''

A chill ran down your spine as you saw flashbacks of all the other times he had been petty, back then, he was a lot less lenient than now. Anything used to set him off. You looked at the server while he was ordering? No food for the rest of the day. You said anything negative about him to your family? No phone for a month. You didn't look happy when he came home? Fine, he'd leave you in the basement then so you wouldn't have to greet him.

'' Don't we, babe? ''

All at once, the feelings from back then came rushing at you, making you almost regret having started this thing in the first place. Your chest heaved as you drew in a shaky breath.

There was no use fighting him. '' Yes, babe. '' you meekly said, closing your eyes just as a tear fell down.

Changbin

Surprisingly, he'd be kind of chill with it. He was understanding since he'd had many days when he didn't want to talk to people and he knew that he had done that to you many times.

However, if it went on longer than he thought necessary, he would grow irritated and show this to make you stop your behavior.

You had quite suddenly gotten depressed and didn't feel like talking to anyone. You barely had the energy to get out of bed in the morning so whenever your boyfriend talked to you, you never felt anything, so you said nothing.

This weird dynamic between the two of you went on for around two weeks until he was fed up. You just sat there staring with a blank look on your face at the wall or the garden, without saying a word. It hurt him to see you like this, you had turned into a corpse.

First, you would just shrug whenever he asked something or hum when he pointed things out. Then you stopped responding entirely like you weren't even acknowledging his presence.

'' Y/n. ''

His voice came through to you this time. Usually, it sounded so far away, almost as if he shouted to you from the end of a tunnel. He felt hopeful when he saw that you reacted to his voice, your head turned a bit toward his direction.

'' I think you need to see someone. You're not getting better. ''

You couldn't find the right words, mind racing with every possible thing you could say - so you said nothing. Your lips were pressed together stubbornly.

Changbin buried his head into his hands and leaned against the table. A sudden loud bang when he rammed his fist into the table in frustration made you jump.

'' I've had enough, '' he growled, '' We're going. Now. ''

You didn't have time to process what he said before you felt your arm sting in pain as he grabbed it harshly, his nails digging into the skin. He dragged you all the way to the car and slammed it shut, hurrying to the driver's seat so he could lock the car.

Well inside, he sighed in relief when he pressed the lock button, but his eyes drifted to you and for some reason, he missed when you fought back. Missed when you'd insult him and scream and try to run away. Anything was better than this, vegetable of a person.

Hyunjin

He would stare at you in disbelief and then repeat himself. Once things clicked and he realized you were doing it on purpose, he had to bite back the harsh words that he wanted to hurl at you.

It wasn't that big of a deal if you were bratty and pulled something like that in private, but in front of other people?

His cheeks heat up in embarrassment, giving them a slight red tint. But all he did was let out a small, breathy laugh while he tried his best to gather himself as quickly as possible so his inner turmoil would not be visible on the outside.

Your mutual friends still looked to him for an answer, their eyes searching his worriedly. With a sigh he quickly slipped on a fake smile, it was almost second nature to him by now. How he hated them all, he had only gotten close to them so he could get you.

'' She's just...going through something right now. ''

That seemed to make them even more worried. Your closest friend who had never really liked him as she suspected he had ulterior motives, furrowed her brows.

Hyunjin swallowed thickly and hastily added, '' It's nothing too serious, she has just fought with her sister and family a lot lately. ''

It was the best lie he could come up with on the spot. He relaxed visibly, his tense shoulders sinking down when they started accepting what he had just told them.

However, he could still feel that eerie feeling of being watched. Your friend didn't believe him, of course she didn't, she never did. He had to go after you and fix this to get her off his back.

'' I should go check on her. ''

The other murmured in agreement and barely noted when he slipped away after you. He swore under his breath and tried his best not to run.

What the fuck did you do? Couldn't you just ever behave?

Han

He would feel extremely stressed by you becoming completely unresponsive to him. This wasn't normal at all and it was driving him insane.

Why wouldn't you talk to him and tell him what was wrong so he could do anything in his power to fix it? Did you enjoy torturing him like this?

He hated when things changed so much that he always ensured you two were on good terms. Whenever you were mad at him, you'd fought, or you were crying after a punishment, he would have trouble calming himself down.

Maybe a part of that was because he didn't like how it made him feel deep down. Your cries of pain, your pleas for him to stop, your tears - what it did to him.

His breathing would become more hitched, almost bordering on a panic attack. What he needed most in those moments was reassurance that you still loved him, that you didn't hate him, and that you weren't going to leave him or that you thought he was a bad person.

'' Y/n? '' he started quite calmly, which surprised him and you.

You looked away but were startled by him sneaking up to your side after you had walked away and slipped out of his hand. The cinema where you were was packed, so it would've been easy to disappear like a ghost in the wind if you had been with anyone else. Of course with him though, he noticed immediately.

His eyes widened and he stared after you, your slightest actions caused a surge of panic coursing through him.

'' Where are you going? '' his voice sounded steady, hiding his desperation.

There was a slight edge to it, though, that made you second-guess your rebelliousness. You had asked if you could go out with your friend for an evening, and he had like always, said no. Feeling fed up with his overly clingy, anxious, and possessive personality, you felt like putting your foot down, and this was the only way you could think of.

But he didn't react the way you had predicted he would. In the only area of the cinema where fewer people were now, he leaned in, his breath tickling your neck.

'' I've given you too many chances, haven't I? '' he whispered.

You flinched. There was something different about his tone. He was enjoying it.

Felix

He would be a little bit oblivious to the whole thing. Sometimes he'd say stuff and not expect you to answer, because he was used to your mood changing from time to time.

So, he'd almost go a full 24 hours without noticing something was wrong. When he did, his eyes widened and he felt very guilty.

You had just come home from taking a walk in the evening. Like most days Felix and you sat down to watch a movie or a series.

He picked up the remote and started flipping through Netflix's home page. Being used to you choosing since you had very strong opinions about movies and tv-series, he waited patiently for you to butt in. He had almost scrolled through the entirety of his saved list when he glanced over at you. You looked bored. He could tell that you had no intention of taking the remote from him, and that’s when it clicked in his head.

Realisation spread across his face and a look of horror came upon it. “ Oh my god I’m so sorry, y/n “

“ How could I not have noticed- “ he seemed to get lost in his head as he said to himself, “ how long did I not notice for? “ 

You hadn't planned to keep it going for very long, you just wanted him to become a bit more self-aware and know of your needs and moods.

With a deep sigh, you finally spoke for the first time in hours. '' It took you a long time. ''

You felt irritated but it was also easy to tell that he genuinely felt bad, so maybe he'd make it up to you and change his behavior afterward. He sighed too and ran his fingers through his hair.

'' Come here, '' he softly said after a few minutes of silence.

It was so low that you almost missed it. As soon as you came close enough, he pulled you into his lap and started gently caressing your face.

'' I'll make it up to you, my love, '' your heart made a leap, '' I promise.''

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant you forget why you were really mad at him.

Seungmin

His fist slammed down into the table, rattling its contents and making you jump in surprise. With narrowed eyes, he watched you closely as the tension between you increased with every moment.

'' You're not listening to me. Are you ignoring me? '' his voice raised ever so slightly making you look around with fear.

The last thing you wanted was for him to cause a scene in the restaurant.

'' Well, '' he quirked his eyebrow, '' are you? ''

You swallowed thickly. '' Not...not really. I just got lost in my thoughts.''

Seungmin hummed and started drumming his fingers against the table. You watched him anxiously, trying to predict his next move. For a long time, he just sat there, his chair pushed out and a little slumped down.

Then he got up so aggressively that you almost jumped for a second time. He stalked towards you and pulled you up in one swift movement.

'' We're going home. ''

'' But...'' your protests trailed off when he gave you a warning glare.

Reluctantly you let him walk you to his car and then got in willingly. The air on the ride home felt stiff and dry, he didn't talk at all, and if you tried to initiate a conversation or let out as much as a sound, it would make him whip his head around and clench his jaw as he stared you down.

Well home, he didn't even bother to turn off the car or park it. With a simple wave of his hand to the servants he set them off to work and dragged you inside.

When you realized where he was leading you, you stopped and went rigid, refusing to move. That familiar red door was staring back at you, and the more you looked, the more it looked like it was eerily bleeding.

It was his favorite playroom. You remembered his amused voice as he whispered in your ear on the first day you were there, ' soundproof so no one can hear your pretty screams '

'' You don't have a choice. Go, or I'll make you. ''

I.N

He'd react insecurely and possessively as hell. With his mind spinning, he almost lost his vision when he pushed you against the mattress in a chokehold, all he saw was red.

'' Who is he? ''

You could barely think since the air to your brain was rapidly restricting. At first when you tried to answer, it came out in small gasps which made I.N snap out of it and loosen his grip.

'' Speak. ''

'' Who? '' you said, your voice already hoarse. '' What are you talking about? ''

'' The guy that you're fucking! '' he screamed.

You blinked at him in confusion. All you'd done was give him short answers and squirm out of his hands when he'd try to touch you. You hadn't really meant to ignore him, you just wanted to be alone.

A scoff slipped out when you realized that he must've jumped to a conclusion. It was a long stretch but it almost always seemed to be the conclusion he jumped to when he felt threatened.

'' There's no one. I'm just not doing too well. ''

You knew it was pointless, the wild look in his bloodshot eyes already told you that he wasn't hearing anything but his own rage.

His hands moved down your body and he pulled you so close your lips were almost touching. They traveled further and he then yanked your phone out of your back pocket.

You were about to say something to try and calm him down. He interrupted you by the sound of the phone smashing into a million pieces as he threw it full force into the wall beside you.

'' Now we're even. ''

[stormhearty]

Parings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 2k+

Triggers: angst, mentions of war and death

Summary: The after-effects of your death hit Prythian hard, the loss of your light indefinitely, leaving the world less bright, and the loss of your power echoed throughout the land. Azriel now has to cope with the loss of his mate — the hollow feeling of the mating bond leaving him nothing but a shell of his previous self. The Inner Circle have to rebuild the trust they had with the other courts along Prythian — especially concerning Day Court. Helion, acting as your father, has to bury your body within the warm soils of Day Court as his people pay tribute to the loss of the Seer of Prythian.

Note: The epilogue to “Pushed to the Edge”! I am very happy to be ending this one-shot-turned-series! Thank you guys so much for supporting this!! This epilogue also included a little insight on the reader’s POV of the last section of part 3. I hope it sheds some light on why she decided to do what she did. Also, I am always happy to write more about Seer!Reader if anyone would like more. But please do enjoy the epilogue.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

The dark wind bellowed through your hair, a deathly chill running down your spine as you watched the shadows guide Azriel through the streets of Valeris. You stood on the hill that you had winnowed to, watching him wreak destruction against the Death-God’s army. Feeling a slither of shadow against your arm, you looked down and gave a tiny smile — a rare one that tugged on your lips after your resurrection — as you brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss against the flutter of shadow, “Take me to him… It’s time…”

You had known of your connection to the Death-God the moment you had been resurrected from Death. The feeling of the ancient, tattered cord that connected your two beings — one that was hollow and empty. You were unaware of what that bond meant, whether it connected your souls to eternal servitude or something else, you kept that bond a secret — weaving shadow and darkness around that cord, hiding it from the Death-God.

The only time you realized the importance of the connection was during a vision — the only vision you ever had since your revival.

One that would take not only your life but the very life of the Death-God — one that was by the hands of the person that had broken you.

You kept that vision close to your heart, hiding it within shadows from the Death-God, using it as an arsenal against him. You watched as destruction and death seeped through Prythian and you felt the distress bite your very soul.

This isn’t what you had wanted, you never wanted Prythian to be destroyed — all you wanted was revenge against those who struck against you — those who had betrayed you. Not all this loss of life.

Not against Helion, or Thesan, or Tarquin… not against the rest of the High Lords.

No… you had to put an end to this.

You had used the bargain with Azriel to your advantage, using him to fight for you — the vision you kept so close to your heart started to sing alive as if you were walking down the correct path to end this destruction.

And so when the shadows winnowed you to where Azriel stood, the shadows cloaking his body, the Truth-Teller rightfully in his hands, another smile tugged on your features.

This had been it. The vision that came to pass — that last vision — of you and Azriel, finally ending the rein of darkness that Kosechi planned to coat your world in.

You had stepped closer to him, watching his body stiffen, his Spymaster instincts taking over his form. You heard the whispers of the shadows in his ear and you couldn’t help but look down at your chest, the shadows finally unraveling themselves from the last piece of light in your soul — the final mark where Azriel would strike.

Lifting your head, you watched the Shadowsinger lunge for you, the Truth-Teller stabbing you in your light, the shadows around it shrieking in agony, pain, and sadness. A gasp escaped your lips at a vision passed behind your eyes — the same pain rushing down the now open bond between you and Kosechi, the same wound inflicted on his immortal body.

It has been done.

Your knees buckled and you felt the shadows slip from Azriel to your own body, feeling the whisps chill on your skin. Eyes looked up at Azriel, seeing the disbelief and agony in his features. It was satisfying to see… to see him in so much pain.

Everything passed in a blur, not knowing that the Death-God had come and gone. All you can focus on is your mate — former mate. You felt his hot tears on your cooling body and you just stared up at him, pouring all your emotions out — inflicting as much pain as you could with your final breaths.

It was done. It has ended. And your time as Prythian’s Seer, its unknown Seer, has finally come to pass.

Your duty is done.

Helion felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He felt as if his whole world was being taken away from his very eyes as he watched the Spymaster hold your dead body, howling at your loss. The Day High Lord felt his body shake as he took a step forward, looking around at the piles of corpses — of Kosechi’s followers on the ground — before focusing back on you.

He heard the winnowing of Rhysand and the rest of the High Lords, as they surrounded the breaking Spymaster.

“… Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice cracked, trying to call his brother out of the agony he was feeling.

The Spymaster looked up, seeing all the High Lords before going to his knees, continuing to clutch your body close to him, “Please… I beg all of you. Please bring her back… the kernel of life…” He begged, tears dried on his cheeks, determination in his hazel eyes.

Rhysand’s face pinched with pain at the request and Helion’s hardened.

“How dare you, Azriel…” Helion’s was hard as steel, the Spymaster’s body flinching, “To plead to bring her back to life when you had been the one to break and hurt her… Forcing her hand to kill herself…”

Azriel shook his head, pressing his forehead against your own, your body cool, devoid of life, “I know… I know. Give me a chance… give me a chance to do everything again. To make things right with her. Give her a chance to live again. That’s all I ask. I’d do anything, give anything for her to be alive again.”

He wailed, pleaded, and whispered against your skin, hoping that the High Lords would listen to his request. All he wanted was to feel your heartbeat again, bask in your light, to hold you in his arms again. To love you again. He knew it was possible, the High Lords have done it twice — with Feyre Under the Mountain, and with Rhysand after Hybern. Using that kernel of life to bring you back from the dead — to bring you back home, bring you back to him.

Azriel waited, but all he heard was silence, the blow of the wind loud in his ears. He heard footsteps towards him and he looked up to see Rhysand, his features pained as he kneeled to his brother.

“We can’t… Azriel…” he confessed, his voice pained as he saw the light dim in Azriel’s features, “She has already been resurrected once… Twice is against Mother’s will. There’s… nothing we could do…”

“No… that can’t be. Please, Rhysand!” he looked up at his High Lord, “I’d do anything… anything to bring her back…. Take mine! Take my life, to give to her! A life for a life…! That will work right?” He was frantic, thinking of anything… any way to bring you back to living.

“Stop, Shadowsinger…” Helion’s voice ordered, the command echoed through every fae in that spot. Rhysand closed his eyes, fighting back every urge to follow that command. The High Lord of Night stood up and stepped back, feeling Helion’s presence behind him.

Azriel growled and looked up at Helion, instinctively wrapping his arms tighter around your body.

“You had multiple chances to make it up to her. You watched as she begged you to listen, to listen to your mate. But you ignored it, you pissed off your chances for her. You do not get another shot, not in this life… and probably not in any other lifetime you will have with her.”

With a snap of his fingers, your body was winnowed from Azriel’s arms to his own, Helion gently holding you in his arms as he looked down at you with so much sadness and regret.

The Shadowsinger tried to scramble back up, to want to fight the High Lord, only to be held down by Cassian and Rhysand, “Don’t…” Rhysand commanded him, “…We have no right to her anymore. Not after everything we have done…”

“What did you do?” Azriel snarled at his High Lord.

“Your High Lord made a bargain…” Helion disclosed as he turned his heels, stepping back from the Inner Circle, “You and the rest of Night Court have no claims over her body, not when (Y/N) was originally from Day Court. Her body will be buried in Day soil, where she rightfully belongs. And you, Shadowsinger, are banned from entering my Court. And so will the rest of your family… The only person that I will allow to visit her body will be your High Lady. As Night Court’s emissary…”

Azriel felt his heart drop to the ground. No. He already lost you, and now he cannot visit your grave, to mourn for you.

“I will have no bargaining with you, Shadowsinger. Not when your High Lord was the one who allowed it,” Helion looked over his shoulder at the three brothers, “No matter what you do, this bargain will be the last with the Night Court. You have lost all my trust with this matter…”

And with that, Helion winnowed away — with your body in his arms.

Azriel stared at the spot that Helion winnowed away from as he felt hands come off his body. He collapsed, pressing scarred hands into the dirt. He felt his whole body continue to shake, the sadness, the anger not leaving him — he felt as if his anger was never-ending; anger at Helion for taking your body from him, anger at him for banning him from Day Court; anger at his High Lord for creating the bargain in the first place; anger at you for dying in his arms, forcing him to be the one to take your life.

“Azriel…” Rhysand called his name before he stepped back away from his brother when a growl escaped Azriel’s chest.

“Why… Why would you make that bargain, Rhysand…” he murmured, tilting his head up to look at his High Lord with a glare, hazel eyes blazing with that anger he felt throughout his body.

Rhysand sighed and knelt once more to be eye-to-eye with his brother, “I had to, Azriel. I couldn’t argue with Helion, not after everything we did to (Y/N)… She was originally from Day Court, she is tied to Helion’s Court — - “

“But she’s been with us for five hundred years, Rhysand… She had a home with us… She was my mate…” Azriel tried to reason with his High Lord, hazel eyes shifting from anger to absolute despair.

“— - You have no right to claim her as your mate… Not anymore. Not after cheating on her with Elain…” Rhysand reprimanded his brother, “I have no claim to her to be under my Court after I had failed to protect her. We have lost her, Azriel. We lost her the moment we had failed as a family to notice her pain… We had failed her entirely. I regret immensely on how we have treated her the last moments of her life… I regret every moment since her death on how I treated her as her High Lord, as her friend, as her family…”

There was so much pain in Rhysand’s voice and Azriel let out a painful cry, one that echoed so deep in his soul.

“I let Helion take her body to let her body be at peace in her home, her real home, Azriel. A place where she is not in pain, one where she isn’t surrounded by those who had betrayed her. Your banishment from Day Court was part of that bargain — I didn’t want to do that to you, brother — -” he placed a hand against Azriel’s trembling shoulder, “— - I didn’t want to separate you from her, but I had to… For her.”

Another sob escaped Azriel’s lips as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against the cool ground, “How can I continue to live?” he whispered, “My whole soul is breaking, Rhysand… The echo of that bond hurts so much. I never knew how much it would hurt… If I knew, if I knew this would be the outcome of my infidelity towards her, I would never have done it. If I knew my infidelity would cause her to die in my arms, I would have never done it.”

Rhysand sighed and looked up to Cassian, the General looking at his brother with so much sorrow. The two looked at one another before reaching toward Azriel to heave him off the ground. All Azriel wanted to do was collapse, but he knew he couldn’t — he didn’t have any right to do so. He was the cause of this, he was at fault.

“You will continue to live…” Rhysand urged, “You will continue to live and mourn and regret. We all will. That’s all we can do for (Y/N)…”

Azriel looked at Rhysand, before glancing at Cassian, who nodded, “We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret.”

And all Azriel could do was tilt his head back, looking up at the gray sky as raindrops fell — as if the universe knew how he felt at that very moment.

Feyre stood in the back of the ceremony, watching as Helion lowered your body into the ground — one decorated so beautifully, in a simple white tule dress and on top of your head a halo that mimicked the sun. You looked gorgeous, lying in the casket as if you were just sleeping.

The High Lady listened to Helion’s speech — the love and admiration evident in every word he spoke about you; on how he had found you, protected you — he told your story, every happy moment but also every sad and devastating moment.

She could see how Helion held back so much anger when he brought up your time at Night Court and Feyre couldn’t help but pang of pain in her chest. She regretted every moment of listening to it all over again — Feyre knew she could have made a difference. She tried to help you, tried to reach out to you — but her effort wasn’t big enough. She could have tried harder, to fight for you — but she failed at that.

Everything was a blur after the speech, people had slowly filtered out after they had paid respect to the loss of your light, the loss of your life. Feyre felt her feet bring her to your grave. She looked at the statue that stood at the head of your grave, one was a mirror of your body that was now in the ground. That same dress, that same crown on top of your head.

You were like a goddess that glowed under Day Court’s sun.

Feyre felt a figure next to her, turning her head to look at Helion who looked up at that statue with sadness.

“… That was a wonderful speech, Helion,” Feyre complimented, her gaze returning up at the statue.

The Day High Lord did not say anything back to the High Lady.

And Feyre continued, “… — - I know that no matter how many times we apologize, you will never forgive us. And I understand… (Y/N)… was the best thing that you had given us, the best thing that Azriel had in his life — “ Feyre watched from the corner of her eye that Helion’s hand fisted tightly against his side at the mention of the Shadowsinger, “— - We will do our very best, to gain your trust again. We will mourn for centuries for what we had done to her, we will continue to regret.”

Helion let out a broken chuckle and shook his head, “… I don’t think I can trust any of you again, Feyre… Not when you had taken her away from me. This child was the best thing that has happened to me, besides knowing that Lucien is my son… (Y/N) was my daughter, I raised her as my daughter… And it hurts, knowing that she passed before I did. You… never want to bury your children… And that’s what I had to do today. And I will never forget how that feels…”

He turned his head towards Feyre, “… Be glad you were able to be part of this ceremony, High Lady of Night Court… It was for (Y/N), she would have wanted you to be part of her burial. If it was me, I would never let you in my Court again, but this is all for her.”

Feyre nodded her head, “And I am, and forever will be, thankful for your kindness…”

Helion gave a stiff nod of his head before looking back up at the statue for a moment before turning on his heels and walking away.

The High Lady sighed and looked up at the statue as well, “I hope you are at peace, (Y/N)…” she whispered a prayer one more time before turning as well, walking out of the wards of Day Court before winnowing away, the echo of a sad lament for you singing through the lands.

[victonair]

“Maybe this time” - Azul Ashengrotto x reader

Fallen in love with Azul during your time in NRC, you had never gained the chance to confess to him in his final year: you were too late and your chance was lost in the winds of time. After graduating, you find yourself moving on with life and moving on from him, even opening a bakery and coffee shop in a small town near the sea. It was a perfect life for you - and it was all you could ever want. But when he shows up at your bakery one day, you’re not so sure you had everything you wanted in life anymore.

Or rather

In which, you fell in love with Azul in Highschool and after years of moping - you move on. But when he shows up out of the blue one day, you begin to question if you’ve really ever moved on in the first place.

Author’s Note: I enjoyed writing this! I was brainrotting about this concept so I decided to! Aside from this update, I finally got my first request!!! I’m overjoyed and to whoever decided to request me, I’ll be finished with it within a week or so as I’m quite busy with school. In fact, I have a test tomorrow…Oh well, please do enjoy the fic! Also, this fic is based off the song “Maybe this time” by Sarah Geronimo so check it out if you want!

Content Warnings: Not exactly hurt/comfort, more you moved on from the hurt first and then went again into hurt, then finally comfort. Gender-neutral reader. And lastly, amateur writing and off-pacing since the author wrote this at 3 am in the morning.

-

Moving on in life was a daunting challenge that could strike fear into most people’s hearts, because often, new things and routines either intimidated people or raised dislike for most. For many people, change was a facet of life they weren’t ready for, thinking that things would stay like that forever - the happiness, the pain, the routine; it was something that most people thought would stay for forever to come. But, really, does everything truly last forever? In some cases, people think so - but when life hits them in the face with change, it becomes a clear answer.

“A latte and a slice of cake, please!”

In some cases, things last forever - but not for yours. It seemed back then that the pain of Azul leaving and graduating, as well as the fact that you never conveyed your true feelings to him would stay forever. But through years of work, moping, reflection, and the best support system you could ever ask for - you finally moved on with your life and haven’t looked back since. Since you’ve graduated, you took to working yourself to death at first, but after a lot of reflection and coping - you decided to relax and take a hobby.

Which is how you landed with owning a bakery and coffee shop, even moving to a small town by the seaside since they had no late-night coffee shops and a bakery built - and so you took it upon yourself to set up one yourself. You thank the Lord on high that Azul was able to teach you basic business skills in able to set this up and how to know your audience - luckily, the townsfolk were quite appreciative and friendly which led you to become part of the community quickly.

“Sure! Order up!”

A smile on your face was evident as you made the latte and put the pastry on the plate. You were thriving; you had been thriving for years in this small and cozy community. It was the epitome of peace and coziness in this village, where the wind was different and fresh and where you were awoken by the sounds of bargaining in the market nearby. You had made the right decision in moving on from the pain of the past, instead moving and focusing on the future.

The regular at your shop smiled at you, taking the latte and pastry from the tray and sitting in one of the seats that overviewed the peaceful view of the sea: from the ripples from the waves visible for all to see, to the seagulls that flew in the air above, peacefully flying and searching for food - and to the townsfolk greeting you from outside the window with a smile and nod.

You were satisfied and content with what you had, you wouldn’t look back to the past not anymore - it was better to focus on the future instead.

Continuing your work, you spent your time idly making tasty caffeinated drinks and delectable pastries that was part of the reason you charmed most of the town’s hearts. It was the reason you had so many regulars at your shop, after all. And when it was closing time, you sat down and smiled at what you had done.

Before you could start closing up the store, you heard the bell ring and a smooth yet familiar voice filling the cafe, “Excuse me, are you still open?”

Looking towards the door, you expected yourself to smile and greet the new customer - you recognized every voice in this town and this one was certainly a new one. And yes, that was how well acquainted you were with each villager. But instead of smiling, you found yourself freezing in place and your mouth dropping slightly.

There was little to surprise you these days; you had borne the brunt of overblots, emotional breakdowns, and while violence was nothing to you - you had gotten used to peace as well. Peace from the people around you and the support you had gotten to those dear to you. There was little to shock and surprise you with, and yet right at this moment, you found your knees weakening, rooted to the same spot.

“…”

Silence was often a peaceful presence in your life, it helped you reflect through your days and things you’ve done - however, as of the moment, you wished you could break the silence yourself. For a while, quiet emanated through the shop as you observed the one person who you hadn’t seen or never expected to see till the day you died (or a school reunion at least): Azul.

When he graduated from NRC and left for internships, you had been an emotional wreck - knowing him, he was going to the farthest place and most successful companies to study and work under them. And you were right. He had gone to study and intern under one of the most successful companies in Twisted Wonderland.

Supposedly, you were going to confess your feelings to him back then, but the moment he was boarding the transportation to his final destination - you couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t. You froze and said one word to him, which was ‘Bye’. And you’ve regretted that decision ever since, it was one of the things you regret, but you’ve taught yourself to move on so it didn’t really matter anymore, did it?

“Well, aren’t you going to take my order?” His voice rang in your ears like a siren’s enchanting voice, beckoning you to reminisce on memories of the past. You were almost tempted to, until you realized what he said - making you immediately snap out of the frozen state and rush to the counter to take the order.

He had an amused smile on his face; he looked so similar yet so different to his past. His features were more matured, while he styled his hair in the same way with his curls - he had the same beauty mark, the same cunning eyes, and most of all: he looked as beautiful as the day he had left you.

“Right. W-What would you like?” Your smile was more wobbly than usual, while your voice was more strained

“Just a simple hot latte, please.” He responded, his head was tilted as he smiled at you; this was the same smile that had you on your knees in NRC.

God, you loved that smile.

At a loss for words, you got to work on his latte - inputting the correct amount of coffee and milk into the mixture - including a cute frothy image of a heart on top. It was the only one you knew how to concoct, and somehow, giving it to him made your heart skip a beat in embarrassment. As soon as you served it, he took a sip and smiled at you politely.

“It’s really good, [Name].”

He remembered you. Well, of course he remembered you; the late nights at his office and the time you spent together wouldn’t have resulted in him forgetting you. So, why in the first place, did you question if he forgot you in the first place? You were stupid, that was for certain.

“What would be better, however, is if you sat down and caught up with me.” He directed a polite smile towards you, a calm demeanor, the complete opposite of your current state. But following his words, you nodded and mumbled one word that fell from your lips:

“Okay.”

What ensued was a long conversation that was the both of you reminiscing over what was missed and what was done.

-

From the evening to the point where the sun was arising from its slumber, both of you had talked and laughed from the stories you had shared; for hours, you were graced with his presence and smile - and within the short period of time, you could feel yourself resorting to old memories and habits that you had with him. It was the way you smiled and laughed with him, cracking jokes and references that only the both of you could decipher. To him, it may have been a brief meet-up with an old schoolmate and friend, but to you? It was everything that the past you would’ve wanted.

By the time dawn had come, the both of you had glanced at each other like old lovers meeting each other once again after a brief exit out of each other’s lives a long time ago. It was unnoticeable to you, yet it didn’t go unnoticed to him.

“Are you leaving now?” You couldn’t hide the disappointment within your eyes, a small frown on your face as you held back from holding his hand - a gesture of wanting him to stay with you, obvious that you were pleading for him to stop his leave, and for for just this once: choose you.

“Don’t look so sullen. I’ll be staying here for a month, it’s my vacation. Jade is temporarily handling matters for me, and will only report to me if there’s an emergency.” He responded while sipping another cup of tea you had given him while the both of you were talking through the night.

Despite such a long period, the only thoughts entering your head was for him to stay longer, just a bit longer, just so you could relish his presence and his charming smile even more. You wanted him to stay, to let yourself go and feel the same things that you felt back in high school. You wanted the same chats, more time with him, and what you took for granted back then - to now be cherished.

You wanted a chance, a chance to do what you never did back then. To cherish the time you spent with him, and to finally express your old feelings to him - to live with no regrets afterwards.

“Promise you’ll see me everyday?” You crack a smile on your face, one that was filled with varying emotions: nostalgia, happiness, and courage - it was something you didn’t hide. You couldn’t.

Azul’s face wasn’t poised with a smile, instead his cheeks were coated with a light pink blush as he took in your features. But after a few moments, he smiled back - a smile filled with various emotions as well, feelings that you were too oblivious to pick up on.

“Of course. We have a deal.”

“I wonder if I’m going to get scammed.”

“How cruel of you, I wouldn’t scam one of my dearest old schoolmates.”

“We both know you would.”

-

The rest of the month was blissful, something different from the sort of peace you’re used to. The peace you had when you moved into the village was something you were grateful for, but this was an entirely different experience that you treasured every moment of. Days were spent exploring the town, baking with you, or going to the beach and looking to the ocean where he was reminded of his home. Every moment was sweet and domestic, and you didn’t realize it at first, but somehow - each time your eyes met with soft gazes, each time both of your hands intertwined, and when both of you hugged - it rekindled what you felt initially for Azul into a bright blazing fire of feelings.

You didn’t know what to do but simply laugh when you realized it. Because, how could you? The time you spent healing, reflecting, and spending on yourself, was it all for naught? How could you do this to yourself? When you already know he’d be leaving you by the end of the month, and in turn leaving your life once more. Once again, you were left a pondering and an emotional mess.

You wanted to cherish your time with him, but how could you now? There was. A couple of days left, and you realized something major: you had never really moved on in the first place. How could you see his face without your heart aching in turmoil and the pain of losing him once more? You’d be back to step one, back to how you were like after he graduated.

But despite that, you forced yourself to spend time with him, and unsurprisingly, it makes your heart twist in pain. But you did it, you wouldn’t let him depart without you saying goodbye.

“Doesn’t this remind you of something?”

You had chosen to go stargazing with him as the final activity both of you would enjoy together. You were supposed to be happy, but all you could really think of was how you’d lose him just tomorrow. And what’s more is the fact that this was what you both did together back in NRC before he graduated, you took him to Ramshackle and would gaze at the fireflies and stars.

“Yeah…it sure does.” Your voice was strained, but you managed to clear it out before he noticed it. “Ramshackle was the perfect place for stargazing.”

A peaceful silence made its way to the environment, the only sound being the breeze blowing against both of your skins. The moonlight shone upon each and every little thing, and you really only noticed it as you looked at Azul - his skin glowing as the moonlight showcased every little ethereal detail about him. He looked like a deity under the moonlight.

At that moment, all you could really do was observe his features, admiring them as you’d done in high school when you stargazed with him back then. Then, you laughed. You laughed until you ran out of breath, and until Azul stared at you with curiosity within his gaze.

He smiled at you while chuckling from your laugh, “What’s so funny?”

You took to staring at the stars above instead of staring at him this time, and it helped ease your pain just a little, “I’m thinking. I’m thinking about how stupid I am.”

“You’re not. You passed at NRC, after all.” His reply was disapproving of your words.

Humming in reply, you admired the stars, not bothering to meet his questioning gaze. “No, I’m not thinking about in terms of academics. I’m thinking how stupid I am emotionally - how could I do this to myself?”

You didn’t really care anymore about what happened next, you needed the burden and regret to pass. And so you spoke.

“How could I allow myself to fall in love with you once more? I’m just…frustrated with myself at this point. Once is enough, twice is questionable at this point. Even after years of not seeing you, how is it that I find myself feeling like I did back then within a month?”

Your words were exasperated and tired, it was a wave of emotions and feelings that you were releasing onto him. Unsaid words that were left alone when he was about to leave back then, finally came rushing to the surface.

“I-I don’t understand myself. Just why? I thought I had moved on, but I don’t think I have. I find myself wanting you wholly, to have you within my arms for the time to come and the years wasted on not having you.” You adjust yourself to meet him eye-to-eye, and the only thing you see when you do is a stare with an.indescribable expression. “I’ve loved you since back then, and while things may change, and time will pass - somehow, I think these cursed feelings of mine will change.”

“Forgive me, please. I never wanted these feelings-“

Tears brimmed at the tears of your eyes as you pleaded for forgiveness from him, only to be interrupted with soft lips pressed onto your own. You freeze and after a short moment, his lips detach from your own. “Are you aware that I’ve loved you for as long as you have?” His expression is still indescribable, but with the way his fingers intertwine with yours - you could tell that he was sincere.

“I love you, and I have for a long time. I…just didn’t know if you reciprocated - I came here with the sole intention of confessing what I’ve felt for years to you. So please, just repeat what you feel for me and if it’s truly not what I heard, then I depart the next day and leave forevermore.”

In an instant, you say three words that confirm that everything isn’t just a dream for him, “I love you.” And immediately, he kisses you once more - cupping your cheek in his hand as he pours the years of pent-up affection and feelings into how he touches you so lovingly and gently to the way his lips meld over yours.

And as dawn soon comes, he does not leave, instead he stays; he stays within the boundaries of your loving arms, as you stay in his as well.

[thealtoduck]

Water

Dick Grayson x Male Reader

Content: Greek Mythology AU

Warnings: Smut, virginity loss, bottom!Reader, top!Dick, anal sex, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary position…

Prequel to: Sweet Juice

Summary: You recently joined Dionysus following, and one day when you’re on a walk you come across an injured hero…

——

You wandered peacefully through the forest, humming softly to yourself. You enjoyed taking walks to get a break from Dionysus and his retinue. It hadn’t been long since you’d been offered a spot to join them by Apollo and Dionysus so you were still getting used to how… excited they could get.

And as much as you enjoyed their company sometimes you needed a little quiet time to yourself. You walked along a small river seeing the water flow along easily. The sound of water trickling putting your mind at ease.

That ease was soon interrupted by the sound of snapping twigs and heavy panting. A figure appeared from behind some trees a head, stumbling clumsily in to the shallow river almost falling over. It was a man.

You stopped carefully as you did not recognise him. He hadn’t seen you so you snuck and hid behind a tree. You heard some grunting that sounded almost as if he was in pain. You peaked out behind the tree and took notes on his appearance.

He was very disheveled, his hair was messy and his chiton was torn and dirty. Then you saw injury on his semi-exposed upper body, he was bleeding. You watched him struggle to get up on the other side of the river.

He eventually managed but almost as soon as he did he collapsed. You don’t know what came over you but you hurried from behind the tree towards him. You got down on your knees next to him and rolled him on to his back. His eyes were closed. He was still breathing but he had passed out.

You studied his injury, it didn’t look to be fatal as long as it was treated immediately. You ripped a a piece of your own chiton, leaving your chest bare, and wrapped it over his wound. You then went to the shallow river and dipped your hand in, cupping some drops of water in it.

You brought it over to injured man and sat down beside him once more, you whispered a naiad blessing over the water that your mother had taught you, it would keep the wound from getting infected and furthering his injuries. You then let some drip on the bandaged wound.

You then rubbed the remaining drops on his forehead softly. It wasn’t until then you noted the beauty of the man, despite his overall disheveled appearance, he had a incredibly handsome face. Which made you almost immediately suspect he was a god or at least a demigod.

You then remembered you should probably try find some actual help for him. You went towards the small river and stepped down in to it. You used you half-naiad powers to call for whomever it belonged to. Soon enough a river god appeared before you.

You asked him for help, if he could travel to Dionysus camp and ask the olympian send help for the man while you waited with him. The river god was happy to help and made his way up stream towards the camp. You then sat down dangling your feet in the running water while you waited.

——

(Dick’s pov)

——

Dick opened his eyes, he felt faint as he looked up at the bright blue sky. His body still ached. He reached a hand towards his wound to feel how bad it was but found a piece of cloth had been tied to cover it. He wasn’t alone.

Dick tried his best to sit up, using his elbows for support. He looked forward and saw a blurred figure in front of him, he focused his eyes to the best of his abilty and saw the bare back of a man with dewy y/c/s skin.

”Who-Who are you?” Dick asked weakly making the figure swiftly turn his way. Dick immediately noticed the man’s striking facial features, youthful yet very handsome.

The man got up quickly and came towards Dick. ”You should lay down again, you’re injured, I’ve sent for help they’ll be here soon” he said in a comforting tone but ignoring his question. Dick didn’t push for and answer and instead layed down again. Closing his eyes once more.

——

(Your pov)

——

Soon enough two satyrs came carrying a strecher. You helped them lifting the man on to it. And the four of you started to make your way through the forest back to Dionysus’ camp. Once you got there the man was brought in to the medical tent where the maenads and satyrs would care for him.

The next day you visited the medical tent to check on the man, he still hadn’t woken up yet after the day before, but his caregivers assured you he’d be fine after some rest. You had brought him a set of new clothes and put them on the table next to his bed.

As you did a low groan came from the man, immediately catching your attention. You moved over to him as his eyes fluttered open. His sat up on the bed, looking carefully around, his eyes finally landing on you. ”Where-Where am i?” He asked in a hoarse voice. ”You’re in Dionysus camp” you answered softly.

”Who are you?” he asked. ”My name is Y/n, I was the one who found you, you had collapsed next to a river” you explained, the man had a moment of clarity. ”I remember you now, I saw you, you covered my wound” he said and you nodded, your eyes lingering on him.

You then realized you were staring and quickly turned towards the tent opening, saying rapidly ”You must be hungry, i’ll go find you some food”. And you hurried away before he could even answer.

You collected a bowl of fresh grapes and apples and brought them back to the tent. As you walked in, you were caught of guard as you were met with the the naked form of the man standing in front of you. You immediately turned your gaze to the tent wall.

”Sorry, do you want me to come back later?” You excused, your cheeks heating up. ”No, it’s fine” the man said casually and started getting dressed in the clothes you brought him. You walked over and put the bowl of fruit down on a table and immediately turned to leave once more.

But the man grabbed your arm making you stop and turn to look in to his rich brown eyes. ”I must thank you Y/n, you’ve saved my life and provided me with food and clothing, i’m forever grateful” he said warmly. You were completely taken of guard and didn’t know what to say.

Then another figure entered the tent, it was one of Dionysus’ personal guards. He was slightly shocked of the sight of the half naked man holding you but quickly regained his composure and said ”Y/n, Lord Dionysus has requested the presence of you and our guest”.

”Of course” you said formally and turned to Dick and said ”Once you’re finished getting dressed come to the big purple tent, we’ll be waiting”. You then left along with the guard and walked to Dionysus’ tent.

”Did he try anything with you?” The guard asked in a stern manner. You shook your head and answered ”No, no need to worry, he was just thanking me for helping him”. Everyone within Dionysus following was aware of the fate of your mother Daphne, at the hands of Apollo and Eros

And when you joined them, Dionysus had sworn that he and his retinue would protect you from gods and mortals alike that would try to violate you and protect your virginity for as long as you wished to keep it.

You entered the big tent where Dionysus and Ariadne were sat on their respective thrones, they smiled at you appearance. ”Y/n!” Dionysus said happily at the sight of you, he waved for you to come closer. You stood yourself in front of Dionysus and Ariadne and gave a polite bow to both of them.

”Lord Dionysus, you asked for my presence” you stated. ”Yes but let’s wait for our guest, meanwhile you can come sit down” Dionysus said politely and gestured to the fluffy pillows spread next to his throne. He had saved you a seat on the ground next to him like always.

Ever since you’d arrived you had quickly become one of his most dear followers. You didn’t know it but he could relate to your loss of your mother to that of his own and them both being screwed over by horny Olympian.

You sat down next to him and Dionysus handed you a goblet of wine telling you to drink. You took a sip of the dark liquid tasting it’s rich flavor.

Soon enough, the man entered, he had a confident walk that could only be matched by that of an Olympian. He bowed before Dionysus and Ariadne and greeted formally ”Lord Dionysus and Lady Ariadne, i must thank you for welcoming me to your camp, Is there any way i could be of service to repay you for your kindness?”.

”Yeah, get out…I don’t want your kind here hero” Dionysus said in an immediately sour tone. You were suprised. ”You’re a hero?” you found yourself asking outloud, drawing all eyes to you. Of course it did explain his good looks but he seemed so humble for how Dionysus had described heroes to you.

You were aware of Dionysus and Ariadne’s distaste of heroes because of Theseus and the pair had not painted a good picture of what they were like to you.

The man turned to with a smile and stated in a kind voice ”How rude of me, I never introduced myself, I’m Richard, Son of Hemera, Goddess of daytime, but most people just call me Dick”.

Dionysus the continued to grumble annoyed ”You heroes only cause more trouble then you’re worth, the only reason I let you stay the night was because our dear little Y/n here didn’t want you to die, now I want you out of my camp right now”.

Dick nodded and said calmly ”Your wish is my command, Lord Dionysus, may i ask for a map so i can navigate my way home”. ”Done” Dionysus said simply, just wanting him gone as soon as possible and waved his hand making a map appear out of thin air in front of him.

”Lord Dionysus” you spoke up. ”Yes, my dear half-naiad” Dionysus said in a immediately more kind tone. ”May I help escort our guest home, his injuries aren’t fully healed yet and we should make sure he gets home safe” you suggested.

Dionysus went quiet for a moment to think until he let out an annoyed sigh followed by a drawn out ”Fine”. He quickly turned to Dick and said threatiningly ”But if you as much as pluck a hair of my attendant, I’ll turn you in to a leopard just so i can skin you and wear you, got that?”.

Dick nodded and said ”I swear he’ll be unharmed, Lord Dionysus”

”Well then, get going” the god said.

——

The two of you packed a big basket full of food and several canteens of water and some of wine. Then you started your journey. Dick suspected the journey there would only take about 2 of traveling.

As you walked the two of you started talking and getting to know each other, you told Dick about your mother and how you ended up in the Dionysus’ retinue. And you learned that Dick was apparently from a small village where he lived alone in a big house passed down by his father who had died from illness.

You enjoyed the forest scenery as you traveled, occasionally stopping next to a spring or a meadow for a quick break. The sun started getting lower and lower until eventually the sky was getting dark.

The two of you found a good place to camp for the night and Dick started a fire. The two you then enjoyed some food. You then realised you had forgot to ask him something. ”Hey Dick, how come you ended up in the forest in the first place?” You questioned.

”Well, recently my village has been having trouble with giant aggressive boar along the main road attacking everyone from travelers, workers and even families with children passing by. And since I’m the only demigod in the village i felt it was my duty to deal with it to keep the people safe” Dick explained.

”And although i managed to slaughter the beast I got injured, and well the rest you know” he finished. ”That was very brave of you, i’m sure your village will be proud” you told him, making Dick smile brightly.

After you finished dinner the two of you decided to get some sleep, you both decided it was best to sleep hudled together for heat, you laid down close together beneath your traveling cloaks using them as blankets. And then you both drifted of to sleep.

The next day you continued your travels through out the day until the late afternoon when you finally reached Dick’s village. The two of you walked through the town square, they welcomed Dick back with open arms deciding to celebrate his victory over the giant boar the following day.

Dick was also gifted with several items for his service to the village like new clothes, food and wines. They even gave him a crate just so he could carry everything back to his house.

Several of the towns people looked at you with interest. They probably don’t see half-naiads every day. A little girl walked forward to you and offered you a pretty flower. You accepted it gratefully. Dick then led you to his house which was located at the outskirts of the village.

”Thank you Y/n for all your help, I wouldn’t be here today without your help, I am forever in your debt” Dick said gratefully bowing his head to you, you gave a slight bow back. ”It was nice getting to know you Dick, you’ve been good company” you said and turned to begin your return journey.

But Dick grabbed your wrist making you turn back to him. ”Please, won’t you stay for the night, it’s a long journey back and you should get some rest” Dick offered kindly. You smiled, ”I’d love too” you said and you and Dick entered his house.

You sat down as Dick started a fire in the hearth. Dick then went to the kitchen and made dinner for the two of you. The two of you then sat down at the dinner table and ate. Dick had made a small feast for the two of you from the foods he’d been gifted by the village. There was meat, bread, cheese and fruits. He poured you a goblet of wine and the two of you ate.

Once you were both finished you went in to the sitting room. You studied your chiton, it was dirty from sleeping on the ground and smelled of smoke. And after dinner it now had a small wine stain too. Dick seemed to notice what you were looking at.

”Would you like me to warm some water for you to freshen up?” Dick offered. ”If it’s not to much trouble” you said. ”Not at all, you just rest” Dick said walking out on the yard to a well collecting several buckets.

He warmed the water and poured it in a bathtub for you. He poured in some scented oils and called you in. You thanked him and he left to let you clean yourself. He quickly then realised he forgot to give you new clothing to change to.

He collected one of his own chitons and without thinking walked in to the bathroom. He was met with your fully undressed body. Dick was mesmerized by your beauty. You turned to him and as your eyes met he remembered himself.

”I’m so sorry, Y/n, i didn’t mean to-” Dick started to apologise. But you cut him off saying ”It’s alright, mistakes happen, right?” And Dick remembered you had accidentally walked in on him changing. Dick smiled and put down the clothes on a table and left once more.

While you were bathing Dick made sure to wash himself off as well, he poured warm water in a basin and undressed, he then rubbed a sponge over his body. He thought of what he had just witnessed.

You were the most beautiful person he had ever witnessed. More beautiful than any god or goddess. More beautiful than Apollo or Aphrodite. Your body was more perfect than any work of art.

Dick imagined his hands roaming your naked body, feeling every part of you, he wanted to lay you down on his bed and spread your legs and pleasure you.

Dick felt his manhood and realised he had gotten hard thinking of you. He immediately tried to think of something else. Dionysus had declared you off limits and if he didn’t wish to die a most painful death so he needed to control himself. He finished washing himself and got dressed once more.

Dick went in to his bedroom and started getting ready for bed. A while later you came in, somehow you looked even more beautiful with damp skin and hair, he guessed that was a half-naiad feature. ”Where should i sleep?” you asked him.

Dick then realised he hadn’t actually planned that far. ”You can take my bed if you’d like” he offered. ”Well, where will you sleep then?” you asked him. ”I can sleep next to the hearth” Dick stated and walked to leave the room. ”Are you sure?” you asked. ”Absolutely” he answered. You grabbed his arm making him turn around to meet your eyes.

”Why don’t we share the bed?” you suggested. You and Dick studied each others eyes. ”Would that be alright with you?” Dick asked and you nodded. You continued gazing at each other and Dick found himself unable to control himself.

He leaned forward and planted a kiss against your lips, he was suprised to find you didn’t pull back. In fact you were pressing your lips against his as well. The kiss led to the two of you softly making out.

Dick helped you strip out of your clothes, and he studied your body once more. Immaculate. Dick stripped out of his own clothes. You pressed your lips together once more and your naked bodies met for the first time. Your madhoods grazing together. Dick ran his hands down your back.

He led you to the bed and you layed down on the soft silky sheets. Dick climbed on to the bed and in between your legs. ”Are you sure you want this” Dick asked. ”Yes, i want you to be my first” you answered. ”Do you want this?” you asked in return.

Dick smiled and said ”Yeah, you’ll be my first too”. He grabbed a bottle of body oil and put some on finger, he then inspected your ass. He slowly pressed a finger in to your hole, making you gasp from the new feeling. He pushed his finger further in to you.

You adjusted slowly and once you did Dick added another finger and then another slowly streching you out. ”Are you ready?” Dick asked and you nodded. He slowly pulled out his fingers and picked up the body oil again, pouring some in to his hand and slathering it on his manhood.

Dick positioned himself between your spread legs, he then started pushing his thick cock in to your virgin hole, streching you out even further. Dick groaned at the feeling of your clenched walls as he pushed himself further in.

You moaned softly as Dick was all the way in, his virgin cock leaking pre cum inside you. ”Fuck Dick, your so big” You said as you legs wrapped around his torso. After adjusting Dick started moving slowly in and out of you.

Both your groans filled the room as Dick set a steady pace. He kissed you deeply as he slowly thrust himself in to your hungry hole. ”You feel amazing around my cock” Dick whispered. The room heated up and sweat started glistening on your foreheads.

Dick’s balls slapped against your ass his hung manhood plowed in to you. The sight of your naked body beneath him made Dick long to fill you up with his seed, making his thrusts speed up slightly.

Your bodies glittered with sweat in the moonlight as Dick took you on his bed. The two of fucked for as long as could hold yourselves. Your cock was leaking pre cum on your stomach and you could feel yourself getting close.

Dick was getting close too, his big cock feeling ready burst. ”Dick, i’m gonna cum” you exclaimed blissfully. ”Me too sweetheart” he said, his thrusts chasing his realease. You moaned loudly as you were pushed over the edge.

You came splashing cum all over your’s and Dick’s lower chest, feeling in complete euphoria as you did. The sight made Dick deliver his last powerful thrusts before cumming inside you. Filling you with seed making it leak out of your ruined tightness.

The two of you were breathing heavily as Dick pulled out of your stuffed hole. Dick laid down next to you pulling you closer to himself. He then pulled the covers over the two of you. ”You were amazing” you whispered tiredly to Dick. ”You too” Dick said and the two of you quickly drifted off to sleep.

[muffinsin]

Hiya, I'm new to the blog but I've loved everything I've read so far! I was wondering if I could request the Dimitrescu daughters (separately) getting saved by a maiden that they thought hated them? Like, maybe a hunter breaks in + smashes a window and the maiden literally carries (or drags) the daughter to safety and refuses to leave their side until they've warmed up.

Maybe the maiden never actually hated the daughters (like a miscommunication/the maiden having a difficult to read expression), or maybe they stopped hating the Dimitrescus a while ago but nobody noticed? Idk, it's up to you, I just think you'd have a fun take on it :3

I went through the anon lists and hopefully I didn't miss any, so if possible can I be sleepy anon? Please and thank you, and have a great day/week!

Hi :)! I’m happy to hear ya like my works :)🙌 Honestly what a cute prompt!

Let’s get into it :) anon name is all yours🙌

Masterlists

Bela

Bela is, a mystery to you

To her, you seem like an enemy. A staff member, yet with a deep hatred towards her

Perhaps, if you weren’t so pretty and cute, perhaps if she didn’t like you in some strange way she is too proud to voice, you would’ve ended up in the basement already

Alas, Bela keeps you safe and only puts you in your place when your work isn’t done properly. She thinks you should consider yourself, lucky

To you, she seems like an uptight boss bent on punishing you for every little mistake

You wonder, what have you done for her to be this obsessed?

She notices every little mistake you make

A true perfectionist, you realize soon enough, and it bothers you to no end

But, unlike her interpretation of you, you don’t hate her. You don’t even really dislike her

She’s just..uptight, a little bitchy, yes. But she’s smart, you’ve come to notice, and quite obviously she is breathtakingly beautiful

Perhaps, if both of your false views and interpretations of one another were out the way, you’d have talked sooner

You would have liked to start a conversation with the supposedly dangerously intelligent and cold eldest daughter of Alcina Dimitrescu

Bela, on the other hand, would have liked getting to know you sooner

Still, she only ever sees false hatred in your eyes that is truly mere curiosity

She has never been all that good at reading people’s emotions

Their intentions? Yes, their facial features? Yes. But still, her books cannot teach her to fully understand humans, people, it seems

It’s a fatal misunderstanding on both your parts, one that this day will clear up, it seems

The day, while not being an ordinary one at all, is not all that unusual to Bela. An uprising, again, though somewhat cute in numbers

Four maidens. Bold, or perhaps only desperate enough, to dare fight back

It’s a pointless fight, a squabble she doesn’t even bother notifying her sisters about

Even with the many knives and utensils scattered around them in the kitchen, the fight seems pointless

That is, until Bela easily dodges a pot that smashes into the fragile window behind her

Immediately, she screams in pain at the cold air rushing in

The three remaining troublemakers spot their opportunity instantly, so it takes less than seconds for the other kitchen windows to be shattered

Bela grits her teeth, one arm wrapped around her protectively, her other hand clutching her sickle

She refuses to tell her sisters. Refuses to allow Mother to hear of this. She can do this! She can’t cause her family trouble. Cassandra would have never let this go on. Daniela would have killed them in seconds. Bela should have never let it come this far, should have prevented the window from breaking..

Throwing herself back into her battle, she strikes one down, but pays the bitter price when two steak knives are sliced and thrust into her thighs

Immediately, she falls, her blood gushing, her limbs aching and as if on fire. The cold immediately finds the large gashes and digs through. The blades of the knives seem icy cold like the terrain outside

She manages to knock one down with her, but as the back of her hooded head hits the windowsill, her vision begins to blur

One more

She tries to call out for Cassandra, hoping, pleading, Mother will hear nothing of this

To her surprise and horror, she finds she can’t reach her sister, too far away for her weakened swarm to detect

She grasps for her weapon, but can’t detect it. Was it lost when she fell? She can’t remember, but tastes her own, foul blood in her mouth

With difficulty, she sees the maiden’s lips moving. She can’t make out what she’s saying, but her expression enough is sufficient to allow her to assume it must be some kind of insult

Pride, cockiness, a human’s downfall

She watches as, seemingly out of nowhere, you stand behind her, bringing Bela’s abandoned sickle down at her neck

It’s messy, and rough, but enough for the woman to drop her weapon and scream. Enough to fall to her knees and enough for Bela to finish her off

Golden, unfocused eyes meet yours. She looks unsure. Worried. Confused. Cold. Hurt. Scared

Never did you think Bela Dimitrescu would feel such things. Never did you think you would truly see a glimpse of humanity in her

But, you have…

You have seen her eyes squint when she laughs with her sisters, seen the faintest hint of a blush and happiness hidden beneath pride when being praised by her mother. You have seen her playful annoyance aimed at her youngest sister

When you close in on her, her first instinct is to lean in. Then, nearly within that same moment, she snarls and pushes herself harder against the cold wall

You hate her. She has no reason to believe you are not part of this attack, or at the very least are now that her weakness is so pathetically displayed

But you don’t approach predatorily

With your hands raised, you gently move closer to her

She watches you closely, her golden eyes watchful even as her body trembles

Slowly, you unwrap the sleeping robe from around you. Is it this late already? Bela hadn’t noticed

The material is thin, but the action shows your intentions nonetheless, and so she allows you to lean into her personal space

A small, quiet gasp passes her lips when you pick her up. Automatically, she sets her hands on your shoulders and wraps the robe tighter around herself

With her vision blurry and the foul taste in her mouth, her bloodied, non functioning legs and aching arms, she doesn’t protest when you keep holding her up and close to you

Your warmth is…comforting

Bela winces a little. She doesn’t want to look up at you, doesn’t want to ruin this perfect moment

After all, when she does look up, what will she see? Hatred? Annoyance? Cockiness?

You pass the fireplace, walk up the stairs

She clings tighter to you, but there are no others in the hallway

All staff members know better than to leave their rooms at nighttime, and even more so in winter, when it is known the residents of castle Dimitrescu are more on edge and easier to irritate

After a little while she notices where you’re taking her- her own room, her safe harbour

She extends an aching arm and closes her fingers around the door knob, helping you open the way inside

She wonders; have you ever been in here? What do you think?

Despite her annoyance, Bela manages to bite down a curse when her cheeks heat up a little

Secretly, perhaps, she wants you to like her room

And like it you do

Bela is every bit the perfectionist you knew she is

But, there is beauty in this

Her shelves are organized neatly. The books placed in them tell you the woman in your arms is fond of just about everything

Information and documentaries of a vast range of topics can be found, from hobbies to animals, to biomes, to sciences

Her bed is made and her nightstand is nearly empty, save for the storybook placed on it

It isn’t opened and sports no mark or so

You assume she hasn’t touched it in a while, but somehow, you correctly guess that it’s meant for the few times her sisters sneak into her room and the story calms their anxious minds

When Bela looks up at you eventually, she gasps quietly at the softness found in your eyes

She stays quiet as you set her down on the bed, doesn’t even wince when you brush aside her hair to have a look at the nasty cut on her head

With the heat of the room, the wounds begin healing slowly

And still, you fuss over her

She hopes you don’t take notice of her dusty pink cheeks and wide eyes when you press your sleeve to her forehead

Your subtle smile tells her differently

Cassandra

She hates you, you’re sure of it

And you hate her, she’s sure

After all, why else would she dump dead, stinking deer in front of your room every single morning?!

Why else would she do this to you and no one else!

Why is she tormenting you? What have you done to her!

After all, why else would you dispose of her beautiful gifts every single morning?

You must hate her!

She feels stupid for gifting you her finest meat every day, but can’t stop, either

Perhaps she can yet woo you, after all

But you dump it off to the kitchens every time! Not even back to her! The kitchens! For common staff!

You must hate her…!

When you pass her in the halls, you do your best to avoid eye contact. Were you looking at her, you would notice her doing the exact same thing

Despite her hatred for you, you are curious about her

She’s beautiful, there’s no question there

With chocolate-coal-brown hair that easily falls down at her shoulders, sometimes curled, at other times straightened, her golden eyes you only sometimes dare gaze upon

She has one lazy eye, and you find it’s the cutest thing in the world. Her features are stunning and you regularly fight yourself to avoid staring at her

At night, at times, you can’t help but wonder what this beauty of a woman would be like curled against you

Her pale, snow-white skin pressed against yours, her face tucked away by your neck, your arms tight around her

Sometimes, you bitterly remind yourself; she would strike. Bite down at your jugular with all her might and drain the life from you

But, perhaps even happily so, you would allow her to

Despite her hatred of you, she has you wrapped around her finger

Despite your hatred of her, you have her wrapped around your finger

A raid at the castle marks the time both your lives are about to change

Raids are, by all means, hardly unusual

While they aren’t everyday happenings, all residents and staff of the castle, even the villagers, know of the foolish men and sometimes women attempting to break into the castle every few weeks or months or so

None are successful, but it seems this never dampens their spirit

But, there is protocol

And so you find yourself hiding in the only room closest to you at the beginning of the raid: the armory

The very armory occupied by Cassandra Dimitrescu

You know protocol, you know to hide in the nearest room, lock it even, and wait it out. Protocol never mentions the case being in which a Dimitrescu sister is near

You hold your breath, but it’s no use. She notices you immediately, and given the current raid at the castle you ought to be happy she doesn’t automatically strike you down

Instead, she holds your gaze for a moment. Your eyes meet a dark gold, more beautiful than anything you have ever seen before

You don’t notice you’re holding your breath until she stretches her arm out, her gloved fingertips pointing towards the back of the room

You understand instantly. A hiding spot, as instructed. Of course

Even as you slide between and behind the large barrels, hide behind the suits of armor standing at the back, you can’t help but keep your eyes lingering on her

Her back is smooth, her hips surprisingly slim

She looks regal, yet lethal in the way her fingers twitch and she grasps the weapon tighter every few seconds

Soon after you’ve slipped into your hiding place and Cassandra started sharpening her weapon- you briefly wonder why it is she stays with you, rather than throw herself into the sure fight happening somewhere in the castle- when you begin hearing shouts ahead

Then, you see them, two men, as they burst into the armory

They’re broad shouldered and sport brown hair and a brown, stubby beard. Thick noses and burst lips adorn their faces. They’re twins, and judged by their clothing, hunters stemming from the village

You hold your breath and shrink against the suits of armor and barrels surrounding you

They sneer at Cassandra, their weapons- two machetes, one each, drawn. They’re wholly focused on her

If they’ve seen you, they pay you no mind at all

Cassandra doesn’t wait for one of them to attack. Instead, you watch as she throws herself into battle

Swarming halfway and masterfully avoiding all incoming attacks from the two intruders, she catches one’s neck with the end of her sickle and reaps chunks of the other man’s clothing and skin from his ribs

You watch as blood forms and drops fast. The man splutters uselessly, stumbling back while the other, though injured, tries to fight back

It becomes clear to you now, why Cassandra is known as the best huntress at castle Dimitrescu

Despite her impressive display, your eyes press shut when the injured man stumbles in your direction

Again, he doesn’t seem to take notice of you, and yet you don’t dare move

Then, a loud bang forces your eyes open and a scream from your lungs

But you are not the only one screaming, and so you are lucky enough to be unnoticed again, for…

Cassandra’s scream was the one outweighing yours, you realise

The woman screams and shakes, her hood torn off to reveal teary eyes and her beautiful, pale skin breaking off slightly

Behind her, you notice the crack in the wall now a large gap. It must have been caused by the explosion you’ve heard

She’s still fighting strong, having finished the already weakened man bleeding out near you

Still, you grit your teeth and watch with wide eyes as the machete of the other connects with her arm. At first, she howls in pain, the noise so desperate and pure you almost cry

Then, the limb falls. You watch as it falls from her and breaks off into what must be hundreds of little flies that curl in on themself as the cold wind touches them

You grit your teeth when the woman stumbles backwards, her back dangerously close to the large gap in the wall. If she was to fall…

The man seems to have the same idea, pushing and swinging his machete around like a madman trying to make her back up into the gap

You decide you can’t bear to stand idle while her fate may be sealed

Slithering from behind the armor and barrels, you yank the other machete from the dead man’s tight grip

In a smooth, albeit difficult swing, the sharp blade meant for monsters connects with the man’s exposed neck, just where Cassandra struck him before

His head tips to the side as he collapses, and you drop the weapon immediately

Cassandra groans and growls madly as you near yourself and push her weak arm wielding the sickle aside

She reminds you a little of an animal with rabies, the way she shakes and growls, and you hope you don’t pay the bitter price for your care

Still, you wrap your arm around her slim hips and pull her towards you, wary of the large piece of broken off wall behind her

She doesn’t fight you, merely keeps on growling and- crying? You can’t be too sure. You didn’t take her for one to cry, but then again, you wince when you nearly step on what used to be her arm

Carefully, you scoop the unmoving flies from the floor and into your pocket

The woman is clearly out of it, her lips parted and sharp, fang-like teeth on display as she snarls and growls over and over again, her screams quiet, but almost banshee like in their shrill tone

You wonder; is she trying to reach her sisters with it? If she is, it’s entirely too quiet and weak of a scream, you decide

You take another gamble and hook your free hand under her legs, promptly lifting the woman into your arms

Again, she snarls and shakes, but makes no move to attack you

That is, if you don’t count her sharp, bloodied nails of her remaining hand digging into your shoulder

And still, you can’t bring yourself to believe this is meant to be an attack

You carry her out the library and the only place you know to be warm; the kitchens near the grand dining room

Cassandra relaxes significantly as you move her to the room, the warm fires and steam warming her sore body

Still, you don’t dare let go of her

When you hold your breath, you realise; she’s almost..purring? That can’t be right

The next thing you realise are the flies, previously unmoving, buzzing in your pocket

You set the woman down on a clear part of the table and retrieve one of them, smiling as it buzzes in your hand

You place a gentle kiss to it, not unaware of the small gasp coming from Cassandra, and release it. Immediately, it returns to the stump where her arm used to be

You repeat the process, kissing flies as they return to her

Cassandra’s thankful for the cold still in her body, for it’s at the very least suppressing her growing blush

You feel her lean against you and cant help but wonder;

Perhaps, she doesn’t hate you

Maybe, you don’t hate her

Daniela

Daniela is almost 100% sure you hate her

You never react to her sly smirks, her cute giggles, the sweet hand resting on your shoulder!

She has tried flirting with you for ages, and nothing!

You’re never rude to her, actually- you’re very kind to her!

You always bring her a flower when your work in the gardens is done

You always braid her hair for her and brush it out after

You make sure her room is clean and her bath is full of bubbles and delicious scents

You always smile when you see her

So why haven’t you kissed her yet!

She doesn’t understand

She’s thrown you so many signs! All she could. But you haven’t acted on a single one

She thinks, you must hate her

And you?

You’re a little…clueless

You like her, so very much

You lie awake at night, your mind occupied by the beautiful, auburn haired woman that regularly visits your dreams and thoughts alike

Sometimes, you dare dream

Could she be yours?

Could you make her happy?

Could she want you?

But is she not with others? So many stare when she passes, you hear the hushed voices either insulting, or praising her

She’s a goddess residing in this castle; what chance have you got?

You try to be close to her, yet never too close

You don’t want to disrespect her, never

You care far too much about her for such a thing

Then, one day, there is an attack

Lycans, they say, a stray pack headed from the village and led by their prey directly to the castle

Of course, the staff is immediately brought and locked away for safety

You are less lucky, having insisted the day prior you’d like to clean out the library

After all, this is where Daniela is known to spend her days…

Now, separated from the other staff members, you have little choice but to stay put

You try your best not to glance at Daniela, who stands with her sickle held tightly. She too heard the alarms, it seems

You grip the fire poker, your eyes still trained on the floor

You wonder; if you looked at her, could you ever advert your eyes again?

It seems, there is little to no time for you to dwell on this thought, for a loud bang and a snarl is all you hear when the door to the library is ripped from its hinges and a furry snout peaks through

Before you have time to react, Daniela grips the lycan already

You watch as she works, no, plays with the wild animal

She spins it and giggles, grips and yanks, breaks and slices

The beast only snarls at her, yet can’t even hope to land even a single claw on her

All goes well, you don’t even think you need to make use of your improvised weapon

Even the snarls and screams from the outside dull. They’re retreating, it seems

Then, however, a gasp is ripped from you when the beast pushes against you. Whether it did it on purpose or was knocked against you, you can’t tell, but you do realise one thing; you’re falling

Hoping to catch yourself, you reach out to grab all within reach

Only, unfortunately, is that a lever

In the next second you feel icy cold wind come down at you and hear the piercing scream of the auburn haired woman next to you

Your hand stretches out, your lips parting as you scream a warning that comes too late

She’s knocked back by the force of the lycan’s gigantic paw swiping at her, thick claws dragging through her dress and soft, pale skin

You feel ill as blood pools at her stomach and the sickle falls from her

She kicks the animal away, yet it looks, and sounds, as though each move only pains her so much more

You realise your own mistake fast and quickly work on shutting the windows again, her scream and your own blood pumping loudly urging you to work faster, faster, faster

When you look to the side, she’s barely sitting up, her bloodied hands and arms desperately shielding herself against the creature

You don’t think, can’t think, won’t take the time to think now

With the fire poker gripped tightly in your hand, you charge

You scream, and it’s met with a pained howl

Thankfully, Daniela must have injured the creature enough for a simple, powerful strike to its heart to finish it off

And still, you feel your uniform slip from you and the nasty, aching pain of the large slashes made at your back

You grit your teeth, ignoring the mark the creature has left on you even as its foulness enters your body

You turn Daniela to find her bloodied and shivering, her flies dropping, her skin seemingly switching between breaking and healing itself

Again, you don’t dare waste time

She watches you through a blurry haze as you wrap your arms around her. She almost tastes your scent

It takes everything not to taste you

She feels her wounds, the pain she has almost forgotten all about. What is pain? This is a nasty reminder

Next she’s lifted to you, her fingertips and face nuzzling your warm skin

You feel her move to you, as close as she could, and all but grant her this

You know now what happened, what you have caused her

And you’re set to fix it. You won’t allow a stupid mistake, an accident, to be it for her

Daniela shivers still as you pick her off the floor and rush through the halls

Yet, all she feels is you. Your warmth. Your heartbeat, loud and close against her ear. She loves every moment of it

She isn’t sure where you bring her at first, until she finds herself set on her bed

When did she get here? She can’t tell. Black dots appear in her vision and her stomach feels slick with blood even as it starts closing up again

You gently cup her cheek, your eyes, so beautiful and worried, checking her over

You notice the little cuts on her face heal and shut nearly instantly, whereas bruises caused by the cold wind stay stubbornly in place

Perhaps, if the cold hurts the woman, the heat could help her, you figure

Daniela whines when you move from her and for a moment you feel your cheeks heat up. Her fingers entangled with yours, her golden eyes wide and hopeful

She doesn’t want you to go. Not now. Even if you hate her

And really?

Neither do you

You only wish to hold her close, to protect the precious creature held so close to you

You wish to cup her face and stroke the soft fingers holding onto yours so sweetly

You want nothing but to nurse her back to health, to know her, really know her

To be here

To make her yours

You watch, the truth laid bare in her eyes. No flirty smiles you don’t understand, no hidden meanings behind words you can’t understand

Her feelings, exposed and shown to you in her bright, golden eyes

You lean down as gentle as you can, and even more so, you press your lips to the flower tattoo adorning her forehead

“I’ll draw you a bath, it will warm you up”, you whisper. Then, you promise:

“I’ll return, iubita mea”

[ladyxskywalker]

In Exile

Anakin Skywalker x F!Reader/OFC

after his battle with obi wan, anakin is spared & is instead banished to a remote farm world. there is no darth vader, no suit, no extensive injuries. only inner turmoil. he must find peace & healing. but what he didn't expect, was to find a kind lady there who just wants to be loved & help him.

part two

a choose your own outcome story ! weekly story polls posted at the end of each chapter ! hope you enjoy ! 💌

Sunflowers, part one

It is an unusual time of day.

The sky has already become a softened shade of violet, the wind whispering quietly as it passes by - the suns, still felt to be the warmest right before setting.

Anakin looks up towards the haze. It is the later part of Summer on this planet. A forgotten place with no name that he calls home now. His farm, still needing tending to, even though things are sparse and the people are few here. 

He keeps to himself often because he likes it that way, burying himself in his work, trying to forget things on repeat. Striking thoughts and vivid memories appearing to him in his headspace, never seeming just to go away. 

anakin, this isn't you...

you're going down a path I can not follow...

It’s as if he doesn’t truly want them to disappear. As though he needs to remember, just to keep going in some sick and twisted way. 

this isn’t living.

I’m only just existing…

Closing his eyes for a moment, Anakin lets out a calming exhale of breath, standing solemnly amongst the grass, as he becomes lost inside their gentle stream of swaying. It is the only thing he can allow of himself now. Something simple to ground himself in so that he can not feel anymore pain. Those insufferable feelings will happen later. At night, when sleeping is a luxury for him and he isn’t so busy. He doesn’t get much rest these days, consumed by every ounce of remembering. Wishing he could just turn everything off if only he had willed it to be so. To truly be emotionless. A thread of left behind humanity, constantly reeling him back in again. 

goodbye, old friend…

may the force be with you…

Anakin scoffs, adjusting his tunic before kneeling down into one of the plant beds, examining the delicate leaves taking shape on his now flowering vegetables. They’ll be ready to harvest very soon - he thinks. Which means, he’ll get to be proud of something for a change. Happy to have watched something grow, even if it had been on the outskirts of nowhere, in the middle of this strange and quiet town...

But then, he starts to think of his unborn children. Feeling as though he’d blown his only chance in life of watching them live, breathe, and thrive in the world. Considering the possibility of being a good father, teaching them what it means to be…

intelligent.

brave.

resourceful.

or even … good.

“I’m none of those things. Not anymore…” he says.

This time, not completely realizing that he’s said something to himself out loud, looking away from his dirt ridden hands to make sure that no one else had been there to notice.

But you had.

You always did. Even when you'd tried not to.

So beautiful, and smiling at him in the last remains of daylight.

Holding a freshly picked bunch of sunflowers in your arms, struggling a bit to hold onto all the stems.

“Here. Let me…”

He begins, brushing the palms of his hands onto the front of his pants, before making his way over to your small patch of land. 

I better help her before she loses them all…

don’t need anyone laughing at her.

no one. laughs. at. her…

“Oh…thank you so much Lars, you didn’t have to do that…”

Taking the flowers from her slightly shaken hands, he carefully begins to place them one by one into one of his garden baskets. Forgetting for a moment that he is no longer Vader, and no longer Anakin, either. That Lars is the only name now that he can go by. However misguided. It’s the only thing salvaged from his old life that he can have again. 

“Yes I did…better in here than on the ground. Don’t you have one of these things?” he says gruffly, focused on the task at hand. 

“I did…”

“What do you mean, you did?”

“Another farmer stole my only basket from me…among other things…they were upset, it was my fault anyway, and…”

“Upset? No matter of disagreement should ever warrant thievery.”

they don’t know the meaning of upset.

stealing from a lady…

really?

“They were angry when I didn’t return their affections. Now he’s trying to sabotage my business. Breaking things, poisoning my rose bushes... Spreading falsehoods about me and my family around the village…”

“Who. Is. He.?”

Anakin pauses deliberately between words, feeling a familiar heat inside himself rising to the surface.

Pointing to a house on the farthest side of town, he recognizes it immediately. 

Right opposite the lake.

The man is no farmer.

He's a vagrant fisherman.

Doing his own stretch of time on this desolate unlikely safe haven.

He must have escaped from someplace...

Avoiding a bounty...perhaps.

She's silent now. Perhaps he's frightened her with all of his wordless brooding.

Or...maybe it had something to do with the tightened closing of his fists.

I'm going to kill him.

“Go home. This will all be settled in the morning.”

“Settled…?”

He nods, having a hard time with being gentle. Trying his best to be reassuring.

But then, she smiles, her shoulders falling - relieved, before taking his hand. A metallic wonder resting in the palm of her own. She wishes that he can feel her, but somehow - strangely, she can almost sense that he does there.

“Thank you. I've been so afraid.”

Anakin hums, nodding in understanding.

If only she knew who was standing before her…

would she be in fear of me too here…?

doesn't matter…

But then...

Completely surprising him, she presses a kiss to his cheek.

Waves of unruly hair, almost getting in the way of it...

Leaving him standing there, contemplating a fight to be had in her honor at sunrise the next morning.

…❤️

a/n - thanks so much for reading ! 💫 I've been inspired to write a story again, & what better way to do it than to get everyone involved in the writing process too 😊 this idea has been swirling around in my mind (& drafts folder) for a while now, so it's been really exciting to see it come back to life in a whole new way. each part of the story will be cross posted to ao3, & will be tagged on tumblr with 'sky lady story time 💌' hope you enjoyed this first installment ! I'm excited to see what you guys want to see happen next 🌼☕📖 xo A