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pedrospatch · 8 months ago

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fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher��s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high.

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter.

His youngest daughter.

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still.

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit.

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none.

Still.

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation.

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him.

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told.

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs.

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

#fic: fall into temptation #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #post outbreak joel

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chaptersleftunwritten · 2 months ago

Text

Darkest Desire

Based off of this nonnie request! It’s a bit scarier than intended and I do apologise for that teehee. There’s also no smut…

Blurb: With a group of friends you visit the local Halloween Scare walk, an event that is hosted annually out in the creepy plaines of Hawkins and whilst it’s masks on for the locals, it’s very much masks off for the scare actors…

Pairing: Scare Actor!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, the holiday of Halloween is mentioned, talk of blood/gore, faux blades/knives, cursing, reader is referred to as girl, use of pet names, degrading, praising, stalking (cat&mouse), sly/cocky and slightly mean!Eddie. Characters are all 20+

divider by @reveriesources

Crunchy dry blood orange leaves litter the earth and frost tainted wind nips at your nose and cheeks. The squeals of excited children racing by your costume clad frame fills your ears with immense joy and you giggle airily as they launch themselves into one another. Racing toward the brightly lit luminescent funfair games in hopes of winning a stuffed animal or a goldfish in a bag.

Their parents lug behind them, their attire consisting of some makeshift costume they had thrown together at the last minute in hopes of pleasing their tiny humans and earning themselves a quiet car ride without any tantrums or fuss.

Your group, on the other hand, weren’t here for the childish and conning games. You were all here for the Scare Walk.

You hadn’t agreed on a coherent group costume so it was a pick and mix of totally different genres and ideas and from an outside perspective it was abundantly clear that there was no communication on the matter whatsoever.

Steve was dressed as the main character from Nightmare On Elm Street, Freddy Kruger. Nancy clearly had helped with the makeup aspect of the costume assemble but everything else screamed Harrington. He cropped the stripped knitted jumper to better suit his athletic frame and his hair was still very much classic Steve.

Robin had taken a whole new approach, dressing up as the colourful Rubik’s Cube puzzle toy. Deriving inspiration from the colourful squares she wore a long black jumpsuit covered in humongous reflective and vibrant square sequins. She more resembled a neon glitter ball, but you gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Nancy’s body was hugged by a khaki green boiler suit that had the long legs cut off and on her back she wore a black backpack with some DIY altercations made to it. She has begged Mike to help her create her costume, and that’s how she ended up dressed as a Ghostbuster, putting a strong feminine spin on the male dominated film. You hadn’t expected anything less from Nance, she was always looking for ways to empower women and her costume made you smile. Proud.

Jonathan had chosen a much whackier costume to better fit with his personality. The pungent smell of weed radiating from his body only complimented the fluorescent green costume he was wearing and the radioactive orange bandana blindfolded over his eyes. He had opted for the beloved character from the children’s series Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’, Michelangelo. Which shouldn’t have surprised you— but it did.

And finally, you had chosen something distinctively different from your friends. You had made the bold choice to go as a flapper girl from the 1920’s, inspired by Fitzgeralds novel The Great Gatsby. It was a bold move because you paired the costume with kitten heels and although they were small you knew by the end of the night your feet would be crying out for rest. It is a Scare Walk after all. Your body was adorned by glitter and lace and the fringe of your dress tickled at the exposed skin of your legs.

It was a bit chilly tonight, but you were having too much of a ball to really hone in and pay attention to the sharp gusts of wind. Steve and Robin were arguing over whose costume was more original and whilst Robin’s was, Steve always somehow managed to argue himself into being ‘right’.

“Talk to me when you have hand sewn a bazillion sequins onto something and not just took a pair of shears to a ratty old sweater.” Robin remarks with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest and marching ahead of Steve.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that it was surprisingly difficult to cut this thing into a straight line— and it isn’t ratty or old, I literally bought it like two days ago.” Steve fires back with a squinted gaze as he follows closely behind Robin’s reflective beacon of light that seems to lead us through the dimness. Nancy grumbles inwardly to herself.

“Can you two stop bickering like babies? We’re here to have fun! So let’s go and do that!” She hooks her arm with yours, charging forward, “I heard that some people from campus are working here this year. I don’t know what they’re doing but isn’t that exciting? We might bump into them!” You admired how Nancy could make a good situation out of everything, however you didn’t quite share her enthusiasm for meeting people you already knew. Nancy was all about making and strengthening connections whereas you wanted to just have fun— judgement free.

And now that you knew that your peers were watching your every move you couldn’t help but feel your confidence shrink slightly and your words clam up. Dying in your throat before they could ever be heard aloud.

The walk started off relatively slow and rather boring. You kept mistaking your dress tickling your calf’s as insects running up the skin of your legs and Robin would giggle at the way your head was constantly shooting downward.

“You seem awfully jittery— is someone scared already?” She taunts, wiggling her eyebrows at you and grinning widely as she did.

You scoff in response, “Please. I’m nearly dozing off back here.”

An eerie dark silence falls over the group and the golden haze from the spooky funfair starts to fade into the background behind you as you venture further and deeper into the doom and gloom of night fall.

The smell of sweet popcorn no longer lingers in the hairs of your nostrils and a sinister chill runs down the back of your spine; like fingers tickling your bare skin.

“Are we sure we are sticking to the trail? It’s getting pretty dark out here— OH MY FUCKING GOD!!” Two little girls dressed in bloody dresses and horrifying makeup charge toward you from a nearby hidden brush. Their eyes glow a disturbing shade of white and they hold faux knives that still look devilishly real. You stumble backwards, nearly collapsing from shock however before you could fall to the ground you feel a hard body hit your back which makes you scream out in terror.

The figure laughs at you, jeering and sharp as you whip around to meet him and your hand is quick to find your chest. Your fingers claw at the fabric of your dress and you fist the fabric with a shaky grip. You’re panting, struggling for breath and the skull painted face looms over you for a moment too long; cocking his head to the side as he examines your costume.

That’s when you realise something. Something that you immediately recognised as a dark secret. A dark desire that should be kept hidden.

As his onyx orbs gleam and glare down at you, you feel a wave of heat feather your cold skin. Your core pulses between your thighs and your mouth hangs open in dreadful clarity; you were fucking turned on by this.

His chiselled face is painted to resemble a bare skull. White with inky dark circles that deepen his eye sockets and his cheekbones are defined with thick blended shadowy lines. His lips are painted black to match his contours and he has hand drawn on a stretched toothy smile and an empty nose cavity.

He doesn’t speak a single word.

He just stares at you. Almost as if he is furious with you.

And before long he drags himself away from you, like the simple task is deemed painful and impossible for him.

His torso is dressed in a fitted white button down shirt which is rolled up to his elbows and it exposes his tattooed forearms. On his legs he wears a simple but professional pair of black trousers paired with black suspenders that sling over his shoulders. On his feet he has combat boots supporting his ankles and some sort of padded device strapped around the joint of his knees.

You gawk at him as he skates across the concrete on his knees at an alarmingly fast rate toward another group of poor people; leaving sparks of light in his dust as they squirm and scream. Some of them even go as far to sprint off into the darkness away from him; which leaves the masked man cackling darkly and running after them.

“Holy shit! I had no idea he would be working here this year!” Steve slaps the palm of his hand onto your shoulder as he chuckles heavily and you pull away from him confused and slightly annoyed.

“Who is ‘he’ and how do you know him?” Steve’s laughter dies out slowly and his hands come to rest on his hips. A stance that he did often. The rest of the gang come to join you with curious expressions on their faces.

“Seriously? You don’t recognise him?” There’s a pause as you shake your head ‘no’ and Steve rolls his amber eyes dramatically, “That’s Eddie Munson, dipshit. He’s always smoking weed out in the courtyard on campus? Playing with the fire from the benson burner during chemistry— is this ringing any bells?” You shrug, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

Is Eddie Munson someone you should know about?

“He has long, curly hair— not better than mine but hey, it’s definitely up there.” Steve’s hand smooths over his slicked back hair that is thick with gel and you laugh, now being able to form an image of Eddie in your mind.

“Ohh, the metal head? He sometimes walks around with his guitar slung over his back?” You reply as you begin to walk off after realising that you have all come to a stand still— and partially because you want to see Eddie again.

“Yeah! He is wicked with a guitar! I’ve seen him play.” Robin chirps from your left and Nancy hums on your right.

“He is pretty good.” Jonathan speaks through a mouthful of candy and you try to disguise your disgust as you unfortunately get a glimpse of the food on his tongue.

“Right…” is all you quietly reply as your eyes scan the bluish darkness. You can hear an owl hooting off in the distance and if it weren’t for the jump scares waiting for you, you would find this promenade quite peaceful.

Crickets whisper conversations from the tall blades of grass and you can see lanterns dotted up ahead of you. They cast ghoulish shadows all around the dirt path and your head twitches from side to side— trying to catch any of the silhouettes moving.

But they don’t.

You have strayed further ahead of the group, their voices hitting your ears in the form of muffled sounds but you don’t bother to wait on them. They are too busy laughing and booing at some of the scare actors whereas your heart is still palpitating at a ridiculous rate from the last scare.

Some of the actors were so gruesomely scary that you felt transported into your favourite slasher films whereas the others were just looming and ominous— more human. Humans are the scariest creatures after all. You fear your own kind in opposition to the unknown.

That’s why when the familiar skull skates over to you on his knees, you freeze this time. No fight or flight; just freeze. Your mouth gaping wide as his nose nearly brushes yours.

“Eddie.” His name is a breathless squeeze from your lungs as it leaves your mouth. You have to say his name aloud in order to ground your thundering heart. Were you excited or frightened? Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Whatever it was, the man stood in front of you wasn’t best pleased. His eyes narrow into irritated slits and his fingers toy with a piece of your hair— twirling it before yanking on it playfully.

Steve, Nancy, Robin and Jonathan all sprint past you in urgency. They screaming until their throats run raw as a deranged man with a faux chainsaw chases after them. Hot on their heels.

You and Eddie go unnoticed by them… and now…

Now you feel afraid.

“Y’know you aren’t supposed to address the actors personally, right?” He sneers through a tight jaw.

“He speaks.” You quip back sassily and Eddie huffs a distorted laugh.

“I’ve seen you around campus— even prettier up close. It’s a shame your attitude ruins that.” He circles you like a shark in water and you follow him. Twirling around makes you dizzy but Eddie’s chuckle makes your dizzier.

“Like a little lost lamb.” He coos, “Where are your cronies? Seems they’ve ditched.” His glove clad knuckle grazes your cheek and you flinch away from his soft touch. Taking a few steps back you widen the close distance between the two of you.

This causes Eddie to grin hugely; showing all of his teeth as he did.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now?” He prowls toward you however you are quick to match every one of his steps. He takes a stride forward? You take a step back.

“You could run away if you wanted… but that’ll only entice me more. Didn’t they tell you? I love the chase.” His voice is a low animalistic growl and you couldn’t understand if this was Eddie or his character talking to you. Was this all an act or was he genuinely this menacing?

“I thought you actors weren’t supposed to get this close to the public…” You hunch your shoulders upward toward your ears as you cower away from his stalky frame and he stares through you; the gears in his head turning.

You shift on the balls of your feet uncomfortably and your skin blazes beneath his intense gaze.

“You’re blushing.” He says matter of factly and suddenly you feel the need to straighten your posture and try to get as far from him as possible.

“I am not.” The lie is pathetic as it meets the frosted air and Eddie smiles eerily.

“It’s the makeup, isn’t it? You like the makeup.” His head strains back on his neck as he lets out a loud laugh, “Fuck— that’s pathetic. You must be into some really weird shit.”

“I- that’s absurd!! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You squeal and slink your arms around your torso. Partially because you were cold but also to be protective and assertive of yourself, “You don’t even know me—“ Eddie interjects, his finger tapping impatiently against his painted lips.

“Shhhh.” You feel the soft grain of his leather gloves as they tickle your skin and Eddie’s hands fully embrace your bare shoulders, “It’s okay— I like your costume too, I suppose.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “I mean, it’s a bit outdated and boring but hey, you look good.” He flashes you a teasing wink that is nearly enough to make your lungs implode with lack of oxygen.

“Goodbye, Munson.” You swivel on your kitten heels and briskly find the frozen dirt path again. Your head involuntarily looks over your shoulder, trying to catch sight of Eddie one last time as you leave him behind but to your total disadvantage the metal head was no longer standing where you had left him.

He too, had taken off.

And unbeknownst to you, you had just pressed play on one of Eddie Munson’s all time favourite games; Cat and mouse.

It was getting later and later with every passing second and you couldn’t find your friends anywhere. You had last seen them run off whilst laughing and screaming in total horror but you hadn’t seen them since.

Had they actually ditched you and went home?

Once the thought infiltrated your psyche you contemplated on cutting the scare walk short and heading back to the funfair to search for them. However, going back meant that you had to go alone and there was something devilish about that.

To your left, through a thick canvas of sweetgum trees you can hear the owl again. Hooting softly— a sound that should calm your nerves but instead it tugs on them viciously. It’s more like an emergency siren warning you. A sign for you to run and to never look back.

A man made whistle slices through the chirping of the birds and it cuts at your skin like the edge of a blade. You look left and right, frantically dancing in circles as you try to determine where it’s coming from; but you are met with nothingness.

“Eddie, if that’s you then cut it out! This isn’t funny!” Your fingernails pinch at your skin as you begin to walk panicked in the opposite direction. Never paying attention to what’s in front of you, your gaze always trailing off to the side and behind you.

That’s when you see him— the skull peering at you from a dark line of trees in the distance. Your feet come to a staggering stop as you eye him. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was Eddie really staring back at you or were you deluding yourself?

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry as you watch him emerge from the greenery. Before your brain can compute what your body is doing you are running; charging into the fullness of the forest.

Tree branches whip and rip at your skin, causing it to redden and sting. You wince but you continue soldiering on, your shoulders barge through sticks and nettles and thorns.

Your mind had convinced you that this was real. That you were being chased by a psycho.

“Hey— hey, stop!! It’s okay! Wait—“ Eddie is close behind you, crunching twigs beneath his boots but you are quicker than he is; more frightened and resilient to get as far from him as possible. For your own safety.

“Sweetheart! Stop!” You can hear him getting frustrated as he trudges through the cluttered landscape but you can see lights shining in front of you, just up ahead, and it causes you to force your legs to quicken. Desperate to reach there.

But just before you explode onto the funfair grounds your legs give way beneath you and you crash to the ground. The palms of your hands scrape against the jagged forest floor and your dress rips against a spiked log. You thought this shit only happened in the movies— but tonight you were proven wrong.

You look behind you and your eyes well up with tears of both pure adrenaline and fear at Eddie propelling himself toward you.

You bring up your hands around your head to protect yourself as you shrink back onto the floor, over the fact that your hair is full of pine needles and your knees are scraped and bleeding.

Eddie crouches by your side, a deep frown on his face and worry in his eyes.

“Hey, sweet girl, you’re okay…” Eddie bites off his leather gloves and throws them to the soft earth. He is gentle to pry your cold hands away from your muddied face and he hisses quietly at the temperature of your skin compared to his. He examines the palms of your hands tenderly, “Ouch… this must hurt. What were you thinking?”

Your foolishness almost causes Eddie to laugh, but after witnessing the genuine anxiety plaguing your features he decides not to.

“It was too real.” You blubber, letting out a dampened sob and Eddie’s heart pangs with guilt and sorrow, “I couldn’t find anyone and… and I saw you and I just couldn’t think of anything else…”

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere, let me help you up.” Eddie is crouched down, his knees bent as he braces himself in front of your shaking frame. He outstretches his hands toward you and you take them hesitantly.

Thanks to Eddie’s strength he pulls your weak body up to meet his with ease and he hold you against his chest. Breathing softly as he tries to calm your laboured and nervous breaths.

“I really am sorry… it’s just me, ‘Kay? I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise.” He peppers comforting pecks into your hair and your nails claw at the back of his shirt, “It must’ve been pretty scary; being out there all alone with me.”

You nod, your mind finally calming at the sound of his lulling and gentle voice.

“I do like the makeup.” Your confession is meek and muffled against his chest, “I think there must be something wrong with me.” You laugh, managing to pull away his chest and look at him much more confidently now.

“Not at all,” Eddie grins, “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually. Very normal— it might even be considered vanilla to some people out there.” Although you have removed yourself from the skull painted man’s chest, the closeness between the both of you remains the same.

The truth was; Eddie had always admired you. Your intelligence and your cunning. You were beautiful, which was the cherry on top of your infectiously bright personality. He had noticed you at the beginning of the academic year and he was too chicken to talk to you. You both were connected through Steve but Steve never really paid attention to Eddie’s longing and begging looks toward you.

But Steve didn’t have to say anything. Not anymore. Because you could see it for yourself. You could see beneath the intricate paint on his face that Eddie felt something for you. You weren’t sure what it was; lust, a crush or plain friendship but you could see it. Feel it.

“You must think I’m a total freak.”

“You have no idea who you’re talking to, sweetheart. I am the biggest freak to have ever lived.” Eddie lets out a giddy chuckle and his hands continue to rest lightly around your body. You welcome his lingering touch and his nearness. It felt familiar. Nice.

“We both look like weirdos standing out here in the dark.” Your eyes scan around the auburn horizon of tall trees and a soft smile rests on your smudged lipstick covered lips, “People are going to think we’ve been up to no good.”

Eddie smiles, his hand coming to stroke your cheek gently and tuck some of your rouge hair behind your ear, “With how windswept your hair is, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You both stand there, the air is clouded with electrifying tension and you can’t think of anything else other than how badly you want him to kiss you.

“I wanna take you out… on a date.” His hands cup your face, “When I’m not this caricature. I’ll just be me and you will be you. You won’t have to run from me…” His cold nose brushes the tip of yours, “I won’t have to chase you.” You can smell mint and nicotine on his breath and you have never been more intoxicated by anything in your entire life.

“What’d ya say, sweet girl? Let me take you somewhere nice so I can kiss you properly at the end of the night?” There is a slight desperation to his voice and you bite your lip to suppress a wide smile.

“I’d like you to chase me, Eddie. Chase me with daisies and a boombox and your guitar. You won’t have to run after me for long…” You are dangerously close to him now, your breath quickening as you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. It takes every ounce of self control not to eat his entire mouth with yours, “Take me anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

“I will.” He promises.

“And kiss me at the end of the night?” You are desperate yourself now, your eyes sparkling with moonlight as you look up into his shadowy hues.

“I will.” He strokes your hair so delicately; like you are the most precious thing he has ever handled, “I promise.”

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 2 years ago

Text

Keep Moving Forward

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You're determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he's just some guy that's taller than most people right? He's probably harmless! Well, he's a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Just want to say a massive thank you for everyones lovely comments on the last part, I can't believe how many notes that has now 😱 I've got a taglist so if you want to be added or removed (I just stuck down everyone that commented or reblogged the last one with tags/comments) lemme know! Also I've got my own version of what König looks like and I've been including details so hopefully you like my thoughts on him 🥰

Part 2 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

A forbidden crush, a whole unit of men watching out for any missteps and a job that required you to be on your A game - it all sounded a bit like a bonkers netflix plot, but no this was your life now. You were desperately trying to hide your little (massive) König crush, while trying to get through your days and it was going horribly. The universe was working against you.

König kept appearing for one. Now that he knew you weren’t talking to him just to fuck with him, you’d been meeting more and more and talking for longer each time. In fact, you’d come to learn a lot about the man in the short amount of time you’d spent together and unfortunately for you, nothing about any of it turned you off. In fact, you were only falling harder for him.

Every touch, every grazed hand when you were reaching for mugs and brushed sides when you sat together on the couch - they were driving you crazy. Not to mention catching little details about him here and there, painting a mental picture that rivalled the mona lisa.

You’d caught a glimpse of a scar that snaked up from his lip and a few that marred his hands and arms, you’d noted bruises that carried back from missions and most of all you couldn’t help but think of the little birthmark on his left hip that he’d exposed when he’d been reaching for tea. You thought about running your fingers along them often, kissing them all better.

You’d learned that it was pretty much pointless to make movie references to König because he barely took time to watch them. He was much more of a doer, he didn’t like to sit still for long and most film runtimes were over an hour and a half, which was no good for him. And so you’d slowly gotten a peek into his more active hobbies. Hiking, rock climbing and skiing, only to name a few. The man was an athlete that rivalled most of the soldiers you knew.

“And this was the view from top!” he’d proudly said after he showed you another picture from one of his hikes.

“Woah, no wonder your legs are like tree trunks,” you’d murmured, raking your eyes over his thick thighs.

“What was that?”

“Oh! Just- you must get a good workout climbing all those hills.”

Just one of the many times you’d let your appreciation for him slip. You could barely help it most of the time, he had your words fizzling out like some kind of mentos and coke explosion. The highly trained soldier in you died the minute you were in a room with him.

It was when he grabbed you that you finally went stupid for him. König was - as Captain Price had described him - a mammoth in many regards. You’d already taken note of his verging on monstrous height, but you’d come to learn a lot more about his strength. He could lift you like you were little more than a lap dog.

How had you come to find this out? Well -

“Watch out!”

Your head had been completely in the clouds, busy catching up with messages from your family, when suddenly you were in the air. You gasped as you felt a pair of hulking arms pick you like an apple from a low hanging branch and squeaked when you looked down and came to notice the pile of vomit that lurked below your flailing feet. Gross.

Then you’d come to the slow realisation of exactly whose arms were wrapped around you. Suddenly the rising feeling of nausea was replaced by hordes of stirred up butterflies.

“Are you ok?”

You blinked, still shocked that König was holding you like you were nothing.

“Uh- ah- yeah! Yup! All good, big guy!”

You’d hurried out your reply, sputtering out your words like a leaky tap. You felt like an idiot. Then the feeling intensified when he put you down and turned you to face him. In fact, you felt like someone had placed a heat pad to your face after running a marathon.

If he could lift you that easy when you were limp, imagine how easy he could lift you up against the wall and-

“Are you sure you’re ok? You look…not so good?.”

You gulped and offered him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and then - to make matters worse - a double thumbs up (who did that???). You silently cursed in your mind, but covered up your embarrassment by staring back at the sick pile for a second and then facing König again.

“Ew…thanks for saving me from that! I would’ve been throwing up as well if I’d had to clean that outta my shoes.”

“Any time, friend!”

Friend.

It stung a little, but then you had to remind yourself you were both supposed to be acting professionally, this was a base afterall, and quickly righted yourself. Friend would do fine in a setting where Price would have your head for even looking at König a little flirtily. Especially when the resident gossips had continued to grass you in for any interactions they caught.

-☠️-

“That was some amount of whitey those new recruits left all over the hallways yesterday,” Soap had remarked after finishing a set of pull ups.

You hummed in agreement, remembering back to being lifted and growing quiet as you thought about Königs bulging arms. It had been a recurring thought for the whole twenty two hours since it had happened. Not that you were counting or anything, especially not being obsessive by any means. It was just that the electricity that had been sparked by that touch had been racing around your body and now you were stuck replaying the scene over and over in your head like an accursed rerun.

“English, Soap,” Ghost grunted, from a nearby bench.

“There was a lot of puke all over the place yesterday,” Soap sighed, rolling his eyes at the Lieutenant.

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Did you hear sneaky almost stepped in it?”

“Ooft, that’d be a shite shift cleaning that off.”

“I know. Luckily little sneak got airlifted to safety,” Ghost said slyly, giving you a pointed look. “Got snatched away by a certain giant before they stepped right in it.”

You froze in your spot, just about to curl a weight upwards before letting it crash out of your hands and onto the floor. That fucking, no good old dear prick! How had he heard about that? You hadn’t thought anyone else had been around when it had happened.

“Careful, sneak. The German’s not here to stop that from stubbing your toe,” Ghost chuckled.

“He’s Austrian actually…And how did you know about that?”

“Oooh! Austrian,” Soap snickered.

“Well I do apologise. You should know by now that I hear about everything when it comes to our unit, sweetheart.”

You hated that. Whenever Ghost patronisingly called you sweetheart it made your blood boil and clouded your thoughts like a thick red mist. Though, there was nothing you could do about it. He wasn’t someone you could wage revenge on without being thoroughly outgunned in all respects. Plus, it would only make you look more guilty.

“Well, you didn’t even know what nationality König was so you don’t know everything,” you muttered.

“Well, now that you’ve filled me in, I can go tell Price you were getting lifted up by the big Austrian cunt that he told you to stay away from,” he countered smugly.

“What! I can’t help who snatches me out of the air from nowhere,” you hissed. “Have you seen the size of him? I can’t exactly stop him.”

He tisked.

“Well then, soldier. Sounds like you need more training. C’mere, we’ll practise getting out of holds!”

You yelped as Ghost had come crashing toward you and dove out of the way just in time to miss his outstretched arms. Even if he was smaller than your new companion, Ghost was still built like a tank - and he would pin you down like a mouse under the wheel of a 4x4 if he caught you.

“Stay away from me!” you’d squealed, running away from the gym.

“Oh now you’re suddenly averse to getting grabbed!”

-☠️-

Essentially, you were discovering a new level of hell every day. Your entire unit had cottoned on to your little thing with König and now there was no escape from the jokes they made. Well that is until Price came along and no one was quite enough of an asshole to mention your activities to him. You all knew the consequences of getting his back up and it wasn’t worth the stress for anyone.

Though, not everyone was aware of that - König himself for one. Unluckily for you, you’d found yourself in the kitchen with Price and Soap and just as the kettle was put to the boil, who should walk in but the Austrian giant himself.

“Evening,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the kettle.

Soap looked up from his phone as he noticed König and widened his eyes before searching you out and giving you a sly smile. Oh lord. You knew he was going to love watching you squirm.

Suddenly your heart was thudding like a samba drum and your mind was racing to find your self restraint. Don’t let Price see you turn into a nervous fucking wreck! You repeated that over and over like a mantra, turning it over in the sands of your mind as if you might find some calm that way.

“Evenin’” you smiled, feeling your voice lilt.

Oh god.

You smiled at König as he approached the counter and promptly scampered away to the table, hoping that by keeping some distance you wouldn’t be so transparent. Fat chance considering the stupid smirk that was all over Soap’s face as he pretended to batter his eye lashes behind Price’s back. Asshole!

You knew you looked guilty as hell, even if you were walking away from König. However, any chance of not being caught ogling by Price was worth taking. So you figured you’d stare at your phone instead and prayed to all the gods you knew of that König was busy and he’d have to leave again after getting himself something to drink.

Why didn’t he ever go out for food? There was a perfectly nice pub just over the road and he could easily go there instead of looking over you all the time - putting you in grievous danger of toilet duty. You’d have to tell him about it sometime, and hope that he’d ask to go with you.

“Anyone else want a brew?” Price offered, in the midst of pouring his own cup.

You looked up from your phone screen, darting your eyes over to the captain. Answer him! Speak normally!

“Oh! Yes, me please.”

Maybe that was a little more polite and nicey-nice than usual, but at least you were coherent. That was something, a small victory.

“Coffee for me, Price,” Soap grinned.

You breathed out a small sigh now that Price was distracted by Soap and let your eyes wander over to König, resting your chin in your hand. He was so big, he towered over the two other men by a few heads at least. He could pin you down like a lion and there’d be nothing you could do about it, nothing you’d want to do about it.

“That’s the wrong one.”

You jumped as König’s accented voice interrupted the thankful silence and widened your eyes as you watched him turn to Price. What was he doing? You sucked in a breath and watched as the two men became locked into an exchange and silently hoped a rogue sniper might take you out.

“Sorry, what was that?” Price asked, frowning deeply as he stared at the masked man.

“That’s the wrong tea,” König supplied helpfully. “Sneaky likes this one.”

As if correcting Price on his choice of tea wasn’t enough, König went to the lengths of picking a bag of your herbal stuff out. He dropped it into the mug and stuck the other bag back in the back, tilting his head as Price stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Well then…thanks for the advice,” he finally said, turning to stare you down. “It’s never nice when you expect one thing and get the other.”

You were in deep shit.

He was giving you the ‘I’ve killed before and I’ll do it again’ look. You gulped and slumped in your chair, feeling like a tiny child that was about to get reprimanded. Price was going to learn all about your involvement with König soon, the game was up.

“Oh yeah, no problem!” König said, sounding like he was smiling under his mask.

That idiot!

Though, in fairness to him he knew nothing about the toilet duty thing. He didn’t even have any idea that you weren’t supposed to be interacting with him, especially when you’d gone so out of your way to do it over the past month. It wasn’t his fault, but at the same time you could strangle his beautiful massive neck for what he’d done.

“Sneak, would you mind coming with me for a moment? I think we should have a little chat,” Price smiled. “I’ll bring your tea.”

He was probably omitting that he was going to dump it over your stupid head, you thought worriedly. This wasn’t good at all.

You gulped and nodded at him, slinking out of your chair like a dog about to take a beating. Though, you continued to follow behind him just as dutifully - Ignoring Soap as he gave you a little wave off and a snarky smile. You knew as soon as you’d left that he was messaging the group chat right then, and the whole 141 would know that you were getting pulled up for speaking to König.

He lead you down the hall and into an empty meeting room, setting the two mugs down on the table, they hit the wood like death knells, and pointed to the chair in front of him. It all felt very formal, like this was going to be one of the worst telling offs of your life.

“Don’t look so scared, kid.”

You bit your tongue and chanced a look in his eyes, seeing the glint that lingered within them. He didn’t look furious, but he didn’t look like he was going to offer you a cuddle and kind words either. It made you sweat a little less, but you weren’t dumb enough to completely untense your body yet.

“Y-you’re not annoyed that I’ve been speaking to König?” You asked, chancing your luck.

“Oh, I’m annoyed, but I’m not going to kill you for it,” he laughed humorlessly, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’re going to shit yourself.”

“I think I might,” you said, biting your lip and fastening your shaky hands around your warm tea cup.

“See, that’s why I’m concerned about this…relationship you’re building with König. I worry about you.”

You frowned, thoroughly surprised by his reaction. He was being a damn sight more sympathetic than you were expecting. This wasn’t a bollocking, this was an intervention.

“You don’t have to worry. We’re just friends - strictly platonic! We talk and have tea together, nothing more than that,” you explain breathily, hoping it’ll appease the captain.

He strokes a hand through his beard and eyes you warily. He’s clearly unconvinced. His jaw is set into a worried line.

“Hmm.”

He doesn’t give much away.

“Really, I’m not trying to take things f-further.”

You stutter like a liar. Really, that is what you’re doing if you’re honest with yourself. You might not be asking König out on dates and braiding flowers into his gear, but you have been shamelessly flirting with him and getting into close proximity with him at the slightest chance. Plus, Price practically knows you better than your own parents, he’d be able to tell when you were acting differently, like you were in terminal stages of puppy love.

“Look, he’s not part of our unit, so really it’s none of my business, I can’t actually do anything about it - as much as I’d like to,” he says, glowering for a moment. “I just think that he’s dangerous and I don’t like the thought of you getting close to him. For all I know, he’s nice enough to you, but when he’s on the field that man’s an animal. There’s something wrong with him.”

You gasp a little as he says it, shocked that he’d say something like that to you. What did he mean there was something wrong with König? Sure, you thought, he was quiet and intimidating but he was so polite and cheerful when you’d gotten to know him more. It’s not like most people were their best selves on a battlefield - it was in your training to leave all that behind. It was hypocritical to judge Königs actions given your experience with the 141 out on missions.

“What do you mean there’s something wrong with him?” You finally asked, curious to know just what Price meant.

“He takes too much pleasure in the work he does. He’s sick when he’s out there- like letting a rabid dog out of its cage. I worry about you getting involved with him and being at the mercy of a man like that. You wouldn’t have any chance against him, Sneak. I’ve seen him crush bones like they’re twigs, he’d snap you like a toothpick.”

You can feel your pulse in your ears, can hear it working away like a jackhammer. You don’t know how to respond. The fact that Price is this worried for you really does concern you, but on the other hand König has never given you any reason to be scared of him beyond that first encounter you’d had with him. Then again, you reasoned that that surely wasn’t the real him - that was guarded walled up version of him. Right?

“I see,” you sighed, not able to come out with more.

“I know you won’t want to take my word for it, and you’re going to keep doing whatever it is you're actually doing. I just want to know that you’ve been warned and you’re going to be careful.”

You took a breath and looked away, roving your eyes over the assortment of chairs on the other side of the room. Sure, you could take his warning on. Though, it didn’t feel like it was going to stick, not when you thought back to his arms wrapped around you and making you feel like a precious gem.

“I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind,” you acquiesced.

“Good soldier,” Price smiled, leaning over and patting your shoulder.

You swallowed thickly and stood up, feeling your breathing return back to normal. Well that was it then. You weren’t going to be killed on sight and you didn’t have to worry about staring down the bowl of a toilet for the rest of your miserable life.

You both stepped out the doorway and into the light of the hall. You felt dizzy on your feet, but relieved that you were getting away without any punishment. Well, other than the fact that König might be someone to worry about rattling around in the back of your mind, that is. Then again, you had a sneaking suspicion that you’d forget all about it as soon as you were in his company again…

“Remember what I said, Sneaky! Otherwise I’ll let you think about it some more while you’re on your knees scrubbing toilets,” Price said over his shoulder, taking an indulgent sip of his coffee afterwards.

You stopped in your tracks and shared a look with Soap, who’d poked his head out of the kitchen to check on you. Well, maybe you weren’t going to completely forget Price’s warning. His lingering threat would keep you on your toes.

-☠️-

“It seems a little late for you to be out walking,” you noted.

You watched as König whirled around, and went wide eyed when he looked like he might hit you. His fist was drawn back and just when it looked like he was about to swing it - he stopped and let it fall flatly to his side. As soon as he’d scanned his eyes over your shrinking form he went limp immediately.

“Scheiße! Where the hell did you come from?” he cursed.

You took a moment to recover but eventually found your heartbeat returning to its regular rhythm and swallowed, relaxing your shoulders soon after. That was close. You assumed he’d have known you were sitting there on the wall, he always seemed to have a hyper awareness of you as if he was some kind of bat. Though his echolocation must have failed for once, you’d been too obscured by the untrimmed tree branches that had surrounded you, most likely.

“I-I come out and sit here sometimes, its nice to look at the stars.”

König regarded the wall you were sitting on, just a low down thing made of worn stone and his head followed where it stretched down the road. It cut off the pavement from the small scatty park inside. Then when he looked back at you with his twinkling azure eyes, those eyes that had you forgetting all about the near miss that just happened, you finally got to take him in properly. You watched him as he settled next to you on your makeshift seat.

Two things struck you all at once. Firstly, König was wearing a neck warmer instead of his usual sniper hood, probably so he wouldn’t scare any civilians more than a hulking giant like himself normally would, it was drawn way up to the bridge of his nose, but nevertheless you knew it was him under there. And next - the mess of shaggy dirty-blonde hair on top of his head. You had to fight the urge not to ask if you could run your hands through it. It was like putting a moth in front of a thousand watt bulb. You ached to feel the fuzz of his faded sides and get to rearrange the chaotic locks above that sprawled in every direction.

“You’re staring.”

You bit your lip as he said it, and looked away guiltily. Oh fuck. It’s not like it could be helped though, this was the most you’d gotten to see of him. He was always so covered up and burdened by gear you could barely make out the man from the material - and now you were getting to see what was basically a visual buffet of König. It wasn’t fair. You could look at every inch of him that he’d let you see all day.

“Sorry,” you finally breathed out. “I just- uh was surprised is all.”

“Why?” he smirked, eyes crinkling as he stared right back.

“Didn’t think you’d be blonde,” you say, thinking blessedly quickly.

“What is it they say? Blondes have more fun?” he chuckled, coming to sit on the wall next to you.

You snorted and looked away from him again. Even though you’d been talking for a while now, his silly humour could still surprise you, especially when you recalled the way everyone acted around him, as if he’d bite them if they got too close. It was like getting to see a tiger roll onto his stomach when no one else was around.

“How come you don’t wear that around the base?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

“Why would I? I can wear my hood there without getting questioned about it.”

“But isn’t it less stuffy with the neck warmer?” You ask, crinkling your nose at the thought of being trapped under that heavy material all day.

“Yes, but it’s as though I can physically feel people's eyes cutting into me when I wear this - or nothing. The staring is too much.”

You pause for a second and laugh at yourself, feeling a little more embarrassed.

“...Like I was just doing to you there.”

König laughs a little with you, but after a second he shakes his head and breaths out into the frigid night air. The skies had been dark for a little while by that point and the light of the moon was bright and shiny, reflecting in König’s eyes like a gleaming pearl. It was probably the first time you ever recalled admiring the moon that much.

“I didn't feel like I was being dissected by you, no.”

You felt a little tingle run rogue down your arm. So he didn’t mind you looking at him? You smiled a little wider to yourself and tried to conceal it with a scratch of your cheek.

“Really? Why’s that?” You asked, feeling a little brave.

“You stare at me all the time, I’m used to it.”

Instantly it felt as if the air had caught fire and was charring you into oblivion. He’d caught you? Why hadn’t he said anything before? You opened your mouth ready to come up with some kind of silly excuse, too flustered to think of something good. Though he interrupts you before you can get a sound out.

“I didn't mean to embarrass you, I find it endearing,” he soothed.

“What? Why?” you ask dumbly.

“The way you look - with your wide doe eyes…” he says trailing off.

Now he cant look at you. His head turns away. You can't speak either, so you're both left frozen in place.

“The way you’re looking at me now,” he finally says.

“Maybe I just can’t stop staring at your messy hair,” you chuckle, trying to awkwardly change the subject. “Someone should fix that for you.”

“Does someone want to?” he asks, his brows setting as he tilts his chin.

Oh no. You bite your lip feeling like your body’s going to astrally project onto another planet. Was this really happening? Did he actually just give you permission to touch him, no, run your hands through his hair?

Part of you wants to laugh him off and prevent any embarrassment when he turns around and says he was kidding, says you’re a weirdo for wanting to touch him like that. Your mind starts going down avenues of all the awful things he could say about the little freak that looks at him too much, but then the sane part of your mind kicks and acts as a buffer stop, halting the run away anxiety train. König would never do that to you.

You were far too used to dealing with Ghost and Soap, and all of their stupid teasing. But even then, not even they would do something so cruel.

“I do,” you murmur.

König nods and leans forward and closes his eyes, giving you what little advantage he can with the amount of height he has on you. At first, you’re incredulous that you’re in a real life scenario and not locked into a fantasy seven layers deep, but you quickly give up that idea and decide to tentatively reach out. You’re too excited not to take the opportunity.

Your hand shakes a little at first as you make contact with his soft hair, and immediately you think of the devil dog your neighbour used to have when you were a kid. It was a huge old thing that barked like a foghorn, but once it got to know you, it would roll over and present its downy fur and you could spend hours at a time running your hands through it. Now, though, it’s not the scary shepherd you’re taming, it’s König.

He sits perfectly still while you sort through all the strands, smoothing them back and fixing them into place. You swear you can hear soft groans coming from him, but they’re so quiet you could be mistaken. That, and you’re too mesmerised by the task at hand, forming his hood mussed hair into a style.

When you’re done and his hair is mostly settled - apart from a small cow lick you can’t seem to fix - you can’t help but run your fingers over the fuzz on the side of his head. Immediately he shivers like a harsh breeze has rolled in, surprising you, but when he snaps his eyes open they don’t look annoyed like you worry he is, instead he looks ready to pin you down and take you right there against the wall.

“That felt very nice,” he said softly, blown out pupils shifting away from you as he straightened.

You’re not sure what to say, you just smile and bite your lip, keeping your eyes fixed on him. You know rightly that your pupils are just as wide as his, you can practically feel the explosion that’s going on. You want him.

“König I… I uh-“

Footsteps sounding from nearby, crunching up the leaf littered pavement, interrupt all your thoughts and both of you turn your heads as someone walks up to you both. You hold in a breath, feeling like you’d scream otherwise and watch as a face comes into view from out of the shadows.

Mercifully it’s not Ghost or Soap that marches up to you, it’s Gaz.He’d been the only one not to completely batter the dead ‘Sneaky and König up a tree’ horse. He stops when he sees you both and his eyes widen as he spots König, probably just as shocked as you were when he realised he can see his face. Though, he quickly averts his eyes and looks at you instead, awkwardly shifting his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“Captain said to tell you we’ve got an early start tomorrow,” he says looking at you pointedly , “we’ve got a briefing at four. Said you best get all the sleep you can.”

“Oh…do you know anything about it?” You ask, still feeling a bit breathless from before.

“From what I gather, the 141 and KorTac are heading out together, but I don’t know much beyond that,” he shrugs.

You give a sideways glance to König and watch as he regards you the same way. That meant you’d be working together for the first time. You take a breath and look back at Gaz, finally nodding your head.

“Thanks for coming to let me know, I’ll head in in a minute,” you assure him.

Gaz nods back curtly and turns on his heel, retreating to the base again and leaving you alone in the only silence. You finally look back at König, only once you’re sure there’s no one lurking around and looking to catch you with him, and smile softly.

“Looks like we’ll be working together then,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Seems like it,” he replies, lowering his head. “Perhaps we should listen to the captain’s advice and head in.”

You feel a stab of disappointment tear through your heart immediately. You’d wanted to resume things from where you’d left off. You wanted to pull back the cloth from his face and kiss him under the stars as if they were watching and you were the only ones there. There were fireworks and sparklers going off in your mind, but now they were being snuffed out as you watched König stand up from your not so secret spot.

“Come on, you need your rest,” he insists, holding out his hand.

You raise your eyebrows, but put your hand in his and rise as he guides you up. Even with you standing, he towers above you. It’s especially noticeable as you stand so close to him, almost pressed to his big wide chest. There’s a snapping creature in your mind that distantly wishes to jump onto him and kiss him, but you beat the thought back and look away from König instead.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting your head back with his rough gloved fingers. “I want to pick things back up too, but…not before a mission. We can do this again after all that. Yeah?”

You gulp, feeling your spine light on fire with tingles. Did he just acknowledge that things were about to go further there? So he definitely felt the same as you…

“Makes sense,” you murmur, feeling your desperation roll off you in waves.

He is speaking sense, but you don’t want him to be.

“You can fix my hair for me again when we get back,” he teases, rubbing his finger against your jaw again. “I’m sure it will be very messy.”

“Am I your stylist now?” You smirk, feeling your mood lift.

“Amongst other things,” he says, eyes showing the smile that was surely on his lips.

You raise your eyebrows and just as you’re about to ask what things, he silences you with what he does next. He leans down and brings his lips to your cheek, and through his mask, kisses you.

You freeze in place, your heart thudding like it’ll explode and close your eyes. You can’t believe what just happened. You laugh a little to yourself - letting loose a giggle and open your eyes, watching as he smiles back at you and gestures his hand back to base.

“To be continued,” you whisper to yourself.

-☠-

Next Part Here

#König #König x reader #könig fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction #mw2

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thelostconsultant · 2 months ago

Text

Take what you want

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: Oscar shows up to surprise you, then drags you into a relationship that's everything but healthy.

warnings: dark!Oscar, toxic relationship

note: This is probably my last F1 fic, so this is my baby. Be gentle with it, please.

Since Nicole and your mom had been best friends since childhood, she was almost like your aunt, just as your mother was in the same position for her children. This meant barbeque parties on the weekends, big, chaotic Christmas and New Year celebrations, and other freetime activities that lately involved watch parties when Oscar’s race took place at a reasonable time. It was fun, really, like having a big extended family you could always rely on.

You and Oscar were close in age, and while you were closer friends with his sister, Hattie, the two of you also got along pretty well. He tried to keep in touch despite his chaotic schedule, keeping up a channel for the both of you to vent, because you had both promised to keep whatever you discussed between yourselves. There were things he needed to discuss with someone, sometimes specifically with a woman, and he couldn’t trust his sisters to keep it to themselves. And if one of his sisters told the others, his mom would find out in less than five minutes too.

Earlier this year he had broken up with his girlfriend, a girl whose existence was kept a secret even in front of his family despite the relationship lasting for a few months, and it hit him really hard when she announced that she was breaking things off. It took long hours of conversations over the phone, and a bunch of messages to help him move on. But then he got better, and he disappeared as the season continued, and you didn’t really notice, because you were just about to finish your studies at university.

These days you just sent each other memes every now and then, only exchanging a few sentences before disappearing from each other’s lives again. So, when the idea for a graduation party came up, you didn’t even think about inviting him. He lived on the other side of the world, so even if he wasn’t racing that weekend, there was no way he would come. Knowing he thought you weren’t good enough friends anymore for you to consider inviting him felt like a stab in the heart. You should have sent him a message at least, just out of courtesy.

Today you were planning to avert your thoughts from the conversation that had been plaguing your days, hoping that focusing on something else could make you feel free again. You still had a few weeks until you started your first full time job, so you wanted to enjoy your free time, so when your mom mentioned some new, fancy restaurant that she wanted to try out and secretly reserved a table to months ago, you couldn’t say no. Your dad didn’t like these places, but you did, so you put on an elegant black jumpsuit and did your hair and makeup with an excited smile on your face.

Even though you offered to pick her up in your old home, she chose to meet you at the restaurant since she had to take care of something first and there was a chance she would be late. Wouldn’t want to lose our table, she said. So, you went there telling the host her name when he asked you if you had a reservation for the evening. There was a strange gleam in his eyes when he heard the name, but it disappeared as quickly as it showed up, that’s why you weren’t really sure if it was really there in the first place. He took you to your table, but when he pointed at the one, you saw someone already sitting there, a man whose face you couldn’t see.

Hesitantly, but you walked over to the empty chair across from him, your heart pounding in your chest. But when you saw his face, your breath caught in your throat. “Oscar? What–?” you asked, so confused that you weren’t even sure what to ask.

He flashed a small smile at you, then stood up and rushed over to help you with your chair. While your eyes followed his every move as you waited for an explanation, he remained silent even after taking his seat again. It was only after a waiter came over and poured you both a glass of wine before taking your orders that he leaned back in his chair and truly looked at you. “It didn’t feel good when you said you couldn’t count on me. We had a break at the time, I could have flown here,” he said with his usual flat tone, although you could see the emotions in his eyes.

After all those years, you knew it meant he was hurt, and it made you feel like shit. “It would have been a waste of time to fly here for one night,” you said quietly as you reached for your glass.

He leaned forward and rested his forearm on the middle of the table, his palm open as an invitation for you to take his hand. For a few seconds your gaze shifted back and forth between his hand and his face, but then you decided not to play along. There was a voice in the back of your mind telling you not to fall for this trap–because you had a feeling it was some sort of a trap. It was just so strange that he hadn’t contacted you or asked about you for weeks, and then all of a sudden he just showed up here. Maybe your mothers conspired again.

With a sigh, Oscar pulled back his hand and wrapped his fingers around his glass instead. “I don’t understand you,” he noted, and his eyes never left your face as he spoke. “I thought we were friends, yet you didn’t tell me about your graduation party and apparently you seriously think I wouldn’t want to be here to celebrate with you.”

“Your life is so different now, attending some stupid party back home is probably not all that exciting,” you finally admitted after a break, immediately feeling guilty when you noticed his reaction. It was barely there, but you knew how to see and decode even the smallest changes in his expression. “Look, this place is really nice, and I'm glad to see you, but why are we here?” you asked him cautiously.

He took a deep breath as he finally tore his gaze away from you. “I just wanted to see you. When Hattie told me how awesome your party was, I felt left out, and then I realized I didn't even think of asking you how things went at university, even though I knew this was your last semester,” he confessed with a heavy sigh.

“It's okay, you have more important things to think about,” you assured him, even though you did feel a little bad when he forgot to ask about your life when you talked.

Oscar looked back at you, meeting your gaze again. There was something, maybe guilt that poisoned his usually calm eyes. “Is that really where we got to over the last few years? I don't want you to think you're not important, and I don't want to be an outsider when it comes to your life.”

You wanted to be the smart one, you wanted to be better than this, but the thought that had been on your mind for a long time now inevitably slipped out. This was the sour truth, the only thing that kept returning to you every time you happened to talk.

“I'm the outsider when it comes to your life, Oscar, and I'll always be. Maybe you'll know about what's going on with me, but you barely tell me anything important, and I highly doubt this will change in the future. Your secret girlfriend was pretty much the only thing you told me honestly, everything else was just some sort of inconvenience that bothered you,” you blurted out.

A grimace was the only reaction while he listened to you, and maybe, if you weren't imagining things, his hands gripped the glass a little tighter now. That was something you didn't like about Oscar, the way he could keep his cool even when normal people would be already making a scene. But here he was, sitting there in silence as he carefully tasted your words.

The waiter returned with your orders, and his eyes moved back and forth between you for a second, probably sensing the tension between the two of you. He placed the plates in front of you with an apologetic smile, then scurried away, giving you some privacy. The moment you were left alone, your friend leaned forward and licked his lips as his eyes burned a hole into your head.

“My mum mentioned that you're going to start your new job in a few weeks,” he began, waiting for you to confirm it, which you did with a nod. “Tell them you're not going. Tell them you can't go, then come to Monaco with me. You’re right, maybe I did keep you away from my life lately, so let me change that.”

Your first reaction was to laugh and shake your head as you reached for your glass and took a sip of your wine. With his usual poker face, Oscar slightly raised an eyebrow, as if asking what was so funny about this. What? Well, the whole thing, you didn’t even understand how he could think it could work. “I have absolutely no idea how you came up with this, but as nice as it sounds, my answer is no. I want that job, and when I hinted at not being such good friends anymore, I meant more phone calls and messages, not trips together,” you explained.

A long sigh left him as he shook his head. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away, let me fix it,” he tried.

Looking down at your delicious-looking meal, you had to realize that you weren’t even hungry anymore. What would be the point in forcing food down your throat when you wanted to throw up? So, you pushed your chair back and stood up, not missing the questioning look he sent your way as you grabbed your bag. “I have a feeling we would spend the rest of the evening arguing, and I don’t feel like doing that, because I still consider you a friend, so thank you for everything, but I’ll just go home now. Have a nice evening.”

When you tried to walk past him, he reached out and caught your wrist to stop you. “Don’t do this,” he said calmly, but you pulled your arm out of his grasp. When he realized you were serious about leaving, he let out a groan, then stood up and let his lips crash into yours in a kiss that knocked every coherent thought out of your head. He only pulled away long enough to breathe, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes were locked with yours. “I wanted to wait with this, but you didn’t leave me a choice,” he informed you, the hint of a smile visible on his lips.

The fact Oscar, the very guy who’s been incredibly secretive when it came to his private life, kissed you in front of all these people truly confused you. And he kissed you. He had never shown any sign of seeing you as something other than a friend he grew up with. Yet here you were, his palm resting on your cheek, thumb gently rubbing your soft skin as he waited for your reaction. But you were still speechless, you had no idea what to say. Not until you suddenly remembered an important little detail.

“I’m just about to go on a first date with this really nice guy I met a few days ago, I can’t do this to him,” you told him softly, your fingers curling around his hand to pull it away from your face.

He scoffed, looking anything but pleased with your reaction. “You haven’t even been on a first date with him. Come on, let tonight be our first date. I just don’t want you to say no, then realize you should have agreed when it’s too late.”

Gulping, you thought about his words. And if it didn’t work? If you went on a date, and it would be disastrous, and the two of you couldn’t even talk to each other anymore? “I’d rather keep you as a friend and not risk losing what we have,” you told him after some thinking.

Long seconds passed with his eyes fixed on you, the fact the gears were rapidly turning in his head as he thought being quite obvious. Shaking his head in the end, he picked up his phone and took your hand, dragging you with him as he quickly paid for the untouched dinner then headed to the exit. Your mind was full of question marks, you had absolutely no idea what he was planning, but you didn’t want to make a scene. You were taken to a car that parked nearby, and he opened the door for you so you could get in, but you hesitated.

“Come on, get in,” he said, his voice stern and making it sound like an order. You had never heard him speak to you like that, and it made you worried that maybe there was a side of him that you never had the chance to meet. And if he was like that, you didn’t even want to meet him. You’d rather keep the sweet guy imagine in your head. “Please, just get in. I’ll take you home,” he tried again, his voice hitting a gentler tone this time.

“You know, tonight was actually pretty good for something,” you began, earning a surprised look from him. “You changed, Oscar, and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, after all it’s only natural for our personalities to change over time, but I don’t really recognize you anymore.”

When you pried his hand off you, he looked at you with the same emotionless face, and this time even his eyes remained neutral. You had absolutely no idea what was going through his head, but then he shut the door he had been leaning on, then walked to the other side of the car. “Yeah, well, you changed too,” he told you before getting in and starting the engine and driving off.

Following the disastrous dinner attempt you sent your mother a message to tell her you would jump in the next day to discuss a few things. All she wrote back was Oscar’s name with a question mark, and you sent her an angry emoji in response. You were a little mad at your mother for not giving you the heads up, for putting you into the position of meeting him in a restaurant full of people after all that time, but deep down you knew she meant well. Right now, you just wanted to tell her how badly things went and ask her not to do this again in the future.

The two of you were sitting in the dining room, drinking coffee and eating some cookies she made that morning, and you didn’t even know where to begin. But then you let out a sigh and said, “It wasn’t fun, mom. I was expecting to see you, and then he was there, and our conversations had been really awkward lately, so yeah, you can imagine how happy that chat was.”

She reached out to wrap his fingers around your forearm in a supportive way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. When he called me and said he was here, and that he wanted to surprise you, I thought you would be glad to see him. What happened between you? You used to be such good friends,” she asked, sincerely confused.

Without going into details and accidentally spilling something you weren’t supposed to talk about, you tried to explain her how you both changed over the years, and how you were sure his life was now so much different than yours that maybe meeting him like once a year at a family event was more than enough. It hurt you, sure, because you still cared about him, but maybe going no contact would be the best decision to make at this point.

Before your mother could say anything, you heard your dad move behind you in the kitchen. “So much for your plans,” he told your mom with a short laugh as he picked out a bottle of beer from the fridge. You saw your mother shoot a pointed look at him, to which he responded with a shrug. “I’m just saying.”

And with that, he returned to the living room to watch some match, leaving you alone again. You raised an eyebrow in question, now pretty interested in what kind of plan he was talking about. She tried to keep silent and change the topic, but you warned her not to do that, so she took a deep breath and began to explain it. “When we found out I’m pregnant with a girl, Nicole and I began to talk about how nice it would be if you and Oscar got together one day, and when we saw how well you got along, it became kind of an inside joke. It was just a thought, a fantasy, not some super-secret plan,” she said.

It was… Well, it wasn’t shocking. You had always felt like they were trying to make sure the two of you could spend a lot of time together, Nicole even took you on one or two trips when she went to visit Oscar in England, but you always thought they were doing this because your relationship with his sisters was happening naturally, while the two of you sometimes needed a little nudge.

Since you didn’t feel like talking about this anymore, the two of you began to discuss the plans for your father’s upcoming birthday party. You didn’t want something extravagant, just a casual barbeque party with family, and friends, and maybe a few of his work friends, after all he had been clear about his wish for something that let him wear shorts and his favorite t-shirt with a pair of thongs. Maybe it could take place in the evening, so he could go on a fishing trip the day before and only get home early afternoon on his birthday.

You both heard the doorbell ring, but your dad told you he would see who it is, so you continued your conversation, believing the guest was one of your father’s friends anyway. You couldn’t be more wrong, because he walked into the kitchen and cleared his throat to get your attention, announcing your guest who happened to be none other than Oscar. He flashed a small smile at your mother as he walked over to give her a hug, then he turned to you with a more serious look.

“The plane if waiting for us,” he stated.

Your parents exchanged a confused look, then your mother looked back and forth between the two of you. You had no idea what he was talking about either, so you watched him a raised eyebrow. “Us?” you asked, to which he responded with a nod. Suddenly you remembered the night before, his idea to make you fly to Monaco with him and spend some time with him. “I already told you, I’m not going anywhere,” you told him.

But Oscar seemed completely unimpressed by your resistance. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

You looked out the window, thinking about suggesting the backyard, but something told you your parents would be listening closely. And you weren’t even sure if you wanted to talk to him, but then you saw a fleeting expression on his face that was begging you to agree. “All right,” you said with a sigh, then signaled him to follow you.

The two of you went upstairs to your room, and once you closed the door, Oscar took a deep breath. “I’m only asking for a few months from your life. Just until the end of the season,” he said, his voice completely flat and steady.

“Which is in December, if I remember correctly. That’s pretty far away.”

He reached out to swipe a stray lock of hair out of your face. “Come on, what’s keeping you here? I’m offering you the chance to travel around the world and attend the races with me.” It sounded nice and all, but you didn’t want to leave, not now. “Your job, right?” he asked, apparently knowing perfectly well what was going through your mind. “Well, your boss is apparently a huge F1 fan, and he could be consoled with some signed merch. He even said they’ll try to find you a position when you return. So yeah, you’re free now.”

There were so many emotions running through you that you didn’t even know how to react at first, but then you decided to slap him hard. He put a hand on his cheek, and you didn’t miss the hint of a smile on his face as he watched you. A shiver ran down your spine at the sight. When did he become like this? The guy standing in front of you, with all the manipulations and plans he was ready to force on you, didn’t remind you of the kind person you used to know.

It was him who broke the heavy silence. “Come on, don’t make a scene. Just get in the car so we can go to your place where you pack a suitcase before we finally go to the airport,” he told you, his voice carrying the kind of authority that almost made you do as he said. But he noticed that you were still not willing to agree to the trip, so he cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you, this time being surprisingly gentle. “Just be a good girl for me, okay?” he whispered against your lips.

This was becoming too much for you, and your emotions were running high, causing you to start sobbing with tears running down your cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs, even flashing a sweet smile at you. “Why are you doing this?” you asked quietly.

Oscar placed a soft kiss on your forehead before answering. “Because I love you, baby, and I only want the best for you,” he said, somehow making you believe that everything he said was true.

About a month later, you were getting more and more used to your new, temporary lifestyle, even if sometimes it felt like living in a golden cage. Because Oscar wanted to control almost every aspect of your life. He took you shopping so you would wear clothes he approved of, he asked you to join him when he had to do his regular workouts, he picked out what to eat, and you didn’t really have a say when he met his friends from F1 either.

“Their girlfriends will be there, you will have company, baby,” he always said, successfully convincing you to go with him.

Even if you managed to get lost in conversations and start to feel good in your new friend circle, you could always feel his eyes on you, especially when you left the group to bring yourself another drink. Sometimes when a guy decided to try and pick you up, he showed up and pulled you into a messy kiss without a warning to send a message to whoever tried to make a move on you. Every time you asked him why he didn’t trust you, he said he just felt like kissing you, making it seem like it wasn’t related to the guy. But you noticed the pattern. He was possessive, and he didn’t like the idea of your attention ever turning to another man.

There were moments when you couldn’t take it anymore, when you locked yourself in the bathroom and cried for a while, hoping he wouldn’t be looking for you until you pulled yourself together. Moments like this you knew leaving him was the right thing to do, but there were two obstacles.

One, the flight ticket back to Australia was quite pricey, and even though you had savings to use, some money was still missing. Of course, you could have asked your mom to send you the missing amount, but then she would ask why when Oscar was paying for everything, and maybe she would tell Nicole that something was wrong, who would immediately try to contact his son to scold him, and so he would know you’re planning to do something he wouldn’t like.

Two, he always managed to shift your focus back on him. “I love you so much, you know that? It would break me if you ever left me,” he said every time he could sense something was off about you. And you, being the idiot you were, believed him and even felt bad for him. How could you leave when he loved you so much? It would have been cruel; he didn’t deserve to be left heartbroken. Sure, he was a little controlling sometimes, but maybe he was like that because he couldn’t control everything on the track, and he was frustrated when a race didn’t end the way he wanted.

For some reason his fans loved you. All they saw were the photos he carefully chose every time he shared them, and all they heard were short mentions of you in interviews or videos his team posted. And these were all sweet and cute, giving people the illusion that this was the perfect relationship. There were no signs of your struggles, no one knew what you had to go through next to him. Because every time you went somewhere public, you put on your brightest smile and acted like you were madly in love with him.

Even when you weren’t.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, hm?” he asked you softly when you rested your chin on his chest and looked at him.

His hand was drawing circles into your back to soothe you, but it wasn’t enough to calm your racing thoughts. You let out a troubled sigh and thought about how to say what you wanted to get off your chest for days now. It was the weekend of the US GP, but even though the end of the season was close, you didn’t feel like sticking around any longer. You’d been gathering your confidence and strength to tell him what was on your mind, you were getting yourself ready to tell him it was over, that you wanted absolutely nothing from him, but you just never knew how to say it.

In the end, after a minute or two of complete silence, you finally got yourself to speak up. “I want to go home. To Australia, not to Monaco, before you say,” you clarified.

Oscar drew in a sharp breath, his eyes fixed on you the whole time. “What’s back home that you miss so much? But fine, I guess we can travel there after the Brazilian GP,” he said, making it sound like he was doing a huge favor.

“Why do I have a feeling that you simply don’t want to understand what I’m saying? I want to go home. Alone. For good. I hope I don’t need to literally spell it out for you,” you said as you sat up, unable to keep the venom dripping from your voice.

He watched you in silence for a while, his eyes giving away that he was displeased with your sudden resistance, but you couldn’t care less. You finally had the strength to speak up, you weren’t about to let this chance slip away. So, you just sat there and waited, hoping he would yield and let you go, even if you had your doubts about the chances of this result.

Just as expected, he also sat up and curled his fingers around your throat, his thumb putting some pressure on your windpipe. He didn’t want to hurt you, he just wanted to make it clear he could hurt you if you gave him a reason for that. “I thought you were my good girl,” he began, his voice quiet but threatening. “And now this is what I have to hear? That you want to leave me? I give you everything you want, baby, why would you leave? Come on, you’re smarter than this.”

Your heart was about to jump out from your ribcage as you listened to him, which made it impossible to speak up without your voice breaking. He was trying to manipulate you again, using the delicately balanced mixture of a love confession and a threat to convince you to stay with him. Every time he sensed you wanted to leave, he pulled this sickeningly sweet voice, using it as if it was a siren’s song to keep you chained to him.

“Let’s just go back to sleep. You’re tired, I’m sure you will see clearer in the morning,” he said as he placed a kiss on your lips, then pulled you back with him as he lied down again.

This was the moment you knew there was no escape, and he wouldn’t let you leave even after the end of the season as you had agreed in the beginning. You couldn’t stop the sobs that wanted to emerge, and soon you heard Oscar’s attempt to soothe you, talking to you quietly and softly as if you were an upset child. “I love you,” and “It would break me if you left,” and “We are so perfect together.” It was truly sickening, but a very, very tiny part of you still wanted to believe him.

Maybe this time things will be better.

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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effetsecndaires · 6 months ago

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— 𝐞𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 & 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

➺ PAIRING | toji zenin x fem!reader

➺ CONTENT WARNING | stripper!reader, rich!toji, smut, semi public sex, voyeurism (sort of?), fingering, unprotected sex.

➺ NOTE | first time trying out this format :) this is shameless smut once again, you better get used to 'em because the amount of smuts I have in my wips is concerning

▫︎𝐞𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 who never expected to find his ex-wife’s name on a list of available women when he went to book a private session with a top-rated stripper.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who books your services for two hours.

▫︎ex husband!Toji whose breath catches in his throat when you walk through the velvet curtain, a see-through silk robe covering the sexy red lingerie underneath. He doesn't miss the way your eyes widen slightly as you see him sitting comfortably in the leather seat, a cocky smile plastered on his lips.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who notices the way your hips sway from side to side a little more than necessary as you walk around the pole and drop the robe to the floor - initiating your routine just as you would with any other client.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he gestures for you to come closer, his rapidly hardening cock becoming constricted in his tight pants.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who tries to keep his composure as you oblige and approach him with that same sexy sway of your hips, the hint of provocation in your eyes keeping his pulse racing. It doesn't help that your lingerie leaves little to no room for imagination, your nipples and bush easily visible through the fabric.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who goes to hold your hips as you straddle his thighs for a quick lap dance, but immediately gets his hands swatted away. Only then does he remember the club's rules on performer privacy which explicitly states their no-touching policy.

“You gotta pay a little extra if you want to touch.” you say as you smooth your hands down his muscular chest, your warm breath against his ear.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who tucks a few hundred dollar bills in the cup of your bra - way more money than what’s required for a simple touch.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who swears under his breath as he finally gets his hands on your body, rough palms caressing all the way up your back as you move your body against his, sensually sliding your hands from your waist up to brush over your breasts and squeeze them.

▫︎𝐞𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 who tries not to imagine all the things you must have done in front of all kind of rich, perverted old men for their money, men who would pay thousands just to see your body with as little clothing as possible.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who can't help but feel a pang of anger and jealousy building up, his desire to know all about your clientele growing. He quickly finds himself obsessing over the details, wondering about the specific requests they make and how you respond to them.

“What do they say to you, hm? Do they mention how good your ass looks in that lingerie? Do you let any of those nasty old fucks touch you like this?” he emphasises the last few words with a sharp slap on your ass.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who catches you off guard when he tucks the lacy fabric of your panties to one side and reaches between your folds, slowly spreading your arousal to your clit before pushing a finger in. You moan at the intrusion and rock your hips, trying to grind down on his finger for more friction.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who still knows your body like the back of his hand even after all those years apart. His fingers curl up inside you and stretch you out just right, rubbing against your front wall with just the right amount of pressure. You tip your head back in pleasure and Toji takes full advantage to put his mouth on your exposed neck, one hand coming to fondle your breast and pinch your erect nipple through the thin fabric of your bra.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who makes you squirt all over his fingers and gives you no time to catch your breath before he's unbuckling his belt and freeing his cock, sitting you down on it.

▫︎ex husband!Toji who stares straight into the security camera as you wrap your arms around his shoulders while he thrusts up into you, a cocky smirk on his lips as he helps you bounce on top of him, his hands keeping a firm possessive grip on your ass.

#toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji x reader #x fem reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji zenin #toji zenin x reader #toji fushiguro x reader

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tofixtheshadows · 6 months ago

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Hello, op! While I do find your reading of Kabru’s self sacrifice and how little he eats really good, im curious why you consider him the deuteragonist? He is a foil to the protagonist yes, but still a supporting character.

I think its pretty clear Marcille is the second most important character in DM, and her story has much more weight than Kabru’s.

Hello! I've mentioned this on my blog before, but I actually consider Marcille and Kabru to both be deuteragonists to Laios's protagonist. I just wasn't talking about Marcille in that post.

Technically this term is meant to be used in playwriting, and the Greek tradition at that, so I'm playing a little loosey goosey with semantics and my argument would sound different if I were writing an academic paper. But this is tumblr dot edu and I'm trying to get a point across on my little blog, and part of the idea of a deuteragonist is that they support the protagonist. "Secondary main character who has their own importance in the narrative while bolstering the protagonist" works well enough for my purposes.

I think Marcille and Kabru are both playing specific and complementary roles to Laios. Marcille is at his side, facilitating the A plot: namely, "save Falin", which requires Marcille's magic, and then Marcille's method of resurrection ropes Thistle in, so the continuation of "save Falin" necessitates confronting the Dungeon Lord and conquering the dungeon (the B plot).

Kabru only intersects with Laios, but he is tied from the beginning to the B plot- and with dragging basically everyone else into it. Actually, the fact that he brings in this extremely loaded B plot despite only having brief face time with the protagonist should be seen as significant. In a sense, Kabru represents the surface world and all its concerns.

Before I talk about that more, I want to continue with the complementary line of thinking and point out that Kabru and Marcille have very similar background motivations.

Laios wants to save his sister first and foremost, and it's only along the way that he starts to consider what he'd do with the responsibility of Dungeon Lord. Coming to the conclusion that he wants to create a home for disparate peoples to live in harmony has connective tissue to both Kabru and Marcille's desires.

Marcille is the only one in their party who starts out with a greater motivation other than saving Falin (Izutsumi is a special case, but she's ultimately along for the ride), one that she keeps hidden for a long time. Because she is a mage, and because she is driven by a very personal tragedy (my dad died; I am terrified of outliving everyone), she is looking for a miracle to bring the different races closer together.

Kabru comes from a background of personal tragedy as well, but it's also a far greater, more political tragedy than just the death of a parent. It is not a coincidence that Kabru is a brown boy from an exploited region that suffered despite and because of military intervention from a first-world power, nor that he was adopted by a white woman whose coddling/dehumanization of him represents the paternalistic oversight of these world powers.

Thus, Kabru's motivations are both personal and political: if they, the short-lived races, can finally access the secrets of the dungeons, then not only can they have agency in stopping tragedies like Utaya's, but it will also give them a greater power of self-determination.

Marcille and Kabru have both correctly identified and set themselves against a problem that is greater than saving the life of one girl, greater even than sealing this one dungeon.

Despite Marcille's hopes, there is no grand magic solution to this. Only small, slow, backbreaking, ordinary solutions, the kind you labor over in kitchens and bedrooms and throne rooms and meeting houses and hearths and negotiation tables. The kind you run a kingdom with.

There is a reason why Dungeon Meshi ends with Marcille and Kabru on either side of Laios's throne.

Okay: back to Kabru (under the cut).

I've talked about this a little before, but I'll reiterate here: I consider Kabru to be the counterweight to the back half of the story. In a very literal sense too, as he pulls the focus up from the depths to the surface not once, but twice. Dungeon Meshi builds itself on the premise that the traditional "dungeon" must function as an actual ecosystem, and the monsters in it are biological actors in that ecosystem and not merely magical obstacles independent of their environment. The first couple dozen chapters are focused on this. Like regular animals, monsters have needs and instincts and unique behaviors, and they can be killed and consumed as part of a food chain.

And then Kabru comes along and he reminds us that humans are also part of their own special ecosystem, with their own needs and instincts and unique behaviors, and that beyond the biological drive of the literal food chain there are also complex social issues influencing these behaviors (like capitalism). Tansu's visit with the governor introduced us to these ideas, but Kabru is the one who carries them.

The way he and his party break down Laios's party also serves an important function. I think most readers are so busy being shocked that Kabru is "so wrong" about our goofy boy Laios that they don't realize that he isn't actually wrong about anything (he's only missing the context of what drives Laios, which he admits to and is part of the reason why he pursues him). We've gotten only Laios's view of things so far, and Laios is pretty tunnel-visioned. The narrative, through Kabru, is telling the reader this is how our protagonist actually comes across to his community.

We like Laios because we are following his story from his inner circle. We know he's naive and struggles with people but that he has a good heart and is ultimately just a big silly guy who won't harm anybody if he can help it. But we only know that because we're seeing him with his inner circle, in his environment. Outside of the dungeon, Laios is anti-social to the point of rudeness; he misreads situations and misjudges people, he acts in ways that cause friction, and he accidentally aligns himself with people who make his whole enterprise look suspicious: a prominent half-foot community leader, a mysterious foreigner literally surrounded by spies, the disgraced daughter of a criminal who now has to shoulder the burden of her father's reputation, and an elf in a land where there are no elves. And they seem to be very good at what they're doing. Yet this whole time, Laios acts as if he doesn't care about profit or taking the kingdom, the only logical reasons why anyone on the Island would gather up such a party and throw themselves into this death pit day after day.

Yeah of course Kabru finds this suspicious and interesting. Of course people don't know what to make of Laios. This all reiterates the question that Zon the orc already raised: What will you do, Laios, if you defeat the Mad Mage? If you gain control of all of this? Can you be a leader? Laios himself doesn't know yet.

This is all necessary context for our protagonist and the journey he has to go on, and it's fittingly brought up by the most socially adept character, who is so concerned with human ecosystems and the bigger picture of the dungeon. There is a reason why Kabru, as a character, is connected to large webs of people as he moves throughout the narrative: his own party, Toshiro's party, the Canaries, the denizens of the first floor of the dungeon.

Kabru is responsible for bringing Toshiro down to Laios's party. Toshiro is not a big mover and shaker in the story itself, but his confrontation with Laios is a huge part of Laios's character arc. His detour down to the lower levels also allows Izutsumi to escape and join Laios's party later.

We also have this very important moment:

It shows the first inkling- to the audience, to Kabru, and to Laios himself- that Laios is willing to do a painful, necessary thing to protect other people, that he won't just allow them to become collateral for his sister/monsters. That he can listen, and that he can assess a situation beyond his personal feelings. Again, fittingly, big-picture-thinker Kabru is the catalyst for this.

And then, not content to leave him as merely a device for Laios's character growth, the focus slingshots back up to the surface, and we follow Kabru.

The Canaries were going to go into the dungeon soon anyway, and they were always going to stir up the crowd in order to lure Thistle to them. Unless Thistle had given up right then and managed to slip away, the story could have very easily ended here:

Falin, immobilized and surrounded by Canaries, would have certainly been killed, and there would have been no way to ever resurrect her. Thistle would have been neutralized. The dungeon would have been taken by the elves, and anyone they could get their hands on would have been imprisoned at best. And maybe the dungeon would have been managed safely ... or maybe something would have gone wrong, and more lives would have been lost. Remember: the Canaries arrived in Utaya one year before the tragedy.

This is a huge moment that changes Laios's life forever, and he doesn't even know it. Kabru single-handedly keeps the story on course by sabotaging the Canaries, and he does it not just for Laios's sake, but for everyone's sake. For his friends and companions in the dungeon and everyone else outside it. Laios is a part of his motivation, a key player in Kabru's hopes, but Kabru has his own desires, his own agenda. He's trying to change the world. In a way, he succeeds. And while the Canaries might wish it were otherwise, as an entity in the narrative they are always anchored to Kabru's character. The two forces collide because of Kabru. The unsealing of the Winged Lion and Marcille's emergency ascension to Dungeon Lord happen indirectly because of Kabru.

While I have talked so much already that I don't want to give a detailed breakdown of it, I do want to mention Kabru's unique interiority as a character. That is to say: we see the inside of Kabru's head more than anyone else. Every character in the main ensemble gets their own moments of inner monologues or fifteen minutes in the limelight, but for Kabru, it's constant. He's always thinking, talking, narrating. His POV chapters always stand out for how first-person they feel compared to most others.

Notably, the only other character I could compare that to is Marcille, specifically during the dungeon rabbit debacle and her ascension afterward, which is when she really takes center stage as a character.

I hope I've explained my reasoning without becoming too insufferable.

To cap off my thoughts with a nod to my original post, I cannot stress enough how significant it is, thematically, that Kabru's relationship with food is the inverse of Laios's. It isn't just that Laios is the main character in a story about cooking monsters and Kabru happens to be his monster-hating foil. The artistic choice to deny the reader the visual of this character ever enjoying food, and only ever putting it in his mouth in situations where it hurts him, in a manga that gives so much attention to eating and the pleasures of meals, cannot be understated.

#Dungeon Meshi #Marcille Donato #Kabru #Kabru of Utaya #Dungeon Meshi meta #Dungeon Meshi spoilers #I started answering this at 10:30 AM but took several detours #mostly I was at work. some people shitpost at work. god knows what I'm doing.#I am so fucking sorry I did not mean for it to be this long. I had to EDIT THIS DOWN #paging malewifesband I feel like this does the trick wrt: Kabru's function in the narrative #of course I have more to say about he and Laios specifically (she threatened)#musings with Dea #I think I'll go back and add image descriptions but it's been eight hours and I need dinner!#and also to play FFXIV #dungeonposting #Dea's anonymous friends

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sargeantposting · 10 months ago

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A Logan Sargeant Primer: Part I (2000 - 2015)

Logan grows up in a ritzy suburb of Fort Lauderdale called Lighthouse Point with his parents and his older brother, Dalton.

The Sargeants don't have a deep motorsport history. Dalton and Logan get their first go-karts for Christmas in 2006, a gift from their father after their mother refuses to let her children ride dirt bikes anymore. Logan tells the NYT that:

“No one in the family was really even that much into racing. We just picked it up as a hobby, something to do on the weekend.”

The two brothers get more serious as the years go by-- within a few years, they're racing competitively. They both do well. Logan finishes in third place in only his first year of racing, and wins two titles in his second.

Unfortunately, they figure out fairly quickly that there isn’t much more room to advance in American karting:

My older brother, Dalton, and I had been racing for a few years, and it had gotten to the point where we were asking around about where the next best level of competition was, and everybody was saying the same thing…. It was always Europe, Europe, Europe, Europe. To the point where my parents really started to think about it. At first it was just this idea, like Maybe we’ll move to Europe, who knows. I was just a kid overhearing stuff, so I didn’t know how serious the conversation must have been until this day I’ll never forget.

The conversation gets serious in 2012, when Logan’s dad, Daniel, asks the two if they want to move to Switzerland:

It was summer, and we were out to lunch. It was me, my dad, and Dalton. [...] So we’re at this restaurant, right? Chowing down on burgers (my favorite), and my dad gets to asking us about racing. Finally, he’s like, “What do you guys think? Do you really want to race in Europe? Are you 100% sure about this?” Me being 11 and naive, I was like, “Yeah sure.” Looking back on it, I think I was lucky I was that young and that I didn’t really know what I was signing up for. All the different ways it could change my life, the level of sacrifice it would require from my whole family. Because if I had known, I don’t know if I would’ve made the same decision so easily. It all happened fast, like in the movies. One minute, it’s Christmas, I’m six, and me and Dalton are yelling at the top of our lungs, excited about the two karts sitting in the driveway, pointed diagonally at each other like in a magazine. Next minute, I’m 11 and Dalton’s 14. We’re sitting at the table eating lunch with my dad, and it’s decided — our family’s moving to Europe.

When Logan tells the same story in GQ in 2023, he says:

I was always just going with the flow. For me it was just: sure.

The Sergeant family leaves for Switzerland just as Logan finishes up fifth grade. While Logan always talks about the family move to Switzerland in the context of his parents making sacrifices for his career, it's a little more complicated than that.

GQ’s profile steps around the subject, briefly mentioning that “in addition to the racing opportunities, [Logan’s] Dad had business there.” Unfortunately, business would be an understatement.

At the time, Logan’s dad, Daniel, worked for the family business– an asphalt trading and shipping company named Sergeant Marine. One of the driving forces behind Sergeant Marine’s success would be Daniel’s older brother, Harry.

When Logan’s detractors mention his family’s connections to Trump, they’re usually referencing Harry. The NYT describes his billionaire uncle as “a former [Top Gun] fighter pilot and onetime finance chair of Florida’s Republican Party who has been sued by the brother-in-law of King Abdullah II of Jordan and whose name turned up, tangentially, in the 2020 impeachment of former President Donald J. Trump. (Harry was not accused of any wrongdoing.)”

Harry would leave the company around the time Daniel moved his family to Switzerland. According to The Florida Phoenix, “The entire family was embroiled in a long-running bitter series of lawsuits that ended with a 2015 bankruptcy settlement. Harry III walked away with a cool $56-million. In return he gave up any claim to ownership of Sargeant Marine and other family companies. There were 14 different lawsuits in several states in addition to the bankruptcy. The lawsuits produced salacious testimony that could only arise in a vicious dispute between millionaires. Harry III accused his brother Daniel of spending millions on his sons’ pursuits of race car driving and other ventures. Meanwhile, Daniel accused Sargeant III of being a spendthrift on things such as a $7.5-million mansion, private jets and exotic cars.”

Logan with his dad.

It would, somehow, get worse:

Oil and asphalt mogul Harry Sargeant III claims that industrial design plans along with recordings of "private consensual relations" were purloined from his private email account and traded off to a corporate intelligence agent as part of a years-long smear campaign against him spearheaded by his brother. Reigniting a long-running saga of brother-against-brother litigation, Harry Sargeant III claims that hundreds of pages of business records, personal discussions and "extremely sensitive videos and photographs" were illegally obtained from his email account. The material was used as currency for information-bartering between his brother Daniel Sargeant and a corporate intelligence chief at the nonparty legal service firm Burford, the lawsuit alleges. Harry is demanding damages for alleged invasion of privacy on the part of Daniel. The brothers had in years past worked together on managing the Sargeant family's global oil and asphalt empire, before intra-family disputes began to tear them apart. [...] The lawsuit claims the Burford investigator, a former corporate attorney, knows Harry well. According to the court documents, the investigator for years worked as an enforcement agent on a $28 million judgment secured against Harry by the king of Jordan's brother-in-law Mohammad Al-Saleh, who accused Harry of cutting him out of a deal to distribute oil to troops in the Iraq War. [...] Harry claims brother Daniel gave the corporate intelligence agent the treasure trove of Harry's emails in exchange for inside information that would help the Sargeant family's asphalt company Latin American Investments in a separate multimillion-dollar legal dispute. Harry's underlying email account ran on a server of the family company Sargeant Marine. When he was ousted from the Sargeant empire, Harry had been told that the account was cut off at the root and all information in it had been destroyed, the lawsuit says. The lifted emails were instead provided to an "untold number of people" inside and outside of the family businesses in 2016, the lawsuit claims.

The information that Daniel traded his brother’s sex tape for would end up being useless. Daniel is currently out a $5 million bond and awaiting sentencing for the foreign bribery and money laundering charges he pled guilty to back in 2019. After bribing officials in three South American countries to secure asphalt contracts, the Department of Justice ended up making an example of the company– and Daniel– for violating the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act.

While Logan cites his career as a big reason for the family move, it appears that Sargeant Marine had conveniently made shell companies in Switzerland to aid in their illegal business dealings that same year.

Logan, blissfully unaware of any drama, tries to make the most of the big move. They move to Lugano, Switzerland– Dalton and Logan go to the American School on weekdays and race on the weekends in the European junior circuit, bouncing them between Italy, Switzerland and Britain. In GQ, Logan says:

“I definitely felt like school was a lot more challenging than in Florida,” he recalled. “And we were missing a lot of school, for sure, but that’s part of it with racing. It is what it is.”

Logan loves Switzerland. In his Players’ Tribune article, he says:

We moved into a three-bedroom apartment. It was me, my parents, Dalton, and our dog Roxy, the world traveler. Big difference from Florida. We had a whole new life. I loved Switzerland. I had a lot of good friends at my school there. I can’t explain it, but I just felt more a part of things. Me and my friends were big Chelsea fans, and we’d be hanging out, playing soccer all the time. We played Call of Duty like every other kid in the world.

However… Logan is the only one. Daniel is out doing shady asphalt deals around the world and suing his brother. Dalton moves back to Florida after a year-and-a-half. Their mother follows soon after that. Logan ends up living alone at the school:

Dalton was my older brother, so for as far back as I can remember, I was chasing him. Man, we fought all the time. Every race, we were up against all these other kids, but he was always the one I was really trying to beat. But the thing is, when you’re a kid you miss things. You just can’t see everything so clearly. Like, for instance, being a bit older than me, I think he felt the shift more strongly when we moved, but I didn’t know it. He stayed in Switzerland for a year and a half, did some European karting, and started testing Formula cars. Then one day he just decided he wanted to go home and race in America. I won’t lie, that was a shock at the time. But I get it more now. Making that big life change was hard on my mom, too. Just think, you’re living in this brand new place, don’t have many friends. Me and Dalton were at school all day. My dad was traveling all over the place with work, so he was hardly there. The reality is, she was on her own a lot. So she ended up going back to Florida, too. For about a year and a half after that, it was just me. I was living at the school during that time.

When talking about how his mom moved back to Florida while Logan was living alone in Europe as a teenager, he told the Players’ Tribune that:

Looking back on everything, I just see all the sacrifices they made, and it means so much. No matter what they were going through, my family always pushed me to keep going. I feel like that was probably the hardest for my mom, especially. She means the world to me. She’s a bit of a worrier too, and overthinks. I think I get that from her. She’s always been the person I could go to when I was doubting myself. So I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to encourage me to keep going, when I know she probably wanted our family to be together. I’m really grateful, not only that they believed in me that much, to move our entire family, but that they took my passion for driving seriously enough not to let me give it all up.

While Logan’s personal life may be troubled, his karting career is doing exceptionally well. In 2014, he wins the prestigious SuperNats18 in Vegas:

Infinity Sports Management, Facebook - SARGEANT DOMINATES IN LAS VEGAS. Logan Sargeant produced a stunning display last weekend in the TAG Junior category at the Supernationals race in Las Vegas. After finishing runner up in the race in 2013 Logan was eager to go one better this year and bring home the winners trophy. Although Logan got pipped in qualifying he still managed to win every heat ensuring he would start from pole position for the final on Sunday. From there he kept the lead and came home 5.6 seconds clear of the second driver. With this win in TAG Junior Logan become the first driver ever to win the TAG Cadet and TAG Junior categories at the Supernationals race.

2015 manages to be even more exceptional. Logan starts the season by being the first North American driver to win a WSK event by winning the WSK Champions Cup in La Conca, Italy.

Logan with his mother after winning the WSK Champions Cup.

The season reaches its peak with Logan becomes the first American to win an FIA Karting World Championship, the top junior series, since Lake Speed in 1978.

He gets to go to the FIA Awards:

Logan: And I couldn’t thank my mechanic enough. And also my parents, uh, they really helped me to be able to win the world championship and it’s just an amazing feeling. Interviewer: I mean, did you, did you, what did you do when you found out you won? Did you call your friends at home? Did you phone your grandpa? What did you get up to? Logan: Uh, no, I just gave my mom and dad a really big hug. Interviewer: Is it still sinking in now? Logan: Yeah, it’s, it’s a really emotional thing. [...] Interviewer: Tell me about when you were a little bit younger than you are now. You’re only 14 now. But why racing, why, why is this so important to you? Logan: Um, well, my dad bought me a, a racing kart when I was five years old and we started from there. We thought it would just be like a little hobby and, uh, it ended up becoming like a professional thing we did. So. Interviewer: So, so was there a moment when you, when you or your dad just thought ‘Wow, I’m quick. I can do this’? Logan: Um, well, not really. We just kept progressing and then, um, when we, when we decided to come to Europe to race, um, we moved to Switzerland and from then on we were just, uh, going to school, I started going to school in Switzerland. And, yeah, and then we just kept going and then ended up like this. Interviewer: Do you have any other hobbies? Can you fit anything else in? Logan: Um, well, other than school it’s really hard. But when I get my breaks and I go back to Florida for, um, I like to go fishing a lot and, yeah, that’s what I do. Mostly.

When interviewed after his win, Logan tells kart360 that:

Moving away from home is a very hard thing in your own personal life. You lose all of your best friends. You don’t have your "home" and you have to adapt to a different culture. It is hard to move to a country that speaks a different language than what you know, but racing is so important to me that I stuck through it and kept on going.

Logan clearly struggles on a personal level. He discusses his feelings in his Players’ Tribune article, saying:

Coming up racing as a kid isn’t easy. That’s the most honest way I can put it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to myself, I’m done. I’m ready to come home. I’m glad I didn’t, but there were plenty of times when I wanted to. I remember one big time was the summer right after Dalton went back. We took this trip to the Bahamas with some of our extended family and friends. We were on the water, and everything was feeling like old times. And I think I just had this pit in the bottom of my stomach, like dreading going back. There was a night when I went to my mom, and I was like, “I’m just ready to come home.” I remember her asking me more questions about what I was feeling. I don’t even remember what I said, to be honest. I just remember that she didn’t tell me what to do. She left it completely up to me. My dad used to always say, “If you put in the work now, it’ll pay off eventually — it’ll be worth it.” And he kind of reminded me of that on that trip too. It’ll be worth it. Those four little words … that’s what kept me going. After that I sucked it up, went back to Switzerland, put my head down, and I went for it."

When Logan makes the jump to single seaters the next year, his parents rent him an apartment to live in by himself in London. The only time he’ll spend more than a few weeks in the US since he was a 12-year old would be during COVID.

But Logan’s time in single seaters will be for the next installment.

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Logan through the years.

#logan sargeant #for dori who inspired me to post this <3 #i literally cant look at it anymore or add any more photos or videos or it crashes lol #but i reserve the right to go back and edit this tomorrow lmao

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queenie-avenue · 11 months ago

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There's no solution for whatever this was.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> when you come crashing into his life, his focus for his studies are lost.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader's race is not mentioned but it does take place in korea, stalking, obsession, slightly suggestive, possessiveness, stealing, damage to personal, slightly suggestive, property, encouraging suicide, mentions of academic stress and korea's expectation for its students, inspired by @moyazaika 's academic rival yandere (go check the fic out, it's amazing), a drabble for now but I will be posting longer fics of him

🦋 ⤻ archives.

In Korea, students are shown to be almost always studying. Many news outlets have covered multiple schools and how much pressure Korean students are going through with their studies. It's difficult, no one can deny it. Yet, some of these students just find it normal, they view studying as perhaps their only form of control they have in their world.

One of those such students is Seo Min-Jun, a student belonging to a prestigious private high school. Someone who is in his final year of high school, soon to graduate and take his university exams. Top of his class, the son to a minister in Korea's government and a rather popular film actress, and the president of the student council. He was destined for success once he graduated.

The moment he crawled out of his mother's womb, his fate was paved for him in gold.

That was, until you — the sweet scholarship student — showed up.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

At first, he didn't understand you. Both of you were literally in your last year of school, but you waltzed in like you owned the place. At least, from his perspective. He thought you bland. After all, you got in from a scholarship. You may be smart, but were you as rich, or was your status in society as high as him? It didn't matter, he still viewed you as below him and didn't pay much attention to you, relegating his secretary in the student council to give you a tour of the elite private school that you should honestly be honoured to step your grimy shoes all over.

Sure, he'd never say these things out to you or anyone else in public. After all, he was still a model student, and he was taught to act humble. Key word: act.

He honestly didn't take an interest in you till he saw your name, above his, on the monthly test evaluations.

"What?" He muttered out, not believing his eyes. In almost every damn subject, you managed to score higher than him. He was almost always one mark off from you. His eyes shot to you, the you who stood there in your crisp and cut uniform on the other side of the crowd, looking up at the papers pressed onto the walls with a look of pride. What was that look of pride for?

Pride, something that existed strongly in almost every culture, and you had just ruined his.

Your life was never the same afterwards.

Letters of hatred piled in your shoe locker. They ranged from being written like some crazed man worshipping your feet like you were a god to someone who wanted to see you hop off the building of your school. The handwriting was typically crazed, but you could recognise whose handwriting it was solely because the both of you were in the same class.

As usual, the school board did nothing to help with that. And when you tried to accuse Min-Jun, the teachers especially scolded you for attempting to defame the student council president.

It got so bad that your things were going missing too, your homework — which the teachers unreasonably scolded you for even if you were user sure you placed it in your bag this morning — and then your notes too. Technically, they did return. They just returned torn up, and some were even burnt with mysterious stains on them.

One day, you couldn't take it anymore after receiving a death threat, and you stormed to the student council office, knowing that if you went to the general office, they'd turn you away again.

You would take matters into your own hands.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

When Min-Jun first saw you enter the room, he was left breathless. Your blushed cheeks from running all the way here, no doubt, the way your uniform crumpled, his mouth was almost drooling. No, no. He refused to let himself lust over you in such a manner that you were a rival, for goodness sake! Not some... potential love interest. Though that thought did pique his interest but he pushed it down with any other thoughts he had about his rival.

"I can't take it anymore." You said, which shocked him. Was someone bullying you? Only he could do that! "I know it's you. I've seen your handwriting on tests before, I just know you're the one who's been planting those notes and stealing my things." You accused your one-sided academic rival.

He didn't bother to defend himself. What was the point? His family would protect him, the school would protect him, and most importantly, the student body would rip them to shreds if they ever tried to act out against him. He knew how cruel students could be. After all, he had seen all the outcasts almost drowned inside toilet bowls by bullies multiple times.

He could not have that. Having you tortured would mean he would not be able to have a proper rival. As much as he disliked you for being in his way, he preferred to keep things... somewhat fair.

"And your proof?" He inquired.

"I have all those notes stored in my bag." You hissed.

For some reason, the thought of you keeping those notes made his heart beat faster. Were you a freak like him too? Did you have such sinful thoughts just like him? You broke his twisted fantasy with your next words, though.

"I don't understand why you're doing this to me. It's- it's," you struggled to find a word for his disturbing actions, "ceaselessly cruel!" You finally exclaimed.

Cruel? What was cruel were your actions, driving him mad, making him lose focus on his work. Who were you to call him cruel when you made him like this?

He got up from his seat and approached you, causing you to fall back, landing on the couch that you swore was not there when the entered the student council room. Taking this chance, he pinned you against the seat, taking in every part of your body, your face, your eyes... everything. God, you were so perfect but so infuriating. Just why did you have to confront him?

"Are you that fucking naive to think that when you present the school with your proof, they'll do anything about it for you? That they'll go against me and my family for the sake of defending the poor scholarship student?" He hissed, grabbing your face harshly as you whimpered. He wished the circumstances of your whimpers were different; in his bed rather than on the couch of the student council office. Still, that did breed intriguing fantasies into his mind. "You think they'll do that for you?" He repeated.

"I-" you started, but you had no idea how to end.

"Exactly." He let go of you, almost smacking your head to the other side as he straightened himself, readjusting the blazer of his uniform.

"You should get used to the circumstances of your situation." He said which only made you shudder. "Let yourself out." He said cooly as he exited the student council room, "I trust you'll keep this meeting a secret." He said with an air of finality before sauntering casually towards the male bathrooms where he promptly slammed the door shut and sat on the toilet seat, practically fuming.

That look on your face, the scrunch of your nose, the furrowing of your eyebrows. You were so unfair! He could practically feel all his blood flush downwards as he thought of you.

Now that you knew he was the culprit, what would you do?

It didn't matter.

He would find ways to pester you and find ways to mark you as someone who could not be touched by anyone else other than him.

"I left another note in your bag. You should look at it. Or else."

#male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere academic rival #yandere

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

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-1- THE CRIMES, THE LIES, THE PRIZE WE CLAIM

Word count: 5,1k

Tags: Slightly graphic mention of human experiments, anxiety and panic

Summary: In between panic and lies, you try to cover up the mistakes that are hovering above your head like a guillotine, in the worst way possible. And while the lies over lies continue, the camera exposes the truth.

MASTERLIST HERE

You forced yourself to stand, your legs shaky, and your mind cloudy of the anxiety. The taste of bile still lingered in your mouth as you wiped the remnants of vomit from the corner of your lips, barely caring that your office attire was getting stained. The panic and adrenaline surged through you, making your thoughts race as you struggled to process what you had just done—and what you had just discovered.

Your eyes drifted back to the file on the table. Sebastian Solace... the name echoed in your mind, accompanied by images of the mutilated body you had seen in those photos. You shuddered, your hand instinctively moving to push the file away, but instead, it hovered over it for a moment, as if unwilling to completely sever your connection to the awful truth.

But there was no time for reflection. The soggy mess of coffee-soaked papers lay scattered around, seeping into your blazer as you picked them up, but that was the least of your worries. You had to clean up, to minimize the damage, to somehow cover up the fact that you had not only ruined precious data but had also stumbled upon secrets that could cost you your life.

A plan, you needed a plan—something to keep you safe from the consequences of your actions. The fear gnawed at you, suffocating you as you envisioned the worst-case scenario: being found out, being dragged into a room like the one you had just read about, strapped to a table, helpless as they experimented on you just as they had on Sebastian. The thought made your blood run cold, your hands trembling as you tried to gather the ruined files.

Sebastian’s face flashed in your mind again, his haunted eyes, his claims of innocence. You had read the files, seen the accusations against him. Nine victims. Nine lives taken, and yet... the question nagged at you: did he truly deserve what had been done to him? To be dehumanized, treated like a mere object, his body ripped apart and put back together in the name of science? The more you thought about it, the less certain you became. And with that uncertainty came a creeping sense of dread—because if they could do that to him, what could they do to you?

Suddenly, the shrill ring of a telephone cut through your thoughts, jolting you out of your trance. The sound made you flinch, your heart racing as you stared at the source. It was a sleek, modern black phone sitting on the desk, one of the few objects that had escaped the coffee spill accident.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the receiver as you debated whether or not to answer it. This wasn’t your office; you had no right to pick up that phone. And yet, a part of you feared what might happen if you didn’t—what if it was someone who knew what you had done? What if it was someone who could help you? Your mind raced through the possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally made a decision. Your fingers closed around the receiver, your heart pounding as you lifted it to your ear, bracing yourself for whatever voice awaited you on the other end.

"Geez, took you long enough to take the damn phone into your hands," a familiar voice snapped on the other end, dripping with irritation. It was your co-worker, the one whose office you were currently standing in, and she did not sound pleased. Her tone was sharp, like a knife cutting through any pretense of civility.

"Listen up, and listen carefully," she continued, her words biting. "I wasn’t able to tell you before, but don't touch the Z-13 file on the desk. Your work is with the other ones. And for god's sake, don't snoop around in my office and don't put your nasty little fingers all over my stuff, got it?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the guilt and panic swirling together, threatening to choke you. You fought to keep your voice steady, to mask the shaking that you feared would give you away. "Yeah, yes—no worries," you managed to stammer out, hoping it sounded casual enough.

There was a brief, tense silence on the other end, as if she were scrutinizing your response even through the phone. Then, with a final, terse command, "Good. Hurry up," she abruptly hung up, leaving you standing there with the receiver still pressed to your ear.

The line went dead, but the harshness of her words lingered, echoing in your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat as you slowly lowered the receiver back onto its cradle, the ringing silence of the room suddenly louder than before.

The urgency of your situation was clear—every second you wasted increased the risk of someone walking in and discovering the mess you had made. Panic surged through you again, but you forced yourself to focus. You needed to clean up, to erase any trace of what had happened.

You scanned the room, your eyes settling on your bag, which you had left by the door when you first entered. It wasn’t designed to hold much, but it would have to do. Without wasting another moment, you hurried over and grabbed it, your hands fumbling with the zipper as you opened it wide.

The soggy files lay sprawled across the desk, the ink bleeding through the pages, the once-clear text now a blurry mess. You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you again as you gingerly began gathering the ruined papers. They were heavy with liquid, the pages sticking together as you pried them from the desk. One by one, you stuffed them into your bag, the dampness soaking through the fabric and onto your hands. You could feel the panic rising in your chest, your heart hammering as you worked as quickly as you could, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The bag was nearly full when you finally managed to scoop up the last of the papers. You zipped it shut with a sense of finality, feeling the weight of the files press down on you like a physical burden. But there was no time to linger; you had to get rid of the evidence before anyone came in.

You glanced around the office, your eyes landing on the coffee-stained desk and the sticky puddle that had spread across its surface. Grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on the desk, you began wiping it down, your movements hurried and frantic. The coffee had already begun to seep into the wood, darkening the surface in uneven patches, but you scrubbed at it anyway, desperate to erase any sign of your mistake. The tissues quickly became soaked, leaving streaks behind, but you kept at it, your fingers trembling as you wiped away every last trace.

The desk was finally clean—at least as clean as you could manage in such a short time. You stepped back to inspect your work, your eyes darting over every inch of the office to ensure nothing was left behind. The bag, heavy with the ruined files, hung from your shoulder, a constant reminder of what you had to do next.

You couldn’t leave it here. It was too risky. Instead, you would have to hide it somewhere that's more safe—somewhere only you had access to at the moment. Your own office was the best option, at least for now. Swallowing hard, you took one last look around the room, then hurried out, closing the door quietly behind you.

The hallway was mercifully empty as you made your way back to your office. Your heart pounded in your ears, the sound almost drowning out the click of your heels against the floor. You tried to maintain a calm facade, but every step felt like a countdown to disaster.

Finally, you reached your office door. You fumbled with your keys, your hands shaking as you unlocked it and slipped inside. The familiar surroundings did little to calm your nerves, but at least here, you were safe for the moment. You quickly crossed the room to your desk, opening the bottom drawer and shoving the bag inside. It barely fit, the edges of the files pressing against the sides, but you managed to close the drawer with a solid push.

You stood there for a moment, your hands resting on the drawer as you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The evidence was hidden, the office cleaned—at least, you hoped it was enough. But as you stared at the drawer, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of your troubles.

Two days had passed since the incident, and in those tense hours, you had lived with a constant undercurrent of anxiety, waiting for the moment when someone would discover your mistake. Yet, as the days ticked by, there was nothing—no sudden inquiries, no suspicious glances from your co-workers, no missing file alerts. It was as if the world hadn’t noticed at all.

At home, the soggy files now rested on your heater, and you had spent hours painstakingly fixing the majority of the papers. You had printed out pages from the massive database, using the limited access granted to you by the office computers. Each time a paper was replaced, the weight on your shoulders lightened just a fraction. It was a grueling process, but with each passing moment, you felt the situation inch closer to resolution.

Allowing yourself to relax, you started to believe that the worst was behind you. All that was left was to finish restoring the remaining documents at home and sneak them back into the basement archive. You imagined the quiet return, slipping the files back into their rightful place without a soul noticing. It was almost over.

But just as you let your guard down, she appeared. The black-haired co-worker stepped into your line of sight, her expression more severe than usual. The typical fake smile she wore like a mask was gone, replaced by a deep frown that sent a chill down your spine.

“You,” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Do you have the files?”

For a split second, your heart froze. Her question was direct, and the weight of the files hidden in your home felt like a gun aimed at your head. But you knew you couldn’t falter now. You forced yourself to smile, hoping it didn’t look as shaky as you felt.

“A co-worker needed them, so I gave them away after finishing them,” you lied smoothly, praying she wouldn’t see through your act. “No worries.”

She stared at you, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to dissect your words, to find the hidden truth buried beneath your calm exterior. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension. You could practically feel the sweat beading at the back of your neck.

“But I finished the work you kindly gave me,” you added, trying to shift the focus. You gestured vaguely at the completed files, hoping to distract her from your obvious unease.

For a moment, it seemed like she might press further, but then she simply nodded. The skepticism in her eyes lingered, but she accepted your words, for now. Without another word, she turned and left, leaving you standing there, the sense of danger receding like a wave that had just crashed over you.

As she disappeared from view, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It wasn’t over yet, but you had bought yourself some time—time to finish what you started and, hopefully, to make sure no one ever found out what really happened to those files.

A week had passed since the incident, and the tension that had knotted your stomach every time you stepped into the office was finally beginning to unravel. You’d managed to restore the ruined files to near perfection, and they now sat neatly in the basement shelves where they belonged. No one had noticed anything amiss—at least, not yet. Every day without a complaint was a small victory, and you clung to the hope that it would stay that way.

But now, sitting in the comfortable leather chair in Mr. Wiltshire’s office, that familiar knot began to tighten again. The golden nametag on his desk gleamed in the soft light, a constant reminder of the authority he held. You’d been summoned all the way up here for a private conversation, and though you told yourself it was likely routine, a nagging fear whispered that it could be about the accident. You had worked tirelessly to cover your tracks, but the possibility that something had slipped through gnawed at you.

The door opened, and Mr. Wiltshire entered with his usual confident stride. “There you are,” he greeted you warmly, taking a seat across from you. His smile was easy, his demeanor relaxed, as if this were nothing more than a casual chat between old friends. “Our rising star. Tell me, have you managed to make yourself comfortable in our ranks? Do you enjoy your work?”

You forced a smile, trying to match his tone. “I did. The work is just right, and I think I’ve managed to befriend some of the co-workers, even.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Despite your initial doubts, you’d found your place at Urbanshade—or at least you had, until recently.

Mr. Wiltshire nodded, seemingly pleased with your response. “That’s good to hear. You’re fitting in well, and that’s important.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard in front of him. It was clear he was listening, but also preparing for something more significant.

“You want a coffee?” he asked, his tone light. Before you could respond, he continued, “I called you here to talk about your future at Urbanshade, and since it won’t be a short conversation, let’s get some drinks.” He pressed a button on his desk and spoke into the intercom, “Please, bring us some coffee in my office.”

As he released the button, he turned his full attention back to you, his smile unwavering. “Urbanshade has great plans for you, starshine.”

His words hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a mixture of relief and apprehension. On one hand, it was reassuring that this meeting seemed to be about your future at the company rather than a reprimand for your mistake. On the other hand, the mention of “great plans” made you uneasy. You had hoped to keep your head down, to let the memory of that disastrous day fade into obscurity along with the name Sebastian Solace. But now, it seemed that Urbanshade had other ideas for you.

Mr. Wiltshire’s smile grew as he continued, his words flowing like honey. “You’ve been doing exceptional work, truly. I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress, and it’s clear that you’re not just another employee. You’ve got potential—real potential. You’re detail-oriented, dedicated, and I can see you have a certain... curiosity that’s rare in this business.”

His praise felt like a double-edged sword. While the compliments were flattering, there was an undercurrent that made you uneasy. It was as if he was building up to something, laying the groundwork before dropping the real reason for this meeting.

Just as you were about to respond, the door opened, and an assistant entered carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee. The sight of the assistant briefly drew your attention, but what really caught your eye was the mug she set down in front of you.

It was your favorite mug. The one you kept in your own office and the one you had during the accident. It was a small, personal item—something no one else should have known about. Yet here it was, filled to the brim with hot coffee, its familiarity now a source of dread rather than comfort.

You felt your stomach lurch as the assistant placed the mug in front of you with a polite smile, then turned and left the room without a word. Mr. Wiltshire watched your reaction closely, his smile never wavering, though now there was something sharper behind it.

“Ah, I see you recognize it,” he said, his tone almost too casual. “I thought you’d appreciate a little taste of home, so to speak. After all, it’s the little things that make our work environment more comfortable, isn’t it? In this case, a hot sip from our favourite mug.”

You managed a stiff nod, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the mug. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the ceramic, but instead of soothing your nerves, it only heightened your anxiety. How did he know? The question echoed in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to ask it aloud.

Mr. Wiltshire leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know, we’re very thorough here at Urbanshade. We like to make sure everything is in order, that nothing slips through the cracks.” He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you squirm. “That includes monitoring our facilities, keeping an eye on things... and people.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind raced. He knew. Somehow, he knew about the accident, the files, everything.

“We have security cameras in every office,” he continued, his tone as smooth as ever, but with a chilling edge. “For safety, of course. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our valuable employees... or our valuable information.”

You felt a cold sweat break out on your forehead. The weight of the mug in your hand seemed to increase, but you forced yourself to set it down carefully on the desk, not trusting yourself to take a sip.

“I saw everything,” Mr. Wiltshire said softly, leaning forward now, his eyes narrowing. “The coffee spill, the frantic cleanup, the files you so carefully took and... altered. And then there’s your little side interest- Sebastian Solace.”

He let the name hang in the air like a noxious cloud, and you could almost feel the walls closing in around you. The room seemed smaller, the air thicker, as if the truth you’d been trying to bury was suffocating you.

“You see,” he continued, his voice taking on a mocking, almost condescending tone, “I can’t help but wonder... What exactly were you doing? Are you just a curious employee? Or is there something more to it? A spy, perhaps? Sent by a competitor to dig into our most sensitive information?”

Your mouth went dry, and you struggled to find your voice. “N-no, I... I’m not a spy,” you stammered, feeling the words tumble out clumsily. “It was just an accident... I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” he interrupted, his smile now entirely devoid of warmth. “But accidents have consequences, don’t they? Especially when they involve sensitive materials.”

He leaned back again, his gaze pinning you in place. “So, what do we do about this? How do we handle a situation like this without causing... unnecessary complications?”

The threat in his words was unmistakable, and you felt a surge of panic. You were trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and Mr. Wiltshire was the spider, waiting to see how you would try to wriggle free.

The room was silent except for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere behind you. The mug of coffee sat untouched between you, its presence a reminder that your every move had been watched, analyzed, and now used against you.

Mr. Wiltshire’s eyes bore into yours, and you knew there was no easy way out of this. Whatever came next, it would be on his terms, not yours. And the only thing you could do now was try to survive the fallout.

Mr. Wiltshire’s demeanor shifted, the warmth in his voice returning as if the tension from moments ago was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. His smile was back, but it felt rehearsed, like a mask he wore to keep you off balance.

"Z-13—Mr. Solace—has done some truly awful things, not just to our society, but directly to us here at Urbanshade," he began, his tone almost fatherly. "We’re an honest, vital company in these times, and while I’ll admit we have our flaws, the file you read... it was a corrupted report, filled with sickening lies meant to turn people against us. Saboteur, that’s what we call him now.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes narrowing as he watched your reaction. “If you think he deserves pity, then I urge you to remind yourself what he did to those nine humans and their families.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the air thicker as you felt the weight of his words. The crimes of Sebastian Solace had haunted you ever since you first read about them, but now, hearing this, the doubt you had felt about the experiments began to waver. Could it be that you had been misled? That Solace was truly the monster they painted him as?

Mr. Wiltshire leaned forward again, his voice softening, yet laced with an underlying menace. “Or what he did to us.”

He reached into a bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a thick file and flipping it open to a specific page. As he turned it toward you, your eyes fell on a recent report from the Hadal Blackside, detailing the aftermath of Solace’s sabotage.

“We conduct experiments, yes,” he said, his tone almost defensive, as if he was trying to convince you of their necessity. “But we do it with the utmost care, as ethically as possible. Yet, when mankind seeks to push the boundaries of evolution, sacrifices are sometimes unavoidable. Solace... he sabotaged us, forced the Blackside into a state of lockdown, and we can’t track him down because he has one of our newest devices—a scrambler.”

Your eyes were drawn to the pictures within the file. One showed a large, strange-looking machine, its design intricate and intimidating. The caption read, "Scrambler—Beta Design." Another page outlined the device’s functions, detailing how it could disrupt signals and create a zone where tracking was impossible.

“If he has the scrambler,” Mr. Wiltshire continued, his voice taking on a note of frustration, “we have no way to find him. He’s out there, somewhere, hiding in the shadows with that machine, and we can’t bring him to justice. He’s dangerous, and now, more than ever, we need to neutralize that threat.”

His words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on you. The reality of the situation was far more complex than you had ever imagined. The man whose suffering you had pitied, whose story had seemed so tragic, was being painted as a villain of the highest order—a threat not just to the company, but to society as a whole.

And yet, something still gnawed at you, a tiny voice of doubt that refused to be silenced. Could Mr. Wiltshire be twisting the truth? Was this all just a clever manipulation to keep you in line, to ensure you wouldn’t dig any deeper into the secrets of Urbanshade?

As these thoughts swirled in your mind, Mr. Wiltshire leaned back once more, his eyes never leaving yours. "So, you see, there’s more at stake here than just a few files. I trust you understand now why it’s so important that we maintain control over the situation. And why I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you moving forward."

His smile returned, but it no longer felt reassuring. Instead, it was a warning—a reminder that you were now entangled in something far beyond your control, and there was no easy way out.

The weight of Mr. Wiltshire's words pressed down on you like an anchor, pulling you deeper into a sea of confusion and dread. "I see..." you muttered, struggling to process everything he'd just unloaded onto you. The lines between truth and manipulation blurred, and you found yourself questioning everything you thought you knew. "So, I read a corrupt file?"

"That's correct," he confirmed, his tone almost patronizing. "That's why the file wasn’t in the archive with the others. And it's not like you were supposed to see it in the first place." He took another casual sip of his coffee, as if this was all just another routine conversation.

You felt a small surge of relief. Maybe, just maybe, this was all a misunderstanding, and you could continue on with your life, leaving this mess behind. But then, as Mr. Wiltshire leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours with an unsettling intensity, your hopes quickly began to wither.

"But let’s talk about the real reason you're here," he said, his voice suddenly businesslike. "Keeping someone with your knowledge and... naivety here is dangerous, so I've spent some time thinking and have come to a decision. I'm going to promote you."

Your heart skipped a beat. Despite everything—the stress, the mistakes, the fear—your boss was actually considering promoting you. The idea filled you with a brief but intense wave of excitement, washing away the anxiety and doubt that had plagued you. Maybe, just maybe, this would be your chance to escape the drudgery of intern work and finally start climbing the corporate ladder.

But the next words out of his mouth turned your excitement to ice.

"You will now be our ‘lead researcher’ for the Hadal Blackside," he announced with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Your transport leaves in an hour."

The words hung in the air, a death sentence disguised as an opportunity. Your stomach dropped as he placed two objects on the desk in front of you: a syringe and a USB stick. "A special position for a special girl."

The trap had been laid out, and you had walked right into it. Your so-called promotion wasn’t an escape—it was a ticket to the one place you had desperately wanted to avoid.

"I will give you an actual promotion when you return from this mission," he continued smoothly, as if sensing your internal panic. "It’s very simple. And it will be worthwhile for you. Go down to the Hadal Blackside; we’ll provide you with the necessary equipment. Find a certain crystal." He paused, watching your reaction, gauging how much more you could take. "And find Sebastian Solace. Deactivate the scrambler and send us his location. The syringe will be the medication you give him, this will knock him out right away, and the USB stick will help you through the lockdown. That's all to it, really. No real harm.“

His voice dropped to a whisper, the intensity of his gaze making your skin crawl. "I promise you, your safety is guaranteed. This is a simple mission. You’ll receive the other details later on. But if you turn it down..." He trailed off, the threat clear without needing to be spoken. "I can't guarantee what will happen to you here."

You stared at the syringe and USB stick, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a physical force. This wasn’t a promotion; it was a one-way ticket into a nightmare you’d wanted to avoid. But what choice did you have? Refuse, and you knew Mr. Wiltshire wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his unspoken threat.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "I understand," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt hollow, but they were all you had left. Your future at Urbanshade—and possibly your life—now depended on completing a mission that you were woefully unprepared for.

"Good," Mr. Wiltshire replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "Then I’ll see you when you return, Lead Researcher."

You left the office with a heavy heart, the new mission lingering in your mind as you tried gaslighting yourself into believing that it was really just a minor setback, a necessary stepstone toward a luxurious future. The promotion was all you had ever wanted, and now it was only a few inches out of grasp—so close, yet so perilously out of reach.

As you walked down the sterile hallway, each step echoed with the weight of your decision. You told yourself that this was just another challenge to overcome, another box to check on your way to success. After all, wasn’t this what you had signed up for? To rise through the ranks, to prove yourself, to be more than just another faceless employee in the vast machine of Urbanshade?

But no matter how many times you repeated those reassurances in your mind, the knot in your stomach only tightened. You could still see Mr. Wiltshire’s cold smile, hear the veiled threat in his voice, feel the chill of the syringe and USB stick he’d placed in front of you.

As you neared the elevator, the walls seemed to close in on you. The sleek, reflective surfaces showed a distorted version of yourself—someone who was confident, capable, and in control. But beneath that polished exterior, doubt gnawed at you, eating away at the fragile sense of security you had worked so hard to build.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss. The button for the office room level seemed to glow ominously as you pressed it, the descent mirroring the sinking feeling in your chest.

This was supposed to be your moment, your chance to prove yourself.

Now you could almost feel the walls of the Hadal Blackside closing in on you, the darkness creeping in from all sides, the weight of the ocean pressing down on your shoulders. The thought of returning there, of facing whatever horrors awaited, made your pulse quicken with dread.

But what choice did you have? Mr. Wiltshire had made it clear—either you complete this mission, or you’d find yourself in a fate far worse than the one you were being sent to prevent.

The elevator came to a stop with a jolt, and the doors slid open to reveal the familiar sight of the office room level. You stepped out, your footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. The smell of coffee and old paper hit your senses, a harsh reminder of the reality you were about to face.

Your office was just down the hall, a small, nondescript room that had become your refuge during your time at Urbanshade. But as you approached, you couldn’t help but feel like it was the last place you wanted to be. The files you had worked so hard to restore, the secrets you had uncovered—they were all there, waiting for you.

You reached the door and hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle. Your last hour over the surface of the ocean has just started.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x you #asabovesobelow

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sunboki · 1 year ago

Text

— WHEN THINGS WERE SIMPLE a Lee Minho fiction

⭐️ : Lee Minho(Leeknow) x fem. reader

TROPE. school romance, 90’s romance, bestfriends to lovers, online au, strangers to lovers, highschool au, small town au

WORD COUNT. 7.7k ☆ 37 minute read

WARNINGS. light cursing, deep conversation, two teenagers being madly in love(lmao), bankruptcy, anonymous online chatting between strangers — this is in no way recommending anyone to join anonymous chat rooms nor meet up with strangers irl!

AUG'S NOTES. this fic was heavily inspired by “Twenty Five Twenty One” (one of my favorite kdrama!!) and was based around the 90’s when today’s technology was just beginning, i hope you find this piece to your satisfaction! if so, please leave some feedback, thanks :)

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Lee Minho, the newest resident in your small town, has already established a reputation as the Class President despite moving only a week ago. You, on the other hand, don’t really see the appeal, or maybe your schedule is too jam-packed to consider the prospect of boys. In the meantime, you join an anonymous chat room with this so-called "lino98," and eventually, the stranger recommends that you meet holding a yellow tulip and wait- is that who you think it is?

or alternatively :

Whoever you’ve been talking to in that chat room was definitely not who you thought would be standing in Marronnier Park with a yellow tulip in hand.

1999.

“Hey! The sign says no throwing!” You scold, rushing to fix the arm to the statue as the tires on the boy’s bike screech to a halt.

And suddenly, it feels like everything’s in slow motion when the perfectly kept head of brown hair swivels back to face you, sharp jawline and piercing eyes belonging to a model-looking stranger you’d never seen before.

Thursday morning was when you first met Minho. Although, you didn’t know his name then, nor that this interaction－the daily magazine breaking your statue’s arm－would change your life.

His expression drops, looking rather bored despite your obviously frazzled (and flustered) state.

“How much?” The bewilderingly attractive boy asks, and it takes you a moment to register what he said, repeatedly glancing from the statue back to him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“It’s.. It’s priceless.” You huff, regarding the stranger with a hard glare as if he’d broken some holy vase or something.

He didn’t.

In fact, the only reason you felt so worked up was because once your parents saw the statue, you’d be grounded in an instant. You, on the other hand, could care less about the stupid piece of marble.

Something about his gaze sets you off, not to mention when he flashes a cheeky grin screaming nothing but trouble.

“Is that so? Then I guess it’s especially priceless now, huh.” He shrugged, kicking the kickstand up and hiking his leg over the seat.

You freeze in your spot, equally stunned with both shock and confusion.

Huh? Where is he going.

Is this guy serious!?

“What’re you- hold on- you can’t just leave!” Racing after him while he positively sped ahead of you on bike, you endlessly shout, slowing down to a halt after a few minutes to watch his silhouette disappear below the winding road traveling down to the village.

Hunched over to catch your breath, you mumble silent curses, dragging heavy footsteps up the small arrangement of stairs to try hiding the broken part behind the statue the best you can.

Brushing off your clothes and adjusting the straps to your bag, you start down the same way he left, stomping and groveling in your misery similar to that of a child denied their favorite toy. It’s quite a sight.

Tomorrow, you’ll give that attractive-Mail-Boy-whose-name-unknown a piece of your mind. You’re sure of it.

Entering the classroom, the first thing piquing your ears wasn’t Soyeon and Hyomin’s daily bickering match about the most random topics (the two you and Yuqi are certain are going to marry one day), but hushed whispering amongst each other.

So, accepting your role as a certified nosy person, you crouch across Yuqi’s desk, craning to make out her way-too-fast-to-be-normal conversation with Rei.

“Psst, Rei, what’s going on?” Blabbering on about whatever the school had been gossiping about, the girl swiftly turned to you, face alight with excitement.

“Have you seen the new guy? He’s an actor, I’m sure of it!”

…Of course. You should’ve known.

Nothing would have Taeyang High School falling over itself faster than a new handsome face.

How disappointing.

Not that you don’t appreciate a good looking person when you see one, but seriously, it could’ve been the upcoming volume of Full House or a class barbecue, something you deemed much more swoon worthy than a boy.

Yet, the transfer student who opened the door mere seconds later looked eerily familiar.

The Mail boy who mutilated your statue this morning is standing there, or are your eyes playing tricks on you? Maybe you’re sleeping at home and this is all a dream. Please be a dream please be a dream please be a dream- Ow!

Pinching yourself did hurt , you were awake, and it was Mail Boy at the front of the class introducing himself.

This week was already off to a great start.

Snapping out of your nightmare to notice him walking in your direction past giggling, lovestruck students to find a seat, you frantically shield either side of your face with your hands. Behind you, Han Jisung, your second best friend to Yuqi, cocks a brow as the boy fortunately takes a seat two rows ahead of you.

It feels like your heart is thundering in your chest with every breath you take, shaking your skull with it’s deafening beating. Any second now he could turn around, and you don’t know why, but the thought of that critiquing stare landing on you again gives you incessant goosebumps.

Sitting through homeroom has never been so suffocating-ly awful, and Jisung can tell when he comes over after class ends, plopping backwards in the chair in front of you to wince at the face you’re pulling.

“I’m cursed, Jisung—“ You childishly squirm, flopping around like some self-acclaimed grub.

Your classmate huffs a humorless chuckle, helping fix a messy strand of your hair before raising from his spot.

“Don’t worry, It’ll only get worse from here. ‘Want a Banana milk?”

Shitty Han Jisung and his shitty personality. Way to lift your spirits, asshole.

“You suck.”

“Two Banana milks it is!” He slaps the wood surface of your desk, breaking into an unaffected smile while hurrying off to the vending machines. Perhaps you’ll just mope till next class, brainstorm the easiest way to glue your statue back together and leave the country while you’re at it.

Abruptly, the minimal view of the classroom from where your head’s wedged between your arms is invaded by a green color, slowly peeking out only to be met with dollar bills waved in front of your face.

Now this had to be a dream. Han Jisung is never fast when it comes to vending machines, usually ogling at options the latest one installed in the cafeteria offers.

Also, for the record, he’s dirt poor like most of the students here.

“Fifty dollars for the damage.”

Damn it!

Still not a dream, because the crisp cash held out to you is none other than Mail Boys’ (a.k.a. Minho’s), staring down at you like you were some insect scurrying near his polished shoes... Or maybe that’s your interpretation of how he’s looking at you.

“This should cover any fees for fixing the statue, I don’t want to deal with you hunting me down every morning when I pass by.” He grumbles, patting the money next to your hand.

You gawk, amazed that he considered at all. What left you more amazed? How he had this amount of money in the first place as a student. Applying for a delivery job may not be so bad after all. That or he does own polished shoes, fancy clothes and a suit with his picture-ready hair and all.

He might as well scream in everyone’s face that he’s rich waving those dollar bills around.

“Keep it. It’s already bad enough it’s broken but it’ll be worse if I have money. Unlike you, I pride myself in being poor.”

There’s that terrifying, critiquing stink-eye again.

“..but my parents don’t, and they would think I stole something.” You quietly add, and Minho almost snorts, appearing to be having a difficult time withholding his bubbling laugh.

Before he can respond though, Jisung steps through the door, stopping in his tracks upon noticing what's going on, beverages in hand.

Noticing the elephant in the room, Minho slides the money closer your way and walks out, leaving you with awkward silence, fifty dollars, and too many questions.

Well, until both Banana milks slam down and your friend snatches the bills with a loud gasp, boba eyes round as saucers.

“Holy shit! I haven’t seen fifty dollars in like, four years. Is that Minho guy your secret boyfriend? Was that why you were acting so weird earlier?”

Not helping with the too many questions part, Jisung. And a secret boyfriend? Does this guy even know you?

“Absolutely not,” You cross your arms, being sure he sees your excessive eye-roll. “He broke my statue.”

In those few seconds of silence you swore he went through at least eight phases of contemplation trying to figure out the context attached to what you said, deciding to just blankly squint till you spilled your guts.

“So you’re telling me,” He points his finger at some imaginary diagram on the desk, focus flickering in every direction trying to connect the dots. “That Mail Boy, no, Lee Minho, threw the newspaper, broke your statue and ran off? This morning?”

There’s a doubtful lilt to his voice while you hurriedly nod, praying the boy will believe you despite how insane it sounds—despite how insane it really was.

“And this isn’t because he’s attractive?”

You cough.

“I mean, he’s attractive, but-“Aha! Finally! A prospect! Looks like my lovely Y/n won’t die alone after all.” Jisung places an over dramatic hand over his heart and you open your mouth, ready to tell him off before the bell rings and all hope of earning any sympathy flies out the window.

Nonetheless, confessing your grievances to the ferociously blunt Yuqi and expecting the newest volume of Full House after school wasn't usually the highlight of your day, but you've come to accept anything away from Mail Boy should be counted as a highlight at this point.

Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the god forbidden statue-killer since morning class.

Eh. He’s probably massacring some more neighborhood statues. He seems like he’d have weird hobbies anyway.

“Sounds a bit like you’re into him if you ask me,” She chews her sandwich, and you might’ve thrown up in your mouth a little bit.

Absolutely not. Your education is far too important to be interrupted by this transfer student. Plus, he also seems uninterested in love, right? It works out .. totally.

“C’mon Yuqi, you know me. The only thing I’m into is good grades and college admission.” You slump against the bench, absentmindedly stealing a few grapes from the girl.

Seriously though, falling in love is not on your roster for high school. At least not for now.

Nope. Take it back. No love. None. Nope.

Yuqi gasping like someone stabbed her seems to pull you from your loophole headspace, grabbing your arm excitedly.

“Oh my gosh! Doesn’t Volume Eleven come out today?” She says, and you might’ve just ascended to heaven.

Ah. Forget good grades and college admission, you’re in love with Full House. Save the boys for later.

She didn’t need to say anymore, because in the blink of an eye you were full sprinting out the gates, mind trained on one thing and one thing only.

Practically singing to yourself with glee, you swing open the door of Myeongjin DVD store, calling out an equally singsong, “Sir— did you save the newest release for m-…”

Huh.

You know those scenes in movies where all the music stops and everything seems to just freeze? Yeah, this was one of those moments.

“Hm?” Is what he responds with.

What Lee Minho responds with, working behind the front desk sorting through rentals.

Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re calling him by his actual name and not Mail Boy.

Strange.

“Ah.. Ahem .. The new volume of Full House, is it saved for me?” You gradually pique, bouncing back and forth on your heels.

Things should be settled by now between you two after he paid you back and all, but you just couldn’t seem to shake the awkwardness compiling in your gut. Like this strange boy that showed up (literally) on your doorstep would get you into trouble.

Placing the book he’d been checking down, he picks up a bulletin board, finger scouring the titles before glancing at you.

“Full House? Nope, we’re all out.”

“Thanks- WHAT?! Look, you might not know, but I’m pretty much the owner’s daughter,” You explain matter-a-factly, cocking your brows expectantly. What kind of stunt you were pulling you didn’t know. Either way, you’d use the many years you lived here before him to the utmost advantage.

Turns out, you definitely should’ve remembered how Lee Minho earned his reputation in the first place.

“So sorry, he didn’t say anything about his beloved daughter paying a visit today.” The man in front of you leans forward, head tilted in a conniving manner.

What. A. Prick.

Jesus he looks good right now.

Opening your mouth to bite back, deja vú plows through like a bus when he cuts you off, light smirk gracing the edges of his lips. Mocking, like when you first met. Mocking.

“But, I’ll be sure to tell you when more are in stock. Deal?”

Oh how you want to beat his stupidly handsome face in.

“Deal.”

Settling down into your chair and repeatedly clicking the cream colored mouse, you watch the blue background fill the screen along with the other person’s username.

Only on stressful nights would you log back into the anonymous chat rooms. Except today wasn’t necessarily stressful, more just leaving you in denial without Volume eleven in hand.

Somehow, these conversations were thrilling in their own, odd ways. Not knowing if the person is your best friend or your worst enemy made the experience all the more fun.

Recently, you'd begun chatting with Lino98, a kind person who apparently moved not too long ago. They gave you the best advice and would always joke around like friends while you talked about love, grades, and anything at all.

In a sense, they were your friend.

YOU: Lino98?

LINO98: Hm?

YOU: What do you want to do in the future? Now that we’re getting older, I’ve been thinking about it a lot

LINO98: Well that’s a random question

YOU: Shhh just answer

LINO98: Okay okay, mine is way out there and pretty unrealistic for a student, but

LINO98: I want to be a dancer

YOU: Wowー dancer? As in, dancing on stage?

LINO98: What else would a dancer do ㅎㅎ

YOU: You know what I mean!! But being a dancer is a good dream. You’ll have to work hard, but it’s your passion, so I shouldn’t be one to judge

LINO98: You’re sweet, saying that

YOU: Hey hey don’t get all sappy

LINO98: I mean it ㅋㅋㅋ

You smile, fingers rapidly typing to keep up with the replies. They had a wild dream, sure, but Lino98 had their own aspirations, and you wondered if maybe in the future you’d see them on TV.

See them in real life. Now that was a thought. Heck, you didn’t even know if they were a boy or girl.

Oh god, what if Lino98 was one of your classmates? Worst case scenario it’d be Minho.

Although, that would never happen, the chances were too slim.

Too slim.. but not impossible. In fact, very much possible because no matter how small the chance is it could always become realit- “Y/n!”

You jump, reaching to turn off the old monitor.

There’s a shuffle outside of your door, the woman’s head peering in momentarily. You have an idea of what she's going to say next seeing you in front of the computer.

“You’d better not be on those chat rooms, I told you they’re dangerous. Also, could you run to the market? I’m missing bean sprouts.”

Bingo.

Patting the doorframe, she disappears once more.

You know she’s right. Sure it could pose a threat, but you’re a student, and adult things like being worried about safety could come later.

However, running into Mail Boy there could also come later, and you debated on turning around before he noticed you. That was, until you remembered the unfortunate errand you’d made the trip for in the first place.

The last person he expected to find at Ahyeon Market was you, looking equally as shocked with his appearance here as well. Still clad in uniform, he motions from his place on the outdoor bench, patting the spot next to him.

If gears could literally be seen turning in someone’s head he's certain he would have witnessed an entire mechanical process by now, rather amusedly analyzing your angel and devil conversation with cat-like observation.

“I don’t bite y’know,” Breaking the quiet lull, he clicks his tongue, earning a suspicious look.

“And how am I supposed to believe you.” Question rhetorical (he assumes), you approach him slowly, testing, like he’d pounce at one wrong move. The tempting urge to jump and scare you briefly crosses his mind.

“Because,” He bites back a grin. “Our Volume eleven pact, remember?”

Almost instantly, the tense atmosphere dissolves and you plop down beside him followed by hushed “Yeah, yeah”'s muttered under your breath. Barely twenty seconds pass though before you’re bolting to upward (and ironically scaring him instead), glancing left and right.

“I’ll get some Banana milk.” You bolt to the small fridge unit, lips focusedly pursed cashing in your coins.

Minho can’t help but smile to himself at your unbothered-ness, your easiness. You’re kind, not to mention brutally honest on occasions. It’s reassuring being around you, like he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Like, in some sense, his youth is returning to him. Piece by piece.

“Here.” Your voice has his head swiveling, holding a small cartridge for him to take.

“So.. Why’d you transfer here?”

He stares at the drink for a while, though your eyes never stray from his, observing him contemplating, thinking. Cat-like, you agree. Minho greatly resembles a feline.

“You like this stuff, huh.”

“Jisung got me hooked on it, you don’t want it?” Knitting your brows and greedily pulling the drink to yourself, he’s quick to reach forward, grabbing your hand in his.

You hesitate, both frantically searching each other's face before Minho snatches the Banana milk from you, tone suddenly doused in nervousness.

“No- I do, thanks.”

Liar. He hates Banana milk, but he’ll drink it. For you he will.

There’s that feeling again, blooming in his chest and warming up his entire body.

Weird.

It’s like he’s a three year old crushing on his classmate again, awkward and young. In love.

Anyone unlucky enough to witness this obvious pining deserves a written letter of apology.

“Mm..” You hum quietly, aggressively poking your straw through the paper lid.

Minho’s lips form a tight line, fixating on the rotation of his own straw as he aimlessly moves the drink in his hand from side to side.

“My family went bankrupt. That’s why I moved.”

Pausing your movement, you nod quickly and he feels a pang of guilt strike his chest. He shouldn’t have told you that, should’ve kept the comfort and ignored the question. Way to ruin it, jerk.

“What was your first impression of me?” Changing the subject, he clears his throat from the chilling air. So long for the summer heat.

“First impression?” You mimic, appearing deep in thought for a reason he couldn’t help but feel nervous about. Nervous for what, he couldn’t name.

There were lots of things he “couldn’t” when it came to you. It makes things interesting, makes you interesting. Life isn’t boring when with you, something he realizes the longer you accompany him, vice versa.

He can’t make sense of the feeling, ironically enough. Another “can’t”.

“Well, If you want me to be honest,” Glancing over at him from your earlier focus on a neon road sign, you lift your brows, awaiting his signal to go on.

“I thought you were cold, rude, not to mention a pain in the butt. Also, I’m not kidding when I say I was convinced you were a rich and spoiled brat-“ Rapid waving of his hands in front of you stops your train of thought.

“Are- are you being serious or just insulting me.” He interrupts, deadpanning while sending you a rather confused, nonsensical look.

“Dead serious. You wanted the truth after all.” You shrug your shoulders and Minho chokes a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

Unbelievable. Absolutely, unforgivably, unbelievable.

“And what about now?”

More thinking.

“You’re nice to be around, but still a pain in the butt.” Shuffling on the pavement, you pull your coat tighter around yourself, gaze flitting to the crack of smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

With the streetlights automatically turning on, without response, simply a soft look from the boy, he steps forward and wordlessly beckons for you to follow.

Walk home with me, an inaudible invitation, and you tag along accordingly.

He doesn’t want to go home, but he won’t tell you that. In fact, he dreads going home to a silent house. He won’t tell you that either.

Truth being, Minho hadn’t been this happy in ages, and being by you, talking to you, getting to know you and everything in between has brilliant shades of color decorating his black and white world. If only he could muster up the courage to tell you that.

“Shoot!”

Panickedly facing you, surprise lay evident on his usually unwavering features.

“I forgot bean sprouts! Hold on, I’ll be right back.” You pronounce, disappearing inside the Market with the boy right on your heels.

Arriving at the register, he places his wallet on the counter before you could fetch cash from your pocket. Turning to him, you poke an accusing finger against his chest, fixing your attractive friend with a hard stare.

“Minho, I told you rich people paying for poor people isn’t ‘nice’, it just makes us look pitiful.” You pout, and the boy resists the overbearing urge to coo not only from how unfairly adorable you look right now but hearing his name come out of your mouth for the first time as well.

Adorable. What was he thinking using a word like that anyway? He meant something else .. another, descriptive word for something cute… Nevermind.

“Think of it as me paying you back for the Banana Milk.” Giving in the tiniest bit, he lands a small nudge against your side, earning an equally playful shove back.

Laughter envelops the both of you, walking from the store with bean sprouts in clutch and pink hues decorating your cheeks whether from giggling or something else. Swinging the bag beside you, a fleeting thought of holding it for you crosses Minho’s mind. Should he? What if you say no and things become awkward again?

God, why is he complicating things so much recently. Just do it, Minho. It’s not that difficult.

“You know how much I gave the cashier for those drinks?”

Quickly pulling his hand away from where it reached for the plastic, his grimace becomes instantly replaced with feigned curiosity in hopes you didn’t notice.

Holding eye contact has never been difficult for Minho. In fact, he’s a pro at it …with everyone but you. So when you study him with those brilliant eyes, he can feel his ears burning bright red.

“Yeah? How much?” He mischievously replied, watching you light up.

You have a particular smile, the one that transforms your face so prettily, the one that makes his heart thunder in his chest. He really likes that smile.

“Ten dollars. Can you believe it? I could buy a mansion with that money.” You hum sarcastically, tumbling all over the sidewalk while being kindly beckoned away from the road by the concerned boy.

“Hey Minho?”

He turns to you.

“What do you wanna do when you grow up? Y’know, after High school and University.”

Opening his mouth to respond, he can’t help but find the question eerily familiar.

“Since I was a kid I wanted to be a Dancer. I actually auditioned a few days ago, but I probably won’t make it.” The dark haired man humorlessly laughs, actively avoiding your attention.

You frown, he doesn’t notice.

“You don’t know that. I don’t know what I want to do, but riding in a sports car sounds nice. It doesn’t have to be realistic, we’re young.”

There it is. This was the easiness he was thinking of, your unbothered-ness. All of the things he finds himself smiling about. The things he looks forward to dropping off your mail in the morning to see.

“..A sports car?”

Once comfortable silence interrupted by his snickering, you wack his arm for the nth time that night, sending him a faux glare.

“Oh look! It’s my stop!” You interject, hiking up the stairs to turn around and see him looking up at you, eyes crinkled with a small smile adorning his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow! Goodnight, Minho.”

Minho thinks you're very, very cute.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

Minho hopes you think he’s cute too.

Days go by, some long, some short, with August feeling extremely drawn-out and uncomfortable—leaves gradually beginning to brown for autumn.

As for September, you’re still waiting for Volume eleven from Minho, incessantly dropping by the DVD store to annoy him into leaking some info about when the next batch will be shipped.

“It’ll be next week”, “It’ll be next week”, “It’ll be next week,” is what he always says every week until you’re quite certain next week has happened four times already.

On a different note other than your Full House dilemma and impending exams, Minho had been elected Class President, Soyeon and Hyomin are getting closer to officially dating (from you and Yuqi’s observations), and Jisung is currently keeping count of how many girls confess to Mail Boy each semester.

Don’t ask about the last one.

Expecting someone like Yuqi to be running up to you so early on your walk through the school gates, you blink twice to realize it’s Minho instead, something in hand and positively glowing with cheerfulness.

“Y/n!”

Spinning around, you mirror his overwhelming energy and narrowly dodge getting run over in the process.

“Guess what.” He grins, looking scarily enthusiastic compared to usual.

“What?” You ask, already lost in the way his caramel globes for eyes seem to practically sparkle.

“I got accepted! I’m going to be a trainee!” Shoving the acceptance paper in your face, you scream, covering your mouth in disbelief.

To say you both jumped is an understatement, basically frolicking around the courtyard like lunatics. Well, before you realized the entire jumping and frolicking thing and hurriedly returned to your normal, stiff high school selves.

“Also, the Full House shipment came in this morning.”

…

He’s kidding. You’re kidding.

Oh my god you could kiss him right now. Good thing you didn’t say that out loud.

Running as fast as you possibly could with the boy yelling for you to slow down, you mercilessly slam the door open, manically searching through boxes until the beloved, astounded, mystifying book rests peacefully in hand.

Heaven’s gates should’ve opened up by now.

Taking his sweet time as if this wasn’t one of the greatest moments in life, your counterpart casually strolls up to the register, appearing to check out the rental despite holding your precious book hostage after scanning the barcode.

“You don’t care about me making the cut, do you?” He pouts, lip pitifully jutting out.

Mouth left agape, you swiftly bite back what you’d planned to say about the deal, stumbling over sentences to find an excuse.

“I do! I swear! Now give me the book.. please?” Sporting the most genuine tone you could manage, you snatch the book he begrudging lowered down, hugging the prized possession close to your chest.

“Fine, liar.”

Yikes, talk about a grumpy face. He looked like a kicked puppy. You didn’t even think that expression was possible for Lee Minho.

However, you also didn’t think it was possible to feel sort of upset about it. Not his grumpy face, no, but him getting accepted. Wasn’t this a happy occasion? Volume eleven was released and finally in your possession and your friend was now going to be a trainee, now going to chase his dream of becoming a dancer.

So why did you feel sad walking back to school?

It felt wrong, you felt wrong, and the disgusting feeling only grew worse as the day went on. Heck, looking through pages and squealing with Yuqi—an activity that normally helped lift your spirits—didn't feel as reviving.

Later that day you asked him when he’d be leaving to train, leaving for Seoul, far from here. You dreaded the question, but at least it gave you time to prepare in a sense.

“January,” he replied, eating his apple as if it wasn’t the end of September, as if your heart wasn’t splintering into a billion tiny pieces.

Perhaps somewhere, hidden in his unaffected façade, he felt a tad bit upset like you did.

‘It doesn’t have to be realistic, we’re young.’ You recalled assuring him at Ahyeon Supermarket back in August, thinking it wasn’t going to be real, believing it wasn’t going to become reality.

If only you had known.

Adult things were climbing from the busy city into your small town. You weren’t ready.

So when life becomes increasingly overbearing, you log back in.

YOU: Today has been so draining.. I want to wake up and everything to be a dream

LINO98: Need to vent?

YOU: I thought you’d never ask ㅠㅠ

LINO98: Alright alright, go on

YOU: Well I have a friend, and he’s getting to do something he’s always wanted, but it means he’ll have to go away for a while and I can’t help but feel sad

LINO98: Feeling sad is normal, there’s nothing wrong with that

LINO98: It makes you feel like everything you’ve done with them was taken for granted, don’t you think?

YOU: That’s exactly what it’s like

YOU: If you're okay with it, could we meet up and talk? I mean, we’ve been talking for a while now and I just thought

LINO98: Would Marronnier Park work?

YOU: Didn't think you’d be so willing

LINO98: What can I say, we work well together

YOU: How will we find each other though?

LINO98: Hm.. theres that flower shop nearby, right? Bring a yellow tulip and I will too, good?

YOU: Tomorrow at noon?

LINO98: I’ll be there

Yellow tulip, noon, tomorrow. You sigh a stretching grin, clicking the small exit button before flopping onto your bed.

Only downside of this would have to be your inability to sleep, mind unable to calm itself down as you lay awake. Tomorrow you meet Lino98, someone truly cherished for all their help and kindness.

Eyes slowly drifting closed, you can’t help but hope meeting them in real life will ease some of your troubles. Even just a tad.

Springing from bed that morning, you make your daily stop at Myeongjin DVD store, attempting to drag Minho outside to grab dessert with you while he complains of having plans.

You grumble, growling to him you’ll enjoy the sweet treat more by yourself, his saccharine farewell fading into the distance as you close the door behind you.

Luckily, there wasn’t anything that could truly damage your happiness today(despite really wanting to get desserts with Minho) while picking up a yellow tulip on your way to the meeting location.

Gosh, your stomach was doing backflips right now.

Locating the park’s sign, you stopped and patted yourself down for a moment.

Alright. Now time to start guessing. Would they be a girl? Be a boy? Maybe they’d be Yuqi. That would be hysterical. You mean, you’re soulmates at this point, it’d make plenty of sense.

Venturing inside, you shuffle between people in search of the same flower being in someone else’s grip till finally spotting it, hidden between two people in front of you.

If they would just scoot over a little bit.. there! Now you can see ...them.

Oh.

Making eye contact, you watch them realize, beginning to back up.

You don’t know why you run away, you don’t know why your legs won’t stop and why the person keeps calling out behind you.

Funny that the slim chance you mentioned turned out to be true.

Today you met Lino98, someone you'd truly cherished for all their help and kindness prior to learning who they were.

Today you met Lino98 at Marrionner Park holding a yellow tulip, but the person in front of you was Lee Minho, flower in hand and staring directly back at you.

December gradually rolls around, and usually you’re ecstatic seeing all the lights and festivals Taeyang High hosts as Christmas and new years approaches, especially with next year marking a new millennium.

After the news of Minho’s departure though, it’s hard enjoying the holidays knowing he’ll be leaving only a week or so into January.

No. You should soak up your last month or so. This is the most important part, you can’t be miserable when he hasn’t even left yet.

Despite how badly you want to see him all the time, nothing came easy with his identity revealed.

You weren’t angry nor embarrassed. And initially, you didn’t feel anything, you just stared at him across the park, wondering if all of these coincidences were dreams, your loneliness causing hallucinations of a sort.

Regarding the running away part, that was more of a “need to get my thoughts together” reflex, a desperate and last resort you now deeply regretted holed up in your room with Yuqi’s voice ringing through the home phone.

Yes, you’d like to say you dealt with the matter like a responsible almost-adult.

You didn’t.

“Yuqi… I’m ruining my own life and I can’t do anything to stop it..” You hiccup, loud sobs echoing through the empty household.

She clicks her tongue, once patient and understanding persona instantaneously snapping.

“Yah!” The girl shouts, and you flinch on the other side of the line. “Keep saying stuff like that and you really will ruin your own life! I know no one warned you that falling in love with him would be like this, but seriously, I am not letting you waste this last month avoiding each other!!”

In spite of her reprimanding you, her intentions are clearly aimed towards wanting the best for the both of you, and you know you should be grateful in return.

“I’m not in love with.. My god I am in love with him, what do I do—“ You drag out, dissolving into more cries.

It’s true, both her point and the fact that you’re unabashedly in love with him. All of it. From first meeting him, avoiding him, making up, becoming close and convincing yourself you weren’t looking for a relationship, and now avoiding him again. You’ve always had that feeling, that lingering affection teetering back and forth between the line of friends and lovers.

Although, your friend’s sigh suddenly gets cut off by another person, and you briefly wonder if her younger brother took it before making out the name Yuqi yelled in the distance.

“Yeesh you sound ugly when you cry.”

Is that.. Jisung?

“Han Jisung, give me back the phone!”

Jisung over at Yuqi’s house. Weird.

“Just one seconds this is important~” He whines, and from the sounds of it is also currently running away from what you assume to be a raging Yuqi.

“Okay so Yuqi, Soyeon, Hyomin and I are planning the craziest new years bash ev-“HAN JISUNG!” Phone finally finding its way back to the original holder, you can hear sly giggles echoing in the background.

She audibly groans and you can easily imagine her hands threading through long blonde locks of hair, probably visibly resisting the urge to bury her companion. You can’t help but smile.

Just so you know, only Jisung and I are here so don’t worry about the public humiliatio- aw shit there's thirty seconds left on the call- anyways, be sure to stop by my place on the 31st, we have a surprise for you!” Time limit ending without another word, you take the time to connect the dots with Jisung’s “new years bash” and Yuqi’s “surprise”, to expect a small party of some kind.

With those two arranging it, you don’t know what to expect.

Why not? The reasons to say no are basically nonexistent.

Christmas break officially starting, students clambering from school grounds, and your daily “avoiding Minho” schedule on hold now that you’re out till the end of January, the anticipation of this upcoming party creeps closer. That, and how you plan to talk to Minho.

You aren’t stupid, and you didn’t ignore what Yuqi had said about avoiding each other either, fully aware of how essential coming to terms was for the sake of your friendship, and at least for you, for the sake of your love too.

The real question was when, something you’re still trying to figure out on the 30th of December. Way to procrastinate.

Before tonight you’d never hesitated talking to Lino98 (Minho), deleting your message at least a dozen times before clicking the send button and preparing to hide under your comforter for the rest of the night. Keyword: preparing. Because when you anxiously peered between your fingers to see a response beneath your message, you might have just jumped out of your skin.

YOU: Hey, can we talk?

LINO98: I thought you’d never ask

YOU: About meeting up.. I want you to know I’m really not mad at you

LINO98: You can be honest, Y/n

YOU: I am, promise

YOU: It’s so much easier talking online than in person, but I really want to see you

LINO98: Same, but I doubt I’ll be able to say the same things in person

YOU: I think that’s something we can both agree on

LINO98: Hm

YOU: I’m busy tomorrow, but maybe the next day?

LINO98: Seems we still work well together

YOU: Don't say that, I’ll get PTSD..

LINO98: Sorry sorry ㅜㅜ

Little did you know you were both busy doing the same thing after nobody mentioned Minho would be at the party as well, too stunned to speak seeing him sit around the enormous pile of snacks and drinks laying in the middle of the floor.

However, you found it in yourself, not only because of the minimal time you had left but also because of your conversation last night, to move past the tension.

Like adults.

What a bizarre phrase coming from you.

And it looked as if he felt the same too.

Lively conversation filled up the small space, and six kids, six adults, sat around an army of junk food and held a pitiful excuse for a party while using this time together to forget, if just for a moment, about life outside the room.

You couldn’t have had more fun talking and catching up, not to mention the curdling screaming when Hyomin and Soyeon announced that they were officially dating, bouncing around whilst stuck in Yuqi’s bone-crushing hug of delight.

The clock ticked on the wall, and after hours of bringing back old memories and suggesting new ones, a few attendees began to slip away, gradually leaving only you, Minho, and Yuqi to occupy her living room.

She yawned beside you, half-lidded eyes making her sleepiness rather apparent. Patting your shoulder, the girl rose up, trudging toward the door.

“Alright I’m tapping out, see you guys next year.” She quietly mused and you cracked a sarcastic laugh, both wishing her good night before the sound of the knob clicked shut behind her.

It’s just you two now, watching the live broadcast in a numbing peacefulness. It stays like that for a long time, basking in the presence you’d been deprived of after that fateful day.

You stifle a chuckle.

“It wasn’t my intention to fall in love with you, but I guess I couldn’t help it.” You wistfully smile, back leaning against the wall clad in your heavy sweater and socks.

You hear him take a deep breath.

“I could say the same,” He whispers, eyes trained on the celebration airing on TV. “I bet you were upset that I’m Lino98.”

You pull your knees closer to yourself, listening to the two minute warning the reporter announces.

The room once busied becomes quiet apart from television chatter and your hushed talking. In a few minutes it’ll be a new Millennium, the 2000’s.

You should feel happy, knowing you’ll graduate soon, knowing that a new year is beginning. You’ve tried, truly, but you can’t find it in yourself, not with the circumstances.

“I’m not upset. I was just being selfish because I didn’t want it to be any harder seeing you leave.”

The circumstances seem to steal everything away. Minho must know that much better than you do.

Except you have this moment right here, right now, that the circumstances haven’t taken away yet.

He utters a pained sound, a sound that feels like crying. You don’t dare say anything.

“Don’t people,” He stops, waiting for you to look to your right, look at him and his glossy eyes. You’ve never seen Minho emotional, and you wish you never had. It feels cruel. Immeasurably cruel.

“As I speak, we have ten seconds till 2000.”

He opens his mouth again.

“Kiss on new years?”

You can hear the countdown begin.

“Ten!”

Minho has a wistful smile, dancing from your eyes to your lips.

“Nine!”

Should you take the chance?

“Eight!”

Will this hurt you?

“Seven!”

Haven’t you been hurting enough?

“Six!”

He’s leaving in a few days.

“Five!”

It’s now or never.

“Four!”

You lean forward, lips softly connecting with his. They’re soft, his lips, and he angles your head from side to side with a gentle touch, palms enveloping your cheeks, holding you close. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. Everything feels like it’s on fire. Ferociously alight and blazing.

“Three!”

He whispers something between your lips, you can’t hear it.

“Two!”

Partially, you feel grateful you couldn’t.

“One!”

Fireworks burst in your peripheral, littering the screen with a bountiful assortment of lights and cheers.

The new year had begun, and so had a different chapter in everyone’s lives. Both your classmates, and especially yours and Minho’s.

“Let’s welcome the year 2000!”

2000.

LINO98: Don’t get too excited, but I’m outside your house, come quick

YOU: Didn’t we see each other yesterday?

LINO98: Are you saying you’d rather stay in? I thought you loved me

YOU: Fine you big baby, but I’m going back to sleep after this

LINO98: Sounds good to me〜

You groan, dragging yourself out of your covers at the speed of a turtle to organize the unruly chaos ensuing in your disheveled hair and pull on your shoes.

In all honesty, you can’t even remember how you got home last night, only recalling that Minho tasted like Coca cola and that you had a roaring headache.

Minho tasted like Coca cola. You kissed Minho.

Wow.

Maybe the adrenaline had taken over last night considering how your face erupted red merely thinking about it the next morning.

A honk sounds outside and you jump slightly, mind sifting through ideas of what exactly the boy had gotten himself into this time. With Han Jisung’s influence yesterday, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was in a fancy sports car or something.

Scratch that, he was in a fancy sports car, and you had to blink repeatedly to check if you were awake.

Did he have a license? Wait, nevermind, since when did he own a car?

“What is this, you may ask?” He gestures to the bright red convertible Mustang, tipping down the sunglasses perched on his nose with a cock of his brow. “Well, since I‘m getting to do what I wanted when I got older, I thought it was only fair you got to do what you wanted to too. Sports car, right? Hop in.”

Oh. My. God.

You just keep falling in love with Minho over and over again.

Breathing a laugh of disbelief, shock, and every other emotion making a pit stop while standing in your pajamas, you cross your arms, sending him a suspicious stare.

“And might I ask how you got your hands on this thing?” Smile threatening to appear, you stave down the urge, struggling to maintain your unconvinced poise under his watchful eye.

“Let’s just say I know a friend who knows a friend-“Y/n! What happened to our statue?!” Your mothers shouts from up the stairs and you practically leap into the passenger seat, frantically urging him to step on the gas.

“Only took her a few months,” Your personal driver huffs amusedly, quickly putting the vehicle in reverse to flee the scene. Ah.. You’re not looking forward to the trip home.

Luckily, you’re not home, and you hope you won’t be for a while. Instead, you’re driving through side roads with Minho and his stupidly attractive sunglass-clad self, and it feels like you’ve just started high school again.

Minutes pass, maybe hours. You wouldn’t have been able to tell, too caught up enjoying it. The sights, the smells, the sounds, all of it. Enjoying everything.

Slowing down to pull into a small alcove overlooking the ocean, the boy leans his seat back and you do the same, warm sun baking down on the dark interior. You reach a hand forward, fingers tangling with his.

“Can we stay like this forever?”

He smiles.

“Forever it is.”

2009.

Scooting the metal chair to the side, Minho takes a seat, adjusting the collar of his shirt that earns a few screams here and there alongside the merciless flash of camera shutters swarming in every direction. Today marks his first fansign as a group, as a member of Stray Kids by the stage name Lee Know.

Exhilarating, perhaps. Terrifying, also perhaps.

Initially, he was anxious, worried he’d come off as cold and rigid followed by the other lovely assortment of offensive adjectives you used to describe him standing outside of school that day in August.

Life was different then, just as it is now. Although, he’s not unhappy with how things turned out, nor how life changed since high school.

Tonight you’d text him (like you did every night since he first left) about the fansign, asking if he found anyone cute (the answer would always be you) and telling him about your day, your changed life.

He’d listen, give his most-always teasing input, smile at your equally teasing retort and tell you to eat well and take care of yourself.

“Good morning Minho— ah, wait, I should call you Lee Know now, shouldn’t I?”

A voice stirs from in front of him and he’s certain he’s officially going insane. But no, it does belong to you, in the flesh, mesmerizing eyes disappearing as you grinned while plopping down onto the stool below.

“Do me a favor and act really obsessed with me for a minute, I want to make your fans jealous,” You giggle, leaning closer to whisper the petty request.

In the midst of his shock he scoffs, appearing profusely offended.

“And you still suck at introductions. Not even a congratulations, ouch.” The brown-haired now-Idol frowns, behaving more like a child than ever before.

His status as a normal person might’ve developed (Minho was never a normal person), but he still retained the maturity of a twelve year old.

“Oh, dearest apologies my beloved Lee Know.” Basically gagging, you balance your chin on your hand, once teasing expression replaced with a smile that makes his heart downright ache.

“Congratulations on becoming a dancer, Minho. I missed you.”

FIC TAGLIST. @dorisnumber1fan @mal-lunar-28 @httphans @virluna148 @bettybeako @grannyindehouse @minhaurloml @ylixbok @inkelea @luna585 @hyunbae-35