#i wrote him for so many years... SO MANY... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

narrycherries · 2 days ago

Text

ivy: how’s one to know..

(enemies to lovers) harry is just an ass and (Y/n) is just a stranger

masterlist // ivy series (link coming w part 2)

word count: 8.6k

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, harry x reader, fem reader, angst

[before you start: I wrote the female character with a description (blonde, blue eyes, short, thicker build) but of course feel free to change the descriptors to whatever you prefer!]

The holiday season had wrapped up a handful of days ago and things were slowly starting to go back to normal. The sparkling strings of lights decorating neighborhoods and businesses all around the city were being taken down and shoved back in their storage boxes until the last month of the year circled around again. The weather was staying consistent, though. The gloomy overcast skies and chilly wind that whipped through the streets were enough to keep people bundled up and wishing for spring to arrive.

Most people she knew enjoyed the holidays a lot more than she did. Sure, she loved to see the colorful lights lining roofs and windows of boutiques and restaurants along the main strip. There was something so juvenile, so innocent about the giddy feeling that would fill her stomach as she saw a pile of fake presents and a decorated tree in a shop window. Somewhere deep down inside of her heart, she still had that spark that a child would have.

When she was growing up, she sought happiness during the holidays by admiring other people’s outdoor decorations or gazing in awe at the displays put up in her schools. She didn’t have what most people had that she went to school with, but she tried to be grateful, even as a young chlid, and appreciate what surrounded her.

A strong sadness was building in her chest as she slid the ceramic Santa Claus into his box to pack him away with the other Christmas decorations. She thought about the many years she questioned if Santa was real. There were so many nights when she’d squeeze her eyes shut and whisper out loud, her knees on the floor as she put her elbows into the mattress. There was so much hope in her. She believed that if she wished and prayed and dreamed enough, Santa would leave a present or two on the coffee table next to her dad’s stained coffee mug. There wasn’t a tree most of the years of her childhood, but her dad give gift her things (there was no magical Santa though). There were no twinkling lights outside of her window, hanging down from the roof with a clumsy droop. There were no ornaments to place on the branches of a fake tree, lined with a dusty skirt that would be covered with presents. There were no fresh baked cookies and steaming hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. The television never displayed joyful Christmas movies and specials. The radio on the kitchen counter never once sang a tune of a wintery song about snow and ice. No, none of that. It was just her dad, her brother, and herself for a while.

“Did you keep the box for this guy?” Emma’s curious voice snapped her from her trance.

She cleared her throat and looked up from her spot on the living room rug. Her ‘new’ roommate was holding a ceramic snowman who’s decorated style matched the Santa she just put away. She reached into the plastic storage container and grabbed the box, passing it up to Emma.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, (Y/n).” She smiled back, noticing that there was a glimmer of disappoint on her face, but she didn’t mention it to her. “You didn’t have to put everything away so fast. I would’ve been fine with it for a few more weeks.”

Emma had just moved in before Christmas. Her things were half way unpacked throughout the small house they now shared.

“I didn’t want it to crowd you. Besides, Christmas is over.” (Y/n)’s tone was partially rough as she began to pack away the miniature houses placed across the console table that the television hung above.

“I’m so excited to actually be here, like, full time. Niall’s a bit upset.. but I told him he’d survive.” She said with a laugh as she started to collect the small figurines that went with the village.

“I’m excited, too. I’m glad you’re actually up for decorating the space and not just.. letting me do it all. My last roommate was not particularly outgoing.” (Y/n) snickered at the thought, knowing she wouldn’t be missing that person at all. The girl was nice and all, but she was quite boring.

“Oh, totally! I’ve already got some stuff I want to show you in my room. Maybe we could put it out here or something.”

“I’m fine with anything as long as it’s cute.” She shot her friend a grin.

Emma wasn’t a new friend by any means. They met early on while they were both at university. Emma was actually her first partner for a project in one of their biology classes. They met on the third day of class and became friends very quickly. Their chemistry went far beyond the confines of the science lab. Emma was joyful and adventurous and offered (Y/n) that motivating spark to actually go out and have fun. Not that (Y/n) couldn’t match Emma’s energy once her veins were filled with alcohol, she just didn’t go out as much.

“Speaking of Niall, I haven’t seen him a while. How’s he doing?”

A proud smile crept to Emma’s lips. “He’s been good. But he’s been super busy with the store.. almost never get to spend time during the actual day with him.”

“But it’s going well, the store, I mean? Like he’s having success?”

Emma nodded. “It’s been great. I told him it would do good around here, especially with the college students. And besides, people are always looking for music lessons. I’m glad he took my advice and decided to offer those through the business.”

Niall was an excellent musician, or so (Y/n) has been told. She hadn’t actually seen him play anything in person, only through recordings and videos Emma had shown her. She knew Niall was talented, though. He played the guitar and the bass, both of which seemed entirely too complicated in (Y/n)’s mind. When they started dating last year, Niall was in the midst of finalizing a business plan and opening his music store. Emma told her all about it, including her fears and anxiety about the situation - but only because she was afraid Niall would get so caught up in the store that he would abandon their relationship. Niall ended up not doing that, obviously, and was able to balance everything in his life. He and Emma would be celebrating their one year anniversary on Valentine’s Day - which (Y/n) thought was particularly sweet and romantic.

“I’m glad everything’s working out.”

The store opened back in the summer, and (Y/n) had only gone by once to see the place. It was in a part of town she didn’t frequent very often, so the opportunity to casually stroll in was rare. It wasn’t like it was Emma’s store. While she did know Niall well enough to refer to him as a friend, she wasn’t close with him. She was supportive, of course, but not overly involved.

“He’s coming by later to help me put together the dresser. Well.. he’s going to do it for me, not help me.” She snickered as she joined (Y/n) on the floor to start gently laying the mini figurines in a small cardboard box they knew as home.

“I can make dinner if you’d like. Niall likes that pasta I make, right?”

“Yeah! He actually asked me about that a few weeks ago. He said I have to get your recipe.” She grinned back, rolling her eyes at the thought of her boyfriend’s obsession with food.

“He’s only had it like twice.. but it’s flattering to know I’m such a good chef.” (Y/n) laughed under her breath. “I’ll give you the recipe.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent on putting away the last of the decorations and moving them into the hallway closet. The box fit perfectly in the bottom of the closet. Emma disappeared into her room to continue unboxing her belongings. (Y/n) was mostly occupied with dusting the wood furniture and wiping down the kitchen. She liked a neat, tidy home and she was very glad to know that Emma did as well. She checked the cabinets to make sure she had the ingredients required for the pasta she’ll be making later on.

Every now and then, she’d hear a crash of something hitting the floor come from the hallway, presumably from Emma’s room. She would just giggle to herself as Emma’s dramatic cries of curses and sighs would fill the small home. Despite being friends for a handful of years, they had never lived in the same space before. Even while at university when it was mandatory for them to live on campus, they lived in different dorm buildings. Emma was in a sorority and definitely more comfortable with herself than (Y/n) was. She kept to her small dorm with her roommate, whom she didn’t have anything in common with but she was kind to her. If she were being honest, she thought Emma would try to move in with Niall once her old lease had expired. But, Niall was comfortable where he was in his apartment and he already had a roommate. As much as Emma wanted to live with him, it was just too soon anyway. They tossed around the idea, but (Y/n) mentioned to her that perhaps she needed to wait, just in case. Niall wasn’t upset with Emma’s decision to move elsewhere, as long as she was in the city close to him. (Y/n) was also informed that Niall’s roommate wasn’t too keen on letting someone else share their space. She had never met him before, didn’t even know his name, but she couldn’t blame them. She wouldn’t want her house to be permanently crowded either. Niall let Emma stay over there a lot, though, but spending the night for the weekend or on a random weekday when it was too late to drive back home was different than staying full time. And of course, Niall was allowed over whenever he wanted and she made that clear to Emma before she signed the lease. As long as he respected their home and didn’t leave a mess behind, he was welcomed.

A gentle sigh slipped past her thick lips as she trailed back to the living room. The open concept of the front of the home meant the living room was attached to the kitchen with no barrier other than the island. She sat down on the end of the couch, the damp kitchen towel she used to wipe down the furniture sat on the side table. She picked it up, along with the framed photo that was next to the pretty gold lamp. The gold of the frame didn’t quite match the lamp, but it was still beautiful to her. The ornate metal that decorated the frame was cold as she carefully rubbed the pads of her fingers over it. She stared at the photograph locked behind the glass, the speed of her heart beating increased only slightly.

The image was of her and her mother when she was around three years old. It was Halloween, she was dressed in a pink dress that was modeled after Princess Aurora, and her hair was curled and a little makeup playfully swept over her features. Her mother was dressed in a Cinderella themed costume, her matching golden blonde hair curled, too, and pinned up. It wasn’t the last holiday they spent together, but it was one of the only ones (Y/n) remembered. She doubted herself at times about the memory - she was only three and a half, did she actually remember it or was she imagining it? Despite always doubting herself, she knew too well that the memory was burned into her brain. She can remember the smell of the burning iron as her mom curled her hair. She remembers getting tickled by the fluffy makeup brush as a bit was applied to her face just to add to the illusion. She remembers the taste of the mini chocolate bar her mom unwrapped for her in the car in between neighborhoods - the night was full of trick or treating and giggles and squeals. She even remembered the way her mom’s hand carefully adjusted her curls when they got caught in the zip of (Y/n)’s costume. It was a memory she held dear to her heart, one she prayed she’d never lose. (Y/n) had always tried her hardest to find things to fill in the void of not having her mother around. But no matter how determined she was, nothing ever seemed to be enough. She found joy in little things, like collecting whatnots and trinkets that reminded her of the ones that littered her house when her mom was alive. She enjoyed searching for squirrels and birds in the park, collecting odd looking rocks during her walks, listening to her favorite songs on repeat, and a plethora of other things. But nothing could really fill the space in her heart.. It was quite a big space, after all.

That evening, after the sun nestled below the horizon and stars littered the dark winter sky, Emma invited Niall over for dinner. It was third day of actually staying here, since she opted to spend two weeks with Niall for Christmas between her parent’s place and his. (Y/n) was working on preparing the ingridents for the pasta when Niall knocked and was let in with a grinning Emma planting a kiss to his mouth. He laughed and brushed her off, not a big fan of showing affection in front of other people, even though he knew (Y/n) wasn’t watching.

“Hey, long time no see!” Niall said with a smile as he followed Emma into the kitchen.

(Y/n)’s eyes glanced over her shoulder. “Hi, Niall. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I think you guys haven’t seen each other since the day we moved my crap in.” Emma said with a slight unsure tone.

“Your crap that still isn’t unpacked.” Niall sighed as he leaned against the counter, his arms crossing on his chest.

(Y/n) chuckled to herself as Emma began to give him excuses for why her things weren’t put away and in their new spots yet. The list included things like being busy with work, having errands to run, and of course ‘spending all my time with you’ that made Niall smack his lips and give her a sarcastic ‘okay, sure’.

They kept up their banter for a bit while (Y/n) rinsed her hands at the sink. She had finished everything she needed to do before actually cooking the food. When she turned towards them, Niall was peering his eyes into the pot of boiling water, frowning as he saw it was empty.

“She’s making the pasta you said you like.” Emma said as she grabbed his forearm to tug him away from the oven.

“Oh, really? That stuff was so good.” Niall’s eyes shot to (Y/n)’s. “I want a whole pot of it for my birthday, please and thanks.”

She shook her head in disbelief as a laugh rolled out of her mouth. “Isn’t your birthday in September?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just don’t want ya to forget.”

“C’mon, let's start with the dresser, Niall. Let (Y/n) cook.” Emma said after checking the time on her phone. “We’ll clean up the kitchen after dinner, okay? Don’t worry about it!”

“Alright, that’s fine. I’ll let you know when it's done.”

And just like that, she was alone in the kitchen again. It didn’t bother her to be alone, she had been for most of her life, especially her late teenage and adult years. Finding something to occupy her bored mind was not a new task for her to learn. She opted for sitting at the small dining table after setting the timer on the oven in case she forgot to check the time.

(Y/n) pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants and started to maneuver through the notifications that had come through since she last checked. One was a message from a random company that was offering a sale this coming weekend, there were two texts from Niall - the first asking if he needed to bring anything, the second saying Emma told him not to and to just ignore the text - the rest were random notifications from different apps.

Her attention went to her photo app as she scrolled to a few days ago, just a day or so after the New Year began. She went for a walk in the park close by one day during lunch when she had nothing else to do. She snapped a few photos of little random things, like a wild flower that had somehow managed to survive the low temperature, a bird that was perched on top of the black metal fence that lined the park, and a snapshot of the sky with the clouds parting in such a way that made it look like heaven. After having lost so much in life, she learned and forced herself to appreciate the little things that were around. Details of daily life, like the fall of a leaf to the ground or the chirp of a bird in a tree, were almost therapeutic for her.

Dinner didn’t take too long to cook, but the dresser was seeming to take much longer than Emma had expected it to. When (Y/n) knocked on the bedroom door and stuck her head in, she grinned as she saw Niall sitting on the floor with his head thrown back and Emma pacing the room with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her once neatly fixed dark hair was messily tied in a bun on the back of her head. The instruction booklet for the dresser was laid out in between Niall’s legs, along with a torn bag of hardwear.

“Food’s ready.” She said with a singsong voice that made Niall pop his head up.

“Finally.” He quickly rose to his feet and grabbed Emma’s wrist, tugging her behind him as they followed (Y/n) down the hall and towards the kitchen.

“Eat as much as you want, I made plenty.” She said as she let them make a bowl first.

“Don’t have to tell him twice.” Emma’s mouth shaped to a smile as Niall practically pushed her aside to be first.

“Guests eat first, right?” He joked as he gave them both a quick glance, a smirk on his face as he grabbed the serving utensil.

Once the three of them had fixed what they wanted and claimed a spot at the table, (Y/n) offered to grab everyone something to drink. Emma and herself chose a glass of ice water while Niall requested a Coke. Emma had just brought home a box this morning after her quick run to the grocery store. The food appeared to be a big hit as Niall scarfed it down, spitting out compliments and satisfied hums that made the girls giggle and roll their eyes jokingly at him.

“Em told me the store is doing great.”

Niall nodded as he sipped his drink. “Yeah, it’s been good, actually. I’m glad.”

“I’m glad you do the lessons. I told her that people are coming in pretty much all day long.” Emma said.

“Yeah, if it’s not someone who’s into music already or just curiously out shopping.. The sign about the lessons really brings people in. And even if they don’t go through with it, they end up looking around and finding something.” Niall told them with a pleased smile, he was relieved his business was staying crowded and people actually enjoyed coming to the store.

“Did you end up finding someone to teach the guitar lessons? I know Emma said something about you were looking for someone else, since you got so busy with your bookings.”

“Yeah, my roommate actually. He’s decent at guitar and he’s just working with the beginners. I’m sticking to the people who sorta know how to play around that just wanna get better.”

(Y/n) nodded as she took another bite. “That’s good.”

The cooking had made the kitchen a bit warmer than it was before, so she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. The exposure of the small tattoo on the inside of (Y/n)’s elbow caught Emma’s eye.

“Oh!” She chirped suddenly, making Niall flinch. “I forgot to tell you, (Y/n), I’m getting a tattoo in a few weeks. Already got my appointment.”

“Oh, really? Where at this time?” (Y/n) asked with genuine curiosity.

“On my foot. Just a cute little flower. Niall says it's going to hurt.”

(Y/n) squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. “You don’t have any, do you?”

Niall chuckled. “No, but I’ve been told the foot is terrible.”

“I’m not a baby, Niall. It’s not my first one. Besides, Zayn said it would be fine since I’m used to the feeling.”

“Zayn is lying to you to spare your feelings and get your money. He is my friend, I think I'd know when he lies.” Niall was only teasing her, but it brought a flush to Emma’s cheeks.

“Shut up.” She mumbled through a pout.

(Y/n) was amused by their interaction, but she chose to move on with the conversation so Emma wouldn’t get too sensitive. She wasn’t over emotional or anything, but sometimes she would get embarrassed if Niall playfully taunted her in front of other people.

“Zayn.. is that the guy I met that time at the bar?” (Y/n) couldn’t remember the person’s name, but she was sort of sure that it was the same person they’re referring to.

Niall nodded to her. “Yeah. The one with all the tattoos.. I would say the one with the black hair but right now it’s platinum blonde.” The lift of Niall’s brows made her think that maybe he didn’t approve of the look, but he had no choice but to accept it.

“I thought that was the same guy. I’m pretty sure he told me he owned a shop.”

“He’s the best around.” Emma said with a laugh. “Plus.. he gives me a discount.”

“You’re welcome for that.” Niall puckered his lips and leaned her direction, demanding a kiss that he knew he wouldn’t get.

“Hush.” She pushed her fingers to his mouth and gently shoved his head back.

He laughed at her reaction. “Just saying, Em. He’s my friend.. like I said before.”

Emma ignored him and turned her eyes to (Y/n). “Anyway, Niall can’t come with me.. so I was going to see if you wanted to go.”

“I can see if I can.. just let me know the date and time.”

“Alright. I will. Niall, don’t be a pig.” She groaned as she saw he had slipped from the table and was at the stove, piling his bowl full again.

“Let him eat it. That way we won’t have to worry about leftovers.”

Emma shook her head. “He’d eat the actual house if you’d let him.”

—•—

(Y/n) was puckering her lips in the mirror of the car visor as she applied her lip balm. It was chilly outside and the weather wasn’t being kind to her skin at all. She huffed as she saw the patch of dry skin right in the middle of her forehead. She had just applied her moisturizer before they loaded in the car to drive to the tattoo shop. Emma was driving, and every now and then she’d glance (Y/n)’s way and notice she was still staring in the mirror.

“What’s the matter?” She finally asked as (Y/n) slid the cover over the mirror and flipped the visor up, her back hitting the seat as she felt defeated.

“My skin is horrible right now.” She rolled her eyes to herself, upset that it was bothering her this much. It was just a bit of dry skin and chapped lips, she shouldn’t be so affected by it.. but she was. “Even my lips are dying.”

Emma smiled. “I’m sure lots of people are struggling right now. I’ve got a dry spot on my cheek. It’s been there for a few days. Just the weather.”

“But it's annoying. Y’know my hormones are whacky sometimes.. feel like as soon as I get it under control, I break out or have something like this happen.”

“When we get home, we can look up some different products. Maybe we can find something better for seasonal dryness. My cream isn’t working either.”

(Y/n) shrugged and took out her phone to mindlessly look through one of her social media apps. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Even though the shop wasn’t too far from where they lived, Emma didn’t want to walk in the cold and she didn’t want to have to cover the tattoo with thick, tight shoes afterwards. So, (Y/n) agreed to drive back after they left, and after they grabbed some food. The shop was right around the corner, and it caught (Y/n)’s attention as they turned onto the street. It was just off the main road of the downtown area. The street was lined with different restaurants, stores, thrifting spots, boutiques, and a few law firm offices and an emergency clinic that stayed open during the weekend. She was familiar with the area, and had actually looked towards the tattoo shop’s sign plenty of times. They pulled into a spot and Emma took in a deep breath before pulling the keys out.

“Are you nervous?” (Y/n) said with an amused grin plastered over her lips as she opened the car door.

“What if Niall’s right? What if it hurts real bad?”

“You’ll be fine. You got one on your ribs and your spine. You can take it.”

Emma was still nervous as she followed (Y/n) to the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, allowing Emma to slip into the building first. It was warm in the small lobby of the tattoo shop. She was unfamiliar with the specific shop, but not the reality of one. It looked like the others she had been to and the place she got her tattoos done at. The walls were dark grey and decorated with interesting pieces of artwork and posters. There were rock band posters, most of which she recognized, on the wall behind the dark wood desk that acted as a check in counter. Nobody was at the counter, though. There was a small sleek, black leather couch pressed against the side wall, above it hung a large canvas with what appeared to be an original artwork painted on to it. She saw the signature in the lower left corner and smiled as she read over the name she had heard Niall use a few weeks ago during dinner. So this Zayn character was more than just a tattoo artist? She was intrigued by the brush work on the canvas, the beauty of the image was breathtaking. The muted colors stood out oddly bold against the stark white and midnight black areas. It was nothing like she had ever seen before. Although she didn’t partake in any form of art herself, she was an admirer. She enjoyed frequenting art galleries and museums and contributing to artists as much as she could. She once got a commissioned painting of a bouquet of flowers from an older woman in the area who was a somewhat known artist. The piece lives on the wall near the hall closet.

“Zayn?” Emma called out suddenly as she grew impatient with standing in the middle of the lobby.

(Y/n) sighed to herself as Emma disappeared through a door. It lead to the main tattoo room, with three different stations placed in it. The back room was Zayn’s private room that his clients were able to be secluded in. Emma knocked on that closed door and waited patiently. A few moments later, Zayn opened the door with a smile, happy to see her.

“Hi, Em.” He said, his accent thick as it rang through the small building.

(Y/n) heard them chatting, so she decided to peek through the door, a nervous smile on her face. Zayn’s eyes caught hers as he towered over Emma. He offered a friendly wave and gestured for her to join them. She nervously stepped over the threshold and swallowed gently.

“Zayn, do you remember (Y/n)? You guys met a while back.” Emma said with a gesture of her hand as (Y/n) approached them.

Immediately, she recognized his features - from his dark eyes to his nearly fully inked arms. His tattooed sleeves wrapped over his shoulders, around his neck, crept over each wrist and wiggled around his fingers. He was covered, to say the least. She could only presume the rest of him looked like that. Colorful tattoos mixed with jet black ones littered his skin. And she noticed, of course, that his hair was blond now like Niall had mentioned.

“I think so, yeah. You’re the chick Niall said could outdrink me, right?” Zayn asked with a laugh.

“I don’t drink that much.. but yeah, that’s me.”

Emma gave her a nudge of her elbow. “She can out drink anyone when she actually lets loose.”

Her eyes rolled as a smile toyed on her lips, still slick from the lip balm. “Yeah yeah.”

“Let me get my chair cleaned off and you ladies can come back here.” Zayn said just as he grabbed the knob to his private room.

They heard something hit the floor and then a shuffle of shoes moving against the tile. Emma furrowed her brows and gave Zayn a curious look.

“Someone in there?”

“Yeah, I just finished a piece.”

He opened the door and went inside, shutting it behind him again. (Y/n) turned towards Emma and gave her a smile, unsure of what to do next. Emma grabbed her hand and nodded towards the open lobby door.

“We can wait in here.”

They returned to the lobby, where (Y/n) was easily distracted by the art on the walls again. There was a print of a skull near the door. It had flowers pouring over the crown of it, which then melted to puddles as they hit the imaginary ground. She thought it was interesting and quite cool. From what she could tell about Zayn’s vibe, it fit it well. The music playing from the speakers in the ceiling was loud enough to be heard but not too invasive. She could tell it was a curated playlist going, because the song that just begun seemed to be sung by the same person as the one before.

“Zayn just texted me.. he said we can come back.”

“I thought someone was-“ (Y/n) stopped speaking the second a body appeared in the doorway. “Oh.”

“Hey, Harry.” Emma said with a friendly tone as she stood up, motioning for (Y/n) to follow her.

“Hey, Emma.” The stranger replied with a quick lift of one corner of his mouth.

(Y/n) was slightly confused because it obviously appeared that the two knew each other. She had never heard Emma refer to anyone by the name of Harry, at least not that she could recall. She licked her lips and let her eyes fall down his tall, broad frame.

“What did you get?” Emma asked with her usual curious voice.

(Y/n) was listening, but she wasn’t paying that much attention. She couldn’t help but be taken aback by the appearance of the person in front of them. He was tall, much taller than Niall but probably close to Zayn’s height. He looked like a sky scraper standing in front of Emma and herself, both of which were shorter than average. His long, dark hair shaped into curls that were messily laying on his shoulders. He suddenly swept his hand through his roots the second she realized he had such long hair. The motion caused the lights above them to ricochet off the rings covering his fingers.

“This.” He said as he extended his right arm to them, well mainly to Emma.

There was a freshly inked snake curling around his forearm, each scale placed perfectly on his tanned skin. There were remenents of blood speckled across his skin, and a deep redness that hazed over the entire tattoo.

“Wow! That’s so good.” Emma beamed at the delicate work.

“Yeah, took two sessions. Zayn got a bit tired last time.” He smirked gently at the girl he knew, completely ignoring the one he didn’t.

“Well, it was cool seeing you! Are you headed home?”

He shook his head. “Gonna sit here for a while. I’ve got to be at the store in an hour to help Niall.”

She checked the time. “Yeah, he said he was the only one closing tonight.”

“Emma?” Zayn called from the back room, his head looking around the doorframe searching for her.

“Coming!” She hollered back, taking one last look at Harry’s freshly inked arm. “It was good seeing you. If you leave before I get out of here, I’ll see you later.”

(Y/n) didn’t even realize she was tracing her eyes over his body. His arms were like tree trunks, muscles taut under his skin and veins popping out, rolling around as he moved. His legs were tightly wrapped in a pair of dark jeans, she could tell through the fabric that they were toned as well. It wasn’t until he suddenly walked past her, not even sparing her a glance, that she realized she had been standing frozen.

Emma started towards the back room, (Y/n) in two as she felt an embarrassed blush cover her cheeks. She didn’t know this Harry guy, but she hoped she wasn’t staring too hard at him. It definitely wasnt polite to just stare at a stranger, especially when she was blanking out. What if she was making a face at him? Something nasty, or something rude looking? She was unsure, but chose to ignore it. He didn’t seem bothered by anything as he took a spot on the couch.

Zayn’s office was just as she expected it to be. It was a deep shade of green, the walls coated in framed prints and a few smaller canvases of what she figured was his work. There was a small accent chair placed in the corner for guests. She sat down and started darting her eyes around the room. The type of work that Zayn had pinned to a board on the back wall caught her eye. He seemed to be good at everything, but most of it was bold color work or extremely detailed realism, sort of like the snake she saw on Harry’s arm moments ago. She wondered if Zayn had given himself any of his own tattoos or if he went to someone else. Surely, not every place on his body was accessible by his own hands, but maybe some of them were done by him. She felt like an amateur compared to him. She had a few tattoos placed on her body, but nothing quite as big or detailed as what she saw on the board or on Zayn’s skin.

“(Y/n) is your new house mate, right?” Zayn asked Emma as she got comfortable on the chair.

“Yeah. I moved in before Christmas.”

“But.. you’ve known each other for a while, right? I can’t exactly remember.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, since we were in college together.”

“Zayn.. do you mind if I look through this?” (Y/n) asked politely as she picked up the small binder off the console table next to the chair. A few figurines of characters she recognized, an hour glass with black sand, and a plant lived on the table as well.

“Of course not, that’s why it’s there.” He gave her a chuckle, but kept his response nice.

She opened the book and started to slowly flick through the pages. She saw his signature on the bottom of the designs. They were all so perfect. Some were executed with such detail and precision that she could've sworn they were fake, others were more loose drawn in a free handed style or just more whimsical in nature. She saw a sketch of a few bees on one of the pages. They were in black and grey, mostly realistic with subtle, soft shading and delicate lines. The drawing was pretty and neat. She glanced to the corner, searching for his signature, but she didn’t find it. Instead, in the corner opposite of where Zayn favored to sign his name was a small H. She hummed to herself, curious to know why Zayn had someone else’s drawing in his book. She quickly shook the thought out and reminded herself that there three other stations in the front. They were not abandoned by any means, she could tell people worked at them based on the different things displayed and the personal trinkets and objects adnoring the areas. Maybe this was one of his college’s work or maybe it was random.

For the most part, the book was filled with things Zayn did. Some of them were his own creations while others were common tattoo designs just drawn by his own hand instead of being pulled from the internet. She liked the way he had a bunch of his own things offered in styles that were more popular. He appeared to be a well versed artist with the talent to create just about anything.

As Zayn prepped Emma’s skin for her tattoo, he was talking to her about Niall’s store. He asked how it was going and if she had heard any horror stories yet of Niall messing up payroll or forgetting to stock an item. She only laughed and said she was surprised he was staying so calm and organized. Everything about the store was going more than according to plan, as at least as much as (Y/n) could tell from what she’s heard. She was still so happy for Niall. His hobby had turned into a passion and a business and he was able to share it with others, it was like a dream come true she bet.

“Alright, are y’ready?” Zayn said with a deep breath of his own as Emma grew more and more nervous in the chair.

“I think so.”

“You’ll do fine, Em.” (Y/n) encouraged from the corner, her eyes now focused on her friend.

“Just take some deep breaths. Tell me if it’s too much.” Zayn told her as he pulled the stencil paper off her foot. The flower wasn’t that big, but there were lots of tiny details that Zayn knew would probably hurt her more than anything else she’s gotten. “Just a tattoo.”

“If I cry, you can’t tell Niall. I told him I could handle this.” Emma mumbled out with a frown as she stared at her foot.

Zayn smiled and leaned back, the gun still buzzing in his hand. “Before I start, is it in the spot you want?”

“What do you think? Is it good?” She asked him, twisting her foot to a different pose.

“It’s not my foot, love.”

She groaned and looked over towards (Y/n). “Can you check?”

(Y/n) laughed a little but nodded as she stood up. Just as she was about to step towards them, Emma called for someone else to take a peek at the design.

“Harry? Are you still in there?” Her voice echoed through the room, she hoped that it spilled into the lobby so he could hear her. After a few seconds, she grunted and pulled her phone out to shoot him a text. “I’m so nervous.”

“It looks fine to me.. but it’s your decision.” Zayn told her with a gentle sigh.

(Y/n) looked down at the placement of the tattoo, her arms behind her back with her hands locked. “Yeah, it’s cute.”

She gave Emma a hopeful smile before turning around. The door opened just as she moved her body, the stranger that wasn’t a stranger to anyone but her, walked in the room, chuckling as he saw Emma fanning her face, the heat swelling her skin with sweat and her eyes with tears - she was nervous.

“You always do this.” Zayn couldn’t resist laughing as Harry walked to them.

(Y/n) was back in her seat now, her eyes fixed on her phone as she waited for Emma to decide her fate. She could hear snickers coming from Zayn and Harry as they talked about the tattoo and Emma’s apparent hesitation that always came out when she was in Zayn’s chair.

“It’s fine, Emma.” Harry said, giving her a smile before looking to Zayn. “Make sure it hurts.”

“Harry, shut up!” Emma groaned and tried to kick at him. He laughed and took a step back. “You guys are bullies.”

“You’ll be alright, Em. It’s not like it's your first.” Zayn reminded her.

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whatever. Go ahead, then. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome.” He said lightly before disappearing out of the door again.

(Y/n) wondered why he didn’t stay in the room with them. Was he not interesting in hearing the painful grunts Emma would sure be letting out soon or watching Zayn draw his design perfected for Emma into her skin? Maybe he was tired of being near the tattoo gun since he spent however long getting his own. She pushed the thought aside entirely the moment she heard Emma groan, curses falling form her lips but not directly towards anyone.

Zayn leaned over her foot, his fingers pulling her skin tight as he worked the needle into it. It didn’t look like it was much fun, and (Y/n) became grateful that she had no intention of ever inking anything onto her foot.

—•—

There was a freshness in the air as she looked around Niall’s music store. It smelt like freshly picked lemons, probably because he had just sprayed down the counter before she came in following behind Emma. Niall was in one of his usual band tees and a pair of jeans as he sat on a stool with a guitar resting on his thigh. He was talking with a customer, comparing the similarities of two different guitar brands. Emma found herself busy with the items on the checkout counter - dropping loose pens back into their cup and adjusting the pile of papers Niall had pushed to the side.

(Y/n) stayed curious as she looked around the store. It was very easy to get caught up in the different items, especially since she had little to no idea what some of the accessories were for. Niall provided more than just items for guitars. She didn’t try to decipher every thing on the shelves, just simply moved her eyes across the packages, curiosity settling in her instead of blurting out questions to Niall. The girls came by to bring him some lunch before they did some grocery shopping for the week. Niall was appreciative, but he was unable to entertainment right away.

Emma smiled as the customer approached the counter, the one Niall had been chatting with. She stepped aside and let Niall take over the register. He had another employee here, but he was in the back room looking for a specific thing they needed to restock on one of the shelves. (Y/n) waited near by as Niall scanned the guitar music book the customer wanted to get and told him that he’d see him when he returned for the guitar - the customer hadn’t made his decision just yet.

When it was just the three of them at the counter, a few customers were lingering around the store just browsing, Niall gave them both a warm smile before wrapping his arms around Emma for a quick hug.

“Thanks for lunch. I’ll eat it when Josh gets off his break.” He said with a sigh, folding his arms and leaning them on the counter.

“The store is so nice, Niall.” (Y/n) complimented as she glanced around.

“Thanks.”

Emma walked from behind the counter to where (Y/n) was standing. She was about to ask her something about their plans for the day when her eyes fell on the few pieces of paper taped to the front edge of the counter. One was the refund policy, one was about the instrument lessons, and the other was new since the last time she was here.

“Oh, a flyer? That’s unusual.” Emma suddenly said as she pressed her finger against the pink dyed paper. “For the show?”

“The show?’’ (Y/n) asked with a drop of her brows as she read over the words printed in bold black letters.

“Yeah, Niall’s band. They play at a bar across town every couple of weeks.” Emma told her.

(Y/n) remembered as soon as she heard it. Emma had told her before, long ago when she first started dating Niall, that he was in a cover band. It wasn’t anything serious, not trying to search for record deals or gain stardom, it was just him and his friends having a good time. They got decent money for it, including tips from audiences, and it allowed them to play the instruments each member enjoyed. She wasn’t sure who was in the band as Emma never got to that detail before.

“Oh, right.” She nodded as the memory returned to her brain. “That’s cool.”

“Can’t believe Emma’s never brought you to a show.” Niall said with a somewhat surprised expression.

“I invited her a few times but she’s usually busy with work stuff.” Emma defended herself, even though there was no issue with it.

(Y/n) smiled at her and shrugged. “I remember you asking a couple times.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to attend if you’d like.” Niall offered as he pushed himself off the counter the moment the bell jingled above the entrance door.

He went to greet the customer, someone he actually was used to seeing come in the store, leaving the girls alone again.

“Yeah, it would be fun if you came! You could finally meet Alyssa. She’s usually just home with her and Zayn’s kid.. she doesn’t go out much anymore, but she loves the shows.” Emma exclaimed with a sparkle in her eye.

“I dunno.. when is it?” She asked, glancing at the flyer.

“Next Saturday night. It would be cool, (Y/n)! We haven’t went out since Halloween.”

The stress building up at work during the holidays definitely set her back from enjoying a lot of things, including several invitations from Emma to join her and Niall at a bar or go out for dinner with just the two of them. It truly felt like forever since she got to have fun with her friend. She thought about it for a moment, but only lifted her shoulder at the idea. The mention of meeting Zayn’s fiancé was intriguing since she had heard so much about her from Emma, but she doubted that would be enough to pull her out for the night.

“Maybe.. depends on how the week goes.”

Emma gave her a partial smile. “Okay. I really hope you can go with me.”

“Yeah, you should definitely come, (Y/n).” Niall said as he appeared next to them, the customer gone to look for the item they asked him about.

Once again, she let out a small sigh and faked a smile for them. “I said I’ll see how the week goes, but no promises.”

He gave her a fake, dramatic frown. “C’mon! Live a little!”

“I live a lot.. at work.”

Emma grabbed her elbow and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll convince you before the week ends.”

“M’sure you will, Em.”

After spending a few more minutes talking to Niall, and then waiting in the car as he and Emma disappeared into his office to say a private goodbye, (Y/n) was ready to get the grocery shopping over with. The store they frequented was near by, so the drive was short and easy. It wasn’t close to their shared house, but the prices were better than anywhere else. Emma offered to take her car, so that left (Y/n) in the passenger seat with her eyes glued to whatever passed by the window.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)?” Emma asked as they strolled through the fruit section in search for the items on their list.

She gulped gently, distracting herself by collecting a few apples for the cart. “M’fine, just tired.”

Emma watched as she walked towards the basket of lemons and grabbed two, she’d need them for a receipe she was going to try later in the week. (Y/n) was normally not this quiet. She enjoyed the task of grabbing their groceries and checking things off their combined list while Emma pushed the cart and double checked everything. Something about doing such a mundane thing made her feel content and comfortable, even if they decided randomly to try a new store they’d never been in. But today was different, Emma was growing concerned with her unusually quiet friend.

“If you’re irritated with me and Niall pushing you about the show.. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go.” Emma said with a soft frown as (Y/n) returned to the cart with a handful of bananas.

She sat them down and lifted her hesitant gaze to meet her closest friend’s. “I’m fine, Emma. Just tired.”

She shook her head gently. “No, you’re too quiet. What’s wrong?”

“You and Niall didn’t bother me, I swear. The bar thing is.. whatever. I’ll think about it, I promise. It’s just.. one of those days.”

Emma wasn’t believing it all the way. Sure, maybe (Y/n) was being truthful about the role her and Niall played in her newfound mood, or didn’t play - but something else was up. She licked her lips and decided to stay quiet as (Y/n) busied herself with grabbing the rest of the fruits before moving onto the fresh vegetables.

Although she didn’t want to press it any further, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened at the music shop or on the way to the grocery store. Her worry was growing quickly and it wasn’t very long before she was asking another question.

“(Y/n), please tell me. Are you alright?”

She received a sigh as a response, a couple of tomatoes and a bag of baby carrots joined the cart. “Emma, please.. I’m fine.”

“Something is wrong with you. I don’t want to see you so down.”

(Y/n) walked towards the next section of the store, knowing that Emma would follow her with the cart no matter if they were talking or not. She held her breath as she thought about what was bothering her. She was too caught up with her racing mind to realize she was actually expressing her emotions on the outside. Emma noticed everything, so clearly she wasn't doing well at hiding it. There was no real issue, really, nothing that anyone caused by saying or doing anything. A lump slid down her throat, Emma was her friend - there was no need to keep anything from her.

Just as they turned down the aisle where the bread was, she stopped in her tracks and turned towards the cart, her hand reaching out to stop it. Emma froze, a lift of her brows offering confidence like a good friend should.

“The guy that walked through the door right before we left.. at Niall’s store..” She started with a strong voice, but it slowly faded to almost a whisper.

Emma nodded, encouraging her to continue. She looked down to the floor as the moment replayed in her memory. It wasn’t an unusual thing for her to experience, in fact it was more common than not. One little thing, one random glance from a passerby, one glimpse of someone with a similar shade of hair as her own, one note from a list of songs she knew were special..

“He reminded me of my brother. I.. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Her response made Emma’s stomach turn to knots. She knew that the conversation was over then, and there wasn’t anything else she could try that would break (Y/n). The forbidden topic had been brought up, and quickly dropped back to the vault she kept it locked away in. Emma didn’t mention it again..

[a/n: this is a series! It’s a lot longer per part than my other stuff so I hope you enjoy! This is just the intro so it will be more interesting and exciting as it goes on! reblog, like, do all that lovely stuff!!]

taglist: (notified for all // if you want to join a taglist for this series, lmk in a comment or message and I’ll start one)

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden

167 notes · View notes

mimicha-arts · 2 days ago

Text

LC - YINGDU EP1 SPOILERS, TW - blood, death scenes

Yeah I logged in just for LC to sum up things in my DMs with Forest (love u), mostly about dives.

Still have too many ideas about how mechanics actually work, as well as abilities transmigration, so I'll focus on differences of dives and some things from previous seasons.

Scene with Vein.

In my understanding, the opening scene already includes 2 different developments of events.

1, where CXS, after being wounded, was led by LG into the room, while Vein went to pick up the gun. We see bloody footprints, traces on the table, but that's all.

2, where Wayne is already standing at the closed door, clearly shows other events - a chair, other objects scattered on the floor, according to the blood prints, the body seemed to have been dragged + there are no prints on the tabletop.

What is also interesting is that the background is slightly different in both scenes, if you pay attention to the shelves on the left.

There is a difference in the photos too - the first version shows only a crack, the second - a broken glass.

For me, the conclusion is that already here we see 2 different timelines.

Lu Guang's injury

In the first option, although Vein shoots at the door, he misses (time ~ 23:11), Lu Guang closes the door and is not injured

So , missing scene

We don't know what happened for about an hour. In the second version (cause it has stains on the floor, overturned things), the blood on the photo already speaks of the not shown scene. I doubt that Vein simply changed his mind and left, so Lu Guang had to "deal with" him.

At this point, he himself is deeply wounded, but the most important thing is that in these shots we are shown his yellow eyes - this is already a dive in a dive, some kind of repetition of the events.

s2ep12

At the same time, this drive is different from the drive that was shown in the second season.

The blood pattern on his clothes is similar, but even if we exclude the fact that he doesn't look out of breath/in pain, there are other details.

- blood stains on his face - furnishings, of objects on the table - blood on hands (by the way, in the scene with Vein, when he raised his hands in front of him, both of his hands were covered in blood)

Lu Guang's watch

For us as viewers, the watch on his right hand is a familiar part of the design, he wears it on his right hand in both s1 and s2

So, after diving, the first thing he tries to do is check the time, and looks at his right hand.

We still don't know the origin of his watch, since he didn't wear them in almost all the flashbacks. Except for the new one, where the watch is on his left hand.

Thus, Yingdu gives us a new diving point - April 12th (in addition to the dives on September 13).

Maybe the time of this dive will correlate with the time indicated in s2 (but with which there were no associated events)

Except for the poster, the watch on Lu Guang's left hand appeared in the flashback of CXS's death in s2, which probably separates this variant of his death from the ones shown in the scene with Vein, and perhaps the difference can give us insight into the timeline's chronologies later on.

September and April

To be honest, this whole thing makes me very excited, because of the existence of the old theory about the broken time in April and September - I wrote about it in detail a year ago in that post

Emma, April-September and chronology

For me, this means that circumstances of the case, who the unknown victim was, although they have faded into the background now, will still be a key.

Pretty sure this has all been discussed, but thanks for reading. Let's all… have fun with the new season ~

#link click #shiguang dailiren #yingdu spoilers #link click yingdu #link click spoilers #I have a feeling that I myself have returned to the past

187 notes · View notes

joannerowling · 19 hours ago

Note

thing jkr has in common with fanfiction writers and writers of the kind of novels with fabio on the front cover: letting their male mc get beaten up a little so he looks extra pathetic and pitiable when apologizing to the female mc for being an ass

(he definitely deserved that broken nose at the end of career of evil)

Ah yes, the (heterosexual) female urge to make men suffer to sap their power and turn them into acceptable mating partners, it is known

(But girl i have to ask: who the fuck is Fabio??)

#replies #friendlymathematician #actually i think a radfem a few years ago wrote a whole thing about strike's fuckability that connected him to jane austen heroes #but i could be mistaken #anyways i'm Not Like Other Girls™ so to me strike isn't attractive but psychologically i guess it is a thing for many

38 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 2 days ago

Note

Fuck you for pulling that bait and switch with the comic on the second to last chapter of the apocalypse shit. Genuinely pissed me off. Give me hope that this’ll be a fanfic that takes a different route than just bashing on cipher because it’s funny and then pulling it away because haha why not right? Let’s just blame the guy literally actually suffering and act as if he’s in he’s in his right mind at all. Oh well who cares. Loved your fic until you pulled that shit

My dude, you're well within your rights to hate the bait and switch. It was a dirty trick, I'll admit that.

But if you think that I was bashing on Bill, that I wrote his grief as funny, or that I'm not fully aware that he was acting irrationally out of pain and despair—then you didn't read the fic I wrote.

You're supposed to be upset he turned down the help he needs. It's not a joke. I want it to hurt that help is so close, but Bill can't accept it because he's grieving too hard to let go of his people. I want you to be furious that nobody but the Ax thinks Bill deserves help, and the Ax alone isn't enough to reach him. I want you to want him to heal.

But we already know he didn't heal then. Because if he had, he never would have done anything he did in canon. Nevertheless, this is a fic about offering Bill a second chance, no matter what, as many times as it takes for him to accept it, even if it takes a trillion years—because, canonically, we know it will.

You can hate the fic if you wanted to read a fix-it AU and didn't get it, that's fine—but do me a favor and hate it for the canon-compatible backstory tragedy it actually is, rather than the bizarre Bill-bashing comedy you projected on top of it after the plot took a twist you didn't expect.

#(usually I don't post dissatisfied reader mail; but this is a FASCINATING example of somebody—)#(—who's CORRECTLY identified that a character is suffering; and doesn't get help; and that's infuriating—)#(—but INCORRECTLY concluded that it's because I think he deserves to suffer—)#(—rather than because I'm writing a story about A WORLD that thinks he deserves to suffer & I'm trying to tell you that world is wrong.)#(this is a rare case where like. i think if you shift your paradigm two inches to the left you'll realize we're actually in agreement here)#(the clickbait comic WAS low tho lmao my intent was for people to go 'that seems too good to be true' then go 'it WAS too good to be true.'#anonymous #ask #(edit: I'm disabling reblogs because why do y'all want a stranger's anon hate on your blogs anyway??)

91 notes · View notes

curly-my-beloved · 3 days ago

Text

Krampus Jimmy NSFW headcanons

CW: non-con. monsterfucking. somnophilia. technically cannibalism (mentioned). jimmy mouthwashing starterpack.

In a world where Curly might be Santa, Anya might be Mrs. Clause, Daisuke might be an elf and Swansea might be Rudolph... Jimmy Zare is the Krampus himself.

And while the whole scaring and maybe even kidnapping naughty children is fun (he loved scaring the vulnerable ones), there was another part of his role that he loved. One that not many people knew about.

One could consider it... payment. For his hard work. A reward, even.

Sometimes, he doesn't catch all the naughty children. It happens. He doesn't think much of it.

The kids usually end up behaving, anyway. Just seeing him is scary enough and leaves most of the little escapees traumatized for years.

And trauma is a funny little thing. Because some people cope with it by... turning it into a kink, basically. Like your good self.

Jimmy doesn't even remember you. He never bothers remembering the snivelling little faces, little fists or feet that try to fight against him. He just moves on.

But what is the reward I mentioned? Well, every once in a while, if he's done with his work early, he can use the free time to... check up on the ones who escaped. Of course, that only happens every few decades, but still.

And while he doesn't remember most of the little shits that escape him, every few years there's always one juvenile he remembers and hates with a passion.

He doesn't really think about them until one of those years he gets some free time. And you happened to be one of them, pulling shit that even Kevin from Home Alone would be proud of.

But now, two decades later, he gets to have his revenge.

You've grown, changed. He'll give you that. But deep down, he could feel that you were still the little shit you were all those years ago.

And even if not, you certainly had some fascinating interests. Your trauma made you obsessed with him, in a rather... sexual manner.

Did you think he wouldn't find out about your little Tumblr blog? And all the cryptid porn you wrote on it? Especially the Krampus porn? You're adorable.

Of course he would visit you!

Not only does he get his payback, but you also get your dream to come true! You get to fuck The Krampus!

Or rather, he gets to fuck you.

Breaking into your apartment is very easy. So is finding your bedroom. Your bed. You.

He doesn't bother waiting or even waking you up. If the clicking of hooves or the ringing bells on his horns didn't wake you, that's on you.

Hell, you didn't even wake up when he ripped your shirt and underwear off. It almost made him... curious...

He hummed, moving his almost goat-like face to your neck, sniffling carefully before his long, split tongue took a long, wet lick of your neck.

He reveled in the way you flinched, your breath shaking. He grinned, exposing all the sharp teeth in his mouth, his eyes glowing in the dark with all his sinister ideas and plans letting loose in his head.

He lets his sharp claws explore your body, fangs just barely scraping the sensitive skin that protected your fragile throat. A small bite wouldn't hurt, right?

He chuckles, slowly sinking his teeth into your sensitive flesh. And the moment he heard you gasp as you awoke, he gripped your thighs, your skin breaking from the sharp claws as he forced himself inside you in one firm thrust.

He ignored your pained and shocked scream, glancing down at the unnatural looking bulge that was now on your stomach.

He leaned in close, far too close, to your face, exposing his now bloody teeth in what could be either a grin or a snarl.

"Remember me?"

#mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #krampus jimmy #krampus #jimmy x reader #jimmy #krampus jimmy x reader #krampus x reader #jimmy mouthwashing x reader

107 notes · View notes

strawberriesoup · 2 days ago

Text

quite long overdue, the holidays have been ROUGH but im so glad i finally got to read this chapter

Chris finally steps out of his bedroom in a cloud of expensive cologne that’s almost visible to the naked eye.

THE LAUGH I JUST LOUGHED this is so painfully accurate i fear

“Stop fishing for compliments.” Seohyun groans, standing up to walk to the kitchen for more snacks. “You already know you’re pretty.”

they’d better kiss

“I’m picking the movie tonight!” Seohyun runs to the couch, her natural habitat and favorite place in the apartment

oh she is so me

Seohyun is no longer looking at you, head low and gaze trained on her manicured fingers while she picks apart a loose thread from the blanket.

OH NO MY BABYYY this scene is breaking my heart as we speak dont even

“I love you.” You say against his lips, and his smile is so sincere and full of love that it almost brings tears to your eyes.

punch me in the face why dont you IM DEVASTATED OH MY GOD THEY WERE SO IN LOVE WHAT HAPPENED

Chris and Jisung hurry to you, with the latter being faster and pulling you into a tight hug that never fails to make you feel safe.

jisung the man you are (as a jisung stan i will never ever get over how you wrote him in this)

You can’t believe you haven’t seen it before, but he would be perfect for Seohyun! Exactly the type of guy she needed after dealing with one too many fuckboys for the past three years.

IDK MAN JAEMINS THROWING ME OFF i have a suspicious eyebrow raised atm

im probably completely wrong but idk

“Deserved.” Is all Minho says, a certain pride in his voice. Changbin on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think the same.

PREACH MINHO

Minho’s indifference hurt, but his anger? That was lethal.

ouuuuu okay i see you

Changbin nods, reaching for his coffee. “The five stages of grief.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

^^^ MY REACTION

You expected them to be concerned, but maybe not to this extent. It was odd and out of character for you who avoided everything that had to do with your past relationship, to be so excited about something like this. Chris definitely believed it was too soon, your heart still too fragile to remain intact once you stepped into the wolf’s den.

i have zero clue how you make everything fall into place so perfectly and have every just seem so human AND WITH UNIQUE PERSONALITIES im genuinely in awe hello

It’s Jaemin.

OH I CALLED IT OH MY GOD I CALLED IT

maybe it's not our fault - chapter 02

── synopsis: after a nasty breakup that’s left you completely shattered, you’re set on giving up on love forever. That is until, in a surprising turn of events, your respective best friends start dating and one of their main goals is to restore the peace in your broken relationship. Will their plan succeed? Will they manage to play cupid and get you and your high school sweetheart back together, or will it all backfire and result in the end of their own love story?

There is only one way to find out. If only your beloved’s heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair…

╰─▸ ❝ pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader

╰─▸ ❝ content: exes to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, suggestive themes, drama and heartbreak, jock!hyunjin who is captain of the uni's football team + dance major!hyunjin, college au, lack of communication.

╰─▸ ❝ word count: 13k

╰─▸ ❝ chapter 3

a/n: this took me forever i'm so sorry :((( but writer's block has been an actual bitch. there's no warnings for this chapter, just some making out and a bunch of cursing!! it's a longer one, so get comfy before reading and enjoy <3<3 please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts!

You weren’t the most extroverted person out there but you did love attending a good party, especially one arranged by your best friends. Chris and Jisung along with Changbin, the third member of their music group, were notorious for throwing the best parties around campus, extravagant, with good booze, music, and unmatchable atmosphere.

They were in charge of throwing the first party of the year, which was taking place tonight, a mere week after school started. This particular party was a yearly event, a shared effort from both the music and dance departments, which longed for more opportunities to collaborate.

You remember the first time you attended it like it was yesterday.

Wide eyed and oh so excited about experiencing the full university package, with your newfound independence and your friends by your side, this party was the biggest letdown of the year. Thrown at a random fraternity on campus, it was a proper snooze fest, with a barely working disco ball that looked like it could collapse any moment, and a few balloons that were supposed to make the surroundings look less depressing. Last minute decorations the seniors decided to throw together so the freshmen wouldn’t complain about their lack of involvement and get them in trouble with the deans.

It sucked – plain and simple, and that’s when you decided to never attend this party for as long as you still had to set foot on this campus. That is until Changbin came up with a great plan to help the disinterested seniors and have some fun.

3racha would cover all the expenses, from drinks, music, and venue, as long as they were given liberty to do as they pleased, after promising to make this event the talk of campus and have the other departments turn green with envy. As expected, the two representatives were more than happy to comply, agreeing eagerly. Less work for them meant another responsibility lifted off their shoulders and more time to breathe and prepare for graduation without having to think about any snot-nosed juniors.

In their care, the embarrassing event that was only ever attended by naïve freshmen who didn’t know any better blossomed into the most anticipated day of the year not only by the two departments but by several others from the other side of the campus. Last year’s party exceeded all expectations, so legendary that it was still talked about throughout the whole year, the people who attended bragging about it to anyone who’d listen. And you had to agree – they managed to throw a party straight out of a scene from The Great Gatsby, with a theme oh so very fitting for the occasion.

Yes, theme, because they deemed it necessary for some unknown reason. Artsy people were strange like that, Seohyun often said. All you could do was agree and try not to take offense for being one of these people.

Anyway, everyone was excited, restlessly counting down the days until the three musketeers would return to the party scene and offer them a night to remember. Everyone but you.

“So, what’s the theme for this year?” Seohyun asks, lounging on the couch with a small bag of gummy bears by her side. The four of you were currently next door, at Jisung and Chris’ place, watching the guys run around to get ready for their party. They were the hosts, after all, it was normal to arrive as fashionably late as possible.

“The 70’s!” Jisung yells from the bathroom, still struggling with his makeup. Chris hasn’t come out of his room yet.

Seohyun shoots you an unimpressed look, stealing some of your chips. “Isn’t this just a glorified Halloween party?”

You hear him mumble under his breath, most likely rolling his eyes in exasperation before he appears before you with a slight pout on his full lips. “A little help, please?”

He was dressed in a silky, sequin shirt with matching golden boots, partially obscured by black, bell bottom pants that fitted him to perfection. In his hand is an eyeliner pen you grab to help with his predicament.

“Sit, Ji.”

Jisung nods and takes a seat on the couch’s arm, by Seohyun’s feet, so you can gently start applying his eyeliner.

“For your information, everyone loves our parties and how fun having a theme makes them.” His eyes are closed but as expected, he’s not letting Seohyun have the last word.

She snorts, throwing a chip at his back. “I don’t.”

“Because you’ve never been to one nor were you ever invited.” He huffs, trying to keep still so you won’t mess up.

“Don’t be mean.” You squeeze the bridge of his nose in warning, before glaring in Seohyun’s direction, the statement meant for them both. “I asked her to come with, last year.”

Not like she needed an invitation to begin with. What started as an event only for the two departments, quickly became a party for the whole campus once 3racha took the reins. Everyone was more than welcome to come and have fun, create memories, and live the full university experience.

Then you step back to examine your work, nodding with a satisfied smile. “Done.”

Opening his eyes, Jisung walks back to the bathroom to check it out, knowing how peculiar he could be. He wasn’t a big makeup guy, only wearing any when absolutely necessary, for performances and whatnot, so him requesting your help was a big deal. It seemed he was going all out for tonight’s theme, wanting to stand out as much as possible.

Guess your best friend was officially on the market again. About time, there were tens of girls waiting in line for his attention.

“Oh, this is sick!” He comes back grinning, the smudged black liner framing his eyes beautifully and bringing out their depth in true, rockstar fashion. “Thanks, bug!”

You’re engulfed in a hug and can’t help but giggle as he sways your body from side to side before letting go.

“Glitter?” You tease, pointing behind him to your makeup bag.

“Fuck no.”

You chuckle while Seohyun laughs, getting comfier on the couch almost like she owns the place. Nobody minded, it was a usual occurrence at this point – you were past feeling shy and uncomfortable around each other.

Walking over, Jisung moves her feet out of the way before sitting down and letting them fall back over his lap, nonchalantly. “If you were invited, why didn’t you come?”

She shrugs, plopping another gummy into her mouth. “I was on that trip with Mark and his stupid friends, remember?”

Jisung makes a face and gags, earning a foot over the shoulder, that is meant to resemble a slap, before they both start laughing.

Truth be told, you’ve always thought your two best friends would make a cute couple. Despite appearances, they did go well together in the way that what one lacked, the other made up for, completing one another. Even so, you’ve accepted reality a long time ago. Them being more than each other’s pain in the ass was never going to happen.

Just as you squeeze yourself between Jisung and the couch, his bulky arms quickly moving to bring you closer and accommodate your body as Seohyun sits up to make room, Chris finally steps out of his bedroom in a cloud of expensive cologne that’s almost visible to the naked eye.

“Look who’s finally ready. I was about to put together an intervention and break that door down.” Jisung smirks, leaning back on the couch.

Chris rolls his eyes but otherwise doesn’t respond, dusting imaginary dirt off his new clothes. You helped him pick out an outfit, so now he was wearing a leisure suit, black, with the only pop of color being from the bold, flowery shirt that had the first three buttons open, exposing his collarbones and chest. In true 70s fashion, he had a heavy gold chain around his neck serving as the only accessory. Thank heavens he retired the obnoxious sunglasses.

“Oh my god, you look great!” You exclaim, beaming from ear to ear.

“Thanks to you.” He smiles, soft and gentle before running a hand through his brown curls he finally decided to not straighten.

On your right, Jisung gently elbows your side to get your attention. “But what about me?”

“Stop fishing for compliments.” Seohyun groans, standing up to walk to the kitchen for more snacks. “You already know you’re pretty.”

You chuckle, watching the exchange with interest while Chris begins putting on his matching dress shoes.

“So, you think I’m pretty?” Jisung calls after her, smirking a little too widely.

“Pretty ugly!”

The bickering starts and you ignore them in favor of walking in the opposite direction, to join Chris who’s disappeared in his room once again.

He’s by the dresser, slipping on a golden watch before checking his hair in the mirror to make sure it's tousled to his liking.

Before you can even open your mouth, he’s already turned to you. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? There’s still time for you to get ready.”

You sigh, face falling briefly as your eyes look at anything but him. “I’m sure. Thanks for checking in, though.“

“It’s going to be fun.” He adds, hand landing on your elbow in his effort to convince you. Not like you usually needed convincing, especially if he were to stay by your side the whole night like you knew he would.

You just didn’t feel like it. You haven’t been in the mood to party in a long time, and even though he insisted this was the perfect opportunity to change that, rediscover the joy such an event can bring – your stand on it didn’t budge.

“I don’t doubt it.” You force a smile, not wanting to worry him or plant any ideas in his head. Overprotective was his middle name, so if he were to sense your true emotions even for a second, catch a glimpse of your melancholy, the whole thing would be called off. He truly didn’t care about this as much as he cared about you.

“You should.” His eyes soften, lips settling into a pout that almost has laughter bubbling out of you. “You know parties aren’t as fun for me whenever you’re not there.”

A snort escapes you, gaze trailing to the framed photo of you two back in high school that’s right next to the one you took in the same spot, in his backyard in Australia, four years later this summer. “You’ll survive, Chrissy. I’ll be with you in spirit.”

He looks like he has more to say, words ready to jump out of his mouth and latch onto you so you can finally come to your senses. But Chris chooses to remain silent, sighing like he couldn’t be bothered to put in any more effort to convince you to join him tonight.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are.” He smiles, reaching up to ruffle your hair.

For once, you don’t swat his hand away, and he chuckles victoriously. You won’t change your mind, but it’s nice to know your presence is wanted nonetheless.

As you exit his bedroom, Jisung is halfway out the door, struggling to put on a jacket while Seohyun laughs at him from her place on the couch.

“Finally!” He exclaims, reaching for his keys. “Are you ready to go? Changbin texted me he’s already there.”

Chris nods, waving goodbye to you and Seohyun before walking over to join Jisung in the hallway. “You’ll melt if you keep that jacket on.”

“It’s part of my outfit, I’ll be fine.”

You watch them from the doorway, one more excited than the other as they can barely sit still while waiting for the elevator. As the doors open with a quiet ‘ding’, Jisung makes to step inside before stopping in his tracks. Without a word, he rushes to pull you into a tight hug, lucky Chris is preventing the doors from closing as he takes his sweet time.

“Call me if you need anything, bug!” He pulls away, grinning, and you already miss his warmth. “I’ll come running.”

The smile you give him in return is genuine, even though you know if you were to call, his tipsy self wouldn’t even be able to hear his phone go off. And who would amidst all the craziness a party entrails? He was there to have fun, not worry about your depressing, bed-rotting self.

“Alright, Ji.” You laugh as he reaches to pinch your cheek before he’s off, barely making it into the elevator with all limbs intact as he chooses to stick his hand out to wave goodbye until the doors close.

When you return to the living room, you’re surprised to see Seohyun on her feet and ready to go.

“Shall we go back?” She yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “They’re all out of snacks and I miss my bed.”

You raise a brow, surprised she was taping out so soon. Seohyun was a party animal; she had no problem staying awake till the sun was up, dancing the night away in one of her skin-tight, and sparkling dresses. Still, you hold the front door open. “It’s only 10 pm.”

“Your point?” As she passes you, Seohyun wiggles her eyebrows. “Unless you want to host our own little private party?”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, pushing past her as she begins cackling, the sound echoing through the big hallway that separates the two apartments. The floor only had three apartments, but your other neighbor was never home, for some unknown reason. His whereabouts were an intriguing subject for all of your friends, often coming up with all sorts of theories to explain his absence.

The latest one implied he was some sort of secret agent on a very dangerous mission, renting an apartment so close to the biggest university in the city in the hopes of blending in and not raising any suspicion.

“I’m picking the movie tonight!” Seohyun runs to the couch, her natural habitat and favorite place in the apartment, before you can even close the door. Guess that means you’ll either hide the whole time, not even being able to watch the gruesome horror, or you’ll cry your eyes out at another rerun of ‘The Notebook’.

Thirty minutes later, the lights have been turned down low, the mood lap in the corner engulfing your corner of the room in the warmest shades of orange meant to relax your tired eyes. With snacks all around you, scattered on the small coffee table, ranging from pizza to chips and fizzy drinks, you and Seohyun are sitting up on the couch, under the same fluffy blanket she adored so much.

You’re busy brushing her long hair, wearing a refreshing face mask while she tries to navigate eating another pizza slice without ruining hers when low buzzing gets your attention.

“He’s still calling?” You ask after glancing at her phone next to you, the caller ID not even phasing her. Sometimes you wish you could be as nonchalant until you remember it’s all a façade, most of the time, her poor heart as fragile and sensitive as yours.

“Oh, yeah. He’s been very consistent.” She shrugs, chewing before adding. “Which is a first because he was never consistent in his relationship with me.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, hands gentle while untangling her hair. “I thought you broke it off a while ago?”

Seohyun nods, bringing her knees to her chest while ’13 Going on 30’ plays quietly in the background, a must on your girls’ nights. “I did. He thought I was joking.”

A moment of silence stretches between you; not uncomfortable, but needed for her words to sink in and for you to realize the type of guy she has been investing her precious time and energy into.

“What a fucking asshole.” You finally scoff, shaking your head.

“Tell me about it.” She sighs, wiping her oily fingers on a nearby napkin

“I have been telling you about it.” You point out, but not in a condescending way, your hands stopping momentarily. “Everyone has. You just pretended not to hear us.”

Seohyun is quiet, and you can’t help but start wondering if you’ve upset her somehow. That wasn’t your intention, it could never be. You meant what you said but maybe you could work on your delivery?

Just as you move to reach for her, Seohyun speaks softly.

“Sorry.”

One of your arms wraps around her front from behind, bringing her body close in a comforting embrace she relaxes into immediately.

“What if it’s me? What if I’m the problem?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, fiddling with her fingers in the way she does when she’s stressed or worried about something, a habit you’ve taken notice of years ago.

“Nonsense.” You shake your head, not even wanting to hear about it. In your eyes, she was perfect, the girl who had showered you with kindness and compassion even before getting as close as you were now. Seohyun was a good person before she was anything else, her heart made of gold that sparkled under the sun, and when she was loved truthfully. Unfortunately, she hasn’t yet met the man able to bring forth her shine.

“No, I’m serious.” She turns to look at you over her shoulder while pulling away from the embrace, all of the confidence she carried herself with suddenly nowhere to be seen, the sadness in her eyes making her resemble a lost child. “What is it about me that discourages guys from commitment?”

“Seo,” your eyes soften, heart shattering for her, “there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s all the emotionally unavailable guys you keep picking and expecting commitment from.”

“So, technically, it’s still me.”

You shake your head, gently grasping her hands into yours while looking straight into her dull, hazel eyes. “Not at all. You just want to be loved.”

“I’m so desperate for it, Y/n.” She almost sobs, her distress visible even from a mile away as her hands go limp in your hold. “I keep rushing into all of these relationships, falling for every sweet word and empty promise because I’m afraid I’ll end up alone.”

“End up alone?” Now you’re confused, searching her face for any clues that might fill you in about her sudden, unreasonable worry. “Babe, you have your whole life ahead of you, what are you even saying?”

She shakes her head, almost like not wanting to hear you. “Everyone has at least one significant, fairytale-like romance in university. Look at me, three years in and all I’ve got under my belt is a few hookups and a devastating ex situationship that still haunts me.”

“And who says those aren’t significant?”

“Because I’m not going to end up marrying Mark, or any of the other guys whose names I can’t even recall!”

Her sudden outburst leaves room for silence to sneak in and try to comfort the two wounded hearts, just as you slowly move to remove both of the facemasks that were almost dry by now, surely making her as uncomfortable as you felt. It all clicks in your mind, and you suddenly realize this is something she’s been mulling over for some time now, eating away at her mind and making her feel incapable of the simplest task of them all. Love.

Seohyun is no longer looking at you, head low and gaze trained on her manicured fingers while she picks apart a loose thread from the blanket.

Just then, her phone buzzes again and you reach for it before she can react, rejecting the call and setting it face down on the table, right next to yours.

“I get it.” Your voice is soft, quiet as if not to disturb her, the tv for once louder than either of you. “You feel like you’re running out of time, but Seo, love doesn’t have an expiration date. Nobody says you have to find the love of your life by the time you’re 25, just to get married by 30 like most movies portray.”

Fresh faced, her eyes follow your finger toward the screen just in time to catch the beginning of Jenna’s love confession, an emotional scene you’ve both cried watching countless times.

“I’ve never been in love.” She confesses quietly, fixing her headband. “And I’m sorry for bringing this up right now, but it’s been driving me insane for weeks.”

You nod to show you’re listening to her every word, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

With hopeful eyes and still enough sadness in her voice to betray her current state of mind, Seohyun dares to enquire. “How is it? How does being in love feel like?”

Instantly, you feel like you’ve been kicked in the stomach, all the air disappearing from your lungs at the snap of fingers. You’re overwhelmed as memories come rushing back, your tragic love story playing from beginning to end in a neatly made montage that would put most romance movies to shame. You remember everything, almost every second spent by your beloved’s side, from your first meeting to your first date, kiss, the first time you made love and the first time you felt it too.

You now realize that falling for Hyunjin was inevitable – you were doomed from the moment those doe eyes bored into yours, softening as he smiled in greeting. Even though you were mere kids, your feelings have always been real, even if the adults claimed you were too young for them. The love was always there, first shaped platonically but soon evolving into a heart fluttering romance that not many were lucky enough to experience for as long as they lived.

And even though it now hurts and brings you sorrow, the love was still here, even if it was reduced to a mere flicker that struggled to hang on as water kept being splashed on the flame.

But with a deep inhale that brings some of the air back, you satisfy your best friend’s curiosity. “Being in love is…the best and the worst thing that has happened to me. Simultaneously.”

Seohyun looks at you in wonder, some light returning to her pretty eyes, long flashes kissing her cheekbones with every blink as if they too, tried to comfort her. Then, without warning, she bursts out laughing, collapsing on the other end of the couch, away from you.

“You know what? I’m done, I don’t want to experience love anymore. I’m good.” Even though she’s laughing, there’s no amusement present in her tone.

You can’t help but chuckle, the joy not quite reaching your heart either. “No-uh, too late. Love will find you when you least expect it and then you’ll come running to say I was right!”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” You clarify, reaching to pinch the headband off her forehead before letting it bounce back to smack her lightly, to which she complains loudly, kicking her feet to get you off the couch.

Soon, genuine laughter welcomes itself into your home once again, air lighter as the seriousness of the moment wears off.

You allow the movie to come to an end, the happily ever after that always has flowers blooming into your heart before standing up for more snacks, and Seohyun’s small bag of nail polish just as the credits start rolling.

Her head pops from behind the couch, body still lounging about. “Will you marry me if we’re both still single by 30?”

“Nope.”

“Gee, thanks Y/n. You’re such a great friend!”

Safe to say, your night ended on a much brighter note than it began.

Until it all came crashing back down the following morning.

You’re awakened by a commotion, an actual crash that startles you out of deep slumber, body jolting among the many pillows and stuffed animals that kept you company during the night. Sitting up, you rub your eyes before reaching for your phone to check the time, confused to see it’s no earlier than 6:55 am. No sunray dared to peek through the thick curtains so you were still a little disoriented, listening to every sound that could tell you exactly what had happened.

Seohyun was not a morning person. Did she somehow knock over a lamp in her sleep? Because the possibility of her being awake at this hour, especially after the late night you’ve had, was nonexistent.

When no other sound follows, you decide to succumb to dreamland once again, head buried in the big, purple teddy bear you got as a birthday present last year. You’re almost there, fully asleep until the sound of the front door opening and closing snaps you out of it faster than lightening.

What exactly was going on in your apartment, at 7 am on a Saturday?

With newfound vigor, you yank the blanket off of you and quickly get out of bed, abandoning your fluffy shoes in your hurry to the living room. Just then, the buzzing of your phone pulls you back, like an invisible force controlling your legs, a puppet on a string compelled to check that out before whatever was happening outside.

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, lounging after the device in wonder. Who could be texting you at this hour?

Swiping your finger over the screen, you’re greeted by numerous notifications that have silently gone off during the night, most from an app you barely use. Twitter. Ignoring them for the time being, you tap a message that has come earlier, from one of the friends you have made in class. Her text only confuses you further as the few words that greet you are only urging you to check the previously mentioned app, followed by one too many worried emojis.

Curiosity peaked, you finally do as she says, opening the app to see what exactly has prompted such a reaction out of the usual calm woman. Your timeline doesn’t look any different, full of 3racha’s fans going crazy over the new pics, and the exclusive music that was apparently played last night at the party. You manage their business account, so the sight was nothing unusual. You then switch to your personal account and are surprised to see the little bell red with notifications. When you tap it, you see numerous accounts, people you don’t even know, tagging you in their tweets and random posts, suddenly desperate to reach you.

You were not popular, especially compared to Chris and Jisung, despite managing their account and being seen with them almost every day. So, this sudden influx of followers and messages made no sense, no one was eager enough to connect with you when they could simply go straight to them.

Confused and very intrigued, you decide to open a random message, tapping on an account you have seen floating around your timeline, often talking about 3racha and their music. The difference between this account and the others was that you knew the person behind it personally, a fellow student who shared her major with Seohyun.

Once her direct message loads, you almost drop your phone right on the cold, wooden floor. Because what you see, besides her worried and confused messages, is a photo. One that was taken last year, at the same party you couldn’t bring yourself to attend this year.

A picture of you and Hyunjin, embracing on the dance floor, in your ridiculous clothing while the other partygoers have created room for you to have your moment, almost like you were a couple having your first dance at your wedding.

Tears well up in your eyes in an instant, heart thumping in your chest painfully, with a force that almost creates a hole in your body, one big enough for the organ to escape and run off. Despite the early hour and the exhaustion slowing down your response time, this moment plays in your mind like a vivid memory, transporting you back in time with scary ease.

The music was too loud and obnoxious for a moment that was supposed to be romantic and switch things up. The DJ decided to play a slow song, perfect to get the couples in the mood for dancing and smooching up on their beloved, giving everyone the opportunity to make their move and possibly find love tonight. You, on the other hand, didn’t need any of that.

Your lover was already all over you, holding your body close while leading you around the dancefloor like the expert he was, only parting when he decided to twirl you around, your delighted laughter like music to his ears.

You were waltzing, or were supposed to if only your heels hadn’t stepped on Hyunjin’s feet one too many times. He claimed it was no big deal, laughing from ear to ear, drunk on the happiness he only felt while in your presence.

So now, you were glued to the same spot, only your bodies swaying from side to side, guided by Hyunjin’s big hands on your hips.

“I’m dizzy.” You giggle into his ear, trying to make yourself heard over the loud music.

Hyunjin laughs in response, looking even more handsome than usual in his grey suit and slicked-back hair, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes. “From what? Did you drink too much?”

You shake your head, accidentally stepping on his right foot. Again. “The music is too loud. It’s hurting my brain.”

Without a word, you see his eyes begin searching around for something, the absence of his gaze and attention making you feel an indescribable hint of loneliness. He suddenly signals towards the DJ, and the person he’s managed to find in the crowd, none other than Chris, nods and walks off to the guy.

When his smile finds you again, the music along with the lighting has been turned down, creating the perfect atmosphere for all the couples around.

“How about now? Is your head better?”

You laugh, heart squeezing in your chest at the thoughtful gesture as you hug him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re so crazy, Hyun.”

“Only for you. Anyone would go crazy over you.” He barely manages to finish his sentence when your heel finds his foot again. This time, he hisses and before you know it, both of your feet are off the ground as he spins you around, laughing together before you’re put down, now facing the DJ booth and your friends by his side. Chris is having the time of his life, arms around a random girl as he laughs at whatever the DJ has said, dancing while simultaneously having a conversation. Jisung is doing shots with Changbin and Minho, a small crowd cheering them on, away in their own little world, unaware of what everyone else is doing.

Your hands come together at the back of his neck, eyes tearing from the scene to give him your undivided attention. “Well, I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes intense and full of love, sparkling even in the dim lighting. His arms circle your waist, and you’re suddenly chest to chest, glued together as he leans down to speak over your lips. “You have me. You’ll always have me.”

“Always?” You can’t help yourself from pecking his lips once he nods, sure this is the happiest moment of your life. Your highs have always taken place in his arms, after all. “You’ll continue being mine even with my two left feet?”

This time, he cackles, emotions heightened by the alcohol he has consumed tonight. “You’re lucky I’m a good enough dancer for the both of us.”

“But what if I step on your feet at our wedding?”

“We’ll say it’s part of the choreography. Nobody would dare disagree with me anyway.”

You’re two fools in love, staring into each other’s eyes with such intensity that the world could be crumbling around you and neither would notice. Not being able to hold himself back any longer, Hyunjin’s lips find yours in a deep, passionate kiss that wouldn’t normally be deemed appropriate in public. But this was a party, and everyone was already too drunk off their asses to care, especially the couples that were dry-humping each other around you.

No wandering hands or harsh movements, just you two in the middle of the dancefloor, kissing like you’re the main characters in a fairytale. Your tongue finds his, and his grip on your waist tightens in warning. Even with the alcohol in his system, Hyunjin still had his wits about him – a statement that couldn’t be made about you.

So, he pulls back before you can rope him into one of your schemes, with a little more difficulty than he’d like to admit, regretting his choice instantly when you continue pecking his lips repeatedly, needing to feel him close.

One of his arms releases you just so his hand can cup your cheek lovingly, stopping you in your tracks.

“I love you.” You say against his lips, and his smile is so sincere and full of love that it almost brings tears to your eyes.

“I know.”

You blink, his words downing on you a moment later as your eyes widen, flabbergasted. “You know?!”

Hyunjin chuckles, smirking, pulling you right back to his lips when you make to move away, displeased with his answer. “I mean, after all of these years, I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend to not know, right?”

“You suck.” He kisses you right after you respond with an eye roll, deepening the kiss instantly, no longer caring about where you are.

“I love you too.”

One of the improvements 3racha brought to the party was a personal photographer, in charge of capturing the essence of the party in as many photos as he could, and that of course included the drunk students and their antics.

You were given a copy of this photo last year, a present from Chris who has asked the photographer himself to capture the sweet moment.

It was later framed and placed on your nightstand. Now, you were pretty sure the broken glass tore it beyond repair, so you didn’t dare pick it up from its place in the corner of the room, thankful it was face down and away from you.

What’s worse is that apparently, this photo has been spread around like wildfire, piquing everyone in attendance’s interest, which opened a discussion you could barely have with your best friends.

Why did you and Hyunjin break up?

With a heavy heart, you then make your way through all the messages and mentions, all talking about the mysterious couple in the photo, about how cute they were, and how they hoped they were still together. Until someone recognized you both and the tone of the conversation changed. Now, most people were tagging you and Hyunjin, almost like they were entitled to know why or how your relationship ended.

Some of the messages you received were nasty, and downright disrespectful, plainly asking you if they could hit on Hyunjin now that he was single. If he was good in bed, and if you’d mind if they took a spin to try him out. Or, if he was as big as he looked.

Fucking deranged people, all obviously drunk, treating you and him like nothing more than means of entertainment. Hyunjin was the captain of SNU’s most popular sports team, he was arguably the most popular student on campus. Everyone knew of him. But this was not normal, nor okay.

Since when doing what you loved came with the price of having your privacy invaded, reduced to nothing more than a piece of meat?

You were not celebrities, but normal students just like everyone around. Why was your relationship coming to an end suddenly the talk of the whole campus? Hot gossip nobody could help but discuss like people didn’t break up or get together on a daily basis around here.

What the hell was going on? But most importantly, what the fuck happened at last night’s party for this picture to suddenly emerge, seemingly out of nowhere?

When you manage to bring yourself out of your room, almost an hour later, the sight that greets you in the kitchen doesn’t surprise you one bit.

“So, you were the ones making all of that noise?”

Three heads snap in your direction in an instant, unable to hide their surprise at seeing you awake at this hour. Almost like this wasn’t your house, and they weren’t currently having some sort of gossip sesh without you, first thing in the morning.

“I’m so sorry.” Seohyun is the first to talk, the braid you fixed for her last night all messy and almost undone, stepping closer. “That was me, I stumbled on my way out the bedroom…” she suddenly trails off, eyes wide. “Babe…are you crying?”

You pat your cheeks, not expecting to find them wet, the tears rolling down your face at an alarming pace. Sharing a concerned look, Chris and Jisung hurry to you, with the latter being faster and pulling you into a tight hug that never fails to make you feel safe. Once your face hits his chest, the sobbing begins and both Seohyun and Chris circle you protectively, joining in on the hug as best as they could.

“You already saw everything, didn’t you?” Seohyun asks softly, almost like she’s talking to a frightened child. When you manage to nod in response, Jisung tenses beneath you.

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.” Your heart breaks at the tone of Chris’ voice, and you reach out to squeeze his hand in comfort. This was not any of their faults. You being sensitive and breaking down because of a simple picture and some weird comments didn’t have anything to do with them.

“Our department posted pictures from last year, a throwback to the first party we threw. By the time I realized the girl also posted the picture of you two, it was already flooding my timeline and messages.”

“We tried to remove it from your timeline.” Jisung chimes in when you finally calm down, gently wiping your eyes as you realize he’s still wearing the clothes from last night. “We were so focused on it that we forgot about all the weirdos tagging you and shit. I feel fucking terrible, bug, I’m so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault.” You croak out, voice raspy from all the crying. Losing the love of your life was still a sensitive topic, yet you didn’t expect being reminded of your happier times to still hit this hard. “Or your responsibility to handle such a thing. I’m going to be okay.”

Seohyun is at your side, petting your head soothingly while removing any hair strands stuck to your wet face. “Babe, we’re your friends. I’ll personally hunt down all of these assholes and make them apologize on their knees for treating your personal life like a random TV show.”

A smile finds you, unable to keep a straight face around her even for a second, the other two nodding in agreement. “Thanks, you guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be fine, sweetheart.” Chris kisses the top of your head, having removed his blazer and only sporting his flowery shirt, with his sleeves rolled up and exposing some of his tattoos. You stare at each of them in turn, taking in their appearance. All three look like they barely got any sleep last night, which is pretty accurate. You and Seohyun went to sleep in the early morning, having spent the whole night talking about everything under the sun.

The guys most likely haven’t slept a wink yet, judging by the state they were in.

They must’ve rushed over here once they got wind of that mess on social media, and scheduled an intervention with Seohyun. You swear they were too worried about you.

Which is why you were extremely grateful to have their support in your life. Despite what Chris is saying, you’re aware you would have crumbled a long time ago without them by your side.

Without all of them, your world would have permanently lost its color.

A few days later, things have calmed down but you and Hyunjin were still the talk of campus. Whatever class you’re having, or in whichever building you go, there’s always someone recognizing you, gossiping with their friends without a care in the world. It’s like they have nothing better to do or talk about, just speculate about your lives for hours on end. You’ve heard them all. Most were happy Hyunjin was finally single, on the market, and within arm’s reach, ready to be swept off his feet by the next person. Or so, they say. Others feel sorry for you for fumbling such a man, shooting pitying looks every time you’re near.

It's weird and uncomfortable, and you’re unable to concentrate on anything while such people are around. So, you do what any other person would in this situation.

You stop going to class.

You spend the rest of your week at the animal shelter, taking more and more hours just so you’ll have something to do. Things are quiet here, with most people out of the loop and not involved in any of your university’s drama. Everyone besides Jaemin. But he hasn’t brought it up yet, in consideration of your feelings, you suppose. Not like you were close enough for him to care about any of that, but he’s still nice enough to pretend he hasn’t heard any of the things floating around on campus. Hyunjin is his captain, after all, there’s no way he doesn’t know.

Any which way, things will most likely blow over soon and the students will find something else to gossip about by next week. But for now, you’ll be staying far away from that godforsaken campus.

Not like you missed it anyway. This time away was a well-deserved break in your book.

“Do you have plans for this weekend?” Jaemin asks while bottle feeding a puppy that’s been brought in this week, a newborn that couldn’t be older than a few weeks at best.

You nod, eyes glued to the little angel in your lap that allowed you to trim her claws with minimal fussing, a white fluffy cat that’s been at the shelter for far too long. “I do, yeah. I’m going to a club down in Hongdae tonight.”

He raises a curious brow, stopping the rocking chair’s movements to regain his balance. The little granny chair made him dizzy. “A club? I never took you as the clubbing type.”

“Because I’m not.” You laugh, reaching for the cat’s treats as you set the clippers down on the mat next to you. “My friends are performing so I’m going to support them.”

“Your friends?”

“Have you heard of 3racha?”

“Oh!” Jaemin almost jumps out of his seat, eyes sparkling as you’ve genuinely impressed him, the puppy crying in distress. He looks down, devastated, and takes a moment to comfort him before adding. “The upperclassmen? They’re so cool, everyone on campus loves them and their music.”

Now this is an interesting turn of events. Yes, 3racha was popular, you’d know, but Jaemin being a fan? This you were not expecting, for some reason. Their music was for everyone, but Jaemin struck you as the type of guy who’d only listen to bubblegum pop and whatever music inspired him enough to create a choreography around.

Who would’ve thought he was a cool guy, with great taste, after all?

Setting his coolness aside for a moment, he was definitely a good guy, first and foremost. Tall, nice smile, friendly, and with a soft spot for animals? You can’t believe you haven’t seen it before, but he would be perfect for Seohyun! Exactly the type of guy she needed after dealing with one too many fuckboys for the past three years.

They needed to meet. And you will make it happen, no matter what.

“Yep, them.” You try to contain the grin that’s threatening to expose your newly formed plan. “Actually, why don’t you join us? We have a pretty big table and you know what they say, the more friends, the livelier the party.”

If he were to judge you based on the dark circles under your eyes, and the lack of light in them, Jaemin would realize in a heartbeat that the last thing you were in the mood for was a party.

Thankfully, he’s clueless. Still, his smile does drop a little, making him resemble the puppy in his arms

“Oh, thank you but I’m going back home tonight.”

“Wait, really?” Your smile morphs into a genuine one as you resume your task, moving to the last paw once the cat has gotten her fill of pets. “That’s great! I know you’ve been missing home like crazy.”

He laughs, setting the empty bottle on the table next to him and gently moving the puppy in his lap, a little lost on how to handle him. In his hands, you could barely spot the small dalmatian. “Oh God, sorry for talking your ear off about it all the time, by the way. But yeah, I’m taking a train tonight and I’ll unfortunately be back on Monday since we have a game.”

“Already? Doesn’t the season start in October?” It escapes without meaning to, and you only realize a moment too late, lips pressing into a thin line in regret.

Jaemin nods and doesn’t question your sudden interest. “It does. This one is a pre-season game to help us warm up and better our teamwork.”

“Oh yeah? And who’s going to be wearing your jersey and cheering you on?” Teasing him has become second nature at this point, smirking while fluttering your lashes for the full effect.

Yet, he isn’t far behind. “You can if you come.” He says it so nonchalantly that sometimes you can’t tell if he’s still joking or has suddenly decided to become serious.

And it never misses. The face you make by scrunching your nose is the true and accurate picture of disgust.

“I’m joking.” He drags out the word, huffing while rolling his eyes. When your face is back to normal, relief prominent on your features, he adds a little quieter. “Still, I’d be happy to have you there cheering for me.”

Both of your eyebrows hike up in surprise, a tinge of amusement in your voice. “Who says I’ll be cheering on you?”

“Then who will you be cheering on, huh?” He bites back, reminding you of a certain someone. “The enemy? Where’s your school spirit, Y/n?”

Finally done, you release the cat who jumps off your lap happily, returning to headbutt your hand in demand of some more treats for being so obedient. You swear Snowflake was smarter than she let on. “That depends. Who are you playing against?”

“Yonsei.”

“Oh, is Daehyun still the captain?” Jaemin nods, scooting closer to the edge of his seat, as if preparing himself for an impressive story, all while still petting the small dog that has fallen asleep in his lap. “Wow, so then this marks his fourth year as the captain. Impressive.”

Daehyun was a year older than you and most of your friends, and you remember meeting him in your first year after SNU beat Yonsei and prevented them from advancing that season. A good player, but a little too cocky for your taste.

For some unknown reason, you notice Jaemin’s light dim, body tensing in his seat as he bites down on his bottom lip, looking uncomfortable. No, not uncomfortable – nervous. Why was Jaemin nervous?

“Can you tell me more about him?”

Snowflake takes that as her cue to leave, obviously not a fan of sports, fluffy tail bouncing away with her every step, brushing against Jaemin’s leg on her way out. The front door was locked so for as long as you were concerned, she could wander around as much as she pleased.

“Me?” A laugh escapes you, trying to lighten up the sudden heavy atmosphere. “Aren’t you the one on the team?”

He looks a little sheepish, hands clasped together leisurely in a sign of fake confidence. Seeing him lack confidence was a weird sight, one you would have never associated with him before. “I joined the team late last year, so I haven’t played against them yet.”

Taking pity on him, you decide to share whatever information you remember about them, Hyunjin’s words ringing in your mind. “Daehyun is their main quarterback.” Then you pause, realizing you’re missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. “Wait, what’s your position on the field?”

“I’m a left tackle.”

Tackles were usually seen as bulldozers, their responsibilities on the field varying. Speaking from an offensive point of view, there were five linemen in a team at all times, needed for the game to be playable. Jaemin was a left tackle, which meant he protected the quarterback from the left side, working alongside the other four men to ensure nobody from the other team touched Hyunjin. When they weren’t doing that, they worked together to push back the defense and create openings for their teammates.

His role was important but not as crucial as the center. He started the game and without him, Hyunjin and the others wouldn’t be able to run freely on the field. That’s why, the title of captain was usually given either to the center or to one of the quarterbacks. On the other hand, since Hyunjin was right-handed, the left tackle protected his blindside which automatically made Jaemin the most important tackle on the field.

The center controlled the offensive line but the quarterback’s responsibility was to lead the entire team, to know their positions at all times before even thinking about passing the ball.

That’s exactly why, the decision of who’ll get to wear the heavy captain badge was the easiest one the team has had to make three years ago. Nobody but Hyunjin fit that role to a T.

And here you were again, thinking about him. Great.

Even so, Jaemin must be an impressive player to be given such an important role so soon.

“Daehyun usually comes from the right, letting the others take care of his blindside and intercept any danger. He’s selfish and likes to hog the ball, pretending to pass just to mess with your head.”

He’s listening so intently that you’re afraid he might fall, rocking chair tipped forward. “But there’s no need to worry. You’re not the one he’s after, anyway.”

For some reason, your reassurance doesn’t seem to settle his nerves, muscles tense as he begins rolling his shoulders back to get rid of some of the knots. Still, he manages to smile, obviously thankful. “Thank you. I’ll keep everything in mind.”

Just as you’re about to speak again, question his sudden change in mood, your phone buzzes loudly in your hoodie’s pocket, pulling you away from the present moment. Briefly glancing at the caller ID, you answer without much thought, Jaemin taking this as his cue to bring the small puppy back to his siblings.

“Hey, Bin. What’s up?” He didn’t usually call you, most of your communication happening through sporadic texting or whenever you’d drop by their studio to see Chris and Jisung. Changbin was the textbook definition of a social butterfly, with friends in places one wouldn’t think he even frequented. Well liked and friendly, he was the most extroverted member of 3racha, the party animal that knew how to have fun and make any situation entertaining for everyone.

“Ay, how’s my favorite social media manager doing?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes as if he could somehow see you. “Great. I’m taking care of some cute animals right now; life couldn’t be better.”

Even though you were mostly joking, since life has been pretty shitty for a while now, Changbin chooses to believe you, joining in your laughter. “So, you’re not in class either?”

“Listen, I’d rather do anything else than sit through another one of Mr. Kim’s boring and drawn-out lectures. That guy just doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

He hums, agreeing completely. Mr. Kim was your Music Theory professor, with an impressive career behind him that in most people’s opinion should have ended ten years ago. He was one of the best, and most renowned professors at SNU, however, his way of doing things has gone out of style a long time ago, so usually, his lectures were filled with him rambling about how music isn’t what it once was, and how this university has gone to shit thanks to its unserious staff and students.

Perhaps Mr. Kim hasn’t been doing too hot lately.

“Oh, he really fucked us over this time.”

Your brows furrow, confusion visible all over your face. “What do you mean?”

“Can you swing by the studio later? I’ll explain everything in detail then.” He sounds tired, more so than usual, and you find yourself agreeing just so you won’t become another inconvenience for him.

With what seemed like a weight lifted off his sturdy shoulders, Changbin exhaled and thanked you softly. “Where’s that shelter of yours? Should I send someone to pick you up?”

You shake your head just as Jaemin pops back into the room, puppy free. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

“Alright. See you later.”

The call ends shortly after, and as you pocket the phone, Snowflake returns to headbutt your hand, just as Jaemin comes to a stop in front of you. “Do you need to go? I can close up in here by myself if it’s urgent.”

It was currently six pm on a Friday, which meant no other volunteers were going to show up until tomorrow morning. You were the only two people left, having stayed past the usual closing hour just so you could keep the animals company for a little more.

You knew Jaemin was eager to return home, to his two babies – there was no way you were going to do that to him, no matter how much he insisted he didn’t mind.

“That’s fine. We can do it together.”

You swear the smile he shoots your way has something twist in your heart, a similar feeling to the knife that’s been firmly stuck in there for months now. It’s painful and you almost flinch away from him, the only thing keeping you in place being the possibility of him noticing and not turning a blind eye, asking about it worriedly.

He was perfect for Seohyun.

Closing up doesn’t take long, even though it’s your first time doing so with someone else. Jaemin keeps blabbering the whole time, finally back to normal and worry free, and you’re happy your previous conversation didn’t have any lasting effect. Game day was a big deal and he was bound to feel nervous. That never truly goes away.

Bidding him goodbye, he’s on his merry way, skipping back to campus while whistling a happy tune. The sight makes you long for the days when you were this happy and carefree, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if you are ever going to feel that way again. Happiness and content seemed so far away – what if they became a part of your brain, you could never access again?

With similar questions spinning around in your loud mind, the trip to your friend’s studio takes half the time it usually does, and you barely register you’ve arrived until you find yourself pushing the door open and entering the familiar building that belonged to Changbin’s father. 3racha’s main studio resided here, even before they gathered an audience and were just teenage boys with a dream, working towards their goals with a hunger that hasn’t yet been satisfied.

Since then, they acquired two more studios. This one was Changbin’s, his preferred workplace he could usually be found at but also their headquarters. Jisung’s was at their apartment, in one of the free rooms he turned into his sanctuary, his safe place that held all of his guitars and unreleased songs. As for Chris, he settled on renting a small place, a few blocks away, just for himself and his trusted laptop he’d be ruined without. The boys loved working together and spending time with one another but sometimes, it all got too much, too suffocating, so they needed their separate spaces to manage to work in peace and get some alone time.

All of the important meetings happened here, in the studio everything started back in high school, so it’s not like they had the time to become too independent or feel lonely. The three of them were a team, after all, Chris’ arms he could never navigate life without. Fundamental parts of him that also couldn’t function on their own, needing the glue that kept them together at all times.

The building hosted numerous businesses, providing them with the space necessary for their workers. Changbin’s father was a multi-millionaire tycoon, owning most of the apartment buildings in the city, including the one you were currently living in. He offered to fund 3racha’s dream and catapult them to stardom, just like they’ve always wanted, but they’ve always refused, firm on the decision of making and walking their own path, even if it was muddy or lacking any of the desired light.

You’ve always admired that about them, the fact that they didn’t choose the easy way, give in to the temptation that was right at their fingertips, on a pretty, silver platter.

Pressing the fifth-floor button, the elevator doors close and you’re left alone with your thoughts for a total of 30 seconds before you step into the freshly cleaned, sleek white hallway whose marble floors seem to sparkle. The sheer size of it all used to intimidate you, with all the twists and turns and numerous closed doors that seemed to mock your existence. But now, you barely acknowledge your surroundings as you stroll towards the end of the hallway, passing by a nicely decorated kitchen area with snacks, drinks, and too many sitting arrangements.

The last door, behind which resided the largest room on the floor, which was off limits to everyone except Changbin and his friends, was the only one welcoming you warmly. Almost like it burrowed some of its owner’s warmth, as strangely as that sounded.

Your hand is raised, ready to knock, and let yourself in before loud voices from inside make you stop dead in your tracks.

“I don’t think you understand how serious this actually is!” You hear Changbin say, voice raised beyond its usual volume. A murmur is all you decipher before he speaks again, distress clear as day in his tone.

“Minho, Hyunjin blew up at someone today!”

And just like that, your heart skips so many beats that you believe you’ve momentarily stopped breathing, hand flopping to your side unceremoniously. There’s no air entering your lungs anymore, frozen on the spot like you were getting broken up with for a second time in three months. Why did everything have to circle back to Hyunjin, in one way or another? Was he experiencing similar things or were you officially going crazy?

“What?” Minho finally lets out, sounding confused, sign he hasn’t witnessed the scene Changbin is referencing.

Minho, along with Changbin and Felix, who has been studying abroad in Australia for a year now, were Hyunjin’s best friends. They have been each other’s rocks ever since high school before you got the chance to meet him.

Minho was as overprotective of his people as Chris was, ready to fight anyone who dared hurt his precious friends. An intimidating panther who bared his teeth at the first sign of danger, ready to pounce and eliminate any threat.

And as of late, one thing was clear as the sky on a sunny day. Minho absolutely despised you.

“We were by the field,” Changbin begins, sighing like remembering the scene was painful, “and these girls sitting behind us in the bleachers were going on and on, gossiping about him and that stupid fucking picture. They knew we could hear them, heck the whole team could, but they didn’t fucking care and kept speculating about his relationship and the reason it ended, spouting all of this nonsense like it was any of their business to begin with!”

Minho is quiet, processing everything as Changbin stops to breathe, inhaling greedily like he is running out of time and needs to let it all out before it is too late. “I saw the moment his patience ran out, jaw clenching in anger, like a bomb ready to explode at any moment. And then, before I can do anything about it, Hyunjin turns around and tells them to shut the fuck up and get a life.”

You’re taken aback, not being able to wrap your head around the information Changbin just revealed. This was so unlike him, to react so rashly and be overcome by anger, that you almost didn’t recognize the person from the story as being him. Hyunjin was rational, level headed which helped him juggle all of his responsibilities with ease. He wasn’t rude and snappy but then again, if you had a backbone, you might’ve reacted in the same way. The gossiping has gone too far, spiraling out of control like you were nothing more than a story on the front page of a cheap magazine.

“Deserved.” Is all Minho says, a certain pride in his voice. Changbin on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think the same.

“Minho, you don’t get it. I was afraid he was going to throw his heavy ass duffle bag at their heads!”

“Maybe he should have.”

“You can’t be serious.” You hear the chair squeak as he presumably stands up, exasperated.

“And why not, Changbin? You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. People have gotten a little too comfortable with talking about actual strangers and their personal lives, harassing them on social media and treating them like fucking celebrities.” Minho’s voice is full of disdain, controlled anger dripping from each word.

Changbin doesn’t respond, which has you wondering about the look on his face. Even though Minho was harsh, he wasn’t wrong – you all knew that.

“Yes, Hyunjin is popular, but does that mean they can pick apart his life for fun? Turning him into campus gossip like he’s not just a regular student trying to navigate whatever the fuck he’s currently going through?”

“This is unlike him.” Changbin breathes out, sharing your sentiment.

“Why? Because he finally had enough and snapped?” Minho counters. “Hyunjin has been through a lot recently, and now he’s reacting accordingly. I would have been more concerned if he wasn’t angry.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, silence stretching on as the gears in your head keep turning faster and faster. Hyunjin’s behavior made no sense, especially since you lived under the impression that he was fine and dandy experiencing life to the fullest. His anger was justified, yes, but was it really necessary? People gossiped about him all the time, calling him awful names whenever the team lost a game or made a wrong call, and he has never reacted in this way.

Could Hyunjin actually be more affected by your break up than you initially thought?

As you get closer, eager to hear more, the door suddenly swings open and you stumble back, startled and embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. And as fate has it, since you can never win, the one towering over you with his intimidating presence alone is Minho, whose cold eyes are glaring tiny icicles at every part of your existence.

He pauses, on the verge of saying something, most likely preparing to chew you out when he scoffs, deeming your existence unworthy of his attention as he walks away, grazing your shoulder with his, which has more of an impact than an actual collision. Minho’s indifference hurt, but his anger? That was lethal.

“Minho – oh, hey! Were you waiting long?” Changbin almost bumps into you, eyes flickering to yours before looking past you in search of his friend.

Still a little shaken, you make way, stepping out of the doorway. “You can go after him.”

Just then, the sound of the elevator arriving fills the air, and Changbin lets out a defeated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s fine. Come in.”

You do as he says, not thinking too much about it, thankful he was too busy with whatever was currently going through his mind to put two and two together and realize you’ve been here for a while. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care. Changbin could be too nice for his own good, sometimes.

The studio looked the same as always: fancy equipment, Changbin’s numerous instruments, two black leather couches by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a glass, sparkly coffee table. For better acoustics, both the floor and the four walls were made of wood, dark oak to be exact. It made the room feel cozy, war,m and welcoming despite the intimidating smell of money that hit you from the moment you stepped inside.

The recording booth was where all the magic happened though, the place of birth of most of their discography. Every single inch of it was soundproof, and you remember Chris telling you about the times he used to lock himself in there just to scream when life got a little too overwhelming. To test it out, years ago when it was first set up, Minho and Jisung had a screaming competition – the sight of them from behind the tiny window that separated the two spaces, going back and forth animatedly while no sound could be heard on your end was hysterical.

A huff escapes him as he flops on the leather chair by the desk, suddenly looking so much smaller as exhaustion seems to settle deep into his bones. You’re quiet, taking a seat opposite him on the closest couch, watching as he runs both hands through unruly dark curls, pulling himself together.

“Thanks for coming.” He manages to smile, spinning his chair to face you. “Do you want something to drink?” Changbin nods towards the mini fridge to your left, and you shake your head.

“Are you alright?” You can’t help yourself, concerned after hearing his previous conversation.

“Just peachy.” He slouches into his chair, getting comfortable. “I haven’t seen you in class in a hot minute.”

You fidget on the spot, his conversation with Minho still fresh in your mind adding to your discomfort. Changbin might’ve been your friend, but you weren’t that close, especially not close enough to confide in him about such a sensitive subject.

Thankfully, a grin finds its way onto his features, eyes staring at nothing in particular as he snorts. “That’s mostly because I haven’t shown up at all this week, but you know.”

Despite yourself, your muscles relax, the atmosphere lighter. “Why are you skipping class?” You laugh, reaching for one of the small, decorative pillows nearby to hug to your chest.

“I’m making money moves, Y/n. I have no time for senile profs and fifth grader homework.”

Oh, yes, alluding to Mr. Kim and his assignments that have you analyzing the same three music sheets since your freshman year.

“See, you get me. Chris on the other hand, just scolds me for skipping.”

He shakes his head. “That’s because he gets a music boner for the guy. He respects him too much.”

You’re both laughing, easily falling back into your usual banter.

“What did he do though?”

“Right.” He rolls his eyes like he’s remembering an unpleasant memory. “So, he suddenly decided on a new assignment that’s worth 50% of our grade. A group project.”

Your smile vanishes, fists tightening on the poor pillow. “What the fuck? When?”

“Today, when we were skipping!” Changbin lets out a humorless laugh, slapping his knee as his way of coping. “Chris texted me all about it a few hours ago. Can you believe it?”

No, you couldn’t. You also couldn’t wrap your head around the reason Chris, your childhood best friend, your other half, hasn’t texted you anything about it to begin with. He knew where you were and what you were doing, not busy in the slightest, so why was he keeping you out of the loop?

And Jisung? Where the fuck was Jisung?

“Anyways, so his brilliant idea entrails pairing us up with someone we haven’t worked with before. Because out there in the real world, you won’t always get the chance to work with your friends, apparently.” He scoffs loudly, voicing your displeasure, properly annoyed at the old man. “That’s how we ended up stuck with each other.”

The way he says it hurts the tiniest bit, but you brush past it with a chuckle. “Gee, don’t get too excited, Bin. A girl might get the wrong idea.”

Changbin blinks, slowly processing your words before his eyes widen. “No! Oh my god, Y/n, please don’t get me wrong! I’m so fucking glad I got you and not some rando that won’t bother pulling their weight!”

Relief washes over you, the pillow falling slack in your lap. “But?”

“Not buts.” He shakes his head. “I know you usually work with Chan so I can understand if you’re disappointed you got stuck with me.”

“You’re kidding right?” You tilt your head, frowning. “I’m so happy it’s you and not someone I don’t know! We’re friends and I know your work ethic, I couldn’t ask for a better partner for this assignment, Bin.”

Now he’s beaming, no trace of any of his worries left behind, pleased by your words. “Thank you, Y/n.”

Changbin has always been someone easy to get along with, and he was one of the most hardworking people you knew. If you couldn’t work with Chris or Jisung, you were glad it was him. There was no doubt in your mind your team was going to ace this.

“So, what do we have to do, exactly?” You move the conversation along, leaning back to melt into the comfy couch.

“Hold on, I’ll send you the doc I got from Chan.” He wheels over to his laptop, and as it comes to life, your curiosity is peaked by something that looks like a workout plan which he minimizes a little too quickly. A minute or so later, your phone dings with a new text from him.

“We essentially have to come up with five songs by the end of the semester, and put them together in a mini album.”

Your mouth falls open, eyes glued to the screen as you start reading all of the instructions. “Why the hell is he taking over Mrs. Oh’s class? Music theory does not involve any of the shit he’s sprouting in here.”

Spinning to face you, Changbin’s distress is back in tenfold. “I know! I heard he got mad people stopped taking him seriously and are skipping his boring class.”

Great, another washed-up professor who longed for his glory days. This university loved getting on your nerves and keeping you in a constant state of stress and anxiety, like worrying about your future wasn’t already giving you enough of that. You should have just chosen Yonsei.

Exhaling loudly, you throw your phone to the side and push your hair back. “All right, a mini album about what? Because I’m sure he’s not giving us any creative freedom here.”

Changbin nods, reaching for his coffee. “The five stages of grief.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

After you almost popped a blood vessel because of Mr. Kim on Friday and established how and when you were going to start working on those songs with Changbin, Monday rolls around a bit too quickly for your liking.

You’ve spent the weekend thinking about it, measuring the pros and cons before deciding on accepting Jaemin’s invitation. The one which involved you getting off your butt and going to a football game. A game your ex was undoubtedly going to be present at, taking front stage.

You haven’t been to a game in almost five months, having stopped attending when things went sour in your relationship. Other than that, you have been going since your freshman year, when he was first made captain.

Football wasn’t one of your passions, never was, and never will be, but for him, you made an effort, and now your head was full of useless information about a sport you couldn’t care less about. A loss in your book, but a win at the time when it was serving a purpose. Now, you were no different from an old encyclopedia about a topic that has long stopped being relevant, outdated, pulled off the shelves to make room for the new, shinier books the students could reference in their papers.

But you had a plan.

You were going to show up, introduce Seohyun to Jaemin, and make sure they hit it off and then dip, preferably before the game even starts. It was brilliant, one of the best ideas you’ve come up with in a while. Nothing could go wrong, right? You were bound to get some good luck after the horrible run you’ve had, it was going to be alright. If a miracle were to somehow occur, you might not even bump into your ex.

However, since you chose to not share your plan with anyone, your friends were more than surprised as you sprung that on them, seemingly out of nowhere.

“You want to go where?” Chris lets out after a coughing fit, drinking from Jisung’s water. Seohyun and Jisung look just as taken aback, not understanding your sudden excitement, sharing concerned looks across the table.

“Please? It will be fun!” And then, you turn to Seohyun next to you, who froze with her milkshake halfway to her mouth. The noisy diner is suddenly quiet, almost like it shared their sentiments. “I want you to meet someone!”

She points to herself, even more confused. “Me? You’re doing this for me?”

Jisung leans over the table, getting a hold of your hand so your attention can be on him. “What are you planning, you little minx?”

You feel Chris’ eyes bore holes into the side of your head, staring at you intently, in the hopes of breaking through the wall you set up and reaching your true feelings. He knew you too well – there was no way you were as excited as you let out to be.

And you agreed but maybe this was exactly what you needed. The best way to confront your fears was head-on. The more you kept running, the more you let them control every aspect of your life, allowing misery to be present at every hour of the day.

Maybe this was the first step you needed to take in order to feel like your old self again, the person you were before him. Before his love destroyed you.

And so, you try your best to ignore the look in Chris’ eyes, shaking off the discomfort his scrutiny has brought forth. “I’ve found your prince charming.”

Seohyun is surprised, eyebrows meeting her hairline as she sets down her drink, reaching for your other hand. “Babe – “

“Come on, stop worrying, all of you. We’re going to have fun!”

They’re silent, staring at each other as if they were trying to decipher the way they should approach this, how to respond. Your smile is strained but doesn’t falter, putting on your most convincing mask. Fake it till you make it and then you’ll feel alright.

In the end, Chris sighs, defeated. “Okay. Let’s go.”

You don’t get the chance to celebrate before his voice softens, gently redirecting your attention to his last words. “But if at any time, you feel the need to leave, or just get bored or whatever, you let me know, yeah?”

Once again, it looked like he managed to read your mind and find your original plan, proof of how well he knew you.

And that’s exactly how you ended up by the football field later that day, up in the bleachers searching for your seats, a little after four pm. One of your other friends, Jeongin, got here earlier to pick the best ones, close to the stairs to aid in your quick escape.

Even for a pre-season game, every single student seemed to be here, the stadium packed with people from all departments, all excited to cheer for their favorite team. And the guys on them. As your gaze trails downwards, to the field and the players who are currently crowded by a small group of girls, you manage to recognize all of their faces. Their long time girlfriends are wearing their jerseys, fussing over their uniform and overall condition, making sure the guys were fit to play. On the opposite side of the field are the guys from Yonsei, not as loud and excited since this wasn’t their ‘homeland’, but still as supported and cheered on.

You manage to spot Daehyun, who’s looking a little worse for wear, pacing back and forth like his overall game plan changed in the blink of an eye. Odd.

“Guys, over here!” Jeongin yells, patting the seats beside him with the sweetest smile on his boyish face. Seohyun pulls you along, your hand in hers and the others follow, with Jisung still talking Chris’ ear off about some new video game he managed to beat last night. He couldn’t care less about football, he never has.

The moment you make it to your seats, you’re pulled into a brief hug Jeongin plans to escape a little too soon. When he makes to pull away, you only hug him tighter, which surprisingly, he isn’t mad about, laughing loudly. Seems like he has missed you just as much.

However, when the greetings continue around you, a nearby conversation prevents you from getting out of the way, too curious to sit down.

“Did you guys hear Hyunjin won’t be playing this season?” A girl sitting in the row below asks her friends, whose faces fall at the news.

Multiple gasps are heard, one more surprised than the other. “What? No way that’s true!”

“It is!” Another girl chimes in, nodding. “Apparently some other guy is taking his place. A rookie.”

And that’s the exact moment your world seems to collapse, eyes almost popping out of their sockets as you whip around to face the field once again, desperately searching for those familiar numbers on his back. In your haste, you don’t find them, and panic threatens to overtake you until your eyes land on the captain badge pinned on a red jersey. Something looks off though, because usually, under the big C, Hyunjin has two stars, and they were supposed to add another to signify the three years he’s spent as the captain of this team.

This badge has none.

Because the guy that’s currently taking off his helmet, shaking his head while smiling brightly at something his teammates have said isn’t Hyunjin.

It’s Jaemin.

#hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #miri’s favorites

205 notes · View notes

shysuccubusstuff · 2 days ago

Text

Bodyguard! Mr. Scarlatella:

Content: Yandere! Mr. Scarlatella but he is actually human + assassin + farmer! scarlatella; non proof-reading; female anatomy + dubcon/noncon + kidnapping + usage of substances (once for the kidnapping) + mindbreak + lovesick! Mr. Scarlatella; cunnilingus + breeding kink + baby trapping + possessive! dom + overstimulation + orgasm denial + creampie + impregnation + trophy wife! reader (kind of?)

Summary: You never imagined that the guy that was about to end your father's and your life would end up falling head over feels for you, but hey, at least you're alive, right?...

Word count: 4240 words.

Note: I just hate how my brain decides to get dry af as soon as I end with my exams/essays... btw, Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this!! I'm thinking about making a kind of pt. 2 but with Mr. Crawling, let me know if you would want to read it!! It's weird to go back to the more dark stuff when I had started to write less heavy stuff... I feel I may have gotten a bit too creative for his personality, so let me know!!

Note 2: Let me know if any content tag is missing-- I wrote this over a whole week so I may have forgotten some...

You were the daughter of one of the wealthiest so it was only natural for you to live under the feeling of being targeted by someone, even since you were a child. So when your father presented a new bodyguard for you, it was nothing out of the ordinary, just some new guy who would probably quit by the month (at most). So he arrived, long black hair falling in a cascade and deep purplish pupils that pierced you through his polarised glasses.

"Dear, this is the new bodyguard, I hope you know how to behave yourself, I don't want to keep on complaining to that damn company, they keep saying it's your fault, but it's impossible for it to be solely your fault, I mean, it's been over 10 bodyguards in less than two months... Anyways, I have to leave, Daddy has some work to do." With that, your father left, his expensive cologne lingering in the air as he slammed the door, the new bodyguard still on the entrance of your room, a slightly unsettling smile creeping on his lips as he stood there.

"So you won't even introduce yourself? Seriously, the quality of that damn company is so freaking low... Can't believe they didn't even teach you how to introduce yourself." The man bowed a bit, taking a small notebook and giving it to you. "What the...? So you're saying that you're still learning the language and don't want to mess up? Ugh, ok, whatever. What's your name?" The man with crimson hair refused to speak, stating that he had not received a proper code name yet. "Seriously? Can't even call your name cause they didn't gave it to you, well that's just perfect. Don't bother me, just stand outside or whatever, as if I care." With those last words, the man left, finally leaving you alone in your room. "What the heck is wrong with that dude? I'm gonna complain to that fucking company of security, how am I supposed to trust him when I don't even know his name..."

As time went on, you were slowly able to get to know him, getting to know that he was actually coming from Japan because of some "old acquaintance" he knew since many years ago, that he loved magic tricks and that he was actually quite... cute. It hurt to even think it, but it was true, he was a cute man, always behind you when you allowed him, always running around you with your delicious drink ready and your purse hanging off his shoulder. God, he even learnt how to do your nails, makeup and hair in case you wanted to get it done on the days you were just too lazy to get out of the house... He was even there that night.

You had waken up by around three in the morning, making your way to your door so you could get something to eat in the kitchen, soon noticing that Scarlatella (as you liked to call him in a kind of playful way because of his hair colour) was nowhere to be seen, but hey, he was human as well, maybe he just went to the bathroom or something like that. As you were about to arrive to the kitchen, you noticed that the mansion was a bit too quiet, one would even say that it would have been possible to listen to a pin dropping to the marble ground. Unsettled, you quickly made your way to your father's bedroom, but you soon found out that the bed was completely cold. Now alarmed, you run to his studio, the sound of your feet resonating all over the empty corridor as you forced the door open, soon finding a terrible scene.

It was your father, well, what used to be your father, as his body was already turning cold, his skin turning slightly blue with clear signs of choking. Just as you were about to scream, your vocal cords were unable to produce a sound, your lungs being completely filled with a strange air that made you gasp for hair before you started to feel lightheaded. As you felt your conscience drift, you silently cursed that stupid company and that useless yet slightly charming man.

By the time you woke up, you soon noticed that your whole body was intact, expect for slight marks of rope on your wrists. As soon as you recovered a bit, you took a deep breath, deciding to try and scream to the top of your lungs in case someone could hear you.

"Hey! Someone there? Some crazy jackass has kidnapped me and---!" Suddenly, the heave iron door was opened, a familiar face entering the room.

"Good morning, dearest. I'm so glad you were finally able to open your eyes, you see, it was a bit difficult to get the amount of dose correctly, as I have never tried to keep someone as tiny and beautiful as yourself." Your old bodyguard entered, the heavy door closing behind him as he brought a tray on one of his hands. "Here, I brought you a few things I know you like." You looked at the delicious-looking food, your mouth watering as you saw all your favourite desserts, together with a bunch of your most beloved fruits. Despite the confusion, you tried to keep it together, looking to the other side and refusing to do what he asked. "Dearest, you've been asleep for over t--" Before he could end his sentence, you had already hit the tray with one of your legs, sending the appetizing food.

"Why the fuck are you here? You failed protecting me-- Fuck, you left my father to die, you're lucky I'm tied here cause I would crush your fucking skull with my---" The crimson-haired man got closer, dangerously close, in fact, his warm breath hitting against your face.

"Oh dear, I always knew you had quite the filthy mouth, but you must have been quite shocked to see that pig like that... I understand, I would never stop loving you for something trivial like that... Nor for anything, to be fair." His cold hands touched your face, the callouses in his hands making you frown even more than before.

"Listen fucker---." The man covered your mouth with his much larger hand, the shivers resulted from the cold shifting into goosebumps from the fear.

"Shh, dear. I understand, no need to explain it to me. I will make sure to re-educate you so you can go back to your natural self, that pig tricked your poor mind, but I will be able to fix it for you, see? I’m being such a good man for you, after all, I was supposed to kill you, but I even decided to turn my back to my client and let you live, I even avoided someone to think that you were alive. It was a bit of a hassle, but hey, I would do everything for you, dear.” The man finally got away from your face, taking the tray that had fallen to the ground because of you, together with the food that had been smashed to the ground. “It’s ok, dear. I understand this will take some time, luckily, I have all the time in the world, you just need some… hard love. I’m sure you will start to appreciate my company and care soon enough.” With that, the man smiled one last time to you, leaving the room with the sound of the heavy iron door closing, leaving you in the middle of the dark.

Since that moment, your slow torture started. The man left you in the dark for who knows how long, covering your eyes with a soft cloth, only taking out when he was around so he could start to… kind of associate him with the light, you supposed. He kept bringing you scrumptious plates, from your favourite foods to exotic ones. Of course, that was until the… maybe over tenth time you had throw his tray to the ground. That time, he simply took the tray, taking once again all the food on the floor and leaving in complete silence. The next time you was him was after… maybe one whole day? Your stomach kept rumbling, and what began as anger quickly became desperation, then crying and finally crying while screaming.

By around two months, your mind and body had become completely accustomed to his timetable and behaviour, letting him pet you as you ate what he brought, letting his hands clean your whole body and hair, not even complaining when you felt his hands drift towards your more private parts. Scarlatella looked extremely content with his work, rewarding you with constant praises and even a “pretty” collar for you. Despite it was a clear symbol of your turn into a kind of pet, the collar was beautiful, the gold glistening under the cold light as the beautiful charm with the form of a heart made a small noise of a bell each time you moved.

“Do you like it? I wanted something to congratulate you, after all, you have finally graduated. You are now back to your natural self.” You nodded, letting your head fall on his lap as he kept petting you. “I was thinking about giving you whatever you want, you can just ask.” He waited patiently until you were able to think about something other than the warmth that was coming from his body.

“…Freedom. I want to leave this room, please.” His eyes widened a bit, perhaps surprised that you were still able to think about your freedom.

“Dear, I know this can get suffocating, but you must stay here, it’s for your sa—”

“Please! I can feel my mind… slipping. This is getting worse each day, I… I don’t want do it, but the constant darkness is making me… think about… Just give me a bigger place, I don’t need something as fancy as my house, just something bigger than this room.” Scarlatella looked at you with a puzzled expression, his hand still massaging your scalp as he thought. Finally, he answered, not before letting a deep sigh.

“I suppose that’s fine. I can think of a story to explain your sudden appearance. Give me a few days so I can get everything ready, yeah? Promise I will do it.” As soon as he said that, he got up from the sofa that was in the room, quickly leaving the place before you were able to beg him to keep his promise.

Contrary to what you believed, Scarlatella kept his promise, coming back with a small suitcase and some clothes for you to change yourself, taking your hand as he made you walk with your eyes covered by that well-known cloth. When you were finally told to take it off, you were in the middle of a beautiful flower field. All the flowers were spider lilies, making it seem as if it was some kind of blood-filled battlefield.

“Do you like it, dear? I had to pay some money so they could build this house, together with planting these flowers.” He kept his grip around your wrist tight, not hurting you, but not letting go either. As he opened the door, you finally saw the house. It was a beautiful villa, completely decorated with cottage-like furniture.

“Yes, I like it.” Scarlatella smiled, a strange sheen in his gaze.

Soon, you realised why was he looking at you like that. You had fallen completely into his plan for turning you into his wife. He had created some complex story about you being his wife for over eight years, having to separate because you had been taking care of your sick father while he worked to the bone to get you as much as he could for the moment you came back to him. Everyone in the small hometown believed him, after all, he had been working there as farmer for quite some time, using it as a mere disguise so he could plan every little detail, creating a perfect façade so everyone would simply nod and smile to whatever he said. After that, your role became the one of a housewife, making you bake, cook, and clean, keeping the house warm and tidy by the time he arrived back home.

Soon, the days started to melt together, and your deep engraved hatred for him turned into a less bitter resentment. After all, he was the one that was providing for you, keeping you all warm and cozy while buying every single thing you asked him for, never doing anything that could hurt you. Slowly but surely, your mind started to reshape once again, now seeing him as a still intimidating, yet protecting figure. With that, it was finally the perfect ground for Scarlatella to create his perfect little wife.

Since that moment, Scarlatella started to become more physical with you, helping you around with all the cooking, “accidentally” rubbing his groin against your ass while he pretended to search for something on the top shelf. Not only that, but he made sure you could see him as a capable man, carrying the animals over his shoulder with ease, other times he was simply fixing stuff around the place. But the last moment he needed for your brain to start to see him as a possible partner was when you found him around town playing with the small children from the orphanage. He was surrounded by all of them, lifting them around and making them fly across the hair, his relaxed smile plastered on his face as he tried to make them control themselves as they waited their turn. Your eyes widened a bit, surprised to see him in such a… casual scene. So when he got back home, his working shirt slightly drenched because of the sudden rain that had started quite recently. The shirt was getting clung on his body, making his lean and muscular body stand out even further.

“Hey dear, how was your day? I hope it went great. Sorry I’m late, can’t believe I got caught in the middle of the rain while I was finishing some errands…” As he said that, he made his way around the kitchen, taking off his shirt and leaving it hanging on one of the chairs, surrounding your smaller frame with his arms. “I missed you so much, dear.” You tried your hardest to pretend not to notice, but of course you did, fuck, his groin was rubbing against your ass, and even then, it was clear that he was quite… gifted, down there. Still, you simply tightened the grip on the knife, biting your lips as you kept trying to focus on the food you were cooking.

Ever since that moment, you were no longer able to control yourself, always orbiting around him with your hand tightly wrapped around his arm every single time any other persons started to look way too affectionately at him. Scarlatella quickly noticed this, looking completely pleased with how he had been able to fix your precious little brain into a loving wife. In fact, he even started to pamper you even further, kissing your forehead every morning, asking you to let him shower together… Of course, you said yes.

So then, the two of you entered the bathroom, slowly undressing each other as the water started to warm up. “Love, you look so nice like this… All naked for me… I could just eat you up.” His hand drifted around your body, making your body shiver under his hands, and even if you were about to kiss him, he got away, extending his hand so he could help you get inside the bathtub. “Let me help you, dear.”

As the two of you finally entered the bathtub, he calmly traced your body with the sponge, making sure to scrub your skin without causing any type of harm. Then, he moved to your hair, taking the bottle of shampoo and scrubbing it while he hummed a little tune. Then, he focused on himself, redoing everything he had done to you. As he did that, your naked bodies kept pressing against each other, making you squirm at the slightest touch and forcing you to let small whimpers out every time you felt his lower half rub against your back. Finally, Scarlatella lost his composure as you kept pressing against him on purpose. “Dear… I have a feeling that you’ve been quite, eager to make our relationship more physical, am I right?” His eyes were now fixated on your face, making you feel even more flustered as you avoided his gaze. “Oh sweetheart, if you wanted that, I could have given it to you any time, after all, I do believe it is time we get to expand our little family.” And despite you would have normally shivered in disgust, this idea now started to charm you. So you nodded, accepting whatever he wanted you to do at that point. “Then we should get to business, let me get you ready love.” With that said, Scarlatella finally kissing your lips, his tongue entering your oral cavity as if he had been starving for a long time. “You taste so good… I could stay like this forever.” Scarlatella kept kissing you, his hands starting to glide towards your chest, starting to play with your nipples as his tongue kept exploring your mouth. “Dear… I think we should move to our bedroom; I don’t want your first time to hurt.”

“Oh, that’s fine, not like it’s my first time, you know, I did it a few times before you became my-.” Before you were able to finish your sentence, Scarlatella was already getting the two of you out of the bath, lifting you up and carrying you over to the bedroom he had been preparing for quite some time. Despite his gaze looked a bit crazed out, he let you down softly on the bed.

“It seems I was a bit too gentle with you, that was my fault. I suppose you must prefer someone meaner, treat you as if you were a little fuck toy, I suppose your brain is still not that adapted to having a husband, that’s ok, I will fix it.” With nothing left to say to you, he got on top of you, towering over your smaller body as he started to kiss your neck. “I just wish I could have arrived earlier… Get to be your first, let you make me yours…It’s a shame we had to meet under those circumstances.” And even regardless his almost apologising words, his actions were crude, clearly showing his uncontrollable desire to make you completely his. “… I should definitely get you pregnant, make sure everyone knows who your husband is, let’s see if any other fucker tries to get with my sweet wife.” As he kept mumbling to himself, his lips started to make a trail towards your chest, moving even further down as your moans got louder. Suddenly, he got away from you for a second, taking something from the small nightstand. Still quiet, he opened the small bottle, letting the sticky liquid help him prepare your pussy for him. “Not like you will need it, apparently you were more prepared than me.”

“Come on, it’s not like we are… fuck, I don’t know, it’s just, it’s not like you are a virgin, right? There’s no need for---”

“I am.” His hands stopped for a second, his fingers a few inches away from entering you. “I’ve been investigating so I could make it as comfortable for you as possible, but that’s ok, I will make sure our next time is perfect… Let’s just use this time for letting you know how this works.” Without further due, Scarlatella started to tease your entrance, rubbing his fingertips against your entrance, while his other hand started to move towards your weak spot, starting to tease your clit as he kept kissing your neck. As the minutes went on, you started to notice a weird warmth inside your cunt, making your tears swell up in your eyes as Scarlatella kept teasing you.

“Stop— Can’t—It feels weird, like really weird, it’s not normal!” Scarlatella smiled wickedly, his eyes darkening as he saw how your pussy kept releasing your sticky fluids, with no shame, he got his face closer, starting to leave kitty licks over your clit before he began to fuck your entrance with his tongue, making you cry due to the overstimulation as he kept stopping just before you could release. This torture kept going for a couple minutes, making you clench the sheets, biting your lips as you kept mumbling barely understandable words: “Please, please… Just—Please! Fuck, please, let me cum, please, please…” Your words kept slurring, making him smile at the beautiful portrait he had been able to turn your gorgeous face into, he caressed your face with one of his hands, his lips still curved into an amused look as your face had become a mixture of snot, tears, and saliva. Suddenly, you felt Scarlatella’s arms wrap around you, lifting you from the bed and letting you lay on his lap, his unclothed erection rubbing against your clit, rocking your body back and forth as he kept taunting you.

“I just can’t believe you preferred some random person over me, love. I’ve waiting for you my whole life, I even learnt all this… tricks to get you to feel as good as possible.” All of sudden, his tip went in, barely letting you get ready as he kept pushing it inside and out, making your eyes water as he kept tormenting you for a few minutes more, his gaze becoming more and more obscure as his erection just kept growing. “Fuck, whatever… I’ll just have to prove you that nobody will ever fuck you like I can, get you pregnant so you can only see me… love me…” His eyes lightened for a second just from the thought, and before you even noticed, your back was once again pressed against the mattress, with Scarlatella towering over you as he was finally able to gradually introduce his whole length, the stretch making you whine and cling to his back. “You feel so good around me, love… Just wait, I’ll fill you up, fill your pretty pussy with my cum so nobody ever tries to get too close to you—You’ll look so pretty with your tummy all round—” As Scarlatella’s hips started to punish your sore cunt, you were finally able to cum, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs locked around him, as a poor attempt on getting him to stop for a second.

“Wait—Too soon, I can’t get pregnant yet!” You pushed a bit against his lower abdomen, your hands barely stopping him as they kept shaking because of the constant orgasms that just kept pilling up, forcing your brain to become more and more fuzzy each time. It was then that Scarlatella wrapped his own hands around your waists, using them as mere handles for him to push the tip of his cock just a bit further, just enough for you to cum once more with a pathetic whine. Despite you had already cum all over him, Scarlatella’s thrusts didn’t slow down, if not growing stronger as his mind was already too far gone.

“Gotta get you pregnant—That’s all I need—Fill your pretty pussy with my cock and get you to- Fuck- cream all over my cock, that’s it baby… Cum all over your husband, make a mess on my cock, you’re doing so good love…” His words kept resonating in your mind, almost as if it was some kind of chant, and despite you tried your best to endure it, your brain gave up, after all, Scarlatella had been taking care of you so nicely… It wouldn’t hurt to let him keep doing it for the rest of his life… right? As Scarlatella kept muttering to himself, his cock was already twitching, signifying just how close he was to releasing his essence inside of you. With your mind now completely broken, you smiled, your arms and legs tightening around his waist as his cock kept hammering against your cervix, one of his hands carefully pressing against the lower half of your abdomen, causing the pleasure to just build up even further as he finally released his load inside of you, his constant groans now turning into soft praises and kisses. “You did so good, love… Let me take care of everything from now on, I will make you the happiest wife ever, no need to think about anything, just promise to tell me everything you need or want, yeah? I’ll be the best husband int the world.” His hands kept petting your hair as his cock started to deflate inside you, still remaining inside as he refused to pull out in case some of his essence spilled out. “Let’s wait a bit, love. I will prepare the bath in few minutes; I just want to make sure everything goes correctly.” He peppered a few kisses all over your face, his hand rubbing your tummy as he kept imagining that near future he had been longing for.

#fanfiction #x reader #smut #homicipher #homicipher headcanons #mr scarletta #mr scarletella #mr scarlatella x reader #mr scarletta x reader #mr scarletta smut #mr scarlatella smut #mr scarletta hc #mr scarlatella hc #homicipher smut #homicipher scarletella #homicipher x reader

77 notes · View notes

erensfeed · 2 days ago

Text

winter & christmas moments | hcs

featuring. rafayel, sylus, zayne, xavier & caleb + reader

content. fluff + random things they’d do during xmas/winter as your bf

note. happy holidays !! pls i wrote this to cope with how i feel about them not being under my tree this year and most importantly.. under ME.

i don’t wanna talk ab it.

rafayel.

buys a big cozy house in paris just to spend the holidays together privately with you.

when it would be time to open up your gifts, he would watch your reactions to his christmas presents all through.

i’m talking studying your micro-expressions.

gets you this rare gorgeous heart shaped locket

“i also got a tiiny photo of us in there too. see? that way, when you open and close it… we’re kissing.”

gently takes it from your hand to show you, as he opens and closes it many many times with this excited look across his face.

eyes and plans to burn each and every gift to you by everyone else though. especially the ones by thomas.

and does.

because he felt your reaction to thomas’ gift was way better than his

when you’d eventually find out (again)…

“hey what don’t take his side, it’s his fault for getting you flammable gifts in the first place”

you’d make him promise to gift him back money in return and he would be all grumpy pouty about it but still does so

ends up re-buying you all the gifts he burnt, so it feels like they're all from him and were all his idea first.

anyway, you’d spend christmas indoors this year because your company is all he needs and by the fireplace, you would share your warmth with him in more ways than one..

sylus.

flies you out to your favorite snowy country, where you’d come to find out that he secretly bought a house near its snowy mountains just for you.

decorates your huge christmas tree with you and carries you (and uses his evol to), to help you place an angel on top of it.

“cute.”

“ikr omg” you’d say

he was talking about you

you’d think you would’ve at least seen/guessed all the unwrapped gifts he got you under the tree

here comes more ON christmas day AND the day after. and the week. and the month

up until new years. and valentines. and—

would gift you all you talked ab like once. specially gets you stunning (garnet) jewelries and more in your favorite gemstones

you’d somehow convince him to wear this big floofy matching christmas polar bear onesie with you btw

tells you he though he ‘doesn’t do cheesy’

matches with you anyway

tucked diamond earrings in the pocket of your onesie just to see your reaction when you find it.

surprises you with a private winter concert performed by a band

you’d try to pull him to dance with you in the snow and he would purposely stay rooted in his spot at first, just to see you struggle to pull him with all your might before he complies with a chuckle.

yes you'd both be wearing your onesies as he dances sweetly with you.

knows how much you LOVE the holidays so he makes it worth remembering

yeah you take that as you will too

zayne.

wakes up earlier than you to quietly add more decorations to the entire apartment by himself while you’re asleep, so that you wake up to fairy lights and your favorite seasonal flower

“omg zayne, you… you did all this? for me?”

“yes.”

LMAOO SORRY ITS SO FUNNY FOR NO REASON WHENEVER I REMEMBER THAT HE

says yes as he comes up to you to kiss your forehead

“merry christmas:)”

keeps a detailed list of your favorite winter activities to do in his pocket

and lots of candy canes & peppermint candies too when you go out together

would take you to a private snow resort and he’d try to teach you how to snowboard

looks even hotter on a snowboard

hot when on a snowboard

hot

when on

a snowboard

makes you hot chocolate drinks with smiley faces marshmallows as you watch your favorite christmas movies.

xavier.

admires you as you bake cookies until you ask him to try making a batch after watching you.

he successfully does… until he adds an excessive amount of much sugar

gives you the exact same look he does when he loses a plushie LMFAOOO

“… i think i added a little too much.”

is a pro at building gingerbread houses

eats all the gingerbread men

“idk what happened.. i tried to save them but a christmas ghost ate them all before i could”

adorable thoughtful gift giver

stared jeremiah DOWN when he handed you his own gift and flowers

felt the need to tell you he gave jeremiah the idea to gift you those.

THAT BOY IS LYINGG

gives you a very festive night that same day (week)

whispers soft promises of forever while the snowflakes fall

possessive freaky xavier yum

#needthat

caleb.

wears a santa hat as he’s wrapping gifts for everyone you both know

“caleb what are you doing to that poor wrapping paper” you’d ask

“hey what i thought it looked good :(”

“it doesn’t”

ok it does if you squint hard enough

(if you close your eyes)

gets you matching gorgeous ugly christmas sweaters for when you go out together in it.

“we’re not wearing that”

you wear it.

helps the elderly you come across cross the street and wishes them merry christmas / happy holidays

purposefully steps under every mistletoe to get a kiss from you

“coome on pipsqueak ;) bring it in”

takes you ice skating

loves when you cling onto him so you don’t fall.

kisses all over your face to make you laugh after a deep sad/meaningful convo ab life after talking about nothing and everything under the stars while sharing a big scarf together

136 notes · View notes

queenburd · 1 day ago

Text

Hi, yes, I know it's been a minute since I wrote fic. it's been a long year. have this. Happy holidays.

-----

I don’t know how to explain to you that the Parable is both a prison and a home, so instead I’ll say this:

The Narrator has been trying to make changes.

Not big changes, mind you! Not to the story, and not to the structure of the place. Endings remain untouched, halls stay as they are, going where they have always gone except for when the game decides they should go someplace else. The Narrator leaves it all in place, because why fix something that’s not broken?

No. No, it’s small things he’s trying to change. The painting in Stanley’s office. The textures of the chairs.

Let’s talk about that.

See, Stanley isn’t happy. This is abundantly clear, in the way he walks about the office—sometimes bored, sometimes irritated, but mostly… lost. There’s vacancy in his eyes. He’s walking just to do something. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, and while this can fill him with a deep-seated anger, lately it’s been making him…

Rather morose.

And this is a problem, for the Narrator.

It isn’t just that he wants Stanley to follow the story (although that would be nice, wouldn’t it), but he struggles to properly grasp why the quiet misery eats at him. Perhaps—perhaps he feels inadequate? He certainly thrives off positive feedback, and withers when criticized before striking with a sharper tongue than he means to. Or maybe, maybe he worries that Stanley isn’t truly… hearing him? Isn’t responding to him. That certainly doesn’t sit right with the Narrator.

And yet, for all that these are genuine, selfish reasons the Narrator has to feel bothered by Stanley’s dismal attitude, none of it really grips at the core of him. None of it captures the reality he’s still trying to come to grips with.

He wants Stanley to be happy. If… if Stanley isn’t happy, then the world is wrong.

And the Narrator must fix it.

So! The changes. Yes. You know, he thought it would be simple enough to change the textures of the chairs in the office, to start. They’re only office chairs, after all. And they look terribly uncomfortable, Stanley is always trying to stretch out his lower back when he stands from a reset, surely the Narrator can make them a bit more plush? A bit more, er, ergonomic, that’s the word! More comfortable. With armrests!

It can’t be so hard to edit the model.

Er, tangent, completely unrelated, really, don’t look too hard into it—have you ever seen a video game asset clip and break into the floor with such a violence that it threatens to throw the assets around it into a warped amalgam of broken and stretched textures?

Okay, have you ever seen every single type of that asset on a map try to do this at the same time?

The entire office seemed to jitter, and Stanley had run nearly all the way to the two doors room before a violent reset had returned their world into its normalcy.

“I swear, Stanley, I wasn’t trying to kill you! I was trying to—I just—I wanted to—oh, but it was supposed to be a surprise—oh, what’s the use. The cat’s gone and killed itself in the bag.”

It's an unmitigated disaster, one that threatens to completely overtake him and make him throw in the towel, but Stanley sees his new painting (nothing special, simply one of the other assets already in the office), and he—he touches it simply with the tips of two fingers, and he sort of smiles a crooked half-smile, and.

If the Narrator can make that smile happen again, isn’t it worth trying?

(The painting changes out every handful of resets, and Stanley—he always taps it just once, when it does. An acknowledgment. But it’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough!)

Alright, so, back to the drawing board on the chairs. In the meantime, what else? Office decor? The Narrator kicks around the idea of balloons for a bit, but he shelves it. It might be tacky, and there’s so many options on what they might say. Perhaps desk displays! Yes, more variety in the office. He’s not technically meant to let Stanley play Solitaire, since it distracts from the story, but, you know, to hell with it. Solitaire, and Minesweeper, the Narrator even considers a rare Mahjong game before he forcibly reminds himself that minimal is good, and these types of computer would not have it, and really, Mahjong is a little above Stanley’s mental faculties, isn’t it?

Alright, so technically, none of these spawn at Stanley’s computer—it’s important that his monitor display the lack of orders. But his coworkers, well, maybe a couple of them are slouching off, the Narrator excuses. And hell, maybe, if Stanley ever asks, the Narrator can let him play in office 427 and. And…

Oh, what’s he thinking? Giving Stanley other games to play, when his is supposed to be the star? What’s he doing?

He’s… is this fixing it? Is this making it more bearable for Stanley? (Is his game really so bad to play that Stanley would play other games instead?)

Stanley sees the monitors, and he pokes at the games, but he says little and the Narrator doesn’t address them, too afraid of the answer he’ll get. And eventually, Stanley returns to wandering the halls and playing the game made for him.

Is… is that a failure? Is that success? The Narrator can’t tell.

Focus. Try to focus. Remember why this is so important. His memory is faulty (a fact that still frightens him), but he still holds right to the fundamental point, even when the thought of Stanley’s near-smile distorts and becomes distant. The point. The point is happiness. The point is Stanley’s happiness. That’s what the story is about, right? That’s what he wrote.

A quarter appears on Stanley’s desk, unannounced. It lasts through the reset following that run’s ending, and the reset after that. When he finds the second quarter, left unceremoniously by a mug in the meeting room, he pockets it. When the reset hits, it sits on top of the first quarter, by the phone in his office.

The Narrator comments on none of it, and pretends the air does not grow thick with anticipation each time Stanley stops in place and examines the tiny, unassuming things, hardly out of place save for the mere fact they were not there before.

In this way, Stanley finds small change throughout the building’s many twists and turns, until after many many resets, the final quarter appears on a low coffee table in the lounge.

And, one ending later, Stanley is dropping his small hoard into the thin slot on the vending machine. Each coin makes a satisfying cla-chunk, a noise the Narrator is exceptionally proud of implementing so perfectly.

And then…

Stanley chooses a beverage. The machine gives another very satisfying ca-clunk as it drops a small can with a green label at his feet. The label is nondescript, just like the blurry options on the vending machine, but there you are. The Narrator watches with bated breath as Stanley picks up the can…

And waves it above his head, scowling.

“Mm?” The fellow tries to come off as unbothered. Distracted. Uninterested. “What? What’s that you’ve got, then? Oh, it’s a can of soda! What a stroke of luck you’ve had, getting a drink from a machine that purportedly doesn’t work! Surely, things are turning up in your favor.”

Stanley continues to scowl, which is…. Befuddling. Shouldn’t he be delighted by this?

“And what exactly is the problem? Got the wrong flavor, have you?”

The lines deepen on the office worker’s face. No, no, this isn’t right! A hand moves to ask a question, in line with the clear irritated query he offers the Narrator—

[ What the hell is this? ]

“Hmph. I already said what it is, or are you really intent on not listening to me? It appears to be one of your classic canned beverages, chilled of course, like it says on the machine.”

[ I know that, ] Stanley insists, [ but it’s not supposed to work. You changed it, didn’t you? ]

Ah, now’s the time to take the credit, to accept the praise and preen a bit under it, before humbling oneself politely. To offer it as a sign of generosity, yes!

“Well, I certainly can’t deny that I had a hand in the matter of getting the machine to function! It really did take a bit of figuring out, but I think the effort was worth it in the end to get something that really—“

Stanley cuts him off with a motion from both arms, like an X in front of his body before slicing through the air. His grimace remains.

[ Why? ]

There’s no gratitude. There’s no joy. There’s only a deep distrust, and the Narrator flounders in the face of it.

“Why? Well I—I thought—well I just thought it might make for a, a nice change. A little mini game maybe, I don’t know! Honestly, I thought you’d be more grateful about this, Stanley, you’re always in here prodding at the machine despite my repeated comments that it’s just a textured box—isn’t this what you wanted?”

[ Since when has what I want mattered? You just want praise. That’s why you’ve been changing things in the office, isn’t it? You want to make your stupid office setting more realistic. ]

It shouldn’t hurt, really, but it does anyway. To be told that his intentions aren’t genuine, to be told he has ulterior motives—and, worse, to wonder if Stanley is correct. Is this another selfish attempt on his part? Is this just a way to make himself feel better? To, perhaps, offload his guilt?

The Narrator fumbles, and then he falls back on his tried-and-true technique—he pushes back. He’s not proud, but it’s so instinctive, don’t you see?

“Now look here. Don’t you pretend you haven’t appreciated a break from what you yourself have described as the monotony. You’re actively gaining something out of this, there’s no need to be so ungrateful about it! Can’t you appreciate the work I’m putting in for you, for once?”

An accusatory finger pointed up at the ceiling, almost in victory. Stanley shakes the can still in his hand, and throws it at the wall between two paintings. It near about explodes.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done! All that hard work, all that change, and for what?! A smear on a wall. Great job, Stanley. You really showed me.” There’s a sneer in his voice. He’s angry. He’s upset. He’s been rejected again.

He just doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong.

“What do you want to hear, that I changed a few paintings and added a few features and made an entirely new mechanic, just for you to pump up my ego? Do you really think so little of me, or that I care so much for your opinion of me? Is it really so hard to believe that I just wanted to try to ease your misery?”

Stanley stares at the smear on the wall with a furrowed brow, his eyes dark and his mouth a grim line. The Narrator just keeps talking, like he can’t stop. He just can’t stop.

“Look at me, I’m Stanley, I’m trapped in an office building with only a narrator for company, and he’s so awful, really! He wrote me a whole story where I end up happy and he tries to get along with me but he’s just so terrible, he lets me play games that aren’t the one he made just for me, what a horrible fellow!”

Stanley covers his ears but that’s never helped. He storms out of the lounge and then across the maintenance room, and then through the meeting room into the closet. The door doesn’t slam behind him but it’s a near thing.

“Yes! Fine! Go into your little room where I can’t see you, who wants to talk to you anyhow?! Who wants to engage with someone who outright refuses to accept a gift offered to him?! Not me. I have better things to do with my time."

It will be a couple hours before Stanley leaves the broom closet. When he goes to the Freedom ending, it’s a clear attempt at a peace offering—but it’s obvious from both his slow steps through the mind control facility and the lack of drama in the Narrator’s voice that neither of their hearts are in it.

The Narrator is not proud. And he takes away all the changes he made, not as a punishment, but because they were stupid. It was stupid of him to try to make this place better. It’s never going to be better and he’s never going to be more than the fellow keeping Stanley here.

He can’t make Stanley happy, can he? He can’t be enough. Of course he would never be enough.

Stanley wanders through the building again, and again. The Narrator says his lines best as he can, but he know his performance is slipping. The tired, lost look returns to Stanley’s face.

“Do I remember the Confusion Ending?” the Narrator repeats, when Stanley prods him after a reset at some point. “Er… no, no let me think for a moment—that’s the one with a LineTM? I think? Yes, I have a note here somewhere on that,” he says, feeling more confident, “although I don’t think you and I have ever found it, so—oh. No? That’s not right? We’ve… we’ve done that one?”

Stanley nods.

“Oh.”

The voice makes a noise, like a throat clearing.

“Did we, um, did we just do that one?”

Stanley nods again.

“Oh. That’s…. I see.”

It never ceases to unsettle the voice. It tries to power through, best as it can.

“Is there um, is there any particular reason you’re asking?”

Stanley seems to think this over. He signs, cautiously, [ You say some things. I was never sure if you actually meant them, or if it was another joke at my expense. ]

“What sort of things do I supposedly say, then? Maybe I can clear up any—aheh, aheheh, confusion, I suppose.”

Stanley doesn’t smile at the joke, though his mouth does a complicated thing. He warily opens up the shape of his memories, and the Narrator brushes a metaphorical finger across a metaphorical page. The voice tries, tries terribly hard, to let it roll naturally over the both of them instead of forcing them through the ordeal.

(Remembering a memory and reliving a memory, they’re not supposed to be so different. Still, you don’t feel like you have hindsight in this way. You’re in that moment, same as you had been, without being quite able to separate yourself from it.)

“Just me and Stanley, forging a new path, a new story! Well, it could be anything! What do you want our story to be?”

When the voice is itself again, its fingers drawn back from the page, it finds itself somewhere just left of shaken. Composure. The Narrator must find his composure.

“Well, that’s… that was certainly an, um, an enlightening experience!” he tries. “I guess that explains the Adventure Line™️ that I’ve found in the files. I had wondered when I would need to use that feature.”

Stanley is looking at the ground.

“Well… what’s wrong? It—oh, yes, you were asking me—“

[ Even if you meant it then, I don’t think you mean it now, ] Stanley signs, and no, no that just won’t do.

“Would you even let me finish speaking before you come to some kind of foregone conclusion! For goodness’s sake, Stanley—“

The Narrator sighs. Melancholy overtakes him, when he speaks again.

“I’m trying to make you understand, I’ve been trying and trying but I just can’t seem to get through to you. Stanley, my story ends with you being happy.”

There’s a vicious snap of the head up as Stanley visibly prepares to retort.

“No, please let me finish, I’m not done! I’m trying to make a point here! I’m… I’m trying to explain.”

Stanley, still visibly unhappy, holds his metaphorical tongue.

“The point… the point, Stanley, is your happiness. I know you don’t believe me, and, and I know that what you want more than anything is to leave. Believe me, if I could give you what you want, I would! If it were in my power, I, well I—“

(”I don’t want to be trapped like this!”)

He sighs. “There isn’t a way out. I know that isn’t what you want to hear. I’m really, truly sorry. But I do want to do what I can to make your time here… not miserable. Do you understand?”

Stanley is looking at the floor again. The Narrator tries, gently, to reiterate himself.

“I really do want to make you happy.”

Hands lift. They stay at chest height for a full minute. Then:

[ I can’t be. ]

It hurts, like nothing else. He can’t help the small, defeated, “oh,” that slips out.

“Okay. That’s… okay. I understand."

Fist to heart. Circles against a chest.

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” oh goodness, is the Narrator sniffling? He sounds, he sounds on the verge of tears. How humiliating. “What is there to apologize for? Listen, why don’t I load up button heaven for you, and you can have some time at least without me incessantly in your ear? That sounds nice, doesn’t it? Yes? With nice, big buttons to mess around with.”

After a long moment, Stanley nods, hesitant.

“Perfect. Let me just get that set up on your monitor. There you go. Have fun.”

He knows it’s not enough for Stanley. He knows Stanley is just trying to assuage him.

God, maybe there’s a benefit to forgetting. Maybe it stops the pain.

But if he forgets, then the lesson doesn’t stick, and the Narrator needs the lesson to stick, doesn’t he? So that he can be a realist about it all.

Stanley doesn’t trust him, and they are not friends.

Okay.

The Narrator prides himself on being a professional, so he collects himself best as he can and he performs to the best of his ability. If there’s any hint of despondency in his lines, well, there is plausible deniability, nobody can say for sure the script doesn’t call for it.

Nevermind that he’s said all the words, so many times.

He’s allowed to play with the delivery, he thinks.

He’s fine.

It’s when he goes off-script that the Narrator struggles more. He snaps at Stanley in their usual spats, they butt heads; and even then the voice finds it keeps exposing that vulnerable honesty in the hopes that maybe this time, it will be enough. Maybe this time, Stanley will see that it’s trying.

It’s a fool’s errand, obviously, but the Narrator is very much a fool.

And sometimes…

Sometimes Stanley seems…

Better.

How to describe it? The way he will move with intent, to do something as silly as jump out a window to hear a limerick, and grin, even though he’s heard it perhaps a hundred times? The crinkles in the corners by his eyes when he closes the doors in the hall attached to room 217, to stare inside the room with a focus that can only be for show?

He stacks mugs, sometimes, collecting every one in the cubicle rooms that he can find and carefully assembling them like one would with playing cards, with some kind of arrangement or sorting that the Narrator cannot make heads or tails of. Stanley tells him that he has a process, the fellow couldn’t possibly understand, and, well, that’s for sure.

Rating the game features every single possible number. Trying to beat the baby game with one finger stuffed in an ear while the other hand slams buttons. Walking up the stairs, then down the stairs, then back up the stairs, on the way to the boss’s office.

The Narrator doesn’t really know what to make of it all. Part of him, the part that’s easy to fall back to, wants to find it all irritating. Another wants to find it funny. Not charming, necessarily, but… silly. He wants it to continue, he would encourage it if he knew what to say. Would a joke be acceptable? Should he tease? Affect grumpiness? What’s the answer?

He’s never been very good at making choices. Once again, Stanley makes the choice for him.

[ The computers don’t change screens anymore. Did you do that? ]

“What? Oh, from—yes, I did end up removing that feature, with the computer card games,” he says, feeling a bit on the back foot.

[ And my office painting, ] Stanley continues, uncannily perceptive.

“Yes, well, I realized they weren’t doing much to—that is to say, when I realized they weren’t improving your experience, I—“

[ You didn’t do it because you were angry with me? ] It almost feels like an accusation, which stings, but then, hasn’t the Narrator lashed out before? Wouldn’t that be par for the course?

And the expression Stanley wears isn’t resentment. The Narrator can’t properly place it.

“Wh—no! Goodness, no, did you think I was trying to—Look, I know that there are endings where I act as though I’m trying to punish you, but those are part of the game!”

Stanley’s eyes go to the carpet. Oh, has he said something wrong again? Quick, salvage it!

“The changes weren’t making things better for you, like I had hoped. I scrapped them because they weren’t good, that’s all. You weren’t enjoying them. It wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to take something from you,” he says hastily, before adding, perhaps a bit too honestly, “To be honest, I just thought you didn’t care."

Stanley’s eyes don’t lift, but after an uncomfortable pause, his hands raise to reply with agonizing caution.

[ I didn’t dislike them. ]

(God, it’s like pulling teeth with this fool, getting him to show any kind of positive response.)

“Then I’ll put them back,” the Narrator tries to say casually. He feels… fluttery. Does that make sense? How can a voice feel fluttery? “Do you, um…”

Does he ask if Stanley wants the soda machine back, and force the man to acknowledge it was good, as though prying out praise? Does he wait for Stanley to bring it up first, forcing the protagonist into uncomfortable vulnerability?

Broaching the subject is… difficult, for the same reason either way: it means Stanley admitting he wants something.

Why is communication so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard, when half the party is just a voice!

Stanley finally looks up from the floor, and he focuses on the space between two light fixtures, above the copy machine. He shifts a little uncomfortably where he stands, arms crossing, then uncrossing, but at the very least, his expression takes on a determined and almost challenging air as he lifts his chin. Like he's making a decision.

[ If you wanted to implement that coin hunt for the soda machine... thing, I could give it another go. Make sure there aren't any bugs to work out. ]

“Oh?” He says, hopeful, catching the framework he's offered. “Yes, you know, I don't know that I got all the flavors right, you know? It's not as though I can test them out for myself. You'll have to give me thorough feedback on what needs improvement, so I'm sure it will keep you busy.”

The man squints, motions quick. [ You'll have to deal with real critical feedback, you know. You sure you want my real opinion, and not just some fluff for your ego? ] But there's the barely-there tug at the corner of his mouth, just visible in the pulling muscle of his cheek; a little tell that he's trying to joke.

“Oh, please, if anything, we can think of this as a way to educate you on how to thoughtfully and usefully critique game design and feature functionality. Genuine critique is an art and a skill, Stanley, one that I'm sure you could learn to appreciate,” the Narrator sniffs. The pride is a cover, of course. He's in on the joke.

They're on the same page, they're communicating. Of course, it makes sense, it's the perfect excuse for both of them to hide behind; if it's “new features” to implement for “the game”, then Stanley has to test them, doesn't he? To make sure they work effectively! And, if it curbs his boredom, if it gives him just a hint of enjoyment—of joy—then they both win, don't they? Stanley won't have to feel like he's admitting to liking what's been made for him, it won't be about praising the Narrator's game. It will be a matter of professionalism; of game maker and playtester.

But they'll know. It will be their little secret.

“You know,” the Narrator says thoughtfully as he glances over his many concepts and files and assets, “I'd been considering changing some of the office chairs to a newer model... A retexture isn't enough, I'm afraid, I'm thinking about loading up a different asset design program altogether.... Have you ever heard of a program called Blender?”

I don’t know how to explain to you that the Parable is both a prison and a home.

I can't quite find the words to properly convey to you that this place wasn't really meant to be changed, but it wants more than anything to be played, so anything that furthers that goal, that satiates that need, is acceptable in its metaphorical eyes. I can't really properly articulate that it was made to go on forever, so the two people inside it were designed to be diametrically opposed so they could pull at each other and make the world keep spinning.

It's a complicated concept, and I've been trying to find the words to explain that it's not malicious, it just wants to live. It was made like this, and it can't really be anything different.

But it's a small world, and it's malleable, and it's a game meant to make a person laugh. Maybe the point of it is to bring joy, right? Maybe it doesn't have to just bring joy to the player. Maybe a person can become comfortable inside it, and find its traits charming, or familiar, little quirks and needs and demands like any place that's lived in for long enough.

I don't really know how to explain that the Parable is complicated, and yet at the end of the day, an extremely simple mechanism.

So instead I’ll say this: The Narrator has been trying to make changes.

#the stanley parable #the sparrow parable #may writes #tsp fanfic

61 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 2 days ago

Text

The Assassin's Wife

─────── · · A 'Day of the Jackal' (TV series) FanFic

Pairing: Charles "Jackal" Calthrop x Wife!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: To put it simply, you are the wife of Charles Calthrop having met him at a work event over a decade ago, your romance was story-book perfection up until when you learned he kills people for a living...

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, fluff and angst, scenes of stalking, blood, violence, injury, guns, and obsessive behaviours, hurt/comfort, arguments, swearing, lying, kissing, the Jackal being a ultra charismatic mf, Marissa (OC), not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,570

─ · · A/N: post number 300! woohoo! soo... I kinda really loved this ask and wrote a whole bunch for it. Be ready for some fluff, angst, and then fluff again!

─────── · ·

─ · · You had been married to your husband, Charles, for well over a decade now. You had met him while attending a work event overseas, your job always had you traveling keeping you from starting any longterm relationships up until you met Charles that faithful night.

─ · · You remember the deep navy blue suit he wore with a light blue dress-shirt underneath. His accessories were silver and by the family signet ring on his finger, you knew him to be coming from wealth and to your surprise as he greeted you with a kiss to the back of your palm, he made his empire himself as he described to you over a few too many glasses at the bar.

─ · · Charles swept you off your feet that night with his lingering looks on your lips, the way he gently held your hand, interlacing your fingers before pulling you outside and to a cab. You remember his touch trailing up your thigh as you gasped at the back of the cab before clearing your throat and placing your head against his shoulder... much like the position you found yourself in currently as you watched your husband sleep, his arm snuggly around your side, head against his bare chest as you traced the various scars across it with curiosity.

Your husband explained to you the multitude of stories on how he obtained each scar and warp of skin as you kissed everyone the same; with love and attention as he had shown you. You simply adored how hard working he was, always away and coming back with that necklace you were eyeing in the market or a surprise vacation. But you couldn't help but miss him, want him with you, and you didn't know if that was selfish of you or not to want him with you constantly when he provided for you with utmost dedication.

─ · · But after so many years of gifts and hugs at the airport as you waved him goodbye. You felt lonely sitting in the parking lot wondering the next time you would see your husband and quite frankly, all of your friends told you he was most likely cheating on you by how often and long he was away without messaging or calling you.

You always waved away their concerns for your wellbeing as you took care of the estate, went to work for a few hours of the day before busying yourself with random hobbies and studying various topics for the off chance Charles would bring it up in conversation during one of his work rants, you liked to call them. Remembering the weight of his head in your lap, the feeling of his soft golden curls running through your fingers as he said every time, without fault, "I'd much rather be here with you, my love." But did he ever fall through with those words? no. But you loved your husband regardless.

─ · · You would always pick him up form the airport when he called the night before, waiting in a sundress with drinks and snacks ready in the car for the long ride back. Charles would place his large hand on your knee as you drove, charming you endlessly with his commentary the whole ride home, "I was beginning to forget just how beautiful you were, had to come back." "What an angel, you are. My guardian angel just meant for me." "You look as raidient as the sun in that dress, my love." "Remind me to kiss you with the same desperation I feel now when we stop."

And like clockwork, you would flush under his loving stare and words before being pulled into bed in an outward display of his love that would leave your legs weak in the morning and him bringing you both up breakfast in bed before presenting you another gift.

You held a tight smile while accepting the gift this time, not wanting to seem ungrateful yet your heart desired the non-material... and it seemed Charles understood this, had been planning something for awhile. You observed the box to be moving and to have... hole in it? You thought to yourself before looking to your husband with shock and confusion as a little bark sounded from inside.

"Charles, darling. You. Did. NOT," you gasp before throwing off the lid as a puppy comes bursting out to your chest, licking your face with gratitude before exploring the bed. Charles picks up the fluffy creature, leading it back to you before sitting near the foot on the bed, massaging your leg gently with a smile, "I know you've been feeling lonely recently and I apologize. I promise that after this next job... I won't have to work as much, this is just the last thing, I promise."

You stare into his eyes for a moment, the puppy wigging in your arms as you pet their head and scratch behind their ears with a subconscious smile growing on your face. "Really?!" you ask excitedly, blinking away tears of hope in your eyes seeing as Charles chuckles softly before you, crawling towards you both and pressing a kiss to the side of your head, catching a kiss on the chin by your new pet as well, "Yes."

─────── · ·

─ · · Charles had actually stayed for longer than you were used to, something about preparing and studying his opponent to strike the best deal. You nodded along, interested but confused on the details of this supposed interaction he had planned as you both walked the dog around the garden property line.

"When we get back, I just have to jot-down the rest of the details before I can join you two for dinner. I picked up your favourite bottle from the market earlier that I was thinking we could share?" You nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek before unclipping your new companion from their leash, watching as they run inside and to their water dish.

Charles's arms wrap around your waist as he presses a kiss to your exposed neck, feeling his smile against your skin, "I love you, darling." You rest your hands atop of his, leaning against his chest and close your eyes, enjoying the warm evenings breeze drifting across both of your forms before taking a deep breath and watching as Charles leaves you and heads to his study.

You get dinner moving, dancing and singing around the kitchen as your puppy runs between your feet, barking cheerfully and trying to dance alongside you. Giggling you pick him up, resting his upper arms on your shoulder as you use them as your partner, spinning and twirling towards the living before placing them in their back in their bed.

Your phone goes off as you rush back to the stove and take the tray out and leave it to cool in front of an open window before cutting the bread. "Smells divine in here," you jump, starting and nicking yourself on the knife, cursing softly as you watch the blood drip from the small cut with a wince before heading towards the sink.

Charles is distraught at the sight of you bleeding, taking quick long strides over to your form, holding your elbow gently as he inspects the small nick, "I'm so sorry," he mumbles a few times between kisses to your face before he moves to get the first-aid kit underneath the skin, patting the counter for you to sit upon as he stands between your legs and dresses the cut.

You smile at how softly he touches you, apologizing as you wince at the solution to cleanse the cut before kissing the bandaged finger afterwards. "I'm quite alright, Charles. Just a minor thing-" you begin to explain yet your husband just shakes his head, annoyed with myself. "I shouldn't have distracted you, got you hurt in the first place, I hate seeing you with this," he holds up your hand in front of both of your faces.

You press your forehead against his own, closing your eyes, "Charles, my love. I would forgive you even if you shot me. No need to worry," You joke in a loving tone- not understanding to the way the Jackal tenses feeling your touch. Visions of your corpse flashing before his eyes with life-like accuracy as he begins to feel queasy, shaking in your hold.

You pull away once feeling him start to breath heavily. His touch falling from your hand to grip the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white as he sees you look up at him with tear-covered eyes, his hand shakes with the trigger- "Charles?" you call out softly, hand hovering over his cheek, feeling as he flinches at the touch, taking a step away while shaking his head to himself before appearing... scarily calm again.

You watch as he smiles, brings up dinner and walks past whatever... episode he seemingly just had as if it had never happened in the first place... a mere fragment of your imagination. You furrowed your brows, jumping down from the kitchen counter before filling up both your plates and following Charles out to the patio where a table set with candles was prepared for you both.

Your heart tremors in your chest, watching as he pulls out a chair for you before pushing you in and seating himself. Pouring glasses of wine for you both with a cheers you gulp down the liquid quickly before gently placing the glass back down on the table and taking a bite of your food, debating weather or not to bring up what had just happened or not.

You ultimately decide not too, enjoying this moment that has been few and far between in recent months as your husband charms you like the first day you met, with coy smiles and charming words that have you falling into his arms and back into bed where you rest upon his chest, listening to his heart beating for you once more.

─────── · ·

─ · · Your friends call you in the morning as you invite them over before telling Charles, you rush towards his office in case he is still undressed for they all would be coming shortly to use the pool.

Knocking at the door, his voice invites you in to see the puppy in his lap as Charles fixes his glasses, looking up from the documents scattered across his desk to you with a loving smile and crinkled eyes, "good morning my love, I'm sorry I was not there to wake you."

You wave a hand on his face walking over and pulling him in for a kiss before looking over the papers and blueprints curiously, hand hovering over the smear of red ink against the corner of a crumpled page before Charles' voice redirects your attention with a hand to your hip, giving a gently squeeze, "was there something you wanted to say?"

"Oh, yes!" you jump back to your previous thoughts watching as he turns away from the desk, the dog jumping off his lap and running down the hall leaving the seat empty. You stare for a moment debating, knowing that if you sit down you might not be ready in time. The Jackal did not care about what you were thinking in the moment though, simply gabbing you by your waist and allowing you to fall into his lap.

"Marissa and my other friends are coming over shortly to use the pool, I just thought to let you know beforehand so you could get ready as well," you explain, playing with the buttons to his creme linen shirt listening to him hum. "I'm afraid that I still have-" you look at him with pleading eyes, hand brushing against the skin of his chest and trailing down, watching as the words die on his lips, "...alright. I'll be there shortly."

You quickly stand back up with a smile, cheering happily listening to him laugh before rushing back to your wardrobe to pick a swimsuit and throw-over for the occasion.

─────── · ·

─ · · A knock sounds at the door that has you nearly falling down the stairs and rushing to hug your guests. Marissa squeals in your ear, wrapping her arms around your shoulders as you both swing side to side. She presents you a bottle of wine and a platter of fresh fruits which you bring out to the deck, showing your guests to where the fridge and restrooms were.

─ · · You feel overjoyed having the house filled and to see the dog running around and jumping after their toys in the pool. You lean back in a lounge, soaking up the sun before a shadow overtakes the warmth. You peel up your sunglasses, as Marissa tits her head to the side, mouthing, follow me. You raise a brow in question but follow her nevertheless into the pool house in which she quickly closes the door and shuts the blinds on both of you.

"Marissa?" you call out her name, squinting through the darkness before flicking on the light," Is everything alright?" you ask again watching as her smile wavers, hands shaking as she moves to grip your own. "I think it's best for you to sit before I say anything..." her thumbs brush against the back of your hands soothingly, your heart races- debating of weather or not to quickly grab Charles for whatever news you were about to be it with.

Seemingly knowing your thoughts, Marissa shakes her head, taking a seat beside you on a stack of spare cushions for your outdoor furniture. "This is about Charles," she explains- you debate weather or not to roll your eyes. "Of course it is. What news do we have this time?" you ask, feeling irritated as you side your hands away from her touch. She looks at you for a moment before sighing, "I know you feel as though I am in the wrong for calling out your relationship and maybe I am, maybe I'm not but I only want you to be safe and happy... you're my best friend, hun and I don't want to see you get hurt."

You nod smiling, "same goes to you-"

"Yes," Marissa cuts you off, playing with her hair, "thats why I'm telling you that your husband isn't who you think he is." She bites her lip, waiting on your reaction. You lean your head forwards, "go on?" wanting to indulge in another one of her 'stories.' She cuts right to the chase.

"He kills people." You gasp, standing up and shaking your finger, "No, NO, Marissa! That is too far this time!" you stomp your way towards the door, shoulders rising upwards and tight, I can't believe she has the audacity to say such a thing. "PLEASE," Marissa runs up, gripping your arm, nearly on her knees begging, "let me explain... I-I have evidence." Your heat drops at her sincerity, the way her large tearful eyes grip your own, forcing you to take a seat again as she pulls open her phone- your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

You look at the various articles she has saved to her camera roll, the dates of the murders lining up with the most recent trips of your husband. "This could only be a coincidence right?" Marissa does not say a word, simply flipping her phone horizontally and pressing play to a news broadcast recording:

"Witnesses have identified the assassin to be a 6ft male with an athletic build. Crime investigators have released the following identikit based upon multiple accounts and ask that if you have any information on where the killer is or where they plan on going to contact local and world police immediately for the safety of the greater public."

You feel sick, head falling between your knees as you shake and cry, knowing that illustration to be hauntingly similar to the love of your life... or so you thought him to be.

Marissa rubs your back in soothing circling motions before looking towards the door and whispering her next words to you carefully, "Please, come with me tonight. Say that something happened with my family and that I need your support. We'll pack and bag and get you out," you nod along, lost in your thoughts and not quite catching her words- ears ringing from overstimulation, the clothes on your body soon feel to hot as you grip your skin in panic.

"I-I he wouldn't lie to me this way... he said he-he loved me?" you hiccup in between cries, now walking around in circles within the small space- wavering on the line of hysteria. "I have to go talk to him, this is a misunderstanding, they have the wrong accounts, they, they..." you shake your head, trying to clear your mind to no avail.

Marissa stands, gripping your shoulders, shaking you, begging you to listen to her, "Please, stay with me for tonight at least. I don't feel safe leaving you here with him, not with what we both know... he could kill us if he knows... we know..." You fall over, back into the cushions, your head feeling to heavy for your body as your spots of black start to cloud over your vision. "M-Marissa?" you beg for what you don't know as she hugs you, begging you to stand and move with her.

"Please, we have to go now. Stop the tears, we must leave-"

"I-I can't!" you shout before watching as her eyes widen, the sounds of the other guests dying down from your outburst. A knock sounds at the door, your heart drops... you both allow a moment to pass before another knock sounds, more rushed and heavy against the wood, "my love? are you alright in there?"

Charles. You and Marissa both share a look, you swallow deeply- clearing your throat, "I'm alright Charles, just an wardrobe malfunction." You hear as your... husband chuckles, "alright, I have a plate of food waiting for you by the pool."

"Thank you, darling!" you shout back before hearing as his footsteps become distant. You let out a breath you didn't know to be holding as Marissa pulls you up, wiping your face with her towel, determination in her eyes. "We. are. leaving." You nod, not trusting your words as you follow her outside, wincing at the light coming into your eyes and heart.

─────── · ·

─ · · You walk swiftly pass the crowd and upstairs, throwing the closet open to find a duffle bag as you begin to pack a weeks worth of clothes. You stop yourself from grabbing one of Charles shirts to sleep in, your fingers twitching as your heartaches, you bite your lip to conceal a cry as your eyes well before turning towards the ensuite bathroom.

You startle bumping into a chest as arms steady you, hand brushing against your cheek as Charles stares down at you- worry clouding over his eyes as he takes in the sight of your tears. "Whats wrong?" he asks quietly, brushing your hair as you shake in his hold... knowing what those hands have done. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax in the memory of his touch before pulling away and heading towards the bathroom.

Charles stands there still where you left him, glaring at his reflection in the mirror of the closet before turning around determined to find out whatever or whomever made his darling wife cry. He leans against the doorframe watching as you grab a hairbrush and a few hair ties before brushing past him and throwing them into your luggage- hands shaking as you zip it closed and place it over your shoulder.

But just before you can reach the door, Charles picks you up in his arms, you scream, and places you on the bed- standing at the foot with his arms crossed. "Running away from our issues only prolongs them. What. is. wrong?" he asks, muscles flexing as he forces himself not to physically comfort you seeing as you flinch from every slight sound you hear. Who scared you? What do I need to do in order to protect you? The Jackal thinks to himself, foot tapping in wait.

You sound out the party happening down stairs, focusing solemnly on your breathing, "I-I have to help Marissa with somethings. Her family, things went badly and she needs me?" you try and lie yet your words appear more like a question.

Your husband sighs, head tilting to the side as he analyzes your form, eye twitching... no, she couldn't know that. I've hid it well and no one else would know in the slightest... You watch every small expression tick over his features, shifting in your spot watching as he does the same, mirroring your movements- you feel trapped knowing that Charles was not going to let you leave... not without the truth nevertheless.

You look outside, hoping to catch Marissa's eyes to come and save you yet can see no sights of her. Your bag drops to your feet as you grip your hair, Am I ready to die? You ask yourself, thoughts automatically going to the darkest parts of your mind before you suddenly remember your conversation last night in the kitchen...

─────── · ·

Shit, you think to yourself... his prior actions all making sense now. You timidly look into his eyes, purposefully trying to make yourself appear small... make him feel the heart you have loved ever-so dearly up until this point, and to some degree, you still do for the years of affections you both have shared.

"Tell me what you know," The Jackal asks calmly, your blood runs cold as he stares down at you, nose twitching, eyes daring you to try and lie again to him.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say before letting lose knowing that you were not making it out of this room no matter what so you might as well do it with morals and truth. "I know you kill people," you begin to say.

The room is dead silent as you both stare into one another's eyes, "Tell me that you don't," you whisper, tears silently falling down your cheeks that you do your best to try and blink away resulting in only more coming. Yet in your husbands move not to answer you provides you with the most deafening answer yet... he does.

You shake your head, nails digging into your palms, threatening to break skin. You flinch again to his touch, feeling as the Jackal gently pulls your fingers away from hurting yourself- your heart hammers in your chest like a drum, you know he can hear it to by the way his head falls. "Tell me that you don't," you whisper-shot, shaking your head, confused as to how the soft and intelligent man you fell in love with, that you married and planed to have children with... kills people.

"I kill people for money," the Jackal whispers quietly, a part of hoping that you do not hear his words, that you would return to your smiling and loving self, taking him back with open arms- unknowing once more yet you understand what he says, "Listen to yourself and say it again," you demand of him.

The Jackal removes his touch, taking in a shaky deep breath, closing his eyes as his hands shake down by his sides into fists, you slowly crawl back on the bed, "I kill people for money," he says a bit louder. You scoff into a cry, "say it again."

"I kill people for money," the Jackal states picking up his head to look you in the eyes, his heart breaks seeing your tears, watching as you flinching when he moves to brush them away. You'e afraid of me, Charles thinks to himself. I've failed to protect you, the Jackal thinks to himself. You are shaking in your spot, "say it again, say it-"

"I KILL PEOPLE FOR MONEY. Is that what you want to hear? Is that enough? Is it enough?" The Jackal snaps at you before falling to his knees, head in your lap as an offering. You feel the way he grips your sides, sobbing into your skirt, pleading for you to love him. Yet you just stare forwards, looking out to the sun and all the people downstairs, your eyes catch Marissa's as you stand, his body rolling off of yours as he stays collapsed against the floor watching as you slowly pick up your bag and close the door on him.

─────── · ·

─ · · You felt disgusted for not being able to go to the police about your husband... or well ex-husband. You sent the divorce papers in at Marissas request after your first month out on the run from your heart but no matter where you seemed to go, what disguises or excuses you used when he would just find your new phone number again, you still loved him.

─ · · A part of you knew deep within that not every moment you shared together could be a lie. He trusted you to sleep beside him, to cook for him, to be his confidant to his "work rants," and spent his pay check on you... but he kills people... you think to yourself, 'only the bad people, promise,' you remember him telling you via letter to your mailbox during your first week in Australia where Marissa left you before returning back to Spain. You shake your head, confused with yourself; head and heart competing...

But when you saw golden locks out of the corner of your eye, green-eyes hidden behind tinted shades and tall muscular body draped in a fine linen suit... it would be an understatement to say you folded in the first seconds and fell back in love in the first moment when he picked up your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and refused to let go, intertwining your fingers together on the table as he payed for lunch and all your drinks without a second thought.

And when it started to rain in Amsterdam where you were currently "hiding out," he draped his jacket over your shoulders and picked you up so that your feet wouldn't get wet in all the puddles and potholes. Carrying you all the back to the apartment you were renting, waiting at the door for you to invite him inside and you did.

─ · · You watched as he unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves to his forearms, veins flexing across his skin as he clenched and unclenched his hands when you moved past him to sit distantly on the couch. He thought about the comforting pressure of you on his lap, the feeling of your head on your shoulder and your lips against his own. He wanted nothing more than to feel your skin against his skin, to get a taste of you once more... but he allowed you space, for now... until things are safe... until the job is done, Charles thought to himself, taking a sip out of the tea you prepared for you both.

─ · · After some catching up on both of your sides, your concern grew not only for yourself and your safety, but for your husbands as he was being pinned down on two fronts. One by the police, the other by his target and his men... a part of you knew that your safety did relay on the Jackal getting his work done and knew that from you not going to the police right away, not protecting the 'public', you were in some part just as guilty as he- a participant... "let me help you.... please." And the Jackal nodded.

─────── · ·

─ · · Returning to Spain, the Jackal gave you a series of instructions and lists of where secret rooms, weapons, and security lockdown procedures he had installed for a moment that you had no clue existed before and never would have.

─ · · You shiver at how precisely Charles can check the various weapons on himself, flipping knives in his boots, checking his magazines and checking the sights down the barrel of his gun before giving you a kiss and telling you to go sit in the bedroom upstairs with the dog, waiting to flip a switch in the wardrobe at his request to cut all the power to the house through your earpiece.

You nodded, pulling him in for a second kiss, lingering before pulling away slightly and kissing all the way across his cheek to his ear, whispering, "live for me." You didn't receive a response, only a pat at your hit, silently demanding you to move as you pick up your furry companion and closed the bedroom door, putting on a record just like intersected... sitting still and looking pretty and innocent, just waiting on your husband to return.

─────── · ·

─ · · You didn't bother to look at the clock, watching as the minutes ticked over and the dog laid asleep at the foot of the bed. Your fingers running across the soft fur of their back only to startle as you hear your front door be blasted through and two pairs of boots stomp their way into your home. Your breath hitches as you quickly stand and look at the window seeing no addition people in the tree line.

You double check to ensure your door is closed before pressing down on your ear, listening closely for your queue... "Do you hear me darling?" Charle's soft tone floods your ear, you can hear him taking shallow long breaths in and out, most likely hiding somewhere in the walls. "yes," you whisper, starting to make your way into the closet- waiting... "flick the switch, gorgeous." Lights out!

─ · · You are suddenly surrounded in darkness as you tip toe your way back to the bed and place yourself on top of the covers, scrolling through your phone once hearing their boots near the door. The dog shuffles by your feet but does not move as the door creaks open and two flashlights are shined in your eyes, causing you both to stand alert. "HANDS UP!" a woman shouts, you wave your hands in the air. "P-please don't hurt me! Take whatever you want from the house!" you beg, tears starting to drown across your cheeks as you work to distract the women. "Please!" you beg over and over again dramatically, falling to your knees as your hands press against her boots.

"I'm here to protect you ma'am, just do as I say and we will have no issues," the woman in uniform tells you- you nod your head. "Stand," she demands and you oblige, rising to your feet and grabbing your pet in your arms. "Do you have any idea what your husband does?" she questions you, moving you both towards Charle's study and telling you to sit at his desk. You nod your head, hearing as her breath hitches, "he works in global sales for an insurance company," you explain.

"I can show you the new logos?" you ask confusing the woman. "No, I don't care about that... you are married to Charles Calthrop, correct?" You nod your head again, "Yes, that is my husband." The floor suddenly creaks down the hall, the woman turns around sharply, flashlight pointing down the hall as you hide underneath the desk in preparation yet hear no rounds fired.

Looking up slowly, the room and the hall now appear empty as you listen to boots run down the hall and turn down the stairs into the living room. "Stay where you are," Charles demand comes through your ear, "okay," you whisper, holding onto the dog closely as you brace, listening to the distant conversation and then... BANG... a pause... BANG BANG. Another two shots sound and then... silence once more.

"Good girl, you did your work perfectly, my love," Charles praises you before telling you to come downstairs with the luggage for you both. You feel as your husband quickly pulls you in for a hug, caressing your head in an effort for you not to see the body behind him. You feel as he kisses the top of your head, "All ready to go?" he asks you.

"I'm ready," you respond with determination.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: no part 2's to this one!

─ · · JACKAL TAGLIST: @swiftietevitdrewjew @groovyponypatrollamp @alelo23 @apaperflowerreader @itz-stuts

55 notes · View notes

peekofhistory · 3 days ago

Text

汉服复兴之路 History of Hanfu Revival Movement

History of Hanfu:

“Hanfu" as a technical term refers to traditional clothing worn by the Han ethnic group in China （Han = Han ethnic group, Fu = clothing).

The last Dynasty of China, Qing, saw a ruling class of the Manchu ethnic group who had attacked the Ming Dynasty from the North and ultimately achieved victory. This resulted in a forceful change of attire from "Han" clothing to "Man" clothing and fashion:

This included men being forced to shave the front half of their heads, leaving a long braid in the back (those who refused were beheaded)(四爷，借用一下您的盛世美颜😂) :

Therefore, technically, "Hanfu" had not been worn in China since the end of the Ming Dynasty (1616 AD).

Following the establishment of the current People's Republic of China (1949 AD) the country busied itself with development and economic growth. By the early 2000's China had undergone 2 rounds of economic reform and saw an economy that was flourishing. This left people with more time and money to revisit the country's vast history and rich culture (it's difficult to think about culture or history when you're trying to put food on the table).

Hanfu revival movement:

On November 22, 2003, an electric engineer by the name of Wang Letian (王乐天) strode through the streets of Deng Zhou wearing a Quju robe . This was the first time someone wore Hanfu for a casual outing since almost 400 years ago. Although, looking back, the design wasn't historically accurate, and the clothing seemed ill-fitting, this robe had been hand-sewn by Wang Letian and his friends, all of whom had a passion for Hanfu.

At the time, people laughed when they saw him in the streets, it looked so odd and strange among the sweaters and jeans that had become the norm, but Wang Letian had started a snowball of Hanfu revival. The internet spread photos of him wearing Hanfu through the streets and by chance, a Singaporean reporter, Zhang Congxing (张从兴), came across the photos. He wrote an article in the newspaper Lianhe Morning Report (联合早报) which became the first news article recorded of the current movement to revive Hanfu.

Following that, interest in Hanfu grew. People (especially young people) dug through history books, visited museums, and broke out the sewing kits. Today, Hanfu can often be seen around sightseeing locations and in historic cities like Xi'an. Although most people still aren't wearing it out and about daily, it's not uncommon to see someone wearing a Mamian Skirt (from Ming dynasty) with a blouse heading to work.

There are still some who think it's odd and strange (including my dad 😑), but the revival in Hanfu indicates a confidence and pride many young people have in China's own history and culture, something that had been often neglected over the past 100 years due to continuous wars and political chaos.

As a kid, I loved period dramas and would drape a bed sheet around my shoulders pretending it's a cape. I'd admire the beautiful hair styles on TV, wondering how it was done. Never did I dream one day I'd be able to purchase my own Hanfu and have a suitcase of hair buns and accessories 🤣🤣

#hanfu #汉服 #china #中国 #chinese hanfu #culture #history #fashion #clothing #historical clothing #汉服复兴 #hanfu revival

60 notes · View notes

malk1ns · 2 days ago

Note

i read a fic recently with rookie sid and 2010 geno and i’ve been thinking of that a lot so… for your prompt maybe baby sid being enamored by an older geno? nsfw or pg is up to you :P merry christmas to you too btw!!

ok so once upon a time i wrote this fic which is pretty much exactly that premise! and i really loved writing it and it's still one of my personal favorites of mine, so i'm going to take your prompt and use it as an excuse to write a wee little follow-up, from sid's point of view...no smut or anything in this one, just a cranky 22 year old with a massive (reciprocated) crush on his captain. you'll have to read the first one for this to make sense!

Sid thought it would get easier when his dad retired.

Well, really, he expected that after a couple of months he wouldn't feel so desperate for Geno all the time. Not that he wouldn't still want him, of course not, Geno was the defining catalyst of Sid's sexual awakening and the star of 90% of his fantasies from adolescence onwards, but Sid thought that maybe after the first few times, when Geno didn't get sick of him or tell him they needed to stop, he'd be able to be a little more mature about the whole thing.

As it happens, though, he spent the rest of his rookie year in single-minded pursuit of two things: 100 points, and Geno's dick.

It's a good thing he had his dad's example to make sure he stayed focused on his game. If his work ethic and internal motivation weren't already firmly ingrained, Sid might have let his head be turned so far by getting what he wanted after so much time that he let his game slip.

Geno probably wouldn't have let that happen, though. He takes hockey more seriously than Sid does, even, and for as much time as they spent sneaking around to be together, Sid thinks they probably doubled that in extra ice time after practice, practicing one-timers and head-fakes and set plays to try out on the man advantage.

Sid's dad was always there too, is the thing. Sid lives at home still, his mom won't let him buy his own place until he signs his first real contract and isn't blowing an entire season's worth of income on a house, and Sid very quickly ran out of reasons to get his dad to head home early and let Geno drive him back. It made the time with Geno he managed to steal all the better.

Sid, maybe stupidly, thought that once his rookie year was over, when his dad officially retired and wasn't on the team anymore, he'd have a little more separation from his parents at the rink.

His dad barely stayed retired two months before his mom practically pushed him out the door directly into the goalie development role the Penguins offered him, though, and Sid's sophomore season starts the same way his rookie year did—sitting in the passenger seat of his Dad's truck, glaring out the window on the way to practice.

He must be making quite a face, because Geno's already there and half-changed into his gear when Sid walks into the locker room, and when he sees Sid's expression he does that thing with his jaw where he's trying not to laugh out loud.

Sid only scowls harder. Even Geno in his hockey pants and nothing else isn't enough to cheer him up.

It ends up turning out okay, though. Sid's mom stops asking so many questions about where he's going at night when his dad isn't around to give her the exact run-down of official team activities. Sid isn't sharing a hotel room on roadies anymore, so if he sneaks out after curfew and tiptoes down the hall to Geno's room, there's nobody to tattle, and no chance that he'll run into his dad out looking for the ice machine. And his dad gets so wrapped up in working with the goalies that they never finish practice at the same time, so if Sid makes some vague excuse about reviewing tape with the power play unit and he'll catch a ride, his dad waves him off without protest.

His schedule opens up, just like that. And Geno's more than happy to fill his time, tumbling Sid into bed and blowing his mind at every available opportunity. Their first California road trip, the one with built-in off-days for recreation, had been a revelation—after figuring out that yes, Geno really can eat someone out until they cry, Sid spent their beach day so distracted he was forced out of the volleyball game for bringing his team down.

There's a contract waiting for him on July 1, Sid knows. Pat hasn't sent him the details yet, but Sid knows it's good, something that will set him up for life pretty much, with signing bonuses to protect his earnings in case of another lockout and full trade protection as soon as he's eligible.

He's already talked to the realtor most of the guys use. She'd offered a few options in Cranberry, close to the practice facilities and where he grew up, but Sid told her he wants to get a little distance from his folks, somewhere he can set up his own house and not have his mom tempted to walk down the block and redecorate every other week.

And if the neighborhood he told her to focus on is Geno's, well, Sid's favorite breakfast place is there too, and he's always liked older parts of the city, with big trees and historic homes.

The fact that he could be within a ten-minute drive of Geno's house is just an extra perk.

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing

51 notes · View notes

sandrakir31 · 2 days ago

Text

Sorry, I'm in the mood for a bit of an argument. Consider this simply a discussion on specific topics.

1. Heatwave, Boulder - ok. But Blades and Chase? Even though Blades was given a dark-skinned human holoform, we can still think that he got what he could have gotten without adjustment. It's like being a green-skinned zombie for Halloween, just because it's easy to do. But what about the metal on Chase and Blades' faces? It's white. I think people are following the same logic when they draw Heatwave and Boulder as dark-skinned.

2. In principle, I agree. AI Morocco is already some kind of interpretation from the villains from slightly older films. I think it could be the concept of HYDRA from Captain America. The old villain has risen with renewed vigor and all that.

3. I totally agree. Personally, I see Heatwave and Blades' relationship as being similar to Raphael and Michelangelo from TMNT. Blades is just having fun, and Heatwave has to watch so that this miracle doesn’t break anything.

4. I basically only visit AO3 when necessary, when I have nothing else to read on Ficbook. I think that this is true, it is noticeable even in the arts of some artists.

5. Nobody's perfect, but how could Charlie have known that in the old mine he and Chase would fall through the floor?

Charlie has been raising children on his own for many years (which already makes him better than many fathers in our world), and as a parent, he cannot allow his child to go with them to a dangerous place because he is worried.

Blades and Dany's bucket claw is a really good thing and I'm glad they were able to help others. But let's face it. Even if they are lifesavers, it's not worth putting everyone else out of work. Even if Cade still acts like he's the most important person. The problem with this series is that it's literally like My Little Pony. They make mistakes and learn from them.

Charlie shouldn't make mistakes, but he's still a normal person. «Errare humanum est».

6. I absolutely agree.

Yes, I can sometimes find fault with others for no reason, but I only act in my own interests. 🤷

Update: Damn, I missed the original take when I wrote this. 🤦

I've made a post like this some time ago on twitter but decided to take it here

We listen and we don't judge: transformers rescue bots edition

Mine is that graham burns is super hot and sexy and that he should marry me 😁😁

#rescue bots #charlie burns #tfrb heatwave #tfrb chase #tfrb blades #tfrb boulder #dani burns #kade burns #graham burns

153 notes · View notes

kvetchlandia · 2 days ago

Text

So...

I went today to see "A Complete Unknown," the new James Mangold flick about Bob Dylan's early years in the Village, from his arrival in New York City in Jan, 1961 until he went electric at the Newport Folk Festival in July, 1965.

I've been a Dylan nut since I was a little kid. This, I'm sure, has little to do with any genius or musical/artistic insight on my part. Rather, it's probably just a bit of luck that fell my way in having an older sister with excellent musical taste who first turned me on to Bobby.

Don't worry, I'm not going to give away anything, for those of you who might find yourself reading this and who want to see the film but haven't done so yet. I'll limit my comments to a few, very general points.

I've read some reviews that are critical of the film for compressing some events, combining others and flipping some chronologies, as well as for leaving out some people who were important parts of the Village scene in the early 60s. I think such criticisms are silly. We're watching a piece of dramatic art based in reality, not a documentary on that reality. Four and a half years of life can't be squeezed into a bit more than two hours of screen time without taking such license. We're not going to sit through those years in real time. The screen writers and the director have to make choices and they did so in order to tell the story they wanted to tell.

The only criticism I'll share, and I feel sharing it won't in any way way interfere with anyone's enjoyment of the film, is that I wasn't particularly happy with the way Suze Rotolo was portrayed. For those who aren't Dylan fanatics and who don't have a clue who Suze Rotolo was, she was Bobby's first love and muse after arriving in the Village. In fact, at Bob's request (he was involved with the making of the film), Suze's name wasn't even used, because even though she has passed, she was always a very private individual and all these years later, Dylan still wanted to respect that privacy. In the film, she's known as Sylvie Russo. In any case, Suze was a very strong, politically active young woman, a red-diaper baby (as am I), an activist in the Congress of Racial Equality and an artist in her own right. She's the person who introduced Bob to politics, getting him so involved that he was both a participant in the Freedom Summer integration and voter registration drives in the Jim Crow South in 1963 and a singer at Martin Luther King, Jr's March on Washington for Job's and Freedom, also in 1963. It was though her influence that Dylan wrote many of his most powerful early political songs. Due to their rocky relationship and ultimate breakup, she was also the subject of some of his most beautiful ballads from that period. I just don't think any of that comes through particularly well in the film. The writers and director chose to focus more on his time with Joan Baez. I understand why they made that decision. I just think they could have managed to do so without giving such short shrift to Suze.

As far as the acting goes, Monica Barbaro is fantastic as Joan Baez and she also does a superb job of singing in Joanie's style. Edward Norton is very good as Pete Seeger. Scott McNairy is heartbreaking in his few scenes as Woody Guthrie, already deeply disabled by Huntington's Disease when Dylan first visits him shortly after arriving in New York in 1961. Timothée Chalamet, of course, has to carry the weight as Bob. He's pretty effective. He doesn't have Dylan's charisma nor is he as stunning looking as the Dylan of 1965 was, but he still pulls it off.

All right, I've said enough. Go see it. You'll like it.

31 notes · View notes

grlsbstshot · 3 days ago

Text

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: jameson deals with the consequences of the many disappointments he's given imani over the years. sloane continues to unravel and only Christian realizes. genie and ej take another step in their relationship while imani wonders if she and jameson are worth saving.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, emotional breakdown, explicit terminology, dirty talk (kinda), dd/lg (slight), dom/submissive sex scene, p in v, oral (male receiving), biting -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8.4k Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes:

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Jameson stepped out of the elevator, brushing past stilted bodies as he made his way towards the parking garage. He had called Imani six times since leaving Sloane's apartment but there was no response. He scrolled past all the texts, all the notifications, and rejected several other calls. The only person he wanted to talk to was her. He got the voicemail again and the realization that she wanted nothing to do with him set in. He strode to his car, his jaw clenched. By the time he slid into the front seat, he was determined. He'd just go to her house. Even if he had to talk to her through the damn intercom at her front gate, he'd do it.

With a plan in mind, Jameson turned the car on and prepared to leave...but his gaze strayed to the phone in his hand. Common sense told him not to do it but he did. He went back to EJ's text and clicked the link to the music. Even as her voice filtered in through his car speakers, he didn't quite accept that it was her. It'd been so long since he'd heard music from her. Even her voice sounded different.

The untrained ear probably didn't hear it but Jameson did. He heard the anger, the loathing. She used to sing about him with exasperation but always love. Everything they sang about one another held an understanding -- they loved each other. He couldn't hear it anymore. Her lyrics were vivid, each word painting a picture of the love they’d shared and the ways it had fallen apart. He could hear the anger in her tone, the bitterness laced with sadness. The despair mingled with hope. Fuck.

I get this type of feeling you ain't accustomed to I swear I'd be at peace if it weren't for you

He winced the first time he got a shot on the project. They had done it back and forth to one another but she sounded fucking miserable with him. It was like he could pinpoint every single time she touched pen to paper and wrote a lyric that was about their relationship.

I don't care about what you seen in me You were not who you pretend to be I will regret giving my last, man I should've let you crash out Can't believe you blaming me

Every situation flashed right before his eyes. Argument after argument that leads to making up.

Trying to find, you're my blindspot, it's fine niggas Ruin me every single time

The first time they saw each other after a year -- when she made him swear not to make her any promises so she could avoid being disappointed.

You know we got a real history That's no reason I can't choose me You know that dick been good to me You make it hard for me to choose me Dancing and kissing, the kitchen Makes me forget, I forgive him

The morning after they returned from Italy -- when everything seemed to be on an upswing for them.

That pussy hit like royalty Must be hard for you to lose me

The frantic texts and calls that he couldn't stop himself from making. That he didn't want to stop.

Text me like I'm waitin' for you to come lie to me Ruin my day, sayin' shit to hurt me, I can't compete Still on the way, I lay awake if you're not around me I'm so on to you, still gone for you

God, why did she stay with him? Three years together. A year apart. She still gave him the chance to come back even though that was how he made her feel.

You don't wanna be, be without me You don't wanna live I don't wanna go, ooh, no I don't wanna be alone, oh All that I know is mirrors inside me They recognize you, please don't deny me

It was true. He didn't want to live without her. But how was he ever supposed to go back to her with this knot in his gut? How was he supposed to lay next to her at night knowing he drained and twisted her up inside like this? Even without trying? She had every right to hate him and she knew it. In those lyrics, it told their whole story. She wanted to hate him...but couldn't.

He hadn't even realized he was driving until he came to a stop...at his own house. Even his subconscious knew he couldn't face Imani right then. What was he going to say? I'm sorry. I was wrong. I fucked up again. I hurt you again. Look away, forgive me again. It sounded hollow as fuck even in his head. He didn't have the right to ask for any of it.

He hadn’t just hurt her a few times -- he’d broken their relationship in ways he couldn’t even comprehend. She’d poured her pain into this music, and the world was celebrating it, but all he could hear was the sound of her heart-shattering and it was his fault. So he sat there in his punishment, listening over and over. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d lost. He was thinking about what he’d taken from her — and how he’d never be able to give it back.

Her entire body felt like it was in shock. She felt numb. The carefully planned dinner she'd prepared for Jameson had spiraled out of control. She didn't even remember breaking dishes but they sat in shattered pieces around her as she leaned against her front door. How could he just leave her? He wasn't supposed to leave! He was supposed to appreciate her and be happy she was there for him. He was supposed to see true loyalty from her. But somehow...it had all fallen apart.

Sloane’s hands trembled as she slowly crawled across the floor, avoiding slivers of shattered plates. By the time she had enough awareness to climb to her feet, she realized she needed her phone. She searched the room, finding it underneath the couch. In the chaos, it had slipped away. It trembled in her hands as she tried to decide who to call.

She was sad. Hurting. Who was she supposed to call? Her parents? They didn't care. Genie? She had tossed that friendship away. Jameson? Her heart clenched at the idea of calling him and going to voicemail. She sat on her couch, holding the phone to her chest before it dawned on her. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt as she called the contact and the phone rang. Her chest felt tighter, her breaths shallow and uneven.

When his voice finally came through the line, her relief was overshadowed by desperation. "C-Come over,” she said quickly, her voice cracking. “I need you here. Please.” She hung up before he could respond, her pulse racing. She sank onto the couch, running her fingers through her hair, tugging at the strands in frustration.

By the time Christian arrived, her makeup was streaked from tears she hadn’t even realized she’d shed. He stepped inside, his usual confident demeanor faltering when he saw her.

“Sloane,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him. “What the fuck happened?”

She stood, her movements frantic, and began pacing again. “He said he's done with me. Jameson — he ended everything. Our friendship, everything. He called me out for all of it—for hurting Genie, for you, for everything I’ve done.”

Christian frowned, his concern evident. “Okay, slow down. Take a breath. What exactly did he say?”

Sloane stopped pacing, turning to face him. “He asked if I fucked you. I told him it was a mistake. He didn't even care that I slept with you. He cared that it hurt Genie. He didn't even care about me." Her voice trailed off, mumbling as she dissolved into tears again. "That I’ve ruined too much, and he can’t trust me anymore. "He looked at me like I was disgusting, Christian. Like I was nothing.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

Christian approached her cautiously, his tone gentle. “I need you to calm down. C'mon, sit down. I'll get you some water." Sloane's movements were jerky and she couldn't get herself to stop shaking. Christian took her arm firmly, guiding her to sit back down. "Don't move."

For once, Sloane didn't argue or ignore him. She sat there and stared at the ceiling, the past few years hitting her hard. When he brought the glass back to her and took a seat next to her, she was in tears again. “I don't know --" she began, shifting her gaze to find his. "I don’t know who I am without him.”

Christian’s jaw tightened, his sympathy battling with his frustration. “You lived a life before Jameson Lucas smiled at you. You'll be fine without him. Just...stop digging yourself deeper."

She pulled away from him, her movements sharp, gaze darting to her phone on the coffee table. “I don’t know. I just… I need him to feel what I’m feeling. To know how much this hurts.”

“Revenge isn’t going to make this better. It’s just going to make things worse for you and for him -- not that I give a fuck about him.” “It’s not revenge. It’s justice." "So you fuck with him some more. You think that'll make him love you?" "I...I don't know how to get him back." "What if you never do. What are you going to do?"

Sloane hesitated and Christian rolled his eyes. “Wake up. No matter what you do -- he won't be yours. But the sun is going to come up tomorrow, Sloane. The world will keep on turning. Life will continue. You will continue."

Fresh tears filled her eyes again and she doubled over, laying on the couch and crying softly to herself. She was alone. She didn't even notice Christian sitting next to her, his fingers awkwardly brushing through her hair as she cried.

EJ snored against her chest as the light from her cell illuminated her bedroom. Genie pressed her hand to his back, rubbing in small circles as she continued to text Imani back. The two hadn't seen each other in person but Genie finally found the words to tell her she wasn't upset about the photo. their friendship immediately shifted back into normalcy -- with the two texting and calling regularly. Despite the massive Jameson-shaped elephant in the room.

After listening to Imani's EP, Genie couldn't help but interfere. Even when she told EJ she wouldn't.

[ genie ] : i loved diary, mani mani ❤️ [ baby mama ❤️ ] : aw my genie. thank you [ genie ] : i promise to smack jamie's neck again when i see him [ baby mama ❤️ ] : lmao, you ain't gotta do that, baby [ genie ] : are you just going to keep avoiding him forever? [ baby mama ❤️ ] : idk, genie. i'm not ready to talk to him yet. [ genie ] : i think you should hear him out, mani. he's really sorry [ baby mama ❤️ ] : 🙄 that's the problem. he's always fuckin sorry. it's sloane today, but next week, it'll be some other shit. [ genie ] : but you love him. you haven't loved anyone the way that you love him. i think you should at least hear him out [ baby mama ❤️ ] : i can't make no promises, genie 🙅🏾‍♀️ [ genie ] : okay, okay. i guess i'll take it. there is something else i have to tell you tho...it's about christian and me. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : what? i promise those pics ain't mean shit. i just wanted to make jameson jealous. [ genie ] : i know, i just want you to be careful with him .the reason why i stopped talking to him is because he slept with sloane. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : wtf??? 😡 you lyin! [ genie ] : i wish i was. i confronted sloane and she said he didn't even want me anyways...he liked someone else. i'm starting to think it's you he wanted. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : fuck, i'm so sorry genie. that nigga wouldn't even got a chance to breathe my air if i knew that shit. he's blocked now! and if i catch that bitch sloane in the street, i'm whooping her ass. i promise you that. idgaf bout no fame shit. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : are you okay now? [ genie ] : yeah, it's in the past. i got a new man now. [ baby mama ❤️ ] : ....new man?

Imani stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress, her gaze drifting the length of her gown. Being in front of crowds didn't phase her but she was going to a charity event -- a Christmas day gala. After spending the morning with visiting friends and family, she felt a sense of calm. He didn't stand in the forefront of her mind on Christmas Day. But the second she counted him out of her system, he course he did something to show her that he was still embedded in her skin.

As she descended the stairs to show off her dress to the assembled relatives, Imani rounded the corner with a bright grin. "And I look damn good!" There he stood among her cousins and aunt -- her father glaring from a corner. He looked handsome, quietly composed. He acted like he was supposed to be there. "What are you doing here?" she asked him, ignoring the curious looks of her family members.

She hadn’t expected him to show up tonight. Not after everything that had happened between them. But when he’d agreed weeks ago to escort her to the gala, she had assumed it was just a polite gesture— he was doing his best to get back in her good book. She hadn’t expected him to actually follow through.

And yet, here he was in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against her kitchen counter.

"We made plans," he replied, his voice warm, but with an edge of determination. “I wanted to keep them.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking over him, then around the room to everyone else. It wasn't as if they weren't aware of what was going on. They all saw the gossip, heard the news. But still -- she felt vulnerable letting them all have a front row seat to a fight with him. "Hmph. They definitely weren't still on." She hadn’t thought about what this night would actually feel like. It had been easy to imagine herself attending the gala without him—easy to picture her life moving forward without the constant ache of their broken relationship. But now that he was standing in front of her, it was harder to push him away.

"They aren't?" He asked with a deceptively innocent tilt to his head. "I didn't get that message from you. I'm sorry."

He was practically bating her into a reply. Imani glared at him, choosing to ignore his presence. She didn't respond, didn't say anything. She continued to fawn over her family, acting like Jameson wasn't there at all. They took pictures together, she tasted her aunty's dressing, and she kissed her parents goodbye before her team between to help her get into her driver's waiting car.

Jameson didn't complain, didn't beg for her attention. He stood silent and eventually followed her out of the house, waving goodbye to the family members that did engage with him.

She sighed, looking away from him. The thought of spending the evening with him, surrounded by people who would notice their tension, made her stomach churn. But something in her wouldn't let him win. They couldn't see her fluster or sweat when it came to him She had to admit, part of her wanted to go. Part of her wanted to see if this night could somehow undo all the hurt they’d caused each other.

“Mani,” he said, once he got into the car, his voice low and insistent. “We don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. But we can still do this. For one night. Let’s just...take things as they are.”

She met his gaze then, and for a moment, the weight of everything between them seemed to disappear. It was just him. Just her. And the night ahead of them.

“Fine,” she said, crisply. “But I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me.”

He smiled and she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief? Grief? It was something she couldn't identify. Every time he looked at her, it was as if he was asking for something. Whatever it was -- Imani didn't know if she had it in herself to give.

Sloane adjusted the strap of her Brandon Maxwell gown, a trembling hand brushing against her hair as she peered at her reflection in the tinted window of the car. Pulling herself together after Jameson left her alone in her apartment had been difficult. Christian had been a frantic last resort. He had shown up when she didn’t truly expect him to. She spent days in a daze, trying to truly understand what had gone wrong. The instinct to say something, to lash out was so strong that it felt suffocating. She’d been doomscrolling on Instagram and saw a grainy image of – was that Jameson?

It had been him. An image, taken from the account of one of Imani’s family members and posted directly to This Just In’s account. Seeing they were together had given Sloane some kind of strength. How dare they be happy when she was struggling? Her heels clicked against the pavement as she left the car and made her way towards the gala without an invitation. Sloane had a currency that mattered more than paper: Her name.

Heads turned as she passed, her presence commanding attention. But she wasn’t there to charm or distract – she was there to destroy. She didn’t even care what Imani would say or do to her. Just as long as Jameson’s gaze met her own again. Even if he was looking at her like he hated her – at least he was looking at her.

With a laugh and a promise to donate three times the amount as anyone else, she was allowed to enter. She saw him almost immediately. Imani wasn’t far but they weren’t wrapped up in each other. They weren’t laughing at her pain. They looked…miserable. It should have made her happy but Sloane simply stared, wondering what was happening between them. Imani didn’t meet Jameson’s gaze, Jameson kept tugging on his suit like he was uncomfortable. What was going on?

“Sloane.”

She turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she met Christian’s gaze. He was impeccably dressed, as always, but there was a sadness in his expression that she didn’t expect.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him, somewhat ashamed that he had seen her cry a few days before and now he was looking at her with pity. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me,” Christian said firmly, stepping closer. “You’re spiraling, and you’re about to make a fool of yourself—and everyone else in the process.”

Sloane scoffed, frowning as she moved away from him. “You don’t get to lecture me, Christian. You’re just as complicit in this mess as I am.”

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted, his voice low and steady. “I’m stuck in this shit because I wanted somebody so bad that I lost myself trying to get her. Look at her. Hell, look at him. Just look!”

Sloane reluctantly looked across the room. Jameson was gazing out at the crowd, his eyes seeing but he didn’t seem to be registering anybody around. Imani was looking at him. Her gaze was soft. Almost sad. She loved him. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, Sloane could see it.

“They’re in their little world. We will never be able to get in because all they care about is each other.” Christian told her roughly, the reality making her sad. “I may not be able to judge you right now but I’m not the one standing here, ready to burn everything to the ground because I didn’t get my way.”

Her eyes flashed with anger and she jerked away from him. “You think this is about me? This is about him. Jameson thinks he can walk away from me like I’m nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Christian said, his tone softening. “You did. And then you didn’t. That’s your own fault.” She flinched, recoiling as if he had hit her by being so casually cruel. It was a simple statement. One that had been true. Sloane hesitated, her lip trembling slightly. “But he…deserves it,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “He deserves to know what it feels like to be humiliated.”

Christian stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the couple. “And what about you? Is that what you deserve? Don’t you think you’ve been through enough?”

Sloane’s lips parted, shoulders slumping as his words sank in. She began to blink quickly, trying to rid her eyes of tears. “What am I supposed to do now? Just let them win?”

He glanced over his shoulder, peering at Imani and Jameson. Whatever he’d been about to say, he chose not to. Instead, he pressed his hand to her elbow and began to walk her toward the exit. Sloane was too overwhelmed to do much of anything but let him. “Nobody is winning, Sloane. All of us are fucking losers in this shit. It’s time we both stop chasing a dream.”

Genie looped her arm through EJ’s as they entered the grand ballroom. Her Jacquemeus Pilou boots work perfectly as accessories. Her self-designed black velvet mini dress left a shoulder bare and very little to the imagination. For once, she felt good about everything. She cuddled close to EJ, knowing they were going to have much to explain to their best friends – but she was okay with that. She was ready. Genie adjusted the hem of her dress and scanned the room, already aware of the tension crackling in the air.

“Imani’s here,” she murmured, spotting her friend near the edge of the dance floor. She was standing stiffly next to Jameson, who leaned in to say something. Imani turned her head sharply, her expression a mix of defiance and unease.

EJ followed Genie’s gaze, his brow furrowing. “They don’t look like two people enjoying a gala together.”

“They don’t,” Genie agreed, her lips pressing into a thin line. She sighed, glancing up at EJ. “Imani doesn’t need this kind of stress right now.”

“You think Jameson brought her to stress her out?” EJ asked. “He’s obsessed with that girl. He’s probably trying to fix it.”

Genie hesitated, her eyes flicking back to the couple. Jameson’s posture was slightly hunched, as if he was trying to close the gap between them, but Imani’s arms were crossed, her body angled away.

“Whatever he’s doing, it’s not working.” she said softly, sighing.

Before EJ could respond, movement near the entrance caught Genie’s attention. Her chest tightened as she spotted Sloane descending the stairs, her sharp gaze zeroed in on Jameson and Imani.

“Oh, God,” Genie huffed, annoyed with the fact that she was one foot into the gala and her night was looking to be ruined.

“What?” EJ turned, following her gaze. “Ain’t this bout a bitch.”

Sloane’s stride was purposeful, her dress clinging to her like armor. There was something wild in her expression, a barely restrained chaos that Genie had seen before—usually right before Sloane did something destructive.

“We need to stop her,” Genie said. “No. We don’t.” “Baby–” “No. That’s their shit, Genie. We said we’re out.”

It was like a car wreck. Genie couldn’t force herself to look away. Before Sloane could reach Imani and Jameson, Christian arrived. The two of them watched him step in front of Sloane, his hand on her arm as he spoke quickly. Sloane shook her head, her gestures animated, her voice too low to hear over the music. Christian’s grip tightened, and for a moment, it looked like she might shove him away.

Genie held her breath.

Sloane wavered, her shoulders slumping slightly. Christian leaned in, his tone firm but not unkind, and whatever he said seemed to take the fight out of her. With a sharp turn, she stalked back up the stairs and disappeared into the night.

Genie exhaled, relief washing over her. The tension between she and EJ were about other people and Genie would be damned if she let her night end on a bad note because her friends – ex and present – couldn’t get it together. “Okay. Fuck it. Fuck this party. I’m sorry. Take me home.”

The air inside EJ’s home was warm and quiet, a stark contrast to the loud chaos of the gala. Genie slipped off her heels and sank onto the plush couch, her head falling back against the cushions.

“Tonight was... a lot,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Yeah,” EJ agreed, loosening his tie. He sat down beside her, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch.

Genie turned her head to look at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You always know how to keep things steady, don’t you?”

“I try,” he said, his tone light.

She studied his face, the lines of his jaw, the way his eyes softened when they looked at her. She finally had that calm back. Before they let the world in, she had a little sliver of peace with EJ. He had been right. She cared far too much about other people and it was beginning to fuck with what she was trying to build with him.

Genie frowned somewhat, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand. “I’m sorry. I let everything get in my head again.”

EJ gave her a soft smile before leaning down to kiss her lips gently. “You can’t help it. That’s how you are. You love everybody and everything.”

“I just want them to be happy.” She whispered. “I know. But that’s not your job.” “It could be. Technically, I don’t have a job. I'm an heiress.” “Smart ass.” He murmured, kissing her again. “I can think of a job for you.” “Can you?”

His hand moved from the couch to her chin, fingertips gliding to press to her throat gently. Genie didn’t flinch, the action unfazed her. She trusted EJ implicity…and that turned him on.

“I can.” He knew she could see that things had changed. He’d only ever been between her legs to taste her, holding off on sex until they could have a conversation that he’d had several times before. Pulling his hand away, EJ rounded the couch and took a seat next to her. “I like sex, Genie. I like it a lot. And I like to control how I have sex.”

EJ’s gaze met hers and he saw her eyes go wide. It took her less than a second to understand what he was saying. “Okay.” she murmured.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

EJ spoke clearly and softly, his gaze tracking her movements.

“I’m not a virgin, EJ.” she told him with a laugh, “You want to tie me down? Spank me? I’m down. Whatever you want to do, I will do. Because I want you.”

“It can’t just be about me, Genie. We’re going to be together, we both have to like it.”

He seemed to be talking himself out of going further with her but the feel of her soft hand against his mouth stopped all conversation.

“I understand. We can take it slow. Teach me.”

The words triggered something in EJ. He gave her a grin before nodding his own head. "Alright. Lemme teach you."

Despite the agreement that they'd let the night be what it was, the tension between them was thick and suffocating. The gala was in full swing, the lights from the building casting a warm glow over the crowd of well-dressed people. The party certainly didn't stop when they arrived but Jameson could detect a ripple of disbelief. They weren't supposed to be together. Even though they weren't holding hands, weren't kissing, or behaving anywhere near the way they normally would -- the two of them being together was going to cause a commotion.

Throughout the evening, they danced around the situation, polite and distant. They didn't even engage with each other much at all. He wanted to be there for her -- to not let her down once again but the more he stood beside her, the more he remembered just how fractured shit was. Every time he tried to engage her, she refused. It was like pulling teeth to exchange words.

He got more and more uncomfortable as the evening passed. He didn't know what to do with himself and Imani wasn'[t interested in making things easy for him.

But finally... she spoke to him.

About a fucking drink.

"I'm gonna go speak to my auntie real quick." she murmured. "you want a drink? I might go to the bar on my way back."

"That's the first time you've talked to me like you don't hate me in two hours. And it's about a drink." he replied, not answering her question. Jameson reached up, gently pulling at the bowtie against his neck. Being on raw terms with Imani always made him uncomfortable but doing it in front of a crowd? It was even worse.

She chuckled lowly at his statement and he knew he was in for it. "What do we have to talk about, Jameson?” she said. "I think you've said enough. I heard enough. Don't make me regret asking."

Jameson tugged at his bowtie again, lifting his neck to undo the damn thing. he was beyond uncomfortable and keeping appearances wasn't important to him anymore. He didn't give a damn if people noticed they were standing feet apart and barely touching. "No, I don't want a fucking drink. I only came because I was tired of disappointing you. but I might as well have stayed at home for all you care." He pulled the silk from his neck, shoving it in his pocket as he unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt.

She clenched her jaw, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, maybe you should have stayed at home.” Well, this conversation was going horribly.

“You really don’t think we have shit to talk about? I guess not, considering you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls.” Jameson asked her, amazed at her audacity. They hadn’t spoken since sloane’s party and that had been her decision. Once again, he was iced out and desperate to get back in. She gave him absolutely nothing until tonight. Everything else he found out from her Diary ep, and just the thought of the project agitated him even further.

She sighed. Her annoyance began to show through her furrowed brows and crossed arms. She could no longer keep up with the facade either. “What the fuck do you want me to say to you? You said everything you needed to say. So, why we gotta keep talkin’ about the same shit?” she snapped.

“Imani, you dropped a whole ep talking about how you felt about us before even picking up the phone to talk about those feelings with me, but we have nothing to talk about?” She looked around the gala, looking for any eyes on the two of them. Jameson didn’t give a fuck though. His reputation took a backseat to their relationship every time.

“Why does it matter what I do? You made your choice and it wasn’t me. So nothing I do concerns you.”

Jameson turned to glare at imani, actually confused for the first time during their conversation. He didn't even need to play stupid or lie. “In what world, In what fucking reality, did I tell you that I chose her over you? I should have done differently that night but I would never say that shit to you.” He thought back to their argument and couldn’t figure out what the fuck was even happening here. He spent his entire week, bombarding her with calls and texts, but she was still focused on Sloane?

Imani turned to glare at him. “You didn’t have to fuckin’ say it! It’s the fact that you didn’t say anything. That’s making a choice right there, Jameson.”

He sighed. “I texted and called you this whole week. I went and got fitted for a tux without you even telling me if you still wanted me to go to this gala. Then I showed up. All of that was for you.” he said, his voice strained. He stared at her. “I wouldn’t do that for anybody else.”

“Okay? You want a cookie?” imani scoffed. “None of that means anything to me, Jameson. You didn’t stick up for me at Sloane’s party. you chose her. So go be with her.” He watched her scan the crowd again, realizing that she kept her temper in check, because there were other people around. “Go get your girl.”

From her EP to her admitting his actions meant nothing, his feelings were hurt. Jameson didn’t fool himself into thinking that everything would be okay if he showed up tonight but he felt he was doing the right thing by being here. “You can’t tell me how I feel about you. You can’t tell me I love anybody more than I love you. You can’t tell me that I don’t think the world begins and ends with you. I don’t fucking feel right if I can’t talk to you. I do stupid shit like fly to Italy and bang on every room door just to fucking see you. But I’m so tired of trying to convince you that my sun does not rise if you aren't around...so I won’t anymore. I’m done. You’re right about one thing…I should have stayed my ass home tonight.”

it may have been a sliver of a second but her demeanor softened. it was like he triggered an alarm because her guard was right back up again. "Yeah, maybe it's best if you go then. Because you tellin' me how much you love me don't mean shit. If you really loved me in the way you say that you do, I wouldn't even have to question my position in your life.”

Jameson hated to leave her, he hated to continue the distance between them, but it was getting to be too much now. He could feel his fragile composure slipping even more. “I love you and I don't want to keep hurting you.” He leaned in briefly, kissing her cheek. “So I’ll see you when I see you, Imani.” He gave her one final look before walking away, slipping through the crowd easily as he made his way out.

Imani exhaled a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. contrary to what she said, She didn’t want Jameson to leave. Imani looked out at the crowd to see if he was still there. Her eyes focused on him and no one else as he moved through everyone. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to work things out. That she believed him but her feet didn’t move an inch. She just watched him until she couldn’t see him anymore.

She sighed, standing to her feet. Imani went to go look for her aunt, Toni St. Cirie. she needed a distraction. Imani wasn’t going to cry, but if she thought about her conversation with Jameson for too long, she would lose it.

Luckily for Imani, she didn’t get far in her heels when she felt a bump to her side. She looked to see the blonde woman standing beside her. “You need it. Drink.” Imani took the champagne without a second thought. She almost chugged it down until she remembered where she was at, so she settled on a sip.

“Thank you. Can you sit with me for a while?” If Toni was here, she was more than likely working. She never attended galas just to mingle and bump shoulders with the wealthy. Imani didn’t want to take her away from her job for too long. She just needed someone to talk to.

“Of course.” She answered softly. The two navigated the floor together. Imani held onto her champagne glass tightly. the more people she saw, the less she wanted to be there. She wanted to go home. She was grateful when Toni found a spot away from everyone else. Toni pulled out a chair for Imani and took a seat next to her. The woman looked around before speaking. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She rolled her eyes, thinking back on her conversation with Jameson. She wanted nothing more than to forget it. “Auntie, it’s so stupid. I know you heard about that fight at that girl’s party,” she said, refusing to address Sloane by name anymore. “Well, I hadn’t talked to him this whole week because what do we have to talk about when you obviously made your choice? He was still calling and everything, but I ignored it all and dropped Diary. i just didn’t expect him to show up tonight.”

Toni quirked a brow as she explained their latest quarrel.

Imani sighed, "I know i should leave him alone. it’s just – hard.”

“Well then, it’s good that he left right?” Toni told Imani. she had never been Jameson’s biggest fan. Her aunt always advocated for her to leave him alone and focus on her career. She said a relationship like theirs would only lead to insanity.

Imani nodded slowly, “I–I guess so,” she said timidly. Now that they were alone, she forgot about her formalities and looking like she had everything together. She gulped down the rest of her champagne, feeling it tingle in the back of her throat. She needed to feel something other than anger and sorrow right now. The champagne would do.

Toni reached out and touched her knee. “Baby…” she said softly, shaking her head. “Anything worth doing is going to be difficult. You keep going in this circle with Jameson. You’re happy for a while and then you’re right back here. In this feeling. He shouldn’t get to have all this power over you. This should be the last time that you feel like this.”

She gazed at her aunt. Imani always took Toni’s advice regarding her career and everything else. She was terrible at listening to her when it came to Jameson. Yet, she nodded her head. “You’re…right. Nobody should be allowed to make me feel like this.”

“Damn right,” Toni confirmed with a smirk. she took her niece’s hands in her own, holding them close. “You just released an ep full of hits, Imani. That should be your focus. Not a man. But if you have to date someone, let me introduce you to a nice boy.”

She laughed for the first time tonight. “Depending on what the nice boy looks like, I might take you up on your offer.”

Toni smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’ll make sure he’s an elite-looking boy.”

“I trust your taste, auntie. All of your exes are fine as hell.” She couldn’t think of ever seeing Toni with an ugly man; she had good taste. The two of them continued their conversation about men, which eventually shifted to her career and different ideas she had for her Diary ep, and eventually, Imani wasn’t thinking about Jameson at all.

Genie might be the woman of his dreams.

She asked to be taught and he wasted no time doing just that. EJ figured they would take things slow. He would teach her how to please him. They’d get to sex another time. But as she lay across his bed, the dress had customized for herself hung with care in his closet, he knew he was going to fuck her.

She turned her head, taking his length down her throat once more. She was on her knees and stomach, leaning over the edge of the bed to get to him. EJ grunted in pleasure at the perfect feel of her wet mouth, a deep rumble that reverberated in his own chest. His dick throbbed in her mouth as her cheeks hollowed out. She kept her gaze on his face, hands clenched in the blanket as if she were waiting for instruction.

“Pull back.” He told her roughly, pleased when she immediately knew it meant to keep only the head of him in her mouth. Pre-cum mixed with her saliva coated his dick and EJ gave her a wistful sigh of appreciation. She held him there in her mouth, those pretty hazel eyes just asking for more.

He seized the back of Genie's hair, pulling her forward onto his cock slowly. The further they went, the wider her eyes got but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t buck back. Didn’t tell him she couldn’t handle it. The action caused Genie to gag slightly which only turned him on more. He groaned and thrust his hips forward only to be met with her hand against his thigh.

EJ pulled back suddenly, leaving Genie gasping for air. "Not bad," he praised lightly, grinning wolfishly down at his lover as he reached around to stroke himself off lazily, watching Genie with hooded eyes. “Now I’m going to be nice and give you a choice. Don’t you think that’s nice of me?”

Genie opened her mouth to respond but then closed it and nodded. He had given her four rules when they started to play.

Be honest about your comfort level

Don’t speak unless given permission

Call him “Sir” or nothing at all.

No touching without permission.

EJ grinned, proud that she had remembered a rule. "Good girl. Very good girl." he praised before leaning down to kiss Genie gently on the lips. They were full and wet from the attention she had given his dick. He was even more proud of her. "So here's your choice: do you want me to fuck you or do you–”

“Fuck me!” Genie blurted out, her eyes going wide as if she couldn’t believe she’d said it. They both went quiet before EJ burst out in laughter. Genie blushed but she didn’t seem dismayed at the turn of things.

"I wasn’t done talking," EJ told her with a quirked brow. “I’m sorry, Sir.” She said softly, her fingers pulling at the blankets in anticipation.

He brushed his thumb against her mouth, liking the way she opened her lips as if begging him to press the digit inside. He gave in to her, pushing his thumb in. Genie brushed her tongue against it, sucking just as eagerly as she did when his dick was in her mouth.

It was enough to make him feel less guilty about giving in. He was fucking her because she asked…but also because he wanted her so bad that he could feel the pre-cum dripping from his dick.

"You picked what we do. I decide how we do it." EJ told her decisively. “Turn around.”

She was already on her knees but she understood exactly what he meant. Genie scrambled to turn her back to him, stretching her hands across the bed. The anticipation was a fucking killer. He watched her tremble, glancing over her shoulder every two seconds as if he was going to change his mind. EJ pressed his fingers between her legs, gathering her slick onto his fingers. She did her best not to make a sound but EJ knew she’d be unable to resist. They were new to all of this. He was going to go easy on her.

“Let me hear it, sweetness.” He encouraged her, noticing how her shoulders sagged in relief when she got permission. Genie let out a soft moan as he climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as he pressed himself against her. He drew his dick up and down her folds, teasing them both. EJ leaned over her back, peppering kisses along her spine as he finally grasped her hips in his hands.

EJ felt her brace for the inevitable thrust so he moved slowly. Inch by inch, he introduced her to her dick and it made her clench and squirm more than she would have if he just pinned her down and fucked her. Genie arched her back in pleasure, panting softly. She squeezed around him and he just knew it was going to be over if he didn’t do something.

"Hold it," EJ whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her ear, “I want to take my time with you.” He kissed and nipped at her earlobe. Genie shuddered at the sensation and nodded, eagerly spread her legs wider, giving him better access. She sank further against the bed, her palms turned down to grip the comforter.

Ej chuckled darkly and trailed his lips down to Genie's neck, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin there. Meanwhile, one hand reached between her legs to tease her already wet clit. Genie moaned and arched into his touch, craving more. “Sir, I–”

But he ignored her.

EJ continued to tease and torment her. Genie arched back, twisting her hips out in pleasure as he began to move them in a slow, torturous rhythm. She mumbled words he couldn't quite comprehend but he understood how her body twisted and turned. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly. EJ's other hand traveled up to fondle one of her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipple between his fingers as his hips kept her pinned beneath him.

The combination of sensations had Genie writhing beneath Ej's touch, begging for release. But EJ seemed determined to push her closer and closer to the edge without letting her fall over.

"P-Please," Genie moaned desperately, needing more friction against her sensitive clit.

"Please what?" "Please, sir!" "No. Not yet."

Trapped underneath EJ, Genie couldn't do anything but hold on for dear life. His hips picked up speed, the rhythm he'd spent what felt like forever setting had changed. He had changed. "Open that pussy up for me." He grunted, the rough and vulgar words were so different from anything he'd ever uttered to her that Genie looked back over her shoulder -- almost checking to see if this was the same man who'd been slowly seducing her for months.

Their gaze met and EJ tilted his head, wordlessly asking if she liked it. She gave him a little smile, permission to continue on. And so he did.

"I said...open." His hand pulled back from her breast and slapped her thigh. Genie spread her legs wide again, falling back against the bed. Whatever he had done had made it easier for him to dig into her and she was feeling shit anew. "That's what I'm talking about." EJ grunted, lifting a leg to plant his foot against the bed.

He pounded into Genie from behind, picking up speed. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through his body and he couldn't control the moans that escaped his lips. He had nothing on Genie. She cooed and oohed, gushed over him and burrowed her face in the sheets -- almost as if she were embarrassed of the noises he was bringing from her body. Her throat, her pussy, her thighs. They were all loud as fuck, echoing throughout his bedroom.

EJ couldn't think straight, all he could focus on was the intense pleasure coursing through his body with each movement of his hips. Her submissiveness brought it out of him. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge with every passing second and knew that neither of them wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

"Sir!," she cried out, her voice strained as she curled up and took every thrust. "May I cum? Oh please let me. Please. I was a good girl." She begged him and that sent him damn near over the edge. He looked down at the girl of his dreams -- gripping his sheets, biting her lips, brows furrowed and dripping with sweat. He would give her anything in the fucking world. An orgasm was nothing.

"Go ahead. Cum for me," Ej grunted out, biting down on the sensitive skin of Genie's neck. It sent her over the edge. She spasmed under him, whimpering and grunting as he keep going. She squeezed at him so tightly that stars exploded behind his closed eyelids. "Jesus, fuck..." he whispered as he came hard, white heat igniting every nerve in his body.

They collapsed onto the bed together, panting heavily and still connected

You said you were done. He said he was done let it go. She told herself several times throughout the night. She had drank and donated...and did her best not to cry over the fact that she felt so very alone. She mingled some but her mind was still on him.

It didn't matter what she told Toni. Her heart wanted Jameson. She didn't know if she even be listening to the damn thing but it beat like crazy when she thought of him or saw him. He owned her in a way that made her damn near crazy. How could she let him walk away without seriously considering she'd never see him again?

She just couldn't take it anymore. She unblocked him and sent a text message. One that he didn't answer. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for a response. When it didn't come, she didn't get angry -- she decided she was going to have her way. They were going to figure this shit out. Imani pulled her phone from her clutch, swaying as she dialed the number. Being tipsy helped her put her pride aside.

It rang twice...and then he answered. "Hello?"

She could tell he was hesitant. Hell, she was terrified of what was going to come of it but they needed to do it. They had to get it out. "Come back and get me." She told him softly.

"I don't want to fight anymore, Mani." "We're not fighting. We're talking." "All we seem to do is fight." "And miss each other. Don't we miss me?" "...Yes." "Then get your ass up. Come get me, Daddy. Let's figure it out."

He hesitated for only a minute but then Imani heard him sigh and the sound of keys. "I'm on my way."

#aaron pierre #megan thee stallion #aaron pierre fanfic #megan thee stallion x black!oc #aaron pierre x black!oc #megan thee stallion fanfic #celebrity fanfic #original characters #oc fanfiction #celebrity fanfiction #celebrity ocs #is this late? YES BUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS -- it was christmas and one of us got drunk #anyway!!! enjoy!#or not :)#fic: neon lights #queue

44 notes · View notes