#i'm actually really invested in this au now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ugh-yoongi · 2 months ago

Text

ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol au #scoups angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #jewel writes

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cartierre · 1 year ago

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BRUTAL OUT HERE | op81

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU oscar piastri x fem!singer!reader (fc: olivia rodrigo)

side note: the way i used to dislike oscar and now i'm so immensely proud of what he's achieved is crazy. what a character arc of me.

♡ liked by conangray, oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter and 238,495 others

yourusername i am beyond the moon happy and proud to announce that my debut album is out now in store and on all music platforms! having worked on this for so long, it feels like seeing my little child grow up 🫶🏻 my team and i invested a lot of time and effort into this and i'm insanely excited for you to experience it. let me hear your thoughts and opinion on this! 💜

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user1 JUST LISTENED TO IT AND I AM NOT OKAY

user2 the way this captures the spirit of being a teenage girl so well ⤷ user3 she literally took my feelings and put it into words it's incredible

conangray i'm so proud of my babygirl comment liked by yourusername ⤷ yourusername ah stop! you helped me so much in the process, huge huge thank you for supporting me 🫶🏻😭 ⤷ user4 i love y/n's and conan's friendship so so much!

oscarpiastri 💜🖤 ⤷ user5 OSCAR?

♡ liked by conangray, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 201,394 others

tagged: conangray

yourusername the last few weeks have been absolutely crazy! i've recieved so much love and positive feedback for 'SOUR' ... i can't even describe how loved and appreciated i feel. i love you guys so much!

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user6 you deserve this so much!! your music makes me feel so many emotions, it's incredible

user7 can't believe how far you've come! been listening to your solos for so long and now you have a whole album aaahh ⤷ user8 remember when she used to upload covers on youtube?

oscarpiastri insanely proud! comment liked by yourusername

user9 oscar is being a bit suspicious these days i don't trust him ⤷ user10 lando is also liking sooo something is brewing in the paddock for sure

♡ liked by conangray, madisonbeer, oscarpiastri and 302,183 others

yourusername my first performance here in melbourne (my hometown) felt so fucking special i'm in tears from how amazing you guys were! my official tour dates are coming soon!

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user11 is it true that you and oscar are childhood friends ⤷ user12 what if they're dating ⤷ user13 what if sour is actually about him?

conangray ahhh i'm so proud of my bestie! comment liked by yourusername ⤷ yourusername couldn't have done it without your pep talk

user14 someone said sour is about oscar and y/n's former relationship? ⤷ user15 is this confirmed?

oscarpiastri what an amazing show 💜 comment liked by yourusername

♡ liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter and 328,283 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris

yourusername cat's out of the bag thanks to this dingus

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user16 no because it's kinda sweet they revealed their relationship during oscar's homerace (even if it was accidental) ⤷ user17 and her having had her first concert a week ago in melbourne as well (which he attended) like since when is melbourne so romantic like that

oscarpiastri i already told you i'm really really sorry ⤷ yourusername save your apology and gimme a kiss

landonorris great so now i see your annoying asses in real life AND on social media ⤷ yourusername haters gonna hate

user18 but... i wanna know who the album is about then ⤷ user19 real like babes let us knoooowwww

user20 i love childhood friends to lovers aaahh comment liked by yourusername

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri imagines #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fluff #f1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 instagram au #f1 social media au

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

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Addams Family Steddie AU Part 3

Part One | Part Two

To preface, a bitch is sick rn so if you see any typos, no you didn't lol

"Robin, this is serious."

Steve can perfectly see Robin rolling her eyes through the phone as she says, "Oh, right, I'm so sorry your fiance-to-be is the perfect boyfriend who takes you on wonderful dates and romances you every single second you're together."

"I'm starting to think you're jealous."

"I'd only be jealous if Eddie had tits."

"He'd probably get some if I asked."

In the silence that follows, Steve can imagine Robin's scrunched face: her crinkled nose and curled lips and generally disgusted eyebrow furrow. He counts down from six in his head and then mouths along as Robin says, "I'd hang up if I weren't so invested in your love life."

"For someone so invested, you're not helping."

He hears a put-upon sigh through the speaker and returns it with a sigh of his own. Steve gives up on sitting properly and collapses back onto his bed, staring at the unmoving ceiling fan Hulyet is currently hanging from to nap.

"Fine, fine, what's the actual problem again?" Robin asks, her question followed by the sound of her shutting a book (one of her science textbooks based on the sound it makes when closing) so she can give Steve her full attention.

"Eddie is always planning our dates, and they're always really good, right? So I want to plan a date in return, but I have no clue how to plan something we'll both equally enjoy. In fact, I have no clue how Eddie plans our dates in the first place."

"Just start with something he likes and try to find something you'll like in it."

"Okay, say it again, but pretend I'm five."

Robin sighs again, and Steve hears the creaking of her bed as she collapses onto it. "Okay, the last date he planned, it was a hockey game, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, you like sports. Hockey is an obvious jump from there, but was Eddie also having fun at the game?"

Steve hums, reviewing their date from the week before. He hadn't expected Eddie to pull out hockey tickets, but he'd looked forward to it nonetheless. The game itself was fun, and the rink was cold enough that Steve had been able to scoot closer to Eddie and complain about being chilly.

Of course, Eddie's immediate response was to pull out a lighter, open it, and flick a flame to life while asking, "How big of a fire do you want, Stevie?"

For a brief moment, Steve had considered the question. But then he'd realized a fire would disrupt the hockey game, so they probably shouldn't start one.

After grabbing the lighter and stuffing it into his own pocket, Steve leaned closer and whispered, "Wouldn't you rather put your arm around me?" Eddie had lit up, and his smile was wide enough to make Steve feel blinded as he wrapped an arm around Steve's waist and pulled him closer.

It had been wonderful and romantic, right up until both of them got way too into the game and completely forgot about cuddling in favor of shouting at the players to hit harder and actually draw some blood to get the puck.

Steve smiles a little at the memory. "Yeah, he enjoyed the violence."

"Well, we all enjoy seeing buff people get a little bloody," Robin says, and Steve can see the way she's nodding like a wise man. "Anyway, he probably knew he'd enjoy the whole violence part of the sport. So, follow that formula."

"What formula are you seeing here?"

"Thing fiance-to-be likes plus a small part of it you could probably enjoy equals romance. If that's too hard, just get him a gift and plan the date around that."

Well, it sounds easy when she says it like that. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because I'm the genius here, obviously. Now go plan a date so you can tell me all about it later. And I expect details, Steven. Sordid details. If I'm not quivering in my bodice, what's the fucking point."

"You don't even have a bodice. And my name isn't Steven."

"I'll get one, and your name is whatever's comedically appropriate."

"I found a good website for bodices and corsets, actually. I can send it to you."

"What are you doing on that website, Steve?" Robin asks, her voice light and eager.

Steve smirks, pulling the phone away from his ear and saying, "Wouldn't you like to know," before quickly hanging up. The phone stays silent for three whole seconds before Robin immediately calls back, but Steve is too busy laughing to actually pick up.

Part of why the Munsons moved to Steve's neighborhood is the cemetery within walking distance. The cemetery is at the very back of the neighborhood, hidden from people who don't actually live there. The front of the cemetery is perfectly presentable. The gravestones are clean and new, and flowers decorate most graves while others hold pebbles and stones of various sizes and colors.

The back of the cemetery, however, is a Munson paradise. The grass gives way to brown, under-watered weeds and dirt, the faded gravestones are covered in moss and plants climbing them, and the trees are perpetually leafless and spindly to create the perfect horror movie atmosphere. It was like that even before the Munsons moved to the neighborhood, but Steve doesn't actually know why.

The back of the cemetery is where Steve leads Eddie, occasionally looking back to make sure the blindfold covering Eddie's eyes is still in place. "You know, I was expecting more than walking when you pulled out the blindfold," Eddie says, squeezing Steve's hand.

"We're almost there," Steve promises, looking around them until he spots the picnic blanket and pillows he'd laid down earlier in front of a blank gravestone. There's a small projector on the edge of the blanket, facing the wall of a mausoleum, with a DVD player connected to it.

Steve stops at the edge of the blanket, takes a deep breath, and moves to stand in front of Eddie. "Okay," he says, reaching up and carefully pulling off the blindfold.

When it comes off, Eddie looks straight at Steve, not sparing a glance at the set-up behind him. "Are you the surprise?" he asks, sliding his hands around Steve's hips and pulling him closer.

"I'm not much of a surprise," Steve points out.

"You're the best gift I could ask for," Eddie says, sealing the words with a kiss that would be too easy for Steve to get lost in.

And he almost does, but he pulls away before Eddie's tongue can get too far into his mouth. "No, wait, you haven't seen the actual surprise," he mumbles, putting a few inches between them and gesturing to the picnic blanket.

Eddie's eyes light up, and he pulls Steve to the blanket. He sits against the headstone and tugs Steve down next to him. "Movie date in a graveyard? Very romantic, sweetheart," Eddie says, leaning close and kissing Steve's jaw.

"Well, that's not the whole surprise," Steve replies, leaning his head on Eddie's shoulder. He hears a quiet hum from above him and adds, "This is our spot."

"What? Like a make-out spot? We gonna sneak out in the middle of the night to make out right here twice a week?"

"Only twice?" Steve asks, his voice teasing as he tilts his head back to see Eddie smile. He doesn't give Eddie the chance to answer, though. Instead, he takes Eddie's hand and plays with his engaged-to-be-engaged ring. "I mean, this is our spot. We're leaning on our gravestone."

A few seconds pass before Eddie seems to actually process the words. When he does, he straightens up, tugging Steve away from the gravestone with him so he can see it. "Is this...a couple's plot?" he asks, his eyes wide as he looks from the stone to Steve.

Steve flushes, heat rising in his cheeks as he looks away. He takes a deep breath, deciding to just verbalize his thought process when he'd bought the plot. "I figured, well, we wouldn't want to be apart even in death. So we'll be buried together, you know? Our corpses will be embracing as we rot for eternity, becoming skeletons and dust that will only know each other."

The words are followed by silence, making Steve wonder if he somehow fucked up with his gift. He braces himself and glances up at Eddie to ask if he doesn't like it only to be pushed back on the blanket. Steve blinks, his brain barely catching up as Eddie kisses him. This is, by far, the most desperate kiss Steve has ever received from Eddie. It's a kiss that's practically begging Steve to give Eddie permission to swallow him whole, tuck him securely into the marrow of his bones, and hold him there so they'll never be apart.

Steve is a little confused, but he's far more interested in kissing back, sliding his fingers into Eddie's hair and tugging playfully as he bites Eddie's tongue. A rough growl in response sends shivers down Steve's spine, goosebumps spreading across his arms as Eddie pushes his hands under Steve's shirt.

Surprisingly warm fingers trail across Steve's abdomen before Eddie's hands settle on his hips, his pinkies teasingly pushing past the waistband of his jeans. Steve sighs softly, relaxing at the familiar sensation as he hooks one of his legs over Eddie's waist, pulling him close until their hips and chests are flush against each other.

Eddie grins against Steve's lips, his left hand trailing down Steve's waist to rest on his thigh, holding it in place as he teasingly grinds their hips together. Steve jolts, a surprised, quiet moan escaping him as his hands start to tremble with adrenaline and...well, sheer horniness if he's being honest.

"Please tell me we can fuck on our future grave," Eddie says, his voice low and husky as he speaks against Steve's lips.

Steve groans, fully agreeable to the idea only to realize two very important things. One, he doesn't have any lube, and two, he was actually looking forward to watching movies with Eddie, which wouldn't really happen if they got too distracted. Plus, you know, the whole sex in public thing, but that's not as big of a deal. Who's going to be visiting the cemetery on a Wednesday?

But Steve doesn't want to completely dash Eddie's hopes and the sheer joy in his eyes at the idea, so he presses another kiss to his lips and promises, "Later, Eddie."

Despite his disappointed expression, Eddie doesn't argue. He just sits up, pulling Steve with him so he stays in his lap. "I'll hold you to that, sweetheart," he whispers, kissing down Steve's neck until he reaches the point where it meets his shoulder. He bites down there, causing Steve to inhale sharply as he licks and sucks a hickey onto his skin.

Steve shakily exhales, biting his bottom lip to keep himself grounded. When it feels like Eddie is about to start on another hickey, Steve uses his grip on his hair to pull him back. "Stevie," Eddie breathes, his eyes dark as he looks up at him, "you know what pulling does to me."

Steve snorts, kisses his cheek, and climbs off his lap. "Keep it in your pants for now, babe. I actually want to get to the other part of this date," he says, moving over to the projector.

"And what's that?" Eddie asks.

"Classic monster movies," Steve says, grinning at the excited gasp that comes from Eddie as he turns on the projector. Once it boots up, the mausoleum wall shows the opening menu for a Monster Movie Collection DVD. Steve puts on Frankenstein, making sure the movie actually starts and the opening credits begin rolling before climbing back into Eddie's lap.

"I love you so fucking much," Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and hugging him close as he rests his chin on Steve's shoulder.

Steve grins, leaning back against him and idly playing with one of the rings on Eddie's fingers. "I love you, too. Now shut up and watch the movie. No more making out until at least this one is over."

"Yes, sir."

Steve can't help a soft laugh. He takes Eddie's hand, raises it to his lips, and playfully bites his palm before lacing their fingers together and focusing on the movie.

Tag List: @estrellami-1, @justforthedead89, @starman-jpg, @abstractnaturaldisaster, @sugartin, @ashwagandalf, @xjessicafaithx, If anyone else wants to be tagged in potential future parts, just let me know!

#steddie #steddie fic #addams family steddie #addams! eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #there's a reference to Addams Family Values in here #whoever notices it please know I love you #also #for anyone who was curious about that lol #this au has consumed me body and soul

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redsaurrce · 2 months ago

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LESSON IV

LESSON I / LESSON II

LESSON III

Synopsis : Caught up in the mess of Jungkook and his brother Taehyung, how will you come out of the mesh? When both of them have taken a liking to you in not so upright way, can you teach them a lesson?

Pairing : YandereTeacher!jungkook x bully student fem!reader, slight student!Taehyung x reader

Genre : high school au, mafia au

Word count : 3.8 K

Warnings : Y/N REVENGE ARC MUAHAHAHA, profanity, forced proximity, multiple mentions of death, gun shots, mommy and daddy issues, family trauma, mentions of betrayal

Taglist : @darkuni63 @jeonswifey @laylasbunbunny @hey-syia @pandalove03 @kooliv @radcustoms @ysk101 @mageprincess7 @hoeshii @bangtanxcoffee @acnetrone @1-in-abillion @stuffy16 @halloweeninapril @hoseokgrecns @hoseoksluv89 @143sthings @bangtans-momma @jxeon @xicanacorpse @jungkookian1997 @ttanniett @jxeonlux @xellainne

A/N : so after finally after 8 months we will witness Y/N finally standing up against jk and hell will break loose haha suffer suckers

"It's dark." The last thing you remembered was falling off the cliff and falling into the deep sea. You were convinced you were going to die or is it the afterlife?

You slowly opened your eyes and saw someone staring at you. You immediately made an attempt to get up but the man's deep voice caught you off guard, "Rest a bit more, you have broken limbs."

BROKEN WHAT!?? You gasped out loud in shock and started looking for your hands and legs. "Calm down young girl I'm kidding." He chuckled. You frowned, "Who are you.. and where am I?"

"I'm Kim Taesung. Pleased to meet you Y/N." Kim Taesung? You tried to rack your brain to recall anyone with that name. Why does it sound so familiar though? You wondered.

"I assume you are my son's close friend?" The man spoke making you even more confused - wait! was he-

He looked at your face and smiled, "Yes you connected the dots right! my son is Kim Taehyung." Your eyes widened- was he being real!?

"what!? But why did you try to kill me then!??" You asked the man. He looked like he was in his mid forties. He had a big fierce build- definitely suiting the aura of a mafia leader.

"Well you see, I was surprised to know someone else other than me and my son knew about his nickname, at first I wanted to meet you immediately but on a second note I thought - what if it was a trap? You know.. if someone was trying to lure me out by using that name? That's why I set up all that act.."

"Act?" Then again ofcourse it had to be an act or else you'd been dead by now. You wondered how you got saved though and most importantly what the hell was Jungkook doing there!?

"If you really were from an enemy gang then when everyone pointed their guns towards you, the men from that gang would have popped up to save you." He explained further.

"Then what about the gun shot? Wasn't I shot by a gun?" You frowned and tried to search for any bullet marks on your body.

"That was a false one, there was only noise of shooting .. no bullet came out of it so you weren't really shot. And yeah the noise scared you so you lost your balance and.. fell." He cleared your confusion.

"it's my turn to question you- what brings you here?" He asked you with a piercing gaze.

You gulped. "I wanted to learn investment from you.. but.. I think I achieved something even better."

His eyebrows perked up, "And that is?"

"Sir, does anyone else know that it was a trap and I'm not dead?" You asked earnestly.

"No one except me and my secretary who told you he was going to escort you to me... know about this ordeal. I don't trust my boys with the acting skills so to make all that real I had to hide this secret from them." You nodded at his words.

"Actually.. out of your men, one of them happens to be my fiancé. And i- where should I begin all of this." You licked your dry lips.

He sighed. "Take your time I'm listening."

And so you unfolded your history with Jungkook and Taehyung and how you were kicked out of the house and now this was your last straw to survive.

You happened to take a glance at his hands- they were red from fisting so tightly. Was this man angry on your behalf? You were moved.

"And that's why I came looking for you, sir. I have no plans to marry any of them and at this point I only want to survive." You said.

"No." He said firmly, "You should take your revenge. I'll accept you as my student but on one condition."

You waited with bated breath.

"Be my daughter."

---

Three years later.

Jungkook had succeeded as CEO and took the business world by storm, you were updated about his every move via his kingmaker or your now dad. There were no adoption papers to begin with but you had accepted him as your father with your whole heart a year ago.

You knew about Jungkook's achievements but what you didn't know was how he longed for you thinking you were dead. He was angry with one thing though- his marriage with Na Ji-won. How could you? He loved you so much but you tricked him into marrying another woman!??

Seeing Jungkook's marriage ceremony on television gave you immense joy. You were ecstatic to say the least.

You didn't know about your family though - not like you bothered to know about them but what you didn't know was how they reacted to your news being dead. Jungkook told them he saw with his own eyes how you fell down a cliff to your death.

Your father couldn't sleep for weeks, blinded by success and passion he failed to be a good father. Perhaps what drove you to your death wasn't the men in black but the negligence he showed towards you. He was deeply ashamed and broken hearted for losing his daughter whom he couldn't even embrace for the last time.

Your mother tried to be unaffected by this since she knew you were an illegitimate child but yet- all she felt was grief. It wasn't your fault that you were born unlucky. She cried and cried because maybe somewhere in her heart- even if she tried to deny it.. you made a place for yourself before she even realised it.

She remembered how you always praised her even for the tiniest efforts she made, you were a child after all. You wanted affection too- WHY? Why didn't she realise earlier and accept you as her own. Even though your father tried to kick you out that night, she should've stopped him.

She believed you were a clever girl so you'd survive no matter what happened. She failed to realise that you were a child after all. A child who died in the end.

Your sister, Han Yoo-in, blamed all of this on herself. She despises herself the most- she loved you so much.. she had no reason to hurt you like this. She shouldn't have said those things and she misses you every single day. Bringing the top scores in CSAT didn't give her even the slightest bit of joy.. she wanted you to congratulate her instead.

She wanted you back.

She isolated herself in her room on the day of the result and kept staring at her phone, hoping to get a call from you. But you never called.

Taehyung was devastated to say the least, he lost the one and only person he was comfortable to be around. You were gone. Forever. It was painful to accept it but he couldn't move on. He wonders though, how did you die- why did you go to New York, he had so many questions.. but all of them were now together with the dust.

"Y/N-ah!" You heard your dad call you.

Three years worth of hard work was about to come to full swing the next month and you couldn't wait to go back to Korea to officially announce yourself as one of the major shareholders of Ji-won's father's company.

And you definitely couldn't wait to make a comeback as a successful owner of Yooshin textiles, a franchise under Kim Taesung's chain of businesses. It was a test from him to prove if you were worthy to be an owner and you for sure- did not disappoint. Your mind was quick and calculative, a great asset to a business owner.

"Yes dad." You gleefully called him back. Even though he was scary and intimidating, you found him to be the sweetest man ever. Sometimes it made you wonder if he was even real because all the men you've had in your life were nothing but jerks!

Your dad gave you the result of the CSAT exam that you took this year after studying honestly with hard work beside learning all about businesses - well yeah your father played a huge part in it since he made sure you get the best tutors in the country to give you private tuition under tight security.

But in the end it was your own determination and hard work - is what he said. Well .. you believe him, as a student with poor grades who had been constantly compared with your sister the entire life, it was refreshing to see and believe that you could do it too!

"You have officially graduated high school Y/N! Congrats on your achievement." He also gave you a congratulatory bouquet. You smiled widely, "Thanks dad." You hugged him.

His heart filled with warmth and pride, he felt so good to have such a hardworking daughter. He's willing to do everything for you.

"So we're finally going to Korea next month." He smiled.

Jungkook was getting ready for the meeting, being the husband of Na Ji-won and son-in-law of the NaDo enterprises' owner, it was not a surprise for him to succeed the company.

Today was the day he was going to announce the merger of his company and NaDo and that's why the meeting was being held.

"I wonder if Miss K will attend the meeting this time, she's one of the biggest stock holders of your father's company." Jungkook said while Ji-won fixed his tie.

She said nothing, given how those stocks were the ones she actually gave to you without Jungkook's knowledge to get him. But that was in the past, she wanted to know herself as well.. who on earth was Miss K who had your stocks. Did you hand them over to her before you died?

No matter how much she tried racking her brains, nothing was fruitful.

"All done." She muttered. And with that Jungkook left. He wasn't a bad husband per se but the lack of affection was killing her. "It's already been three years, how long should i wait for him." Ji-won said to herself, biting her lip in agony.

"You're gonna do great, my dear daughter." Taesung hugged one last time before you were ready to step inside the meeting hall.

"Thanks, dad!" You smiled and broke the hug.

With confidence stirring inside you, the massive doors opened and you took your steps inside the hall. All the murmurs and chatters were now dead silent at your entrance. You were in a blazer and suit all buttoned up like a classic rich businesswoman.

Everyone started to continue chattering about who you were but the most surprised of them all was .. Jungkook.

"Y/N?" His eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets.

The entire hall was silent yet again on Jungkook's abrupt outburst.

"Is that really you? Han Y/N?" You turned towards him. You loved his expression so much that you wanted someone to take a pic of him and give it to you as a laminated photograph.

Just then a voice boomed throughout the entire hallway, "Welcome everyone.. it looks like our anonymous stock holder has finally decided to show up. Welcome Miss Kim Y/N." The man greeted and everyone started clapping for you.

"K-Kim??" Jungkook contorted his eyebrows.

You stood up, "Thankyou for the warm welcome everyone. I'm Kim Y/N. Pleasure to meet you all." You smiled boldly.

Jungkook couldn't believe his eyes at all, first of all you were alive?? Why did he never get to know this?? And what's with the surname? Kim!??

One of them spoke, "But.. weren't you the younger daughter of Han Pilwon? Or am I remembering you wrong?"

You smiled a bit, "That's right uncle, you've seen me every time you had dinner at the Han's house. I.. actually I am no longer a part of the Han family. I have a different father now." You said proudly.

"Different father?" Jungkook was surprised.

"Yes. Now.. shall we start with the meeting?" You said, your gaze going back to the owner of NaDo.

As the meeting commenced, Jungkook just couldn't stop fidgeting, as if all of this was just a dream. He couldn't believe his eyes.

You were alive, sitting in front of him.

Then why did Taesung's secretary tell everyone that you couldn't survive the fall? Was it all a scheme? No matter what, he couldn't understand your comeback at all.

After the meeting was over, you were going back to your father but just then someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside.

Your eyes went wide, not that you didn't expect him.. it just caught you off guard.

He quickly took you in his embrace tightly, you tried to fight away from his grip but he kept on squeezing. "I'm afraid once I let you go, you'll disappear again. I missed you Y/N. I missed you so so much." He muttered through your hair.

You felt disgusted, "Let me go Jungkook. We're not engaged anymore, you have a wife now- You have no reason to miss me."

He snapped his head back to face you, enraged he said, "Really? And why did I have to go through the marriage in the first place? Did you already forget Y/N?? You tricked me." His voice cracked.

You scoff, "Do you even realise what you're saying? Yes- yes I did trick you but you had all the means to nullify the marriage as well. You could've said you were forced or whatever I don't know. You saw I was dead and NaDo was a good deal so you went ahead with the marriage. And I don't even blame you for it so stop with your fucking crap and get lost!" You said with eyes literally blazing up.

He looked at you with a pause as his eyes began to darken, "You are coming back with me." He emphasized each and every word.

You seriously wanted to hit this man, "Or else? You can't do anything to me anymore Jungkook. I'm not the same Han Y/N you remember, the one who only knew to cause troubles or the one who'd swallow up every shit you threw at her. I'm not her anymore. I'm Kim Y/N, you can't mess with me Jeon Jungkook. So fuck off!"

"Hah!" He poked his cheek with his tongue, "Ah that reminds me, what's with you being a Kim now? Changed families huh? I don't care, I don't care about anything else.. you'll be Jeon Y/N in the end anyway.. so none of this matters anymore." He laughed, insanity oozing.

"Are you sick in the head? What makes you think I'll come back to you? This is my last warning Jungkook. Leave or else you'll pay the price." You were trying your best to push him away.

But he didn't budge an inch, if anything he pinned you against the wall and his hands started snaking around your waist.

Your breath hitched.

"Yes, I have lost my mind. After years of yearning for you.. not being able to come in terms with your death, I've tormented myself to the point I've become insane. Now that you really are back, I won't let you go. You leave me with no choice Y/N." He leaned closer, "I still have the video recordings with me."

You felt your stomach drop.

"Come with me or I'll upload that on NaDo's forum." He said with an evil grin.

You started laughing.

You were.. laughing?

You started to laugh even more hysterically. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you. GAURDS!" You screamed and at once men in black attire surrounded you both.

Jungkook was caught in surprise because he was too familiar with this uniform.. but what surprised him even more was the man that walked towards him like a towering beast in a cape.

"B-boss?" Jungkook let go of you. "What brings you here?"

"You dog!" Taesung grabbed Jungkook's chin and threw him on the ground like he was a toy.

"How dare you harass my daughter!?" He growled.

"d-daughter?" He looked in confusion.

Kim Y/N- Kim Taesung!? He connected the dots.

Taesung wasted no more breath and ordered his men to drag him away.

"Ugh leave me! Leave me you assholes!" He kept shouting but the strong men dragged him away.

"We'll beat him to a pulp until he confesses and deletes the footages and make sure he never bothers you again." He assured you.

His words felt like breathing again.

It was so scary, all of this was so scary.

You hugged him at once and finally broke down in his embrace. Your muffled cries broke him. He was waiting for this day ever since you had told him about your estranged relationship with Jungkook.

He will make sure Jungkook will never even dare to look in your direction. After all.. what Jungkook is today is thanks to Taesung's genius mind and cooperation.

"Dad?" You heard a familiar voice from your father's back. Both of you turned towards the source of the voice and saw Taehyung standing at a distance.

But as soon as he saw you, his mind went blank. "Y/N?? Am i dreaming!?"

You screamed, "Taehyung I brought your dad back!" You gave a toothy smile.

"Son!" Taesung called out to him, his voice filled with warmth. Taehyung's attention shifted to his dad; he- at once ran to his dad and jumped into a tight hug. "I missed you so much dad. I missed you." He started to cry.

"I missed you too son." He said longingly.

You thought to give them some space for reunion but just then your dad called out to you, "Y/N come here. Taehyung i know you are already close with her, she's your sister from now on."

Taehyung physically stumbled back in surprise, "WHAT!?"

"But f-first all of all you were alive!??" He broke his hug with his dad and hugged you too. "Were in New York all this while, Y/N? You should have told me atleast that you were alive. Ugh you know how much I missed you!??? But wait- what's up with dad calling you my sister!?" He was so surprised that he started stuttering at the end.

You sheepishly smiled. "Well... It just happened to be that way."

Taehyung gulped and kept looking at both of you back and forth, "What in the world?? None of you have any matching features??"

Taesung lightly smacked his son's head, "idiot! I adopted her."

"oh .. how come you never told me you adopted her .. you could have told me through the books you know?" He pouted in betrayal.

"well we had to keep all of this absolutely a secret, please understand my intentions son." He pleaded.

"Then make me understand." He sulked. It was annoying enough that his dad adopted another child behind his back.. but out of all people.. it had to be you?? The one he had a crush on!? How humiliating! Guess he needs to let go of his crush now.

he sighed.

"Cheer up lad, come I'll tell you everything." You grinned at his remark and started walking away but just then you saw a few people run towards you and stopped at a distance.

"Yoo-in? Mother?.. father?" You felt a lump in your throat as soon as you saw them.

"My child! You're alive!!" Your mother ran towards you and hugged you at once. "How are you dear? where were you all this while?"

You saw her eyes well up, you were flabbergasted, you were on the verge of tears too. Why now? "Why do you wanna know? You didn't care where I'd be sleeping that day when you kicked me out of your house.. why do you wanna know where was I? Weren't you happy when you got the news of my demise? Wasn't that what you've always wanted?" You gulped so hard.

"Y/N! I-I never thought any of that! I-" Her breathing started pacing faster, "Im sorry Y/N, I'm so sorry. I'm so ... sorry." She fell down on her knees crying, the sight was heartbreaking but this was the same woman who showed you no affection at all in your entire life. "Your sorry .. it means nothing to me now." You said, your heart aching over and over again.

Your mother was a mess. Your father said nothing and stood there with head held low.

"Han Y/N we're really sorry .. please don't do this my sister, come back to us.. please." Your sister pleaded.

"I won't. Thankyou for making my life as a Han bearable innie- I mean- Han Yoo-in but I'm not a Han anymore. You're not my family so I have no reason to come back to you." You said, tears continuously dropping to the ground just like the day when you were shut down by her.

"What do you mean-" "Dear daughter let's go!" Taesung came and held your hand.

"Who are you??" Pilwon, your father's voice echoed.

"Me? I'm a father who actually cares for his children. Nice to meet you, I'm Kim Taesung, Kim Y/N's dad." He said with an intimidating aura.

"Shut the trap, she's my daughter!" He spoke enraged.

"Tch, but your daughter doesn't want you as her father. You were never there for her anyways, what gives you the right to call her your daughter huh?" He said as if a lawyer was defending his client.

"Dad." Both of them looked at you; you chuckled, "I mean my dad, let's go.. I don't want to see them anymore."

"Sure thing sweetheart."

That said you left them behind, your past traumas and the bad memories.. all of them.

As you walked away, you felt like beginning afresh. Hope all this was a good lesson to everyone who once broke you.

You were heading towards a new chapter of your life. What will be the lesson this time?

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

AAAAAAAAAA LESSON HAS OFFICIALLY COME TO AN END OMG ITS BEEN A FOOKING YEAR THANKYOU SO MUCH LOVES FOR STICKING THROUGH THIS WITH ME IM JUST 😭😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 Please drop by your thoughts on this, have a great week x

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eoieopda · 4 months ago

Note

FINE I'M HERE TO REQUEST PART 3!!! In which Chan better really GET that promotion!!!!!!! Contract signed, payroll amended!!!!!

You can make it angsty if you like, AS LONG AS you promise there will be a happy ending (in this part or........ Another 👀)

the one with chan and the promotion (iii)

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free. now, being free is the last thing he wants.

part i. part ii.

pairing: bang chan x reader au: fuck buddies to lovers, hurt/comfort type: drabble (angst, fluff) rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my content. wc: 3.1k cw: mad!chan makes a brief appearance but otherwise remains the best boy; gn!reader (no gendered language used); reader may or may not show some degree of emotional availability (gasp!); due to the nature of their relationship, sex is referenced but not actually depicted; very briefly/incompletely edited, oops. a/n: i love you completely and am so fucking sorry it took four (4) months for me to finish this 😵‍💫 i have an epilogue i can offer in penance, if you want it! everyone else, please read the first two parts before reading this!

Chan may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.

He knew it was a bad idea to get his hopes up; to expect that things would change quickly between you, if at all. Even though he saw the letdown coming from a kilometer away, he didn’t do a thing to brace himself for it. It’s his fault, he knows, for exaggerating his place in your life — but that doesn’t make the disappointment bruise any less when the week after your wisdom teeth removal flies by in radio silence.

The lack of conversation isn’t for lack of trying. As he scrolls through your half-vacant text thread now, Chan feels all his efforts staring back at him. All those attempted check-ins marked delivered but not well-received. Swings and misses.

Prior to sending each one of them, he spent minutes upon minutes agonizing over the tone — and the use of emojis — and the possible implications of the proposed emojis — and the fear that he’d just come off clingy, not invested. Reading the finished versions back now, he can recall with perfect accuracy the drafts he typed out and immediately, feverishly deleted. Considering the way they litter his brain, there may as well be a trail of crumpled-up notes in all that metadata.

Does it make Chan cringe to look back and watch himself flatline? Absolutely.

Does that stop him from salting his own wounds? Nope. It never has and likely never will.

Maybe, he figures, he’ll spot where he went wrong and find a way to un-dig this ditch he’s seemingly made.

[Sent 2024/7/23, 15:22] Just got home. Have you fallen back asleep already? Lol

Naver says your swelling might be kind of bad tomorrow. Do you need ice packs? I have the gel kind that you can mold. Might be more comfortable than a bag of ice cubes 🤔 Lmk!

[Sent 2024/7/25, 08:03] Hi, Hamtori 🐹 How are your cheeks?

I made too much gamjaguk again. I can drop some off if

[Sent 2024/7/26, 17:49] Graduate to solid foods yet?

I hope the antibiotics aren’t making your stomach upset

DON’T LAUGH but I made you a super chill Spotify playlist with healing vibes to

Idk if you remember, but I promised to take you out for pork belly next week. If you’re up for it, are you free on

I miss y

[Sent 2024/7/29, 00:16] Hey

Or maybe, he thinks, he’ll just beat his head against his bedroom wall instead; and eventually, he’ll forget what it felt like to be yours for the day, rather than a night.

Four more days pass without a word from you. Under normal circumstances, one of you would’ve invited the other over at least twice in the eleven days since your dental appointment. No matter how infrequently the two of you chatted outside of your recurrent trysts, neither one of you has ever gone this long without summoning the other.

Something is wrong.

At this point, Chan sees two explanations for the way you’ve fallen completely off the grid: you’ve either succumbed to some tragic, post-op. complication and died, or he’s irreparably fucked something up with you without knowing how or when he misstepped. Neither one of those is an outcome he’s willing to accept.

The voice in his head nags him so forcefully and consistently that his body eventually gives in. Undeterred by his better judgment, Chan lets it guide him up, out, and onward until he winds up on the sidewalk outside his building.

On the walk to your apartment, he mulls over the foreseeable consequences of the actions he’s already set in motion. It’s certifiably insane to pop in you like this, and once again, he only sees two options: you’ll slam the door in his face, or he’ll confirm once and for all that you’ve left this mortal coil. Bad on all counts, really, but anything is better than nothing.

His timing, as it turns out, couldn’t be better. Right as he lands at the front door, when he needs to think of a way to get in without buzzing you, a neighbor he’s seen once or twice before opens it to leave. Politely, they hold it open for him, likely mistaking him for someone with any right to be there — someone whose proximity to you actually makes sense. Chan thanks them with a nod of his head and a sheepish smile before slipping through the opening.

As the elevator ascends, his fingers move of their own accord, anxiously tapping out a rhythm on the stainless steel wall he leans against. Every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. There’s a flash of something else there, too, though. Something even more nerve-wracking than all his catastrophizing; something that makes his stomach flip.

Hope.

“Oi, none of that,” he mutters to himself.

It doesn’t work. When Chan approaches the doors in the second before they open, he makes eye contact with his reflection and sees that easy, ill-advised smile creeping up on him.

As he exits that giant metal box, he shakes his head with an anxious laugh. If he’s this embarrassed by himself when he’s alone, the chances of him living through the way you’re about to look at him are…

Well…

Abysmal.

But that doesn’t stop him from powering his way down the hall towards your door. Coincidentally, neither does the fact that he doesn’t have a plan for what he’ll do when he reaches it.

Figuring knocking is as good a start as any, that’s precisely what Chan does, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to appear more nonchalant.

Then, he waits.

And then, he waits some more.

After thirty seconds pass without a response, Chan knocks again, carefully balancing the weight of his fist against it so the sound of it isn’t too assertive — or too eager — or too desperate — or —

“Left about an hour ago,” a voice says from a few meters away.

Chan turns towards the sound. Several units down, an old woman’s head pokes out of an open doorway. He can’t tell if she’s intentionally frowning at him or if it’s the weight of her jowls pulling the corners of her mouth down. Either way, it feels bad.

Running an anxious hand over the back of his increasingly warm neck, he coughs, “Oh?”

The ajumma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You young people never put those cell phones down and yet you still wind up like this.” She works herself up further; her nostrils flare as she rambles, “In my day, it was rude to show up unannounced. We called ahead, and when we called ahead, people were there to answer the door.”

Chan isn’t above arguing with some personified wrinkle, but he likes to think you would be. Even though you’re not here to witness it, it feels important to be the person you might like him to be.

So, he bites his tongue.

He nods yet again with a polite smile.

He turns on his heels.

And when he shuffles back towards the elevator, there’s a hell of a lot less of a spring in his step.

Two days go by after Chan’s little fieldtrip. Just like the previous several, they slip away quietly. This time, however, he doesn’t check-in — doesn’t type out his thoughts just to immediately erase them; doesn’t stare at his phone and wait to prove it to himself that it won’t chime.

Lesson learned, really.

It was a bad idea to bet the house on maybes. He knew it on the front end and still chose optimism; now, it serves him right. Played stupid games and won stupid prizes, as you like to say. If only he could stop thinking about what you like to say and instead focus on the fact that you haven’t said anything at all.

Chan grits his teeth and tries hard to focus on the game lighting up his monitor. Whatever Yongbok talked him into playing doesn’t make him feel any better about fumbling you — in fact, it’s proving to be yet another thing he’s terrible at — but it’s sufficiently distracting to have his friends swearing each other up and down in their Discord voice channel.

Actually, he stands corrected. This is also terrible, albeit a different flavor of garbage than his hopeless mooning over you.

Maybe radio silence is better.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes against the surface of his desk — three long taps bookended by three short ones.

Before Chan reaches for it, he lets the poetry of it all sink in. SOS, his phone declares whenever you text him. Originally, although he’ll never fucking tell you so, he chose that text tone because hearing from you salvaged his day, every time. Now, it reminds him that he’s in over his head with no life preserver in sight.

Not bad, he thinks. He should write that bit down in the notebook of lyrics he ruminates over but never puts to music, let alone shares.

The lack of action on his part prompts his phone to vibrate again for emphasis.

SOS!

Beaming white light bores into his retinas when he finally opens his inbox, and Chan refuses to think about the million times you’ve told him to switch to dark mode or the infinitely-brighter shit he’s been roasting under since he started this game several hours back. All he thinks about instead is the first grey text in an ocean of blue:

[2024/8/04, 23:37] you up?

You tilt your head to the side, smiling coyly when you crack open the door and find Chan standing on your doorstep with his hood up and hands in his pockets. Outside the windows behind you, the downpour he just trudged through continues to dampen his mood.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you lilt, like nothing has changed at all.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

Chan lifts his chin slightly as some half-assed nod to let you know that his ears work, if nothing else. Either missing his stony expression or ignoring it, you simply open the door wider, beckoning him to follow you with a gentle wave of your free hand.

He wants so badly to smile back at you as easily as you smile at him — really, he does, but fuck, he can’t make his face do anything but harden.

Once he toes off his shoes, he expects you to lead him straight to your room — or your couch — or any of the other various surfaces the pair of you have misappropriated along the way. You don’t, though. With your lips pensively pursed, you shuffle a bit closer; and as soon as you can reach him properly, you raise both of your hands. One flattens against his now rain-soaked sweatshirt; the other goes for his zipper, tugging gently until there’s nothing left to hold him together.

Carefully, Chan eyes you; watches while you slip the fabric off his shoulders, as if it isn’t twice as heavy as it was when he put it on. Like it’s easy, you turn away, open the nearby closet, and toss that wet mess into the top-half of your standing washer-dryer.

“I think…” Your tiny, upward curve returns while your sentence peters out. Softly, you reach up and brush a damp curl off his forehead. “An umbrella would be a worthwhile investment.”

He should join in on the bit. He should banter right back. He should smile, too — for fuck’s sake — because you’re finally right here. You’re talking to him within touching distance, radiating warmth he wants to live in, and he should touch you the way you want to be touched — the way you summoned him here to touch you.

He should do a lot of things, none of which include snapping at you, and yet —

“Why the hell am I here?”

It catches you both off-guard. You, because Chan has never once spoken to you any other way but kindly. Him, because you don’t actually look all that surprised by the sentiment, even if the presentation isn’t what you expected.

Somehow, that’s the thing that stings the most; not the way your face falls at his gruffness but the inkling you must have had before you asked him over that things between you aren’t sitting right at all.

Chan doesn’t get a response, so he asks another way: “Did you notice all of those unanswered texts when you sent yours, or did you ignore them all over again?”

It dawns on you — and him too, if he’s being honest — that you’ve still got your hands resting delicately on his chest. You reel your arms back in and cross them, not defiantly but diminutively. You shrink right in front of him; and regret hits him like a fist to the side of his skull.

“I didn’t know what to do with them.” Your head lowers while you do your best to look anywhere else.

That’s —

“Bullshit. I’m sorry, but it’s really not hard to keep up a conversation, especially when someone is just asking how you’re feeling.” Instantly he feels terrible for snapping. Softening his tone slightly, he sighs, “I know you know how.”

You look up at him without tilting your head much at all. Peering over that brick wall of yours, he figures. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know.”

The face he pulls must convey what he’s thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? But you’re quick to prevent him from jumping to any further-out conclusions, amending, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Chan opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. It’s rare for you to open up to the extent you might be about to; and it’s a miracle that you might be willing to now, given the fact that he’s come at you blindly at 160 kilometers per hour.

“I don’t like needing people.”

Your attention is drawn to your fidgeting fingers and the drawstring of the sweatpants they occupy themselves with. The overwhelming urge he feels to grab them, to hold them still, goes ignored and makes his own hands tense. He focuses hard on your face instead; the crease between your eyebrows while you plot out your next steps.

“I didn’t want to need you, but then I did need you — and you just… you came, no questions asked.” You laugh, either despite your visible discomfort or because of it. “Held my hand and all that, didn’t just drop me on the curb and say, hit me up when you’re down again.”

Chan feels as if he’s been punched, although it’s not offense he takes from your statement. Judging by that flicker of hurt in your eyes, the expectation you had wasn’t for him, personally. It was history.

You shift where you stand from one foot to another, like that weight on your shoulders is changing. He doesn’t know if it’s getting heavier or lighter until you finally lift your chin to look at him squarely.

“It scared the shit out of me, honestly — how easy you are to need — so, I did what I always do: I bailed.” Sighing, you finally seem to register how much anxiety you’re holding in your hands. You drop it, then drop them to your sides. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”

You smile slightly, and suddenly, he feels lighter. “I’ve been conflating them, but they’re completely different things, aren’t they?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. Truly, he’s at a loss. He can’t predict which direction you’re about to turn in. Seeming to sense this, you answer his unasked question, “Wanting to need you and wanting you.”

While this makes his brain pause, his body moves. Cautiously, he steps forward and watches you counter him until your back is flush against the wall behind you.

“Can I have a definition, then, please?” He pleads, voice low, while his hands gently claim your hips. “Because I thought it was want behind the booty call that brought me here, and I don’t want to find myself on a completely different page again.”

You link your arms around his neck and eye him carefully. “It was,” you acknowledge with a small nod. “Different kind, though — a shallow one.”

Chan finds his mouth curving up at the corner, all on its own. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back again. It’d be so easy to kiss you now, but he can’t unless he gets some sort of confirmation. “We’re in the deep end now, then?”

“Moving that way, at least. I spook easily, though…” You’d probably love nothing more than to look away when you admit that bit out loud, but to your credit, you don’t. Instead, you run your fingernails softly through the hair at his nape. “I’m not entitled to any more of your patience, but would you be willing to take it one day at a time?”

Chan wishes that he’d at least pretended to consider this. He doubts you’ve ever had a vision of him as someone nonchalant — in fact, he’s the poster boy for chalance in whichever reality that word exists — but it would’ve been infinitely cooler of him not to respond immediately and wholeheartedly with a rushed sigh, “Fuckin’ right, I am,” before leaning in to kiss you absolutely stupid.

Whatever gratification he can’t find by licking into the mouth you open eagerly for him, he finds in the way you keen when he presses his body more fully against yours. The payoff is even better when he stops short, divorcing your respective lips entirely.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he announces, breathless. His grin widens; meanwhile, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “No! Not, like, never — I don’t have that kind of resolve — but not tonight.”

The sudden switch makes you dizzy. Thankfully, it makes you laugh, too.

“Don’t tell me you just want to enjoy my company,” you warn. You attempt to say it earnestly, but a smile cracks you wide open. “I’m still too prone to bolt when I hear cute shit like that.”

Chan shakes his head. “No, I’m telling you to plant yourself on that couch —” He pulls his right hand off your left hip and gestures blindly over his shoulder. “I’m also telling you that I am getting takeout.”

You narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. “I wonder what you could possibly be ordering.”

“Belated pork belly is better than no pork belly.” He narrows his eyes to mirror hours, then kisses you quickly, murmuring, “One for the road,” against your lips.

Then, he dashes off towards your front door. As he goes, he just barely catches you nagging him through your laughter:

“If you’re not going to wait for your sweatshirt, can you at least take an umbrella?”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz taglist. multi taglist. navigation.

due to tumblr being ass with tags lately, i’m going to be tagging people in the comments for the time being!

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meanbossart · 16 days ago

Text

Ask compilation: DU drow, Orin, Astarion, lore things and little fun facts.

Trying to make a dent in this dang inbox. As always, thank you so much everyone for your patience and curiosity! Sorry that it is straight up no longer possible for me to reply to everyone, but I will keep doing my best within reason. Enjoy!

Absolutely! I had a lot of requests for bottom Astarion on my patreon which is why I was kind of on a roll there for a minute.

Though, for the record - I am really not very invested in strict bedroom roles at all. Or clear and distinct dominant/submissive dynamics. So please don't overthink it whenever there's a switch, no pun intended.

You wanna know how often they smash? Man, I don't know, I guess fairly often considering their lifestyle post-game (very active, often on the road).

Assuming that everyone agrees that sex doesn't have to involve penetration, I'd say once every other day or less, really depends on the circumstances though. DU drow's libido is much higher than Astarion's, but he's not an animal and can hold off fine. Astarion is likely to be pickier in regards to location and how-recently-have-we-bathed status as well.

I keep meaning to draw him, but I have like... A million things I want to do 😂 so its rough!

BUT you will at least continue to see him in ANE! And I'm sure i'm bound to draw him again in the future.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

If you mean in his bhaalist "AU", where he has the red robe and the extra scars, I imagine he would have gotten it through killing Isobel.

I think as a changeling she probably has the ability to just... Transform her hair however she likes at will, right? And based on her attitude plus some lines we get from Sceleritas about her own former-butler, it sounds like she would be really opposed to being serviced in that way, to me at least.

I see her as pretty aggressively independent with the way she operates, which is another factor that sets her apart from DU drow, who really enjoyed lording over the other Bhaalists and making an errand boy out of Sceleritas, to the point where he practically depended on their help to function.

Neither! I wasn't willing to let anyone take either of my eyes in my first playthrough, LOL.

I have since always given the Volo eye to SOMEONE, usually Gale, but I don't consider that canonical. I don't think anyone was desperate enough to let mister frumpy-hat over there ice-pick their eyes out.

He did do them himself. It was a profoundly stupid display he got caught up in because of Gortash. Also, de-handment is kind of a theme in his life, at least inside his head.

I have a comic about it planned for the future ;)

What do you mean, that's canonical to the game and everything! He loves the cuck chair!

He is an angsty 29-year old in denial. Your interpretation is still perfectly accurate.

Hates the guy. Hates when Shadowheart Astarion people joke about him being the Drizzt of his generation. Hates the guy like literally any countercultural weirdo hates Taylor Swift or the Weeknd. If he saw him at the line in the grocery store DU drow would find a way to roll his eyes loudly just so he could notice being an asshole.

Stay tuned, I'm cooking 🧑‍🍳

If you're asking about game strats, badly, LOL. Pretty sure I died twice to her in my first run and it was a rough way of being thrown into "serious" DnD combat.

With the exception of a couple of encounters that just so happened to turn out SURPRISINGLY cinematic, I'm just realizing that I actually don't think too often about how most of the fights went in real-time! I imagine Autie Ethel's in particular wasn't one that DU drow went into of his own accord, probably rather at a companion's insistence. That's as deep as I've thought about that personally.

Now... Back to game strats. I personally try to get a surprise round on her however I can by sneaking and shooting an arrow or AOE in her general location, since she always stands on roughly the same spot while invisible. I have my companions spread about the arena so we can take her clones down as fast as possible, and as soon as I identify who the real Ethel is I just have the strongest martial characters wail on her until she begs to be let go. Hers is one of the few fights that is actually pretty dang easy at this point for me - and I SUCK at this game.

That would certainly take a while! But, Bhaalist DU drow does kind of have an end goal, actually.

That might also turn into a comic eventually, but it would a rough one.

He pretty swiftly disposed of her, DU drow doesn't like being talked down to, which Minthara very promptly does. Him (and I, by extension) had very limited exposure to her and she was just kind of a speck of dust in his story in particular. Though I have since grown to adore her character in my proceeding runs where I do recruit her!

I guess if he got an invitation and it wasn't particularly painful to arrive at the venue, sure! He would specially love to take Astarion to Gale's wedding ceremony and purposely upstage him at every at every opportunity, LOL.

Yes. He got pretty freaky with the pain-priest. This is gonna sound like a lie but I made him get naked for it without even knowing there was a buff to be gained (I didn't get it, unfortunately, I don't remember whether I failed a check or if I had camp clothes toggled on, so it didn't count as being truly nude). I wasn't taking the game very seriously and just doing dumb roleplay things to see what would happen, LOL.

And I consider that canonical. I think DU drow saw the opportunity to show off his physique And had a strange inkling that this was a practice he was... Somehow familiar with.

Imagine my joy when Astarion and Shadowheart start having a back-and-forth about my absurd display. That's when i knew those were my people, to be honest.

#ask compilarion #ask #du drow lore #du drow and astarion

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ellecdc · 6 months ago

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helloo i’m freaking out

i just re-read “surprise! we’re making love” bc dah it’s a masterpiece and i’m obsessed w that fic and “a man with a plan”. (the way u write remus it’s just 🤌🏼FUCKING PERFECT ILYSM) and idk if i dreamt it or if there was a second part to that fic and pls if there was WERE IS IT I CANT FIND IT AND IM FREAKING OUT and if there wasn’t, im not gonna ask u to write one bc i don’t want to be annoying, but could u tell me how there story ends?☺️ i need to know they lived happily ever after in a beautiful cottage with lots of flowers and birds chirping

byeeee!! ilysm you are amazing hope u have a great week!!!💕💕💕💕

hahaha aweeee thank you, I'm so glad you loved it - I really like that fic too

and you must have dreamt it because there isn't a part two! I know how I want it to end but I don't think it would actually make an interesting or engaging fic (it would fall painfully flat in comparison to it's first part)

essentially, I imagine them talking more that night - reader saying to Remus "I'm engaged to be married....." and remus going "I know..............I'm a werewolf" and reader going "I know......"

turns out she was just as invested in him, she just hadn't realized it. but since being top of her class in astronomy (i.e., tracking moon cycles) and noticing peculiarities about Remus following such cycles, she managed to put two and two together.

they do sort of 'date' but it's quiet and soft and timid and maybe perhaps a bit awkward at first - Sirius is sort of against it and says something like "mate, you need to be careful - she comes from another world entirely, and they are not kind to their own let alone anyone else", which sort of pisses Remus off but he understands where he's coming from.

Remus plays a little bit of interference between Avery and reader while at school; showing up and sitting between them if Avery approaches her etc

now it's important to note that in this AU, I do have Voldemort BUT he's not the crazy fuck like he is in canon and it's not a war of sorts, but rather a political campaign and a lot of internal strife within the ministry

like canon, the purebloods/sacred 28 support riddle, with the exception of Crouch sr who agrees with pureblood supremacy but is running for Ministry of Magic himself

but my thought is that they get off the Hogwarts express at platform 9 3/4, Remus stands with his parents and Sirius and James with the Potters.

reader steps off the train with the Rosier twins, Regulus, and Barty and are chatting when the opposite half of the platform grows eerily quiet and readers name is called.

reader et al. look over to see readers parents standing with the Avery's and a very smug looking Avery jr., the Rosier's looking as severe as ever, and the Black's looking at Regulus expectantly.

Crouch sr shows up too, not standing with the other pureblood's but essentially on that side

and the group realizes they need to make a decision - the Rosier's don't feel like going back home to grey walls and apathetic parents who only had children to further their blood line and parade them around at balls, Regulus doesn't want to go back home without his brother to maniacal parents who use Regulus for political gain, and Junior doesn't want to return home to his abusive father who has never felt anything more than disdain for his son anyway.

and reader....well....she's not marrying Avery.

so the five of them shrink their bags, put their belongings into their pockets and they run

they head for the brick wall to cross into the muggle side of the station while dodging curses and hexes being thrown at them from their parents - an unforgivable from Crouch sr which actually finds him in Azkaban in the end

James, Sirius, and Remus find them all hiding in an alleyway in muggle London - the Potter's insist they come to their place, hire lawyers, sue their parents/are emancipated

and Remus ends up bringing reader home to Wales where they live in the Lupin's cottage and she's never been happier

lol

the end

#ask elle #surprise! we're making love #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you

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ceaselesswatchersspecialboy · 7 days ago

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Heyo! Got a question or two. (Or six-)

- Do you ship Mabifica? Or Dipcifica for that matter? I personally like the former more but I'm just imagining Bill's reaction to having to deal with the fact the girl who insulted Mabel is now dating her/her brother.

Actually, even if you ship neither, I just want his reaction the the Pine twins now being friends(?) With Paz.

Would he try to scare her off? Would he warm up to her?

(If you couldn't already tell, Pacifica is one of my favorite characters, just below Mabel.)

- Does Stan and Ford ever get as close as they did at the end of the show? I mean, Ford must be reeling, sure. But.. Do they ever get on that boat?

- Does Bill make an effort to reconcile with Ford? Even just a show of apology?

- And does Ford bond with the twins? Would he just see them as another thing Bill has tainted?

- Also. Are you planning to make fanfiction of this? Or a comic? Or any media that tells the story? It's now become an integral part of my life.

- Last one! What other bonding moments does Bill have with Wendy? We've got the bets, yeah. But is that all?

(I found your au an hour and a half ago, and I'm already this invested. That is absolutely amazing, considering I don't really latch on to things. (Thanks a lot, autism) I love the art, and I love the tidbits. If it ever gets too overwhelming, don't be afraid to take a breather!! ><)

Hello! I shall do my best to answer!

— I’m personally a Dipcifica enjoyer myself! I don’t see them getting together this summer, so it’s less of a dating thing, but Bill would be decent at recognising the signs of a crush forming thanks to Mabel exposure all summer. He’d be completely against it. He’s listing every reason why the Northwests suck to Dipper, all the times Pacifica has done something to make Mabel feel awful! He’s maybe a little dramatic about it, in true Bill fashion, and is taken aback when Mabel insists it’s okay.

Pacifica’s changing, they both say! Mabel fully intends to be Dipper’s wingman!

Bill finds that idea ridiculous. People don’t just change. Humans are known for staying the same once they’ve settled into their body — that’s just how it is.

Pacifica has proven to be the opposite of everything Bill has taught the twins, and so he sees the blooming friendship as a threat and doesn’t like it. It doesn’t help that it’s around the time his fear of changing is at an all time high, so he’s maybe projecting a little onto Pacifica.

He definitely tries to scare her off initially, and when that doesn’t work, he settles with threatening her should she ever make Mabel upset against. His threats are… very intense and it’s clear the issue runs deeper than just Pacifica. He really goes for her insecurities. Honestly, this may be one of his worst moments in front of the twins? Stan ends up having to intervene and try to figure out what’s going on in Bill’s head beyond just being protective over Mabel.

(Pacifica girl I am so sorry)

He doesn’t warm to her per se, not yet, as much as he learns to tolerate her sometimes being around. She does her best to avoid him anyhow.

— Still working out the exact details so I don’t have much to say right now, but yes, he does. A verbal apology from Bill is also kind of a big deal. Like Stan struggles saying Please, and Ford struggles saying thank you, Bill struggles saying sorry.

— Ford does bond with the twins! I think I mentioned in a post a bit ago that Dungeons Dungeons and more Dungeons is like a gateway for their relationship, and it helps Ford become more comfortable around them and vice versa. Though the general unease still lingers at times, Dipper starts to get comfortable asking him more and more questions about Gravity Falls, and Mabel knits him a few sweaters and tries to catch him up on all the pop culture he’s missed etc. Sometimes he snaps at them when he needs space, and he tends to hide behind Stan some days, but they do get to know this new Ford, and begin to get closer to him bit by bit before Summer ends.

I think he does see them as something Bill has tainted, but not in an irreversible way. If anything, it motivates him to try and get to know them more once the initial fear has settled, to try and re-instate himself as Ford Pines, and be their Great Uncle.

— I don’t plan on making a fic or a comic, mainly because I am busy right now and juggling a lot. It just isn’t something feasible for me and I notoriously don’t do well managing long projects. But, I am hoping to do art and maybe mini comics for it, once I defeat my art block and style crisis, perhaps some one-shots too if I can also defeat my eternal writers block. I’m honoured you think that way of it though!!

— They generally have a very positive relationship! Bill is seen as the cooler Stan by her friends, mainly because of the fact he doesn’t really act his age, and happily enables anything they want to do, and so whenever she needs something, she tends to go to him. (“No hard feelings Stan!”) And If Stan taught her how to shoplift, Bill probably taught her how to get away with murder, not that she’d really need that, the thought still counts. They also share similar music tastes, so when Bill’s around the shack, he’ll ask Wendy to blast some AC/DC while they work. He’s also taught her all the ways to get under Stan’s skin, because he knows for a fact she’ll use them.

I think this AU too, he’s the one who showed her the rooftop spot. He encouraged any form of rebelling against the system, even if that means slacking and getting Stan to shout at both of them.

Thank you so much!? That means a lot to hear and I hope you continue to enjoy it!! And I appreciate it, I’m trying to take it slow and answer whatever asks I can and when I can, to avoid getting overwhelmed.

#asks #gravity falls #gravity falls au #not who he seems au #stanford pines #bill cipher #stanley pines #pacifica northwest #dipper pines #mabel pines #wendy courderoy

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xhoneygirlxx · 1 year ago

Text

Fade Me

Older!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: your night is ruined when your date is a no show. maybe the handsome stranger at the end of the bar can fix it.

warnings: slight angst. reader is 30, Eddie is early 40s. Modern au! Reader's date sucks. Eddie is a sweetheart. Fluff. Swearing. Shitty writing and grammar mistakes!!! Not proofread!!!! Also Minors go away, I'm an 18+ blog.

*if I missed anything lmk

a/n: WELCOME TO MY BIRTHDAY BASH EVERYONE!!!!!!! I'm so excited to be celebrating with all of you guys!! This isn't my best work but I think its cute and that's all that matters. Love you all and hope you guys like this <3

Oh, maybe, you could devastate me.

Little lady, come and fade me.

Everything at the moment was pissing you off, setting spark to the last small fuse that sat within you. The pain from sitting on the hard bar stool was shooting pain right to your tailbone, not going away no matter how many times you switch your position. The unforgiving squeeze of the uncomfortable heels radiated pain all over your feet and you knew they would be swollen in the morning. The group of rowdy girls at the back of the bar were shrieking with joy over something you have no idea about, but you did know that you wanted to drag all of them by their scalp and remove them from the bar.

This was stupid, so fucking stupid, and you knew from the very start that it wasn’t going to work. It never does and the next time you see your friends, they aren't going to hear the end of it. Dating sites and dating in general were things you didn’t like to partake in and for good reason.

Out of all your friends, you happened to be the only single one and you were fine with that, but they weren’t. They begged you, since the moment you broke up with your college sweetheart, to get back out into the dating world. It was actually irritating that they cared so much about your relationship status so much, if you were hooking up with anyone, all under the guise of wanting you to be happy. Truthfully they did want you to be happy and they knew you craved having a relationship, but you were pissed and wanted to stew in your own anger.

Well, right now you were everything but happy. In fact you were furious. Furious with yourself, with them, and most importantly your stupid ass date, Luke. After your thirtieth birthday, your friends all but tackled your phone out of your grasp, making you a stupid tinder profile.

“Thirty is the new twenty one, babe,” Dahlia said as she and the two other girls scrolled through pictures to post.

Twenty one your ass, you think, especially with the way you’re fighting a yawn at only nine thirty on a Friday night.

So you gave in, swiped on a few different people who snatched your attention, one of them being Luke. He was handsome, smiling brightly with a bottle of Corona in his hand and a pair of Raybans perched on the bridge of his nose. His bio was simple, straight to the point, and it was the least douchey thing you’ve read while on the app.

After making short conversation, you learned that he was an investment banker, working in the Citibank building downtown. His interests were the same as yours, very shy yet loved to have a good time with friends. The best selling point was his dog, Cali, that could be seen in a few of the other pictures he had.

You were sold, with his witty banter and the fact that he had his life together at thirty two didn’t make the decision hard, especially when all the other people you know that are your age don’t have a solid plan. Which in argument's sake is fine, however you weren’t getting any younger and the want to get married and start a life with someone was getting strong, even though you’d never admit it to your friends.

So that’s why you’re sitting in a swanky bar in downtown Indy, waiting patiently for your date, who happens to be an hour late, in a dress you spent sixty dollars on. It was a pathetic feeling really, putting this much faith into a stranger in the hopes of finding the one. It’s actually why you didn’t want to do it in the first place and why your friends would have to face your wrath when you get home.

The buzzing of your phone on the wooden bar jolts you awake, the wave of adrenaline coursing through your veins making your heart pump erratically.

IMessage

Luke: Sorry for the last minute text but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Had to stay late at the office today, I hope you understand.

With a defeated sigh you turn your phone face down, not having the energy to cuss the asshole out for making you wait so long. Pulling your focus on the bartender, you flag him over and order a martini. Dry martini. Very dry.

When the man places the glass in front of you, he gives you a weak smile as if he knows what’s happening. He probably does know what’s happening, he’s probably seen this happen more times than he’d like to admit and it only adds to your frustration.

Muttering a small thanks, you take a big swig from the crystal glass, letting the liquor burn down your esophagus. It hits your stomach causing an instant burn, more fuel to the fire that’s been shimmering below the surface. The pity you started to feel has now turned into a new found rage.

Quickly picking up your phone, you ignore the burn from the sting of the bright light, and tap on Luke’s text.

Staring at it, you can feel the fire ripping through your body, all the anger and embarrassment you’ve let build up while sitting here coming out as you read his last message.

Luke: Sorry for the last minute text but I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Had to stay late at the office today, I hope you understand.

You: That would’ve been awesome to know about an hour ago. Thank you for wasting my Friday night asshole.

Before you can text more insults, a gruff voice interrupts the quick tapping of your acrylic nails on the screen.

“Trust me sweetheart, he’s not worth it.” Pulling your gaze from your phone, you try to find the owner of the voice.

Turning to your right you see him, two seats away from you, tucked away into the corner at the end of the bar. You’re not sure when he got there or if he’s been there the whole time but his presence alone is pissing you off. You’re ready to aim your dagger like tongue at him and tell him to go fuck himself when you take in his appearance.

A plain black tee shirt pulled taunt across his broad chest, tattooed arms squeezed by the material just right. On his hands sits more black ink and nice silver rings, gleaming in the low light of the bar. His hair is brown with a streak or two of salt and pepper mixed in, wisps of hair framing his face from where it fell out of the low bun it’s been pulled into. The crows feet by his eyes are fitting, especially when his dimpled smile is peaking through from where it sits behind his glass of whiskey.

He seems older, at least from the discolored hair and stubble on his chin, but he’s very handsome. Actually he’s hot and if you weren’t so mad right now, you’d be flirting with him. That’s not the case though, not when he has a smug ass smile on his face like he’s all knowing.

“What d’you know?” You bite back, waiting for the handsome stranger to answer. When he takes more than a second to answer, you cock an eyebrow at him like it’s taking him too long.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” He replies cooly, putting his glass down on the coaster, “Don’t text her, it’s not worth it.” When his eyes meet yours, you can’t help but stop breathing.

Big brown eyes looking right at you, so soft and gentle. You sink into the warmth of his eyes on you, almost letting yourself drift away. But you’re mad and this stranger is the perfect person to let it all out on.

“No they’re not a she, and even if it was you don’t know anything.” You look back down at your phone, tapping away at your keyboard finishing what you had started. When you hear him huff out a laugh, the frown that was on your face before quickly deepens.

“You’re right, sweetheart, I don’t know anything. What I do know is when a pretty girl like yourself has been sitting alone at a bar for longer than an hour and suddenly starts tapping away on that thing, like you are right now, I know she’s been stood up.”

His statement brings you right back out of your phone, willing yourself not to wipe that ‘know it all’ look right off of his pretty face. Your scowl is piercing right through him, hating the way that he could see right through you and yet not having a clue who you were.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” He throws his hands up in surrender, “But I promise, whatever douche made someone as stunning as you, wait in a bar this long for ‘em, doesn’t deserve you. Plus, you’re too pretty to be lookin’ that angry.” He picks his glass up, finishing off the rest before nodding to the bartender for another.

In any other situation you’d be telling them off, yelling at them to get lost, but something about this stranger feels different. You could write it off and say it’s because he’s attractive but in all actuality, it’s because he’s gentle when he says it. His eyes aren’t roaming your body like some pig, hoping to get into your panties by sweet talking to you. It’s like he actually cares about you, the stranger in her pretty dress who has been stood up by her date, like he’s known you his whole life.

Slowly you set your phone down, relaxing the sour look on your face, and you take a deep breath. The last thing you want to do is cry, especially in a bar, and especially in front of the caring hot stranger.

“Is it that obvious?” You ask shyly, picking up your martini glass for another sip. The man shakes his head, moving his posture so that he’s leaning towards you.

“Don’t do that,” he says, “Don’t start thinking down on yourself. Yes it was a little obvious but my suspicion grew more when you didn’t order a drink after sitting at a bar for five minutes.”

The statement makes you laugh wetly when he says it, a single tear escaping your eye causing you to wipe it hoping it’s not noticeable. If he sees it, he doesn’t say anything, instead moving over to the seat next to you.

“Listen, don’t let whatever dickhead person ruin your night. From what I’ve witnessed you’re a pretty badass chick, so whatever frat bro did this to you should be scared.” An inked hand places a white napkin in front of you, a peace offering that you’re quick to take.

“That’s the worst part, he’s not even a frat bro. He’s a finance bro.” When you chance a look up at him, he’s looking right back at you, pearly white teeth staring at you.

In a split second he’s laughing, a deep belly kind of laugh with his head thrown back. As much as you want to defend yourself, tell him that Luke wasn’t your first choice, you can’t. Following suit, you start giggling as well, placing the white napkin to the corner of your eye to collect any unushered tears.

“I gotta tell you sugar, that’s even worse.” The pet name doesn’t get lost on you, heart stuttering the minute it falls from his lips. Trying to pull yourself together, hoping he didn’t see the way you stiffened at the name, you clear your throat.

“Tell me about it,” You playfully roll your eyes, taking a sip of what’s left of your drink.

When you move your sight back over to him, he’s leaning back, dimples showing off, almost like he knows something you don’t. He does know something however, he knows that he has some sort of effect on you, watching you with pink flushing your cheeks and it’s not from the alcohol.

“So,” You break the silence, “Sugar, huh?” You furrow your brows questioningly and it only makes him smile bigger than before.

When he leans forward you catch a whiff of his scent, pine and cedar, musky and smoky. He’s even prettier up close and your eyes are trying to map out every detail of him so that you can remember it when you go to sleep tonight, dreaming of the good looking stranger who made your night better.

“Well, between the softness of your laugh and your scowl that could kill,” his voice is low and husky, saying a secret for only you to hear, “You have a little bit of sugar and spice. Kind of like that cartoon with the badass power wielding girls.”

“Do you mean the PowerPuff Girls?” Cocking your head to the side you laugh, his true age showing in the way that he described the Cartoon Network show.

“I’m showing my true age, huh? Well, in my defense I was fifteen and you probably weren’t born yet.” His crows feet become more defined. Shaking your head, you wave to the bartender for another martini.

“Actually, I was five but you were close enough.” His eyes go wide in shock with your admission. When another glass is placed in front of you, you send a smile to the bartender and he gives you one back.

Looking back at the man next to you, you raise an eyebrow, questioning why he’s so surprised at your age. Blowing out a big breath it seems he’s been holding the whole time, he takes a swig of his own drink.

“Sorry, I just,” he sighs, looking back up at you quizzingly, “wow, you’re really thirty?” Although there’s no malice behind his question, you can’t help but frown at him. He notices and immediately back tracks.

“Fuck, no not like that I just meant,” You wait for him to dig himself a deeper hole. When he finally gets his thoughts together, he looks at you, really looks at you and it makes you want to melt. “Listen, I really didn’t mean it like that, I promise. Honestly, I felt like a perv when I first started talkin’ to you, thinkin’ you were like twenty one. When you said you were thirty, I was just surprised, that’s all. Maybe a little excited knowing I might have a chance.”

You take in what he says to you, how sincere his voice is, and you know he isn’t lying. You don’t want to give in so fast though, you want him to sweat it out a bit. So you take a sip of your drink, your eyebrow still arched in fake annoyance. With an extra shot of courage, you look over at him, fake pout on your red stained lip.

“How can you have a chance when I don’t even know your name?” Your voice is like silk, smooth and soft. The older man clearly likes it, the way a smirk is formed on his pink kissable lips is a clear indicator.

“M’Eddie, Eddie Munson,” He offers you his ringed hand for a handshake, “And you are?” You give him your name and he hums with delight. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You snort loudly at his comment, covering your mouth to stop from any further laughter from falling from your lips. Eddie arches an eyebrow at you, questioning what you found so funny.

“I’m sorry, that was just so corny.” Another giggle slips from you and the cool facade he had crumples, laughing along with you.

“S’pretty bad, huh?’ He scrunches his nose and you think it might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah it was bad, who told you that would work?” You take a sip of your martini and look at him from over the rim of your glass.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Eddie rubs his forehead as if he’s stressed. Now he’s the one fumbling and nervous, you got him in the palm of your hand.

“Goodness, it was going so well too.” You continue to tease, the playfulness dripping from your voice. Looking over at you Eddie can’t help but smile, those damn dimples back on display.

“You’re trouble, sugar.” It’s said with the utmost confidence and it has you blushing.

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet, babe.” It’s an invitation for him to find out and you hope he catches it.

“How about I find out on Sunday over dinner and some drinks? What do you say?” Eddie leans into you when he says it, getting the closest he’s been to you, letting his husky voice fill your ears.

Trying to hide the chill that runs up your back and the excitement that settles in your belly, you lean in just as close. “I’d say you have a date, pretty boy.”

The two of you stay like that for a minute, smiling like giddy teens. Breaking away from the small moment, he pulls his phone out from his pocket, unlocking it and opening up the phone app to type in a new contact.

Handing you the phone, his face seems boyish and giddy, you’re sure if he wasn’t sitting he’d be bouncing on the ball of his feet. Typing in your number, you shyly smile up at him handing back his phone.

“I better hear from you Eddie Munson or finance bro won’t be the only one gettin’ his ass kicked.” Pointing a finger at him, you try your best to look as mean as possible but your plan quickly fails when you see his eyes shining at you.

“Yes ma’am.” Throwing a wink at you, he reaches into his wallet and pulls a crisp hundred out and places it on the bar top. “I’ll be seein’ you soon, sugar.” Wrapping his fingers around yours, he places a kiss to the back of your hand.

The feeling of his lips on your skin makes you ache for more, and the moment it’s gone you wish you can make him do it again. Pulling your lip in between your teeth, you look up at him like he’s hung the stars.

The moment is cut short when the bartender asks Eddie if he wants change. Surprisingly he doesn’t look at the older man with anger for ruining it, instead he gives him a nice smile.

“No Paul, the change is all yours. Also, this beautiful young lady’s drinks are on my tab.” Nodding his head, the bartender thanks Eddie for the generous tip.

Pulling his attention back to you, he cuts you off before you can chastise him for paying. “Let me pay for the pretty girl who made my whole night, it’s the least I can do.”

Rolling your eyes, you try hard to not let him see how flustered you are. When he bids you a goodnight, you can’t help but feel the ache of his absence. The whole time you’re in the Lyft home you think of him, staring out the window and replaying everything in your head.

Once you get home, you sit in silence on the end of your bed, not worrying about the shower you need to take. You can’t believe the luck you had in meeting Eddie and a part of you wants to thank Luke for not showing up.

The ding of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, your heartbeat picking up when you read your screen.

Maybe Eddie: Hey it’s Eddie, just wanted to make sure you got home safe. I wanted to ask if you could thank that loser for not showin up, he really did both of us a favor tonight.

When you read it, you can’t help but giggle a little. Although corny and maybe a little dorky, Eddie had thought the same thing as you and for some reason it sent the butterflies in your tummy on a rampage.

Maybe Eddie: You’re totally laughing at me right now, aren’t you?

Bursting into laughter, your tummy flips in excitement, imagining him blushing on the other side of the phone. Tapping away on your screen, you send him a reply.

You: Oh you know it 😉

You: Thank you for making sure I got home by the way, I appreciate it.

Eddie: I should’ve known. Glad you got home in one piece.

Eddie: Night, sugar. See you Sunday 🖤

Fuck a text, you were going to send Luke a thank you card and maybe some chocolate.

I hope you guys liked this! I can't wait to continue this week with all of you! See you all tomorrow with the next fic :)