#my phone is only 4 years old and it already wants to be put out of misery

[lvnleah]

baby miedema’s arrival | our little love.

The phone call came in the middle of the night. You were sound asleep, sprawled out in the middle of Beth and Viv’s bed with Twix tucked into your chest tightly. You were completely oblivious to what was going on around you. 

Beth’s phone rang at around 4am, waking both her and Viv up unexpectedly. She groggily wiped the sleep from her eyes as she sat up and read the name on her phone screen.  

“It’s Sarah.” Beth said, turning to Viv who was now fully awake. 

They both knew what it meant. 

Beth quickly answered the phone, her voice low but steady despite the heaviness of the situation. “Hello?” she said, trying to shake off the drowsiness from her sleep.

Viv sat up beside her, her body tense. She watched Beth closely, knowing from the moment Sarah’s name flashed on the screen that it was urgent.

There was a long pause on the other end before Sarah’s voice came through, soft but firm. “Hi Beth, I’m so sorry for phoning at this time but I thought I’d phone to tell you that you’re now parents again to another little baby girl.”

Beth’s heart skipped a beat, the realization setting in. Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Sarah’s words sank in. 

Parents again. To a little baby girl. 

She glanced at Viv, whose eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and joy. Neither of them had fully processed the idea of becoming parents again properly, but now it was real.

“Is she okay?” Viv asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her concern overtaking the excitement.

“She’s healthy. Just a bit small, but she’s doing well,” Sarah responded, the warmth in her voice comforting. “If you can, we’d appreciate it if you could get to the hospital as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I reckon we can be there in around an hour if that’s okay? We just need to sort something out for Rory.” Viv explained. 

“Yeah, of course, take your time.” Sarah told them, “Congratulations on your baby girl!”

Beth’s heart raced as she quickly pulled herself from the bed. She wanted to ask a thousand questions, but she knew there wasn’t time. They needed to go, now.

Viv had already hung up the phone and was up, grabbing their overnight bag from the corner of the room, “I’ll drive to Leah’s,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

Beth scrambled to grab her own things, still feeling like she was in a bit of a daze. It had been a whirlwind, the idea of adopting again, and now it was happening. The moment had arrived.

They’d had a plan in place for weeks now. With no family living locally, they’d arranged that whilst they were at the hospital with the baby you’d go to Leah’s house. They felt bad dropping you off during the middle of the night while asleep, especially since Leah already had hands full with a newborn, a troublesome 4-year-old and a hormonally infused teenager but Leah insisted that she didn’t care. 

While Viv packed a few things for you into an overnight bag, Beth pulled up Leah’s contact. It only took a couple of rings before Leah answered the phone. 

“Hey, Beth,” Leah mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Everything alright?”

“Hey Le, I’m sorry for waking you up but can you have Rory for us?” Beth asked her, “I know it’s four in the morning but the social worker just phoned and baby girl is her and they need us at the hospital and—”

Beth was cut off as Leah let out a soft gasp, “Oh my god the baby’s here? Of course, I’ll have Rory, bring her over and I’ll put her in Buddy’s bed or something.”

“Are you sure?” Beth asked. 

“Course I am, Roo’s no trouble.” Leah said, “I don’t care what time it is, drop her off on the way to the hospital.”

“Thank you, Le. We’ll be there soon.” Beth hung up the phone with Leah and glanced at Viv, her heart still racing. “She said it’s fine, we should get going.”

They moved quietly through the house, careful not to wake you as they grabbed the last of the things they needed. You were still fast asleep, oblivious to the life-changing moment unfolding around you. Twix was tucked tightly in your arms, and your soft breathing filled the room as Beth and Viv exchanged a look.

“She’s gonna be so happy when she wakes up,” Viv whispered. “She got a little sister like she wanted.”

Beth nodded, walking over to you one last time before they left. She gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, her heart swelling with love for you, her first little girl.

Viv carefully lifted your overnight bag as Beth put a blanket over you before scooping you up. The house was silent except for the soft rustle of clothing and the quiet footsteps.

When they arrived at Leah’s house, the world outside still dark and quiet, Viv parked the car in front of Leah’s doorstep. Beth turned to look at you one last time, her fingers lightly brushing against your cheek. 

“We’ll be back soon, Roo.” she murmured, “With your little sister too.”

Viv opened the car door and gently lifted you out, still wrapped up in your cosy blanket, your little body curled into her chest. She nudged the doorbell softly. Within seconds, Leah appeared, looking just as groggy but eager to help.

“Hey,” Leah whispered, her voice soft in the early morning silence. “I’ll take her, don’t worry about anything.”

Viv carefully passed you to Leah, whispering a quick thanks before kissing your forehead.

“We’ll be back soon, munchkin,” Beth added, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. She didn’t want to leave you, but her heart swelled with the excitement of meeting their new baby girl.

Leah smiled, adjusting you in her arms as she backed into the doorway. “Go, go. I’ve got her. You two go meet your new daughter. Send me a photo of the new Bubba yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Beth nodded, “Thank you again, Le.”

The drive to the hospital was quiet. Beth kept stealing glances at Viv, whose knuckles were white against the steering wheel. They were both nervous, every red light made them want to both scream as they tried to get to the hospital. 

“You okay?” Beth finally asked, breaking the silence.

Viv nodded, her lips pressed into a line. “I’m just thinking about what she looks like… and how Roo’s going to react when she sees her.”

Beth smiled at that, her own nerves easing slightly. “She’s going to adore her. She’s going to be over the moon that she’s got a little sister.

Viv chuckled, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “Yeah, I can’t wait to see them together. I can’t believe we’ve got another little girl.”

“I know,” Beth sighed, a smile spread over her face, “Reckon she’ll look like Roo?”

Viv nodded, “I think so, it’ll be nice to see if she looks like Roo from her baby photos.”

As they pulled into the hospital car park, the sun was just beginning to rise. Both of their hearts were pounding as they grabbed their bag and hurried toward the entrance.

The maternity ward was quiet, the hushed tones of nurses and the occasional cry of a newborn echoing softly in the air. A nurse greeted them at the front desk, her smile warm despite the early hour.

“You must be here for the baby,” she said gently. “I’ll take you to Sarah now.”

Beth and Viv nodded, their hands tightly intertwined as they followed the nurse through the corridors. Their hearts felt like they might burst with every step closer to meeting their daughter.

When they reached the room, Sarah was waiting for them just outside the door. She greeted them with a soft smile. 

“She’s right in here,” Sarah said, her voice kind. “She’s a little on the smaller side but she’s doing well. The nurses have been keeping an eye on her since she was born and she’s doing good.”

“What time was she born?” Viv couldn’t help but ask.

“3:35 this morning,” Sarah smiled, “so she’s only…” she quickly checked her watch that read 5:30am, “two hours old. She only weighs 6 pounds, so she’s small, but she’s healthy. Strong set of lungs too.”

Beth and Viv exchanged a quick look, their excitement bubbling over. “Can we see her?” Beth asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Of course,” Sarah said, stepping aside to let them through.

The room was softly lit, and in the middle of it was a small bassinet. Beth’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the tiny bundle inside. Viv reached out to gently touch Beth’s arm, grounding her as they moved closer.

The baby was impossibly small, her tiny fists curled up near her face. She had a full head of blonde hair, totally different from yours, and the softest little features. Beth’s hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

“She’s perfect,” Beth whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“She’s so tiny,” Viv murmured, her voice barely audible. “Look at her little nose, it’s like Roo’s.”

Beth reached out a hand, brushing her fingers softly over the baby’s cheek. The little girl stirred slightly, her tiny mouth opening in a sleepy yawn before she settled again.

“You guys can hold her, you know.” Sarah smiled, standing a little further back.

“You hold her first,” Viv said to Beth, a smile on her face, “my hands are too shaky.”

“You sure?” Beth asked, getting a nod from Viv. 

Beth hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she reached down to gently lift the tiny baby from the bassinet. She was so light, feeling like a feather in her arms. Beth cradled her carefully, tears streaming down her face as she stared down at her daughter for the first time.

“Hi, baby girl,” Beth whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m your Mummy.”

The little girl stirred, her tiny fingers curling into a soft fist as Beth held her close. Viv moved closer, her hand resting gently on Beth’s back as she leaned in to look at their new daughter.

“She’s beautiful,” Viv murmured, her own tears threatening to fall. She reached out and let her finger brush against the baby’s hand, and to her amazement, the baby’s tiny fingers wrapped around it. “She’s strong,” Viv added with a soft laugh. “Just like her sister.”

Beth chuckled through her tears, her heart swelling with love. “Roo’s going to be so protective of her.”

“She’ll have to be,” Viv teased gently. “I reckon this little one is going to be feisty.”

The baby let out a soft sound, a little coo that made both Beth and Viv laugh. Beth kissed the baby’s forehead, her heart feeling so full it might burst. She gently turned to Viv.

“Your turn,” she said, carefully transferring the baby into Viv’s arms.

Viv held her daughter close, her larger hands cradling the tiny bundle with such tenderness. She studied every little feature—the soft blonde hair, the delicate nose, the tiny chin.

“Hey, Kleintje,” Viv said softly, “I’m your Mamma.”

The baby shifted in her arms, her little face scrunching up before she let out another soft sound. Viv smiled, her heart melting. “You’re going to be so loved. Your big sister is going to spoil you rotten.”

Beth leaned her head against Viv’s shoulder, watching the two of them together. “She’s perfect, Viv,” Beth whispered.

“She is,” Viv agreed, her voice thick with emotion.

Sarah, who had been quietly standing to the side, finally stepped forward. “We’ve got some paperwork to sort out, but there’s no rush,” she said kindly. “Take all the time you need with her. What’s her name?”

Beth and Viv exchanged a glance at Sarah’s question, their expressions were soft but unsure. They hadn’t settled on a name yet—just two possibilities they weren’t entirely sold on.

“We’d been thinking Freya or Sienna,” Beth admitted, her eyes lingering on the baby in Viv’s arms. “But now…I don’t know. Neither feels right.”

Viv nodded, letting out a soft sigh as she looked down at their daughter. “She doesn’t look like a Freya to me. Or a Sienna.” Her voice was gentle but firm, as though she were already ruling the options out. “They’re nice names, but they don’t fit her.”

Beth frowned, biting her lip. “She would've been Mason if she’d been a boy,” she mused quietly. “But now I feel like we’re back to square one.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the soft coos of the baby. Then Viv’s expression shifted, a small smile tugging at her lips as a thought came to her. “What about Phoebe?” she asked, her voice warm and soft.

Beth’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, her heart skipping a beat. “Phoebe,” she repeated, testing the name. 

It had been one of their very first ideas, months ago, but somehow it had fallen to the wayside in favour of other options. Now, looking at their tiny daughter, it suddenly felt perfect. 

“Phoebe,” she said again, this time with more certainty. “That’s it. That’s her name.”

Viv chuckled softly, her finger brushing over the baby’s tiny hand as she spoke. “Phoebe June. After your mum.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “Little miss Phoebe June.”

The baby shifted in Viv’s arms, her little mouth opening in a sleepy yawn before she settled again, as if agreeing with their choice. Viv smiled, her eyes shining. “It suits her,” she said softly. “She’s a Phoebe.”

Sarah, who had been standing quietly nearby, smiled warmly at their decision. “Phoebe June,” she repeated, jotting it down on some paper. “It’s perfect. A beautiful name for a beautiful baby girl.”

Beth leaned her head against Viv’s shoulder, her gaze fixed on their daughter. “I can’t believe we were thinking of anything else,” she said with a quiet laugh. “She was always meant to be Phoebe.”

Viv nodded, “Welcome to the world, Phoebe June,” she murmured, brushing her finger over Phoebe’s nose. 

The next few hours were spent getting used to life with a newborn. While Sarah sorted out some paperwork, Beth and Viv were shown all of the basics they would need to know about life with a newborn. 

Beth and Viv spent all morning doting on Phoebe, both overwhelmed with love and excitement. They took turns holding her, each marvelling at the tiny life that had just become part of their family.

Beth’s phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see a message from Leah: Roo’s awake. Told her about the baby being here, and she’s already planning what toys to give her. No rush; take your time, we’re all good here x

Beth showed Viv the text, and they both laughed softly. “She’s already head over heels,” Beth said.

Viv laughed, looking down at the baby in her arms, “You better be prepared for your big sis, Phee.”

“Phee?” Beth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Phee,” Viv nodded, “She’s our little Phee.”

Hours later, after the initial paperwork was signed and the nurses confirmed Phoebe was ready to leave with them, Beth and Viv prepared to head home. Beth carefully placed Phoebe in the tiny car seat they’d brought, securing her with a gentleness that only came with experience. Viv hovered nervously, adjusting the blanket and double-checking the straps.

“You’re going to drive like a grandma, aren’t you?” Beth teased, noticing Viv’s serious expression as she buckled herself in.

“Of course,” Viv shot back. “Precious cargo on board.”

The drive home was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and occasional coos or whimpers from Phoebe. The normal fifteen-minute drive ended up taking thirty minutes because Viv drove so carefully. 

“Welcome home, Phee!” Beth cooed as she took the car seat out of the car. 

Viv carried the bags inside while Beth gently lifted Phoebe’s car seat out of the car. Together, they stepped into their quiet home, a peaceful contrast to the whirlwind of emotions they’d experienced at the hospital.

The living room was cosy, the soft glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Viv set the bag down and carefully unbuckled Phoebe from her car seat, lifting her into her arms. Beth busied herself setting up the bassinet they’d prepared weeks ago, glancing over at Viv, who was swaying gently with Phoebe.

“She’s so tiny,” Viv murmured, her voice filled with awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever held a baby this small.”

Beth smiled, “Roo’s gonna seem massive compared to Phee.” She moved closer and gently ran a finger along Phoebe’s cheek. “It’s so strange, ain’t it?”

The next few hours passed in a blur. Beth and Viv spent the quiet time adjusting to life with Phoebe at home. They soaked in the peacefulness, knowing it wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, as the clock ticked closer to your arrival, the tranquillity gave way to anticipation.

Right on cue, the front door opened, and chaos bursted into the house.

“Is she here? Where’s my sister?!” Your excited voice echoed through the hallway as you bounded into the house, Buddy hot on her heels, giggling just as loudly.

“Girls! Wait—Buddy, Roo!” Leah called after you both, stepping inside, carrying Rugrat inside in her car seat.

Both of you stopped, turning to face Leah with matching grins. “We need to use our indoor voices, yeah?” Leah said gently, crouching down to their level. “The baby is only a little, so we have to be extra careful. And let’s take our shoes off and wash our hands before we say hi, okay?”

You nodded eagerly, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Okay! But where is she?”

“She’s in the living room,” Viv said, stepping into the hallway with a smile. “But Auntie Le is right, wash your hands first, yeah?”

“Okay, Mamma!” You nodded, running off into the kitchen with Buddy. 

Leah laughed softly, shaking her head. “They’re so excited,” she murmured to Viv and Beth, who both chuckled knowingly.

“You look shattered yourself, Le,” Beth commented, noting Leah’s exhausted face, “Rough night with the baby?”

“Something like that,” Leah chuckled, setting the car seat on the plush carpet in the living room, “This one woke up after you guys dropped Roo off. And then Monkey woke up as well. Thankfully, the only two that remained asleep were Buddy and Roo.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be as bad tonight. You can always call Jordan to come round and help, right?” Viv wondered.

“Thankfully, yeah. They have the game against West Ham tomorrow, so she’s already offered to have Buddy at hers, and Rugrat too if I need a breather. I think I might take her up on that offer so I can spend some quality time with Monkey,” Leah explained, bending down to unbuckle Rugrat out of her car seat and scoop her into her arms, “Ooh, we’re awake, are we? Do you want to meet your new little cousin, as well?”

“They’re going to be best friends, aren’t they?” Beth grinned, peering down at Pheobe, who was still asleep, “Who’d have thought, eh?”

“It still can’t quite wrap my head around it,” Leah murmured, holding Rugrat as she gently sat her up and took her small cardigan of her, “Never in a million years did I ever think something like this could happen. My family are still in shock.”

“That’s to be expected,” Viv responded, “What was your Mum’s reaction?”

“Just… pure shock. Just like everyone else. Jord’s family too,” Leah admitted with a chuckle, “They’ve all been saints though with helping out. J adores her.”

“We washed our hands!” Buddy shouted as she ran through into the living room, as you trailed behind her, “Now can we hold her?”

Once you had scrubbed your hands so thoroughly that even Leah joked you’d polished them, you made your way back into the living room with Buddy trailing behind. Your excitement from earlier had shifted into a quiet, nervous energy as you approached the couch where Beth was now sitting, holding Phoebe.

Buddy climbed up onto the arm of the couch again, peering down at the baby with wide eyes. “She’s so tiny. Just like my sissy!” she whispered. “Mummy, look!”

You hung back near the doorway, your hands twisting the hem of your shirt. You couldn’t look away from Phoebe, but you couldn’t seem to move closer either.

Beth noticed immediately. “Munchkin, you okay?”

You nodded quickly, “She’s… she’s really little,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“She is,” Beth agreed, “Do you want to hold her?”

You glanced down at your hands, your feet shifting nervously. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

Beth quickly handed Phoebe to Viv before crossing the room to crouch in front of you. “Oh, she’s going to love you. You’re her big sister.”

“But what if I’m not good at it?” you asked, tears pricking your eyes. 

Viv spoke up from the couch. “Roo, You don’t have to ‘know how.’ You just have to be yourself.”

Leah soon chimed in, “Roo, you’ve been waiting for this day forever. Remember how excited you were?”

You hesitated before nodding, taking a small step forward. Beth held out her hand, and you grasped it tightly as she led you to the couch.

“Come sit here, next to Mamma,” Beth suggested, patting the cushion. “We’ll help you hold her.”

You climbed onto the couch, sitting next to Viv. Your heart was pounding as Beth carefully took Phoebe from Viv and lowered her into your lap, helping you support her tiny head.

“She’s so soft,” you whispered, your nerves melting into awe as you looked down at your baby sister for the first time.

Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open briefly, and you gasped. “She looked at me!”

“She did, didn’t she?” Viv laughed, nodding her head, “I think you’re the first person she’s properly looked at, Roo!”

“What’s her name?” You asked, realising that you forgot to ask after all of the excitement had overtaken your thoughts. 

“Her name is Phoebe.” Viv answered, “Do you think it suits her?”

“Yeah!” you nodded, “Hi Phee-Phee! I’m your big sis!”

Buddy leaned closer from beside you, “Hi, Phoebe!” she whispered loudly, making everyone laugh. “Why she sleeping? When she gon’ wake up? She need to play with us! Her and sissy can play!”

Beth chuckled softly, brushing a hand over Phoebe’s tiny head. “She’s sleeping because she’s so little. Babies need lots of rest to grow big and strong.”

Leah added with a smile, “They're tiny right now. And they won’t be able to play for a while, Bubba. But when they’re older, you two can show her all your games.”

Buddy’s eyes lit up. “I show ‘em my dinos!”

“She’s so small,” you whispered, like you were afraid to speak too loudly. “Will she always be this tiny?”

Viv chuckled. “No, she’ll grow to be big, just like you. But for now, we have to be extra gentle with her, okay?”

You nodded seriously, adjusting your hands slightly as Beth helped support Phoebe’s head. “Okay. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

Phoebe let out a little yawn, and your eyes went wide as she stirred in your arms. “Did you hear that? She made a sound!”

Beth grinned. “She did. I think she likes being with her big sister already.”

You looked up, a small smile creeping onto your face. “I think I like her, too.”

As you cuddled Phoebe on the sofa, Beth and Viv fell into an easy conversation with Leah, who held Rugrat in her own arms. You and Buddy of course had to tell them about everything you’d done throughout the day while they were away, giving them every little detail. 

Beth raised an eyebrow, “Where’s Monkey?”

Leah let out a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Don’t ask… things are a bit… tough right now,” she said quietly, clearly worried.

Buddy piped up from her spot beside you, crossing her arms and pouting. “Monks’ has done nuffin’ but cry! I think she been silly!”

Leah smiled at Buddy but shook her head gently. “No, Buddy, Monkey’s not bein’ silly. She’s had a baby, remember? That can make her a bit sad right now, but she’s with Auntie Katie who’s looking after her.”

“Oh,” Buddy said, her expression softening as she looked up at Leah. She then nodded as if she understood. “I cheer her up with Lego!” she declared, as if the solution to everything was that simple.

Leah laughed softly, her voice filled with affection. “I’m sure that will help, Bubba. You’re very good at making people feel better.”

Just as Buddy declared her plan to cheer up Monkey, Phoebe’s tiny face scrunched up, and she let out a sudden wail, startling everyone.

You froze as her tiny cries grew stronger,  “Why’s she crying? Did I do something wrong?”

Beth was quick to reassure you, her voice calm. “No, Munchkin, you didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes babies just cry.”

“But—what if she’s upset because of me?” you asked, your bottom lip wobbling as Phoebe’s cries grew louder.

“She’s not upset with you, Roo.” Viv said, “She’s just trying to tell us something but because she can’t talk like you yet, she cries instead.”

“She don’ like sitting. She wan’ crawl?” 

Leah chuckled softly. “She’s too little to crawl, Bubba. But that’s a good guess.”

Beth crouched down in front of you, her eyes soft. “I think she’s just hungry, munchkin.”

You watched as Beth carefully lifted Phoebe out of your arms. “But… are you sure she’s not crying because of me?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” Beth said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “You were doing a great job holding her. She’s just telling us she needs her milk.”

You watched as Beth cradled Phoebe and began to soothe her, her cries slowly quieting as Viv prepared a bottle for her. “See?” Beth said, smiling at you. “It’s nothing to worry about. She’s calming down now.”

Buddy crossed her arms, nodding like she had it all figured out. “I get grumpy I’ hungry too. Phee like me!”

Leah laughed, pulling Buddy into a playful hug with her other free arm. “You might be onto something there, Bubba.”

“Roaaaaar!” Buddy leaned forward in Rugrat’s face, startling the newborn and causing her to let out an ear-piercing cry, “Mummy! She cryin’ I don’ like dat. Make it stop!” She exclaimed, holding her hands over her ears.

“Oh, Bubba,” Leah exhaled a sigh, instantly trying to soothe the baby in her arms, “Rugrat is only a tiny baby. You can’t do things like that, because it’ll scare her, remember?”

“I only wanted to cheer ‘er up tho, Mummy!” Buddy scrunched her face up in disagreement, “Rugrat’s borin’ an’ don’t do nuffin’! Send ‘er back!”

Leah chuckled, shaking her head, “Silly, Bubba. I can’t send her back. She’s part of our family now, isn’t she? Your little sister. You have to be a good big sister and protect her.”

“I can do dat! I can protect ‘er!” Buddy declared, puffing out her chest, “I be da bestest big sister!”

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching Phoebe calm down as Beth fed her. Then, you looked up at Viv. “She’s not upset with me?”

Viv shook her head with a smile. “Not one bit. She loves you already, Roo. You’re her big sister.”

You nodded. “Okay. When she’s done eating, can I maybe cuddle her again?”

“Of course you can,” Beth said, beaming at you. “She loves being with you.”

The evening soon came quickly. Leah, Buddy and Rugrat left after a little while, Leah quickly helped tidy around the house. After they left, the house fell into a calm stillness. Beth cleaned up the kitchen while Viv settled on the couch with Phoebe cradled gently on her chest. You sat beside them, your eyes growing heavier with each passing minute.

Phoebe had just finished another feed and was now fast asleep, her tiny hand resting against Viv’s shirt. Viv traced gentle circles on her back, her spare arm wrapped around you. 

You shifted closer, tucking yourself into Viv’s side, your head resting against her shoulder. “She’s really small, Mamma,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice muffled.

“She is, isn’t she?” Viv murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

You scooted closer, leaning fully into Viv’s side. “I love her a lot already.”

“I know you do,” Viv said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As the night stretched on, you slowly began to fall asleep. Beth returned from tidying up the kitchen and paused in the doorway, her heart swelling at the sight of you curled up against Viv, Phoebe fast asleep on Viv’s chest.

“She’s completely out,” Beth murmured, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she walked over.

“Both of them are,” Viv whispered, glancing down at you with a tender look.

Beth leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, then one to Phoebe’s head. “Perfect, isn’t it?”

Viv nodded, her arms tightening just slightly around both of you. “It is.”

[i-hope-you-step-on-legos-and-die]

Probably won't ever finish this😭😭😭 I started this last June and would open the file up to continue it once a month (⁠˘⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠˘⁠) it's not even that I don't like it I'm just really really lazy and also school ! But whatever I love you Rei...❤️

[charlotteking27]

midnight meltdowns & silver strands

Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: Charles finds a gray hair and can't go to sleep without having you pull it out.

Warning: none

"Baby... amor... mon Dieu, wake up."

You open your eyes, peering up at Charles as he shakes you urgently. Groggy, you look out the window, seeing the dark blue night of Monaco.

"What?" you question, turning over as the phone light flashes, momentarily blinding you. Seeing it's only 4:00 A.M., you say, "Charles, please go back to bed." Your yawn interrupts your sentence before you cuddle further into the covers of your white silk sheets.

"Mi amor, please, it is important," Charles whispers in your ear before shaking you again in an attempt to disturb your sleep. You tried to block out Charles' constant actions, resorting to picking up the second pillow you keep behind your main one and pulling it over your ears in an attempt to block him out. But did it work? No!

"NO, 112!" Charles screams like an alarm that won't turn off.

"What the hell, Charles?!" You jump from the covers, immediately annoyed by this rude awakening. "What is going on?" You roll over to the side of the bed and turn on the lamp.

Peering at Charles' disheveled state, you ask, "What was so important that you couldn't wait until morning?" You sat up, scooting closer to your lover to help comfort him.

"You have to check me for grey hair," Charles complained, pulling out tweezers from who knows where.

"Are you serious?" you screamed angrily, bunching up the sheets in frustration. But all you got was a blank stare and tweezers shoved in your face.

"Please," Charles sang with the cutest pout ever. How could you refuse?

Charles happily turned around, showing off his luscious hair. You rolled your eyes at his antics. Taking the tweezers from his hand, you began to look for any grey hairs. "Oww, that hurt," Charles hissed, putting his hand in his hair and massaging the spot where you pulled his gray hair.

"I told you, I'm 27... I'm getting there," Charles hissed again as you yanked out more of his precious hair.

"Oh my gosh," you exclaimed, astonished to see the longest grey hair you had ever seen. "Nooooooo... I lost it," you pouted in dismay before rummaging back into Charles' hair to find that stubborn grey hair.

"What do you mean you lost it?" Charles panicked, trying to help find the hair strand. "Owww, that hurt again," Charles cursed, rubbing his hand where you slapped.

"Stop moving!" you scolded, trying not to laugh at his dramatics. "I'll never be able to find anything if you keep wriggling about like a kid."

Charles stilled at once, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. "But what if I'm going grey? What if I look old? What if-"

"Charles Leclerc," you interrupt abruptly, running your fingers through his silky brown locks. "You are the most handsome man I've ever known. A few grey hairs won't matter."

"But-"

"No buts." You planted a kiss on the nape of his neck. "Besides, you'd be distinguished with some silver highlights. Like George Clooney."

Charles made a strangled noise. "I do not want to look like George Clooney! I want to look like me!"

"Well right now you look like a pouty five-year-old," you teased, finally spotting that elusive grey hair. With a quick yank, you held it up triumphantly. "Got it!"

"Ow!" Charles yelped, spinning around to face you. His eyes went wide at the sight of the hair. "Mon Dieu, it's so long! How long has that been there? Have people noticed? Has the media noticed?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his horrified expression. "Charles, it's four in the morning. Can we please have this crisis at a reasonable hour?"

"This is a time to have a crisis," he protested, but his lips were already beginning to curve into a smile, blinking once, twice, then snatched up his phone and started frantically texting. "I must tell Carlos immediately that I am still young and beautiful."

"It's 4 AM!"

"Crisis knows no time zone, mi amor." He paused his typing to give you a quick kiss. "Now help me take a selfie to prove I have no grey hairs."

You flopped back onto the pillows with a groan. "I'm dating a five-year-old. A very handsome, very dramatic five-year-old."

"Carlos says congratulations on still being young," Charles announced proudly, showing you his phone. "Also he says to tell you he's sorry you have to put up with me."

"I'm going back to sleep," you declared, pulling the covers over your head. "Wake me up for another hair emergency and I'm dyeing your entire head grey while you sleep."

The last thing you heard before drifting off was Charles whispering frantically into his phone: "Siri, remind me to hide all the hair dye in Monaco..."

[linoxpudding]

Love That Remained- Bang Chan

summary: while your husband is on tour, something life shattering happens which leaves you both feeling shattered

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 2116 words

warnings: miscarriage, hospital setting, accident

a/n: based on this request

Masterlist

-

The Kids: Eldest Daughter (Juliana - 7 years old) and Youngest Daughter (Aera - 4 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted. No, exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word—you were completely drained, body and soul.

Between caring for Juliana, your seven-year-old, and Aera, your four-year-old, while being heavily pregnant, you could barely function. The constant need to be everything—mother, caretaker, wife—while Chan was away on tour was wearing you thin.

You missed him desperately. The weight of his absence was suffocating, even though you knew he was doing what he loved. Every night, the ache of missing him settled in your chest, only dulled slightly when you saw his face on FaceTime.

His mother noticed your fatigue immediately. She always did. You were visiting your in-laws' place for dinner when she brought it up.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently after dinner, “why don’t I take the kids for the night? You look like you need some rest.”

You hesitated, glancing at your daughters. Juliana was animatedly telling her grandfather a story, and Aera was already curling up against her auntie Hannah’s side, half-asleep.

A night alone. A full night of sleep. The thought was almost too tempting.

“…Are you sure?” you asked, voice filled with guilt.

His mother smiled warmly, touching your hand. “You need to take care of yourself too, honey. The baby needs you strong.”

Your resolve crumbled. You kissed your daughters goodnight, whispering reassurances that you’d be back in the morning. Then you set off for home. It was only a short drive. You didn’t even think about it—just another routine part of life.

Then, everything shattered.

Headlights. A sharp turn. Tires screeching. A deafening impact.

Pain exploded in your body. A scream made it past your lips before darkness swallowed you whole.

*********

On the other side of the world your husband, Chan, was grinning as he wiped sweat from his forehead, heart still racing from the concert. The stadium had been packed, the energy electric. Fans screamed his name, sang every word of every song, and for two and a half hours, he had been on top of the world.

But now, all he wanted was to see his girls. 

His adrenaline hadn’t settled, but there was only one thing on his mind—his nightly FaceTime with you and the kids. This was his favorite part of the night—seeing his daughters’ sleepy faces, hearing you whisper, I miss you before falling asleep with your phone still connected.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. Time zones were tricky. He knew you would fall asleep by the time he got back at his hotel, so immediately after the concert, he waited for your call.

But the call didn’t come. He frowned, glancing at the time. Maybe you were tired. Maybe you had put the girls to bed early.

Still, something gnawed at his chest.

He was about to text you when the dressing room door opened and Changbin and Felix entered.

Chan barely looked up. “One sec, just waiting for Y/N and the girls.”

Neither of them said anything.

The silence made Chan glance up.

Changbin looked pale. Felix’s lips were pressed together tightly, like he was holding back something.

Chan’s stomach dropped.

“What?”

Neither of them spoke. The room felt colder.

“Guys?” His voice wavered slightly. “What is it?”

Felix swallowed. Changbin shifted uncomfortably.

Chan laughed, though it was shaky. “What’s going on?”

Changbin and Felix looked at each other nervously. Changbin took a step closer, “Chan, sit down.”

Chan became worried, “Is something wrong with my parents? My siblings?” He didn’t even take your name or his daughters' names because his mind refuses to go there, there cannot be anything wrong with you or the kids, nope. He scoffed lightly. “Come on, why do you guys look like that?”

Nobody laughed. His heart dropped.

Changbin took a deep breath. “Chan, it’s Y/N.”

The world tilted. Chan sat frozen, breath caught in his throat.

“There was an accident.”

His stomach churned, nausea rising to his throat. “No.” His voice cracked.

Felix reached for him, but Chan jerked back.

“No.” Chan shook his head violently. “No, she—she was just with the kids. She was on her way home—”

Felix squeezed his shoulder. “Hyung—”

No, that wasn’t right. You had just texted him hours ago. You had dinner at his parents’ house. You were fine.

“Where are the kids?” Chan demanded, voice rising. “Were they—were they with her?”

“No. They’re with your parents.”

Chan exhaled sharply, his body sagging for a moment.

Then, his expression turned ice-cold, “Where is she now?”

A suffocating silence.

“Changbin.” His voice trembled.

Changbin looked down. “She’s in surgery.”

Chan’s hands curled into fists and his breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling unevenly, “Book me a flight. Now.”

Chan barely heard anything else. He was already moving.

*********

The flight felt endless. Chan sat in his seat, fists clenched, his foot bouncing violently against the floor. His mind refused to shut off.

You. The baby.

You. The baby.

His brain kept repeating the same words, the same images. You, lying in a hospital bed. You, unconscious. You, hurt. He should’ve been there. He should’ve been driving you home. He should’ve told you to wait until morning. He was supposed to protect you. He wasn’t supposed to be thousands of miles away while you were fighting for your life.

Tears burned at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not yet.

He was praying silently. Please. Let them be okay. Please, God.

*********

The hospital was eerily quiet at this hour. Chan ran through the corridors, barely stopping to listen to the nurses directing him. His parents were standing near your room, eyes red and swollen.

His mother turned first. When she saw him, her face crumbled, and she reached for him, “Chris—”

“Where is she?” His voice barely worked, throat dry from the flight, from the panic that had been clawing at him for hours.

His father placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “She’s inside.” His voice cracked.

Chan didn’t wait. He pushed the door open. Then he saw you and the sight nearly broke him.

You were lying on the hospital bed, wires and tubes surrounding you, your face unnaturally pale against the stark white sheets. The rhythmic beep of the monitors was the only indication that you were still there.

His stomach twisted violently.

“Baby?” His voice cracked as he took a shaky step forward.

You didn’t move. The hospital room felt suffocating.

“No,” he whispered, rushing to your bedside. “No, baby, please don’t do this.”

His hands shook as he reached for yours, wrapping his fingers around your smaller, colder ones.

“Wake up,” he pleaded, his breath hitching. “Please, baby. Please. You’re my world, you hear me? I don’t know how to be me without you.”

His vision blurred, hot tears slipping down his cheeks.

“It’s us against the world, right?” His voice cracked as he cupped your face with one hand while his other was intertwined with yours. “Juliana and Aera need you… I need you.”

Silence. His shoulders trembled as he pressed his forehead against your hand, his body shaking with the force of his grief.

“Please. Please, wake up. Please, come back to me,” he sobbed.

Minutes turned into hours then he heard a soft sound. A quiet inhale.

“…Chan?”

His head snapped up so fast his neck ached. His breath caught in his throat as he watched your eyes flutter open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, broken.

You blinked slowly, dazed, confused. Your lips parted, dry and cracked.

“The baby?” you whispered.

The world stopped. Chan felt his chest tighten painfully, his heart screaming at him, warning him. He already heard the bad news that shattered his world, hours ago from your doctor. The words slammed into Chan’s chest like a freight train.

Before he could answer, the door opened.

Your doctor entered, clipboard in hand.

Chan’s stomach plummeted.

The doctor’s expression was calm, but his eyes held sympathy. “Mrs. Bang, how are you feeling?”

You swallowed, glancing down at your hand still held tightly in Chan’s. “Weak,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But… my baby?”

The doctor sighed softly, stepping closer.

Chan’s grip on your hand tightened.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said gently. “Due to the severity of the accident, you suffered a placental abruption. The trauma was too much for the baby to survive.”

Your breath hitched. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

The doctor continued, his voice soft. “We did everything we could.”

Chan felt your entire body begin to tremble.

“No,” you whispered, your free hand pressing against your stomach as if you could somehow feel what had been lost.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor repeated, his voice laced with sorrow.

Your breath hitched. A choked, heartbroken sob ripped from your throat, and Chan broke. Tears blurred his vision as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could. You sobbed against his chest, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your body wracked with grief.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs. “I’m so sorry—”

Chan cupped the back of your head, pressing his lips against your temple. His own tears fell freely, his body shaking as he held onto you.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice shattered. “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.”

You let out another sob, curling into him. “I should’ve been more careful—”

“No,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face. His hands framed your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears that kept falling. “No, baby. This wasn’t your fault. Don’t carry this.”

Your lip trembled. “Chan—”

He shook his head, his own voice breaking. “We lost our baby. Together. You didn’t fail. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You pressed your forehead against his, sobs still wracking your body. His hands shook as he held you tighter, as if he could somehow shield you from this pain.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered.

You pulled back, eyes red, swollen.

“Chan—” your voice cracked. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He let out a choked sound. “It wasn’t yours either.”

You broke again, burying your face in his chest. He held you as you sobbed, as your grief tore through you both.

“We were supposed to meet them,” you whispered, voice raw. “We were supposed to hold them.”

Chan let out a choked sound, his hands tightening around you,“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He pressed desperate kisses against your forehead, your hair, anywhere he could reach.

“I love you,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this.”

Your breath was shaky. “How?”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know yet, but we would.”

Because he would never let go. Because you needed each other. Because even though the weight of grief was suffocating, crushing, unbearable—

You had to be brave. For Juliana. For Aera. For the family that still needed you. Chan held you even tighter, pressing his lips to your forehead, his tears mixing with yours.

“We have to be strong,” he whispered. “For them.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling against him.

“They don’t know yet,” you whispered, voice raw.

Chan closed his eyes. The thought of his children, so innocent, so full of love and joy—waiting for you both. Not knowing the storm that had just shattered your world. His heart ached.

“We’ll tell them together,” he murmured. “When you’re ready.”

You let out a small, broken sob, gripping his shirt like a lifeline. “I don’t know how to do this, Chan.”

His hands ran up and down your back, soothing, steady, even when he felt anything but steady.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “One day at a time.”

You nodded against his chest, but he could still feel the way your body trembled, the way grief clung to every breath. He exhaled shakily, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “You’re not alone in this, baby. You’ll never be alone.”

Your arms tightened around him, your fingers digging into his back. “I love you,” you whispered, voice so fragile it nearly broke him all over again.

“I love you more,” he choked out.

For a while, you just held each other.

The hospital room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, the occasional sniffle, the weight of everything you had lost.

But outside, beyond these walls—two little children were waiting.

And no matter how shattered you both felt, no matter how much the loss threatened to pull you under, you had to keep going. For them. For your family. For the love that still remained.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba

[chaoticwriting]

Part 3

Danny X Cass Part 4

They arrive at the pantry in just a moment. Danny, Cass and the rest of the batfam go to take their seat while Clark and Diana go to make some teas and snacks. Danny and Cass sit beside each other with the other side of Cass being Spoiler. Opposite of Danny is Bruce while beside him are Nightwing and Robin. Red Robin takes a chair and sits right behind Batman while still taping on his wrist computer.

Batman, Nightwing and Robin keep staring at Danny while Clark and Diana prepare the snacks and teas but Danny doesn't look nervous at all. As much as Danny wants to take all of them seriously, he really can't when he knows what he knows.

A moment later Clark and Diana come with 2 trays of snacks and teas and put them on the table. They take a chair each and sit near the end of the table. Clark and Diana can feel the intense glares from 3 bats. Both of them glance at the target in question and they can see that the guy takes the glare with stride. It's like the person that is being glared at is someone else.

Suddenly, a loud ding sounded in the room. Danny takes out his phone and a grin spreads on his face. Danny shows the screen to Cass and she also releases a few giggles. Feeling the glares becoming more intense, Danny puts his phone on the table and lets everyone see what he is seeing.

On his phone is a selfie of Dan holding a bloodied Darkseid in one hand with a caption "Can't even give out a decent fight. Even Boxy is a better sparring partner than him." Another message entered Danny's phone and there is a selfie of Elle with Danny's clone bitch slapping Trigon in the background. "This place is so cool. You gotta bring me here to play more." Danny shows the rest of the heroes that the deed is done and they finally relax. Clark stands up from his table and goes back to the other room to inform the other heroes that the threat had already been taken care of.

Danny then puts back his phone and continues drinking his tea. Heh. They might think that they are being scary but they don't even know even now Danny is still flirting with Cass. That's one of the benefits of being able to read the opponent's body language and ghost speak. To others holding hands is just holding hands but to them, holding hands can be used to convey all of your emotions.

They stay like that for a while longer until Clark returns from the other room. Seeing Clark fully seated, Bruce finally speaks.

"Who are you really?" Bruce asks with the most intimidating voice he can use.

"Didn't I say? I'm Danny Phantom. High King of Infinite Realm etc etc. I have a lot of titles but the high King one is the only important one." Danny says carelessly.

"How old are you?" Bruce asks.

"20"

"Impossible." Red Robin suddenly interjects.

"Why is it impossible?" Danny looks curiously at him. He genuinely doesn't know why it is impossible.

"There are records of you all across time all the way back to the ancient human. There are even traces of you in multiple pantheons." Red Robin says.

"Oh, you mean that. Duh, it's easy. I time travel. It's quite easy to time travel when your pops is the master of time." Danny says.

"But didn't you say Clockwork hates when someone messes with time?" Superman asks.

"If there is a time traveler that messes with the timeline, who do you think will deal with the guy? It certainly ain't that old man. He sends me to deal with the time traveler/magician who are trying to change the timeline." Danny says.

"Is Clockwork your father then?" Diana asks.

"Adopted parents. He is my parents/mentor for anything ghost related. Well actually for most things related except personal human problems." Danny says.

"How long have you known Black Bat?" Nightwing asks. Finally the real question.

"Wait, I think 10 years now. You are 21 right Cass? I remember when I first met her she was being chased down by this weird ninja. After I shot a few of them down with my Fenton Taser, Cass handled the rest of them. She then passed out from exhaustion and I brought her to my secret hideout (A cave Danny found just then). After a few days, Cass fully recovered and since then, she and I have been meeting every few months whenever she comes around."

"Also, I know all of your real identity. The phrase 'Dead man tells no tales' is a complete bs by the way. The ghosts really like gossiping. Like that one time I heard a ghost say that he sees Bruce fall into the dumpster because his grappling hook is jammed. Or that one time Dick got catcalled by an old lady."

The bats (except Cass)froze when they hear that Danny knows their secret identity. Bruce sighs and takes off his cowl followed by the rest of the family.

"Do you also know my identity, Danny?" Clark asks.

"Yes, I know you Kal-el. Your parents are very proud of what you have become."

"You met Ma and Pa?"

"Your biological parents."

"You- you've met my parents?" Clark's voice shakes. Danny nods while smiling warmly.

"If you want, I can set up a meeting with your parents. Not for long of course. It's not good for a mortal to be inside the realm for too long. And that invitation extends to all of you."

Most of them stilled at that invitation.

[melosliving]

Can you do a fic where reader and Aaron are married and have been for years. But the public didn’t know about the reader. They thought Aaron was single. But anyways reader makes cooking videos on TikTok and is pregnant with a baby and somehow they put 2 and 2 together and realize they are married. The public is surprised that he has a wife. And now everyone is calling them a cute couple.

Thank you for your request !!! Let me cook and I hope you’ll like it ❤️❤️

aaron pierre x wife!reader

folks discovering y’all are married with a baby on the way …

You’d been craving jollof rice all week, so naturally, you decided to make it and turn the process into a TikTok. Pregnancy cravings weren’t something to play with, and your audience always loved your cooking content anyway.

The video was perfect—vibrant colors, smooth transitions, and a warm, inviting voiceover walking your viewers through each step.

“Once the tomato base has reduced,” your voice explained as the pot of rich red sauce simmered on the screen, “you’ll add the parboiled rice and mix it thoroughly so it soaks up all that flavor—”

But right as you reached the next step, a familiar voice cut in. Deep, smooth, and unmistakably British. “That’s looking good, love. You saving me a plate, yeah?”

You could hear the smile in your voice as you replied, “Aaron, I’m recording.”

“And I’m hungry, girl,” he quipped, unfazed, clearly not realizing his voice had been picked up by the mic.

“I always save a plate for you baby,” you replied softly, with a little laugh, before continuing your voiceover like nothing happened.

At the time, you didn’t think much of it. Just another normal moment with your husband. You edited the video, uploaded it, and figured the focus would stay on the jollof rice. But your followers? They had other priorities.

The comments section was on fire within minutes.

#tiktok!comments

@ user 1 WAIT. Is that Aaron Pierre???

@user 2 Not this deep British voice interrupting mid-recipe… I KNOW THAT’S HIM.

@user 3 She said Aaron like it was casual. GIRL, WE KNOW.

@user 4 Y’all… she’s pregnant, cooking jollof, and married to Aaron Pierre? I’m logging off.

People began dissecting the video like detectives. The way your tone softened when you spoke to him, the casual back-and-forth, the fact that he felt comfortable interrupting at all—it all added up. By the end of the day, his name was trending, and everyone was convinced they’d cracked the case: not only were you married to the Aaron Pierre, but you were also having his baby.

The next morning, Aaron found out before you did. He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through TikTok, grinning like a kid. “Love,” he called out, “you’ve got to see this.”

You shuffled into the room, hand on your growing belly, already suspicious of the look on his face. “What now?”

He handed you his phone, showing an edit someone had made of your video. They’d slowed it down, isolated his voice, and overlaid the words NOT AARON PIERRE INTERRUPTING HER MID-JOLLOF in bold text.

“They’re really out here doing audio forensics,” you said, shaking your head with a laugh. Aaron smirked, leaning back as you sat beside him. “To be fair, they’ve got a point. Who wouldn’t want to know who’s eating that jollof?”

You shot him a playful look. “I was trying to focus on the recipe, and here you are soft-launching yourself as my husband.”

“Soft-launching?” He laughed. “I thought we were past the soft launch when you started wearing your ring in those videos.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m blaming you for this one. You couldn’t even let me finish the voiceover before talking about plates.”

“What can I say?” He rested his hand on your belly, his voice dropping to that teasing tone. “It smelled good, and I’ve got to look out for you and baby.”

By the end of the day, the internet had pieced together everything. Fans unearthed old TikToks where Aaron’s voice could be faintly heard in the background, and someone even pulled up an interview clip of him saying, “My wife makes the best jollof rice—and she’s pregnant, so I get even more of it.”

Your comments section was relentless:

@unknown 1. Black love, jollof rice, and a baby? Y’all won.”

@user 5 Imagine carrying Aaron Pierre’s baby AND making him jollof. Sis, you’re living my dream.

@unknown 2 She’s cooking for two, and Aaron’s eating for three. I’m obsessed with this family already.

That night, as you lay curled up on the couch together, scrolling through all the reactions, Aaron leaned down and kissed your temple. “I think they’re excited for us.”

You laughed softly, resting your hand over his on your belly. “I think they’re more excited for you.”

“Nah.” He smiled, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. “It’s us, love. It’s always us.”

@ melosliving 2025

[ariestrxsh]

sub!virgin!matt x neighbor!reader

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 content warning: smut, some fluff, some angst, mommy kink, edging, handjob

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 summary: while spending time with matt, you start to find out more about his past, which leads to your first disagreement with one another

dividers by @/anitalenia

Me & U

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

"What if I came and cleaned it up for you with my mouth?" You said in a sultry tone through the phone. You smirked at Matt through the window after you watched him finish using his new sex toy, but he'd already grabbed an old t-shirt and was wiping up the mess he made.

"I'll tell you what. You can clean up the next one," he said in a breathy voice on the other end of the line. "I'd be honored," you replied, squeezing your thighs together to relieve some of the tension you were feeling.

"I'd love it if you came over, though. My dad's gone," Matt bit his lip. "What are we gonna do?" You asked him. "Anything you want," he responded. "Anything?" You wondered in a flirtatious tone. "Within reason," Matt chuckled at how dirty-minded you were.

"I'll be over soon," you replied, hanging up the phone and hurrying over to the neighbor boy's house. You let yourself in through Matt's front door, taking in all of the changes that had taken place since you'd last been over.

There were actually kitchen appliances on the counters and portraits on the wall of Matt in his younger years. You smiled, running your fingers along the frames and the glass before making your way up the staircase.

You turned the door knob to Matt's room, and as you swung open the door, he was pulling his zipper closed and still trying to catch his breath. He looked up at you and smiled. "So, what do you think of your new fleshlight?" You teased Matt.

"I think you know what I think," Matt playfully rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you like it," you leaned up against his door frame and looked him up and down. "Like is an understatement," he said, taking his toy to his bathroom to rinse it out. "Your house is coming together nicely," you called to him from his bedroom as your eyes glossed over the new additions to his space.

"Thanks. My dad and I had a lot of time to unpack today," Matt called back to you. You sifted through a few vinyls Matt had stored on a shelf beneath his record player. "I didn't know you were a music fan," you told him. "I mean, who doesn't love music?" Matt asked, coming back into the room and studying the way you ran your dainty fingers across his music collection.

"Yeah, but you listen to really good music," you replied, taking a Led Zeppelin album off of the shelf and slipping the record into the player. Traveling Riverside Blues came through clearly on the speaker. "What can I say? I have my dad's taste," he shrugged. You picked up Matt's journal off his desk and started flitting through the pages.

"May I?" You asked, glancing up at him. "I mean, I just came on the phone with you. I don't see why you can't read my journal," Matt chuckled and reached around to rub the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous.

There was nothing written for the day the two of you had met, but there was an entry written for the day after. "I met my new neighbor yesterday. She's kind of a slut," your jaw dropped as you read the words on the page and peered up to look at Matt.

"Look, I know that wasn't the nicest way to put it," Matt said, walking towards you, prepared to de-escalate your anger. "Don't worry. It turns me on to be called that," your shocked expression turned to a smirk, and you continued reading the next sentence.

"She's really hot, and she seems to know what she wants. I like that about her. She's nothing like May. Who's May?" You wondered, glancing up from the leather book again. "My ex-girlfriend," Matt timidly told you.

"I didn't know you had dated anyone before," you relayed in a surprised tone. "We dated for about three years, but she's the only girlfriend I've ever had," Matt admitted to you. "Three years? Why'd you guys break up?" You wondered aloud.

There was a moment of silence before Matt answered you. "We ended things because I moved away," Matt said with a somber tone in his voice. Your stomach dropped. "So you guys broke up recently," you replied, fiddling with the leather cover. "Yeah, fairly recently," Matt said.

"So, you're not over her yet? I mean, it would be crazy if you were. It was a three-year long relationship that ended recently," You insinuated, trying to hold back the tears that were beginning to form in your eyes.

"I mean, I don't even know what it means to get over someone. I've never had to do it before," Matt said defensively. "Why didn't you tell me about her?" You narrowed your gaze at him.

"It didn't come up, and I was waiting until the right time to tell you," he answered you. "Do you still love her?" You wondered with a hurt look on your face, and Matt stood silently, staring at you for a moment.

You shut off the record player. "It's a simple question, Matthew. Are you still in love with her?" You interrogated him with a bit of anger in your tone now, crossing your arms over your chest.

"We ended things a couple weeks ago. How am I supposed to say no?" Matt asked, raising the volume of voice. "Do you guys still talk?" You wondered, taking a step closer to him.

"She texted me last night and asked me how I liked my new house. I was too high to answer her, but I texted her back this morning," Matt hesitantly admitted, shrugging his shoulder and sticking his hands in his pockets.

You didn't want Matt to see you cry, so you spun around without saying another word, bounded down the stairs, and ran out the front door. You headed for your backyard to be alone and collect your thoughts, climbing up the ladder to your treehouse as hot tears started falling from your eyes.

You knew that Matt and May weren't together anymore, but it was the fact that he still had leftover feelings for a girl he'd probably still be dating if he lived in the same state as her. Not only was he still in love with another girl, but a girl that, in his words, was very different from you.

On top of it all, you had always struggled with jealousy in relationships. Your mind raced through the worst-case scenarios. What would happen if Matt went back to visit May, or what if she traveled here to visit him? You wondered if it would change the way he felt about you.

You were wiping your tears with the back of your hand and sniffling when Matt poked his head up from under the treehouse as he followed you up the ladder. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he timidly said, looking at you with his big, blue eyes. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

You wanted to shout at him and tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to say anything to hurt him to make him feel what you were feeling. You wanted to hide behind your tough facade, secretly afraid to be vulnerable with him, but you couldn't look at him and imagine being mean to him or raising your voice at him.

"I don't want you to be in love with May," you blurted out as you started to sob again. Matt climbed into the shelter with you, his journal in hand, placing it in his lap as he sat beside you, wiping away your tears.

"It's just still fresh. That's all. It was three years, and the reason we broke up was beyond our control, but it doesn't make sense for us to be together, and now that I've met you.." Matt trailed off, rubbing your back.

"Since you met me, what?" You asked softly, lifting your head. "Well, you didn't even finish the journal entry, silly." Matt handed you his leather notebook, and despite your hesitancy to read on and hurt your own feelings worse, you opened it back up to the page you left off on.

"She's nothing like May. The more time I spend around her, the more I realize things I didn't really like about May and my relationship with her. Like how passive she was, how she always kept me guessing about how she felt about me, and the way she never disagreed with anything I said or challenged any of my beliefs," you read aloud.

"Wait, you actually like that I'm disagreeable and direct?" You asked, peering up at him, surprised because those were usually the qualities people criticized you for. "Yeah, those are my favorite things about you. It's refreshing to meet someone like you," Matt told you, looking into your eyes.

"I'm sorry I stormed off," you apologized. "I'm not upset," Matt assured you. "I just wasn't sure whether I was supposed to follow you or not."

You two sat silently for a few moments, just staring into each other's eyes, and the magnetic force between you and Matt pulled you each closer to one another until your lips were locked. The chemistry between you both when you'd kiss was undeniable, and you could each confirm that you felt it through your body language in the way your hands would wander, never being able to pull each other close enough.

"Do you wanna get high and go lay on your floor and Iisten to your records?" You asked him, looking into his blue eyes and caressing his face once you pulled back from the kiss. "Sure, but I'm only taking one hit," Matt looked at you, wide-eyed and smiling.

"That's really all you need," you smiled back at him, reaching for your stash and pulling a pre-rolled joint out of a plastic bag. You lit it up, exhaling smoke and watching it dissipate into the air.

"Do you wanna shotgun kiss again?" You asked Matt. "Shotgun kiss?" He reiterated in a confused tone. "Yeah, it's where I take a hit, and then we kiss, and I blow it into your mouth," you smirked at him. He nodded at you, leaning in as you took a drag, the cherry end of the joint glowing and crackling as you gently pulled from it.

Your lips softly brushed up against Matt's, blowing out the weed smoke as he breathed in and gave him a couple of pecks before pulling away. He exhaled, expelling the wispy, grey smoke from his lungs. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Matt laughed in between coughs.

You took a few more hits while you silently stared at the cute boy beside you. You watched as his eyelids grew heavy and the whites of his eyes turned a bit red. "Let's go check out your record collection," you suggested to Matt, nudging him in the arm and putting out the joint.

The two of you descended the ladder as the sun sank lower below the horizon, leaving behind a bright orange sky in its wake. You followed Matt's silhouette out your gate and back over the path that led to his house.

You found yourself lying on Matt's giant rug in the middle of his room while he laid his head next to yours but had his feet pointed in the opposite direction. You both stared up at the ceiling as Riders on the Storm by The Doors came through over the speaker of the record player, sounding textured and crisp.

"Can I stay the night here?" You asked Matt, peering over at him and his glazed over expression. "I don't see why not," Matt shrugged, looking at you wide-eyed. He did want you to stay the night, but he was afraid that you had certain sexual expectations about how the night would go.

"I'm not ready to have sex with you yet," Matt blurted out, searching your expression for a reaction and wondering if he was being too presumptuous by saying that. "That's okay. I understand. Could we maybe do other stuff?" You nibbled on your lip, looking at him hungrily. "I think I'd be okay with that," Matt nervously replied, nodding at you timidly.

The two of you enjoyed your highs a bit longer as The Doors' L.A. Woman album played through its track list until you were both too tired to keep your eyes open. Matt switched off the light, and you, the record player.

The two of you climbed into Matt's bed, stripping down into your underwear, nestling under the covers, and cuddling. Matt couldn't help but to get hard with your half-naked body curled up so closely to his with your nose nuzzled into his neck.

You guys heard Matt's dad pull up in his loud, rust-colored pickup truck, casting shadows across the bedroom as the headlights danced through the window. It's not that Matt wasn't allowed to have girls sleep over, but he certainly didn't think his father would approve of it, so the two of you silently decided to keep your staying the night a secret.

It wasn't long after Matt's dad came in through the door that he trudged up the stairs and made his way into his bathroom, turning on the shower and getting ready for bed. You and Matt laid in the dark, the only bit of light pouring into the room from a nearby street lamp, and you fell asleep shortly after in each other's arms.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

A couple hours later, you woke up to some movement in the bed. You figured Matt must have been tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. You listened a little more closely, and you heard soft noises and labored breathing coming from him.

As your eyes adjusted to the low lighting, you caught a glimpse of desire on his face while he grinded against his pillow, desperate for relief. You watched quietly for a few minutes as he rutted into his blankets and listened as your name faintly fell from his lips. You smirked at how needy he was being.

"Need some help?" Your voice broke through his breathy whimpers. "What?" He asked, immediately stopping and acting like he'd just woken up. "Help me with what? I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, you naughty boy. Are you lying to me right now?" You moved closer to him, speaking in a low whisper while you tenderly grabbed him by his jaw. "Wanna try that again, hmm? You gonna tell me you weren't just humping your pillow?" You asked in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry, mommy. It's so hard. It hurts," he whined in a bratty tone. You started slowly kissing Matt's neck, and you felt his body tighten against you. "I'm gonna make it feel all better," you moaned against his ear.

"My dad's asleep in the next room," Matt said quietly before letting out a stifled moan. "Makes it more hot that way, doesn't it? When it's a secret? When you have to keep your volume low? When it's risky and you could be caught if you're too loud?" You cooed, gently brushing your fingers over the fabric of his underwear, exciting him even further.

"Mmm. I dont know," he softly purred as you caressed his member. "I'll stop if you want me to. You know, so your dad doesn't hear us," you teased, whispering into his ear and delicately touching your lips to his ear lobe before kissing it. "No. Please. Keep going," he moaned quietly.

You slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and started running your fingers along his length while your lips moved back down to his neck. You could feel each of his veins as you lightly grazed him, testing how much teasing he could take.

He kept anticipating you wrapping your fingers around his thickness and sighing every time you didn't. "Why are you teasing so much?" He softly whimpered. You gave him a gentle squeeze, quietly chuckling at his neediness.

Finally, with his cock in your grip, you started to move your hand up and down, stroking his length while soft, delicate whimpers poured from his lips. "How do you like that, baby?" You asked in a voice just barely louder than a whisper.

"I love it, mommy. Please don't stop," he begged in a hushed volume. "Good boy," you cooed back as you started to pick up the pace a bit. "You can't finish until I tell you to," you added at the end.

He let out a long sigh. "But mommy. I'm already so close," he quietly cried. "Then you'd better get ahold of yourself," you responded in a sultry moan. He nodded at you obediently.

You couldn't tell how big he was because it was dark in the room, and you were jerking him off under his blanket, but it felt bigger than average. You noted that your fingers struggled to wrap around his girth, and your strokes felt long as you pumped his length back and forth. You couldn't wait until the day you'd get to see it.

You felt a wet warmth between your legs as you listened to the boy whimper beneath you while you continued sucking on his neck. "Mommy, please," he whispered. "Please, what?" You softly cooed against his hot skin.

"Please let me cum," he said in a strangled moan. "Not yet, baby." You smirked as you brushed your thumb over the tip, spreading around his pre-cum and eliciting more clear liquid from his sensitive slit.

"Mommy," he desperately whined, struggling to keep his volume down. "Sh, sh, sh," you whispered back into his ear while you stroked him mercilessly, admiring his facial expression that was saturated with pleasure in the dim, cool light offered by the street lamp.

His eyebrows were brought together, causing a little wrinkle between them, and his eyes were tightly closed. He caught his lip between his teeth in an attempt to muffle his pleasured sounds, which he did poorly.

You slowed down, taunting him some more. "No more teasing," Matt said in a breathy voice. "Oh. Please, mommy. Mmm. Need to - oh - need to cum so bad," Matt managed to get out in a series of broken moans and stifled whimpers.

You sped the pace back up for him, covering every inch of his cock, sending ripples of satisfaction through his body. "Please," he said once more. "Wait," you told him in a quiet, stern voice. He nodded at you with a submissive expression on his face.

You slowed down again, drawing out the process, really making him beg for it. He huffed in response. "If you wanna get an attitude with me, I'll stop and leave you unfinished," you replied, slowing the pace of your strokes.

"Mommy, please. I'm sorry. I won't get an attitude," he weakly answered, gripping your wrist to keep you from removing your hand from his dick. "Then be a good boy for mommy, okay?" You whispered, taking your free hand and tilting Matt's chin so that he was looking at you. He nodded, releasing his grasp on you.

You pumped back and forth again, fisting his cock while he started writhing under your control. "Good boy. You're doing such a good job," you cooed. Your name passed through his lips a few more times along with a few oohs and aahs.

"Mommy, please," Matt sobbed. You ignored his pleas, continuing your strokes, paying special attention to the head every time you brushed against it.

You felt him twitch against your palm, his dick begging for sweet release. Matt was so close to the edge, graciously trying to hold out just for you, but he wasn't used to waiting to cum or asking for permission to finish, but he was discovering how much he liked it.

He was so grateful when these next words left your mouth because he didn't know how much more he could take.

"You've been such a good boy. Why don't you cum for mommy?" You whispered into his ear before you went back to kissing his neck. "Yes, mommy," he pathetically whined. He'd been waiting.

You saw the muscles in his face tighten in the dim light as his cock pulsated in your hand, blowing his load into your palm. His orgasm lasted several seconds due to how much you'd edged him, and he emitted a few guttural groans before a smile overcame his expression.

"Good boy," you whispered once more, kissing his forehead. He looked up at you breathlessly with his big, blue eyes and a satisfied grin on his face.

You got up and wandered into Matt's bathroom to clean the evidence off your hands, and once you got back into Matt's bed, the two of you wrapped yourselves up in each other.

You drifted back off to sleep, your legs intertwined with his and your head buried into his chest while you listened to the sound of his slowing heartbeat as his vitals returned to normal after his climax. Soon, you and Matt were both soundly asleep again.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

You woke up early on Wednesday to the sound of the birds chirping and the morning sun peeking in through Matt's window as it came up over the hills.

You let out a big yawn, and you heard the cute boy beside you begin to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and your image became clearer as he adjusted to the change in lighting.

"Good morning, pretty boy," you said in a soft murmur. "Good morning, baby. You're up early," he mumbled back in his sexy morning voice. "I know. I have to work today," you told him, climbing out of bed and putting back on the clothes you'd wandered out of last night.

Matt reached for you with a pouty look on his face when he realized he wasn't going to get to see you until after your shift. You leaned in and kissed him. "How do you usually get to work?" Matt wondered out loud.

"I usually just walk. It's only a few blocks," you shrugged. "If you get back in this bed and cuddle with me for ten more minutes, I'll take you to work in the truck," Matt smiled up at you. "Deal," you replied, climbing back into bed and wrapping your arms around Matt for a few minutes longer.

"If you want to go run over to your place and get dressed for work, I'll go start up the truck," Matt offered, grinning at you. "That would be really sweet of you," you softly replied. The two of you left Matt's room, tiptoeing down the stairs and trying to stay as quiet as possible to keep from waking Matt's dad and blowing your little secret.

All your efforts were for naught when you and Matt made your way into the kitchen, realizing Matt's dad was already awake. He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading his Bible, and drinking a cup of coffee.

"Oh, good morning. I didn't realize you stayed over last night," his dad said, peering up at you both from the page, his gaze dancing between you and Matt. "Morning, Mr. Sturniolo," you timidly said, avoiding addressing the sleepover.

"Uh, hi Dad," Matt responded, reaching behind his head and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm gonna take the truck to go drop my friend off at work really quick," Matt said, picking the keys up off the counter.

"Why don't I come with you guys? So I can learn a little more about your friend here?" Matt's dad asked, getting up from his seat at the table and extending his arm for Matt to hand over the keys.

Matt gulped, knowing that on top of figuring out you had stayed the night, now he was also going to know what you did for work. He reluctantly forked over the keys. "I'll meet you guys at the truck in about a half hour," you said, giving Matt a quick, awkward side hug.

You couldn't get out of the situation quickly enough.

The whole time you were showering, changing into clean clothes, and brushing your hair and your teeth, you were dreading how awkward the drive over was going to be. You resented that this was only your second interaction with Matt's dad, who you really wanted to like you and approve of you.

You were afraid it would go how any other relationship you'd had went. Their parents would either outwardly not like you, judging you based on all the most scandalous things about your personality and not bothering to get to know the other aspects of you better.

Or worse, the parents would pretend to like you to your face and then would badmouth you to your partner in private, telling them how much better they could be doing and how bad of an influence you are.

You braced yourself for it all as you sauntered out the door and headed for the orange truck.

"You ready?" Matt asked as he opened the door for you. You nodded and nestled in between the two men as Matt climbed into the truck behind you.

"So, what do you do for work?" Matt's dad asked you, pulling out of the driveway. "I work in retail. It's this way," you said, trying to avoid giving too much detail about your job and pointing in the direction of the road he needed to take.

"What do your parents do for work?" His dad wondered. "My mom is a flight attendant, and my dad was a pilot, but now he works in air traffic," you responded.

"Ah, so they work in similar fields," Matt's dad nodded. "Yeah, they met at work. Fun fact, I was actually conceived on a plane," you told them both. "Shit. Sorry. That was an overshare," you said, putting your palm over your mouth once you realized you'd just sworn in front of Matt's very Christian dad.

He didn't laugh or find your quirkiness charming. Matt looked at you wide-eyed, knowing your humor wasn't going to land well with his father.

You continued giving him directions to your retail job, which wasn't totally a lie, and he cleared his throat and gave Matt a look when the three of you pulled into the parking lot of a sex shop. Matt stepped out of the truck to let you out.

"Well, this has been fun," you said sarcastically, feeling the thick tension in the air as your feet hit the pavement. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sturniolo. Matt, I'll call you on my lunch break," you told him, leaning in and giving him a tender peck on the lips.

You could feel how warm and red your face was as you turned around and headed for the front door of your job. Your coworker, Carly was at the register, giving you an inquisitive look and watching the scene play out.

"Did your cute neighbor boy take you to work?" She asked, giving Matt a little subtle wave, and he waved back, giving Carly a shy smile.

"Yeah, and his very Christian father after he caught me sleeping over. Oh, and he didn't know I worked in the adult entertainment industry until about a minute ago," you added, looking at Carly with a deer in headlights look.

"Oh. That sounds like a very awkward morning," she said, trying to contain her laugher. "It's fine. You can laugh. It is comical, really. I just hope he's not in the truck, telling Matt that I'm a harlot and trying to convince him to stop hanging out with me," you expressed to Carly, tears forming in your eyes.

Her face softened, and she took on an expression of pity. "I'm so sorry. Come here. You know, no matter what his dad says about you, I'm sure Matt's still gonna like you," she said, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back while she comforted you. You wiped a tear out of the corner of your eye before it had a chance to fall. "Thank you for saying that."

Meanwhile, in the rusty-colored Dodge Dakota, your worst fears were unfolding. "Matt, what on earth are you thinking? Running around with a girl like that?" He asked angrily as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Dad-" Matt started to say, but the older man cut him off. "She works at a place called Temptations. You don't see anything wrong with that? You think God wants you canoodling with a girl like that," he replied, giving Matt a somber look.

"A girl like that? What does that even mean? There's so much more to her than that," Matt defended you, raising his voice a bit. "Son, just be careful. Girls like that are trouble. I don't know if this is some kind of overcorrection because you're upset about May-" Matt's dad started.

"How dare you bring up May?" Matt glared at his father. "I'm just saying, son. You and May made sense together," his dad replied, shrugging. "Actually, dad. We didn't. May and I stayed together for so long because neither one of us wanted to admit we were incompatible," Matt scoffed. "What?" Matt's dad asked, completely taken aback by his kid's comment.

Matt and May's relationship was picture perfect on the outside. They didn't argue, they didn't complain about one another to their friends and families, and everyone envied what they had. Everyone thought they'd be together forever, including the two of them.

"I know this new girl is completely different from May. She's not a Christian. She's loud and domineering. She's aggressive, and she's overbearing. And she's honest. Maybe even too honest. She always says what's on her mind even if other people aren't going to like it. And I don't love her despite those qualities. I love her because of those qualities," Matt huffed, silencing his dad.

The two men sat quietly beside each other in the truck, mulling over what the other had said. Matt's dad was a lot of things, but unsupportive wasn't one of them.

A few more moments passed before his father finally spoke up. "Fine. Invite her over for dinner. I want to get to know the girl you love."

part five here 💖

taglist: @gabri3la-sturns @lowkeyobsessedwthesturniolos @starzinasblog @mattsturns09 @sluttt4matt @heartsforsturniolo567 @nomusic-nodreams @freakbob15 @valkatriee @lyla-rose05 @savannah00 @shadowthesim @clara-sangster @slimshiesty @mattybearskitten @chrissturns-wife @sturnl0ve @poolover123 @geniusbean @secretfangirly @021409 @bernardsbunny @lovergirl0403 @yourmother29 @thepubeburgler @sturniqlo @saturns0rb1t @gregs-child @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @jaysturniolo @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll

[spacedace]

I've seen the concept of Jason being adopted by various people other than Bruce while he was still a little tire stealing Crime Ally kid a few times, but I've yet to see anyone put forth the idea of Duke and his family taking him in.

Like, depending on the continuity Jason and Duke are only like 4 or 5 years apart in age, and we know for a fact that Duke was a terrifyingly brilliant kid already shaping up to be able to take down the Riddler in a battle of wits at the age of 9. Now throw in protective older brother Jason into that mix who didn't think twice about trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile and then try and hit Batman with a damn tire iron when he was caught.

Just imagine how terrifying it would be with the two of them growing up constantly feeding each other's unhinged Fight God and the Devil in a Waffle House Parking Lot at 3am and Win energy. Imagine the chaos they would cause. The terror they would strike into the hearts of their enemies- all before Duke ever even gor his powers.

They would be unstoppable. Just a pair of two of the smartest motherfuckers you've ever met who know they're smarter than you, and the only thing sharper than their minds are their vicious verbal take downs.

Also I just have the imagine in my head of Doug Thomas, half asleep early one Saturday morning stumbling into the kitchen after following the smell of breakfast to see his 8 year old son happily stuffing the most delicious looking pancakes imaginable into his mouth. Blinking in confusion as he realizes it's not his beloved wife cooking but some scrawny kid in worn out clothes, covered in engine grease and bruises manning the stove like a seasoned line cook - complete with the most foul mouthed swearing even Doug, a construction worker, has ever heard in his life and a cigarette tucked behind the kids ear.

And Doug has a moment where he's just staring, full on Who's Goddamn White Baby is That? when Duke pipes up to explain:

"This is Jason! I caught him trying to steal your catalytic converter this morning. His mom's dead and his dad is a deadbeat so he's gonna stay with us now!"

And oh. Well. Shit. He knows that look in his son's eye. Knows he's already lost the fight before it evan began. It looks like it's theirs. It's their god damn white baby now.

He's gonna have to call Elaine.

(Elaine, for her part, goes through the full range of human emotions when she gets home to realize that the boy Duke has decided they're adopting is the Todd boy Elaine has been trying to track down for months now.

She's Jason's social worker, not that she's been able to really do her job and help him when he's managed to stay under the radar of every single vaguely responsible adult in a ten mile radius. The one time he had been picked up by one of the few decent cops in the city and Elaine thought she was going to be able to finally finally help him, Jason had managed to climb out of a window of the precinct bathroom and disappear into the night.

He'd managed to steal the hubcaps of six different patrol vehicles while he was at it. Just to rub it in that there was nothing they could do to stop him.

Point was, the kid has been her damn white whale for almost a year. And now she walks into her home after a maddening unhelpful phone call with Doug about needing paperwork to adopt a child only to find the boy she'd spent so long looking for teaching Duke how to take apart and reassemble their toaster in the living room.

She isn't sure if she wants to laugh or cry.

She is sure that there's no way she's going to be able to convince Duke that they can't just adopt his new friend, not when she can tell that both boys have already gotten attached to each other in the scarce few hours they've known one other. Or when her husband is just sitting there eating delicious pancakes with such resignation in his eyes.)

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch 1

“For good service and cute waitresses”

pairing: pre military!jk x fuckbuddy!oc

contents: mild language, no smut (yet), fluff, humour, celeb au, very mild angst.

wc: 1.96k

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: if anyone wants to join pls comment!!

A/N: inspired by the iconic 97liner pics. Hi guys, this is my first id say, proper? fanfiction, im planning on making this a pretty long series ! also im posting smth i actually like, shocker! ive had secret fuck buddy oc x military!jk on my mind for so long and im so happy ive finished the part i’ve had in my notes for a hot minute! lmk what u think :> i also couldnt wait for the poll to finish before posting this haha, anyways enjoy and tysm 4 reading

masterlist | <previous | next>

The diner is quiet tonight. Though speaking too soon may grant you with a consequence, considering its only 6pm on a Thursday. You glance at the clock realising you have a long night ahead, and complaining will utterly make everything 10x worse. What’s worse is Nari is late to her shift like usual, and your boss’ constant singing in the prep room is sure to drive you insane sooner or later. He’s still humming as your scrubbing down the bar counter- its not like it needs it, you just aren’t in the mood to be scolded by a chunky, 40 year old man.

You don’t even realise you’re scrubbing the table even more vigorously when a combination of your phone ringing in your trouser pocket and a squeal of costumers sitting by the hibachi grill completely catches you off guard. It’s Hibachi night, and your day seriously couldn’t get any worser. You’re rolling your eyes at the family of three who barely pay attention to the chef cooking in front of them, with all of their phones plastered to their faces, and when they’re finally placed down to take the plate out of the chef’s hands and your sure you dont see a gesture of thanks, your grabbing your phone, walking to the bathroom and calling Nari.

“Nari! Where the fuck are you? Its Hibachi night, you can’t leave me here alone on Hibachi night!” You’re drawing imaginary patterns on the stall wall with your fingers, shuffling your knees under your chin whilst sitting on the closed toilet seat. Nari’s quick to apologise and tell you shes on the way, and you tell her goodbye before fixing your hair in the mirror and going back outside.

You know you’re in for a long night when a group of people enter the restaurant, your boss greeting them with his signature, annoying high voice, and you’re just glad you’ll have someone to share the misery with when Nari gets here.

“Y/n! Go and serve table 3, and put a smile on your face, they’re quite the group!” You’re pushing yourself off of the bar stool, quickly taking menus and sending your boss a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The oblivious man dosent seem to notice.

Dragging yourself to Table 3, the group of men are already seated, seemingly finding something hilarious though when you step into their view, it seems to die down. You’re flashing them a smile, quickly bowing before noticing that all of them are seriously attractive.

You notice the one sitting alone first, in the best way possible, his face is sweet. He has a smile which makes his eyes turn into thin crescents on his face and you cant help but smile back at him. He’s wearing a beanie, and his face is so perfect it’s hard to keep composure. The two sitting in front catch your eyes next, one with the most beautiful tanned skin, effortlessly masculine face which makes you wonder if he’d been specially sculpted and put on the earth to kill with his looks shoots you a smile. Finally, the last one, he’s wearing a bucket hat hiding some of his face, and he’s fiddling with his lip ring. He looks the youngest out of the lot, big doe eyes peeking through his hat and, he seems to be…looking at you far more intensely than the other two seem to be. His sleeve is slightly rolled up and you cant help but stare a second too long at the most beautiful sleeve of art adorning his muscular ar-

Seriously Y/n! Get it together, be professional!

You clear your throat when he smirks at you noticing your shameless gawking placing the menus in front of them “Hello, i’ll be serving you tonight, i’m y/n, can i get you started on any drinks?”

The guy in the beanie is first to talk, voice light when he asks for a beer. His grin widens when you look at him, and it’s easy to see why people would gravitate to him like yourself. He just has that charm.

Your heart beats a little faster when the one next to him interrupts the silence of you taking his order down, asking for two beers rather than one, his gaze is equally intimidating as it is intriguing, and you’re trying so hard to keep it professional right now, “Alright, and you?”

“Water’s fine for me, thank you.” You take the orders down quickly, sure that if you stood there any longer your heart would pound out of your chest. Where the fuck is Nari?

You turn to head toward the bar to grab their drinks, and you hear the faintest chuckle from the table. “Hey, don’t you need to see my ID first?” The voice belongs to the guy in the bucket hat—the one with the doe eyes and that unreadable expression. You freeze for a second, unsure of whether he’s joking or not. You glance back at him, and he’s staring at you, lips curling into a playful smirk.

You blink, trying to keep it professional. “Uh, do i?”

He leans forward, still fiddling with his lip ring, his eyes twinkling. “I look too young for that beer, right? You know, like one of those guys who gets ID’d for everything.”

His tone is light, teasing, and for a second, you almost think he’s serious. But then his friends start laughing quietly, and you realize—he’s just messing with you. You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips anyway. “Uh-huh. Right, sure. Let me grab your ID then, Mr. Underage.”

The others crack up even harder at that, and he just shrugs, chuckling under his breath. “I swear, I get carded everywhere. It’s kinda embarrassing, but hey, at least I look young.” You smile and roll your eyes, walking away to get their drinks, but now, you’re trying not to laugh too hard at the mental image of him getting carded at the grocery store or a random café. But it’s no surprise to you, in fact his young face has you seriously considering if he was actually underage. Oh well.

When you come back, with drinks, you take down their orders for food, their effortless small talk and flirting has you feeling like they aren’t in no rush for you to leave them alone, but you remember that you’re at work, and go back to scrubbing the bar counters, but you cant help but glance down at their table every now and then.

By the time you bring out their food, the conversation around the table has picked up again, the atmosphere light and easy. You can’t help but notice the way they’re all leaning into each other, laughing over something you missed. When you set the plates down, you quickly glance around to make sure nothing’s out of place, and that’s when you spot Nari walking in. She’s just clocked in, looking hurried, but you can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes your lips.

You barely have time to throw the boys a quick wave before you head back to the bar, feeling the weight of their gazes follow you for just a second longer than you’d like. Rushing over to Nari, she’s changing into her work clothes before giving you a smile and opening her arms for a hug. “Long day already?” You groan, moving back after hugging her and fixing her hair which has moved in front of her face.

“It’s Hibachi night. Also theres a group of some serious fine men, look ove-“ Your eyebrows furrow when she follows your finger and gasps so loud you wince. “Shh! I know! But be quiet, they might catch us..”

The look on her face tells you she’s indeed not surprised about the way they look and rather “That’s the Jeon Jungkook, oh and is that- Kim Mingyu? CHA EUNWOO?!”

You blink. Then blink again. “Who?”

Nari turns to you so fast you think she might give herself whiplash. “Who?! Are you serious? Are you actually joking right now?”

You shrug, confused. “They just look like really hot guys to me… wait? You know them? Shit did you guys like-“ You make a hand motion which you hope she takes as ‘do a thing’.

She looks like she might actually pass out. “WHAT—?! Oh my god, I can’t do this right now.” Nari presses a hand to her chest like she’s physically offended by your assumption. “Do a thing?! Are you insane?”

You raise a brow. “Okay, so you didn’t. Then what’s the big deal?” She’s pulling out her phone, typing something into google.

She looks like she might actually strangle you. “Y/n, they’re famous.”

You stare at her blankly. “And? We get a shitload of famous people here, whats the big deal?”

Nari makes a strangled noise. “And?! And?! You’re telling me you don’t recognize Jeon Jungkook—of BTS?! Or Mingyu from Seventeen?! Or Cha Eunwoo, literal actor, singer, face genius?!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “I mean yeah, I guess i recognise it a bit but- Nari, you do realize I don’t live on the internet like you, right?”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “This is actually so embarrassing. You served them like they were just—regular people.”

You blink at her. “I mean, they are regular people?”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “No. No, they are not.”

You snort, glancing back to the table in question, The boys are still eating, but Jungkook’s eyes are quick to meet yours and you swear you see the corner of his lips quirk up like he knows exactly what your talking about. You will yourself to look away, and you see Nari sneaking pictures under the bar counter. “Well I guess it’s too late, I already treated them like normal guys, and they didn’t seem to mind.”

Nari doesn’t let up. “Okay, okay—since you’re so professional, why don’t you go check on their table? You are their server, after all.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re up to something.”

“Me? Never.” She puts a hand to her chest like she’s offended. “I just think it’s good service to make sure everything’s okay.”

You groan. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still walking over.”

You mutter a few curses under your breath but do as she says, smoothing your hands over your apron as you approach the table again. They’re mid-conversation, laughing about something, but the second you arrive, Jungkook’s gaze flicks to you immediately. Great. Composure, y/n!

You take a deep breath before walking up, trying not to feel Nari’s eyes drilling into the back of your head. You’re just checking in. That’s it.

When you reach them, their conversation slows, and Jungkook glances up first, his dark eyes flickering to yours almost immediately.

“Hey, uh,” you clear your throat, gripping your notepad even though you don’t need it. “Just checking in. Everything good over here?”

Mingyu nods, smiling as he pushes his plate forward slightly. “Yeah, everything’s great. Thanks.”

Eunwoo hums in agreement, giving you a polite smile.

Jungkook, though—he doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking at you, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. You shift on your feet, suddenly aware of how intense his gaze is.

“It’s good,” he finally says, voice smooth but casual. “Didn’t expect to have someone checking on me so much, though.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Huh?”

His lips quirk up just a little. “You’ve been around a lot. Just saying.”

You blink. “That’s-… literally my job.”

Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, barely a smile, but it’s there. “Fair enough.” He looks down at his plate, nudging a piece of food with his chopsticks before glancing up at you again. “But I don’t mind.”

Your breath catches for just a second before you snap out of it, nodding stiffly. “Right. Well. Let me know if you guys need anything.”

You spin on your heel before he can say anything else, making your way back to the bar—only to find Nari grinning at you.

“So?” she sing-songs.

You roll your eyes, pretending you don’t feel the warmth still lingering in your face. “Shut up.”

—

As the night winds down, the table of ridiculously attractive men finally finishes their meals, and you’re just about to go over when Nari beats you to it, balancing the empty plates with practiced ease. She throws you a look—one that’s way too smug for your liking—as she walks past.

You roll your eyes, pretending not to care, but you can’t help glancing over. They’re still chatting, laughing among themselves, but one of them—Jungkook—stands up, stretching a little before making his way toward the bar.

Toward you.

You pretend to be busy, wiping down an already-clean spot on the counter, but you can feel him approaching before he even says anything.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but there’s a slight rasp to it. “Just wanted to leave a tip.”

He slides a bill toward you, and when you glance down, you realize it’s…a lot. Way more than necessary. Your eyes flicker back to him, skeptical. “This is kind of excessive, don’t you think?”

Jungkook shrugs, resting his arms against the counter, tattoos peeking out beneath his sleeve. “Service was good.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You barely let me serve you. Nari took your plates.”

“Still counts, doesn’t it?” He tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that makes your stomach feel weirdly unsettled. Not in a bad way—just aware.

You narrow your eyes at him, playful. “You do this everywhere you go?”

“What? Tip?”

“No.” You lean a little closer. “Flirt.”

Jungkook grins, running his tongue over his lip ring before speaking. “Only when the waitress is cute.”

Oh.

You open your mouth to respond—to throw back something equally teasing—but before you can, Mingyu calls his name from the entrance, signaling that they’re leaving. Jungkook glances over his shoulder, then back at you, his grin softening just a little.

“See you around?” he says, and you’re not even sure if it’s a question or a statement.

You don’t answer immediately, just biting back a smile as you watch him walk away. And when you finally glance down at the tip he left, there’s a note scribbled onto the bill:

“For good service. And cute waitresses.”

Maybe work wasn’t so bad tonight.

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 4 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 2.2k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader, toxic ex-boyfriend x reader

notes:

y/n woke up the next morning feeling different. something about what happened yesterday made things blur between her and quinn. they were friends, sure. but there was no denying the chemistry between them, no matter how little it was.

she got out of bed and got herself ready before heading down the hall to abby's room. she pushed the door open slowly and saw abby sitting up in bed, already dressed.

"good morning, princess. how long have you been up?"

"20 minutes. i dressed myself. see?"

"i see that." y/n smiled and crouched down to abby's level.

"do you like it?"

"i love it." she ran a hand through abby's hair. "you excited to stay with quinn today?"

"yes. and bella."

"i forgot you like her too."

"she's so nice. i hope she has candy today."

"oh i'm sure she will." y/n stood up. "will you let me do your hair today?"

"can quinn do it?"

"i think he's already gone." y/n smiled and walked towards the bathroom. there was a knock on the door so she turned around and headed back. y/n opened the door and smiled when her eyes landed on quinn. "hey. i thought you would've already left by now."

"i was getting in my car when i remembered that abby doesn't really like getting her hair done so i thought i'd come back up and see if she wanted me to get it done for her."

"you know what? i think she would really like that. thank you." y/n closed the door and followed quinn to the bathroom. when he stuck his head in, y/n didn't even have to see the look on abby's face to know she was happy.

"hey kiddo. i'm here to do your hair."

"yay!" she giggled and y/n set her up on the counter before leaning against the doorframe.

"thanks for this, quinn." y/n watched as he brushed abby's hair genttly and began to put it into two braids.

"it's no problem at all. saves you the trouble, right?"

"yeah. right." y/n was in awe. not only with his work on the hair but with the way he was helping her. there was never going to be enough ways to repay him for everything.

"there. all done." quinn stood back to admire his work. "you girls ready to go?"

"yeah. we'll be right behind you." y/n grabbed some stuff off the kitchen counter and shoved them into her bag. abby went to her room to grab her own bag and joined her mom in the front hall. quinn opened the door for them and while y/n locked it, quinn picked up abby and put her on his shoulders. she giggled and held on tightly.

the three of them made their way down to to the parking garage. quinn helped get abby buckled in before heading over to his car.

"you'll be right ehind me, right?"

"yes." y/n smiled while quinn got in is car and drove out. she was about to start her car when andy knocked on her window. "what are you doing here?"

"can we talk?"

"can it wait? i've got somewhere to be."

"okay well you don't work until later, so..."

"i don't want to know how you know that." y/n shook her head.

"where are you going?"

"it's really none of your business, andy." y/n sighed and pulled out her phone. she drafted an sos text to quinn and was hovering over the send button but she looked back at andy.

"i just want to talk."

"we can talk later. i'll text you when we get home, okay? please?"

"alright fine." he stood back and watched y/n drive out. she quickly erased the drafted text and decided to call quinn instead.

"hey. i just parked. you here yet?"

"no. i ran into andy before i had the chance to leave."

"he didn't....he didn't hurt you, did her?"

"no. i'm fine." she couldn't help the way her heart seemed to leap at quinn's words. "i'm pulling into the parking garage now. what level are you on?"

"second. i'll wait by my car for you."

"okay." y/n turned onto the second level and when she saw quinn saving a spot for her, her heart began to melt. he moved out of the way and when she was in park, he helped get abby out of her seat. "are you sure nobody will mind us being here?"

"i already called ahead to make sure. told them it was a protection thing and they understood."

"thank you." y/n smiled and before she could take a second to think, quinn was grabbing her hand and walking towards the locker room.

"you can stay out here and wait for me or you can head on in towards the bench. bella will be there to meet you guys."

"yay. bella." abby looked at quinn. "do you know if she has any candy?"

"i'm not sure. but she might." quinn set abby down next to y/n and stood up. "i'll see you guys in 10 minutes."

y/n nodded and headed down the tunnel with abby right beside her. when she saw bella waving, the two of them made their way to her.

"i'm so glad you're here. i don't usually come to the arena this early but when quinn called me yesterday and asked if i could keep you two company, i immediately agreed. couldn't say no to you guys."

"you don't mind keeping an eye on abby for me during the game?"

"not at all. work is important." bella smiled and looked down at abby. "i brought you something."

"is it candy?"

"as a matter of fact, it is." she smiled and handed abby a bag of candy. "i got more in my car but we should definitely save that for the game."

"okay. thank you." abby dug into the candy and smiled.

y/n looked out at the ice. "so what's quinn like? i feel like i know a lot about him. but at the same time, i also feel like i don't know enough. know what i mean?"

"i totally get it. he's certainly an enigma. but like i said last time we talked, he was a fairly grumpy guy before he met you. he's also really sweet and protective of the people he cares about. from what i've witnessed, that includes his family, his teammates, the wags and now you."

"what are the wags?"

"wives and girlfriends." bella smiled and turned her attention to the boys walking out of the tunnel and making their way onto the ice.

"oh."

"yeah. and don't be alarmed or scared if you're grouped into the wag category. they'll see you hanging out with us and honestly, sometimes, it's easier for the staff."

"alright. thanks for the heads up." y/n looked directly at quinn and found it hard to take her eyes off him as he skated around with brock. both the boys looked over at the bench and smiled.

"so, tell me your story. what brings you to vancouver?"

"i was in a really shitty relationship and i needed to get as far away as possible. so i moved out here and even this wasn't far enough."

"what do you mean?"

"he found me somehow. but quinn has been the perfect buffer and i couldn't be more thankful i moved into the right apartment."

"you know, when quinn first told us about you, i thought you were his girlfriend. and even when i met you, that's what it seemed like. you two compliment each other in ways i've never seen before. and forgive me if i'm overstepping but it seems like there might actually be something between you."

"i don't think there is. and even if there was, it wouldn't work. we both have busy lives and things would turn difficult real fast." y/n smiled at quinn when he skated up to them.

"how are my two favorite girls?" he looked at abby and smiled when she handed him a piece of candy.

"we're doing great. loving the practice." y/n smiled and handed him his water bottle. her phone buzzed in her pocket so she pulled it out. "my boss wants me to come in early." she glanced down at abby. "will you be a good girl for everyone today?"

"yes mama." she continued eating her candy while y/n started walking away.

"wait." quinn caught up to her. "i'm going to need abby's seat for later."

"oh right." y/n smiled and walked towards where she parked. quinn had to change out of his skates so he was a little behind. when he caught up to her, he grabbed the seat from her backseat and smiled. "thanks again for today, quinn. i don't know what i'd do without you."

"it's no problem. i love having abby around."

"she loves having you around too." y/n grinned and opened her door. before she got in, she leaned up and kissed quinn's cheek. "i'll see you later."

quinn was frozen for nearly a minute after she left. he touched his cheek and felt the heat from the kiss there. things just got so much more confusing for him.

he put abby's seat in his car and headed back into the building before he could get in trouble.

the rest of practice went by fast. abby and bella were walking towards the locker room to wait for the boys when abby turned to look at bella.

"bella?"

"yes sweetheart?"

"thanks for the candy."

"you're welcome, darling." she smiled and continued holding the little girl's hand.

the second quinn came out of the locker room, abby ran to him. he picked her up and smiled.

"hey kiddo. it's still pretty early so how about we go and get some lunch?"

"yes. i am starving."

"you and brock want to join us?" he asked as he glanced over at bella.

"yeah sure. that sounds like fun." bella grabbed brock's hand and followed quinn to the garage. "we're parked on another level so just text us where we're eating and we'll meet you there."

"okay. see you guys in a bit." quinn walked to his car and buckled abby in. "you having fun today?"

"absolutely." abby kicked her legs happily while quinn pulled out of the garage.

"alright. where do you want to eat?"

"the restaurant we ate breakfast at yesterday. can we eat there?"

"absolutely." quinn sent a quick text to both brock and bella before continuing their travel.

----------

later that night, quinn played his best but ended up getting taken out halfway through the 2nd period. knowing what he might've needed, bella brought abby down to the locker room and waited for the medic to finish up. when he left, she brought abby into the room.

"i know this isn't exactly what you wanted, but it's the next best thing. i promise." she smiled at him as abby ran and hugged him.

"this is what i needed. thanks, bella." quinn smiled back as bella left the room. "i'm sorry if the game has been disappointing for you."

'it hasn't. i liked it all. until you got hurt." she reached up and tapped the bandage on his arm. "do you have to stay here until the end of the game?"

"yeah. unfortunately i do. but you can stay here with me if you want. or bella can take you back to your eat."

"am i allowed to stay here?"

"not in the locker room. but we hang out in the media room and watch the rest of the game."

"okay. let's go."

quinn brought abby down the hall and into the room where they would be spending the remainder of the game. after the 2nd period, they both went back to the locker room to chat with the team. abby sat in quinn's locker space while he went to the coach. brock, who was sitting next to her, offered her a piece of candy.

"what do you think of the game so far?"

"i love it. i don't like that quinn got hurt though. that guy was mean."

"yeah, he was. but quinn is way tougher than he looks." brock chuckled.

"yeah. i think that's why mommy likes him."

brock raised his eyebrow. he wanted to ask more but quinn came back over.

"alright. time to go back to the media room, abby."

"okay quinn." abby ran to the door when she saw bella. brock wanted to tell quinn what abby just said to him but he didn't have enough time. so instead, he headed down the tunnel while quinn ran to catch up with bella and abby.

half an hour later, the game was over. and the canucks had lost.

as quinn drove home with abby, he wanted nothing more than having y/n waiting there for him. their friendship was still a little new so he knew he couldn't say how he was feeling about the girl across the hall. but he could keep it inside as long as possible.

he didn't want to mess up what they already had. and with the added complication of andy, he knew there would never be a right time to tell her. he was just going to have to learn how to deal with it.

----------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle

[ivyues]

Chasing Yesterday | 5 | ⋅ Bang Chan

Bang Chan x lost connection trainee friend

Years after splitting paths, Bang Chan didn't expect a simple text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

After countless late nights together, the song was finally complete. Now, as you sat at your desk, gazing at the finished track on your laptop, a smile tugged at your lips – reflecting on the journey that had brought you here. 

Here, where your relationship with Chris had deepened to the point where you could proudly call yourself his girlfriend. If his bandmates had their way, though, you were already more than that; they jokingly referred to you as their "mother" behind your back. You knew it was only a matter of time before they let it slip in your presence. The more you got to know them, the clearer it became – they would seize any opportunity to tease your dear boyfriend. After all, that was just their way of showing love.

Your phone buzzed, breaking your thoughts. His name flashed across the screen, and without hesitation, you answered.

“Hey,” you greeted, already knowing why he was calling.

“Hey baby,” Chris’ voice came through, warm and familiar. “Did you finish it?”

“Just exported the final mix,” you confirmed, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll send it over now.”

There was a beat of silence before he asked, “Are you sure?”

You frowned slightly. “Of course. I mean, you put in just as much work as I did. If you want to use it for the group, go ahead. I don’t even need credit if it’ll keep things from getting messy.” You tried to keep your tone light, teasing. “As long as you know that I also gave birth to this song.”

Chris chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in the sound. “I know,” he murmured. “But… I wasn’t planning on releasing it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? But why? I thought you guys did some special songs for one of your concerts? It’s a great song after all, Chris. And you worked so hard on it, we both did—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But some things don’t need to be seen by the whole world.”

Something in the way he said it made your heart stutter.

You swallowed, warmth spreading through your chest. “So you want to keep it just for us?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, sincere. “It can be just ours.”

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment before Chris hesitated. You could hear the way he inhaled, slow and measured, as if he were preparing himself for something.

“Speaking of the concerts…” he sighed, the weight of his thoughts heavy in his voice. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to… but how would you feel about coming to one of ours? You don’t have to, it’s totally okay if you don’t. I just don’t want to not ask you in case you wanted—”

You cut him off before he could spiral further. “Chris, I don’t want to think about what could have been. I just want to support you and enjoy it.”

He was quiet for a moment before he exhaled, a mix of relief and something more complicated. “I just… I don’t want to show you what you could have had, even though it was never something you could have.”

You understood what he meant – understood the way his heart worked, always worrying, always caring too much. And yet, you had already made peace with the past.

-----

The concert was electrifying. You had seen Chris perform before, but never like this. He commanded the stage effortlessly, pouring raw energy into every lyric. It was mesmerizing. The bass thrummed through your chest, and every time his gaze flickered to your spot in the crowd, a secret smile tugged at your lips.

As you made your way towards the exit, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Meet me backstage? 😉

You rolled your eyes fondly and typed back a quick On my way.

Security let you through without question – Chris had clearly made arrangements. Weaving past the crew packing up equipment, you found a quiet spot near the wall, pulling out your phone while you waited. The adrenaline from the concert still hummed in your veins, but you were content, scrolling idly through your notifications.

A sudden presence slid up beside you, too close, too fast.

“Heeey.”

A firm nudge against your shoulder sent you jolting forward with a startled yelp, your phone nearly slipping from your grasp. Heart racing, you turned sharply – only to find Chris grinning like a mischievous kid.

“You—” You smacked his arm, half-gasping, half-laughing. “I hate you.”

“Liar.” 

His eyes twinkled as he nudged you again, softer this time. He was practically vibrating with post-concert energy, the rush of the performance still coursing through him. His skin glowed with sweat, his hair a tousled mess, but he had never looked happier.

From a few meters away, a familiar voice cut through your flustered silence.

“Smooth move, man. Scare her—solid strategy.”

Chris only grinned wider, shameless. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You groaned, while he laughed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. The warmth of his hold, the lingering thrill of the night, and the teasing lilt in his voice made it impossible to stay mad.

He leaned in, his voice quieter now – just for you. “I’m glad you came.”

You sighed, relenting, and let yourself melt into his embrace. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

Before you could say more, Chris’s gaze flicked toward the stage area, his expression shifting.

“Oh—JYP’s here.”

You frowned. “What?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Yeah, I just found out. They called me to film something with him real quick.”

Your breath hitched. Your eyes widened slightly before you quickly schooled your expression.

Chris noticed. “Wanna say hi?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “He’s never gonna remember me.”

Before he could argue, movement in your periphery caught your attention. A group – including said person himself, some members, a manager, and a few staff – was on their way to pass by where you were standing, presumably for better lighting.

Your stomach twisted slightly. The last time you saw that person, you were told that you didn't make it, that you weren't enough.

At first, he barely glanced at you. But then, as you greeted him casually, his gaze snapped back, his expression shifting. Recognition flickered across his face before his eyes widened.

“Wait… Do I know you?”

Chris looked between you, intrigued.

You smiled politely. “I’m Y/N. We used to train together," you said gesturing towards Chris.

He exhaled, still looking stunned.

After a few moments of catching up, he turned to Chris and the others. “We were just about to go eat. You should come.” Then, his gaze flicked to you. “You too.”

You hesitated. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

Chris nudged you. “Come on.”

You sighed, already knowing you’d lost. “Fine.”

His grin widened.

-----

The dinner was lively, filled with conversations that bounced between lighthearted jokes and deep discussions about the industry. You mostly listened, enjoying the energy of it all – until a music executive you showed your songs to when you were a trainee turned to you, his expression thoughtful.

"Are you still writing?"

You blinked, caught off guard. Across the table, Chris looked at you curiously.

You hesitated before answering. "A little. Just for myself."

He nodded, as if considering something. Then, casually, he said, "We’re always looking for new songwriters. If you have anything, send it in. No pressure, of course."

For a moment, the conversation around you blurred.

Chris' gaze flickered toward you, but he didn’t say anything. He knew – better than anyone – what this offer meant. What it stirred in you.

Your fingers curled around your glass. Once, an opportunity like this would’ve been everything to you. Once, you might have said yes without hesitation.

But now…

You liked your life. You liked music being yours – something you could love without the weight of deadlines, industry expectations, and the pressure to create for others. Your world was full of music already, but on your terms.

And you didn’t want to step back into an industry that had once drained the joy out of something you loved.

You exhaled, slowly. Then, with a small smile, you shook your head.

"I appreciate it," you said honestly. "But I’m happy where I am."

He studied you for a moment before nodding in understanding. "That’s good to hear."

Chris nudged your knee under the table, a quiet gesture, but when you met his eyes, there was nothing but pride there.

And just like that, the night moved on. No big moment, no regret.

masterlist

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act I : Chapter five

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

The score was 1–1, and the varsity team was catching their breath. Jackie shouted adjustments, Coach Martinez scribbled on a whiteboard, and players swigged Gatorade, mud on their socks, and fire in their eyes. But you weren’t in the huddle. You glanced at the time on your watch.

4:03 PM.

Your heart dropped.

Max.

Every Saturday, 4 PM sharp. Just you and your little brother. Your thing. A promise you never broke-no matter what. Because no one else remembered him like you did. And after the mixed media club, after school, after surviving the noise of your aunt’s house, it was the one moment that was just yours.

You slipped around the bleachers, your camera bumping against your hip, and bolted toward the old payphone tucked beside the gym doors. You dug through your jacket pocket for quarters with shaky fingers and fed them in one by one.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” came a small, slightly breathless voice.

You closed your eyes in relief. “Max,” she breathed. “You just get out of baseball?”

“Yeah, we had extra innings,” he said, panting a little. “I hit a double. Coach said my swing’s getting better!”

A grin split across onto your face. “Dude, that’s awesome. You’re gonna be the next Ken Griffey.”

“Grandpa says I’m the next Yogi Berra.”

You chuckled. “You don’t even know who that is.”

“Do too!” Max insisted. “He talks weird.”

You leaned against the brick wall, your smile softening. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more. Did you get my letter?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, picturing the letter in your head. “I hung it up. Right above my bed.”

“I added a drawing of me hitting the ball. So you won’t forget what I look like.”

Your breath hitched. “Max…”

He kept going, unaware of the lump forming in your throat. “I even drew the bat and everything. I tried to make it look like the one Grandpa gave me. And I put a little speech bubble that says ‘The Yankees suck!’”

Hearing the Yankees suck, made you roll your eyes. Your grandfather is the biggest Red Sox fan. So naturally, you were all raised to hate the Yankees. You could picture Max wearing a navy Red Sox shirt right now on the other end.

You laughed, shaky. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Nooo,” Max groaned. “Don’t cry. Crying is for babies.”

“I’m not crying,” you lied. “I’m just proud of you.”

He went quiet for a beat. “I’m proud of you, too.”

You felt tears sting in your eyes. There was really nothing to be proud of. You weren't anything special, or doing anything special. Yet Max was the only one who really cared about you. Really loved you. For no other reason but to love and care about you. Nothing more than just for being you. Even in his innocent words, they stuck onto you like clay.

“You okay?” Max asked.

You hesitated. “Yeah,” you said. “Just… tired. But I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good. Grandma made flan. I ate three.”

“You’re a monster.”

“It's just REALLY good.” Max insisted with a giggle.

You laughed, breath hitching. “It is pretty good, I guess.”

You hear commotion from the other end of the phone. Your heart sinks, already knowing what's coming. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I gotta go. Grandpa wants me to watch this old game he recorded. Call me next Saturday?”

“You know I will,” you said. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Max chirped and hung up.

You stayed there a second, your fingers still curled around the receiver, your heart aching in that complicated, permanent way it always did after hearing his voice. Willing yourself to calm down. Trying not to let the tears fall. Your hands palmed your eyes, and you took a deep breath.

“Y/n?”

You turned sharply. Lottie. Her curls slightly frizzed from play, hands on her hips, cheeks flushed from the first half. Sweat darkening the edges of her jersey. She looked… softer than usual. Pretty.

“Coach Scott sent me,” she said. “He saw you storm off and thought you were throwing up.”

You forced a smile. “Nope. Just needed to make a call.”

Lottie nodded slowly. She didn’t press, but her eyes scanned your face, softer than they’d been all week.

“You good?” she asked, voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you said automatically, then paused. “Actually… yeah. I think so.”

Lottie gave her a faint smile. “Then come on. We’ve got a second half to capture.”

You nodded, already jogging alongside her. The camera swung at your hip, the weight familiar. You didn’t say anything else. But Lottie stayed close, and you didn’t mind.

The energy on the field was electric. Cleats tore into the grass, shouts echoed under the lights, and the scoreboard blinked a tense 1–1. The rivalry with the Titans was personal, at least, both teams played like it.

You stood just past the sideline, fingers wrapped tight around your camera, eyes locked on the field. Your conversation with Max still echoed in your chest, but now you were focused. Watching. Framing. Capturing.

And right now, Lottie was everywhere.

She’d come alive in the second half, gliding through defenders with quiet fury, body low, eyes sharp. It was like watching magic. Jackie barked commands up front. Shauna and Tai locked down midfield. Laura Lee and Mari tightened the back. The whole team pulsed with movement.

Then it happened—Lottie intercepted a midfield pass and didn’t hesitate. She tore down the left, a blur of determination, juked one, slipped past another.

“Center! Center!” Jackie shouted.

But Lottie didn’t go to Jackie. She curled the ball around the last defender and sent a perfectly timed cross straight to Natalie on the right wing. Natalie didn’t even trap it, she volleyed it into the net on first touch.

GOAL.

The sideline erupted.

You got it all, Lottie’s wind-up, Natalie’s strike, the net snapping back, Van leaping from goal to scream in celebration. Shutter click. Shutter click. Holy fuck, it was all magic.

2–1, Yellowjackets.

But the game wasn’t over. Minutes later, Lottie, riding the adrenaline, went too hard on defense. A bad angle. A clumsy slide. She clipped the Titans forward from behind. The ref didn’t hesitate.

Whistle. Foul.

You, along with the crowd, groaned. Penalty kick. Lottie stood back, jaw clenched. Jackie swore under her breath. Shauna put her hands on her hips, trying to breathe. Van jogged in place, eyes narrowed at the girl lining up the shot. You could barely breathe. The Titans forward stepped up. Blew out a breath. Ran forward.

BOOM.

A rocket to the left. But Van was already there. A full-body dive. Fingertips. A slap of leather. DENIED. The rebound was cleared by Tai, and the clock ticked down.

Ten. Nine. Eight…

The crowd counted together.

Three. Two. One—Final Whistle.

Yellowjackets win.

Screams. Laughs. Someone tackled Van in joy. Jackie pulled Lottie into a rough hug. Shauna smacked Laure Lee on the back. Even Natalie cracked a grin.

You had the camera to your face the whole time, snapping the exact moment Van’s arms shot in the air, gloves high, triumph written all over her mud-streaked face.

A near-perfect shot.

Coach Martinez and Coach Scott stood near the register, somehow both overwhelmed and beaming. On the way back home, they pulled both Vans into an Ice Cream parlor off the road.

“Order whatever you want,” Coach Martinez said. “You earned it.”

The ice cream parlor was buzzing with post-game energy — laughter bouncing off tiled walls, jerseys sticking to backs, and sneakers squeaking against old tile floors. Coach Martinez had taken over two tables. Coach Scott was arguing with Van about which flavor was the best.

You stood off to the side, eyes scanning the blur of teal jerseys and sugar highs. You weren't sure if you were here as part of the team or just the one who happened to catch them at their best.

“Y/N!”

You turned and just in time to see Lottie approaching, beaming like she hadn’t just nearly gotten carded for nearly cleating someone into the next county. Lottie’s hair was still damp, cheeks flushed with the leftover adrenaline of the win, and in her hand was a double scoop of something pink and neon. “They had bubblegum,” she said, holding it up proudly. “Like the kind I would only get at this weird stand in the mall when I was, like, nine.”

You blinked. “I’ve never had that.”

Lottie paused, blinked, and then shoved the cone toward your face. “Then obviously, now is the time to try it’s goodness.”

You laughed, dodging the melting scoop. “You’re gonna drop it, psycho.”

“I’ll drop it into your hand if you don’t take a bite. Come on,” Lottie leaned in, whispering like it was a secret mission. “It’s basically a rite of passage. You’re one of us now.”

The words hung there, light but full. One of us.

You slowly let yourself smile. And then leaned forward, took a small bite, and winced. “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“I know, right?” Lottie was grinning widely now. “That’s why I get it every time. It's so bad that it's literally so good.”

You rolled your eyes, but something loosened in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the sugar or the soft, persistent way Lottie always seemed to find you. But for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like you were on the outside of something. You felt… in it.

Fuck maybe you loved soccer now.

[lomahdu]

Nothing more

☀︎—pairings:keum!seongje x oc!character

☀︎—warnings:swearing, i think that's it?

☀︎—Lena's note:Guys i'm writing this while pulling an all nighter and i have school like in 1 hour so i'm stressing, anyways my point is that i'm sorry if there's any mistakes.Pls don't be a ghost reader and comment

☀︎—word count:1378

☀︎—Chapter!2; Chapter!3; Chapter!4

I walked into the classroom and took my usual seat at the second-to-last desk, right in front of my best friend, Haeri.

“What the hell, girl—your hair is… let’s say, disgusting,” she said, staring at the failed heatless curls I had tried to hide in a messy bun.

I gave her a tight, definitely-not-friendly smile. “Thanks. I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly, pulling out my textbooks and the book I was currently reading. I always carry at least one book with me, no matter where I go. The one sitting on my desk today was The Crimson Moth by Kristen Ciccarelli.

“Dude, TikTok betrayed me,” I groaned, clearly frustrated about my hair.

“What did you use to curl it?” Haeri asked.

“Socks,” I replied. She immediately frowned.

“Um, I use socks too and mine turns out fine. Sooo… the problem is definitely you.”

Before I could clap back, our teacher walked into the room.

“Miss Yoon and Miss Park, could you save the personal chats for later?” the teacher asked sharply.

I turned to face the front as she started writing math problems on the board. I looked at the equation and understood absolutely nothing. Not even a hint. Where the hell is Sieun when I need him?

[timeskip]

Haeri and I were sitting at one of the lunch tables. On my tray: plain white rice, an apple, and egg rolls. On Haeri’s tray: kimchi, bulgogi, and rice.

She took a bite of her kimchi and shook her head. “Girl, I really don’t understand how you don’t like kimchi.”

“I just don’t like spicy food,” I shrugged.

“Mhm,” she said, clearly judging me.

We ate in silence for a bit, so I decided to break it.

“Some dude followed me on insta" I said, opening Instagram on my phone. I pulled up the profile of sjkeum_07 and held my phone up to show her.

“Do you know him?” I asked, since Haeri usually knows more people than I do.

The moment she saw the screen, she nearly choked.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” she said, eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” I asked, a bit confused .

“He’s a manwhore. And a bully. Some people even say he got himself involved with a gang.”

“Yikes… do you have any pictures of him?” I asked.

Haeri shot me a sharp look. “Sooah.”

“Haeri,” I replied with the same tone.

“Look, it’s pointless. He’s probably just interested in fucking you.”

“Hey, hey, hey, who said I even want anything with him? I just saw his hand, okay? It was hot. Like, really hot. I got curious. That’s all.” I said defensively.

“Fine. I’ll pretend to believe you. And no, I don’t have any pictures of him,” she said, shoving a spoonful of rice in her mouth.

I dropped the topic and took a bite of my egg roll. We finished lunch and got up to return our trays. I glanced at my phone. 12:26 PM. We still had about 20 minutes before our next class.

As we walked down the hallway, I asked, “You’re still coming with me to the bookstore, right?”

“Do I even have a choice?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I grinned and we continued toward our classroom.

[timeskip]

Our last class ended, and we started packing up. I was already done, but Haeri was texting someone.

“Come on, hurry up! Quick!” I whined. I was way too excited to get to the bookstore and buy some new books.

“Okay, okay! Chill,” she said, putting her phone away to pack her things.

We left the school together. The bookstore I usually go to is only about a 10-minute walk from campus.

While walking, Haeri decided to say, “You know, maybe you should put the books down and go touch some grass.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, looking at her confused.

“I mean, it’s kinda weird for a 17-year-old to never go out or have had a boyfriend,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“I do go out, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, trying to play it off.

She gave me a Seriously? kind of look.

“If you think going out means just school and the bookstore, you’re worse off than I thought. I bet you even make Sieun buy you pads and tampons because the convenience store is ‘too far’.”

“Dude!” I said, scrunching up my face. She burst out laughing.

We reached the bookstore and went inside. I immediately made my way to the dark romance section, and of course, Haeri followed me.

“Porn books, huh?” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Again?”

“First of all, it’s not again. I read other genres too. I’m just in the mood for something dark right now,” I defended myself.

“Oh yeah? What other genres?” she challenged.

“Fantasy romance… and sometimes I read classics,” I replied.

“Classics?” she laughed. “Name at least three classic authors you’ve actually read.”

“Kafka and Nabokov. Not three, but they count. And they are classics, so you lose,” I snapped back, going back to browsing the shelves.

Twenty minutes later, she groaned, “How much is this gonna take?”

I looked at her, holding four books in my arms. “Ehh… I think I’m done.”

I went to the register and paid 49,000 KRW for my books. We left the store together. Our houses are kind of close, so we walked in the same direction.

We were turning a corner when I suddenly bumped into—no, not a wall—a person.

I looked up and saw a guy around my age, probably about 6’0”.

“Shit, watch where the fuck you’re going, ,” he hissed, but then his eyes landed on my face. “Oh hey, I follow you on Instagram,” he said, pointing at me, finger almost jabbing into my chest, smiling in this weirdly amused way.

Okay? That’s a super weird thing to say. I stared at him, not recognizing him at all. He had black hair, glasses, and a mole under his left eye.

“Umm… okay?” I replied, unsure how to react to being “followed.” Thanks for the info, I guess?

He gave me a slight, borderline-creepy smile and just walked past me like that wasn’t the most awkward encounter ever.

“Weirdo,” I muttered under my breath and kept walking.

Haeri nudged me hard. “Do you know who that was?” she asked with a tone that screamed You’re the dumbest person alive.

“Umm, clearly not?” I said.

“That’s the guy you asked me about earlier,” she said.

Wait—hot hand guy?!

“Ohhh,” I muttered. “Well… he is kinda cute,” I added under my breath.

“I swear to God I’m gonna hit you,” she warned, and I laughed.

When I got home, it was 5:37 PM. Nobody else was there—neither my mom nor my brother. Finally, some alone time.

About an hour later, I heard the front door open. I was in the kitchen eating noodles when my brother walked in, dropped his bag on the counter, and poured himself a glass of water. I noticed the slight bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip.

“Did you get in a fight?” I asked with a mouth full of noodles.

He just looked at me and said, “No.”

“Mhm, then why do you look like you fell into a bush?”

Sieun explained how he had seen Juntae getting beaten up for returning the phones he stole so he stepped in because it reminded him of Beomseok.Kindw weird to be honest, cause i hate that guy

All I could say was, “I was at the bookstore today. I could’ve bought you a pen or two. Sharp ones.”

“That’s not funny,” he replied.

I raised my hands like okay, okay, and added, “Just don’t stab me with a pen, alright?”

He gave me that bitch, wtf look.

It was almost 10 PM, and I decided to stalk Hot Hand. From Haeri, I found out his name was Keum Seongje, so I searched him up on Facebook.

Turns out, he goes to Ganghak High School. His birthday is listed as April 13, 2007—if that’s even his real birthdate. Most people put fake ones anyway.

I left my phone on my nightstand to charge and passed out almost instantly.

[sowhatwereyousaying]

Prologue

summary: The calm before the storm...

warnings: age gap (reader is in their 20s and gong yoo is in his 40s); fake dating, pr

Her Perspective

I just wanted to go home.  

That was the only thing keeping me sane as I wrapped up one of the most stressful presentations of my career. Weeks of preparation, late nights, early mornings, and more caffeine than the human body should consume had all led to this moment.  

I should have felt proud. I should have wanted to celebrate.  

Instead, I was exhausted.  

As soon as the meeting ended, I barely held back a sigh. The moment I stepped out of the conference room, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my night:  

Step 1: Get into the comfiest pajamas I owned.  

Step 2: Open a bottle of wine because, frankly, I had earned it.  

Step 3: Put on a feel-good rom-com to fill the gaping void of love in my life.

Step 4: Pass out halfway through and get the best sleep of my life.  

It was a perfect plan.  

Then Mia happened.

The second I pulled out my phone, her message popped up.  

📲 Mia: I JUST GOT A PROMOTION. WE’RE GOING OUT. NO EXCUSES.   📲 Me: CONGRATS!!! But also, no. Pajamas and wine are calling my name.   📲 Mia: Do you think I care??? You’re coming. I will drag you out of your apartment if I have to.   📲 Me: …I hate you.   📲 Mia: Love you too. Be at my place in an hour.  

I groaned, already knowing there was no escaping this. When Mia made up her mind, there was nothing in this world that could change it.  

So instead of heading home, I found myself begrudgingly making my way to Mia’s apartment, wondering how I had let myself get talked into this.  

By the time I got to Mia’s place, she was already in full celebration mode. Music blasted through the speakers, her vanity was covered in an explosion of makeup, and three different outfit choices were laid out on her bed.  

The second she saw me, she shoved a dress into my hands.  

"You’re wearing this."  

I held it up. It was short. It was tight. It was not what I had planned.  

I blinked. "This is a crime against comfort."  

"This is hot. And you will be HOT in it." Mia grinned. "Now go change before I do it for you."  

There was no winning.  

I sighed and changed, trying to ignore how much of my legs were on display.  

As I did my makeup, Mia absentmindedly flipped through TV channels before stopping on a celebrity talk show. 

I barely paid attention—until I heard his name.

Gong Yoo.  

I glanced at the screen. There he was, looking annoyingly good, lounging in his seat like he owned the world. His expression was somewhere between amused and exasperated as he stared at the talk show host.  

"You’ve had quite a reputation over the years," the host teased. "Lots of flings, lots of rumors. But no serious relationships."  

Gong Yoo smirked, lazy and completely unbothered. "I didn’t realize I was here for a life intervention."  

The audience laughed.  

"But seriously," the host continued, "are we ever going to see you settle down? Or is this playboy phase permanent?"  

Gong Yoo leaned back, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. "Tell you what—the next person I kiss? That’s it. I’ll marry them."  

The audience erupted.

Mia let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh my god. Whoever that is, Oh they will be lucky."  

I snorted. "Yeah, because look AT him"  

Little did I know, fate was planning a little something

His Perspective

I was supposed to be fishing right now.

That was the plan.  

I had just wrapped up my latest drama—a massive hit that had drained the life out of me—and was finally ready to disappear for a while.  

No cameras. No interviews. No scandals. Just me, a boat, and absolute peace.

Then the internet decided to ruin it.  

An old fling—someone I barely even remembered—decided to go viral.

💬 "I thought we had something special, but I never even got a callback." 💬 "Typical Gong Yoo, right? He’ll flirt, he’ll make you feel like the only girl in the world, and then—poof. Gone."

By the time my PR team got involved, the damage had already spiraled.

"You need to fix this," my manager said, pacing around my living room. "We need an interview. A statement. Something."  

I groaned. "I don’t care what some random woman says about me online."  

"Yeah, well, the public does."  

And that’s how I ended up on that stupid talk show.

The host wasted no time.

"You’re known for being a bit of a heartbreaker, aren’t you?"  

I forced a smile. "That’s what they say."  

"Do you ever plan to settle down? Or is this just who you are?"  

I clenched my jaw, already done with the conversation.  

If I denied it, they'd say I was lying. If I played along, they’d say I was an arrogant jerk.  

So I made a joke.  

"Tell you what—the next person I kiss? That’s it. I’ll marry them." 

The audience went wild.

I thought that was the end of it.  

I had no idea what I had just set into motion.

At The Club

I wasn’t supposed to be there.  

But my friends insisted. "One night out," they said. "Relax a little," they said.  

So I went.  

I stood in the corner, minding my own business, until—  

She crashed into me.

Soft lips. The scent of perfume and something sweet.

It was so fast, I barely had time to react.  

But then—then—I realized: she had no idea who I was, at least not right now  

And just like that, something in me clicked.  

So I kissed her back.  

And when she finally opened her eyes and realized her mistake—when she looked at me like she was about to have a full-on breakdown—I smirked.  

"Guess that means we’re getting married."

It was meant to be a joke.  

Then the flashes started. The whispers. The cameras.   And suddenly, it wasn’t a joke anymore

a/n: I knew I wanted to give a lil background of what happened before the lil club incident, and the trashy tv program viewer in me LOVES to build suspense hehehehehe. I hope yall enjoy this <3

taglist: @preppyfella @muchwita @shadow-tumbler @dyingswanpavlova @ririgy @lariem-blog2 @uurtekass @elliette-laine1 @breakmeoff @sarah-bear706318 @voxslays @celestialstar111

[h5eavenly]

blank canvas — park sunghoon. ➢ one - run your hands over me. ➢ mlist.

— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first. wc: 17k

'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'

You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.

“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.

Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.

"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.

4:35 pm

31st December

"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.

Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.

'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'

You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?

Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.

With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.

You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.

Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.

Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.

You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.

“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.

The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.

“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.

“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.

“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.

“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”

“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.

“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.

“Why do you think so?”

“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”

An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.

“That’s interesting.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.

“Your words? Not at all.”

“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”

There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.

“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”

You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.

It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.

“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.

You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.

Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.

Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.

They looked so empty.

"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.

 A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.

"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.

Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.

Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.

You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.

"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.

"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.

"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.

Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.

"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.

Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.

How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.

"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.

"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.

Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.

Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.

And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?

Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.

It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.

On

Off

On

Off

On.

A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.

You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.

Beep Beep Beep!

Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.

 'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.

The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.

The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.

in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.

Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.

You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.

Oh my god they’re waving at you.

Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.

Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.

You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.

What the fuck

With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.

You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.

A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.

The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.

It was blood.

You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.

"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.

 "Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"

you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.

"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.

You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.

“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.

“Okay.”

As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.

The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.

You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.

But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.

You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.

Blue

Violet

Red

It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.

You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.

Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.

You cannot escape.

"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.

You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.

You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.

You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.

With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.

"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.

Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.

When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.

"What happened?” he asks.

"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.

Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.

He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.

It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.

You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.

The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.

"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.

"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.

His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.

"Yes."

You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.

“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.

"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.

"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.

Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.

"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.

"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.

"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.

"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.

"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.

12:45am                                                                                                               7th of January

your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.

There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.

Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.

Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.

"yn, 'm hotter yea?"

You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.

"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;

"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"

All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.

"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.

She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.

"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing. 

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.

"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.

You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.

“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.

You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.

It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.

“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.

“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.

The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such. 

Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.

You ignore him, too used to such situations.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.

“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.

“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.

Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.

“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.

The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.

White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.

It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.

Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.

The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.

“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.

“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.

“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.

You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.

A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.

“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.

Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?

“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.

“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.

Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.

“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.

"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.

"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.

There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.

The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.

“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.

Extending it to you.

“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.

“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously

“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.

A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.

You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.

"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.

Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.

Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.

“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.

At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.

“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.

“Are you interested in me?”

“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.

“I’m only teasing, darling.”

“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.

“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.

“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.

His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force

“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.

“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.

“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.

“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.

“I can, see?”

“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.

Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.

“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.

As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.

I

Can

See

Your

Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.

As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.

Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.

“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”

In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.

Heady and sweet.

“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.

Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.

It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.

With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.

You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.

With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.

"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.

"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.

"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.

“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.

“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.

“Was it?”

“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.

“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.

“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.

“Just some guy.” You shrug.

“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”

“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”

He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.

“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.

“So?”

“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”

"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.

"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.

"Stop telling me about it then."

"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.

His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.

“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”

You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.

You are walking home from work.

The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;

 on

off

on

off

you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.

You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.

The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.

I need to go home.

Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.

I need to go home

I need to go home

I need to go home

You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.

You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.

With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.

Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.

Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.

The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.

He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.

There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.

You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.

You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.

A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.

You’re okay, everything is okay.

Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.

Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.

You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.

Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.

You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.

The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.

The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.

"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.

It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.

“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.

“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.

On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.

"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.

You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.

"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.

"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.

"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.

The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.

"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.

Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.

A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.

Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.

Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.

As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.

You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features

"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.

"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.

But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.

"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.

You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.

Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.

"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.

You stand still for three full seconds.

On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.

On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.

On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.

You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?

The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.

"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.

You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.

He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.

"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.

If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.

"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.

He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.

“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.

“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.

“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.

“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”

“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.

“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.

“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.

“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.

Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.

Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.

"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.

"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.

“It’s hard not to.” You admit.

“How come?”

You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.

“they’re fascinating to say the least.”  You settle with the truth.

“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”

“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.

“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”

“No.” you answer, airily.

He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.

“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,

You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.

“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.

All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.

When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.

You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.

You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.

His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.

"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.

Just how big is this room?

“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.

“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.

As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.

“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.

His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.

“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.

“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”

“Well y-yeah.”

“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”

“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.

“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.

“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”

“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.

"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.

There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.

"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.

You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.

At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.

“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,

With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.

You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.

Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.

It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.

"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.

Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.

He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.

"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.

You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.

“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.

"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.

Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.

You should head home soon before it starts raining again.

"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.

Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.

"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.

“What were you doing then?"

“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”

"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.

“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.

“It made me happy.”

“What?”

“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”

“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.

“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.

Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.

“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.

“I did!”

“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”

“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.

Your chest warms at the sight.

“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.

“I got it wrong?”

“It’s a T, not an F.”

“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.

“Yeah.” he answers softly.

“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.

You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.

"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.

“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.

“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.

“yn,” you answer.

“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.

He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.

"W-what?" You stutter out.

His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.

“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.

“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.

“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.

You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.

You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.

"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.

You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.

Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.

But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.

"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.

"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.

"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.

It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.

"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.

"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.

“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.

You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.

You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.

He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.

As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.

"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.

“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.

There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.

You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?

Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.

"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.

"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.

It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.

"There's no need. You have done more than enough."

"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.

“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”

“No need for apologizes, darling.”

You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.

“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.

The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.

“They look better on you anyways.”

You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.

colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.

The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.

Although your living conditions were much better than now.

Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.

You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.

"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.

Like a fucking creep.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.

"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.

"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."

He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.

He gave you, his number.

Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.

"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.

“What happened today?”

You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.

Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you

"I'm confused?"

"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.

"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.

"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.

"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.

"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.

"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.

“Just say it.”

"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"

“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.

"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.

"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"

"I'm not."

"You're into him-"

"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.

"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.

"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.

"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.

"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"

"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.

"You're grieving your dad, yn."

You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.

Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.

Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.

“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."

"It's okay."

"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.

"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."

As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;

"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,

"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.

“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.

“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.

As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.

"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.

"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.  

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

[z0mbbiegvrl]

✮⋆˙ SUNDAY MORNING ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 4:34

↳ cw: underaged drinking, hinted underaged drug use, & teens being awkward.

↳ an: when this was written (summer of 2024) it's very obvious i was listening to the tragic kingdom album and going back to Cali A LOT; changing the date for the future since i wrote this almost a year ago and never posted it. also this is my first real x reader so if you have any nice and helpful feedback i will gladly accept!

↳ word count: 2,180!!

↳ series mlist

July 28th, 2025 - SOUTH PARK, COLORADO

Vanilla-scented candle wax filled the dimly lit room, and clothes were thrown on every surface imaginable, including the brown plush carpet. The song Sunday Morning played through the room, Gwen singing about realizing you didn’t know the person you thought you did. Having slept through almost the whole Tragic Kingdom Album, a small groan left you as you grabbed your phone, the white numbers glowed, telling you it was eight or five. At Night.

You had successfully spent the last week of summer before your Senior Year of High School, doing the following events. Feeding your cat, hanging out with friends, watching anything, cheer practice, and sleeping. 

“[N/N]!” The bedroom door slammed open, revealing your twin brother, Eric Cartman. You flinched at how hard the teen had swung the door open. “Tolkien’s throwing an end-of-summer party and I want to go.” He said, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes, trying to adjust to the bright hallway light. “So.” You muttered, yawning. “I’m not going.”

Eric rolled his eyes, taking in your disheveled state, “You look like shit.”

You flipped him off, “Close my door, asswipe.”

Eric groaned, practically stomping his foot like a child, “Can you stop being a bitch and just take me. Tolkien can’t kick me out if you take me.”

You grumbled, almost returning to sleep, when you felt a firm object thrown at your head.

“Get up!” Eric shouted, having thrown a plushy at his sister.

You got up, “Fucking fine. Get out.” Putting your fluffy slippers on and pushing past your brother towards the bathroom to shower. Ignoring your brother’s laughs as you closed the bathroom door, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You sighed, turning around to turn the shower on. 

You walked down the stairs, seeing Eric standing in front of your mother, Liane, the woman trying to watch her shows, but the boy in front was blocking the TV.

“But, Meem, it’s our turn to bring the booze! I promised Tolkien I’d bring it.” Eric stressed to his mother while holding a bottle of whatever cheap vodka their mother had bought for herself.

“Eric, I already told you no.” Liane tried to reason, her voice soft but aloof as she continued watching The Nanny. “You took alcohol last time.”

“That was Bebe’s party…back in freshman year.” Eric crossed his arms, still holding the bottle, “You just hate me and [Y/n] so much. This house is a goddamn prison. We have three more bottles!” Eric whined, glancing over in the kitchen. “You’d rather see us get bullied, your only two children, ostracized because you won’t let us take booze.”

You scoffed, walking over to the scene, Eric immediately grabbed his sister’s arm, pulling you in for a dramatic hug. “What the”

“It’s [N/N]’s very first party since the beginning of summer, and you’re not going to let her finally have fun at a party?” Eric pouted, dramatically caressing the back of his sister's head as if he were trying to soothe you.

Liane sighed, “Fine. I suppose one more time is okay.” The mother caved in, which made Eric smile triumphantly, pushing you out of his arms.

“I knew you’d come around,” Eric said, walking over to the front door with the bottle, grabbing his old backpack, and putting it inside.

You rolled your eyes, following Eric, who was practically down the street already.

“[N/N]!” Liane called back in a somewhat stern tone.

“Hmm?” You hummed, turning around.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Her voice was soft and sweet again, making you smile. Your mother’s words left a humorous tone in the air, Your mother wasn’t the most innocent person in all of South Park.

With that, you closed the front door, walking off the cement steps. You walked down the sidewalk, finally catching up with Eric. 

“Can you believe we're almost done with High School?”

“You’re saying that it's supposed to be something special.”

“I just feel like I should have a plan, and I don’t.”

Eric laughed, “We’re kids, we don't need to have plans.” Eric noticed his sister's somewhat somber mood, nudging your shoulder. “It will be okay.”

You nodded, “I know.”

Looking up to see the fancy house at the end of the street, loud music came from the house. You could see people in the front yard and through the windows, dancing. You mentally prepared yourself for the party, butterflies filled your stomach. Eric got a little pep in his step as he walked faster to the party, against your wishes.

Eric rang the doorbell. Bebe Stevens, Clyde’s on-and-off girlfriend and your best friend. She crossed her arms, giving the twins a once-over before turning her attention to Eric.

“What’s up, Bebe! The party has finally arrived.” Eric said, booming with confidence.

The blonde girl looked back at you, “Why’s he here?”

You shrugged.

Eric noticed this and held up the backpack, rolling his eyes, “Well, I got booze to share with everyone, so are you going to let us in?”

Bebe shrugged, moving aside for them to walk in. Eric held the backpack up while raising his eyebrows in a serendipitous expression. You followed Eric towards the kitchen, bumping into drunk people.

“You weren’t kidding when you said everyone’s going.” You laughed softly, walking into the loud house. Biggie’s voice blasted as the crowd started shouting, girls and guys all dancing in the living room, everyone singing the lyrics to Going Back to Cali.

Eric nodded, unzipped the backpack, and took the vodka out of it.

“It’s Tolkien's house, of course, everyone’s going.” He said as he dumped the vodka into the red punch, the group in the kitchen cheered like they were in church and Eric Cartman was a god giving them blessings. Eric poured himself a drink and then shoved a red solo cup into your hand.

“It’s not going to kill you.” Eric teased, looking out of the kitchen to the living room, and spotting his friends.

“I know that.” You said, taking a small sip of the red liquid, Eric had finally wandered off. Leaving you by yourself. You didn’t know anyone in the kitchen, probably other people in the school that you never noticed.

“[Y/N]! Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“Ditto, Craig.” You smiled softly. 

“Tweek dragged me out here. It was supposed to be a date night, and we ended up here,” Craig said, his tone just as nasally as it had always been since childhood, taking a sip from his solo cup.

“Oh,” You smirked. “You and Blondie have finally made up? That only took like, what, three days?”

Craig flipped the girl off, “That’s real rich coming from you. How’s Mc-whoremick?”

“He’s fine. I dunno, I haven’t talked to him since Eric’s party.” You absentmindedly looked around for him. “Besides, you know I don’t talk to anyone during summer break.”

“Yeah, it’s your quote-unquote hibernation for human life. You know sooner or later you’ll turn into a hermit.”

“Whatever, I invite you over so I think I get enough human interaction just from that.”

Craig chuckled, “I guess that’s true. Oh, speaking of which,” Craig pointed to the blonde teen who had just noticed you. “Good luck.”

You shook your head, “No, Craig, stay-” You practically tried to grab the teen who moved away and went to join his boyfriend, wherever he was in the house.

The smell of weed engulfed you as someone threw their arm around your neck. “Cartman didn’t say you were coming.”

You smiled, glancing at the blonde, “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to come in the first place.” You shrugged Kenny off. “Christ, you reek.”

“Wow,” He stood in front of you, hand on his heart. “You just hurt my feelings.”

“Whatever.”

Kenny laughed, “Where have you been all summer?”

“I dunno, been around.”

“I got the idea you were avoiding me.” Kenny took a drink from his cup, giving you a certain accusatory look.

“What? That’s a good one, Ken. I’m not avoiding you, I talked to you yesterday.”

Kenny shrugged, “Right, liking one of my posts was us talking.”

“Well, it’s proof of life at least.” You shrugged.

“Isn’t this your song?” Kenny gestured with the hand that was holding his drink, his pointer finger pointing at the air.

“Rip…” you muttered, drinking the gross punch your brother had ruined with the rank vodka your mother buys.

Kenny noticed how tense you were, he sighed, “...You know I didn’t say anything to Red about that night?”

“I know.” You mumbled, not wanting to talk about it. “Not like anything happened, people just like to make shit up when they aren't in the room.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“It’s fine, Kenny.” You sighed, “Go enjoy the party, I’ll see you at school.”

Before the teen could protest, you walked over to the cooler, tossing the punch and grabbing yourself a soda. You walked past the jocks trying to one-up another by chugging beer, going outside where it was very quiet. A couple of people were sitting on the porch, smoking and just enjoying the night’s air.

You noticed the empty pool area, the green glow drawing you in like it would a moth. The music faintly made itself known to you, but the party music was covered up by people cheering for whatever reason there was to cheer about. 

“Since when do you come to parties?”

You froze as soon as you stepped down the small cement staircase, right in front of the pool, glancing behind to see a familiar redhead sitting on the pool chairs.

“Could ask you the same thing, Broflovski.”

The two hadn’t always been hostile to each other. No, you were very close as kids. You and Kyle used to hang out a lot. But to this day, you never knew why the new hostile attitude started, never being able to pinpoint where your friendship went wrong. He just left your friendship with no words of goodbye.

Kyle scoffed, “I go out.”

“With a gun pointed at your head.” You looked at him, “The gate to the side yard is that way. Since you’re so good at leaving without a word.”

“Well, I am an asshole.” Kyle’s rebuttal, crossing his arms, like he knew something you didn’t. “Guess that’s the word going around, huh?”

“People just say too much or lack thereof.” 

“Whatever. Your hair looks good, by the way.”

You walked back into the busy party, drinking from your soda, walking over to the quote-unquote dance floor when you were pulled into a hug.

“[N/N]! Where have you been?” Butters Stotch pulled you into a sweet side hug, and the short blonde boy gave you a toothy smile. “Kenny told me you were here, and I wanted to say hi.”

Your mood perked up from the boy; He had never failed to uplift your mood since you were kids.

“Leo, you’re finally not grounded? Last time I stopped by, you were.”

Butters pulled away from you, “Been ungrounded for three days!” He said, his eyes on the tall redhead walking into the house behind you, shoulder-checking you as he made his way over to where Stan and Kenny were.

“Fucking prick.” You muttered under your breath.

“Now, why is he acting that way?”

“Because we hate each other?”

Butters looked confused, “But he said-” Butters was cut off by you being yanked away from the conversation.

“Hey! What the” You looked to see Eric, shrugging your arm away after the boy yanked you onto the front porch. “What’s your problem?”

“Neighbors called the cops, let’s go.”

The twins started walking back home as the other kids all ran from the mansion. You could’ve sworn you saw Tolkien leave his own house. You crunched your soda can, tossing it onto someone’s lawn, enjoying the silence of the night.

“So, how was the party?” Eric asked, looking over at you.

“It was fine.”

“It was fine.” Eric mocked you, “Do you ever say anything else?”

“Are you ever not a whiny bitch?”

Eric shrugged, “Touché. But at least I have a better vocabulary. Are you sure you’re the smart one?”

You nudged his shoulder hard with a laugh, “Shut up.”

Eric snickered, not saying anything.

After a little while, the teens made it back to their house. Eric unlocked the front door and was as loud as he could, tossing all his stuff down. You took your shoes off, shushing your brother as you closed and locked the front door.

Eric yawned, “Night, [N/N].”

You waved Eric goodbye, “Night, Rick.”

Eric rolled his eyes, disappearing upstairs. He hated it when you called him that.

After taking your makeup off, she went to her room. You put back on your pajamas. You got yourself cozy in your bed, and your cat found their spot on your bed, going right to sleep as you began to rewatch your favorite show, not planning on getting much sleep since

Summer hadn't ended yet…

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