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littleroaes · 1 year ago

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oh darling, take my heart! ( heart attack ), k.sw & jc.b

a retelling of yves & chuu, heart attack, loona ( chuu )

“ 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐝 “

To save Sunwoo from his own self destruction by his undying love for Y/n as he admires her but cannot get her attention. His guardian angel comes to his side in human form to prevent the inevitable fall from Eden. Though the desperation for his preservation might just come from the egoistic wounds of his heart and the awareness of the ugliest fall of them all, it being his own.

PAIRING ⏵ ( 3rd pov, she/ her ) kim sunwoo x fem!reader, guardian angel!jacob not a love triangle

GENRE ⏵ fluff, slight angst, one sided pining, unrequited love ( not all the way through ), comedy/ crack ( hopefully ), sunwoo is down so bad, and he’s stubborn as heck, not a love triangle, slight fantasy, jacob is stressed bc of sunwoo, sweetheart!Jacob, winter!au, college!au but they’re just in the library and walk between lectures and have own apartments lol( F EXAMS ), epic bromance, epic eric feature, not as epic changmin feature, europe aesthetic ( this is a candlestick idk how widespread they are )

WARNINGS ⏵ y/n is just a little evil, loonaverse lore ( lol ), romanticised college!au bc I don’t want to write my reality 🫠, surface level world building ( don't ask me about the angel lore ), y/n & sw calls jacob angel & cupid either teasingly/mockingly/literally, y/n refers to sunwoo as loverboy once, sunwoo swears like three times, sunwoo calls people losers, heart attack by chuu is very gay mine is not😭, proofread twice

WORD COUNT ⏵ 18.8 k ( I’m so sorry )

new banner style!( so proud! ). for some reason I was hellbent on getting this out before christmas, but it’s really not that christmassy😭. the heart attack mv tells a story about chuu's undying love for yves. the post below includes spoilers, but but will clarify this story in connection to the mv. it will be linked at the end too! please enjoy!

story ( symbolism & metaphor ) guide

like and reblog are highly encouraged!

THIS WORLD HAS CHANGED ITS COLORS, DRIFTING FURTHER FROM THE SUN IN PRESENT SEASON.

As Eden has turned its axis away from the warmth, the trees stand with a single color. Instead of fruits in shine and leaves that paint the part in between world and heaven, its colors have, from the crowns, spread and blossomed over its people. The fabric of one's jacket and scarf decorates the boulevard down to the open square at the very center of the city.

Though, someone in cobalt blue seems to not follow the fast paced world around him. Jacob walks gently over the frozen mirror layered on top of the summer stone. His new body concealed in a jacket in that cobalt blue. To look out over the two streets and the cars driving in between, he observes how each silhouette before and behind him walks past him without a single glance or wrong step. Jacob looks down again, sees the reflection of daylight on the frost as his right foot takes another step forward.

Last month, Jacob sat in his new bed, in his new room, in a new city. Picked apart the sharp lines on the telephone screen to figure out exactly the right passage to the blue dot. How time has moved forward without him, since he last stepped onto the fixed ground and stood before the mortals as a real figure. Jacob used to stand perfectly visible in a full crowd all the more frequently in the past. The little boy he guarded back then refused to learn how to stand up for two seconds before starting to run. At seven, during the midst of the summer season on an afternoon picnic, Sunwoo had managed to climb a tree he was incapable of coming down. Jacob, who had been observing him like a second baby sitter, granted Sunwoo luck that day and saved him before falling off the bended branch.

Though, as he entered his teens, Jacob realized Sunwoo was rather a problem solver. So, as he watched from above, the secret pathways and hideouts, how he fired off a firework in the high school hallways and ran from the teacher, Jacob learned to not intervene.

Jacob feels the cold water melt on his skin as morning snow starts falling. And between the white feathers falling from above, he sees the entré from where the fabrication spreads outwards to the exterior of his vision. The glass windows stand in height with the opening, making the trees in winter sleep all smaller. The glass doors and buildings in altering heights don't seem to intimidate him as much as last month. Therefore he lets the transparent frame to the other side, open up for him and the flakes on his hair start to melt.

He vividly recalls summers from before as he walks down the corridors in pastel colors. How the daylight pierce through the ceiling height windows and spread itself over the cream walls like paint. As the memory recalls itself, all the way to the present, he finds himself before lecture hall A, a single turn before the library. The door stands open before him, from his spot on the stream line wood, he sees a row of students already inside. As he hears another pair of footsteps behind him, fused with muted conversations from the entrance, Jacob gathers the strap of his backpack and walks in.

In the lecture hall, the board stands to the left and before it spreads a massive sort of staircase to the highest windows. Though, as he has visited this place in what can only be described as dreams, this vision doesn’t seem to bother his conception. Instead, Jacob stands at the end, two meters away from where the first row starts. Faces that have passed him by in dreams and strangers he can’t recall are all scattered throughout the staircase. And as he eyes them down from the lowest point to the highest before the window, he can’t piece the face in his mind with anyone in the room.

Jacob let his hand fall from the backpack strap and walk up the right side. Sunwoo has never been known for his punctual habits, neither in Jacob’s memory from his youth or the recent observation of him as a uni student.

In the perfect middle of the seven rows, Jacob takes a seat close to the stairs down. He lets his backpack fall to the floor as he takes a seat. The silver computer reveals itself from the canvas material and he lays it gently on the surface before him.

Conversations fill the lecture hall and he eyes the rows, down to the end floor. How two girls sit side by side, enthusiastically nodding when the other talks, or the lone boy furthest against the wall in the right corner. Though, the surroundings fall irrelevant as he anticipates each silhouette entering the door. Each person creates an even stronger blur of conversations and the colors and materials paint a motif before him. Each row and the surface before it becomes foiled with texture and at last, when the professor stands before the white board, none of the faces entering was him from his memories.

The empty corridor walls, enchanted in pastel shades and wooden floor. Each step he takes spreads to the furthest corners of where two walls meet, before they resile back towards him. All that while he turns further from the past lecture hall. Instead of right, the direction towards the library, he let the patterns on the floor take him whatever they wanted. Hoping it would lead him to the purpose of his visit. And as he thinks about that, he looks up from the wild patterns. As he stands still in the middle of the corridor, he sees a single silhouette at the end. At the end frame where the opening reveals a horizontal corridor, stands a silhouette reminiscent of his youth. His distinctive features are turned the other way, and Jacob stands on his toes as if to reach them.

With gentle steps, as if to not disturb the rare life, Jacob walks towards him. The wings under his blue blazer attempt to spread in anticipation, but he forces them down under the thick fabric. Has the past finally runned up to him as he has searched the campus for the past month? he wonders.

“Are you Kim Sunwoo?” Jacob finally asks when they stand about a meter away from each other. The boy turned his figure towards him and his features in day highlights and winter shadows graze itself before him. His face, though more mature, shows traces of the ones from his memories. How the certain parts of his eyes and full lips seem to be unaffected by time.

“What I-” He before him stops himself from speaking as a door from the other corridor opens.

Jacob watches how his eyes instantly grow wider and he moves all closer to the extended frame of the pastel wall. To trace the line up to the door, Jacob observes closely how an ocean wave of students crash through the single opening. And as the wave falls and spreads out from all directions, and five people walking alone, unaffected by another, he hears how the boy before him exhales gently.

By the five last people, two take a left turn, one has a book bag hanging off her shoulder and she carries a computer in her left arm. The sight is rather ordinary, maybe that the winter sunlight hits her a certain way as she passes them by from afar. But as he turns to look at Sunwoo again, he leans his head against the open frame, hands around the edges. His quiet expression melts the winter frost over the windows and a single point in his eyes that are crystal clear. Jacob was uncertain when still observing him from above, but Sunwoo’s painful adoration for the woman walking before them paints messages on the wall with red paint.

She is the one he needs to save him from.

The light hits her in another angle, when she turns her head, Jacob takes his arms closer to his chest as Sunwoo forces himself up from the wall and takes his hand up to his hair. The black lock tangles itself between his fingers as he pushes them back and a pen from his front pocket falls to the floor when his other hand comes down to correct the shirt.

Jacob, quite amused, looking at the scene before him, recognizes how despite the loud noise from the pen, she at the opposite side doesn’t confirm his presence. Sunwoo’s eyes, covered in yearning, follows her serene figure until it disappears from his sight. Exchanges of words from the student mass further to the right echoes throughout the walls. And Sunwoo breathes out again, though, this time it’s heavy and low, leaving his lips in ache before falling to the floor.

Jacob stands unchanged as Sunwoo starts to adjust the band of his bag. Suddenly he has become invincible in the pastel hallway. As he thinks of it, Jacob awkwardly takes his own backpack strap and falls back and forth on his heels.

Finally, he coughs.

Sunwoo looks up from his book bag. His features dull, tired eyes and his lips barely open to answer him. A rather familiar picture of him as he thinks of the past month’s visions while at home, to place his face in between all the hallways.

“Are you Kim Sunwoo?” Jacob asks again.

“Yeah…” He eyes him suspiciously, “Am I supposed to know you or something?”

“No.” Jacob smiles.

It falls silent again.

The plan from the past months runs Jacob’s mind and disappears from sight. So as he stands and watches the boy before him, he starts counting his fingers from below, as if that will help him.

“Okay.” Sunwoo puts his hands in his pocket.

“Oh right!” Jacob finally says, “Sorry, it’s been some time. I…”

Sunwoo tilts his head.

“No, I-forget that.” Jacob motions with his hand, “We’re in the same course, I’m a bit after, I would need some help for the assignment…” He motions even more, “someone said you’re good.”

“Who’s someone?” He asks with slightly squinted eyes.

Jacob smiles, “Eric, I was with him last month.”

“You shouldn’t trust Eric.” Sunwoo shakes his head and Jacob furrows his eyebrows, “He nearly burned down the lab last year.”

That, I missed, Jacob thinks as he pursues his lips in. But if the heart has stayed the same all these years, a constant absolute when everything passes, a simple sentence should secure him.

“Then, are you saying you aren’t smart?” Jacob eyes him.

Sunwoo straightens his posture, scoffs and smiles at him on the opposite side, “No, I’m so smart.” He boasts.

“Okay, then are you helping me?”

“I usually don’t give out charity, but sure,” Sunwoo nods and reaches out his hand. Jacob sees the distance close as he takes his own hand out and bridges them together. They shake it slightly.

“Thanks then, Sunwoo!” Jacob puts his hands in his pockets too, “Do three today at the library work?”

“Sure.” He nods.

How the days move fast, Jacob realizes as he stands by one of the five windows out to the white covered landscape. On one hand, the few daylight hours must change one's perspective on the passing time, but there is something very human, he has understood about the constant disapproval of how time moves in contrast to space.

His legs and lower back rests against a heater with missing spots where white paint should be. The rough edges of its pattern delve a shallow cut at the right side of his spine. Though, the discomfort doesn’t force him to move, as the chilling hour in the lecture hall has frozen every part of his body.

As Jacob stands there, melts the ice and watches how the snow falls towards Eden, he thinks about Sunwoo, again. It has been some time he feels, since the boy has been occupying his mind this frequently. Despite only meeting twice or so per day, he has started to ask Sunwoo if he needs rest or is tired. At those times, he rather looks confusingly at Jacob and answers sarcastically, “I’m always tired” or “Rest never works”. Somehow Jacob wants to tell him he should sleep since he’s been running all day, but he realizes on the way out of the entrance that it is only in his mind he has been running. It is something else outside their shared daily routine.

On the other hand, the name of the girl from that day has been given. Y/n, a student Sunwoo has had classes with, works at a cafe in the mall. The cafe has changed names about four times. Scored lovely on exams the past year, but as if a wind came with a new heart, her eyes seem to, and quoting Sunwoo, “longing for somewhere else”. A wanderer rather, he thinks, to be seen in spaces without clear intention without a single word said. The red veil connecting the two seems rather obscured at the moment.

As he thinks about the mysterious girl, his other half and the mission, he sees people coming from the right. At the end of a group, standing Sunwoo, he waves to the three people beside him before walking forward, leaving them behind. The library stands right before Jacob, at the other side of the wall. And as he takes a single step away from the warmth of the electric heater to reach him, Sunwoo smiles.

“Oh, hello, Jacob.” He continues to walk. Sunwoo’s figure passes him by while the Angel’s have a fixed position in the center of two lines. Jacob’s eyes follow his silhouette down the hall towards the frame.

“Where are you going?” The textbooks nearly slips out of his arms as Jacob hurriedly shifts directions and accidentally stops two students on their way out. His other half doesn’t seem to catch him the first time as the double doors out to the snow covered scenery opens and barely closes before Jacob’s shoes make a pattern in it.

“Where are you going?” He thinks it is probably the loudest he has ever talked and stresses each syllable.

“The cafeteria” He says without any sort of worries.

“But aren’t we supposed to study?” Jacob runs desperately after him.

“We were?” The boy stops suddenly and Jacob flies head first against Sunwoo’s back head. The Angel caresses his forehead and Sunwoo turns around to watch him fully. The fact that he got a full skull into his own doesn’t seem to bother him as he quietly waits for the pain to ease off Jacob.

“Yeah, I asked you yesterday and you said yes.” Jacob holds his cold palm against his forehead. Sunwoo’s eyes adverts from Jacob’s, up to the clear sky. It shines on his features brightly when he tilts his chin.

“Can’t remember, either way I need to see Y/n.”

The shoe patterns in the snow continue from where it ended. Jacob sighs as he pulls the backpack further up his shoulder, so that it brushes against his neck. As if half running to connect and grip onto Sunwoo’s college shirt, Jacob comes up to Sunwoo, steps become slower and falls into a sort of comfortable rhythm. The Angel looks down the stone pathway in clear ice, beside it molten snow. Their steps follow in rhythm.

“Isn’t it very…”

Sunwoo looks to his left, where Jacob follows his steps down the ice. Eyes set on the road before them and his posture starts to fall into a sort of shrimp-like fashion. The sentence in his mouth never finishes as Jacob starts to fall behind.

“Very?” Sunwoo quotes and slows down just a little.

“You know…” Jacob looks up again, sees his other half about a meter before him. Wide eyes and nods his head. The Angel starts shifting his hands around to express the thoughts running in his mind, but it doesn’t seem to do much for him, as Sunwoo tilts his head. The next step down the pathway, his sneaker loses grip on the ground and slides freely. Jacob lets out a surprised sound as fear paints his previously frustrated expression. Jacob grabs onto Sunwoo’s forearm, nearly forgets that his wings might have just ripped through the fabric layers.

“Looking like Bambi.” Sunwoo says and takes Jacob’s upper arm.

“What’s Bambi?” Jacob’s filters and deliberate calculations seem to have flown out the window the moment his face came close to the ground. When the very center of his vision finally leaves the ice covered path, he lifts his chin up to see Sunwoo eye him with a frown.

“That little deer that can’t walk or something.” Sunwoo says.

Jacob’s quiet for a moment. A bicycle comes beside them, catches their jackets in the artificial wind and takes Sunwoo’s fringe with it, leaving a part of his forehead for the world to see.

“You say I’m a deer?”

“I’m going to eat.” He deadpans and turns to face the street once again.

“Wait!”

The reflection in the glass door looks back at them. Disappears as Sunwoo pushes the door open to reveal the lines of tables. Jacob stands still for a single second, watches the overbearing ceiling weight down on the red tables and the floor shining from the lamps. To stand in the very line between outside and the room, he feels a wind pass by the chairs and he realizes it looks rather depressing. Though Sunwoo's footsteps continue through the tables, sneakers scrape against the odd floor which turns the older woman behind the glass to his place.

Jacob himself takes uncertain steps around the cafeteria. Follow the odd patterns and watch each ugly lamp light up another red table. He lets his eyes follow the trails of seats further from the main windows and sees students scattered about two tables away from each other before the windows out to a snow covered grass field.

At the center of one of the windows, just enough to the left that there are still about three places left to sit at the back, sits a girl. The light from outside filters through the window familiarly and hits her features in the exact manner as from before. Jacob thinks Y/n must have a favorite sort of place to sit. In the passing hours between lectures he sees her in the same lightning and in the same position each time.

As he has wondered for another passage of around the clock. Jacob, unaware of the presence he has been having around him coming back. A light push on his shoulder, just above the wings takes Jacob back to the present. To cover the spot over the blazer where he just touched, Jacob, with wide eyes, watches Sunwoo with a single tray in his hand. The Angel stares at length even when Sunwoo walks two tables away and takes a seat. His shoulder brushes up against the counter, and his eyes immediately falter. Lies heavily on Y/n as Sunwoo’s arms support his chin.

The tense posture and fixed position of Jacob’s hands loosens. Gently takes himself closer to the table and sits at the opposite side of Sunwoo. The chair is hard plastic, causing a slight discomfort in his skin, as so, Jacob doesn’t bring his back to the rest.

“You want some?”

The Angel looks up from his lap. Sunwoo holds out a plastic cup filled with chocolate filling. The inside has a sharp surface and a clean line between transparency and chocolate. A depressing pudding for the depressing interior. And apparently the expression on his face as he thought of it, didn’t pass by Sunwoo,

“I’m broke". It’s the only thing in this place that doesn’t cost me four thousand and a kidney.” “Plus, it’s actually good.” Sunwoo opens his eyes wide at the last sentence, nods his head as if to make Jacob agree by mimicking.

Jacob moves his head, “Thank you, but I don’t like chocolate.”

Sunwoo drops his hand with the pudding to the table surface, “Liar, everyone likes chocolate.”

The Angel shakes his head gently, “Not me.”

The one facing the window sighs, forces his hand back to his side of the table and instead, takes up the other container on the tray, “You’re weird, here’s your vanilla.” Sunwoo pushes the plastic cup over the distance and it slows down perfectly in front of Jacob. He looks at the cream white color before him and then up at Sunwoo who has opened his pudding.

“Did you not want it?” Jacob tilts his head.

Sunwoo shakes his head with the plastic spoon in his mouth, “Chocolate’s better. I thought that was a pre chosen feature before birth.” He takes the spoon and picks up another bite, “But apparently not.” Sunwoo smiles.

Even when the conversation finds its final period in the end of a last sentence, Jacob finds himself staring and holding the thin cup between his fingers. And sometimes, when he tears his eyes off the plastic to look at Sunwoo, he sees the one on the opposite side gaze in deep adoration onto a point he can’t see from this side. Though, between the limited hours they’ve spent during this time, he figures it is not much in this scene of life that has his eyes so enchanted.

Finally Jacob takes off the lid and takes the thin white spoon off the tray to tear the perfect surface of the pudding. As he takes his first bite, he tastes the sweet flavor from the vanilla melt in his mouth. Jacob, on his limited days on land, has never built any deeper interest for pudding he acknowledges. But every time he looks towards Sunwoo who takes a bite off his chocolate one, he gets a sudden desire to eat pudding tomorrow too. A sort of feeling he can’t quite figure out where it comes from or places in his heart.

Jacob fascinatingly observes how, for each round sound of the clock, Sunwoo falls deeper into his palm. As if spellbound by the person, he looks as if to be in complete dissociation from the real world. Jacob wonders what he sees before his eyes as he watches Y/n, feels in his heart and senses between his veins.

“Sunwoo?” Jacob says suddenly. It breaks the silence between them and the cafeteria for that part too. The one in deep infatuation looks away for a single second, though, still chin in palm, a position ready to turn back to at any time.

“Why do you like Y/n?” Jacob tilts his head.

Sunwoo frowns for a moment and then lifts his shoulder, “I don’t know, why wouldn’t I?”

“You tell me.” Jacob leans in closer.

Sunwoo scoffs, “She’s pretty. She’s smart, I don’t know…” His eyes shimmer from the daytime and his other hand comes up to his face. The end sleeves of his hoodie folds from the position and it covers some of his features. The words from his lips become muted in between all the fabric, “...She’s like from another world.” He sighs, “She’s beautiful like a dream and intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” Jacob tilts his head again.

“She talks really fast with a really flat tone. Then her body language, it’s as if she has none. That’s her body language.”

Jacob nods.

“Why do you wonder?” Sunwoo asks suddenly.

Jacob’s quiet for a second, looks behind his shoulder towards Y/n before turning back to the table, “I don’t know, she seems a bit disinterested just.” He speaks gently.

Sunwoo nods his head without making eye contact.

“I think many would have gone for someone else.” He speaks slower than in previous conversations. Watch each motion of Sunwoo’s fingers and where his pupils are directed. Touch the surface just slightly and see how the waves starts to form.

“I guess.” Sunwoo scratches his nails and looks towards the ceiling.

“I-”

“I have to meet up at five.” Sunwoo sits up, smiles with pressed lips towards Jacob and nods his head once again, “See you tomorrow, I guess.” He pushes his chair under the table and takes a first step out the odd patterned floor.

“Wait, I should pay you back for the food.” Jacob stresses and starts searching in between his pockets. But the Angel stops once Sunwoo laughs just lightly and puts his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t worry about it, it was like three thousand.” He turns his head fully and Jacob is left seeing his silhouette become all smaller and disappear out the glass door.

Despite the definite numbers of daylight there is in a December afternoon, Jacob finds himself at the avenue down the meters between university and his home. The lights hang above his head in lines until the very end of the buildings. And as Jacob lifts his chin even further up, his nose touches the cold air and in every window shines a candlestick. The thousands of lights enchanting the avenue shines in golden yellow. A warm vision as Jacob pulls the scarf a bit tighter around his neck.

As he watches a couple come out of the glass door before the mall, Jacob thinks back on his conversation with Sunwoo. The Angel turns on every angle possible of the words he spoke to him. To imagine the different dimensions where the timidly spoken sentence could have affected him. Sunwoo was very quick that time, to stand up and leave the conversation. Jacob gets a discomfort in his spine as the scene plays over, but then it continues playing, showing the open motions and tone before he turns. Jacob shakes his head again, to make the screen fade from his mind and look at the white floor.

It’s confusing, he thinks. Humans are confusing.

“Hello.”

Jacob takes the wrong step with his right feet. Shoe, trapped under an elevated part of the pathway and his hands comes out of his pockets as his weight leans forward. Before Jacob’s face comes even closer to the ground, his other leg lands to support the parts of his body that come to lean over. With a few foolish motions as to regain his balance and another second to get his posture upright instead of horizontal, Jacob looks behind him to see the voice that continues to linger in his ears.

How the Angel’s wings tenses underneath all the fabrics and the features on his face become rigid and pale. The substantial shift in his current state, from outside it may look like a sudden winter storm passed him by. To steal every little warmth left between the layers. But truly, there is only one reason. As Y/n stands before him, a certain distance but in eye contact for the first time.

“What’s your name?” She abruptly asks when he has stared for too long.

Jacob grabs his backpack, “What-Why?”

“I’ve seen you a lot lately.” She’s quick.

“I’ve seen you a lot too.” Jacob starts to take steps away from her, but as he turns back, her silhouette follows him.

Shoes in deep snow during winter evenings come from behind and wrap around his ears. 90s Chirstams melodies play weakly from the stores and he finally breaks silence, “Do you need help or something?”

“I do.”

“Okay, but I’m not good at math, just so you know.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not math.” Y/n smiles lightly, though it sends shivers much deeper than any weather has ever done. Jacob swallows and looks before him. The avenue splits into two and he sets his eyes on the pathway into the badly lit park.

“I’m Y/n.” She stops walking suddenly but continues to look at him, “Will you help me if I ask you?”

“Jacob.” He answers weakly and shifts his sight between two opposite points. Y/n opens her mouth to speak, but Jacob rushes, making no space for more than one sentence.

“I’m late for the bus.” And crosses the red light as another car passes. Head to look in the two different directions and the blinding lights coming all closer. Though, he does make it to the other side. Where lamps stand in row between the tall trees and the Christmas lights from the avenue can’t reach. Jacob looks behind him for a last time, to see a painted figure against the avenue, but at the entrance of the park, there is no one. As so, the wings on his back falls to his skin once again.

How the evening from before haunts him as he passes each corner and wall. There seems to be no logical reasoning, he thinks, as to why a girl he has never met or established any similarities to in the real world, to seek his company. Jacob stands, once again before the library in endless waiting for Sunwoo, but as all other days, he is nowhere to be seen. The Angel sighs, looks to the window and uncomfortably shifts his back. There has been a sort of constant ruler watching his every move, the one hidden among humans thinks.

“Hello.”

Jacob moves one step further down the pastel wall as another presence stands beside him. With his hands close to his chest, Jacob looks to see the person before him. With wide eyes and feet tightly set against each other, he forces himself to become smaller when she who he has wandered over stands in complete view. Her face is familiar by now, but the incredibly monotone voice that echoes throughout the halls felt as if picking on the past memories of her.

“Hello?” Jacob stutters as silence passes them by. Her eyes, like the echo of her first words, lingers like the snow outside and with difficulty, won’t go away. The blazer around his upper body sits as it always does, but somehow he feels like it has torn by its sides and reveals his secret fully before her. As her eyes follow his silhouette, his hands cramp together even tighter.

“Has someone ever told you you sound like an angel, Jacob?” Her voice, not as severe as before, reaches him through the awkward distance. The expression on her face is rather vague, not so drastic lines of emotions, instead nearly detached from the scene they find themselves in. Aside from her faintly north crescent lips and her eyes with the finest of pearl at the pupil. Sharp crystals like the ice hanging from outside the building.

“No-Why?” Jacob coughs slightly and throws back the question.

She changes the weight on her legs, “I don’t know, isn’t there a rumor that there’s angels walking among us.”

“Well,” he takes the collar of his blazer and adjusts it, “It’s just a saying .”

“You think so?”

It becomes quiet once again, aside from the friend group that cross the wooden floor and follow the lines down the second corridor. As their conversation fades from these walls and lives on their own, Y/n takes a step closer towards him. In the everlasting coldness enchanting all corners of the building, he suddenly feels her warm shoulder closing in against his own.

“You don’t believe in angels?”

“No.” He answers hesitantly, only letting his eyes wander to the left for a single second before moving back to the window on the other side. He sees the eyes of students observing them as they stand in the center of two ways.

“Just fate.” He pats his blazer again. Y/n eyes him in silence to observe the invincible dust layered over the fabric, his hands brush it off. Falls down from the fabric to the hem line and adjusts it, despite no failed folds.

“Nice blazer by the way.” She abruptly stops him.

He looks at her without words. Now she’s leaning on the wall with crossed arms, eyes aimed at the two people who briefly cover sunlight on the pastel wall before passing it by. This time the two lock eyes completely, a shiver runs through his body as she observes him with an intensive sort of coat over the lobe. To pass through the very fiber that makes them two similar, she sees his soul wrapped in plastic. Burn it with her eyes until it starts to smoke.

“You’re indiscreet Jacob, I know you’re not from here.”

A single sentence seems to set off the second visor on the analog clock. Jacob breathes heavily and turns his head away from her. The reaction burns a part of her consciousness and the blood between her vessels moves all quicker as she opens her lips again. Another person passes them by precisely, and Jacob takes her wrist as the very opening of her sentence echo through the pastel passage.

“Be quiet, please.” He whispers. Y/n is forced up against him, his eyes shining of heaven as he looks down at her.

“Never.” The shift in dynamic doesn't seem to face her, he thinks.

Jacob sighs loudly and lets go of her wrists. He throws it against her thigh before turning the other direction, each step, a dimension away from Y/n. But as he comes further down the corridor, where the pastel starts to become sun faded and spots of paint have withered away, a constant sound of steps in a rhythm just like his own. Jacob’s eyes follow the lines between the floors. Force each sound of his shoes against it to become all louder as they come to the very end of the corridor, where it splits in half.

Her fingers grip onto the back collar, where the fabric folds into two. She forces it closer towards herself and Jacob feels the neckline move further up his skin and strangle the end of his throat. All at once, she pushes him to the right. Jacob lands with his back against the wall, the very fragment of the thin material seems to shrivel at this motion, and the wall, as it’s completely hollow, echoes throughout the empty hallway.

Jacob lets out a cry as the fabrication and his own body press the wings under the blazer. Y/n comes up closer, with a distance enough for herself, but has her arms up against his head to constrain him to the small square beneath him.

“Hurt your wings, Angel?” She tilts her head.

Jacob’s right arm is wrapped around his upper body, to caress the aching spot on his back. The loose strands of his fringe have fallen before his eyes and the collar of his blazer is unfolded. He feels the dry bits of paint on the wall against his head as he leans away from her complexion, as much as this dimension allows him to.

“You look like a mess.” Y/n tilts her head, “Like a sin.”

“What do you want anyway?” Jacob says frustrated.

“You’re not fallen, Angel. Tell me how to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fall from this place.” She rolls her eyes, “Leave.”

“You’re insane.” He takes a step to the left, but Y/n mirror it perfectly. So, her hands are beside him from both directions, still, to cage him in.

“Why are you even here? With Sunwoo? Loverboy can’t do uni on his own?”

For the first time, the features on her face shifts. From being forever still without any sort of indication of time or emotion, her eyes are coated with a thin layer of light, lucent from the moon and the corner of her lip twitches between the sentences. The fine pupil of her eye shifts focus on the different shadows of his face, when neither of them gives her any answers, she desperately starts asking him again.

Jacob feels the human heart in his chest hurt severely. It pushes against his skin and the organs right besides it. Between each breath, the words lie on his tongue daring to be heard, but as she stares at him, just a little bit more frenetic than before, they fall back in his throat, tangle in each other and strangle him. The eyes sharp and vivid like yesterday’s nightmare, he closes his eyes and wishes for the sun to rise up. And at the exact moment, the two of them hear footsteps coming all closer to their spot behind the wall.

As suddenly as Y/n appeared beside him before the library, she is now gone, with just a few steps and a temporary current from her disappearing arms. Jacob dares to open his eyes and see nothing but the yellow pale wall. To look behind the paper divider, he sees Y/n’s silhouette become all the smaller as the hallway continues forward and a student, much older, opens the door to the left.

Once again, he falls against the dried off paint. But this time let his arms hang loosely by his sides, lend his head as far up as it goes, to stare at the high ceiling and breathe out loudly.

The days seem to obscure each other. How the distinctive line between day & night blemishes at its edges, and creates a wavering pattern of his life. Jacob sits in the library. Though, this time, he looks out over the high shelves and people’s heads from the second floor. To follow the figures from above as they navigate the shelves of titles and to look out the top part of the windows to see the snow covered cityscape. How this place seems unaffected by time, he thinks as his chin lies in his palm.

The door from below opens again, and his eyes diverge quickly from the window down to the first floor. He sees the hair color at the top of the stranger’s head, it shines in a different shade than the one he seeks for. Therefore, Jacob feels his shoulder fall into a comfortable position once again and his eyes aspire for the white landscape through transparent shine.

After another passing of the clock, a sensation, in heavier violence than the night weather, has taken a place on both of his shoulders. It weighs heavy over his chest, for a single second he forgets how to breathe. Without any intentions, his hands grab the textbook at the center of the table. Slowly, in contrast to the thoughts racing through his head, Jacob takes just a momentarily stop to them, as to figure out what to say. Though, words never come out when the eyes behind him meet his own. Instead, a laugh chimes throughout their part of the library. Sweet and bright, boyish as from a memory from a past life.

Sunwoo stands behind him, letting his hand hit Jacob’s back gently as the ends of his eyes curl to a crescent.

“Is the devil behind me or something?” He continues to laugh before walking to the opposite side of the table. Jacob still won’t answer, his eyes instead follows Sunwoo’s silhouette around the edge of the wood. As he stands up, he suddenly covers the massive window, but the sunlight shines back on him when Sunwoo sits down before him.

“I have something.” The one on the opposite side is quieter than before. Jacob curiously tilts his head as Sunwoo reaches down to the floor. His backpack lies beside the chair, and as his shoulders disappear behind the table, Jacob hears slight sounds of paper scratching against each other.

“Are you eating again?” Jacob asks bewildered.

Sunwoo takes his finger up and pushes it before his lips, “Do you want some or not?”

Jacob’s face falls flat once again. Eyes on Sunwoo’s as his own expression lights up all of a sudden.

“Exactly.” He whispers.

The paper folds a few more times and Jacob looks behind him to see if anyone else sees them. Sunwoo’s hand comes up from the white paper bag, in his palm, gently cupped lies a golden brown pastry, the layers flakey and falls off in his hand. Jacob turns back towards Sunwoo and reaches his hands out for the layered pastry. He brings it up to his face, beneath his nose as to smell it. Sunwoo reaches down again and smiles when Jacob’s eyes are wide and searches for the specific flavor wrapped in golden dough.

“It’s vanilla.” He whispers and Jacob looks at him, “I’ll take the chocolate one.”

His words gently wrap around his heart and sets off a sensation he has never experienced before. It’s warm like the memory of coming inside and closing the door after being outside. And when he looks at Sunwoo who takes an outlandish bite of his own pastry, Jacob feels the urge to take out his wings and gently cover the kid’s shoulder like it's a blanket. To fend off the nightmares of the world, events that make one soul a bit smaller, all of it would not come to him if Jacob stood like in imagination, protecting him fully.

They sit in silence for some time. Let each book page that lifts from one side to the other blow around their ears. Jacob savors the last bit of his pastry and looks out the window again. Snow falls outside and lies like a grainy filter over the city horizon. As he falls deeper in trance of the portal to the outside, and counts each flake falling from above, Sunwoo suddenly taps his finger on the side of the computer.

Jacob looks at the kid with wide eyes. His head slightly forward and posture completely still, as if he does stand outside in the pouring snow.

“Our holidays are soon.” Sunwoo too leans forward, “Eric-”

He points at Jacob, “You know Eric?”

The other one nods attentively.

“Okay, good." “He’s holding a party this weekend, let’s go.”

Jacob leans back again, letting his back fall to the rest of the chair and he looks at Sunwoo with a rather uncertain expression.

“I don’t know.”

“Why?” He sees Sunwoo’s eyes squint with a momentary head tilt.

“I’m not good at parties.” His shoulders are stiff and features rigid and square.

Sunwoo too falls back in his chair, to mimic Jacob’s expression before smiling again “Saying it like it’s hockey or something, you just have to be there.”

Jacob’s still looking at him without words or smiling.

“Either way, Party Pooper, I’m going to get Y/n to the party.” He suddenly grabs the black ink pen from the right side of the desk. Brings it close to the Angel’s face and motions it in the same pause between his words.

The silly little witch movements makes Jacob quite amused, but nonetheless, the words leaving his mouth and the determination behind his eyes. It all shines like the metal frame, outlining each square of the high ceiling window.

The Angel lifts himself off the back rest once again, reaches his hand up to the metal tip at the end of the plastic pen. As so, he forces it down to the wooden surface and Sunwoo still looks at him.

“What if she doesn’t want to go?”

“I’ll have to deal with that later.” He lifts his shoulders.

“But isn’t that a waste of time?” Jacob continues.

“Not in my opinion.”

“But what if-”

“Do you have something against her or what?” Sunwoo cuts him off abruptly. The one from the opposite side notices how his eyes diverge from his own and flees everytime Jacob chases after them. Sunwoo’s own question is rather loud when he crosses his arms and eyes sharp directed towards the Angel. Jacob feels his own hands grasp each other in his lap and his eyes awkwardly look down the first floor as to see if anyone heard.

“Not against her so.” Jacob shifts his arms around before his chest.

“I just don’t think…” He struggles as their eyes lock once more and in the furthest corner of his vision, he sees Sunwoo’s fingers impatiently bend the plastic of the ink pen.

“...That she’s good for you.”

Sunwoo furrows his eyebrows, "Why?" Like you know her? She doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“I do know.” He looks at the other one sternly, “I do know, Sunwoo.”

He rolls his eyes, “Who have you talked to? Danny from architecture that has seen her once like everyone else? Stop falling for peer pressure, Jacob.”

“No.” Jacob buries his face in his hands. The sigh echoes throughout the square area they are in. He stands up. The chair grinds against the wooden floor and spreads from their table. Students from the same floor behind the bookshelves eye the two.

“Chill, dude.” Sunwoo puts his hands up.

“No.” Jacob grabs Sunwoo’s right wrist and forces him up, his chair too leaves a mark on the parquet.

Sunwoo sees the eyes of their peers as each step Jacob takes echoes throughout the shelves and climbs up to the floor ceiling. The right side of the double door flies open as they walk out. At the center of the horizontal hall, the one in disguise looks left and right as the one connected by the wrist stares at the other in bewilderment. At last, at the end of the hallway on its left plane, sits a door in the same color as the wall. A rather beaten up one with a slim frame and no rectangular plate to inform its name.

Before Sunwoo realizes what he’s staring at, Jacob forces his hand closer to him and starts walking towards the door. And at just one meter away from it, as Jacob reaches out to the door handle.

“You’re gonna take me hostage now or what?” Sunwoo asks.

Jacob doesn’t answer, instead, the door behind the two of them shuts close. The corridor they stand in falls silent once again and neither of them can make out the lines of silhouettes or practical equipment in the still darkness.

“This is a secret.” Jacob speaks to him as his eyes have started to adjust, “I’m here to protect you, Sunwoo.” He says clearly.

“Okay?” Sunwoo says skeptically.

Jacob sighs deeply before he angles his arms to get the blue fabric off his back. Now, Sunwoo’s eyes have also started to become familiar with the shadows. And before him, near the corner of the room where the shelves are, he sees Jacob struggling to get the blazer off and his arm meet the one shelf, creating a contained sound in the room.

“Don’t take off your clothes, dude.” Sunwoo eyes him in disgust.

“I’m not getting naked.” Jacob answers frustrated. He refuses to argue further with the one crammed into the far corner. Sunwoo stands beside a rigid old broom, his eyes following its silhouette down to the floor and takes it in his hands.

As he looks at the one opposite towards him, his figure outlined by the faint light seeping through the cracks in the door. Jacob finally gets that piece of fabric off his arm and the blazer falls to the left off his leg. Suddenly, the light between the door and its frame fades out of view. The liminal space in the midst of the corridor becomes even darker and cramped as a white clean complexion rises above their heads.

Sunwoo squints as he lets go of the broom. The wooden material hits the wall loudly before it plummets to the floor.

“Take the wings off man, that’s embarrassing.”

Jacob feels Sunwoo's shoulder brush against his own, and without hesitation, Jacob turns around before the other reaches the door handle. The fabric of his shirt tangled between Jacob’s own fingers as he drags the boy closer, away from the door.

“It’s real! I’m your guardian angel!” He whispers-shouts and points at the feathers behind him, “Touch!”

“No!” Sunwoo holds the same tone.

“Why are you so stubborn!?”

“Why do you have wings on!?”

“Because I’m your guardian angel!”

Jacob continues to whisper back at him, Sunwoo stops answering, instead silently stares at him in the dark. The Angel lets out a frustrated sigh and as he does, the wings behind him twitches slightly, opens and closes as much as they can in the liminal space. Sunwoo tilts his head, through with furrowed eyebrows and back against the door. He still bends his knees slightly to see the end feathers of his wings.

“Here.” Jacob has stopped whispering, his voice, gentle and silken like the first time they met. He turns around, with his back towards Sunwoo, to let him see the practical details, he spreads them slightly.

“They look pretty good. Where did you buy them?” Sunwoo asks with crossed arms.

“You can’t buy them, I’m born with them.”

There’s two holes in the back of his white shirt. Slit vertically down, and the right goes just a bit further down the left. And truly, as Sunwoo leans forward, he tells his eyes not to deceive him when the skin underneath the layers of white feathers connects seamlessly to the back.

“You truly are a weirdo.” His posture falls straight again, back against the door surface.

“What does your wings even have to do with Y/n?”

Jacob reflects the change in the way Sunwoo holds his body, as he lifts his head up to face him. The Angel rolls his eyes, letting the distance between his lips grow wider as to whisper debate part two. But as his vision, faded in shadows from all sides, comes up to the same level as Sunwoo’s, the eyes of his human, spellbound by genuine intrigue. Sunwoo’s head is tilted just slightly upwards, to watch his features in an angle never discovered before. Turn the motif he has built up of the man before him the past week.

“Not my wings.” ”But that I'm your angel.” Jacob corrects him. Without any motions, instead let his arms fall vertically down its sides, like before they stepped into the room without brilliance.

“Sorry, I don’t get it, dude.” He put his hands up again, “You don’t think it’s a good idea to shoot the arrow or are angels psychic all of a sudden?”

His wings flutter just slightly as Jacob breathes in, “First off, I’m not Cupid. Second, I’m not psychic.” He breathes out, “My mission is to protect you, we’re-you’re in danger, she’s betraying this place, using others for her own need.” The Angel points with his finger towards Sunwoo’s face. Follow the breaths as he speaks.

Jacob comes closer, laying his right arm over Sunwoo’s shoulder. The soft material of his sweater and the slight warmth that filter through the minimal knits. The Angel’s hand gently on his consciousness, Sunwoo abruptly becomes aware of the four walls, a border tight against them, cold because of lack of either sunlight or electric heat. A part of Jacob becomes rather confused as the one he protects, stubborn and appalled by inferiority, doesn’t move his hand away. Instead let it share its warmth.

Jacob bites his lip, nearly letting his fingers push against the fabric on his shoulder a bit harder. Something at an unknown place in his mind, draws a deep line within that place. Impending on the new wound, a part of him wonders if the words on the tip of his tongue are worth saying. That he’s slowly, but firmly pulling a part of the fabrication of the very machine he rules and protects. Nonetheless, he looks up again and speaks;

“I need to protect myself too, Sunwoo.” He whispers, “I’m not here on my own will, I need you to know that.”

How the world has refused to move even one step since they tread into the room. When they come back to the open floor and watch the identical students from before sit in the same position and flip through pages, the two of them wonder if it is the same pages they look at as before. Though, as the chairs from their table stand turned and diagonal, next to the vertical lines of the floor. Jacob watches how Sunwoo takes himself closer to the decorated edge. Like an image from a painting, the Angel sees his back clearly in view, follows each step and takes the place right beside Sunwoo as he leans on the wooden railing. Both of their shoulders fall in place without agitation as they look at the slow motions of the life before them. Sunwoo who fills his lungs fully with air, his body shifts like the transition of winter to spring as he breathes out. In another perspective, Sunwoo himself watches the white landscape grow all whiter as the snow continues to fall. Build on its height and dream of reaching back home.

“I guess that makes sense.” Sunwoo’s voice is rather low when his chin is cupped between the skin of his palm.

Jacob tilts his head and looks down at him, “What makes sense?” His voice is gentle. Pure like the true white color of snow. Sunwoo smiles slightly, which only makes the right tilt of Jacob’s head force the end strands to reach his shoulder.

“That.” Sunwoo looks up at Jacob. To use his shoulders in effortless motions, let the sharpest part guide the Angel’s eyes to an abstract point behind his back. Jacob eyes him without words and takes his hand behind his back, opens it fully and stretches his fingers around the center of the two wings.

Sunwoo laughs, “That explains why you’re so weird.”

“Good or bad?” Jacob asks worriedly.

“Good.” Sunwoo answers without hesitation and Jacob once again is left in a lone corner over the hidden paragraph between a single word.

“I like weird people.”

The one clothing reveal didn’t become as scrutinizing as he once thought. He watches the top of people’s heads navigate through the thin lines and how their steps cut right through the sun reflection on the parquet flooring. Though, despite the positive outcome of the break of rules, there must be an underlying reason, in his unconsciousness as to why he refuses to look up from the stained floor.

“Are you immortal or something?” Sunwoo asks abruptly. His voice, low and muted to the outside world, but the clearest thing in a single room as he speaks to him while conscious of the sentient world. His head finally gets to move with the minutes left of daytime.

“No, I’m not.” He furrow his eyebrows.

“How old are you then?” He looks back at Jacob.

The Angel’s quiet for a second, “As old as you? Or what do you mean?”

“So twenty three?”

“Probably not twenty three in human twenty three ways, but close enough.” Jacob motions with his hands.

“In dog years?”

“No-” Jacob stops himself to look up at the chandelier in a high ceiling, leans closer to Sunwoo and tilts his head, “Dog years, isn’t that the concept of a dog's maturity in human scale?”

“Yup.” Sunwoo answers in gray, dull tone.

“Okay, then kind of.”

“Do you have any memories then?” Sunwoo is now fully leaned on his arm with his entire body shifted towards Jacob’s own essence.

“I do.” Jacob smiles.

“What do you remember?”

“You.”

“Nothing else?” Sunwoo asks. Jacob looks away from him, the lids stay open as they refuse to close as he looks at the wall of spines. To run through all the pictures captured in time, see the grainy filter over his past and not a single one has without his face. He’s always there, either in perfect font or dream.

“No.” Jacob shakes his head.

“Really?” Sunwoo says skeptically, “You didn’t accidentally drop your ice cream before God or something?”

Jacob shakes his head, “I remember you dropping your ice cream at four, you started crying but your mom and dad were somewhere else, so I just stared at you. That was awkward.”

Sunwoo smiles at how Jacob’s eyes are focused towards a distant point as he describes parts of the life sequence. There is something amidst them, that distance between their two shoulders that have seemed to become shorter for every day, that has started to grow. A single sprout that gently planted itself at the center without either knowledge, and now starts to spread its petals. Time has seemed to strengthen the fabrication of each leaf.

It is rather funny, Sunwoo thinks, how the flower has bloomed between the frozen cracks of a winter. But only a sprout that has been through wither would be able to force itself up, between those layers. Therefore, Sunwoo finds himself quietly giving into the fabrication between the two of them. When looking at Jacob, he realizes he’s staring at his youth.

“I’ve been here as long as you” Jacob says suddenly, “, and stay here til you do.”

Sunwoo doesn’t say anything.

“All you do affects me too.”

Sunwoo nods his head silently and leans on his palm, “So if I jump out the window you’ll die too?” It was rather satirical, a hypothetical scenario wrapped in unseriousness from Sunwoo’s side, but the human has come to realize angel’s don't always take sarcasm.

“Yes.” Jacob says with a stern face. Sunwoo laughs silently and Jacob eyes him. Observing his serene motions and dares to walk closer.

“So don’t do anything bad.”

“Nice home.” Sunwoo looks around the room before he drops his bag onto a right angled carpet that hides whatever’s before the door.

“Mine looks like shit.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jacob nods his head and walks over to his bed.

“You do?” Sunwoo stands before the closed door and looks at Jacob who lies between sheets and pillows of low saturation in peach shade essence.

“Not seen it now, but when you were little.” He looks at the ceiling, “I just guess you haven’t changed.”

Sunwoo’s shoes stand in different directions of the black carpet beside Jacob’s that pointed towards the wall. He walks over to the one laying down, inspecting him silently before taking the pillow closest to the edge.

“You’re dissing me or what?”

“No-” Jacob doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Sunwoo throws the pillow down the calm state of the Angel’s face.

“Yeah, Cupid.”

“I’m not, Cupid.” Jacob sits up and takes the pillow from under his head and aims right at the center between Sunwoo’s eyes.

And so it continues until the one with a full human heart lies on the floor. His locks scattered over Jacob’s peach muted carpet. He looks a little pathetic from above, Jacob thinks and smiles. As the reflection of the angel above him clears, the outlines become perfect, he sees how Jacob reaches his hand out towards him.

“You’re so weird, why are you hitting your guardian angel?” Jacob forces him up and they stand in the center of the small square.

The brief daylight hours has passed this age by too and now, it’s the warm light from Jacob’s ceiling that pierce through the window and spread out over the nearby snow. The room has warmed up from the center where they sit and spread slowly to the outer corners. Jacob sits on the bed, his back against the window frame. In contrast, Sunwoo sits at the very bottom, on the peach colored carpet, but both with posture bend forward over the textbooks and computers like grass over the windy field.

Sunwoo has fallen in and out of the blank page before him about three times. To look at the window behind Jacob where, it every time, disappoints him, because there is nothing to look at in winter evening. Or go to the toilet.

At some point, when Jacob’s cursor hits the end of the A4 page, he stretches his back and yawns. Sunwoo looks over the horizontal line where the bedsheet gathers in folds, and sees how Jacob’s arms struggle in the blue fabric. The sounds of keys on the computer are now lost from this space and only the light noise of the ventilator lingers between the four walls. As Jacob stops stretching his arms, he takes off his blazer and lets it fall behind him on his orange sheets. The white wings stretch to the two opposite sides of his bed before they fall.

Sunwoo looks at him while leaning his hands on the carpet behind him, “How do you shower?”

Jacob answers hesitantly, “Like you normally shower?”

“Do you wash them with shampoo or something?”

“No..”

“Gross.” Sunwoo makes a face.

“Why? "Should I?” His eyes widen as he caresses the feathers of his left wing.

“I don’t know.” He suddenly falls down onto the floor, smiles as he closes his eyes, “I’m no angel.”

“Pretty obvious.” Jacob hums quietly and walks up.

At some the curve of his posture had fallen so deep that Jacob swore he could hear cracks of bones. And instead to pull strings above his back, Jacob fell backwards on the pillows. The computer on the lower end of his stomach and his chin in an unflattering position to see the lit up screen. Though, he let the words between four frames judge his current state and the sounds of keys filled the four walls. After another passage of time, Jacob’s stomach growls and he registers the lack of sound as he himself stops writing.

“Are you hungry, Sunwoo?” Silence.

As no answers come from the one below him, Jacob reaches himself over the edge. Spread across his carpet lies Sunwoo with his arms tangled and body in a rather complex position. His eyes, closed off from this plane of existence as his mind reaches another. For just a moment, Jacob watches him quietly from the bed above. There is something nostalgic that evokes from this scene.

Though, he does eventually stand up and take the pillow from the inner corner. It’s just a little cold as it was compressed between himself and the wall, isolating their frame from the winter lined streets. Jacob sits down beside Sunwoo’s chest, he gently lifts the boy’s head, without much sound lets the soft fabric catch his locks and the rest of his head. They sit for a second, completely unchanged, but Jacob sees the skin on Sunwoo’s upper arms create patterns of small dots. That he knows, his human form does that too when the cold itches to take the degrees from him. So, Jacob reaches over to his bed again, takes the blanket at the very end. He stretches it before it falls to the floor and replicates the silhouette of Sunwoo’s body.

As time passes and the visor on the clock up on the high wall runs in bold progress, Jacob sits in a silence, one he only can experience in this form. Despite the constant noise of the clock, the undying reminder that he does exist, the world somehow moves slower.

Jacob looks at Sunwoo’s face. Complexions without stress, in dreams he must be somewhere else, where life doesn’t tweak his eyebrows and strangle his skin. As they sit like this, Jacob wonders about his mission. The purpose of his arrival and existence. If he gets to reveal his thoughts, be true to the feelings inside his chest, Jacob can’t see a possible outcome where he forces Sunwoo’s heart in another direction. Despite their agreement, nothing but Y/n seem to cast over him as if in dreams.

Jacob reaches out his right hand over Sunwoo’s hair, gently feeling the strands brush past his skin. His mission to protect seems to have widened its edges and to save the boy before him has become more than to prevent blood scattered wounds. But to see him in delight knowing his fortune. As Jacob comforts his other half in the night, he thinks of young love and to, at least, not let the another presence color Sunwoo’s heart.

Ever since that day, when Jacob, just another student in his class, revealed his life secret and told him there’s someone actively protecting him. He hasn’t been able to describe it perfectly, to set his finger on the singular mark and feel confident in the linear placing. Rather, he lets the skin of his point finger brush past the reflective paper, stop at a spot underneath a highlighted world, until he reverts back to the opposite side of the paper.

As he walks away from campus, out on the broad streets, two lined at the edges and a center path where all the snow has collected towards the sides, painted brown from cars. Sunwoo feels a strange sort of responsibility for the new perspective of the world. Despite the enlightenment being a revelation of a ruler watching him silently, he feels an even stronger obligation to become an active part of the otherworldly dynamic.

A father with his child walks past him, and Sunwoo pushes his hands even deeper into his pockets. His breath paints a vague white cloud in the shade of the snow beneath him. And when a car drives past him, in the back of his mind, he considers walking closer towards the decorated glasses.

As he looks at the same scenery, but in different seasons, he stops as he comes outside the mall. At the center, beneath the fabrication folding out over the street, he looks at the sign that will soon turn on, and then, the glass doors on row. How people push and pull the doors without a consistent pattern. Each window shop is scattered with snowflake stickers, red ornaments, green bushes and golden lightning. Sunwoo adjusts his hands in his pockets once again as he longingly watches into the world he knows too well.

To stand there, he realizes how much of his time depends on a single ritual, a single person. What is he supposed to do if not going in, he thinks. Jacob was busy, apparently. Been running around all month trying to convince him to not reach out his hands towards Y/n, seems like life finally catches up to him. Sunwoo smiles as he thinks about Jacob ignoring papers, deadlines and assignments and how his wings twitch in anxiety as he runs to the shelf in the library. .

“Hi.”

Sunwoo jumps from one concrete square to the other. By reflexes alone, his hands tangle themselves out of the pockets, and he holds them before his face directed right towards the voice who called him. Though, the frown on his face fades from view as he sees the features between his fingers. On the opposite side of the concrete square, drowned in melted snow, stands the girl he watches everyday from this place, though, instead she stands beside him.

She looks at him, doesn’t break eye contact for even a second when his hands fall down to its sides. As they stare through the looking glass to the heart of the other, Sunwoo wonders if Y/n has ever looked at him for this long. He figures the longest they’ve held some sort of visual connection outside his dreams, it is the barely second long stare when he drops a pen during lectures and she turns behind to look at what went on.

Y/n herself forces the part of her face to stay in place. The boy before her stands with eyes large as the reflective ornaments behind them. He refuses to blink and she wonders if she’ll need to walk up to him and move the lids up and down for him. As to not laugh, Y/n reaches down to the ground, and Sunwoo’s eyes follow. A glove and candy wrapper lies on the spot between the two of them, it must have flown out when he shoved his hands out ( like a loser!!?!??!? ) he thinks, does a painful face when she faces the ground instead of him.

“Here.” Before she reaches up fully, Sunwoo lets his shut eyes and creased skin fall into an unbothered expression. The hand in front of his mouth, fingers that curled up slightly as if to rip a piece out of his own teeth, shifts behind his back. Now she stands before him fully, even closer than the first time she scared him. Her hand with his glove and wrapper are dreadfully close, in a way where he sees his past selves fall to the floor. He thinks he can sense her perfume from this distance (really it’s the beauty shop five meters away) and he hopes to brush past the skin of her hands when he takes the glove.

“Thanks” Sunwoo scratches the back of his neck and reaches out carefully for her hand. Though, he doesn’t need to wish as he spreads his palm. A single star enchanted in a miracle must have fallen in daylight as Y/n takes her free hand around his wrist gently, turns it so his palm faces the sky and gives the glove and wrapper. A butterfly that has been slowly waking up in his stomach, for the first time sets itself free when she brushes past his fingers.

“No worries.” She smiles and Sunwoo says something incoherent which makes Y/n lean in closer. The simple motion makes him nearly drop the glove again and Y/n smiles even harder than the moment before.

To have never paid much attention to the boy before him, simply just acknowledged his present when the moment called for it, she feels strangely enthralled by having so much affect on him. Though, she decides to conceal that feeling, hiding it away in the cold shadows so as to not make judgment for her.

“You’re not with Jacob?” She asks curiously.

Sunwoo who has stood in absolute silence, barely on his knees as they seem to give up every time she takes a step closer towards him. The butterflies grow old in a single second at the mention of the Angel’s name. That conversation from a day before replays in his mind and apprehensive commotion take his heart from behind, like the sudden wind. He straightens his posture.

“No, he had other things.” Sunwoo falls over his own words and the single pupil can’t seem to find a comfortable spot in the crowded entrance decorated in warm tones. Y/n’s own arm falls to her sides, out of her pockets and her chin forces upwards, to let her features hidden under the scarf out. Each part and motion of her essence seem to open up as Sunwoo forces his body closer against his heart. To rigidly press up his shoulders and force the scarf higher up, as to feel his warm breath on the fabric.

“Are you cold, Sunwoo?” Y/n takes another step towards him, takes her hand without a glove on his red cheek. The sigh at the back of his throat that suffocates behind the material of clothing, he sees the red ornaments in the background, become vivid as her eyes, clear as the lightning in the shop window, looks into his own. A part of him speaks to lean in against her touch, close his eyes and let her brush the past off his skin. While he hears how Jacob’s voice lingers between his two ears. To run away and stay close and protect his unstained heart.

“You really are.” Sunwoo doesn’t get to react before Y/n takes his arm jacket. To navigate the thin space between padded layers and paper bags, Sunwoo nearly trips over as they come to the final glass door, dividing the two spaces. In the mall, at the black carpets where melted snow has spread over, they stand, Y/n still in grip with his jacket.

“You should get something warm.” Y/n says and looks up at him as they walk further into the mall.

“I have no money.” Sunwoo answers distressed as he can feel Jacob’s almighty pressure beat down on him from above.

“I have, don’t worry.”

How foolish he does feel as they sprint pass the endless store windows and openings. His sneakers that are not built for melted snow lose grip on the marble floor as they come closer to a cafe in the inner corner of the mall. Sunwoo curses himself silently as he every season refuses to change shoes, better not become a habit if he ever gets rich enough to get a car, he thinks.

The cafe they walk into has a rather dark complexion, contrasting to the white marble floor of the outside. Y/n is still holding his arm, she leads him further into the warm light and velvet furnitures. Sunwoo simply looks up at her own features as she gently pushes him down the couch in the absolute furthest corner of the cafe. Y/n herself, takes a step back, in which Sunwoo starts incoherently talking and reaching out his arm again.

“I’m getting us something warm, I’ll be back, Sunwoo.”

His arm, freezed in that space she left it in. He watches her silhouette disappear behind a wall to get to the counter, and when only the low sound of christmas music reaches him. He falls back into the velvet material, smiles so deeply that he has to hide his face in between the material of the scarf.

His emotions as if being pushed by two opposite parts, he feels like. Sunwoo rests his head against the soft material and feels two identities on each shoulder. Jacob on one, Y/n on the other. Each one takes a stern grip on his shirt and creates tidal waves in his heart. And how hard it pulsates in the very center of his chest. He tries to figure out, as he watches the abstract pattern on the ceiling, is it of fear of complete infatuation?

He doesn’t get to wonder about that for much too long as he hears footsteps come all closer. Sunwoo forces himself off the back rest, a red pillow lands on the floor, before his feet. But it flashes past him and he forgets it as soon as Y/n stands before him with a black tray. Her beanie and scarf is off and it rather rearranges her hair and shirt. So beautifully natural in a slightly tired stage, how he wants to grab his shirt and kiss her, he thinks. And if it weren’t for Jacob at the other line, he might have stood up and asked her.

“You’re throwing pillows?” She asks while laughing. Y/n place the tray on the table and reach down. Sunwoo, too, reaches for it after scratching his neck. They awkwardly meet at the very bottom of the floor, both of them with their own hand on the velvet material. Sunwoo looks in her eyes genuinely as she too has paused before him. As if it’s the only time in his life where stars collide, he observes each of her shadows and highlights in deep adoration, as if to paint that picture when he can’t reach out for her.

Y/n who gifted her hand to fold him weak in his knees, feels her own heart suddenly chime off like the bells in the far winter distance. Those seconds feel like minutes and she tears her eyes off his own and takes the pillow.

“You should eat, Sunwoo.” She coughs and motions at the tray.

He slowly sits up too, looks at the tray. Latte, a pie of sorts and two apples.

“Okay.” He stutters and tries to take off his scarf. The end tangles itself into his jacket which in turn, secures in a part of the couch.

Y/n bites her lip as too force down a genuine smile over his fast paced and incautious motions.

“Here, drink this.” She coughs again as she holds out the white porcelain cup towards him. How the tidal wave turns again and Sunwoo scratches his neck and leans just slightly away from the cup.

“I don’t think I should-”

“Why?” Her smile disappears in an instant and he grows even more anxious.

“I’ve been sleeping badly.” He forces a laugh and takes the cup from her hands, “But I’ll take it either way.”

Time awkwardly passes them as they sit by the table. Sunwoo drinks from the coffee, but hasn’t touched either the pie or the apple. A part of her suspiciously watches the scene in third person perspective. The rigid posture of his shoulder and the constant change in focus point. As if someone else is on his mind.

“What are you thinking of, Sunwoo?” She asks gently. He looks at him with big eyes and then the window.

“The coffee." He says enthusiastically and lifts the cup, “I think it’s the best of my life!” He smiles, but he judges her as unconvinced by the look she gives him alone, so he supports his statement, just like in class, “Wow!”

As no words come out or a change in expression, Sunwoo closes his eyes for a second and mentally throws his body out the window. And when he opens and sees her face once again, he falls back in his seat.

Another moment of silence passes.

“You can tell me, Sunwoo.” She smiles and scoots a bit closer towards him, “If you’re comfortable of course, I’m a good listener.”

The pendulum in his heart swings to the opposite side as he looks at her eyes filled with warm light reflection from above. The worries in his mind, that’s been running all day and night, that tears at his skin and holds him away from dreams. He holds the cup in his hands, because if he even dares to open his mouth, he feels the words come out of him like waterfalls.

“I’m just a bit confused, I guess.” He admits and looks at the dark wall.

“Of what?” She asks with a low voice and watches his side profile.

It is painfully quiet before he speaks, to filter the words he wants to say, “Life, I guess.” He says, “I don’t really know what I want.”

Y/n, too, becomes rather like the snow falling outside as he sincerely, just lightly, loft the curtain cover over his heart. The music fades as her mind leans closer towards him, the thin line into an undiscovered part of the world.

“Is it a lot of choices or…is it just blank?” She asks cautiously.

“Or I do know.” he falls back in his seat, “It’s just, someone said it’s not a good choice for me. But I feel happy when I think about he-it.”

The sentence leaving his lips comes like an arrow, aimed at the very center of her complex. The fatal end of the arrow forces itself in between her skin and before Y/n can even react, it sits, so dangerously in her heart, hanging by that very metal. How her own structured play melts in that same spot, run down her lips even when that inner part burns to keep it in.

“I also want something that is bad, apparently.” She speaks and looks down her own lap.

“Is it a person or…” Sunwoo dares to ask, “or something else?”

“Something else.” Y/n fiddles with the hem of her sweater.

“Will it hurt you if you do it?”

Y/n looks up from the tearing string of her shirt. As another snowflake falls to the floor, their eyes connect. She needs to look slightly down, as he lies on his back against the furniture. The lights illuminate him from above and a single shine from the left casts itself over his heart and eyes. The sight before her leaves her breathless somehow, the arrow twists itself a bit harder and somehow she leans in and answers him with a tone of clear night sky.

“I don’t think so.” She pauses and looks at his brown eyes dipped in sunlight, “Will it hurt you?”

Sunwoo shakes his head delicately against the fabric, “No, …but someone else might.”

She frowns, “Might?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t ask-” He stops talking mid sentence, sees from the perspective behind the wall how the curtains lift a centimeter higher for every word spoken, “I don’t know.” He repeats.

Sunwoo’s hand, softly spread out over the couch. The velvet material forces itself out between his fingers and plummets down against the frame when another, just like his, lies over it. Sunwoo looks down at the spot where two essences connect. How the impulses bridge over to the other when they lay skin to skin. He follows her arm, up to her shoulder and her eyes. He gets taken aback just a bit by her expression. She’s awfully quiet and won’t give him that gentle sweet smile she has been giving him since outside. Rather, it’s something earnest in her dull frame. Something that can’t be quite expressed in words, rather he stares at her and tries to figure the feeling in her eyes. There’s a window in her eyes to another world, and he feels an yearning to get to that place.

“Sunwoo?” She asks him with her hand still on his, “Will you help me?” Y/n stops.

“Help me get away-”

Y/n’s hand falls behind her back, when Sunwoo abruptly takes his hand closer to his own presence. To stand up and reach for the high ceiling when everything else melts to the floor.

“Sorry, I have-'' He desperately reaches for his scarf in between the pillows.The oil lamp on a round table shakes as he accidentally hits it walking away from the table. Sunwoo tears his eyes off her figure and down to the floor the moment he sees her expression drenched in midnight rain. Though, the angel on his shoulder points at her wildly, turns on her sides and desperately shouts in his right ear until its voice rings of pain.

“I’ll pay you back later.” He falls over words and trips over his other foot as he turns on his heel. Y/n opens her mouth, but before even the first syllable escapes her lips, Sunwoo is behind the wall, out of view. The last trace of him is the fading footsteps running out of the small corner, and the dark velvet spot where his hand was.

“You forgot your apple.” She nearly whispers as her voice is no longer to use.

The sun has completely disappeared under the horizon. Not even a moon in a clear dark night, as it snows heavily. Beneath the streetlamps, where the light is at its strongest before spreading in all directions, you’ll see the feather-like fragments plummet down towards the white mass. Though it’s dark without a star course in the sky, the snow is astonishingly white that the warm tone from the lamps reflects from the ground.

A single trail in the new snow leads up to an apartment complex. Horribly painted spots in rough edges, scattered without a clear pattern and probably pretty badly isolated. Jacob sits at the edge of a window frame. About three meters off the ground. To carefully watch the secret world behind the glass, Jacob turns himself slightly and leans in towards the room. It’s completely dark, not a single light source on. Rather the only thing looking back at him is his own eyes and the faint shape of his wings.

The snow on the frame melts underneath his fingers, it turns red and itches. Jacob waves the water of his hand as his human body is a burden before starting to unlock the window. He remembers back in time, when Sunwoo had his own little room, one wall away from his parents. It was about two or three times Jacob had to force himself between the thin creak.

He gets the glass door open and widens the gap. The wind from outside prevails and spreads into the room. Brush past the curtains and extend itself onto each surface of the apartment. Jacob himself takes a step onto the carpet beneath the window. His bare foot makes no sound and a slight grind lingers between the four walls as he closes the window.

Jacob let his eyes observe the home in a panorama like manner. And at the very right of his presence, is a bed in the farthest corner. He leans in, to discern the shadows in the fabric. Nearly completely covered by the sheets, he does catch the top of her head. Y/n sleeps in near silence and Jacob carefully takes a step backwards from the bed, instead closer towards the kitchen area.

He saw the scenery from today, brushed past him and he shivered as he sat in the library. On the way home he tried to meet up with Sunwoo, but his voice was short and rigid on the other line. Events seem to fall in line for her, but stars can’t die right now, he thinks. So in a desperate attempt to save himself and Sunwoo, Jacob stands as an intruder in her home to find the red apple from the cafe. He knows she took it home, therefore he takes his hands on the wall to feel himself getting closer to something of a different texture.

“Why are you in my room?” A voice tired and confused from the corner he just left takes a single knife and lets the blade wound the quiet night. His shoulders tense up and he refuses to either turn his heel or take a look behind his back.

“I’m not.” Jacob answers in a painfully unconvincing manner.

“You are.” By the two words alone and her tone, he can see the frown on her face.

“No.” Jacob walks further away, accidentally hits the wall and moves left.

“Why are you showing your wings?”

He’s quiet for a second, “It’s a costume.”

“Like Cupid or what?” She scoffs.

He breathes in, “For the las-I’m not Cupid.” He moves his hands in an outward motion, “I’m an Angel, an Guardian Angel.”

“Seems like I hit a nerve.” She says and sits up. Jacob’s quiet. At this point, the dark complexion of the room and their eyes has adjusted to one another and Y/n sees him in the other end, outlined without any blemishing. Awkwardly rigid in the very end, reminiscent of a lamp post and he caresses his left wing.

“You never answered my question, Angel.” She says.

“What?”

“Why are you in my home?”

“I don’t know.” He flees again.

“You’re in here checking the architecture or what?” She sighs and looks at him with sharp eyes, “I know you’ve been talking with Sunwoo.”

Jacob looks at her again, expression much colder than before, “And I know you’ve been too, don’t come close to him.”

“Is that what this is about?” She asks.

“I’m not telling you.” He takes a step forward and looks over the kitchen sink, “Where do you have your food?”

“In the fridge.” Y/n deadpans.

“No.” Jacob hits his forehead.

“You’re not even human to begin with, don’t tell me where I should store my groceries.” She pushes up the sheet and stands up. Jacob looks around the counter again, to seek a rounded form with red shadows, but as the surface is seemingly empty. Jacob takes three steps towards the window and opens the glass door.

“Jacob-” Y/n turns from her bead and grabs his arm as his wings fold out in her room. The wind from outside brushes harshly against her skin.

“Don’t bring Sunwoo into your mess, Y/n.” He looks at her and his eyes of liquid moonlight, in the same shade as his wings but brighter. She’s left with her mouth just slightly agape as Jacob looks less human by a single change in perspective. The wings weighs over him heavily and another wind scatters the hair oóver his human complexion.

“But I-”

“Just don’t, please.” As the last words leave his lips and the grip on his wrists has started to loose. A wind much stronger than anything from outside forces her hair to alter from before her chest to behind her back and waters her eyes. She closes her eyes before desperately letting her upper body out the window, watch how his silhouette fades into snow in the night..

“Do you need to go, then?” Jacob stands before the sink in his room, drops of water following a constant pattern down the drain as he watches a puddle in the very bottom form. Though, he does shift his vision away, out to the open space before his bed, where on the carpet, Sunwoo lies spread out like a starfish. The sight has become too familiar that when Sunwoo isn’t here and Jacob goes to bed and looks down to see no one, it feels rather desolate. He walks through the front door nearly everyday in the afternoon or evening. Jacob asked him if he should get a mattress, full time on the hard floor spot, but Sunwoo insisted not to.

“Yes, Eric’s gonna kill me if I don't," he sighs. Jacob takes the glass up to his mouth once more and watches Sunwoo shift his head on the ash orange fabric.

“He’s like “Sunwoo,we’re were you?! I prepared this little bowl-you didn’t even show up!”” His hands up in the air, vertical from the floor. It is rather amusing when he shifts one of his legs up and starts imitating his friend in a high voice.

“Either way, Y/n’s not gonna be there.” Sunwoo sighs.

“Why?” Jacob asks.

“We sat at a cafe, short said, she probably thinks I’m a maniac or something?”

“Did you tell her about our suspicions?” Jacob eyes him.

His hands force the rest of his body off the floor. The strands in his hair are loosely tied together and his eyes roll up before coming back down, “No, I didn’t, I wouldn’t do that.”

Only the awkward lingering noise of the microwave can be heard in the room until Sunwoo speaks up again. To watch the Angel before the counter behind the illuminating light beneath the shelf, “I’m going, you decide on your own, Cupid.”

Jacob did go eventually, though half way towards Eric’s house Sunwoo needed to hold onto Jacob’s arm. The angel either fell knees first in the snow accumulated corners or landed on his back when the streetlights hit the ice at a certain angle. At the front of the house, behind the windows you’ll see pink purple shade light seeping out and faint music from the vertical wooden walls. Sunwoo takes Jacob’s lower arm tightly against himself as he nearly cartwheels down the steep to the right.

“Aren’t you supposed to fly or something? Why can’t you even walk?”

With Jacob being a closer impression of Sunwoo’s potential cross body bag when they stand before the door, the one with free hands knocks at the upper side of the rectangle piece. Before he even gets to fully let his hand fall back to his side, the door frees from the frame and before them stands Eric. Expression extremely bright at first, the most vivid detail of a single scene, but it fades when his eyes form into a frown.

“Who is he?” The one inside tilts his head and looks at Jacob desperately hanging from Sunwoo’s arm. The angel realizes the rather massive plot hole opening up from underneath him and stays quiet.

“Jacob, you’ve met before.” Sunwoo says, so clearly without any sort of doubt, that he may have convinced Eric alone with that.

“Have I?” "Maybe I have?” He looks up at the upper door frame. Crosses his arms and falls into wonder.

“Let us in Loser, feeling like a frozen fish finger out here.” Sunwoo deadpans and Eric immediately jumps to the right, extends his hand out and motions it slowly towards the warm litten inside. Jacob, though, he’s inside and feels the warmth of the electric heaters dissolve the frozen part of his skin, he becomes even more rigid.

People with faces he can’t name stands in groups. Each conversation blends together with the other and that in it by itself, overpowers the faint music playing from a corner on the left. fairy lights taken from the constellation itself hang on the edges of the second floor. It is darkly lit with a warm violet hint covered in every wood wall. A single christmas tree in the inner corner.

A strong feeling of embarrassment comes rushing over him in a single storm and Jacob awkwardly starts grabbing the color of his blazer and stands, once again, like a street lamp far from the corner.

“What are we supposed to do?” Jacob says quietly and looks over at Sunwoo. The expression of the other one is as casual as if they were just walking down the uni lectures, though, he frowns his eyes and asks him to say it again.

“What’s happening?” Jacob repeats.

Sunwoo lifts his shoulders, “What usually happens when you’re with people.”

“Am I supposed to know that?” Jacob higher his voice.

“This is what middle school dance parties prepared you for.”

“I never went to middle school.” He deadpans and Sunwoo stares at him with tired eyes. Despite the moon-like shine illuminating over the walls and reflected in the single ornaments, Sunwoo’s eyes are as dead as if staring at a piece of concrete.

“You Loser, I forgot you didn’t go to middle school.”

The Angel is about to take his arm up and defend himself, but Sunwoo shifts his vision from him towards the violent presence hitting his shoulder. The group of people standing before them, Sunwoo, returns the hit on a guy much taller than him. As if a scene out of his horrors, Jacob once again tense up as the group of guys smiles and takes Sunwoo’s shoulder, but becomes wide eyed or frowns when they see the street lamp in blue blazer.

“Who’s this?” One further back asks and Sunwoo casually takes Jacob’s own shoulder.

“Jacob, my big brother.”

“You don’t have a brother.” One is quick to interrupt.

“Now I have.” Sunwoo turns his head in a motion so quick that Jacob takes a step back. Two of them seem to have fallen into a conversation on their own, slowly walking away from the circle. Jacob makes eye contact with the one closest to him, he examines him in a sort of manner that makes him strained and legs nearly restless. As Jacob takes steps in his place that ultimately leads nowhere, he gives a painful smile to the guy closest. Lips pressed and eyes in full contrast to the smile. Is he even there? Jacob thinks as the guy, still expressionless, watches him.

Another guy, beside Mister Dazed, takes a step out and reaches his hand towards him.

“Hi, I’m Changmin." Nice to meet y-”

“I need to go.” Jacob says abruptly and the group looks at him. The Angel points at a vague part of the horribly lit corner beside the closed door. It is rather a pile of outerwear, soaked in water from molten snow,

“You smoke?” One steps closer to him and suddenly throws his arm over his shoulder. In which, Jacob tenses up even more, dramatically presses his wings closer to his skin as he feels the stranger’s arm brush against the back of his neck.

“He can’t even-” Sunwoo starts.

“Yeah!” Jacob forces a smile.

“We’ll go together.” The guy says and Jacob laughs with wide eyes.

“Actually.” He bends his back just slightly, escapes the stranger’s arms and shifts his direction. Back against the door as he moves all the further from the group, “...alone smoking is my favorite thing.” He smiles, “Been waiting all day!” Jacob takes a last step before turning fully away from them, each guy stares in silence as the door opens once again and his figure disappears out the cold landscape.

“He won’t need an extra jacket or something?” Changmin points at the door and turns his head towards Sunwoo. In which the younger lifts his shoulder and takes a step further into the house.

“He’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

To stand up for another passage in time, Sunwoo stands with the group of guys, laughs in between their sentences and moves his legs to the standard christmas playlist in the background. His stomach may be just so empty that nothing’s enough to fulfill it, therefore he takes his hands up and gently forces the plastic cup in Eric’s hand back from him. And as the alcohol runs between the veins of every passing face, the center floor fills and spreads out in every direction. At some point the music rises in volume and his peers walk across the floor, up the stairs to the second. Someone hangs on the edge and pours the drink down the crowd. When Eric started to hysterically wave his hands to the person above and the broom became a proper part of his outfit, Sunwoo moved backwards from the crowd. Sit down on a sofa beside the christmas tree.

Though, as he has been sitting in silence, watch the crowd. A voice from another direction than where the silhouettes of black slacks, mini dresses and glitter in hair stands reaches him. Though the hopeless love song playing in his right ear, a gentle voice in his left says his name.

“Sunwoo?”

To move from one square of the couch to the other, he holds his hands up as he leans against the arm rest. It is nearly more than a meter in between the two of them as he sits like that. Though, his arms fall down to his lap once he sees her figure, contrasting the christmas tree behind her. He thinks about her posture, much more rigid and sharp than when he sees her in the hallways. Both of her hands, gathered before her thighs and held a small white bag.

“Hi, Y/n.” Sunwoo says in a monotone voice. His legs fold out in a comfortable position and his face shifts, away from her own presence and focuses on the floor, the high ceiling or the people on the second floor. Y/n bites her lip, just slightly before the lip tint fades because of his motions. The space between, as time passes it becomes a wall. It makes her tug on the red straps of the white paper bag.

“Are you having fun?” She asks after a time of silence. Sunwoo looks up again at her before, once again, taking a look at the door out.

“Not really.” He admits.

“Why?” She dares to take a step closer, so her knees touch the armrest on the opposite side. Sunwoo lifts his shoulder, letting his head scan the room in a panorama like frame before it falls to his shoes.

“I don’t know, I'm a bit lonely.”

Y/n nods, though he can’t see it, “Isn’t Jacob here?”

“He is.” He sighs, “Just pissing himself outside before coming back in.” Sunwoo deadpans as his head lies in his palm. The picture he drew with just one sentence makes the tense grip on the bag a bit looser. Y/n smiles as she imagines the Angel hesitantly running after Sunwoo in the dark. Run around the house ten times, do a breathing exercise he saw on youtube and come back in. She laughs slightly. The faint sound does reach Sunwoo’s ears and he looks towards her side.

“Sounds good.” She nods.

A sequence of the rather insignificant details of her life. Lied out before him in a span of a few seconds. Sunwoo stares at her, breathing and feels his own essence collapse further down the fabric of the couch. To shift back his vision to the dull colors and silhouettes of his shoes, Sunwoo closes his eyes, smiles only for himself to know, letting the nail of his thumb scratch on the skin of his pointed finger.

Y/n bites her lip again, feeling a sort of rush similar to eating sugar. It runs towards every corner of her body and cycles back to her heart. Slowly, Y/n takes a seat on the couch, still with a noticeable gap in between.

“What would you say if you got a present?” She asks and tilts her head to inspect him closely.

Sunwoo frowns, “I don’t know, I haven’t.”

Y/n moves a bit closer, “You got one now, would you reject it?”

Sunwoo silently watches her, feeling how the shirt tightens around his chest.

“I guess not.” He scoffs, this time can’t suppress the way his lips crease upwards. The vision of his eyes won’t seem to fall in place, as they land on the wooden floor again.

With that, Y/n takes the white bag from her lap, how the distance becomes extremely insignificant when Sunwoo can smell her scent from the bag and her wrists. Though, he simply watches her, without words or major motions. His eyes glisten from the shining light in the ceiling, stars above the ceiling and in the top of trees, but truly she thinks none of them compares to the single reflection in his dark brown eyes.

“Here.” She shakes the bag one time.

Sunwoo hesitantly reaches his hand out for the white paper. Takes the edge between his fingers as if not to stain the perfect white shade. Sunwoo looks between the bag and Y/n’s eyes, she nods her head and smiles again. Her hands grip the hem of her dress as he anxiously thinks about how he opens the package and waits for her confirmation as he undoes each bow.

As the edges open and reveal the inside. The folds of his clothing fall over his still body and a single strand of his fringe loosens from the side and covers his eyes. With his eyes curved perfectly in chocolate shade, he looks up to her what feels like the thousandth. She nods and he takes up a red apple. He observes the shade and slight pattern in the skin.

“I bought it for you then, I wanted you to have it.” She says.

There is too, the pie slice wrapped in plastic and tied in a bow. As if a picture from before has come back to life, to the present to affect their lives. Sunwoo grips the apple a bit tighter in his palm. Let the fruit shimmer from the light in between his fingers.

“I think food as presents is best.” She says suddenly, “You use it.” In the very bottom of the paper bag, filled to all for corners lies a red packet of strawberries.

He looks at the apple once again. He can’t quite describe the feeling in between the ribs and his lungs. How his heart beats profusely and the vision before him is as if from a dream. Sunwoo swears that this couch, behind this tree in this light, he has dreamt of before last night in his bed alone in his apartment. But unlike him in that bed in his past, he can’t without hesitation or extra thought bring her gift to his mouth and let it fill his heart. How the red skin glistens astonishingly bright, to fill his heart with red until the end of life. But unconsciously, he turns the apple, as if looking for mold spots. Purple shades where it has been infested and already consumed.

Though, as Y/n looks at him with an expression she has never given him or anyone else. One that wouldn’t be seen in the crowd, just between where the secret records can be hidden and never played. Sunwoo finally licks his lips, brings the fruit up to his mouth and takes a bite of the apple.

How the fiber texture crushes and spreads sweetness all over his mouth as he bites down. He looks at the broken spot where the red turns white and visualizes the deep red becoming a part of his own self, his own essence. As he looks up from that spot, he sees Y/n close to him. Her upper body leaned over his legs and her features so detailed in view that everything else bleeds into the other. And he nearly starts coughing on the piece of apple in his mouth.

Though, as she is leaned over, she holds one of the strawberries in her hand. Bring it close to his lips. Her left hand comes down to a spot on the couch between his thighs to come even closer when his face blossoms spring, red like the two fruits and forces his eyes away from her. Unintentionally lay his eyes on the crowd unaware and start laughing.

“Please, Sunwoo.” She says in a strawberry sweet tone.

Sunwoo rolls his eyes, in a single motion comes back up and takes a bite of the strawberry in her hand. Immediately after, taking her wrist and guiding the remaining part up towards her own, in which she too takes a bite. At that single moment, Sunwoo shifts abruptly closer to her chest as a cheer breaks out at the center of the floor. Red paper petals, like snow itself paints the space between floor and ceiling before decorating the floor.

How that world becomes silent as he steps out into the snow and lets the door behind him close. Jacob stands with his hands down his sides and watches how the moon and her stars let it shine graze the surface he stands on. The snow around his feet reflects it back, sparkles like it is earth's own constellation.

After some time, Jacob presses the snow beneath his feet into a tight layer as he walks away from the door. He comes to a rather hidden side where street lights are dim and a single wall faces him. To the right of a lonely window stands a green bin covered in snow. Each step echoes in that corner as he brushes off the snow and opens the bin. The moon shines its vague light over the insides and reveals black bags of shining material. He looks down for a second, letting the cold from around him come between his hands and numb them.

An angel’s mission has been broken. When Jacob opened the door once again, the crowd, as if all knowing, separated like curtains to reveal the one his purpose is to protect, on the sofa entangled like the galaxy itself with Y/n. How a scenery in a second sets off his breath and the constant fear that has been choking his neck. It chases him desperately as he walks a deep pattern in the snow. He feels his wings from behind.

At last, Jacob takes his hand back to the front. Down to his right pocket on his blazer where he takes out a lighter. Red hard plastic against his cold skin, taken from the pile of jackets, as he brings it closer to the black bags in the bin. How the music comes to him through the cracks in the walls as he struggles to push down the extinguisher. That single spot on his right thumb hurts as he, over and over again, pushes down the metal.

A hard knock against the wall before him makes Jacob fall behind the bin. He nearly lands on the snow as he embraces his knees in order to stay up. It falls silent the second after the rapture and Jacob slowly takes the lighter to his chest. Each of his breaths creates white clouds like the snow beneath him. Jacob lets his knees up gently and takes the tip of his fingers on the window frame. His figure in the corner furthest from sight while he peeks into the warm world before him. Three meters away stands Sunwoo with Y/n. Jacob swallows and lets his breath paint the cold window. They stand like him, in a far corner of the room where all the light has a hard time reaching and people pass them by. Though, the cold sensation on his fingers becomes all the more nonexistent as he watches how the two of them take each other's hands and fall back and forth to the muted rhythm. As they start turning around, Jacob sees the light nostalgic of the moon paint itself on his face. How every moment before this one has fallen obscene.

The last bit of ice around his heart, melts and drains out in the snow, as he watches how the world now belongs to them. It pains his hearts and even more the wings, but how the fear has stopped chasing him, sits beneath the window right before the Angel, to watch their mouth speak words only they can hear.

Jacob lets his hand fall off the window frame, all as his body too becomes even weaker. Finally, he sits fully in the snow with his back leaned against the wall, right under the window. The lighter against his chest, too, must now fall out of mind and plummet to the snow, like the rest of him.

“I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me.” Jacob whispers, and lets his wings free from his blue blazer and embrace the rest of him tightly.

A pastel filter lies over the world as Jacob opens his eyes. The angle gives the floor a steep perspective as the wooden lines lead him to the door. Red petals of paper are scattered before him. The spot on the floor has become warm, he feels his body get colder as he shifts his left leg. But rather than the cold, he feels a sensation much stronger as he gently spreads his finger over the floor. At the center of his back, pierce and rips burning wounds in his skin, and it becomes all sharper as the lines of the world become clearer.

“Jacob?”

He forces his head up from the floor, to again face the entrance. But as his eyes fall onto a figure, he angles his head upwards and sees Sunwoo looking down towards him. His silhouette is draped in haze and his blurred complexion shows concern over his impending body. Sunwoo comes all closer and falls onto his knees before Jacob’s weak figure.

“Are you okay, Jacob?” His voice is even louder than the last time.

Sunwoo’s hand touches Jacob’s arm and in the same instant, Jacob feels a sensation reminiscent of the end of a knife piercing right through the burning spot on his back. As the sensation affects him and forces him to fall back onto the floor, Sunwoo hesitantly takes his hands back, before leaning closer again.

“Jacob?”

“What’s with Jacob?” Another voice in the far corner of the room reaches the very mit. Hers is tired and exhausted, reflected in the way she looks around the room from the floor and weakly walks over to the two of them.

“Jacob?” Sunwoo says again and takes his hands over his upper arm. At that moment, he sees the spot beneath his blazer move frequently, pushing desperately to tear the fabric. Slowly, Sunwoo takes the collar of Jacob’s blazer and forces it off him. As the fabric lies beside his aching figure, both Y/n and Sunwoo watch how the white wings on Jacob’s back spreads free and falls before it fades to black. At the single spot in the room, each feather falls like snow over the pastel complexion.

Without another second of thinking or brushing his blazer, Sunwoo forces Jacob up by his arms. The fallen shut his eyes fully and his head hangs down and the strands of his hair cover whatever life left in him.

“Help me, Y/n.” Sunwoo says frustrated. Y/n watches in complete silence and opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

“Please, Y/n, please.” He begs and Y/n shakes her head, leaves that spot and takes Jacob’s other arm. The Angel hangs by his arms on the two shoulders. He is heavy on their human bodies and Sunwoo starts walking towards the door.

“Where are we taking him?” Y/n breathes out as her head hangs low because of his weight.

"The hospital.” He stresses.

“We can’t.”

“What else should we fucking do?” Y/n doesn’t speak as his eyes are desperately staring into her own. The sight alone aches her. To whatever words that could be voiced, she suppresses them. Take a steady grip on the Angel’s arm and take the first step towards the door once again. Sunwoo follows without hesitation. The trail of feathers, mixed with red paper bits from a past night. How it all seems to be from a different life when they fiddle with the door handle. At last, the apple, half bitten, hits the inner corner of a wall as Sunwoo gets the door open, looking at the new sun as if it is the first time.

symbolism & metaphor guide !

thank you for taking your time to read! a virtual cookie for you 🍪

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luckthebard · 9 days ago

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Reblogging for the afternoon crowd and to acknowledge that I missed a big one by not having “Losebetter” as an option. In my defense I think my brain purged the memory of that that as a form of self protection.

Most of these made the cut based on “was the cast forced to publicly comment on it” and boy was that one a BIG example

It’s been almost 4 years let’s choose violence:

#reblog #polls

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sugirandom · 5 years ago

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For those who weren’t on this morning

Shameless self-promotion

I made a curious cat account thing https://curiouscat.qa/KevinEWilson2

that’s connected to my twitter that I haven’t used much yet but plan to use it to advertise my voice over services https://twitter.com/KevinEWilson2

If you’re interested here’s one of my voice actor profiles https://apps.voiceoverview.com/kevin_wilson

Please be respectful if you contact me with any of the personal contact information.

Thanks, I’m just trying to get the word out a little

You’re free to use the curiouscat to ask me questions that aren’t of a VO nature (You can also still ask me stuff on here....) but in terms of my voiceover website and the e-mail address on that site I’d prefer we keep things related to my voice acting services thanks.

#shameless self-promotion #for the afternoon crowd #might reblog later for the evening crowd

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romanshomeonwattpad · 3 years ago

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summary — the reader is new to all things sexual, so her best friend elliot decides to help her out with that.

pairings — best friend!elliot x fem!reader

warnings — angst, cheating, flashbacks, smut, oral (f) receiving, choking, overstimulation, not proof read

authors note — i would like to thank everyone who came along on the ride with me for this series. it’s my first of many, i hope, and am grateful for all the reblogs, likes, and comments. love you.

word count — 5.8k

January 21, 2029

Walking into the cafe shop, you bit your lip in anticipation, searching for the boy in the crowds of people. Your chest swelled when you spotted him, sipping on a coffee, one leg thrown over the other as he scrolled through his phone.

Gulping, you made your way over to him, his eyes snapping into yours as your voice came out shaky, “Elliot?”

And soon as his dark hues met yours, as cliche as it sounded, the world around you stopped spinning. It was like time raced back to seven years ago, where he was just in your arms, making you feel like the only girl in the world. And it felt like nothing had changed—like he was still the same kid that you had fallen in love with.

Your chest soared with warmth and familiarity; he still looked the same. But his hair was shaved down into a buzz cut, and had added on a bit more tattoos onto his hands and neck. His boyish features had faded into a more manly structure, his smile more manly and his eyes more experienced.

He looked at you for a moment, taking in your appearance, then smiled from ear to ear,

“Y/N—hey. I’m uh, I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me,” he stood up, gesturing for you to sit down. You blushed as you took a seat across from him, before he did the same, never taking his eyes off you as he gulped, “How—have you been?”

You sent him an awkward smile, “Good. And you?”

You hated the small talk, knowing there was a deeper reason as to why he had messaged you on instagram to meet up, randomly on a sunday afternoon. The shock that kept hitting you when you saw he had followed you—it was unexplainable. You didn’t think you two would ever speak again, especially with how you ended things.

But that sparkle in his eyes, it never faded, even with age. It stuck with him; which you were thankful for.

“I’m great, just put out a new album,” he rubbed his neck, making you nod.

His music career had taken off. You knew he would become famous; and in the end, you both did. You decided to write a book about self love and preserving a special spot in your life for yourself—and it ended up blowing up and channeling with woman world wide. You attended press conferences regarding your work, and were actually working on your second book at the moment.

You remember one day you had been walking from one of your meetings, spotting Elliot on a billboard, but he had changed his name to Dominic Fike. It was a stage name—but it was as if you didn’t know him. He had completely changed; becoming more charismatic and outgoing. He wasn’t the shy boy you used to be in love with.

And when you searched him up later on, you saw he had nine million followers, tearing the loudest shout from your lips you had ever released. He was pretty well known, and then you searched up interviews. He held himself differently. He was more talkative, open minded, and seemed to be more approachable.

“I saw that you became an author.”

You tapped your heel against the ground, smile growing at the acknowledgment, “I am, yes.”

He bit his lower lip, “I read your book.”

Your eyes rounded, not expecting those words to leave his mouth. His admission made you fight back a big smile, blushing slightly, as your chest rose—titling your head, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

He took a sip of his coffee, shrugging, “I always knew you were going to be a writer. But I didn’t know you were amazing; but I never doubted in my mind you had a way with words,” he complimented, leaving you flustered, “It was pretty long through.”

You chuckled, “I forgot. You prefer writing than reading.”

His eyes flickered.

“Eh—I didn’t have any trouble reading your words.”

You gazed at him, his flirting making all your old feelings crash onto you in tidal waves. He leaned back in his seat, watching you, as if you were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. And it staid like that for a few moments, until your cleared your throat, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Dominic Fike, huh?”

He grinned at you boyishly, which reminded you of how he used to smile, nodding his head while rubbing his chin,

“My close friends know my real name; but you know, being in the spotlight and all—I wanted to have something for me. Something personal, y’know.”

You understood that aspect, nodding in agreement, listening to his words. God, you missed his voice.

“After we…went our different ways, I only wrote and wrote. Three nights took off as soon as it was posted on youtube, and then I posted an album along with it. There’s a song that’s—about you, actually,” he admitted, piercing his teeth into his bottom lip, uneasiness in his eyes.

You swallowed thickly, shifting in your seat.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, scratching his head, something he did when he was nervous, “It’s called Babydoll. It’s about thinking of someone even though they had been apart from one another for so long, and she’s like, a reoccurring dream. He wished he never lost her.”

You twisted your mouth to the side, remaining silent, as his jaw locked, leaning closer to you. His hand landed on yours, rubbing it gently, and it soothed you, “There hasn’t been one day that’s gone by in the last seven years where I haven’t thought about you, Y/N. And how I wish I could’ve been someone better for you; but there’s only now. And I know what I want.”

Seven Years Ago

You stood there, on your feet, as Elliot stared up at you with those eyes of his. They were rimmed with tears, an ashamed look on his face, as you didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, but your face was enough, filled with disgust and pure heartbreak.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head, standing up, but you took a step back to distance yourself. You couldn’t believe this—you just couldn’t. It felt like every fiber in your body wanted to fall into his touch, but no, you wouldn’t. You were officially finished with this.

His eyes flickered when you stepped away from him, knowing he had fucked up this time. You never saw him look so vulnerable, “Listen to me—“

“With who?”

“Y/N—“

“With who?” You shouted, tears already rolling down your cheeks. Your teeth gritted as you shoved him, hard, feeling yourself get more and more pissed the longer you looked at him. He kept his hands to his sides, his chest sinking, as you waved a finger in his face, “Tell me. Tell me who you fucked, Elliot. Was it Jules? I swear—“

“It wasn’t her,” he muttered.

You felt like you wanted to pull all the strands out from your head, while throwing up and screaming. Begging him that it wasn’t true—but all you could do was stand there, feeling like an idiot for trusting him. Your muscles ached, and you couldn’t move, fearing that you would fall to your knees if you did so.

Your voice cracked, “Who was it?”

He shut his eyes, squeezing them closed, before looking down at the ground. Fucking coward couldn’t even look at you.

“Rue.”

Shock hit you. He had to have been lying, “She’s in—“

“She got out a few weeks ago, and at that night at the park, she kept texting me over and over again. So that’s why I left—and I…I initially went back to my house where she was waiting to convince her to go back to rehab, since she was clearly still—fuck—addicted. She wanted to runaway with me and go somewhere where we could do drugs…”

Every time he spoke, you felt yourself wanting to sob, but instead placed a hand over your mouth. He didnf deserve to see you like this. Frankly, you didn’t even really wanna give him the time to explain, but you needed clarity. You needed to know who betrayed you.

And it was one of your best friends.

He paused for a second, hand falling to his side, as he shut his eyes again for the next part, “…I was so fucking high, Y/N. She kissed me—and I thought it was you…but when I realized it wasn’t, it was already over and—“

You held a hand up, not wanting to hear anymore. Spinning around, you finally let out a cry, muffled by your palm. Your chest shook as his words kept ringing in your ears, an indescribable pain of agony constantly flooding in your bloodstream.

He sniffled behind you, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did,” you spat, turning your body to face him. You laughed coldly, “You always hurt me, Elliot. For fucks sake, you can’t even say you love me. You’re just a coward—and I’m done. I’m so fucking done with you—“

He shook his head, “You don’t mean that.”

Your bottom lip shook, raising your brows, “I do. I promise I do,” you tone was venomous, stepping so close to him, your nose was almost touching his, “You are dead to me. You don’t even exist to me anymore, Elliot. You are fucking dead to me.”

He was trembling, eyes narrowing as his brows furrowed.

“This isn’t you talking.”

Your lips tightened, “No…you’ve just never seen me not being in love with you. And now you are.”

And that hit him. Hie entire expression fell, his eyes flashing, as his voice came out uneven,

“You—don’t love me anymore?”

Of course you did. Every single bone in your body grew for him; and you didn’t know what you were going to do without him. He was like your personal supply of oxygen, and he really did save you.

But you were mad. And you weren’t going to let him in this time—not after betraying you.

You sent him a cold, empty look, “Love you? I fucking hate you. Looking at you disgusts me. You—disgust me.”

He gulped, a tear rolling down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away before sniffling and wiping his nose. Your mouth twisted, “You treat me like a hooker. You fucked me one more time just because you knew I would leave after this,” you continued, jabbing a finger into his chest, “You are a bad person, Elliot. And I hope you find a way to live with yourself knowing you hurt the only person that will ever truly love you. Because after they find out who you really are—they’ll run for the fucking hills.”

And then you turned around, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him, everything feeling like slow motion. He didn’t beg you to stay; because he knew he didn’t deserve you. He had no right.

You heard him let out a shout, before hearing things crash in his room, flinching as you made yourself keep walking without turning back. And then more shouts, more punching of the walls, and more crashes. And you ached to turn around, to forgive him, but it was over.

He had betrayed you. He was a traitor.

But you also knew that you wouldn’t ever love someone as much as you loved him.

To say you were handling the breakup well, or whatever it was, was a complete

fucking

lie.

You were lying your head on Kat’s lap, plotting the murder of the stupid wench Rue, while letting out jarbled cries that didn’t make sense. You were pretty sure she didn’t understand half of what you said, but agreed anyways, running her fingers through your hair as she tried to calm you down.

When I say you spent countless hours telling her the same story over and over again, she acted like she was surprised, even matching your mood swings. One moment you’d be crying and shitting your pants, then another minute you’d be screaming and punching the air pretending it was Elliot, and then a few seconds later acting like you were over the situation.

And then you’d imagine his stupid face..and begin crying again.

The process repeated.

“I think you should write,” Kat advised you, as you banging your forehead against the cold wall, as if you were a lifeless zombie, “—just fucking write. Write down your emotions, everything. Shit; it could be like a death note kinda thing,” she muttered, taking a hit from her vape.

But she was right. You should write. It was one thing that helped you cope, and was the safest option.

You debated on drugs, but Kat snapped you out of it.

“You’re too good for that. It’ll only make him win in the end—since you’ll be miserable even while on them. Become independent.”

So you crossed that option out, and decided to just write. And when you arrived back home, you grabbed a stack of white papers, and began to write every single thought in your mind. And then the stack became bigger…then bigger…

And then you did that for a few months.

You wrote, and wrote, and with words of encouragement from Kat, made it into a book and sent in the manuscript to a publishing company. When you received a call from Corps Publishing Ink, asking if they could represent you as an author, you must’ve jumped on ever single wall in your house.

You graduated, barley, Elliot only being in your mind once a day. He wasn’t around, since he had flown off to New York, and you began to focus on yourself and yourself only. Surprisingly, your parents were very proud of you for making something of yourself, which made a sense of accomplishment rise within you.

Moving to Seattle after making enough money from your book, you worked as a barista at a local coffee shop while also earning income from the readers of your book. You even went on a few talk shows, speaking about The Fundementals of Loving Yourself, which was the title of your work. And with the amount of attention it got, you began to build a large following on your socials as well.

And for the last few years, you did have flings, but nothing serious. You weren’t ready to open yourself back up to someone again—not ever since that happened with the only person you’ve ever loved.

Then, one day, you had gotten a notification from someone. During a meeting, your thumb swiped across the screen, and your heart must’ve dropped into your ass.

Dominic Fike ✅ followed you!

The name being familiar, you scrolled through his pictures, and it was like you went on a time machine. He had looked exactly the same; the boy you were head over heels for in high school. He was still goofy and accentric with his style and clothes, but even more bewildering, was that all the comments under his posts were made by teenage fan girls.

Your eyes study the gushing quotes.

allisontrehassan: so hot

user7392827 : have my babies pls and thank u

macktriller : love the new album bro !!

thatbitch : i wanna suck yo dick so bad grr

A small laugh left your lips at the last one, covering your mouth as you followed him back then shut your phone off. It’s not like he would message you, right? He probably just followed everyone he used to know.

Dominic Fike ✅ messaged you!

You froze as your phone vibrated, almost dropping it onto the table as your face flushed. Opening your phone, you read the message, all sir leaving your lungs.

Dominic Fike ✅

didn’t think you’d follow back, lol

Dominic Fike ✅

how’ve you been??

You didn’t know how to respond. You blinked down at your phone, before your coworker tapped on your shoulder, making you shut your phone off, “Hey—you okay?”

You mumbled a quick yes before excusing yourself to the bathroom, instantly pulling your phone back out and typing away a response.

Y/N Y/L/N Official ✅

i’m good, i’m at work. how are you?

He opened the message quickly, the small seen being displayed beneath your text, making a smile grow onto your lips. You were so nervous, hands shaking as you leaned against the sink, looking down at your phone with angst.

Your phone vibrated in your hands.

Dominic Fike ✅

i’m good, thank you.

Dominic Fike ✅

i’m in seattle right now. maybe we could meet up this weekend if you’re free?

Biting your lip, you responded.

Y/N Y/L/N Official ✅

i’m free saturday afternoon

Dominic Fike ✅

saturday it is

Dominic Fike ✅

🙈

And then here you two were, sitting across from each other, his hand on yours as he looked at you like how he used to. It was nostalgic, being apart for so many years but as soon as you reconciled, everything felt the same. Well, before that night occurred.

He looked handsome. A white t-shirt that contrasted with his tank skin, a graphic picture of a river on the front, a pair of light blue washed jeans finishing it off.

“There hasn’t been one day that’s gone by in the last seven years where I haven’t thought about you, Y/N. And how I wish I could’ve been someone better for you; but there’s only now. And I know what I want.”

Your eyes flew to his hand on yours, then back up to his eyes, but he didn’t move it. His eyes bored into yours as he waited for you to say something, but they slightly dimmed as you pulled your hand back down to your lap, chuckling nervously, “That’s—That can’t be true. I’m sure you’ve seen other people.”

“Of course I have, but none have ever made me feel the way you have,” he told you truthfully, pulling his hand back down to his own lap as well, “When you texted me back…it felt—good. It felt good to know that you’ve been thinking of me as I have of you.”

You rubbed your hand up and down your thigh, biting the inside of your cheek as he added on in a more low tone, “You showed up when you didn’t have to. That means something; you and I both know it means something, Y/N.”

“Of course it does, but it doesn’t change what you did. Time doesn’t change anything, Elliot,” you muttered, pushing the chair back and getting up. His eyes rounded as you shook your head, “I should go. I think this was a mistake.”

He was going to say something, but you quickly walked out the shop, wind blowing in your face as you gasped for breath. Just as you were about to call for a taxi, you felt a hand grip your wrist, spinning you aroun to face him. His cologne hit your face as his eyes were soft,

“Let me take you home at least.”

“El—“

“Please.”

You couldn’t deny those puppy dog eyes of his.

You pressed your lips together, and with a small sigh, caved in, “Okay.”

“How’s that one girl…” he snapped his fingers, “Kat?”

You pulled your skirt down, looking out the window as you grew timid, “She’s good. She’s a plus sized model actually.”

“Really? That’s dope.”

“Yeah.”

Too many memories kept flooding back. How he used to drive with you, how you two would do things in his car…jesus. You heard him chuckle, looking over at him as he smiled at the road, “I remember how you used to always criticize my driving. Pretty sure you were near tears one time.”

Your brows drew together, “You were a horrib—no I’m sorry, you are a horrible driver,” you teased, him stealing a small smirk from you, making him chuckle once again as you rolled your eyes, “Pretty sure you ran over a rat or something one time.”

“Eh—who’s gonna miss a rat?” He mused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. You laughed softly as your chest rose, him sending you a once over before looking back at the road,

“You’re still so beautiful. Look exactly the same.”

You blushed, looking down at your lap, lips tightening as you let out a girlish giggle. You hated the power he had over you. Fiddling with your fingers, you mumbled a, “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he replied swiftly, a smirk on his lips as he glanced at you, “I know you don’t.”

“And what if I do?”

The GPS ended, making him park beside your apartment, before shutting the car off. He shifted his body to face you, eyes swirling with something hidden. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, before leaning closer to you, his warmth hitting your body, “Do you really?”

Your smile slipped, blinking as his hand stretched out, reaching to cup your jaw. Electricity sparked in your body as his thumb circled your cheek, voice raspy as he inches closer.

“Because I think you still love me.”

Your eyes danced to his lips, his eyes on yours, as the tension began to pull you two in more towards one another. Your chest began to heavily rise and fall as he paused right in front of your lips, his hot breath fanning them, as if waiting for you to protest or push him off.

And when you didn’t, his lips pressed against yours.

It felt like you were floating. Fireworks sprang in the air as every single memory of you two together meshed into one, fueling your drive, as both of your hands flew to his cheekbones. One of his hands staid on your jaw, the other moving to your thigh, as he ran his tongue over your bottom lip, swiping across the surface as your teeth clashed against one another’s.

Inhaling sharply, your hormones took over you. You wanted all of him; even though you knew it would hurt later on. But it was so intoxicating; his taste, his smell, his touch. You wanted to rip his clothes off and have your way with him.

But when your hands touched his belt buckle, he grabbed it, before pulling away. Your eyes rounded when he gripped your thigh tightly, clearing his throat, “I wanna take you out to dinner. I need—to make it up to you. I don’t wanna just hookup.”

You swallowed thickly, taken aback by his words.

His eyes studied your features.

“Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow, Y/N.”

Your jaw clenched, a bit annoyed since you were fucking horny and wet, but his words warmed your heart. But you didn’t trust him; and didn’t give in easily.

“I don’t know—“

He pecked your lips, before leaning over and opening your door, sending you a smile as you rose your brows at him, “I’ll be here tomorrow at five. If you don’t show up, then I’ll leave and never speak to you again, if that’s what you want.”

Taking in his words, you could only nod, before climbing out the car and shutting the door. He sent you once last glance before driving off, leaving you to comprehend what had just happened.

You kissed Elliot.

The person who cheated on you.

And you liked it.

You still loved him, and wanted to go to dinner with him.

Grabbing your phone from your purse, you dialed down a number, before holding it up to your ears while walking into your apartment. The sound of Kat’s voice rung through the device, “How did it go?”

You had told her about him contacting you, and was actually the one who encouraged you to go. She said that as much as she hated him, she loved you, and knew you secretly wanted to see him again; and told you to tell her every single detail afterwards.

“Kat,” you breathed, “We kissed. He told me he had feelings for me still—and then he kissed me.”

She practically screamed into the phone, the two of you speaking for about two hours what you should wear and what to do. She warned you about trusting him, since she remembered how heartbroken you were last time, which made shivers go down your spine. But you promised you were more mature now, and knew how to handle your feelings.

You didn’t trust Elliot, but you were willing to give him another chance. He had grown up, and possibly changed, and you both had enough time to heal from your past experiences.

Besides, you would regret turning his offer down.

He kept to his word, picking you up at the given time, complimenting you with wide eyes at the tight black dress that tugged your hips. You sent him a smirk before getting into his car, and drove to the restaurant.

Once you were both seated, you admired everything. It was filled with extravagant looking people, walls decorated with silk linen and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Waiters dressed in tuxedos, zooming around to serve all the rich guests, the fluorescents didn’t do justice to the man across from you.

He looked handsome, a black collared long sleeve and a pair of black slacks was his outfit. You placed your purse on the table before resting your chin in the palm of your hand, making him shift in his seat, as he sipped on the wine he had ordered for the two of you, “It’s weird seeing you like this.”

Your brow rose, “Like what?”

His eyes glinted.

“A woman. A stunning woman.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you sipped on the bitter alcohol, rolling down your throat, “You still know how to charm me, Elliot.”

He chuckled, “I don’t even try to. It’s like so easy with you—I don’t have to worry about what I say. I know you won’t judge.”

Smile quirking onto your lipstick smeared lips, the waitor came to take your orders, Elliot ordering a medium rare steak while you wanted a burger, before he left again.

You heard him snort, making your eyes narrow, “Hm?”

“Only you would order a burger at a five star restaurant,” he teased, making your cheeks heat up. He didn’t think of his next words before taking another sip of the dark liquid,

“One of the reasons why I love you.”

Your body stiffened at his declaration, his own shoulders turning frigid as his eyes quickly flew to yours. Your brows furrowed as his cheeks tinted into a fair pink, lips opening, but closing as he gulped.

Your voice was uneven, “You never said that before.”

His face was blank.

“What? That I love you?”

You nodded stiffly, making him bite his lip, “I’ve always loved you. I was just—too scared before. I got into my own head. What I felt for you, it was so much, that if I said it out loud; I was afraid you would completely make me under your power,” he explained, his voice getting more quiet, “—but the day I left, it made me realize that I was already too far gone when it came to you.”

You began to spiral again.

“That day..did you really mean it when you said you didn’t love me anymore?”

You sent him a sad smile, “Of course not. I never stopped. But I needed to put myself first—and I couldn’t do that if I stayed with you.”

He nodded, and then your food came. There was a peaceful silence as you ate, but then, you cleared your throat once again as you placed your fork onto the plate, “I listened to that song. Babydoll—was it? It’s really good,” you complimented, making his cheeks and nose turn pink, “If it was really about me, then I should have you thank me for having you write such a masterpiece.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he chewed, “Pretty sure a lot of songs are about you.”

Letting out a snort, you finished up before heading back into his car, and driving back to your place. The drive was pretty quick, and soon enough, he was walking you to your front door. He kept his hands to his sides, like a gentleman, as you stood with your back to the door.

It appeared he didn’t wanna scare you off, keeping his distance, and you mustered up a small smile, “Wanna come inside? I’d like to talk a bit more about what happened.”

He smiled, before nodding, and he followed you inside. You watched as he looked around with his eyes, “Your place is nice,” he complimented, running the pads of his fingers against your wall, “Reminds me of you. You’re the only person that can’t color coordinate, so.”

“Fuck you,” you laughed, taking a seat in your coach, and he did the same, beside you. His arm slung over the top of it as he faced you, your chest turning warm when he stretched his hand over to your jaw, rubbing it gently,

“You’re so fucking pretty. Didn’t think you could get prettier.”

Your smile faded, leaning into his touch, feeling your core tighten as he licked his lips. His thick lashes fluttered as he gazed into your eyes,

“I really wanna kiss you right now.”

You took the jump, “Then do it, rockstar.”

And that’s all he needed to hear. He practically jumped onto you, both of his hands holding your cheeks as your lips molded into one. You both panted as you pulled down the straps of your dress, his own unbuttoning his shirt before tossing it onto the floor. You crawled on top of him, hands running all over his sculpted chest, feeling him build more muscle than before.

He nipped at your neck, before rolling down to your breasts, wrapping his plump lips around one of the buds, “So fucking sweet,” he grunted, your eyes shutting as you moaned his name, “You have the best tits ever, baby. I swear to fucking Christ himself.”

Your fingers tugged at his short strands, grinding on his clothed cock, which hardened beneath the fabric, “Fuck me,” you whispered, tugging at his belt, “Come on.”

He chuckled at your whining, lifting his hips as he took off his pants and boxers. You licked your lips at the sight of his engorged head, wanting to capture it in your mouth and have it hard against your tongue, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You had been waiting for seven years.

“Sit on my fat cock,” he growled, one of his hands flying to your throat as he squeezed; teeth gritting, “Show me what skills I taught you, baby. Show me how you ride this dick.”

One of his hands tapped his pink too against your puffy clit, making you roll your hips, feeling so horny you felt you were going to explode, “Fucks sake, Elliot, put—ah!”

You both gasped, never breaking eye contact, as he rose his hips to sink into you. Your brows rose as you let out a small cry, his large hands covered in rings squeezing at your thighs, “There we goo. Sink onto that cock for me, pretty girl. Just like that. Wanna feel your cunt try to push me out.”

Beginning to bounce, his thick shaft stretching your walls, your moans began to fill the walls of your apartment. His head tipped back against the arm rest of the couch, watching you with hooded eyes, as you rode him to your climax.

Your chest heaved as his thumb pressed onto your pearl, “Gotta feel you cum around me, Y/N. C’mon,” he urged, planting his feet onto the cushion flatly before slamming his hips into yours. Your face twisted as you felt the knot inside of you snap, coming already, as a hitch pitched scream tore from your bruised lips,

“I’m coming—Elliot!”

“Good girl,” he huffed, smiling lazily as he kept fucking you through your orgasm. He didn’t stop though, even when you came down, flipping you onto your back as he slapped a hand over your mouth, going faster and harder, making you shout against his palm as he dipped into your neck to suck on the flesh. His thrust were erratic, your nails dragging down his back, making him kiss as you swore you might’ve drew blood.

Your neck was swore from his teeth as he pulled back, your eyes crossing as his fingers pinched your sensitive, beet red clit, “Look at you, such a fucking cock slut f’me, hm? Letting me fuck you just because I took you to dinner. So fucking stupid, my stupid baby.”

Your muscles tightened as he pressed down on your tummy, raising his brows, “Feel me in here? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes as you lunged into your second orgasm, eyes crossing as he chuckled at how hard you were coming. But then his laughing turned into a long moan, coming with you, his climax hitting him hard as he pulled out—releasing all over your abdomen, “Shit, fuck, I’m coming.”

He fisted his cock, white come flying from his tip. After he rode it out, brows furrowed and pink lips parted into breathy pants, sweat trickling down his abs, you licked your lips at the sight. His chest heaved as he sunk to his knees, making your brows furrows, and scooped a finger into the cum and shoved it into your mouth, without asking.

But your tongue swirled around his digit, making his eyes sparkle, before giggling when he mumbled a low fuck.

About to get up, he gently pushed you back down, before his tongue ran a stripe up your slit. Your eyes rounded when he reached your swollen clit, before wrapping his lips around it, sucking harshly while never looking away from you, “Elliot—I can’t—“

“Take it like I know you can,” he mumbled, before flicking his tongue against the bud, making your fingers fly to his hair before rolling your hips into his mouth. Your teeth gritted as he kept sucking on it, then slightly bite down, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the pain sent you off the edge, “Holy shit—I’m—I’m—“

He hummed, your come coating his tongue as your entire body froze, letting go in his warm muscle. He lapped up all the come from your pussy, before pecking your clit, making you jolt as he chuckled, kissing the inside of your thighs as he rubbed the skin soothingly, “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes hooded, as you began to grow tired. Elliot stood up, slipping back into his boxers, glancing at you again to make sure you weren’t sore or hurt. He grabbed the blanket that was slung over the other coach, before placing it onto your small figure, running fingers through your hair as he watched you fall asleep.

“You gonna be here when I wake up?” You murmered, and you missed the smile that grew onto his lips.

“Of course. I’ll be here for as long as you want me to, Y/N. Always.”

And then he chuckled to himself, finding it bizarre he met the love of his life by giving her sex lessons.

taglist ☻ @mikasasgfs @borapsycho @joy-soul-gallery @darkens-trash @icedcold @christianzior @maneatercore @sluttytears @1blissfuleuphoria @joooap @ncllyreads @gayhorrorpt22 @letmebeyoureuphoria a @whore4dominic @cherricola66 @iheartcatss @hessafeelsfordayss s @glizzymcguirex @squidish i @beepbopboodeedee e @cosmicmoonie @visiondaddy @mavis @maylaysia109 @volatile-violet @onlyangel-444 @myaestheticwonderland @skyesthebomb @tpwkstiles @alascaxq @vintagebitc @megatqistina @leiiyu @janieisamarauder @nadetowee @hoe-4-sebstan @mattheosbeloved @alinycarey

#elliot #elliot euphoria #euphoria #elliot imagines #elliot smut #elliot x you #elliot x y/n #elliot x reader #elliot imagine #elliot is mean

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chosovixen · 2 years ago

Note

Hiiiii!!! It's @ghosttownwherenoonegoes with that self-indulgent request 💕 may I ask for Eddie with an s/o who is always overthinking, always doing something. They're up 5am to 11pm every day (I'm always tired 😩 but how else can I keep up with the world?), no naps, just at their job or doing university work or chores or... You get it. They work hard and may seem put together but in their head they're a screaming anxious wreck. And Eddie being Eddie calms them down just by existing. They have pictures of him above their bed to turn to look at from their desk for a reminder to stop, breathe, "do it for Eddie" as motivation etc. You absolutely don't have to write this if you don't want to!!! And if you want a request written then feel free to send it my way 😭💕💕💔

i really loved writing this; thanks for the request!!

feedback and reblogs are appreciated!!

Reality was getting to you once again as you stood in front of the university's bathroom mirror, balling your eyes out. Anyone who came to the bathroom to relieve themselves was met with uncontrollable crying and crumpled paper scattered all over the dual sinks and on the tiled floor.

You couldn't help yourself, and the one person who made it better wasn't here to rub your back and feed you warm cookies. No, he was away at a small gig his band was able to get finally; you knew how important it was for his crew to grow, and they did it through whatever life handed them, so you didn't protest—letting him travel four hours away. The hours weren't a big issue; it was the fact that he called you on your lunch break, telling you he had to stay an extra night to perform an open in the morning. It hurt a little because he had promised to be back that same night—but just hearing the sheer joy in his voice when telling you how insane the crowd was for their original songs. You did what any supportive girlfriend would and encouraged him to do his absolute best. While reminding him not to get a big head about it—you two shared a laugh, and the call ended, leaving you to fend for yourself.

As you choked out more tears—rapidly trying to find more tissue, you reached into your bag, trying to see if you had packed any. But instead, you found yourself pulling out your keychain—your shoulders relaxed, you could finally breathe properly, and you watched as the clear plastic encapsulated the perfect cut-out photo of you and Eddie on your first anniversary.

Some rando took the picture for you guys outside of a crappy diner that afternoon. You remembered how much Eddie complained about his wish to have taken you to a fancier place. Still, you told him once again that as long as you two had each other—any and everything he had given you were the greatest gifts known to humanity. He smiled, handing you the photo and then saying, "and I hope you know that even if we're not together for whatever reason," he dramatically threw his hands up, then brought them down to hold your face. He brushed your cheek softly, placing a small but sweet kiss on your forehead. "let that photo remind you that I'm somewhere cheering you on and hoping you do your very best."

So you pulled the keychain close to your chest, squeezing it tight as you whispered an 'I'll try Eddie, I promise.'

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie my beloved #eddie x reader #eddie #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie x fem!reader #joseph quinn x y/n #soft eddie munson #stranger things x reader #eddie imagine

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secretswiftymarvelfan · 3 years ago

Note

From smut prompt,

83- “you have no idea how much i want you"

"Will you marry me and make me the happiest person" from bittersweet scared moments prompt list.

Would you plzzzz use the prompts for your Steve series "Captain of the football team".

Graduation Day

Series: Captain of the football team

Warnings: SMUT! Language! Lil' but of Angst! SUPER FLUFF!

The day started with you proudly showing off your graduation gown to Steve

It was identical to his but still he smiled as he watched you show off, doing little poses for him

it was when you did a funny little starfish pose that he realised all you had on underneath was a pair of cotton booty shorts and lacy bralette

His trousers growning increasing tight with every flash of skin he got

"so what do you think?" you grin

Steve just shook his head, biting his lower lip "you have no idea how much I want you"

a smirk grew on your face as you walked closer to him, swaying your hips

"this kinda thing does it for you Rogers?" you smirk placing on of your honor cords around his shoulders

"you have no idea"

you barely had time to react when his hands found your hips and he threw you onto the bed, his lips instantly finding yours.

Squeals of surprise soon turned to moans of pleasure when his large hand found your core.

By the end of the night you'd had 3 orgasms, 2 before he'd even slid inside you

The next day was your graduation ceremony, which you were glad was happening in the afternoon, giving you ample time to recover, you did not want to hobble across the stage

You watched proudly as Steve gave a speech to the graduating class, his eyes easily finding yours in the crowd, sending you a sly wink

That evening the entire football team and all your friends gathered to celebrate and say goodbye before you all went your seperate ways

It was a party twinge with sadness as the future suddenly felt less certain, you'd yet to find a job while Steve had found one back in Brooklyn, meaning you'd be living apart once more

Before you had a chance to full wallow in self pity Nat had grabbed your hand and dragged you throught the party until you reached the garden

The garden had been beautifully decorated but your eyes were set on Steve who was stood nervously on the lawn

"Steve what?"

"Doll, I know the future is a little uncertain for us right now, with me moving back to New York, you moving back to your small town, but I want to make things a little simpler" Steve says before getting down on one knee "will you marry me and make me the happiest person?"

you instantly burst into tears, nodding your head as you muttered a million yes's

The crowd of your friends all erupted in cheers but you paid little attention as you crashed your lips against Steve's, the man who owned your heart and who you couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with

Send me some Stevie prompts!!

Sharing is caring so reblog if you enjoyed this!!

Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist but follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary and turn on post notifications to be kept up to date!

#niamhwrites #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rog #steve rogers au #college au #the captain of the football team

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elf-osamu · 2 years ago

Text

“AN ORDINARY DATE”

[ masterlist ] [ reblogs are v v v appreciated ]

fluff, perhaps a bit angsty ???, romantic relationship, satoru gojō x gn!reader

warning(s) : use of pet names (love, dearest), spending little time with your partner, not proofread ;

words count : 765 words

plot : “after being both of you busy for some time, finally it arrives a day which must be spent with your beloved”.

a/n : i was thinking so much about satoru lately :( thus i used this as an excuse to write a scenario about him <3 my man ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹.

“you are hiding something, aren’t you?”

that had been your first reaction at satoru’s soft-spoken words, which asked you out for a walk in the best-stocked part of the city.

in all your time spent together as significant others — which, in all honesty, wasn’t much —, your usual dates were almost never… peaceful. being sorcerers meant assuming extreme risks in order to protect who couldn’t protect their own self, going on dangerous missions in the middle of the night, encountering curses when it was lunchtime and having to fight them mostly during dates.

on top of that, your partner was satoru gojō, the strongest, most powerful sorcerer of your generation: if you were quite busy, he was ten times more busy, between perilous journeys for the higher-ups’ sake and days of training with his students. it seemed impossible to rest in tranquility given the unpredictable circumstances both of you had to face day after day.

however, when satoru gently asked if you had some time to spare with him, he was genuinely sincere, relaxedness plastered on his angelic face: his deep, blue eyes were grinning at you through his sunglasses lens while his light, snowy eyelashes quietly fluttered, not to mention his lips, curved upwards in a sparkling smile. his body language didn’t show any sign of lies awaiting to be exposed, but with him you could never be certain of something.

in the end, you gave up your own protest questions, which initially served (in vain) to get more information from gojō, and accepted his invitation. you couldn’t deny you wanted to spend time with him.

and so, here you were, walking through the crowded streets of tokyo with one of your partner’s arms around your shoulders.

“love, what would you like to do first? i have in mind a few places,” satoru gave you a kiss on your temple and started rambling about all kinds of possible destinations, listing them one by one with specific descriptions to give you an idea of those locations; that was an area quite frequented by him due to his job as a teacher for young sorcerers, which was practiced by him in tokyo’s outskirts, not so far from there.

it was late afternoon, however the heat of the day was still lingering in the air: a place indoors would have solved thhe problem.

“hm, what about [ place ]? it’s been a long time since i put step in one,” you said, thinking about it. “also, right now i don’t feel like staying in the crowded streets, if you don’t mind. then we can go to a confectionery, for your beloved sweets”.

needless to say, he immediately agreed to your suggestion: his sweet tooth got the better of him.

so, having chosen your first destination, you didn’t sense any malevolent energy and so decided to relax a bit: it was just an ordinary afternoon, you could stop worrying for a moment.

the hours passed: you two explored different places between laughs and smiles, kisses and hugs, having lots of fun as it hadn’t happened for some time. it truly was a peaceful day without work-related interferences, something ‘normal’ human beings experienced almost on a daily basis.

when the sun began to set, you headed for a more secluded place, where there were fewer people. the view from there was magnificent: the sky, tinged with warm colors, was starting to darken, making way for shades of blue.

admiring intently the landscape, you sighed. how long had you not been watching the sunset? how long… had you not spent your time in such a calm way?

you cleared your throat. “it’s… rather unusual this serenity. i won’t lie, i expected some kind of awful thing to happen, something which could have ruined our time. however, i was surprised, positively surprised, at how the day turned out. thank you, satoru, truly”.

he glanced at you with a smug grin. “aw, this sappy speech of yours was quite good. in fact, i think i might start crying”.

you nudged him for his sarcasm, although you were content, and he didn’t dodge.

“jokes aside, i’m glad we both have enjoyed our time together, my dearest. i hope there will be other times like this one”. a genuine smile made its way to satoru’s lips, then he proceeded to squeeze lightly your hand with his.

“i hope so too”, you said in a whisper, bringing his hand to your lips and softly kissing his knuckles.

that had been your ordinary date.

you two were looking forward to having more, that was certain.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Life Goes On

This if for @buckybarnesplumwhore

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; grieving, funeral, breeding, handcuffs, warnings are not exhaustive so read at your own discretion.

This is dark! Andy Barber x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You volunteer at the local youth center but when one of the kids meets an unfortunate end, you cross paths with his father. No stranger to grief, you try to help him cope but find it a bigger than task that you expected.

Note: When I started writing, I had no plan. When I kept writing, there was still no plan. And then it just all kinda happened.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

It was too sunny for a funeral. A funeral come too soon.

The service was held out in the sun, rows of wooden chairs and a sombre old priest. You never knew if the Barbers were religious but it was easy to find a holy man in Massachusetts, as easy as those early years of settlement found in textbooks.

There were no flowers, only two oblong caskets shrouded in black cloth, the name of each of the dead on silver placards, no pictures, no souvenir of who they were.

It was like Andy was already trying to forget them. He was at the front, the grieving widower and father. You were lost somewhere in the middle with his co-workers, there out of propriety more than empathy, and distant relatives who attended out of courtesy, some passing acquaintances who followed the story in the papers more than out of compassion. It was a spectacle and Andy had done his best from feeding the leering onlookers.

You knew Jacob more than his parents. He was younger than you, almost ten years apart. You knew him from the youth group you volunteered for, the same one you'd been in at his age. He was out of place there, he was from a better neighbourhood than the other kids, they called him the rich brat, and he resented himself more for it than he did them.

His attendance kept his mother happy. He didn't like the individual counseling, he didn't talk, so she put him in the group and he talked there. Sometimes. The kids never went on philosophical monologues but they understood each other and shared what they needed to.

Laurie was always late to pick him up. So he stayed to help stack the chairs and you ended up waiting with him, making sure he wasn't alone in the dark. He hated that at first too, until he realised you weren't on the stoop to council or judge. You were just two people, chatting to pass the time.

Sometimes Andy picked him up. He was friendlier than Laurie. Jacob's mother was always in a rush, even on her way home where there was no deadline. She said thanks, maybe, and drove off as she began to lecture Jacob about how he wore his hat. Andy offered you a ride, every time, as if he had some compulsion to be the good guy, the saviour. You always said no, the bus was a five minute ride to your building, fifteen minutes if you walked.

Now Jacob was dead, his mother too. Another tragedy inflicted upon those least likely. Even death didn't stop the whispers, even that venue, the priest's collar, the Biblical dirges, the grim family man in black did not silence them. It sickened you as the service ended and the people rose in a hushed murmur.

Andy left without talking to anyone. The procession of cars would drive through the streets with flags to mark the grieving on their way to the interment. It was as if Andy was doing what was expected more than what he felt he owed the deceased. He was ever the lawyer, formal and curt.

You followed the grey parade. Not out of obligation but out of genuine regret. Jacob seemed like a lost kid, even in death. The rumours, the accusations, the suspicion, followed him. The people didn't watch the dirt fall from the shovel to see him at peace, they watched it as some grand finale to the great show of the Barbers.

When the metal no longer cut and scattered the soil, the crowd thinned out. You stayed as the diggers packed up. You were sad for Jacob, for Laurie. Andy hadn't been there to see the burial. You couldn't blame him but you were surprised. He just disappeared after the service, apparently done with his part in the play.

You went closer and stared at the new stone that stretched above both plots. Laurie Barber… and her son, Jacob Barber. May they rest. It was as short, as minimal as anything else about the affair. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. You didn't know if Jacob was a bad seed, it wasn't your job to make that call, but he had just been a kid and all that potential was now six feet down.

"Didn't think anyone would stick around," the dark figure stepped up beside you, his steps muted by the grass, "least of all, you."

"I'm sorry, I…" you looked at Andy and then the dirt, "I'll go."

"Wait," he said before you could move, "I thought-- I thought I wanted to be alone for this…" he shoved his hand in his pocket, "but I've been alone since it happened and I'm realising, I'm gonna be alone from here on out."

You didn't say a word. You didn't know what you could say. He'd heard a hundred apologies, a hundred condolences.

"I'm happy someone stayed, that someone cared," he cleared his throat, "thank you."

You nodded and played with the buttons on your cardigan.

"He was too. Happy, you know, that someone cared. I think back now and I realise that you probably saw him more than me. He was always excited to go to the centre but he got in that car and he just… deflated." He shook his head, "maybe this is better. One way or the other, he wanted to get away from me but he never could get away from Laurie. She wouldn't let him go."

He chuckled sardonically but it quickly fizzled in his throat.

"Sorry, I'm rambling…"

"You're processing," you said, "a lot of the kids down at the centre, they lost parents, one way or the other, orphans, fosters… I always told them that they didn't have to make sense because grief never really does."

"Now that makes a lot of sense," he said, "but you shouldn't have to listen to me."

"I shouldn't or you don't think you should say any of it?"

"Hmmm," he hummed, "yeah, maybe."

"I don't get paid to listen to those kids, I just get a time and a place to do so. This isn't different. It's just talking and a lot of that is just figuring things out. Listening is easy, you're doing the hard part."

"Jeez, you come up with this stuff on your own or is there some sort of how-to book?"

You lifted your chin and sucked in your lip. You could tell where Jacob got the bite from.

"Sorry, that was… mean," he said after the silence settled with the dirt, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you said.

"You got somewhere to be?"

"No…" you answered cautiously.

"Do you think you might wanna listen to me a little more? I'll buy you a coffee for the trouble."

"You wanna talk? To me?"

"Better than anyone I do know," he snorted, "they all just give me that dumb look. They pity me, judge me. You don't have to say yes but I started now, if I stop, I'll...stop."

"Coffee?" You glanced over at him, "I'd rather tea."

"I'm sure they got that too," he fiddled with the trim of his pocket, "anytime you wanna bail, let me know."

"If I can handle teen angst, I think I can handle you."

🖤

That afternoon wasted away in the corner of a café. It felt like any other day but for Andy, you knew, it was likely the worst day of his life. Likely a day he wouldn’t forget. You sat patiently until the last of your tea was cold. He didn’t finish his coffee, he hardly even touched it. When you checked the time, he looked down embarrassed.

“It’s late,” he said, “I… I’m sorry for keeping you so long.”

“I didn’t have anything to do. I doubt you did either,” you swept up the paper cup and your purse.

“No, really, I mean, you don’t know me. You knew Jacob and I just sat here and talked your ear off for hours. I--” he looked out the window, “I know that when I go home, the house will still be empty. That’s why I’m here.”

You looked past him as he turned back. You chewed your lip, “Andy, have you looked into counseling yet?”

“It feels… too early for that.”

“Too early?”

“I don’t want to let it go. Don’t want to let them go,” he sucked his hands in his pockets, “if I go, that’s what they’ll tell me to do.”

“No, they’d help you live with it, not forget it,” you said, “but I know, it’s scary. Have you done anything? Read anything?”

“Read?”

“Self-help isn’t for everyone and those dummy books aren’t great I admit, but sometimes a start is better than nothing. What about… a routine? Do you have one?”

“I work, I come home, I sleep, and try not to notice they’re gone,” he shrugged, “and repeat. Lot of overtime.”

“You’re still working?” you went to the door and he followed.

“Well, I talked to you. That’s what I’m going to do about it.”

You stepped out into the evening din and spun to look at him. You crossed your arms and stood across from him on the pavement.

“Well, unfortunately there’s an age limit down at the centre,” you said, “but I could give you a number for an adult group.”

“No, I don’t wanna talk to a group of sad parents and widowers. Just remind me how pathetic I really am,” he scoffed.

“Do you think that what you’re doing right now is better?”

“Do you have a degree in this?” he wondered, “what are you doing down at that youth centre talking to degenerates?”

“I have a certificate that says I’m good at listening, but no, I couldn’t afford a degree,” you dropped your arms, “but, will you come down? Sit in on a session. Just listen… for Jacob? It helped him, I think, after a while?”

“With the kids?”

“Yeah, with the kids,” you said, “maybe it will help you decide.”

“Decide what?”

“If you’re going to keep doing what you're doing; nothing, or if you’re going to try. Trust me, after a while, just sitting there, ignoring it, it gets old and it won’t get better.”

He looked down and stared at his leather shoe as he ground his toe into the pavement, “is that allowed? Am I allowed to do that?”

“I don’t see why not. I have parents sit in all the time.”

“But I’m not-- not anymore,” he gulped.

“You are,” you patted his arm gently, “you always will be.”

“What time?” he raised his head.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays at four-thirty. We do accept late arrivals. Kids come in and out. Usually hang out til seven before I let them go.”

“I think I can make that work,” he exhaled deeply, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For putting up with me.”

You nodded and gave a bittersweet smile, “I miss Jacob too. I might be little more than a glorified babysitter but it means something to me. The kids… they feel like they’re mine sometimes. At least on those two nights a week.”

“Well…” he peered down the street, “you need a ride?”

You chuckled quietly, “you now, I think this time, I do.”

🖤

Andy was early. He took a chair near the wall as the kids flopped on the low sofas and into the colourful armchairs. A government grant had seen an upgrade in the lounge, although the kitchen needed some work as the cooking classes were still short on supplies. Dark circles darkened his eyes and the hairline wrinkles around them added to the hollow effect. He wasn’t sleeping.

You waited for the room to quiet. You greeted the kids and went through the usual ice breaker; one bad thing, one good thing, and one way they could improve the bad. Many of them were reluctant at first, they resisted what they thought were cheesy and inane exercises but they all came around. They were able to voice things that otherwise would be kept to themselves and they were afforded a respectful and often rapt audience.

When you finished, you kept from naming your own three. You looked at Andy.

“I’m sorry, everyone, I’m so forgetful. This is Andy,” you gestured to him, “he’s sitting in with us today. Andy, why don’t you tell us your bad thing, your good thing, and one thing you can do to improve the bad.”

He looked startled but he stood and cleared his throat. He glanced around at the kids and the shadow left his face. “Well, I lost a file, there were free bagels at work, and… I guess I could try to look again tomorrow.”

“Very good,” you smiled, “alright, my turn at last. My bad thing is I spilled tea on my shirt, my good thing is it’s a dark shirt, and my thing to improve is… wear a bib.” You laughed as you audience stay stone faced, “alright, alright, I’ll just be more careful and not run with hot liquids.”

You sat and started with Danica. She was always the most talkative, that encouraged the other kids. Today was no exception and you had to remind her to save some time for everyone else. Erik was next, then Andre, and Shamea. You almost didn’t notice Andy as he stood and sidled against the wall. Not until he was at the door, he looked back darkly and you saw his chest fall heavily. His nostrils flared and he was gone.

You tried not to show your disappointment, tried not to let the kids notice. They were all caught up in the circle and breaking it was never good. Shamea passed the stuffed bunny to Naima and you focused on her. Maybe it was too soon for Andy, you understood that, but you hoped too that he might have found a piece of Jacob there.

Before the kids left, you handed out the coloured markers and they each scribbled down a few words before a high-five. They passed through the open door in pairs and singles, and you bent to add your own note. You tucked the card into your bag and locked up. Jacob was usually the only one to hang around. Not anymore.

You headed out the front door with a wave to Martha at the front desk and took a gulp of the fresh evening air. There was someone sat on the flat stone at the bottom of the broad rail of the stairs. You recognised Andy as you neared, much too big to be a teen.

“I’m sorry,” he dabbed his nose with his sleeve, “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay in that room.”

“But you’re still here,” you said.

“I didn’t wanna just leave you hanging but… they all remind me of him,” he stood, “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies,” you opened your purse and searched, “I had the kids put this together. Actually, it was Milo’s idea. He didn’t know it was you but he wanted to send it in the mail--”

“What?” he took the card and opened it. He turned so he could read it in the yellow light of the street lamp, “oh my god.”

“Is it too much?”

“No, no,” he ran his thumb over the ink, “it’s…” he closed it and tucked it into his jacket, “the only other thing I’ve got is the bill for the caskets. It’s… amazing. Thank you.”

“Not at all. They always surprise me,” you said, “most of the time, in good ways.”

“You need a ride?” he checked his watch.

“I don’t live far,” you waved him off, “but I always appreciate the offer.”

He nodded and frowned, “and if… if I didn’t want to be alone? Would you grab a burger with me? Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch, I, uh… I guess it couldn’t hurt,” you said.

“You gotta be up early?”

“Nah, not too early.”

“What do you do? I mean, outside of this?” he turned and directed you to his car.

“Data entry,” you sighed, “it’s not very exciting but I work remotely and the pay is decent and I still have time for the kids.”

“It’s a living,” he said as the door locks clicked and you grabbed the handle, “no judgment. Trust me, being a lawyer, it’s really not as glamourous as it seems.”

🖤

Andy’s routine changed. He came around every Thursday and listened. After a few weeks, the kids figured out who he was. They didn’t treat him any differently and even invited him to join in on the teambuilding games you arranged. He wasn’t bad help as you welcomed a few new members from the group home.

That night, you weren’t feeling great. Even the kids hadn’t helped much. You were exhausted and nauseous. You blamed it on the late night shawarma. You said goodbye to the kids and packed up. Andy stacked the chairs without you asking, even when you told him not to.

You leaned heavily on the table and checked your phone before slipping it into your bag. You wiped your forehead and shivered. Some gravol, ginger ale, and sleep would be your indulgence that night.

“You okay?” Andy asked.

“Stomach thing,” you rubbed your middle, “nothing major.”

“You don’t look great,” he said, “well, I don’t mean it like-- are you sure--”

“Oh, gee,” you slid past him and out the door.

You ran to the restroom across the hall and into a stall. You wretched and the acid seared your throat. The bile bubbled in the toilet water and you shuddered. You heaved a few more times and rinsed your mouth in the sink.

Andy was waiting for you in the hall, “let me drive you tonight,” he insisted, “even if it’s just a block away.”

“I can’t even say no,” you grumbled as he handed you your purse.

“What’s wrong? You eat something?”

“I think,” you groaned as he held the door open and the cool air outside chilled the sweat on your neck, “urgh, I hope it’s only that.”

You got to his car and fell heavily into the seat. You slumped against the console as he started the car. He paused as the engine idled and felt your forehead. He nudged you back against the seat and turned his hand to press the back of his fingers to your cheek.

“You got a fever,” he said, “I don’t think it’s food poisoning.”

“Oh, those kids carry bugs like rats,” you muttered, “just take me home, I’ll get over it.”

He pulled out of his spot and you closed your eyes. You leaned against the window, frigid against your forehead and hugged yourself. You dozed off before he even turned out of the lot, the belt keeping you from folding over entirely.

🖤

You woke up between fresh linen. The sunlight was soft in its early hues. It wasn't your bed. You rolled onto your side and your stomach ached from how empty it was. You pushed back the thick duvet, you were sweating. You didn't remember more than the car ride and a few fuzzy glimpses of the bottom of a bucket.

You were cold again and pulled the blanket back. The door was open and Andy filled it as if he'd heard your grumbles. He stood at the bottom of the bed in a pair of plaid pants and a blue tee.

"Why am I here?" You asked.

"You fell asleep. You're sick. I couldn't just leave you outside your building," he said, "how are you feeling?"

"Bad," you replied curtly, "I can go," you sat up, "stop by the pharmacy, go hide in my own bed."

"You should stay here," he insisted, "just until the fever breaks."

"Really… ugh," you moaned as your belly clenched, "Andy, I should--"

"Lay down?" He came around and caught your shoulder, "I used to call in sometimes when Jacob was home sick. When he was a lot younger and… I stir up a man cup of noodles."

"You don't have to--"

"It's completely selfish," he interrupted, "it's been a long time since I had someone to take care of or at least it feels like it."

You were light-headed as you tried to stand but he kept you from getting to your feet, "I guess I can stay a little longer."

"Don't act like I don't owe you," he tutted, "now relax. I'll get you some soup. You need something in your system. I got some anti-nausea pills in the cupboard, too."

"Thanks but you don't owe me anything. I'm gonna owe you big."

"Why don't we just call it even then," he backed up, "seeing as that's my bed and my couch, it's really not made for sleeping." He stretched his arms and his shoulders cracked, "especially at my age."

🖤

You stayed another night. You tried to convince Andy to let you take the couch instead but he was a lawyer and rarely lost an argument. It was easier to eat by the evening but you were still dizzy and you couldn't stop yawning. You'd never been so tired.

Despite your uneasiness at overstaying your welcome, you slept more heavily than before. Your guilt didn't keep you awake for long as you sank into a deep sleep and you woke slowly, a murmur escaping your lips as grogginess weighed you down. You were still so very tired but it was already morning.

You stretched and your wrist caught. You winced and tugged at your arm. You sat up in horror as you stared at the metal cuff attached to the hoop drilled into the headboard. You tugged until your arm hurt and your hand throbbed. What the fuck.

"Andy! Andy! What--"

"Shhhhh," Andy hushed you as he entered, "it's okay, you're okay."

"No, I'm not. What did you do?" You pulled again and the metal pinched your skin.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he said calmly.

"Unlock it. Let me go," you struggled as you kicked off the blankets, "Andy, what the fuck?"

"Hey, don't talk like that. It's...nasty."

"I don't understand," you began to pant, "why are you doing this?"

The panic crawled like tendrils up your neck and back. You twisted and pulled but the metal cuff didn't budge. You felt the bed shift and Andy grabbed your shoulder. He forced you down, pinning your other hand beside your head.

"I'm taking care of you," he said, "don't be so ungrateful."

"I can take care of myself. Let me go, please."

"No, you need me," he snarled, "like I need you."

"Andy, you're wrong--"

"Stop!" He covered your mouth, "stop! You don't know what you need. Now be still. Be quiet." He squeezed until your jaw hurt, "don't make this difficult."

He slowly lifted his hand and you didn’t move. You stared at his hand then looked at his face. There was a desperate anger in the depths of his oceanic eyes. He sat back and his jaw clenched as he watched you.

"I'm going to make breakfast. Be good. You need to eat." He backed off the bed and went to the door, "I mean it."

He left you and you listened until pans clinked and clanged in the kitchen below. You folded your thumb against your palm and tried to wiggle free of the cuff. It was too tight. There was only one other way out and you couldn't do it alone.

"HELP! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE!" You screamed, "someone help me!"

The footsteps hammered up the stairs and Andy stormed in. He grabbed you and clamped his hand over your mouth again.

"Listen, no one can hear you, you got that? Windows are soundproof, but I really don't want to hear it so it's up to you if I gag you."

You blinked and your lip trembled against his hand. Your eyes rounded and you nodded stiffly. He tore his hand away and sighed as he clapped his hands on his legs in frustration.

"Good," he said quietly, "now, let's just hope," he stood and strode to the door, "that the bacon didn't burn."

🖤

You fell asleep again shortly after eating, even with the adrenaline and panic surging through your veins. You woke again in the afternoon. Your limbs were heavy but the fever was gone and your stomach felt better but you were still terribly tired.

Andy was there. He had a leather file in his lap as he looked over papers and scratched his beard. He sensed your movement and looked over at you.

"Hungry?" He asked, "you slept through lunch."

"No," you smelled your sweat on the duvet, "but… can I have a shower? I haven't...since I got here."

"A shower?" He closed the folder and stood. He set it down and pursed his lips as he thought. "Fifteen minutes," he said as he dug around in his pocket, "I'll be here."

He unlocked the cuff and you rubbed your wrist as you sat up. He stayed close as you rose and stayed between you and the bedroom door as he pointed you to the bathroom.

"I don't have much for you to wear yet but you can take another one of my shirts," he said.

You nodded and closed the door between you. You closed your eyes and pressed yourself to the wind. How was this the same man that you spoke to that day at the cemetery?

🖤

He slept beside you that night. You were on your side, your arm bound again by the cuff with the pillow between it and your head. You were uncomfortable, more so with him against your back. He wore only a pair of boxers. You shied away when he undressed and never looked at him again.

You dozed despite your nerves. You couldn't shake the drowsiness. You just felt more and more tired. When you opened your eyes, his arm was around you. He ran his fingers over your stomach, fingers crawling beneath the baggy tee shirt. You shivered and he nuzzled the back of your neck.

"I was thinking… well, I've been thinking for a while now, how happy we could be," he said, "I'm still young enough to try again, do it right and you… you're young, ready." His hand brushed up to your chest and he cupped your tit, "you're kind, you're caring, you're...beautiful. You’re my second chance."

“Andy,” your voice was brittle as your pulse beat furiously, “what you’re doing, it’s not right. You need to let me go.”

He went rigid and his hand stopped. He unsnaked his arm from around you and the springs coiled as he fell heavily onto his back. In the silence, you could only hear his steady breaths and a low growl.

“No, I’m helping you,” he said, “like you’ve helped me.”

“Andy, please,” you eased onto your back and looked over at him, “this isn’t how you fix this.”

“How do I?” he snarled, “huh? How? You don’t know!” he sat up and glared down at you, “you can’t know.”

“You think hurting me is helping me? That’s what you’re doing.”

“No, no, no,” he bent his legs as he grasped his head and gripped it as if it would crack, “No! I haven’t hurt you. I feed you, I keep you clean, I… I take care of you!”

“Andy,” you reached over shakily and touched his bare shoulder, “this isn’t what I want and I know you don’t want it either. You want someone who really loves you--”

“You love me!” he turned so quickly you yelped. He gripped your jaw tightly as he held himself against you, “you love me,” he pressed his lips to yours and you murmured in surprise, “you love me,” it was a maddened chant as he pulled back, “...love me.”

“And--”

His hand flew up to smother you and he lifted himself over you. His knees pressed to your legs until they parted and his other hand explored your curves through the rumpled cotton. You squeaked and tensed against his touch, your wrist chafing from the cuff.

“Shhh,” he hushed as he pushed the shirt up.

He kept his hand on your mouth as he slid down your body and left a trail of kisses along your torso as he unveiled it. He bunched the tee above your chest and bent to dote on your tits. You shuddered and pushed on his head as you mumbled into his palm.

His fingers tickled along your side and hooked into the side of the drawstring shorts he gave you. He tugged until the string snapped and edged them down as he continued to tend to your chest. You kicked around him and felt his bulge as he leaned into you.

He ripped his hand away and sat up. He grabbed the waist of the shorts and wrenched them down your legs, quickly taking his between them again. You wriggled and batted out at his chest as his thumbs pressed against your hip bones and his hands crept down to knead your thighs.

“I can start again,” he brushed his fingers down your vee and you trembled as they danced along your cunt.

“No, Andy, please, you can still stop--”

“Shhhh, honey,” he pushed between your folds and you gasped, “it’s okay. I’ll still take care of you,” he glided over your cunt and made you twitch, “and the baby.”

He poked along your entrance and you whined helplessly as you reached to the cuff and pulled with both arms. Every muscles in your strained as you tried to break free of the headboard. He pushed a finger inside of you and you cried out.

“Andy, stop, please, no--”

He added another finger and slipped them in and out of you as he purred. You looked at his face and it sent a chill through you. His eyes were dark and clung to the movement of his hand, his brow set and his jaw squared with his intent. He wasn’t the grieving widower, he wasn’t the man lost and lonely, he was a monster.

“That’s it,” he turned his hand and flicked your clit with his thumb, “you want me. I feel it.”

You looked away as your wetness spread to his knuckles and along your folds. He kept his thumb moved as he curled his fingers inside of you and the pressure built as the tip of his touch. You gritted your teeth and shook your head helplessly.

“No,” you whispered, “no, no, no…”

He took his hand away suddenly and you felt empty. He lifted himself on his knees and rolled down his boxers. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t, you only saw the silhouette of his nudity.

He pushed your thighs apart and spread himself over you, his elbow just beside you as he felt around between your bodies. His hot breath grazed your cheek and he kissed it firmly as he angled his tip between your folds. Your thighs clenched around him in a futile act of resistance as he found your entrance.

He pushed inside slowly and brought his other arm up beside you. He forced your head straight and you squeezed your eyes shut. He cradled your head between his hands and his lips brushed yours as he spoke, “open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Andy,” you murmured as he slowly got deeper, “please--”

“Look at me,” he demanded, “look at me!”

Your eyes snapped open and met his stormy blue ones. He bucked his hips and impaled you completely. You exclaimed and grasped his thick bicep in shock, your other hand balled above the cuff. Your legs bent around his thick thighs as you tried to stop him.

“God, you feel so good,” he purred as he began to rock, “don’t I feel good too?”

Your lashes fluttered away the rising tears and you sucked your lip in to keep from making a sound. You could look away as he held your head straight, his hand clamping around your jaw as he other arm bent beneath yours.

The room echoed with the noise of his flesh slapping yours as he sped up, his grunts and groans interlaced with the sickening symphony. You quivered as his pelvis rubbed against yours and stoked the heat in your core. You could not hold back the illicit response of your body as he ravaged it.

Your breath grew heavier and he gulped it down as he kissed you again, forcing his tongue between your lips as he devoured you. The whole bed moved in time with your body and the headboard knocked against the wall as his thrusts came closer and closer together and he buried himself as deep as he could with each tilt of his hips.

He drew his mouth away and pressed his cheek to yours as his muscles tensed and he puffed into the pillow, “this is it, honey. It all starts here.”

“Ah, please…” your voice fizzled and smothered your moan against his shoulder as your body spasmed. Your legs bent around him firmly as you orgasmed and your body arched beneath his desperately.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “that’s it. You take me so well. See… it was meant to… be.”

His breaths grew more rampant with his rhythm. His hand slipped down to cradle your cheek and his thumb stroked your flesh tenderly as he dipped into you over and over. His deep groans grew louder around you. He jerked into you sharply and his motion stuttered. He gripped your hip and held you down as he sheathed himself in your walls.

He quaked as his hips slowed and he flooded you. He exhaled and as his lungs emptied, the strength left him entirely and he lowered himself over you weakly. His body pressed yours into the mattress, your sweat and his turned sticky as the air settled over you.

He stayed like that for what felt like forever. He moved slowly to lift himself up and he sat back, watching his dick slide out of you. Your thighs shook as your legs splayed around him. You felt his cum leak from you and he dragged his fingers along your cunt and scooped it back into you, coating his fingers in as he pushed them past your entrance once more. He smiled at the wet sounds of your cunt.

“That felt like the one,” he said, “but we can try again...”

He pulled his fingers out of you and admired the slickness that glistened over them. He reached down and gripped his dick, half-soft and spent. He winced as he began to stroke himself and let out stifled moans between his teeth.

“Maybe this time,” he purred as he angled himself inside of you again and lifted your legs against his torso. He bit his lips as he trembled, his cock oversensitive and overworked, “as many times as it takes, honey.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #one shot #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #defending jacob

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theincredimazingbablesquatch · 1 day ago

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(self-reblog for the afternoon crowd)

Since I'm quitting this stupid job, and actually have enough active followers this time for people to see a poll, lets see if this gets any votes;

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dollslayer · 4 years ago

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Artistic Intention

Artist!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve's doing well in his life drawing class, but a new muse throws him for a loop in the back supply room.

W/C: 2,374

Warnings: NO MINORS, p in v smut, unprotected sex, public sex, breeding kink if you squint, swearing

A/N: Hey! I wrote this for @buckyownsmylife 1st anniversary challenge! I love me a good AU so I chose Artist AU+ exhibitionism. Happy tumblr-versary! I made Steve a shy boi in this lol. If you liked this fic pls reblog/comment!! Check out my other fics too! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

It’s 1:45pm and Steve is desperately trying to weave his way through the crowd of people before him. His art folio hits everyone and thing as he makes feeble attempts to apologize to everyone for the bulkiness of the case. He can’t be too apologetic though, he’s running late for his 2pm life drawing class and if he doesn’t make it the professor will close the door in his face.

This is the longest 15 minutes in Steve’s life, he figures. He finally makes it up the steps and jogs up the stairs. His folio hits his leg, he winces but doesn’t stop, he’s only got a few minutes to make it up to the second floor and get himself situated behind an easel. He’s nearly out of breath when he makes it to the second floor and he’s trying to check his watch while running for the door. Two minutes.

Steve bursts through the doors and exhales loudly, he’s not sure he’s ever felt so relieved. His feeling of relief is short lived and quickly replaced with embarrassment as he realizes every pair of eyes in the room is on him. Every pair except for one. The new model for class this week, you slowly turn your head to reveal sharp eyes and a coy smile. He feels himself blush under your gaze and mutters an apology before getting settled in an easel directly in front of you.

He tries his best to focus on getting his paper and charcoals set out in an effort to shrug off the mixture of humiliation and lingering anxiety he had about being late. He feels his heartbeat begin to steady and he lets himself relax a little bit.

“Good afternoon, everyone. We have a new model in class this week, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. She’ll be keeping her current pose for one hour and repositioning for the second half of class. Mr. Rogers, since you had no problem running late I assume you’ll have no problem staying late as well. You’ll clean up after class.” The professor concludes with a short nod.

Steve sighs but nods his head in acknowledgement. He catches you smirking in amusement again at him and he can’t help but to blush all over again. He feels just like he did in high school, embarrassing himself in front of pretty girls. He sighs and picks up a piece of charcoal.

Steve decides to get a proper look at you and almost regrets it when he chokes on his own breath. You’re gorgeous, you’re coy and charming, you’re a muse. He’s still blushing because you’re naked, and beautiful and the feeling of humiliation hits him even more. He’s been in this class before, he knows the models will be naked but none of them had ever caught his attention as more than a subject, none of them were you.

He takes his time admiring your natural curves and appreciates your figure. You are so full of natural beauty, your bare face is perfectly flawed and the sun shining through the window highlights your skin tone. He can see why you were chosen to model for class, you’re perfect. He has to discreetly adjust himself and shuffles his jacket into his lap as he feels his pants tighten. He’s flustered all over again and realizes everyone else is already ahead of him. He puts charcoal to paper and gets to work.

____

As class goes on Steve’s sketch is coming along nicely. He can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time for fear of getting hard again. When he sends furtive glances your way he catches you looking back at him with that smile of yours. He swears at one point you raise an eyebrow at him like you’re amused by him. He brushes it off and keeps drawing.

Class comes and goes much faster than he anticipated. He wants to pack up and get out as quickly as he can when he remembers that he has to clean up the room. He lets out a groan and waits for everyone else to leave. Now it’s only you, him, and the professor who are left in the room.

“Mr. Rogers I’ve got to get out of here, I trust you can put easels away without incident?” The professor asks. Steve nods and the professor turns to you. “Thank you for your work today, you can collect your pay from the front office. I look forward to having you as a model for this class.”

You smile and nod, waving goodbye to him. By now you’ve slipped on a robe and are reaching for your bag but it feels like you’re lingering. It’s just now that Steve realizes the two of you are alone. He swallows thickly, trying not to pay attention to you out of the corner of his eye. He begins to pack away his own drawing but not before giving it one final assessment. He can’t help himself from his own critical eye, analyzing mistakes and appreciating triumphs.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

Steve jumps in surprise, you’re peering right over his shoulder. He’s caught off guard by your presence and also by your voice, do you always sound this sultry?

He swallows and nods before taking a deep breath. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans he turns to face you.

“Uh, yeah. Yes it is. I don’t think it’s very good but I’m trying” He anxiously starts making excuses, assuming you hate it.

But you don’t. You just smile thoughtfully at him and nod.

“It’s good. At least, I think it is.”

“Th-thanks, thank you.”

“Do you always cut it that close or were you just hoping to stay late with me?”

Steve sputters at your boldness. He has to remind himself that he’s not that scrawny, measly kid he used to be. But he can’t help but feel like he is with his sweaty palms and short breaths.

“I, I um, I didn’t realize there’d be a new model. Was kind of expecting the old one. Not- not that there’s anything wrong with you, of course! I, sorry I didn’t mean to imply that, you’re- you’re beautiful too, you’re perfect really, I just. Oh jesus.” He spews the words out faster than his brain can keep up and he’s making a complete fool of himself.

He can’t bear to look at you, so he starts closing up easels and stacking stools. He doesn’t notice you ogling his muscles through his tight t-shirt.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You ask innocently.

“I-, um, yes. I think you’re very beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Steve answers honestly.

He moves some stools to the large supply room in the back of the classroom and you follow him.

“I think you’re beautiful too. And cute. You’re practically falling all over yourself, it’s sweet”

Are you talking to him? He still sees himself as he was back then, having a hard time thinking that anyone would look at him and find him attractive. It’s why he’s so beside himself now. You’re so completely beautiful and self-assured, there’s no way you’re talking to him. He sets down the stack he’s carrying and realizes you’re much closer than he thought. You’re inches away.

“What do you like the most about me? Is it my body? Don’t think I didn’t notice you readjusting your pants at the beginning of class.” You move even closer and Steve thinks you must be able to hear his heart beat because it’s about to come right out of his chest.

Your hands are on his chest and you have to lean up on your tip-toes for your lips to meet his ear.

“What do you say? You and me in this supply room? There’s hardly anyone here. Come on”

Steve feels like he’s dreaming, he has to check if he is. But then your hand reaches for his dick through his pants and he nearly doubles over from the sensation. He’s never been with anyone so brash and confident, your touch leaves a burning trail on his body.

“But- but what if someone comes in and sees?” He says, using every last bit of coherent reasoning he has.

“Isn’t that what makes it so fun?”

Oh, God. You. You. Smiling that devilish smile at him. He was weak in the knees and you took the opportunity to push him backwards onto a spare desk. You pulled him by the shirt collar to meet your lips and he let out a noise of surprise. Steve pushes his tongue into your mouth and lets out an obscene moan. You feel so good. He knew you’d feel good but not this good.

Steve’s large hands come to your waist and venture lower until he has a handful of your ass and grabs. You let out a little moan and nudge your knee between his legs and he grinds against it. You pull back to catch your breath when your hands go to the ties of your robes.

“We’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

Steve doesn’t need to be asked twice as he pulls his shirt over his head. Jeans have never felt so uncomfortable and he’s frantically trying to get himself down to his boxers. He swears he goes slack jawed when he looks back up at you. He’s already seen you naked, he just stared at you naked for hours, but you’re just as gorgeous as before but it’s the way you’re looking at him. Like he’s desirable, almost like he’s a piece of meat. It makes him feel wanted and reassured and he feels himself grow harder.

Your hands slip beneath the elastic of his boxers and slowly slide them down his legs. He can’t help but flush when you let out a small gasp at the size of him. He doesn’t want to get too big of an ego with it but he’s always known he was… gifted.

Before he can let anything go to his head he lets out his own soft gasp as you stroke him languidly. He can’t control his hips as they cant up into your hand. You grab his hand and quickly lead his fingers to your dripping pussy. Steve nearly melts when he feels how wet you are and slides two fingers in easily. He’s pumping them in and out and you let out tiny mewls as you kiss his neck.

There’s no more time for preamble though, you two need to be quick if you don’t want to be caught by some unfortunate custodian. You remove your hand from his cock and he takes his fingers out of your pussy and swears you whine a little. Feeling brazen himself, he makes direct eye contact with you and sucks his fingers clean. You bite your lip and squirm while he revels in the taste.

Reluctantly he takes his fingers out of his mouth and gets up to situate you so you’re sitting on the desk. You spread your legs wide for him and he takes in the sight, committing to memory. Maybe he can draw you like this some time. For now he takes a step closer but falters, remembering one fatal flaw in this whole plan.

“I… don’t have a condom”

You don’t look let down at all, you look excited in fact. Shaking your head, you explain to him.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘m on the pill. I wanna feel you cum inside me”

Steve might pass out before he gets the chance, the way you keep talking with that mouth of yours. He wastes no more time and positions himself at your entrance. He has one hand on his dick and the other on the back of your neck when he looks you deep in the eye and impales you fully in one go.

The moan you let out is pornographic and Steve uses his newly freed hand to cover your mouth.

“We have to stay quiet. Can you do that?”

You nod silently and he removes his hand, opting to grab your hip instead.

He pulls back and begins to start pumping into you. He’s steady at first, trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly. Slowly he starts increasing his speed and the force that he uses is causing the legs of the old desk to scrape against the floor.

Your hand reaches and grabs his ass, pushing him deeper into your pussy. You feel so tight wrapped around him with no barrier and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. You’re trying to keep your moans quiet when he kisses you to silence them all together. He’s trying with all his might not to cum before you do.

His fingers find your clit and he starts rubbing it in tight circles. You have a harder time keeping quiet and you’re squeezing him like a vice. The friction on your clit and his dick hitting your G-spot perfectly is causing your eyes to roll in the back of your head.

“‘M gonna cum, please. Please don’t stop” You beg. Steve feels a wave of power surge over him now that you’re the needy one.

“Go on then, I’m not far behind ya. Wanna feel your pussy cum on my cock.”

With a few moments more he has you seeing stars and you claw at his back and pull him close to you. He continues on in his movements and starts pounding into you in earnest chasing his own release. All you can do is hold on for dear life.

Steve makes one final thrust before he’s cumming deep inside you. The rush of warmth is welcome to you and you kiss his jaw as he tries to catch his breath. The only sound being both of your heavy breathing. Hopefully no one heard you.

Steve can’t believe what just happened. He met a gorgeous girl and she propositioned him in a public place all in the span of two hours. He realizes just how far he’s come from who he used to be. He looks down at you, your noses touching.

“So, what’s your name?”

#steve rogers x reader #artist!steve rogers #artist!AU #marvel fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #marvel x reader

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seraphimguks · 5 years ago

Text

roses, poetry and jeon.

☾ pairing: bookstore employee!jungkook x reader

★ summary: Between the pieces of sappy poetry and dried rose petals hidden in every book you buy from the local bookstore; you fall in love with the anonymously enigmatic writer.

➳ genre: bookstore au, enemies to lovers-ish?, fluff, slight angst

☂ words: 12k

♡ a/n: hellooo! So, after countless days and nights working on this, I’m VERY proud as to how it came out to be. I don��t have any experience as a bookstore employee so please forgive me if I made some mistakes! Also, all the poetry compositions have been written by yours truly hehe. I really hope you guys enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it! Let me know how you felt (reblogs and comments go a long way!) c:

~*~

The sunlight filtering through your window was a familiar feeling. As it warmed your covers, you lazily turned to the other side of your bed hoping to find a cooler spot to resume your slumber. When not even cocooning yourself helped, you angrily pulled your blanket over your frame and let the heat take the win for this one.

You opened your eyes and took a minute to take in your surroundings. You felt like your party-hungry college student-self waking up one morning on someone else’s bathroom floor that wasn’t yours. In that reverie, you winced as you could almost taste the vodka at the back of your throat and the puke roiling up in your stomach.

A half open book lay face down on your nightstand and dried up drool pooled near the top of your pillow, possibly because you dozed off in between. You checked your phone, and was relieved that it was the weekend. There were no messages from work, you wanted to jump up in joy like you were a child on sugar rush.

Your job as a market assistant was good, and although you enjoyed the work, sometimes it felt dry and you lost all enthusiasm to continue. Your boss was an asshole, you really wanted to smack him. Your colleagues were no less either, but in all speaking you didn’t want to change your job yet because it paid well to give you a good apartment room and four-square meals a day.

Even thinking about work made you upset. You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your head on them because you were just too tired. Deep down in your conscious, you knew you couldn’t pursue your true passion for financial reasons and because it was just a dying profession.

Thoughts aside, you decided to treat yourself to the weekend by going to the bookstore just around your block. You loved bookstores, it was your favourite retreat growing up when your father would come and pick out the books you wanted to borrow. You were a very avid reader as a child, however as the homework started piling up as you went up a grade, there was no time to wiggle some reading time in between the cracks of your heavy schedule. Until now.

The bookstore opened five years ago, a cozy place that usually met a lukewarm crowd on weekends. You were a regular there. The owner, Kim Namjoon, was few years elder to you but was polite, handsome and very well read despite having a demanding position at his accounting job. Namjoon had opened the bookstore as a part-time thing to stay rooted to his love for literature, and since his profession earned well, he was able to recruit two or three employees to help him out when he was at work.

Ji Changmin was the cutest employee there, and honestly you couldn’t deny that part of the reason why you headed up to the cozy establishment was to see him. He had an ebullient disposition with lovely dimples that you couldn’t help but think was cute. He always greeted new customers with a wide smile and you stifled a laugh when you remembered his extremely loud shriek when one of the customers accidentally dropped a book. The poor boy almost fell from the ladder when he was trying to sort out the books on the highest shelf.

He was a dance major at the nearby University and his shifts were on the weekends, the two days when he was free. He often came to the store disheveled from practicing on his own, but he still managed to clean up and look flawless in a simple apron uniform.

You also knew that the first weekend of the new month meant fresh arrivals – so not only were you going to see your favourite employee (you would never tell Changmin, of course) and get some eye-candy, but also browse through the new novels waiting to be read by fellow bookworms like yourself. Maybe even eye Changmin over the top of the pages you read, and knowing him long enough he would probably be practicing few steps of his dance routine, and oh didn’t he look sexy.

And with that said, you were ready in flat 15 minutes.

~*~

The conundrum of living in cities was known to you – the whizz of scooters going by in the morning, the delightful screams of school children returning from class in the afternoon and the shutters of karaoke bars and clubs opening up for the evening.

That’s why you were so relieved that the apartment you were housing in was located in a sleepy neighbourhood, where the hustle-bustle was less pronounced. It was also near a subway that took you effortlessly to work. The street which you lived in mostly had all the necessities you could ask for, from grocery markets, a hospital, small cafes, retail stores, and of course, a medium-sized bookstore.

Fact and Fiction Bookstore was a store squeezed in between a medical shop and an apartment, just a couple of blocks from your place. It always had a wooden signboard that had “Open” and “Closed” in hand drawn letters and the interiors were festooned with decorative pendant lamps that lit the room in a golden halo. Walnut coloured, skyscraper height bookshelves lined the walls in even spaces, from classics to children’s books to study materials. There were few wooden stools scattered hither and tither and a small cash register at the extreme center, that led to the store room in the back. Overall, the shop had a modern yet minimalistic look that was to your liking.

As you walked inside of Fact and Fiction, you heard the familiar bell chime as you pushed open the doors. You made it just in time, and of course there were no customers there. You smiled a bit, knowing that Changmin might just be around and you could have some quality time with him for a bit. But instead of seeing Changmin usually wiping the bookshelves carefully, you were surprised to see Namjoon in his place.

“Oh Y/N! So nice to see you this morning,” Namjoon smiled, walking up to you. Namjoon never came on weekends, and if he did, it was when one of the employees were unable to work anymore. But that was very rare. Could that mean-

“Hey Namjoon,” You said, trying to mask the slight disappointment. “I thought you didn’t come on weekends?”

“I don’t, but now I guess I have to,” He laughed, returning to clean the bookshelves at the far right of the room.

“Why, what happened to Changmin?” You faked playing it cool by taking a book off the Bestseller’s shelf.

“He had to leave, he got scouted by an entertainment agency couple days ago. He’s going to be a trainee,” Namjoon shouted from the opposite side of the room.

As much as your heart felt like it fell from the sky, that you were no longer going to be ogling over the button eyed boy now, you felt a surge of happiness at Changmin finally achieving his lifelong dream to be an idol. It would take some years, but seeing him on the big screen – possibly even cuter – made your heart flutter. Of course, Namjoon was handsome too, so you didn’t mind stealing glances at him now that you no other choice.

“So, what are you going to do, now that he’s gone?” You asked. Surely the other two employees would be a replacement, you thought.

“I already hired a new employee; he’s going to be in charge in weekends now,” Namjoon wiped his hands on the cloth and disappeared into the storeroom.”

You silently nodded to yourself. It was silence now, just you and the books. Evidently you moved to the New Arrivals section, picking an interesting book cover and started reading the first chapter.

As soon as you ensconced in the setting, you heard the door open with the low chatter of what you assumed were female college students.

You heard footsteps. Someone from the other end of the store, presumably the new employee, greeted them in the conventional fashion bookstore employees usually do.

"What may I help you ladies with?"

The hair on the back of your neck stood. Your ears perked up out of its own volition. The vibrations in your heart quickened. Your knees suddenly felt weak, goosebumps erupting on every inch of your skin. You felt the air shifting, as if the coffee toned floorboard beneath you was angled and moved on its own accord.

You've heard that voice before. No, you knew that voice. You started to panic, leaving the book you were reading on the wrong shelf and scurrying past the aisles to the center of the room, where the voice seemingly came from.

You tried to recall where and whom the voice belonged to. The vestiges of your brain that locked out certain memories of your high school unlocked. Your mind worked like a tape recorder left on fast forward. If what you thought was right, it seemed as if that voice belonged to a certain five foot something, a mean, nitpicking, lanky teenager that went by the name –

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes widened immediately. The second you laid eyes on your high school enemy, your legs went cold. You stood there gawking at the boy – now a man – and couldn't for a second fathom why, in all places, he just had to work here in the same neighborhood you lived in. For a second you were cursing Namjoon, but honestly how could that innocent and charming aficionado, unalike Jungkook, know who your high school nemesis was?

Jungkook too, seemed flustered by your appearance, hand straight away behind his neck as he looked at you sheepishly. He aged well, you thought for a moment. He was no longer the gangly teenager that he was; he was bulky, with budding muscles on his arms if you strained your eyes just a bit. He grew out of his ridiculous mushroom haircut, settling for a fringe that slightly kissed the top of his eyes. He grew taller, no doubt, and this time he grew into his features, a square face with a visible jawline that could, quite literally cut glass.

Your history with Jungkook was clear as day. You guys were classmates in high school for four years. The then 15-year-old used to tease you every chance he got. He used to make fun of what you wore, the pieces of writing you wrote and why you always received the highest scores in literature class. Even when he asked for your help in getting better scores in English, he would always speak with a hint of sarcasm and impatience. You left high school cursing him through and through, but was happy you'd never get to see or run into him ever again. Until today.

"Hi Y/N," he said.

"Jungkook," you took a step forward, crossing your arms. This was habit you did as a form of defensive mechanism. Sure, whatever teenage Jungkook said to you during your high school years were long past, but it did put a dent in your self-esteem even if a bit. Maybe your teenage self still feels that the grown up Jungkook would once again sputter mean words to you even though high school was a good while back. “Been long.”

"Yeah, you're right. It's so good to see you again, I mean, I never expected," his voice soft, kind. Of all things, this was the most surprising. You tried to forget how shockingly attractive he turned out to be.

"Ditto," You said, unsure of what else to say. You looked down at your shoes, circling one foot around the other. "So how do you know Namjoon?"

"Oh, Hyung and I go way back. He used to tutor me in high school. Maths, geography, literature, you name it. I owe it to him, for making me pass. I heard he was looking for work so I decided to step in."

Oh, so that's why. The pieces were falling in place now. It did feel nice to catch up with an old high school ‘acquaintance’ of sorts, so you kept aside the qualms of your bullying experiences aside.

"Hey, now that you're here, I never got to say that I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you in high school. I was dumb, stupid really, I mean, dumb and stupid are the same thing, but what I mean is-"

"It's okay, Jungkook. I'm long past it, to be honest. You're forgiven." You manage a small smile, your insides warming with his thoughtfulness. What was even sweet was that he appeared a bit nervous, even though the line seemed rehearsed - it made you think as if he'd been saying this apology to himself so many times as if he would meet you again one day and say it.

Now that the mood was lighter, few more customers began pouring in. You let Jungkook continue with his work even though you wanted to know details about his life now. You resumed reading the book, considered even making this the first purchase in a long time, before Jungkook waddled up to you suggesting that he was free to talk.

"So," Jungkook began slowly, leaning over the wall opposite the bookshelf. “You live here?

“Just a couple of blocks from here. What about you?”

“Oh no, I took the subway here. It’s bit far from my boxing center at home,” he smiles, bowing at new customers who already seemed to know what to look for. You noticed when he smiled that the one thing that didn’t change about Jungkook was his doe eyes. God, they were so misleading to anyone else who didn’t know him well.

And wow, that explained the muscles. Jeon Jungkook having his own boxing center? You pegged Jungkook as being unemployed after high school because if you recall correctly, his grades were dismal. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?

“Wow, boxing center huh? How’s that going?” You kind of feigned interest, nodding your head more than usual whereas you just wanted to read.

“Great actually. I took business in college, and it really got me thinking. So, I pulled some strings and opened a center, that way I could practice and so can everyone else. It’s going pretty good,” he nodded satisfyingly.

You give him a sad smile. He was doing something he liked. You were too, but not exactly.

“So, do you still write poetry?” He asks, knowing he’d been talking too much about himself.

Ah, that was your sour spot. Your true passion. Writing poetry. Those years in high school you realized nothing gave you true happiness than what the joy of words did. You never wanted to make a career out of anything if it didn’t happen to include writing. However, prospects in becoming a writer were perilously low and by the time you finished your first year in college, you realized you had a take different direction if you wanted to lead a financially stable life to pay off your loans.

“Oh, that.” You shrugged, another one of your defense mechanisms. Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted questioningly. You weren’t one to call poetry as ‘that’.

“Well, I learnt poetry can get you far enough as someone with a dying YouTube career, sadly as it is. It's a beautiful profession, but I needed to make ends meet. So currently I'm working as assistant marketing manager at this company an hour away.” You tried to seem as content as possible.

“How is it?” Jungkook now had to go and take to some customers but he was still listening to you.

“It's great!”

It's fucking tedious. Sometimes I want to scream, tear some papers and run around like a maniac.

“I love my boss and my teammates.”

My boss is a sexist, misogynistic prick and my teammates love to kiss his ass.

“There are days when I don't even think about poetry.”

I think about it every single second that I'm at work. I can’t even write cause I’m so packed with stuff to do.

Jungkook laughs as he aligns some books in the correct angles. "You were a good student in high school. With those grades, getting that job must have been piece of cake for you. Although, it must suck not to write because of your work.”

You’re telling me.

The book you were previously reading wasn’t that interesting as you thought. You moved over to the Poetry section, skimming your fingers over the covers of books. You saw a familiar title and took it out. It was the same book of poems that your school had given as part of your Literature syllabus. This book made you fall in love with words and what they mean. You looked inside and to your relief, it had all the poems of love, tragedy and loss that you came to love when you studied them meticulously when you were still a student.

Your favourite poems were I Dream of You by Christina Rossetti and Rooms by Charlotte Mew. You longed for a romance like the ones they described in stanzas, but only seldom in your life did you come across someone who shared the love of sappy poetry like you did.

“Rooms, huh? I love that poem,” Your head sharply whipped towards Jungkook’s direction, who was now curiously studying the book you had in hand.

Jungkook, liking poetry? The same lad who made fun of all the writers for being over-dramatic over love, was now saying he liked poetry?

“Surprising, I know. But like, if anyone found out the guy on the football team shared a secret love for prose and poetry, I would’ve been thrown out,” He shrugs lightly. You understood, your school solely ran on conservative values of toxic masculinity and favouritism. You managed to survive all of that, thankfully.

You and Jungkook then engaged in a discussion on the best poems and writing you guys read, surprised at his wide knowledge and the opinions he had to share. You agreed on many, disagreed with a few. But one thing you realized was that maybe meeting Jungkook wasn’t such a bad thing at all, you guys could finally be friends.

You decided to buy your book of poems. You haven’t seen this book in ages and it would be nice to add to your collection anyway.

As you handed over the book to Jungkook to check out, your hands touched only slightly. Jungkook gave you a small, shy smile, and you returned it. Right before he was going to give you the bill, his hands awkwardly hovered over the register for a moment.

“Wait,” he quickly remembered. “I have to put a stamp inside of this. It’s a way of checking what books are purchased. Work regulations. Give me a sec?”

You nodded and he disappeared into the store room for a good 10 minutes. You waited as you looked around the store for the nth time and wondering when you’d be back again. Jungkook suddenly returned, looking a little sweaty even though the air-conditioner was still on. He wiped his sweat using a towel next to the register and handed over the book to you with both hands.

You smiled at your purchase, tucking it in your bag and respectfully bowing to Jungkook before you decided to make your leave. As soon as you turned your heel towards the door, Jungkook awkwardly extended a hand to you.

“So, what do you say, friends?” His eyes were looking down, to hide his embarrassment. You thought it was cute. You extended your hand too.

“Friends.”

~*~

The sky had enveloped the sun the same way it always did during sundown. You settled comfortably in your duvet, taking out the book inside the paper bag that had the initials F.F. printed in large colourful letters. You placed the book gingerly between your legs as you scanned the hard cover.

You inhaled the pages, the smell settling somewhere in your bones. Then you began reading. It was sunset when you started and then midnight when you got to the middle. You held back a yawn as you decided to call it a day and then get to work from tomorrow. You were putting a bookmark inside the page you stopped at when something like a scrap of paper fell out of the book.

Carefully, you kept your book on the night stand and picked up the fragment and turned it over.

The paper looked as if it were torn from a notebook. What looked like a poem was written in the childish scrawl of a 10-year old, but it didn’t seem reasonable that a child would write something with such thought and maturity.

Thousands of libraries will never exhaust

How you wander in the loveliest recesses of my thoughts,

An angel fallen from heaven,

Am I merely just a spectre in your presence?

Your fingers possess secrets in every page that you write

But how would it feel my dear,

if the hands that touched your skin, were I?

Books may command your attention

But I mean no harm,

But beyond the classroom walls, here is my confession

That it fatigues me that to remain a boy who will love you from afar.

You stared at the paper for a while.

The poem was no doubt very beautiful, suggestive even. Unrequited love always made the best poems, you knew. You imagined a love-struck young boy penning down this very poem for his classmate in the back of his Algebra book, thinking it would never be seen by anyone else except him. What you loved most was that in each verse, the writer made his best effort to form an analogy between his lover’s passion for books and his passion for her. And to top it all, you and this girl shared your love for books.

But how did such a sensitive piece of writing wind up in your poetry book?

The paper didn’t match the quality of the paper of your recent buy, obviously. Namjoon was also not one to keep second-hand or used books in his store either. Was someone else reading the book and somehow slipped this inside? But the writing seemed very personal and it would be irresponsible for someone to misplace something like this.

You shrugged it off later, safely keeping the piece in one of your night stand drawers. Just when you were about to place your treasured book of poems in your book case, rose petals from the book fell to the floor.

Gasping, you picked the bunch in your hands, the petals bearing an angry crimson shade. Roses were your favourite flower, so you couldn’t but smell the petals that lay within your reach.

But if anything, it only multiplied the questions in your head as to how, when and why both the love poem and the petals were in the book in the first place.

~*~

You forgot about the poem and the rose petals until you found yourself going back to Fact and Fiction the next week. Surprisingly, work load was less but you didn’t want to be one to ask why.

It was a sunny afternoon. You got the news that a sequel to one of your favourite series released few days ago. You were sure that Namjoon would keep a neat pile of the sequel somewhere in his bookstore.

Jungkook was already at the register handing a customer his receipt when he noticed you entering through the glass door. He gave a small wave as you scuttered to the New Arrival’s section. Anxiously, you browsed through the section until you finally saw the familiar title.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you muttered, the pads of your fingertips feeling the glossy hardcover. You had only turned to the front page when a dark-haired someone appeared by your side.

“Seriously, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? Heard it didn’t get good reviews,” Jungkook smirks at you.

“Didn’t get good reviews my ass,” you mock him, going back to reading. The boy shakes his head and lets you read as he helps a customer find a certain book. More customers started to pour in, and soon Jungkook is up and running across the store every five minutes. You felt sorry for him, but then you realised with all his working out, running across a five thousand feet store was practically nothing.

It was just you in the store when it was evening. Jungkook leaned on the wall, resting his head on the counter in respite. You smiled dejectedly at him, wanting to say something to light the mood.

“So, how is Taehyung and Jimin? We couldn’t really catch up properly,” you said, sitting on one of the tools.

Jungkook sighed, almost happy that he could have one conversation today that wasn’t about foraging book titles of books ceased producing copies anymore.

“Jimin is good,” he said, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand. “He’s working at this law firm in Australia. Taehyung is pursuing his Master’s in Europe, something in cultural studies.’

“Wow,” the jealously in your voice was slightly apparent. You did work at a well-known company, but still, working abroad was a different league altogether.

“Gosh, can you believe how messed up we three were? Always fooling around, teachers said we wouldn’t amount to anything,” Jungkook reminisced, leaning his elbows on the counter now.

“I remember,” you laughed. “Especially when Taehyung pranked Mr. Choi with that whoopie cushion and Mrs. Kang when you drew her face on the board one day.”

“I think even Mrs. Kang laughed at that drawing herself, it was pretty impressive,” he smirks, lips breaking into a cocky grin. “

“And I think everyone remembers how you made Hae-ri cry in front of the whole class when you broke up with her,” you chucked, remembering the incident. Hae-ri and Jungkook sort of were going out in the middle of eleventh grade, but you always heard rumours how Jungkook was just playing around, like boys always did.

“Come on, Hae-ri and I were a joke. Can’t help it if she took us seriously,” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He clearly wasn’t interested in her as much as she was. As much as the others girl were really, even though to you he was what you always thought he was – a stupid, mean and lanky adolescent. “To think of it, I couldn’t help if I was a bit popular.”

“Oh, you were the cynosure of all eyes, Kook,” you smiled, looking down. It was true. Jungkook always carried an aura of confidence was that infectious. The kind of charm that made heads turn when he walked in the room, the type of startling charisma that was unnatural of a fifteen-year-old.

“Everyone’s eyes except yours,” he emphasised, crossing his arms over another.

“I mean, you hated me. We hated each other,” You state matter-of-factly, as you got up from the stool to the counter to make your purchase. “I can’t believe I even tried to be nice with you.”

Jungkook faced you with an expression on his face you couldn’t decipher. “I didn't hate you, not completely.”

That was news. You always thought Jungkook and his little gang were out to torture every weakling in school. Jungkook especially liked to torture you, so it would be an understatement to say you were a bit surprised.

“Which part of your icky teenage self,” you jabbed a finger in his shoulder playfully. “-even tolerated me?”

“The part that tolerated you thought you were special. And you still are, Y/N. Special.” He repeated.

There was a twinkle in his eyes when he spoke that you didn’t miss. Your heart felt like it was floating, warmed by the how Jungkook meant every word he said about you. Your stomach did this thing where it felt like a million bees were swarming around when you felt shy. A blast of warmth shot up your arms. The feeling lingered even when you pushed The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes in his direction.

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t wipe off his face after you had given your payment. The silence seemed unusual, did you just share an intimate, if brief, moment with your high school foe? Why had he called you special? You never stood out even when you were classmates, so why was he saying this now?

“I’ll go stamp this, yeah?” he cuts the silence. You nod, and he vanishes into the storeroom again. He comes back five minutes later this time and hands you the paper bag. You take your leave and silently leave the store.

What you don’t see is Jungkook’s gaze following you intently as you pull the door, walk across the street from the store and disappear into the night.

~*~

You returned home, your laptop greeting you with tons of messages from work. You cursed each of them, especially the one from your boss asking you to revise last week’s updates even though you emailed in a bunch of times saying you did. You pulled an all-nighter as you completed the tasks expected of you. By the time you were done, it was already two-thirty in the night.

You flopped on your bed, your body relaxing as it hit the soft covers. You breathed a sigh of relief as you pulled out your purchase from the paper bag.

You suddenly remembered the poem and the petals. You decided it would be weird, but you turned the book over as if you were expecting the same contents to pool from it. And sure enough, you were right.

Not one, but two pieces of notebook scraps settled onto your lap with some blue coloured rose petals. Your mind did a mental ‘what the fuck?’ before picking up the petals and placing them on your night stand. You picked the scraps and read them, never expecting what you would find.

Help me, for I am surrounded by loquacious ghosts

Yet you stand there, a beauty in flesh and bone

Women would die for me,

yet my mind echoes only your name

Break me from my reverie,

To kiss you in the blue sweater that hugs your delicate frame

You eye me with pure hate, yet is I to blame

I treat you wrongly,

But only to hide my love for you – if you push me away.

You read the second one now.

Blue,

It is the colour of the sweater you wear every first Monday of the month

The pencil you write poems at the top of your chemistry notebook,

The rain as it brushes against your skin when you're late to class

The look on your face when you're happy

The sound of my heart when you walk past my seat at the cafeteria table

The smile you wear when your friends hook their arms around yours

And my love for you that will never be requited.

Cold sweat broke out on your spine. This wasn't some love poem that was mistakenly placed in your book. It felt like the poems were directed at you. Even the first poem made you feel slightly suspicious because you had a resemblance to the girl mentioned in it.

You tried to knit all three poems together, because all those years in poetry class made you an expert at analysing. You found a connection. They were written by someone in high school.

The love for books, the pencil, the sweater, the behaviour traits, all reminded you of your teenage self from years ago. It was so intricate, as if this person had been observing you through a lens in class for years.

It was someone that you hated and he hated you too, but then again, you hated a lot of people in high school, and they too, you felt, disliked you. You had few friends, however good ones, all of which whom you remained in contact today.

Who could this person be? He definitely had outstanding poetry skills, the words worming its way into your heart ever since you had the first poem. You felt shy. Someone, in your class, liked you behind a mask of hatred. Your body contracted as you concluded that you had a mystery writer sending you messages with every book you bought. You wondered why you were living in the dark for a long time.

How had this not happened earlier? Why was it that before buying the book, it didn’t seem to have any individual contents in it, but after taking it home, it did?

You wanted more answers. You wanted to write back, but whom would you be writing to? You didn't know this person or his address. You realised that this was a one-way connection. You could only build your assumption if you had more poems to build them on.

And that could only happen if you happened to go to a certain bookstore couple of blocks from your apartment.

~*~

You went there the next weekend, on a cold Sunday morning. You kept the mystery poet a secret to yourself, although it haunted you for the whole week while you were at work.

As the weeks ensued, work was piling up, but you felt at peace when you were there among the books and Jungkook's company. The weekends went by with Jungkook narrating funny stories of certain customers he encountered, high school memories, work schedules, and of course books.

“No, Dark Places was absolutely not one of Gillian Flynn’s best works,” you commented, one evening.

“But the Satanic vibe was cool, you have to admit,” Jungkook’s voice was lost as he piled books in front of a stand.

Jungkook was a diligent worker for a newbie; he polished the shelves and smoothened out dog-eared books. He always checked the register and counted the cash, aligned the books the correct way, made note of what books were available and those which needed immediate restocking. He lost his callous attitude of high school years, but you berated yourself for always comparing his high school habits to the Jungkook now.

You rolled your eyes. “Have you read Karin Slaughter’s books though?”

You could feel his smirk from behind the stack of books. “Pretty Girls.”

“The Good Daughter.” You argued.

“Pretty Girls was grislier. I like.” God, you wanted to lunge a book at this guy. Everything gory or Satanic amused him, it seemed.

Jungkook was funnier than you imagined with the comedic antics he sometimes pulled off, by failing at twirling a book in his hands to accidentally hitting his head on the storeroom door behind the register. He sometimes flirted here and there, which was mostly harmless. But you couldn’t forget that time in the store when he called you special. The look he gave, the sincerity behind it, how genuine it felt.

You kept buying books and of course the love letters kept emerging along with the roses. You still had no idea who this person was, but as time went by, you kept falling more and more in love. You kept the petals in your journal. They did dry off, but you kept them regardless. You always kept the poems in your drawer, neatly piled into one corner. Sometimes, you pressed them close to your chest as if the words would somehow leap up from the page, dissolve into your rib cages and settle near your heart.

But one stormy morning that you were at the bookstore, you were weighed down by how work was progressing. The company had faced some setbacks, so you were responsible for getting the hearing from your boss. You tried to mask your sadness until you see Jungkook doing something suspicious near the centre of the room.

There was a small stand, where usually books were heaped into a mountain of paperbacks. It looked as if the boy was trying to pile the books in a house of cards fashion. The experiment was bound to fail, and Jungkook was lucky Namjoon was never here on weekends to see what was about to be happen.

But you help him instead.

“Do you like working here, Kook?” you tried to sound nonchalant. You hand him two books at a time, while he dexterously stabilised a book on top of another.

“I do,” he replies. “It’s relaxing. Especially when I’m not sweaty and working out all the time. Why?”

“It’s just, I hate my work environment you know, and I miss writing– “

Jungkook eyes you worriedly as he stops midway through the activity. You don’t notice and hand him some books anyway, but they fall right at the edge of the pile and the whole stack falls down on both of you like dominoes.

Jungkook falls back first on the ground, catching you as you fall on his stomach. Your faces are inches away from each other, but you rest your head on his chest, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! See? I’m such a mess. I can’t do anything right, I’m a failure, I’m-“

Jungkook rests his hand on your back and the other hand gently stroking your forehead. You picked up on his hesitance, as if he was asking your body to relax as a signal that he was comforting you. You did relax, you felt as ease. The weeks when you were around him, you never felt comfortable with anyone in your life. Let alone the fact that he was attractive, erm, cute – but he was probably one of the best people you knew.

“Shut up okay? You're amazing. Those assholes at work don't know how talented you are. You're amazing.” Jungkook whispered, rubbing your back in small circles. “I…I sometimes don’t like working at my centre either. The toxic masculinity over there makes me want to puke. I hate the environment, and sometimes I think I’m the one who sparked it.

He wraps both arms round you now, and you're reminded again literally, that being surrounded by books and Jungkook was what led you to Fact and Fiction every weekend. You two lie there for a good ten seconds, before you realised that a customer may walk in any moment. There was also the mess to sort out.

You help Jungkook up, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“I can’t really see you cry, I start crying too,” Jungkook jokes, as he hands you a tissue from the tissue box. Always so concerned, you took note. “Is there something that keeps you happy apart from books? Y-you could try and do that?”

"Actually,” you sniff. “There is something that keeps me happy these days. Someone keeps writing me love letters."

There, your secret finally revealed. Jungkook gaped you, as if he didn’t believe it. Honestly, you didn’t either until you made the connection yourself.

He proceeded to ask you details of the discovery, and was shocked himself when you told him of how you thought the person could be someone from high school. It really got him thinking. He named each classmate you’ve ever had an interaction with, but you couldn’t picture any of them having any interest in you.

How did your mystery writer/(lover?) know so much about you? Little details, little quirks. Was he a stalker? But how did he know exactly which books you bought and when?

"Well, maybe you should write something of your own too. Maybe like, in response to how you feel when you read his poems.” The boy suggested, picking the books from the floor, dusting them before putting it in a box next to him.

You mirrored his actions. You pondered over the thought for a while though. Writing to him would be a way to practice your writing that you thought you lost. It was a great idea; you were doing it for yourself. And then if you ever meet this mystery guy, you would show him too.

“Wait, before you leave,” the doe-eyed boy stops your tracks. The books were successfully placed in the box, and you were helping him put it in the sore room when he asks you to wait.

Jungkook walks you toward the end of the room. He picks out a book and shows you the cover. It’s a limited-edition copy of one of your favourite authors of all time, and signed. You wondered what it was doing at the back, when it should be out in front.

“I saved this copy, just for you,” Jungkook’s cheeks blushed a tinge of pink. “I remembered how much you liked his work in school. And I’m willing to give this to you, half the price.”

You ran and hugged Jungkook the tightest hug you had ever given someone in years. He laughed, returning the hug. You felt like the luckiest girl, customer, (whatever!) and you almost felt bad because you had gotten something exclusive for a discount because you knew the employee, anyone else would have paid fortunes for this. You thought about declining, but Jungkook really insisted.

“Don’t think about refusing. I’ll go stamp this before you make your payment,” he says before you could protest.

Really, where had Jungkook been all this time? So much kindness, this boy was brimming with endless love that you thought you didn’t deserve. After a while, he comes out and you hand him the cash.

As you say your goodbyes and make your leave, Jungkook says “And please don’t cry, wouldn’t want to taint that pretty face, right?”

Something stirred in your heart. You had just started seeing Jungkook as a man, was it now that he started seeing you as a woman? A blush creeps up your neck as you contemplate the thought all the way home.

~*~

You carefully keep the purchase on your bed. Taking out the scraps of love poems from your drawer, you needed to look at your muse before you started writing on your own.

You stretched your hands, pen in hand, ready to recreate wonders when it hit the paper. But you were blank. It’s like your mind had wired out all the imaginations you had kept stored for the last couple of years. You fell flat on your desk, exhaustion over coming you. Had you really lost your touch? Your parents, teachers and friends always praised you for your writing skills, have you let them down? But you weren’t really going to quit this easily.

You looked at your purchase. There must be another poem hidden inside. As if controlled by an entity, you opened the book, flipped the leaves and saw the very page sitting in between the middle pages. You removed the pink rose petals too, your guy never seemed to forget adding them in. You turned the scrap over.

Today I heard your laugh

Setting my heart in a frenzied trance

The purest sound even the sweetest nightingale could not match

Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass

The most beautiful treasure, I can never have.

Your eyes watered. It was a poem tinier from the rest, but this one struck something within you. “Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass”, the words feeling sweeter every time you repeated them. You couldn’t believe someone, who was so far from you, could love you this vehemently.

Suddenly, you had found your strength. You were going to write. You were doing this for him. For you.

You picked up the pen and the words just came to you. It was a struggle, but it was a start, you console yourself. You never imagined you would be writing a love letter to someone you had never seen, touched and spoke to, but you didn’t care. Your hands worked away, filling the page in front of you.

But your mind echoed the same mantra over, and over again: I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us.

~*~

It's three weeks later that you decide to do an experiment. It's been quite a while since you've been to the store, and the poems stopped coming as well. Work was driving you crazy. You knew sometime in this week you had to drop by the bookstore, so you decided to see if your mystery lover came on the weekdays.

Another employee whom you didn’t know personally and Namjoon were there. Jungkook, of course, was nowhere in sight like you guessed. Namjoon gives you a wave from the register as he speaks to a customer. You knew that you already had too many books, but today was crucial if you wanted to see if your experiment worked out. You could also return the book after you bought it, granted you brought it in after fifteen days. You could buy a book for someone else; your mystery man would never know you were buying it for yourself. Yeah, that’s what you decided do.

You picked up a random title from the shelf and made your way to the counter. The store was mostly empty, except one or two customers. Everybody was busy on a weekday.

As you made your payment, you noticed Namjoon stamping the inside of the book before handing it over to you. The counter was designed in a way so that a person standing a normal distance away couldn’t see what was inside of it. So naturally, your eyes furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t you have to go inside and stamp?” You asked, wondering if Namjoon made the wrong stamp. Even the brightest minds can forget.

“What do you mean? Namjoon looked at as if you had said the most ridiculous thing ever.

"Like whenever Jungkook checks out a book, he goes into the storeroom and stamps? It’s a rule?" You weren’t being sure of what you were saying right now. You sounded like a poor student explaining the concept of rocket physics to a professor.

"Oh, I don't know why he does that, since there's already a stamp here." He holds up a plastic rubber stamp like someone would hold an antique. "And I mean, you could do that, since there are few spare ones in the storeroom, but that’s like extra effort you have to put in. I'm not sure why he does that."

You nodded, kind of silent.

"Does he do that to you or for every customer?"

You realise you never even noticed this. Usually when the store had customers, you were engrossed in reading or looking at books. You never even wondered if Jungkook went to the storeroom to stamp all the books that were purchased. The bookstore would be very crowded during weekends, and the time taken for Jungkook to go and come back usually takes five or ten minutes. Surely, he would’ve taken one of the stamps to the counter itself cause the journey would be too tiring. But you didn’t know for sure what he did for other customers. You slapped yourself in your head for being so ignorant.

You left the store with an uncertainty heavy on your chest.

You return home. Billions of questions bounced from one corner of your mind to another in an intense ping-pong battle. What was worse, when you looked inside the book you bought, there was no poem. No rose petals either.

Could it be that Jungkook knew your mystery guy? Was he the one slipping in the poems when you made your purchase? Did your guy come in the middle of the week and hand Jungkook his writing and leave it up to him to do the favour? Is that why there were no poems or roses today, cause Jungkook wasn’t at work?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the best way to handle your doubts was to confront Jungkook.

You noticed that you needed to buy groceries for the night. You just had take-out for three days in a row and now the thought of Chinese food made you feel icky. You hit yourself on the head for not buying groceries earlier after you were at at the store. You took your purse and made it in time at the grocery before closing.

Once you were done, you stepped out with your heavy paper bag and saw it was pouring heavily. Pedestrians were already waiting outside the store, hoping the rain would subside soon. Nobody suspected today that it would rain and neither did you.

“Fuck,” you muttered, you didn’t bring an umbrella. The bookstore was just across the grocery. It had a bigger shade, enough to cover seven people from the rain. You silently thanked Namjoon’s choice of constructing the store as you launched yourself across the street.

Jungkook was standing under the shed, looking for something in his bag. You didn’t notice he was there until he called your name.

“Y/N!” his eyes lit up. Desperate, your eyes searched his hands. He was carrying an umbrella. You breathed easier.

“Oh hey,” you say, the rain making it hard for you to be audible. Raindrops pounded against the shed like fists banging a door. “I thought you didn’t work on weekdays?”

“I don’t,” he said. “I was meeting someone here for work.” You nodded, wondering how would bring up the topic of the poems. Maybe you would ask him on Saturday, two days from now. Right at this moment, didn’t seem like the best time.

“Would you mind dropping me off at the subway, though? It’s just near my place,” you knew you sounded desperate, but you needed to get back home. You remembered he had to take the subway to get home too. Jungkook violently nodded his head as he opened his umbrella. You both started walking, shivering slightly at the cold.

"Hey, come closer. Don't want to get your pretty outfit wet," Jungkook huddled you closer to his side, wrapping a hand around your waist for purchase. Your cheeks reddened, maybe at the way the wind whipped your skin or the fact that no one's ever been this near you.

As the space between you and Jungkook closed, you looked at the boy who was always so concerned with your well-being. He had been occupying your thoughts lately. Maybe because of his dorky personality or because he was very smouldering in person, but either ways, your experience of crushes told you that this was the beginning of another infatuation. But you, liking your high school classmate? As much you fantasised him from time to time, you had to resist thinking about it. He maybe had a girlfriend, who knew? Someone as wonderful as him deserved one.

But in this moment, under the incessant rain where both of you trying to turn his upturned umbrella, Jungkook breaking into bouts of laughter as a car splashed water on your clothes, and you complaining of your matted hair – you felt so happy. The puzzle of the poems was longer a worry to you. All you wanted was to be happy in the moment, with Jungkook.

“So, are you going to give this mystery guy a chance?” Jungkook's voice strained to speak over the rain. Ah, coming to the point. You had been so sure you wouldn’t bring up the topic, but destiny had other plans.

“How am I supposed to give him a chance when I don't know who he is or how he looks like?” You say, uncomfortable at how wet the hem of your jeans was. You were walking at an uncomfortable speed, trying to avoid the puddles in your path but in vain.

“He surely knew what he had to do to get you swoon over him,” Jungkook laughed, as if he was so sure. He was right though, strangely.

“He does have a way with words,” you agreed. The wind was horrible now, pulling your top over your midriff. "I'm scared cause maybe the day he'll come up to me, I'll look like trash."

"No, you never look like trash. You look pretty in whatever you wear, Y/N." Jungkook scoffed. You blushed again. God, why was it so hard not to blush in front of him? “But you do know what's coming.

“What is?” Honestly your mind had been occupied so much about work, and your anonymous lover than you had no time to think the next Jungkook wanted to say.

“Valentine's Day.”

As soon as you heard it, something in you jolted. Two days from now was Valentine’s Day.

"Do you think he might make his appearance that day?" you asked, your voice high as a sparrow’s chirp. Jungkook offered to hold your grocery bag in return for holding his umbrella. You obliged.

"Can't really say that, but would it make your day if he did?" he continued.

“Oh my god, yes,” you stressed on the word, even slightly a little bit anxious because you wouldn’t know what you did if he came out of nowhere.

“Does someone have butterflies in their stomach now?”

"Stop it.” You nudged an elbow at him. You have no idea what he does to me."

"I do know." He holds his gaze longer this time. The rain finally subdued. You saw something in Jungkook's eyes then, you're not sure what – sadness, hope, expectation? But whatever it was, you felt something reverberate in your ribs long after he tears his gaze away.

"I think this is where we part." You say, brushing the hair from your eyes. You were still holding his umbrella, waiting for the right moment to give it to him.

Jungkook suddenly takes your free hand and squeezes it in his own. "Whatever you do, Y/N, please give that guy a chance. He does seem to really like you." He tucked a hair beside your ear, you shuddered a bit at the cold touch.

Why was Jungkook being so persistent about it? Why was he so serious when it came to you and your mystery lover? Whatever the deal was, Jungkook's expression didn't waver. He was right too, and that strengthened your resolve to accept this stranger no matter who he was. You nodded, which made Jungkook only happier.

"I wish I can see him." You sighed, wondering if Jungkook was thinking what you were thinking.

"Y/N," Jungkook leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Maybe you just need to keep looking around you, because he could be so near to you, but you just don't know it yet."

You still don't understand what the raven-haired stunner meant by his words when he hands you the groceries, leaves without his umbrella and descends the subway stairs.

~*~

It was Saturday. Valentine’s Day.

Jungkook woke up in his one-bedroom apartment, a little shaky. Today was the day.

As he reached over to pick up the backpack he took to work, he unzipped the tiny front pocket. Scraps of paper fell out from the seams, like snowflakes on a wintry morning. The twenty-three-year-old looked at each piece, running his fingers over the love poems his high school-self had written to you. If Jungkook had told his angsty teenage self that someday the poems he had written at the top of his history notebook would be read by you, he would have never believed himself.

Jungkook always liked you.

It wasn’t love at first sight, heck, he didn’t believe in that. He didn’t mind you at first, but he realised what made you so special than the rest. You were strong, maybe not in the vocal way, but in the way you saw the world around you. When the teacher complimented how well you would write your answers, you evocative your poetry was – Jungkook could never imagine how a shy girl, her nose so lost in a book at the corner of class would do that.

So when Jungkook read your answers one day, or when he would sneak a glance at your writing, he felt insecure. The real reason why Jungkook always teased you was that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t write as well you did, put his mind to something that you did so well, to be so intelligent, strong and soft. From you, he understood that strength doesn’t equate to being aggressive, or overly vocal. It can be in the way you can showed kindness as well.

So that’s why started pestering you, to hide his own feelings he could never reveal to anyone.

Jungkook never forgot how even after he teased you repeatedly in class, you would always give him an extra pencil when he wanted one, or a reassuring smile when he was anxious before a test. That was the only limit of his interactions with you, but it was more than enough.

He quickly took notice of you in the most subtle ways. The pencil you wrote with, the way your hair was styled one morning, that blue sweater that was apparently your favourite. How you passed by his seat at the cafeteria every morning to sit with your friends. How opinionated you were about certain authors and their writing styles. Even when Jungkook had to put up his ‘popular boy’ persona, sometimes he would tune out all the meaningless conversations he had just to hear how soft your laugh sounded when your friends showed you something funny.

You quickly became his muse. Jungkook was good at physical activities. He was popular, everyone had expectations from him to go on to college with a football scholarship. Everyone looked up to Jungkook cause made himself look like an idol. But in reality, Jungkook had nothing to show except for a fleeting charisma. Jungkook was good at physical activities, but not at words.

But you made him fall in love with words. Like everyone else, he was at first impatient at why poets and writers took so long to get to the point. But he learnt from you that art was patience. Love was patience.

He struggled, for weeks, months, trying to get the right words out of him. How he felt for you, how you made him feel. He now realised how hard it was express your feelings in few words. But with some practice, Jungkook eventually got there. He had begun to read more, surprising his parents too, but he eventually loved the activity. It calmed him. Soothed his nerves. Staying up late at night just reading, Jungkook noticed his English answers were improving. When he received the final grade, it wasn’t great. But he was satisfied. His whole gang slapped high-fives with him asking how he cheated his way through the exam successfully. He bit his lower lip, a habit of his, as he shrugged at them in response. The real reason was a pretty girl who always sat in the corner of class.

He kept his proudest pieces of poetry hidden in his bag for so long, secretly thanking you for realising a part of him he never knew existed. He took the bag everywhere with him, serving as his strength. His true, strength. Not the kind that had him running 20 laps around school and bench press 30 kilos to impress his coach.

He always regarded you as his first love, not Hae-ri, not any of the girls he went out with as a joke. He was sad when he graduated high school, but was too shy to come up and thank you. He regretted not saying anything to you then, knowing life is not one to give second chances.

But when Jungkook saw you in the bookstore for the first time, part of him thought this was fate. His feelings resurfaced, stronger than ever. He still had the scraps of poetry in his bag in the storeroom, he could just retrieve them and slip them into the book you would purchase. Maybe even some roses Namjoon liked to decorate on the inside.

When you slid your book the counter, Jungkook had deliberated the idea. But he knew that everything happens for a reason, so he decided to do it anyway. You would never know who it was, but at least he could tell you how he felt for you in one way. He kept repeating this as many times as you bought something from the store. He loved your company, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Never had he felt happier when he was talking to you, getting to know the real you.

So that’s why he wanted to reveal himself to you, behold! I’m the writer behind all those poems!

Valentine’s Day would be the perfect opportunity to do so. He just hoped, wished, that you wouldn’t push him away. Or, be disappointed. That was Jungkook’s fear that kept him wide awake at night. Could you have been hoping for someone else? Did you not look at Jungkook the way he looked at you?

He would only know today. He was bracing himself, when he got changed, when he showered, when he raced to the subway and made it sharp at ten am.

Namjoon was already there, smiling at the young boy wondering why his cheeks were so red. Jungkook’s heart never beat that fast. His heart felt like it would be sliced open by a hundred bullets. He quickly put on his apron and pretended to be busy arranging the books on the middle shelves in proper order. It was already an hour when he heard the door open.

Jungkook’s feet almost leapt up when he saw you coming inside. He waved, a bit too much he thought, and took few seconds to gather himself together. He was ready to approach you any moment now. He would take your hands, press them against his chest and say: “Its me, Y/N. I’m the anonymous writer you’re looking for.”

Jungkook edged himself forward. All this time he’d been waiting for this.

Until he sees Namjoon walking up to you first.

~*~

“Y/N,” Namjoon approaches you. You didn’t expect him to be talk to you, since he was always so busy on weekends. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say…that you look pretty today.”

“What?” you laugh, nervously. Namjoon calling you pretty? All of a sudden? You never even thought he even looked at you beyond a friend. Yes, he was very good looking, Jungkook must have talked about you to him, hadn’t he? The former always complimented on your appearance, making you smile inwardly.

“Gosh,” he chuckles in return. “Your laugh really does sound like fireflies bouncing against thin glass.”

You blink twice, hand going right up to your mouth. Namjoon. Wait, Namjoon? So, it had been him all this time? Yes, it all made sense! Only someone as charming, educated and well-mannered as Namjoon fit in all the right pieces of the mystery man you pictured. No wonder the poems had a very loving touch, it was written by someone like him. But how he had he known so much about you? Was it Jungkook who told him all those teeny, insignificant details that you were made of?

At that moment, you didn't care. All you knew was that Kim Namjoon noticed you. He had noticed you.

You smile at him.

You looked over your shoulder, Jungkook’s face turning to a shade of grey. His seemed frozen in position. You wondered why. You just wanted to jump up and shake him and scream into his face: Jungkook! Namjoon is the one! He’s been the one writing to me!

“I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out to coffee with me today? It is Valentine’s Day,” he scratches the back of his neck. You take his hands in yours. You nod willingly. You were too excited that all you had was time to point at Namjoon to Jungkook when Namjoon had his back turned to remove his apron.

Jungkook got the message you tried to tell him. He only smiled, but you wondered why it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

~*~

The café shop that you and Namjoon decided on was already swarming with customers, couples mostly. You guys decided to sit outside, a table for two. You were so excited, you were ready to bombard Namjoon with a series of questions, hoping it would give you the insight it needed. You both ordered two lattes and brownies with ice-cream topping.

“I can’t believe you readily agreed to go out with me,” the man before you shrugs modestly. “I mean, I could pass on as your elder brother, right?”

“Um, no, I was so happy that you asked, I…I never imagined, really. I’m really happy you did,” you stuttered, reaching out your arms to touch his. He appreciated the compliment.

“That’s so sweet, Y/N,” Namjoon smiled again, resting the palm of his hand on his cheek, giving you a longing gaze.

“Sweet, just like the poems you wrote for me,” you giggled, waiting to hear just what he would say. You almost choked on the next words.

“The what?” He blinked. Immediately, you knew you looked stupid. You tried to find your words.

“I said, just the like the poems you wrote for me.”

“I never wrote poems for you, heck, I can't even write poetry, Y/N.” Namjoon sipped on his latte that arrived. Your knees turned rubbery. He was joking right? You continued to insist, but Namjoon just shook his head firmly.

“I'm serious, I never wrote anything for anyone. Ask all my exes.” He was looking at your curiously now. You did too. Your hands were getting sweaty with nervousness.

“Then why did you say that my laugh sounded like fireflies tinkling against glass?” Exactly your question.

“Cause, I heard Jungkook saying it was.”

Your heart again did a little flip at his name. He was talking about you to Namjoon. But Jungkook was narrating the same line from the last poem you received, how is that possible, granted if he didn’t know the content? Or if, someone had given him the poem in the first place and he just happened to see it? A streak of anger went up your body when you thought of Jungkook intruding on your privacy.

“If...if, you didn't write these poems, then who did?” You searched your bag, taking out the poems that you kept in your wallet. You laid them out, one by one, on the table. There were many of them, but Namjoon scrutinised each piece closely. His eyes darted from one end to another, eyebrows furrowed in confusion suggesting he was in deep thought. Namjoon squinted at the scribbly, childish scrawls on the scraps and suddenly his brain clicked.

“This seems a lot like the poems Jungkook showed me, you know.”

You looked up shocked, your heart feeling like it was dropped from a height. Jungkook writes poems? You knew he read often; you didn’t know he wrote too. Did he have the time to? When did he start writing? All these questions made your head feel like it was stuffed with cotton.

Namjoon noticed your silence. “I know,” he laughs. “Seems weird right? He doesn’t seem like it, but that boy does have some talent in the writing department. He says it calms him somehow.”

“Do you keep roses in the store room, Namjoon?” You said, not looking at him. Your voice almost sounded robotic.

“I do, to brighten up the space there. Although I realised on the days you would come, there would always be one rose less the last time I counted them.”

Do you think...?

Suddenly, your brain had connected the dots. You shouldn't have judged Namjoon so quickly. All the times you remembered, Jungkook mentioned going to the storeroom to stamp the books you purchased. There was actually a stamp right there in the counter, but he never failed to go inside the storeroom instead. Maybe he slipped in the poems and the roses then?

And the handwriting. You remember going through Jungkook's essays in high school when you tried to help him out, even a bit. You remembered how bad his handwriting was.

But Jungkook, writing poems for you? You admit you did feel a soft spot for Jungkook albeit your sour history with him in high school, but soon you realised he's so much more than his shy demeanour. Yes, your assumption on Namjoon being your mystery writer overlooked all the clues, and you wished you thought more thoroughly. Now, because of your impulsive decision-making skills, you landed up in this awkward situation with Namjoon.

Jungkook was the one writing poems for you. Only he could notice those habits you had possessed in school, he was your classmate for fuck’s sake! All those years that you hated him for being mean to you, he was crushing on you instead? How, why?

But then you understood. You liked Jungkook. Ever since the first poem. He became such a beautiful writer, with all the delicate details he noticed about you. So, there was meaning behind him calling you special. There was meaning when he looked at you for a few seconds longer. There was meaning in his smile, in his actions, in his concern. There was meaning in every little thing he did because he liked you, and still likes you. And you liked him too.

Why had he resisted the ache in his heart to come forward and tell you the truth about who the person behind the poems was?

You put back the poems and muttered several apologies to Namjoon before you fled the scene, your mind rehearsing exactly what to tell Jungkook the first thing you meet him.

~*~

You barged inside the familiar bookstore, the cold air from the air-conditioner hitting you smack in the face. There were no customers, it was Valentine’s Day you remind yourself. Jungkook was busy cleaning up the bar, a solemn look colouring his usually bright face.

He looked a bit startled when he saw you open the door, as if he didn't expect you to enter at this hour.

“Y/N! How was your date?” He faked enthusiasm. You marched up to him and slammed the poems down on the counter.

“You could have told me, you know. The worst I could do was to storm off,” You crossed your arms, this time not as a defence mechanism.

“What are you talking about?” He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the poems now. How long was he going to keep up this act?

“Disappearing to stamp my book? The horrible handwriting? The intricate details about how I was in school? Sounds like only someone who knew me, or observed me very well, would know.” You said, tone a bit lighter. “I'm not dumb, Kook.”

There was a slight pause on Jungkook’s end before he speaks. “Took you this long to find out, though.”

You grinned. “You’re a coward.” You leaned forward, slightly kissing him on the lips. He responds, smiling, taking his hand to cup you on the cheek. It’s awkward at first, but his lips were just the right amount of soft and yours. Suddenly, Namjoon, your temporary crush on Changmin, disappear. The moment is magical as you lock both arms around Jungkook’s neck as he kisses you excitedly. Sparks fly between both your bodies.

You break away from the kiss. “You say big words in your poems, yet you can't muster up the courage to confess to the girl you like?”

“I thought…you and Namjoon hyung...” Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed crimson, as he eyes the floor in attempt to hide his evident embarrassment.

“Which wouldn't have happened if you confessed to me earlier.” You rolled your eyes, baffled that he didn’t speak up when he should have. “Do you know how awkward it was, realising you were the one behind the poems and not Namjoon?”

“Oh my god, did you leave him there all alone?” He tried to suppress a small laugh. “So, do you like me now?”

“We just kissed, Jungkook.” You punched him. “But yes, I have liked you ever since I read your poem the first time. And your writing is just…wow.”

“I try,” He did that thing again where he rubbed the back of his neck when he got shy. “Only for the girl I always had a crush on.”

“And you succeeded.” Throwing your hands over his neck again, nuzzling your nose against his, you felt the comfort, the same one whenever you were around Jungkook, slowly making it way from your legs to your arms.

“Valentine's Day is not over yet, shall we go out?” You nodded at Jungkook’s suggestion as you both made your way out the store, no customers projected to come anyway.

Hand in hand, you realised that fairy tales with happy endings did exist. Except for princes, dragons and villains – your story had roses, poetry and Jeon Jungkook, your enigmatic writer in hidden notebook scraps, whom you loved with all your heart.

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