#there's a reason why they became clichés in the first place

[reilemon]

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Possession 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

♡︎ synopsis: You move into an abandoned mansion looking for a fresh start. Little did you know you're not the only one living there.

♡︎ pairing: demon!Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: restraints, corruption (if you squint), breathplay

♡︎ word count: 10k

♡︎ a/n: the fourth story for kinktober 2024.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

The night wraps around you like a vice, pressing down on your skin. Every breath feels heavier than the last as the low, eerie hum seeps into your bones. The melody is fractured, broken, sung by something that doesn’t understand human warmth. It’s wrong, so wrong, and the more you hear it, the harder it is to pretend that everything is normal.

You sit up in bed, the silk of your nightgown sticking to your skin, cold sweat beading along your neck and back. You strain your ears to listen, catching every sound the house makes—the creak of floorboards, the low groan of the wind clawing at the windows. But beneath it, that humming persists, growing clearer.

A footstep.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Something is walking—no, pacing—just beyond your bedroom door, almost as though it knows you're listening.

You tell yourself, ‘this is ridiculous’. You’ve lived here almost two weeks, nothing dangerous has happened.

Two weeks living in this forgotten, decaying mansion. At first, the isolation felt like a cure, a place where you could finally breathe after years of soul-sucking work. The realtor had been so eager to sell it. You remember that first visit—dust motes swirling in the dim afternoon light, the scent of mildew hanging in the air. The long-abandoned estate was priced absurdly low for such a massive property. You had asked about its history, about the family that owned it. “Old money,” the realtor said dismissively. “They never even lived here, not really. They’re eager to get rid of it.”

You pressed her—why would they abandon a mansion like this? She’d shrugged, evasive. “Just one of those things, you know? Big house, lots of upkeep. Not practical anymore.” She'd forced a smile, deflecting. “People want something more modern these days.”

At the time, you didn’t care. You wanted solitude, escape, a place to start over after the chaos of your previous life.

In the first week, you brushed off the oddities. The strange cold spots in the halls, the faint scent of smoke that seemed to come from nowhere, the occasional flickering of the old lights. You reasoned ‘the house is just old, settling’. Maybe it was the stress from the move, or just the overwhelming quiet after years of city life.

But then, things became harder to dismiss.

You remember waking up one night to the sound of soft whispers, like voices just beyond your door. You convinced yourself it was a dream, that you were still half-asleep, that your mind was playing tricks on you. But when you opened the door, the hall was filled with an icy draft, despite every window being locked tight. Your skin prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

With every night, your paranoia has grown. You’ve stopped sleeping through the night. Every creak, every gust of wind outside feels like a threat. The humming has become a nightly occurrence —soft at first, almost melodic, but it twists, becomes distorted. And tonight, the footsteps. They’re louder. Closer.

You sit there for too long, your mind racing. Each beat of your heart pounds in your throat as you try to summon some logic to ground you. ‘There has to be an explanation’. You’re not some helpless woman in a cliché horror movie. You won’t let fear consume you.

But the footsteps stop, right outside the door. And in that moment, the air feels too thick to breathe.

Fuck.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor shocking against your bare feet, dragging you out of paralysis. The silk robe slides over your shoulders, its fabric a poor defense against the dread crawling up your spine. You move slowly, the wooden floor beneath you creaking with each step toward the door. Your fingers hover over the handle for a moment, hesitation making your hand shake.

‘It’s just a draft’, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. ‘Just the old house’.

You open the door. You swallow, flipping the light switch with a trembling hand, lighting the empty hallway. The old bulbs buzz and flicker before casting their weak glow, but the light feels sickly. You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, fingers brushing along the wall as though the contact will somehow steady you. With every step, the hum grows fainter, retreating deeper into the house, drawing you further from the safety of your room.

The sitting room’s light flickers as you pass, casting distorted shapes along the walls. The silence between the hums stretches, amplifying the creaks and groans of the house around you.

The dining room is next. You hesitate at the threshold, your breath hitching as the light stutters overhead, threatening to plunge you into darkness again. But it holds, if only just. The hum is still distant, still teasing, but now there's something else—something heavier beneath it. A low, barely audible rasping breath, like the sound of something alive, breathing with you.

Your hand grazes the light switch to the kitchen, fingers trembling. The moment the light flares to life, it dies.

The room plunges into complete darkness. A thick, suffocating blackness that feels like it’s crawling over your skin. Your pulse spikes, cold panic flooding your veins. The hum is gone now—replaced by the unmistakable feeling that something is in there, waiting, watching.

A faint whisper—right next to your ear, soft and malicious—sends a scream clawing up your throat, but you bite it back, too terrified to make a sound.

‘Move. Move, now.’

You stumble backward. The floor seems to shift beneath you as you flee towards the stairs. You crash into the bedroom, your breath ragged, chest heaving. You slam the door shut with a resounding thud, and the thin wood feels too fragile, too weak to keep anything out. You press your back against it, gripping the doorknob with trembling fingers, your raging heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You stand there, frozen, waiting for something else to happen. But nothing does. No footsteps, no whispers, no movement beyond the door. Just stillness.

You exhale, forcing yourself to unclench your hands from the doorknob, willing your body to stop shaking. ‘Get a grip’, you tell yourself, trying to suppress the waves of panic that threaten to consume you. You're not going to lose your mind over this. ‘It's just the stress. That’s all.’ The isolation, the strangeness of living alone in such a vast, decrepit place—it’s been messing with your head. You force your breathing to slow, sucking in deep, calming gulps of air.

Pushing away from the door, you cross the room and sit on the bed, retreating back into the sheets. It’s late—too late to do anything about it now—but in the morning, you’ll change every lock in this mansion. No more creaky doors, no more unlocked windows. You’ll seal every inch of this place if you have to. And you’ll call Tara. She’d laugh at you at first, no doubt. She teased you for choosing to live in such a remote, old house. "You’re gonna end up starring in one of those haunted house stories," she'd said, half-joking. You smile weakly, despite the dread gnawing at your gut. It’s time to take her up on her offer to visit. Tomorrow, you’ll call her.

Lying back on the bed, you try to focus on the plan—changing locks, calling Tara. You’ll handle this like you handle everything. The house creaks softly, as if responding to your newfound resolve. You ignore it, pulling the sheets up over your face, the fabric cool against your skin. ‘Sleep’, you tell yourself. ‘You need sleep’.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day arrives sluggishly. You barely slept through the night, but daylight always brings a faint sense of hope. You push yourself out of bed, running through the motions, pretending for a moment that everything is normal.

Tara arrives just after lunch. You open the front door for her, her playful smile greeting you. But it quickly fades when her eyes catch the tension in your shoulders, the dullness of your skin. "You look like hell." You want to make a joke or a clever comeback in return, but the weight of the last two weeks presses too heavily on you. So you just let her in. You’ve told her over the phone this morning already, but now you tell her everything in more detail. You tell her about the footsteps, the humming, the cold spots. How the house doesn’t feel right.

"Okay," Tara says after a moment, her brows furrowing. "I’m not saying I believe in all that, but I’ve read enough ghost stories to know we don’t mess around with this kind of thing. I brought something." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bundle of sage. "We’ll burn this. Clears out bad energy, or at least it’s supposed to. Couldn’t hurt, right?"

You stare at the bundle for a moment, feeling both ridiculous and relieved. Maybe it’s silly, but she is right, it can’t hurt to try. "Thanks," you mutter, trying to smile.

"And I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows a good priest," Tara adds, her tone light again, though you can hear the genuine concern beneath it. "Someone could come over and bless the place, right? If nothing else, it’ll give you peace of mind."

You nod, though part of you still feels absurd for even considering it. Together, you and Tara walk through the house, lighting the sage. The oppressive weight that has been weighting you down lifts, just slightly. The creaking stops, the cold spots seem to fade, and for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

"See? Not so bad," Tara says, giving you a reassuring smile. "It already feels better in here. Maybe that’s all it needed—some good ol’ sage and positive vibes."

You nod, grateful, feeling a spark of hope. Maybe this is all it took. Maybe that’s the end of it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

That night, you follow your routine, trying to remain calm. You lock every door, check every window, twice, and make sure nothing is out of place. By the time you slip into bed, you’re exhausted. You lie there in the dark, the cool sheets against your skin, your eyes slowly fluttering closed.

But in the depths of the mansion, something stirs. The energy has changed, shifted. The air hums with a barely-contained agitation, a dark presence swirling in the corners, crawling through the walls. It had been watching you, waiting. And now, with the sage burned and the mention of a priest, it’s no longer content to simply watch.

A sound pulls you back from the edge of sleep. You freeze, straining to listen. At first, it’s faint, like distant laughter. It’s low, dark, amused, seeping through the room as though it’s mocking your very presence here. You sit up abruptly, your pulse spiking. The laugh is gone, but the air feels colder now. The wind outside picks up, slapping against the windows, and then—you hear it. A loud, sharp caw. A crow’s cry, shrill and eerie, slicing through the still night air. You turn your head toward the window, expecting to see its shape perched on the sill, but there’s nothing there, just the empty darkness beyond the glass.

‘It’s just a bird’, you tell yourself. ‘Just a bird’.

But then the footsteps start again.

They’re louder this time. Not like before when you could pretend it was just the old floorboards shifting. No, these are deliberate. Heavy. The distinct sound of boots on wood, moving slowly down the hallway outside your bedroom. Each step echoes through the house, growing louder, closer, until they stop right outside your door. You can feel your pulse in your throat, every instinct screaming at you to stay in bed, to not make a sound. But the silence is oppressive. You can’t just lie here anymore. You push yourself up on shaky legs, feet hitting the cold floor as you move toward the door, your hand hovering over the knob like before. But this time, you don’t need to open it.

The door swings open on its own.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything is still. The dark hallway stretches before you, stretching into nothingness. But then, at the far end, you see it—a faint, flickering glow. A dim, blood-red light. It pulses, stronger with each passing second, growing brighter, sharper. Your chest tightens as the glow intensifies. You swallow hard, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the realization hits you that this—whatever it is—isn’t something you can ignore.

“Who… who are you?” you stammer, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

The red glow flickers, focusing on you. You feel it in the air around you. The presence you’ve been denying, the thing that’s been watching, waiting. Now you’ve acknowledged it. It begins to solidify, drawing closer. The figure takes form—broad shoulders, a tall, towering frame. And then, his face. Sharp, defined features, red eyes, and silver hair. His gaze locks onto you, and it feels like he’s peering into the deepest, darkest parts of your soul.

You stumble back, heart racing, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing. This can’t be real. This has to be some nightmare. But he’s there, standing before you, fully formed—real.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, his voice deep.

You stand frozen, every inch of you trembling. This isn’t some ghost story, some figment of your imagination. You take a step back, your legs weak, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. “W-waiting for what?” you manage to choke out, though your voice barely rises above a whisper.

His smirk widens. “For you to understand,” he says softly, his tone almost condescending. He takes a step closer and the floor creaks under the weight of his boots, the sound amplified in the eerie silence of the mansion. “This place… it’s mine. Always has been.”

You stumble backward again, your mind racing, desperate for some way to rationalize this. But you can’t. The thing standing in front of you isn’t human. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking your head. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

He laughs softly at that, a low, dark chuckle. “I am not the intruder here,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You are.” His eyes narrow, the humor fading, replaced with a cold, hard edge. “This house, this mansion, has been mine for centuries. I’ve seen generations come and go, trying to claim it as their own.”

You’re barely holding on, fear coursing through you. “Who… who are you?” you ask again, though now your voice is almost a plea.

He leans in, his face close enough now that you can smell the faint scent of something burning, something ancient. “I am Sylus. This house… my house… it’s been mine longer than you can imagine. And you—" His gaze sharpens. "You’ve been tampering with things you shouldn’t."

He steps back. "I’ll give you a chance. Pack your things. Leave." His words are like a command, absolute, and it makes your chest tighten.

Something in you snaps.

The fear, the dread that’s been building for days—it all crashes into something else, something raw and angry. You clench your fists. Leave? After everything? You’ve fought too hard to be told to just give up.

"No," you say, your voice trembling, though whether it’s from fear or anger, you’re not sure. His smirk widens, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as if amused by your defiance. "No?" he repeats, the word dripping with condescension, as though your resistance is nothing more than a child’s tantrum to him.

But you’re not done. "It’s not fair," you continue, and you can feel the flood of emotions you’ve been holding back surging forward. "I worked for this. You don’t get to tell me to leave!" Your voice rises, trembling with frustration. You can feel your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I can’t just… pack up and go?! This place was supposed to be my fresh start!"

Sylus’ amusement falters. He was expecting fear. Submission. Not this. Not the raw emotion pouring out of you.

You take a shaky breath, your words tumbling out now unfiltered. "I’ve given up everything! My life was a wreck before I came here. I had no friends, no purpose, nothing.” Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop, the anger blending with exhaustion. "This place was supposed to be my dream," you whisper, your voice cracking. "And now you’re telling me to leave? After everything I’ve been through?”

Sylus says nothing for a long moment. He stands there, watching you with an intensity that feels almost suffocating, the mocking air that surrounded him fading as something shifts in his expression. His tail, once flicking in amusement, goes still. He opens his mouth, perhaps to laugh, to mock you again, but no sound comes out. Something about your defiance, your honesty, seems to catch him off guard. He had expected you to cower, to run, to tremble at his mere presence. Instead, you’re standing here, pouring your soul out in front of him.

The room is silent.

 Sylus’ gaze doesn’t leave yours. "You think your struggles give you claim to this place?" His voice is softer now, almost contemplative. "You’re not the first to come here, seeking something better. But none of them stayed for long."

You don’t back down. "I’m not them," You say quietly. "I’m not running."

Sylus watches you for a long moment, his sharp features unreadable. Finally, he speaks, his tone more subdued, more thoughtful. "You have spirit, I’ll give you that." You stand there, still trembling, but something in the air feels different now. Sylus, for all his power, doesn’t seem as dismissive as he did before. He turns around, giving you one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows. "Don’t bring a priest. Don’t burn any more sage. Consider this a warning.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the nights are quiet.

After the tense confrontation with Sylus, after his warning and your emotional outburst, something shifted. You still feel him—his presence lingers in the mansion like a shadow that never quite leaves—but it's no longer oppressive.For several nights now, you’ve slept soundly, undisturbed by the creaks of the floorboards or the strange hum echoing through the halls. And though you sometimes catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows, Sylus doesn’t show himself. It’s as if he’s made a quiet, unspoken truce with you, staying out of your way—for now.

A week passes, and the mansion almost feels… peaceful. Maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s the way you’ve started to make the space your own despite his warnings. You’ve begun to settle in, unpacking more boxes, putting things in order, reclaiming the mansion in small ways.

One evening, you decide to tackle the attic. You pull the creaky ladder down and climb, your flashlight casting light across the wooden beams and piles of forgotten items. The air is thick with dust, and the faint smell of mildew hangs in the air. Boxes are piled high, old trunks and forgotten furniture clutter the space, draped in old sheets. You take a deep breath, brushing away cobwebs as you start sorting through the old belongings. It’s mostly junk—old letters, tarnished trinkets, broken ceramic figurines. But then you open a wooden music box and your eyes immediately land on something shiny.

A brooch.

It’s in the shape of a raven, carved from some kind of dark metal, accompanied by a large red gemstone. The moment your fingers brush against it, the air in the attic grows thick. You can feel a chill crawl up your spine as you lift the brooch, turning it over in your hand, examining the beautiful craftsmanship.

That’s when you hear him.

"Put it back."

You whirl around, and there he is—Sylus. His red eye glows brighter than usual, flickering with barely contained agitation. His tall frame looms over you, his tail flicks behind him, tense, snapping in the air like a whip.

You freeze, the brooch still in your hand. "Why?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"That doesn’t belong to you," Sylus growls. He takes a step closer. "Put it back in the box. Now."

Slowly, carefully, you place the brooch back into the wooden music box. The moment you do, you can feel the tension in the room ease. Sylus watches, his eyes never leaving the brooch until it's safely out of sight. His broad shoulders relax, his tail flicking behind him in a slower, more measured rhythm.

"Why does it matter so much?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze lingering on the closed music box. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more guarded, as though he’s choosing his words carefully. "It was made for someone. No one should be touching it."

There’s a story there, buried deep beneath his cold exterior, but he’s not offering it to you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. Your mind spins with possibilities, but you keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to pry further into something clearly painful. Instead, you glance at the music box, not daring to touch it again. Its melody feels strangely familiar. You pause, recognizing the tune—the same haunting melody you’ve heard in the dark, late at night.

"Is this… the song you’ve been humming?" you ask carefully, lifting your gaze to meet his.

His eyes narrow, but there’s no anger there. He doesn’t answer immediately, but after a long silence, he gives a short nod. "It is."

A soft breath escapes you, and you can’t help the small smile. "Well," you say, your tone a little lighter "you’re always off-key." The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, you freeze, wondering if you’ve crossed a line—if teasing a demon was, perhaps, not your smartest move.

Sylus blinks, his expression unreadable at first, but then—he chuckles. The sound is rough, almost rusty, as though it’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to find humor in anything. "I didn’t know I had a critic," he mutters with a trace of amusement.

You let out a shaky breath, relieved, but still stunned by the sound of his laughter. You find yourself staring at Sylus, watching the way his red eyes soften, the way the usual predatory edge to him seems to dull, just for a moment. You don’t know what to say, but you don’t need to. Finally, Sylus breaks the silence, his voice quieter, less guarded than before. "Be careful with what you touch in this house," he says, though there’s no threat behind his words, only a quiet warning. "Not everything here belongs to you."

You nod, understanding more than he’s willing to say. "I didn’t mean to…" you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, the faintest smile on his lips. "I know." And with that, he turns, his figure dissolving into the shadows of the attic, leaving you alone once more.

But this time, the air doesn’t feel so heavy. The mansion doesn’t feel so hostile.

And Sylus doesn’t feel like a demon lurking in the dark anymore.

For the first time, he feels like someone who’s been through more than you could possibly imagine. Someone who’s carrying the weight of loss and pain for centuries. And somehow, despite everything, you’ve seen a glimpse of something human in him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The days that followed felt different. The mansion, though still steeped in its eerie silence, seemed to breathe a little easier. Sylus, who had always been a constant, brooding presence in the shadows, began to make himself known in new ways. You would be working around the house—organizing a room, fixing up old furniture, unpacking boxes—and you’d feel him. A brush of air, the faintest warmth at your back.

He never fully revealed himself during the day, not at first. But there were brief moments, when you’d catch a glimpse of him—standing in the doorway, his red eye glowing faintly before he slipped away, or a flash of silver hair in the corner of your vision. And slowly, he started to help.

At first, it was subtle. You’d be struggling to move a piece of furniture, and when you turned around to grab something for leverage, it had already shifted into place, as if someone had pushed it for you. Tools you needed would be mysteriously laid out before you reached for them. And sometimes, when you lost track of time working on a project, you’d find a fire already lit in the fireplace before the chill of the evening would creep in.

One afternoon, you were standing on a chair in the kitchen, trying to reach a high cabinet when you suddenly lost your balance. Before you could even cry out, you felt strong hands on your waist, steadying you, with a firm grip. You turned to find Sylus standing there, his lips curled into that familiar smirk.

"Careful, kitten," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Kitten. The word caught you off guard, and you blinked at him. Something about the way he said it—so casually, yet with a hint of affection—left you speechless. He had called you ‘kitten’ like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t mind the new nickname. Not at all.

The touches became more frequent, intentional. When you passed each other in narrow hallways, his hand would brush against your arm, or his fingers would trail along your back. Every touch would make your heart flutter, your cheeks heat up.

One evening, your muscles ached after hours of working tirelessly around the mansion. You sat by the fire, sipping tea in an attempt to relax. The room was quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, but then you felt it—his presence. Sylus was watching you from the doorway.

“You’ve been pushing yourself,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet. His eyes focused on your hand as it pressed against your shoulder, kneading the sore muscle.

“Maybe a little,” you replied, leaning back into the chair, letting your eyes close for just a second. “But I can handle it.”

Sylus chuckled softly. “You don’t always have to be so stubborn.” He leaned in closer, standing next to you. “Let me help.” His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, his touch warm.

For a moment, you hesitated, but the ache in your muscles urged you to accept. You gave a small nod and turned your back to him. He moved closer, his hands resting fully on your shoulders now. You could feel the strength in them through the thin fabric of your shirt. His fingers dug in gently, working into the tight muscles with a careful yet firm pressure. You let out a small sigh of relief, the tension starting to ease under his touch.

But then his hands moved more slowly, the pads of his fingers tracing over your skin in a way that felt… intimate. The soft kneading of your muscles became something more, his thumbs pressing into the knots in your back with expert precision. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips, your body instinctively leaning into his touch, craving the release from the pain.

“You like that?” Sylus murmured, his voice low, teasing as his hands moved lower. Your breath hitched as his fingers worked their magic, easing the soreness out of your muscles. It was impossible to ignore the way his hands felt against your body, the way each touch made your skin tingle.

“You’re so tense,” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in.

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. His hands on your body, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all felt overwhelming. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, and though the massage had started innocently enough, there was no mistaking the shift in energy between you. As his hands moved lower, brushing dangerously close to your hips, you could feel the warmth pooling in your lower belly.

Flustered, you quickly pulled away, standing up from the chair before things could escalate any further. “Th-thank you for the massage,” you stammered. You could feel your face flushing and you didn’t dare look him in the eye.

Sylus leaned back slightly, his lips pulling into that knowing smirk. “Of course,”

You took a small step back. “I think I’ll just… take a hot bath before bed,” Without waiting for his response, you turned and made your way toward the bedroom. The heat in your cheeks only grew worse as you walked away, your legs feeling like they might give out from the mixture of embarrassment and the lingering effects of his touch. You felt his eyes on you, taking in every movement, the subtle sway of your hips as you retreated to the safety of your room.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The phone call left you feeling strange—half-flattered, half-disconnected. A friend of a friend, someone from your old life, asked you out on a date. You politely declined, giving some excuse about being too busy, about focusing on your new home. But that’s not entirely true. The call was a reminder of the life you left behind, and the strange new one you found here.

You sigh, setting the phone down and reaching for the bottle of wine you opened earlier. Pouring yourself a glass, you settle into the sofa and pick up a book. You sip the wine, letting the tension of the day slip away as you open the book. But it’s not quiet for long.

The air shifts, and before you even look up, you feel that familiar presence. Sylus arrives without a sound, as he always does.

With a smile, you lookup from your book. "Care to join me for a drink?" you ask as you raise your glass to him. Although you aren’t sure if demons even can drink.

He chuckles softly, his boots making the faintest sound as he crosses the room to stand beside you. "I haven’t tasted wine in centuries," he admits.

You tilt your head. "So you don’t eat? Or drink?"

Sylus shrugs, "I haven’t needed to," he says simply, but there is something in his tone—an almost wistful note. "I suppose I could try."

You laugh softly, offering him your glass. "Here, then. Let’s see if you still can."

Sylus hesitates for a moment, but then, with a slight shake of his head, he accepts your offer. He takes a small sip, tasting the wine before swallowing.

"Well?" you ask with a smile. "Can you taste it?"

Sylus’s lips curve into an amused smirk. "I can taste it," he says and takes another sip. He makes a face, mockingly disappointed, and returns the glass to you. "I think you should buy yourself something nicer," he teases. "This is a bit cheap."

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes. "Of course you have an expensive taste."

Sylus chuckles. But then, the relaxed expression changes to a serious one. "Who was on the phone earlier?"

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around your wineglass. "Just someone from my old life." Sylus raises an eyebrow, and you feel compelled to continue. “Asked me out on a date, but I declined.”

You avoid his gaze, but you can feel Sylus watching you. "Why did you decline?" he asks, his voice low. "You’ve been here for months. You don’t get out much. Why not say yes?"

You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. The truth is too heavy, too tangled, and you aren’t ready to admit it, not even to yourself.

"You’re one to talk," you say raising an eyebrow and mustering a playful tone. "If anyone’s used to solitude, it’s you. You’ve been alone for centuries—I think I can manage a little bit of solitude for a few months."

“Touché.” he chuckles. His gaze turns towards the flickering flames of the fireplace, “But solitude… it wears on you. You might think it’s peace, but after a while, it starts to feel more like a cage.”

The words sink into you, unsettling. But, before you can respond, a question begins to form at the back of your mind, heavy and uncomfortable. Was he truly alone all this time? Were there others before you, drawn into the same dark intensity of his presence? What if this isn’t new for him—this attraction, this electricity between you? What if you’re just another fleeting distraction in the long centuries of his existence?

You can’t stand that thought. You want to believe that you’re different, that something about you has made him change, drawn him out of the shadows in ways no one else ever has. But the growing feeling of jealousy won’t let go. Because if he’s been like this before—if there had been others—then what does that make you?

You take a deep breath, shoving these feelings aside. You feel foolish for letting your mind even go there. The two of you are just co-existing, just roommates in a weird way.

You glance at the clock on the mantel. “Oh,” you say, your voice a little too bright, “look at the time. The movie I wanted to watch is about to start.” You grab the TV remote, as if turning on the television can stop the thoughts from spiraling out of control.

Sylus doesn’t miss your deflection. He never does. “Another distraction?” he asks. He could sense your agitation, your mind wandering somewhere.

You shoot him a look, but the teasing edge in his voice makes your heart flutter. “Do you want to watch it with me?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “It’s about to start. I know how much you love TV,” you add with a playful glance his way. You know how fascinated he is with television, even though he’ll never admit it.

Sylus arches an eyebrow, and for a moment, you think he might decline. But then he stands and settles beside you on the sofa. He’s close—too close.

“I suppose I can indulge you,” he says. “Though, if this movie’s as boring as the last one you picked, I can’t promise I’ll stay.” His arm rests casually along the back of the sofa, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, even though he’s not touching you.

You smirk, rolling your eyes as you flip through the channels until you find the movie. “I’m sure it’ll hold your attention, Sylus,” you shoot back, though your mind is still racing, the earlier doubts lingering in your mind.

The movie begins, and for the first few moments, everything seems normal. It’s a late-night thriller, with captivating plot and ominous music. You let yourself sink into the sofa, grateful for the distraction, but the comfort doesn’t last long. About halfway through, the movie takes an unexpected turn. The tension between the characters on screen snaps, and suddenly, they’re in a dimly lit bedroom, their bodies pressed together. The soft, breathy moans fill the room, while the scene of naked bodies rolls on the screen.

Your breath hitches, and you fumble for the remote, your fingers shaking slightly as you try to find the button to change the channel. “I didn’t know it would… turn into this,” you mutter, clearly flustered.

Sylus snatches the remote from your hands. “Don’t change the channel.” His eyes are on the screen, amusement plastered over his face. Heat floods your cheeks, your heart racing as the sounds from the screen grow more intimate. You can feel Sylus shifting beside you, his arm still resting along the back of the sofa, his fingers just inches from your shoulder.

You try to focus, try to steer your mind away from the images on the screen. And then the uncomfortable question shows its ugly head again.

Had there been someone else?

You’re not sure what you are to him. You’re not sure if you’re just another passing moment in his long, endless existence.

You can’t think about that. You need to clear your head.

Sylus laughs as a relieved sigh leaves your lips when the steamy scene ends, and you can’t help but laugh a little with him.

You make a mental note to call the man from earlier. You’ll call him in the morning, when Sylus is resting, and try to schedule the date after all. Maybe it’ll help clear your head, help you sort through the tangled mess of emotions that has built up since you moved into this mansion, since Sylus slithered his way into your life.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next day, you had avoided Sylus all morning, deliberately keeping yourself busy with small tasks that didn’t require much thought—dusting the bookshelves, scrubbing the kitchen counters, tending to the plants. But no matter what you did, you still felt him. Normally, you’d catch a glimpse of him here or there, a shadow slipping through the hallway or leaning against the doorway, finding any chance to tease you. But today, you avoided those moments, slipping out of rooms just before he appeared.

You tried to escape the gnawing feeling of guilt as well.

The call you’d made earlier in the morning had gone smoothly. The man had been more than happy to hear from her again. You agreed on the time and even though he was willing to pick you up, you insisted to meet at the restaurant. The conversation was light and sweet. But as soon as you hung up, a part of you regretted it. Even though you shouldn’t have.

After lunch, you retreated into the safety of your bedroom. You took your time getting ready —something you hadn’t done in a long time.The hours dragged on, and you continued to stay in your room, pacing, glancing at your reflection in the mirror - the tight dress is flattering, accentuating your curves. You set aside high heels that made your legs long and irresistible. You still had time to kill, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room. You didn’t want to face Sylus. Not yet. The thoughts of last night still weighed heavily on you—the tension during the movie, the heat of his body next to yours, how you craved his touch.

Then, a knock at the door.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Sylus never knocks. He never enters your bedroom, to give you some semblance of privacy.

"Are you alright?" You can hear genuine concern in his voice from the other side of the door. "You've been in there for a while."

You hesitate, heart racing. Part of you wants to tell him to go away, to keep the distance you’d been trying so hard to create today. But the sound of his voice makes your chest tighten. You swallow, steeling yourself before you answer.

"Come in." Why did you tell him to come in?

The door creaks open slowly, and as Sylus steps into the room, you can see the brief flash of surprise on his face—the way his red eyes widen as he takes you in. For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the way fabric of the dress clings to your body.

"Well," he finally says, his voice low. "I thought something was wrong… that you weren’t feeling well. Or that you were avoiding me."

There’s something about the way he says it, the flicker of concern behind his usual teasing, that touches you. You force a smile. "I wasn’t avoiding you," you lie. "I just… took my time to getting ready."

Sylus steps closer, his eyes over you again, savoring every detail. Then, his expression softens. "You look beautiful," he says, the words slipping from his lips with surprising tenderness.

The compliment stuns you. Of all the things you expected from him—teasing, possessiveness, maybe even anger—this was the last. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you stare back at him, unsure how to react.

He doesn’t let you recover, though. He steps even closer, his gaze holding yours, and he adds, "You always do."

His words are so sincere. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to find your voice, "Thank you," the words are barely audible, your heart still racing from the weight of his gaze.

Then his lips pull into that teasing smirk. "So, you are going on that date after all?"

You feel your stomach twist at his words. “Yes, I’m going on a date.”

Sylus steps closer, his towering form closing in on you with that familiar, quiet intensity. Your heart races as he moves forward, and instinctively, you step back. But he doesn’t stop. With each step he takes, you find yourself moving backward, the space shrinking, guiding you slowly toward the edge of your bed.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asks, his voice low and laced with that dangerous amusement.

You swallow, trying to stay composed. “You’re the one who suggested it,” you say, hoping that your words don’t betray the storm of emotions inside.

He smirks, clearly not fooled by your attempt to steer the conversation away. His gaze never leaves yours as he steps even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver across your skin. “Is that so?” his tone is almost taunting, “If that’s what you want - to go out… to have fun with someone else… then you should.”

His words hang in the air, but the way he says it—the challenge, the possessiveness barely veiled—makes it feel like anything but permission. His fingers trace down from your cheek, slowly grazing your jawline before trailing to your throat, where they rest lightly, just enough to make your pulse race under his touch. But it’s the way his tail moves—sliding up the back of your leg, curling around your thigh—that sends a wave of heat flooding through you. It lingers there, teasing, the smooth, firm pressure making your legs tremble.

 “You can say the word,” he whispers, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes your lips, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. “If you want me to stop, to keep my distance… just say it.”

His tail continues its slow, deliberate trail over your skin. The air feels thick, suffocating, as you stand there, torn between your desire for something normal, and the undeniable pull of the dark, dangerous connection between you and him.

The silence stretches, thick with tension as Sylus waits, his lips so close to yours. His gaze locks onto yours, waiting, daring you to speak. But your throat is dry, your breath caught somewhere between fear and desire, and no words come. You can’t say it. You don’t want him to stop. And Sylus knows it.

"You’re not stopping me," he murmurs. His tail tightens its grip on your thigh, its smooth length curling higher, the teasing pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

Your knees buckle, your body trembling under the weight of his presence. You stumble, falling back onto the bed, but before you can even react, Sylus’ hands are there—gripping your waist, guiding you down gently so the landing is soft. The bed creaks as he follows, his hands and knees resting on either side of you, caging you in.

His eyes are dark and hungry as they roam over your body, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the way your lips part in anticipation. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip, teasing, making you crave more.

"You belong to me," Sylus whispers. With that, he finally closes the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a slow kiss. In that moment, everything else falls away—the date, the outside world, the fear of what’s happening between you. All that matters is Sylus.

The kiss deepens, your body melting into the bed as Sylus’ lips press harder against yours, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, swirling with yours leaving you breathless. His teeth graze your bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. Your hands are buried in his silver locks, trembling as his kiss grows hungrier, more urgent. But before you can pull him closer, Sylus breaks the kiss. Slowly, he reaches down, his fingers grazing the straps of your dress and bra before tugging them down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He slides one hand up, gripping both of your wrists in a firm, yet careful hold. He lifts your hands, pinning them above your head against the soft sheets.

"Do you trust me?" he asks with softness in his voice.

The question catches you off guard. You swallow hard, your throat tight as you whisper, "Yes."

Sylus’ eyes flicker with a flash of satisfaction, and before you can process what’s happening, the space around your wrists tightens. You glance up and see the dark tendrils of magic winding around your wrists, binding them together. The energy pulses softly, not painful, but firm—like his touch. Your pulse quickens as you realize just how vulnerable you are beneath him, your body completely at his mercy. Sylus takes in the sight beneath him, and you can feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

Without another word, he leans down, his lips capturing one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak. His mouth is hot, teasing, as he licks and sucks at your breast, his hand squeezing the other, rolling the hardened nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

As his mouth works your breast, his tail slides up beneath your dress, the smooth length teasing the inside of your thighs. You shudder at the sensation, your body twitching in anticipation as the tip of his tail finally finds its way to your panties, grazing over the damp fabric.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as he watches you squirm beneath him. "Look at you," he murmurs, his tail pressing just a little harder against your panties, making you gasp. "So wet already…" The smirk on his lips widens as his tail continues to tease you, the sensation maddening as he presses against your swollen clit through the fabric. Without warning, he pulls the bottom of your dress up over your hips, exposing your lace panties to his hungry gaze. His eyes flicker with a brief flash of jealousy at the sight of the lacy fabric, but then a different look takes over—pride. He is the one who gets to take them off, the one who has you like this.

"Pretty," he says with a teasing edge as his fingers brush over the fabric before gripping the waistband. "But I think I prefer you without these." His tail slides aside, giving way to his hands as he hooks his fingers under the lace and slowly peels your panties down, leaving you bare and exposed to his gaze.

The moment Sylus’ fingers slide between your folds and feel how wet you are, his breath hitches. He can feel the throbbing need building inside him, but he keeps himself steady. He will not lose control. Not yet. A wicked smirk plays on his lips as he teases you, his fingers gliding lightly over your entrance, brushing against your clit just enough to send shocks of pleasure through you. You whine, your hips bucking instinctively against his touch.

"Please," you whisper, your voice breaking with desperation, your wrists still bound above your head as you tug uselessly against the restraints. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every teasing stroke of his fingers makes it worse.

Sylus leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he coos softly. "Tell me what you need," His fingers continuing their torturous, feather-light touches. "I want to hear you say it."

Your body trembles beneath him, and for a moment, you hesitate, the embarrassment battling with the overwhelming need. But the feel of his fingers stroking you, teasing you, is too much, and your voice wavers as you whisper, "I… I need you inside me. Please."

The smirk on his lips widens. "Good girl." He leans back, straightening up, and in one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His body is incredible—broad, muscular shoulders leading down to a strong, toned chest and perfectly defined abs. You can’t tear your eyes away as Sylus’ hands moved to the waistband of his pants, the motion enhancing the muscles and veins of his arms. His gaze never leaves yours as he slowly pulls down his pants and underwear, just enough to free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight of it—thick, long, and already leaking with precum. The sheer size of him makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and nervousness, and for a moment, doubt creeps in. ‘How am I going to take that?’ you swallow hard as you look up at him.

Sylus notices the flicker of worry in your eyes, and a smug grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Don’t worry," his voice is laced with amusement as he wraps his hand around his length, stroking himself slowly. His eyes lock onto yours as he kneels between your legs, his fingers sliding back down between your thighs, teasing your dripping pussy again. "I know you can take it"

Sylus positions himself between your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he lines himself up with your entrance. His cock presses against your slick folds, the thick head nudging inside, eliciting a whimper from your lips. You’re trembling, but the weight of his body and the heat radiating off him keep you anchored.

“Relax, darling,” his voice is soothing as he strokes your thigh. His gaze is soft as he watches your reactions.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes forward, easing himself inside. The stretch makes you gasp. It stings, just a little, but there’s a dizzying pleasure that follows it, a heat that courses through you as he fills you inch by inch. Your breath is shallow, and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how intense it is.

“Angel,” Sylus growls softly, his voice thick with desire as he pauses, halfway in, letting your body adjust to the stretch. “Look at me.”

You bite your lip, too lost in the sensation to bring yourself to open your eyes. That’s when you feel his hand slide up to your neck with a firm grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, his voice soft but commanding, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. “I want to watch your face as I slide inside you. I want to see how beautiful you look.”

Your eyes flutter open, and the intensity of his gaze nearly steals your breath. His red eyes burn with a mixture of lust and something deeper, something more tender. His fingers tighten slightly around your neck, just enough to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He’s watching you closely as he pushes in deeper, sinking further inside you.

You’re a whimpering mess by the time Sylus finally bottoms out. The stretch makes your head spin, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling over as you gasp beneath him. Sylus notices the tears almost immediately. His gaze softens and his thumb moves from your neck to gently wipe them away, the pads of his fingers tender against your flushed cheeks.

“Shh, darling,” His thumb swipes over your skin, catching a tear before it falls. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good, taking me so perfectly.”

His words send a shiver through you, and despite the ache and the fullness, there’s something comforting about his touch, the way he speaks to you. His thumb lingers on your cheek for just a second longer, before he shifts his grip to your waist, pulling you tighter against him. His hips draw back slightly, the head of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sending a shock of pleasure through you.

Sylus groans softly, his voice catching as he feels your slick walls gripping him. He holds himself still for a moment, trying to stay in control, but the truth is, he’s so close to losing it. This is the first time he’s done this since becoming a demon—since being cursed with his immortal body—and the sensation of being inside you, of your tight, wet heat surrounding him, is almost too much. He can’t tell you that, can’t admit that you are the one in control.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow at first, almost careful, but the way your pussy clenches around him makes it impossible for him to hold back. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he thrusts into you, each motion sending ripples of pleasure through your body. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice strained as his hips snap forward again, harder this time. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so good, so fucking good…”

He’s too close, and before he can stop himself, the pleasure overtakes him. After only a few more short, sharp thrusts, he pulls out suddenly, his cock throbbing as hot spurts of cum splash across the skin of your belly.

You’re stunned for a moment. You did not expect him to finish so quickly.

Sylus’ chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes glinting with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. He glances down, where his release glistens on your skin, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something like embarrassment in his eyes. He should’ve expected for you to have such an effect on him.

But even as he catches his breath, his cock is still hard. Without a word, he reaches down, his fingers gripping his length, and he guides himself back to your entrance. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, the lingering warmth of his release still fresh on your skin as he presses the head of his cock against you again. He watches your reaction closely as he slowly pushes back inside you, the wetness of his release mixing with your own arousal as he fills you once more. “I’m not done with you.”

The stretch feels even more intense the second time, your body still sensitive from his earlier thrusts, and a gasp escapes your lips as he slides inside, burying himself deep again. His hips snap against yours, his cock sliding in and out of you with a rhythm that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you closer, deeper with every thrust.

Sylus’ tail snakes around your waist, the smooth, firm length of it tightening as it pulls you flush against him, keeping you pinned beneath his body. His hand moves to your throat again, fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of his control. The pressure sends a thrill through you, intensifying every sensation as he picks up the pace. Each thrust drives him deeper, the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over, making your body tremble with pleasure.

You try to turn your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but Sylus doesn’t let you hide. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to command your attention, as he growls softly, "Look at me, darling."

His fingers slide between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with a precision that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. You’re overwhelmed by the sensation of his thick cock filling you completely, the wet heat of your bodies moving together in sync, and the relentless pressure on your clit. It’s too much, all of it—too intense, too good, too consuming. You try to close your eyes, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze, but Sylus isn’t having it.

“I said, look at me,” His tail winds tighter around your waist, anchoring you in place. His hips snap against yours, faster, harder, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you, forcing broken moans from your lips. The fingers move faster, rougher on your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your eyes flutter open, locking onto his. You’re teetering on the brink, every nerve in your body on fire. His thick cock slams into you harder, deeper, his fingers relentless on your clit, and your body surrenders completely.

Sylus watches you—his breath ragged, muscles taut, holding back just enough, waiting for you. His hand stays firm on your throat, keeping you grounded, his fingers pushing you towards your peak. He can feel it in the way your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing tighter, and it drives him wild.

"Come for me," he growls, his voice thick with command.

His words are all it takes. Pleasure slams into you, stealing your breath as your body tightens around him. Every pulse, every clench makes the orgasm crash through you in waves so intense that all you can do is cry out, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Your back arches off the bed, but Sylus is there, his hands and tail keeping you pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy. You're helpless, lost in the dizzying sensation, and he holds you tight, letting you ride out every wave.

“That’s it,” he groans, his restraint slipping as he feels you clench around him, your body milking him with every pulse. His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Just like that, angel. Just like that.”

As you come down from your high, your breath still shaky, you feel the tension of Sylus’ magic keeping your wrists bound above your head. You tug weakly against the restraints, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin beneath your hands, your body aching for the closeness.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice soft and hoarse from the intensity of it all, “please… I want to touch you.”

Without hesitation, the dark tendrils of magic around your wrists fade, releasing you. Your arms fall limply to your sides, trembling with exhaustion. But it only takes a moment before you reach up, wrapping your arms around Sylus’ neck, pulling him down into a tight, desperate embrace. The second your hands grip him, your lips find his in a messy, breathless kiss. The taste of him is intoxicating, the heat of his body pressing down on yours offering you comfort.

Sylus groans against your mouth, his hips moving in slow, languid motions, drawing out every ounce of pleasure. His cock fills you completely, each gentle thrust making your body shudder beneath him. His grasp on your hip is almost bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as though holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded. But his other hand is soft, cradling the back of your neck with tender care, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

His lips barely pull away from yours between frantic kisses. "Where... where can I finish?" His voice is strained, and his hips falter for a moment. You can feel the way his body trembles with the effort of holding back. His thrusts begin to quicken, each thrust hitting deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room.

"Inside," you whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as your hands tug him closer. "Do whatever you want... I'm yours."

Something in Sylus snaps at your words. His thrusts grow erratic, his body trembling as he reaches his peak, and with one final, deep thrust, he lets go. His release hits him hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills, groaning into your neck as the pleasure crashes over him. His grip on you tightens for a moment before his movements slow, his breath heavy and uneven.

As he rides out his high, his lips find yours again, kissing you softly. His hips slow to a gentle, rolling motion, drawing out the last waves of pleasure, but never pulling away. His hand cradles the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, while his other hand loosens its hold on your hip, stroking your skin as if to apologize for the bruises he left behind.

"Mine," he whispers against your lips. His forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel his breath mingling with yours in the stillness that follows. You realize there’s no need for words. Wrapped in his arms, with his silent affection surrounding you, you know this is where you belong.

[notanactressyayy]

—𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭—

pairing . Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader

summary . she needs you, in multiple ways — she's just scared to ask for it.

warnings . smut — I am NOT responsible for the content you consume — thigh riding, scissoring, fingering, vulnerable sex (because yes), taking care of Nat because she deserves it.

notes . English is not my first language, I'm brazilian, so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. this is probably the first fic I ever post so hi hi!!!

(I'm sorry if this is bad, I literally wrote that in a waiting room, completely in a rush.)

divider credits: @cafekitsune ^^

You didn't know exactly why the TV was on. You weren't interested on the show, and Natasha wasn't even looking at it. Her eyes looked down as she fidgeted with her fingers. You could tell she was anxious, that something was bothering her.

You just never expected that this was something to do with you — no, you didn't do anything wrong. It was her.

Natasha and you met years ago, and had been in a situationship for a while now. You weren't friends, but somehow, you couldn't recall the time you started dating (because it never existed). Friends with benefits was too cliché, and maybe not enough to describe what you actually had with her.

To begin with it, you met Natasha when she was still an Avenger. You were never part of the team, but they treated you as if you were. You were close to everyone, but specially Natasha. There was a reason she had let that happen, since according to her, she was in New York to be a hero, and not to have friends.

Friends.

The moment the russian started to blush whenever Thor teased her about how close she was to you or when you simply stared at her for a few seconds or more was when she realized that she made a mistake. A good one, she hoped. In a heartbeat, she was telling you her story.

You listened — just, listened. Your hand went to brush her hair behind her ear whenever she looked down, and the sparkle of pride in your eyes was not something she could miss. You didn't pity her. You didn't try to bring up a justification for what she went through, or to bring up a solution to fix her. You were proud of her for who she became, and were there for her whenever she didn't want to be that person for a while.

It was with that trust in you that she found herself wanting, craving even, something more. She's human, wether she like it or not. She can't deny her feelings or urges, not even the most dangerous spy can.

So her walls broke when you said you were going with her to Norway after the Avengers split.

Natasha shifted a little in the couch, the blankets around her getting all crumpled as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Your focus went from the soft patting of the raindrops in the window to the woman next to you, as you frowned a bit.

"Nat?" you called, leaning your side against the backrest of the couch and looking at her. "What's wrong?"

She turned to you, a little startled, but tried to shake it off with a small grin. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just a little hot in here."

"We're in Norway," you laughed, giving her that goddamn smile of yours. "And.. it's raining."

"The..." she shook her head, failing miserably to come up with an excuse. "The blankets are making me hot."

"Mhm, are they?" you raised an eyebrow, and pulled the blankets off you both, and letting half of them fall to the floor. "Better?"

Natasha shivered, but nodded nonetheless. You saw she was unquiet, and that this looked a little more serious than the normal.

"Natasha."

"Yeah?"

"What is going on?" you repeated your question, scooting closer to her and placing your hand above hers — just to make things worse.

Natasha almost whined at your action, which made you pull your hand back and frown even more. "I'm sorry,"

"No, it's not your fault." she shook her head. "It's mine."

"Then tell me." you smiled softly, lifting her head up to meet your eyes with your pointer finger. The sight of her green orbs was something you maybe never saw before.

"I..." she mumbled, clearing her throat. She then grabbed your hand and held your wrist gently, not sure of what to do next. "I don't know."

"It's okay," you whispered, bringing her hand up and placing a kiss on it. You had no problem with being affectionate and she didn't mind either, but today, it was different.

"Y/n". Natasha whispered back, looking into your eyes and getting lost in them. She was clearly unsure of what to do, and how to express what she was feeling. So she brought your hand up and placed your palm above her heart. Faster than the speed of light.

"Hey..." you cooed, tilting your head as you felt the aggressive beating against your hand. "You... are you, scared of something?"

"No." she quickly shook her head. She wasn't having any negative emotions right now. "I'm not anxious, I'm not scared.. I'm just.."

"Just what?"

The fact she was not having an anxious episode or a panic attack made you slightly relaxed, but not completely — then you realized, the touches you were giving her made her sensitive. She was needy.

The Red Room turned her into a closed person, and that didn't completely vanish when she was with you — it was like there was a bug in her system that had to be fixed, soon. She couldn't be totally open, but not completely closed.

You smiled at the thought, and leaned in closer, inches away from her face, which made her breathing uneven. "Tell me what you need, Nat."

"I..." she took a deep inhale and placed her hand on your cheek, pulling you into an unexpected kiss — a desperate one.

She kissed you frantically, her movements with urgency as she placed her hands behind your neck, trying to pull you close. You couldn't say you expected this, but it wasn't unwelcomed either.

Your hands went to her waist as she shyly crawled onto your lap, her legs hooking around your hips as she pulled away for air, her forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." she breathed, feeling her eyes start to burn with unleashed tears.

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for." you murmured, arms gently wrapping around her as she straddled you. "It's okay, let's not rush things. Let's take deep breaths, mhm?"

The fact you wanted her to calm down before anything almost calmed her down instantly, but she breathed with you, then leaned her head on yours, her cheek on your hair.

"I just need something," she whispered, more calmly now. "I—I think I need you."

"And I'm here," you turned your head to press a kiss on her temple, caressing her back. The redhead melted.

Natasha leaned down to kiss your lips again, but not with urgency. She sighed softly against your lips, her hands moving to hold your face, and yours, to hold her waist. It didn't take long for her to start moving slowly — she shifted, instead of straddling your lap, her legs were around your thigh. Your eyes opened, and you broke the kiss to look at her.

"Nat, my love," you whispered. "Are you sure of this?"

"Please." she uttered back, closing her eyes and gripping your shoulders. "I know you'd ever hurt me.. you would never disrespect me, you would stop if I asked you to. Right... right?"

You smiled sadly, realizing she was trying to reassure herself, and not actually ask you this. "Yes, yes, Natasha. I want to take care of you. I want to see you, beyond that shell they turned you in. I want you to feel comfortable enough with me to ask for this, and this is such a big step for you."

She sighed in relief, hearing the honesty in your voice. She nodded, clearing her throat. She leaned down, hiding her face on the crook of her neck and pressing small, gentle kisses on it. Then her hips started to slowly move, and the tiniest bit of friction made her gasp. "Y/n..."

"Shh," you held her hips, guiding her through her own pace. The little high waisted shorts she wore rolled up, so surprisingly thick that you could feel her wetness. "That's great, Natty. Move yourself for me, like this."

Natasha whined at your words, starting to grind against you slightly faster. The clothes were starting to feel uncomfortable, as she felt the need of you seeing her. She grabbed your hands, and slowly moved them underneath her blouse.

You did what she wanted, grazing your fingernails against her skin and slowly massaging her flesh, resulting in a soft moan of hers. "Take it off." You looked at her with a questioning look, even if you had an idea of what she was asking for. "Undress me, Y/n."

Given her permission, you smoothly lifted her blouse and pulled it over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She stopped her movements briefly, just so you could slide her shorts and panties down her thighs, her heat now in contact with your leg making you groan.

She felt your hands moving up to unclasp her bra and smirked softly, holding her arms out so you could take down the straps. That woman was surely breathtaking, her body, her marks, her scars, her voice, her everything.

"Natty," you uttered, pressing kisses in the valley between her breasts and moving up, to her ear. "There's so much I wanna do with you..."

Natasha closed her eyes, your touch making her shiver again, as she began to fastly grind her pussy against your thigh. "Please." she quickly removed your shirt and soon enough, you both were completely naked.

The feeling of skin against hers, the human touch that she never felt when getting off with a strap while thinking of you was unbelievable, a touch that she knew that wouldn't hurt her. It was so good, so different from the men she seduced when a spy, so different from the men that touched her in the Red Room.

"My pretty girl," you hissed, throwing your leg above hers and starting to grind yourself with her. "So beautiful, and all mine."

"Yes," she panted, burying her face in your neck again as her nails lightly scratched your back. "Y/n, please."

"You're coming with me." you sweetly commanded. Natasha started to whisper things in Russian that you couldn't really understand, but you took it as a sign that she was close.

Soon enough, Natasha's legs started to shake and her moans on your ear got slightly louder, you both coming together, her juices mixing with yours. She didn't stop, though. You gasped, looking up at her. She still needed more.

"Touch me." Natasha growled, grabbing your hand and moving it close to her cunt. She was starting to feel confident, and you liked it.

You didn't think twice before burying your middle and pointer fingers on her hole, using your thumb to slowly rub circles on her clit, biting your lip at the sight of her back arched. All for you.

"God, Y/n," she moaned, using her own hands to squeeze her breasts and circle her hard nipples. "Yes, just like that."

"You like it like this?" you asked, shoving one more finger inside her, her moans getting louder. She slowly started to lift herself from your fingers, just to lower her hips again, riding your fingers. "You're gonna come for me again?"

"Yes!" she nodded frantically, her breaths coming in little gasps for air. She gripped your shoulders tightly, throwing her head back and orgasming again. It took a while for her to calm down, and you didn't waste time before gently taking her and laying her down on the couch, spreading her legs and pressing soft kisses on her inner thighs, licking her juices and making her squirm around.

"Y/n," she murmured quietly, reaching her arms out.

"Oh, baby." you pulled Nat into an embrace, holding her close to your chest and caressing her hair, running your fingers through her red locks. "It's alright."

Natasha whimpered, wanting to hide herself in your arms and never come out again. She closed her eyes and laid her head on your chest, arms circling your waist.

The talk about this could wait. The silence was comfortable enough for now.

[thatfandomslut]

Idiot

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: descriptions of an injury & cussing

Request:

Valentine's / Celebration Request; Regina George w/ quote 17 and piece of chocolate number 3. Or: “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” w/ injury

Valentine's / Followers celebration requests are closed.

Regina stared at (Y/n), her jaw slackening open in shock. There her girlfriend was road rash covering her chin and ripping through her hoodie and jeans, successfully causing her knees and arm to bleed along with her chin. In (Y/n)'s hands, Regina eyed the skateboard that (Y/n) had made but let Regina design three months ago when they started dating. Eventually, Regina began to process what was going on. "Please tell me that you didn't ride here for twelve miles and cross a highway when you could've just called." She stated, knowing that was exactly what (Y/n) did.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to speak, her words wanting to spill out urgently. Instead, Regina tugged her inside and to the bathroom where she was forced to dig around for the first aid kit. "Regina, please, I have to tell you something. It's important." (Y/n) said, her adrenaline still high enough to not feel the pain until Regina promptly poured hydrogen peroxide on her knees, the chemical compound bubbling up on her skin. "Fuck, babe! There was absolutely no warning with that pour." (Y/n) whined as the sizzling continued as Regina began to provide aid to her knees.

"Yeah, well, if you're going to ride to my house at midnight on your skateboard like an idiot, you're not going to get a warning." Regina huffed as she shook her head. There were two reasons that she found herself growing frustrated. The first one was that her significant other decided it was okay to ride to her place at a late hour. She would say that (Y/n) could've gotten hurt but she did. The second reason, it was incredibly hard to clean up her wounds away from the jeans. She could only imagine how it was going to be when she got to her hoodie. "Take off your hoodie because I'm going to need to clean your arm too."

(Y/n) looked at her arm, realizing she had injured herself there. Suddenly, the pain became known as she rubbed at the drying blood on her chin. "Aw, man," she instantly complained, pulling off the hoodie. Not only was it torn but it was now stained with blood, along with the shirt she had under the jacket. "This was my favorite hoodie." (Y/n) sighed as she began to fold the hoodie, not hearing the short 'it was mine, too,' from her annoyed girlfriend.

Regina continued to work, snapping at (Y/n) anytime she tried to speak. "I'm sorry, but I'm kind of upset with you. Just let me clean up and we'll talk." She eventually said, knowing that (Y/n) speaking wasn't helping her aid any of the injuries that (Y/n) had procured during her late-night excursion. If she wanted to come over, she always could've called. Instead, (Y/n) put herself in danger. Whatever reason she had better be a good one since Regina found herself growing more frustrated by the second. Especially when she got to (Y/n)'s chin and wanted to kiss her girlfriend's incredibly kissable lips. "Okay, I'm done. Now, please tell me why you thought it was okay to ride to my house at midnight." Regina began throwing away the supplies, looking over (Y/n) to make sure there were no unmissed injuries.

"Oh, right," (Y/n) cleared her throat, a bit lost in Regina's eyes. As cliché as it sounded Regina did look very beautiful when she was mad. Only, that wasn't the reason (Y/n) made her way over twelve miles on a skateboard and through a highway. Though, in her defense, the highway was almost desolate due to the time. “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. I love you, Regina.”

Regina's eyes widened for a moment before she practically facepalmed. As cute as everything (Y/n) said was, she still didn't understand why this couldn't wait until the morning. "(Y/n)…" She trailed off as she tried to place her words carefully. "I love you, too, but… If you ever come to my house, twelve miles away on your damn skateboard, I'm going to kill you. You could've definitely not experienced the rest of your life with me because you decided to do something incredibly dangerous and stupid. You're an idiot… You're also my idiot." Regina finished, her eyes softening as she couldn't stay mad at (Y/n).

(Y/n)'s eyes lit up as Regina bent over as she pressed a kiss onto (Y/n)'s lips. (Y/n) automatically kissed back as she cupped Regina's cheeks. Eventually, Regina pulled away and (Y/n) stood up. "I guess I should go back home then." (Y/n) said, getting her skateboard ready. Regina almost rolled her eyes over the lesson that had not been learned. Of course, that was what it was like having a golden retriever girlfriend sometimes.

Grabbing the back of (Y/n)'s shirt as she tried to pass her, Regina stopped her with narrowed eyes. "Absolutely not. You're staying here. Get yourself upstairs and change into those pajamas I bought you last week for our impromptu sleepovers." Regina instructed causing (Y/n) to grin as she bounded upstairs and made her way to Regina's room. The action caused the blonde to smile slightly and shake her head over how excited her girlfriend could get over the smallest things at times. "God, she's so fucking cute but such an idiot," Regina muttered to herself as she followed at a slower pace.

Once Regina finally made her way up the stairs, she lay in bed with (Y/n). Automatically, she felt herself get wrapped into (Y/n)'s arms. The action made her smile as she leaned into her girlfriend happily. Internally, she was also excited over the fact that 'I love you, Regina.' replayed in her head over and over again as she fell asleep. (Y/n) was just as excited, kissing the back of Regina's head. She needed to tell Regina as soon as she realized she was in love with her. That was just important to her. The fact that Regina felt the same lulled her into a content state of sleep.

[staytheword]

evermore 

evermore — one shot [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• hyunjin x female reader; lee know, jeongin and seungmin are featured.

• non idol au, coffee shop au (sort of), hints of soulmate au. slow burn (as much as can be in a one shot lol), mutual pining, angst, smut. — unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), sex in an (empty) public place, creampie.

• word count: 12.9k

Evermore. A café that is also a bookstore. A place where you can sit down with a book, sip delicious coffee, slip away from reality. Evermore is your favorite place. For the coffee, for the books, for Hyunjin.

• author’s note: I am very excited and nervous to share this one-shot with you. I hope I can do justice to our dear Hyunjin and that you enjoy reading it. If you can grab a warm drink and a blanket to set the mood ♡

Dedicated to @straywrds ♡ thank you for being in my life.

It was summer and you came every Tuesday. 

It was the season of iced americanos and lemonade, the sunshine reflecting on the windows and filling the place with light. People came in to grab a cold drink, maybe a cookie, and strolled back outside. They borrowed books to read under the sun or bought a few for their vacation. It was a hot and humid summer, of lazy evenings that stretched into unforgettable nights. Hyunjin liked to keep the place open later in the summer, as late as the ice cream place next door. Sometimes, after having indulged in a dessert, people liked to grab a coffee to get the taste of sugar off their tongue. 

On Tuesdays he would glance at the door just before two, waiting for you. You never failed to show up. You got your iced coffee, which you took with just a few drops of vanilla soy milk, and sat down at your favorite table, the one in the corner, close to the History section. You would spend the next two hours or so going through a book, slowly sipping your beverage, and you would determine if you wanted to buy it or not. Sometimes you did, sometimes you didn’t. Hyunjin didn’t mind. It was the whole concept of the place. 

People could read as much as they wanted as long as they bought a drink or a snack. The books were there to be read. They could be bought, but not borrowed. There were plenty of places to sit, tables and couches and armchairs. On the floor were laid large carpets furnished with cushions. There was always coffee and food available. 

Hyunjin was proud of his book café. 

He was even more proud to see you find solace in it. 

At least that’s what he assumed - why would you come every week, if it wasn’t the case? He saw how your shoulders relaxed as you read, how sometimes you briefly closed your eyes in delight after your first sip of coffee. His favorite thing, after seeing you smile, was to see your brow furrow as you read something that captivated you. Your head would fall forward, your hair brushing your cheeks, and you would completely forget the world around you. 

You didn’t notice him looking at you. 

He wasn’t stalking you. You were just one of his favorite customers. Polite, kind. Pretty. You saw him as more than just the guy with the apron selling him books and coffee. You smiled at him, asked how he was that week. Maybe you did that with everyone, but he still liked it. He would find himself giving you the cookie from the freshest batch, or brewing a new pitcher of his best coffee just before came in. He would forget to charge you extra for the vanilla soy milk. 

He was a whole cliché mess but he did not care. You brought softness to his days. Solace to the routine. He made this place for people like you. But it was even more than that. In fact, sometimes, he became convinced he created it specifically for you. Perhaps that was going too far, but Hyunjin had never been a reasonable man. He was a romantic through and through, and he did not care about the logic of things. He liked the poetry of you, composed one verse at a time each summer Tuesday. 

One week the air conditioning broke. It got hot real fast, and Hyunjin already had a layer of sweat on his skin when you came in at two o’clock. You were wearing denim shorts and a tank top. You chuckled amusingly, and said to him, quite hot today, isn’t it? He suggested coming another time because it would be uncomfortable but you didn’t care. You paid for your beverage and sat at your usual spot. You gathered your hair together and secured it with a clip - a few strands of hair stuck to the back of your neck  and Hyunjin stared at them. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and tried to focus on work. 

About half an hour later you came back to the counter and asked for an empty glass full of ice cubes. Don’t worry, you told him. I won’t get the books wet. Hyunjin trusted you - he gave you the ice cubes with a smile, licking the sweat off his lips. At first he thought you just wanted to let them melt in your mouth, but you surprised him. 

He watched as you took the ice cubes in your hands, placed them against your skin and let them melt there. Sometimes you put them on your neck, sometimes on your cheek. He was never as distracted as that afternoon, admiring the ice turn into water on your skin, sliding down your arm or your collarbone. He imagined following the trail with his finger. Or with his tongue, maybe. 

That sent a shiver up his spine. 

He had to relieve his throbbing cock in the bathroom of the café, eyes shut against the image of you panting beside him, his skin sticky and his thoughts tangled together. 

He wasn’t obsessed with you. You were just so soothing. Something about you made him want to stare for hours, a lazy smile upon his lips, appeased. 

He barely knew anything about you, which was fine. It’s not even that he wanted to know everything. Of course he liked when you told him things - he reveled in every new information you revealed, but he savored them like candy. Piece by piece, letting them melt on his tongue to a syrup, at a slow and steady rhythm. He was not interested in rushing things. From time to time you told him about you, and from time to time he told you about him. 

You were a harpist. You played with an orchestra and gave lessons at the nearby music school. On Tuesdays your last lesson ended at 1:45, which gave you the rest of the afternoon to relax. The café was your favorite place to do that. 

Hyunjin told you he opened the café a few years ago with the help of a friend. He had never much ambition except having his own place to take care of. For a long time he hesitated between a café and a bookstore, and eventually settled on a place that served as both. His only regret was to not make it a cat café - but it was never too late. Maybe in a few years, he told you once with a shy laugh. 

By all accounts, you were single. You did not have a ring around your finger, and you never mentioned a boyfriend. But maybe you were just private about it. Maybe you were casually dating. It wasn’t any of his business. 

Hyunjin was not single. He had been in his relationship for a year and thought he was in love. But you changed everything. 

That was how a heart was supposed to beat, he realized. 

That was the ecstatic rhythm of a healthy and blissful heart.  

He told himself he would break up with his girlfriend and ask you out before the end of the summer. Each week he told himself, next Tuesday. I’ll do it next Tuesday. But he never did, and time slipped through his fingers like sand. 

Summer faded away and you stopped coming.

You look up at the sign and smile to yourself. Evermore. So accurately named. You haven’t been in there in forever, it seems, and to a certain extent it has. Months. Back then it was summer and you spent a few hours there every week. Never missed a Tuesday. The doors used to be left wide open and you could smell coffee from meters away. 

Now the snow creaks under the soles of your boots and the doors are shut. It is cold today and you bury your nose in your scarf. 

It is not Tuesday, but you have nothing planned and you are dying for a warm cup of coffee and a good book. You haven’t done that in ages. You miss it. Surely, he won’t remember you. Surely, it’s been long enough for him to forget. 

You pull the handle of the door and enter the café. Immediately you smell the familiar smells, coffee and sugar and cinnamon, mellow music playing on the speakers. You wipe your boots on the carpet and head to the counter, gazing around, smiling to yourself. It’s as you remember, the floorboards creaking under your feet, the seemingly endless rows of books, the quiet noise of conversation.

Him. 

You see him, behind the counter, busy cleaning a machine. He hasn’t noticed you. He still looks the same, his thin chocolate hair grazing his ears, his apron tied around his waist. It’s the first time you see him in a sweater. It looks soft, a creamy beige color, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His wide hands are quick and agile. You swallow, trying to steady your erratic heartbeat. 

He probably doesn’t remember you. 

You have only been strangers, after all. 

The place is quiet and comforting. During summer days it was the breeze upon your cheek, and now it’s like stepping inside a warm, familiar room. It feels like you could find a fireplace in the corner, your mother’s gingerbread cookies, your favorite slippers. How can it feel so much like home if you haven’t been here in months? 

You loosen your scarf and unbutton your coat, stepping closer to the counter.

“Hi,” you say, trying not to sound too nervous. 

He turns around, meeting your eyes. They immediately sweep you off your feet, and you’re glad the cold has already reddened your cheeks, because Hyunjin looks even more celestial than before. Eyes like the deepest night sky, lips the most delicate shade of pink. They looked a little damaged, chapped, probably because of the cold, but they are still inviting. His hair is longer, tickling the collar of his sweater, but shorter strands graze his eyebrows. He looks at you like you can’t really be here - but before you can try to understand what it means, he swallows and smiles timidly at you. 

“It’s you,” he breathes. 

And you thought he wouldn’t recognize you. So much for that. Your words completely evade you, and you feel a little silly, standing there. 

“I - I haven’t seen you in so long,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his head, looking nervous. 

“I was away,” you tell him simply. “I came back just a couple of days ago.” 

“Oh,” he nods, “I see. I’m just glad to see you’re okay.” 

You smile, your nervousness fading slightly. “Thanks. I’m happy to be back. I missed this place a lot.” 

Hyunjin blushes, evading your gaze for a moment, and his reaction surprises you so much you have to do the same. You look down at your boots, at the floor, at the display of pastries to your right. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

His voice brings you back to him. You give him a nod, glancing at the menu above his head. It’s a little different than it was this summer, but it’s not much of a surprise. There are so many things you want to try. You hesitate between a few drinks, chewing on your lower lip, trying to make a choice. 

“I’ll have… Oh, God, I can’t choose,” you chuckle. 

Hyunjin’s eyes squeeze into crescents as he smiles amusingly. “I could make you an iced coffee, but it might be a little cold for that.” 

“Definitely,” you answer, smiling widely. “I’ll try the… macchiato?” 

“Coming right up.” 

You lean against the counter as Hyunjin gets to work, preparing your drink. You take the opportunity to look around some more, immersing yourself in your environment. It’s not too busy for a Thursday night, probably because of the cold. You see students working on their computers, a young man browsing books, an older woman reading one, comfortably seated on an armchair with a blanket on her legs.

On the speakers, a gentle piano melody starts to play. You close your eyes, inhaling the smells around you. You feel calm. 

When Hyunjin comes back with your drink, you reach for your wallet but he quickly holds up a palm. 

“Please. It’s on me. To welcome you back.” 

You stammer. “But -” 

“It’s my pleasure.” 

He seems so sincerely happy to offer it to you that you can only smile, giving him a grateful nod. You’re not sure what to say. You glance down at the ceramic mug, filled to the brim with caramel-colored foam, an intricate floral pattern drawn in it. It smells heavenly, and you already know it will be delicious.

“Thank you.” 

“Enjoy.” 

You wish you could stay there with him. Walk around the counter and hang there, catching up with him. You wonder what he’s been up to. How business has been. Why he looks so tired. You want to tell him how seeing him again makes you feel. Like you’ve been away from where you belong. Like you’ve never even left.

But you can’t. You don’t know him, not really. A name, a few silly details. Just bits and pieces, not even enough to be able to call him a friend. So you give him another smile, carefully take the mug in your hands, and search for a table. 

Of course, you don’t really hesitate. You sit at the same table as you did this summer. It offers a perfect view of the busy street ahead, so you can watch people walk by and try to figure out where they come from, where they are going. It also shields you just a little from view, because not a lot of people are interested in the Poetry section. The spot also allows you easy glances at the main counter, so you can watch Hyunjin work. 

So what if you have a little crush on your favorite barista? You don’t see the harm in it. Hyunjin is a handsome, charming guy. He’s your age. He has a successful business. He is kind and soft-spoken. He likes book, has a sweet tooth. He is everything you could ever wish for and convinced you can never have. After all, why would Hyunjin see you? 

But he remembers you. That much you are surprised of. You did come here once a week for a few months, and you had a few conversations, but it was nothing deep, just small talk. But back then he remembered your order and called you by your name. You wonder if he still remembers it now, like you could never forget his. 

Once you remove your coat and scarf, you take a sip of the macchiato and it makes your taste buds dance. It’s the perfect temperature, and just the right amount of spices. Is that a hint of vanilla you taste, too? It’s your favorite flavor. 

You smile to yourself, licking your lips so as to not lose even a drop, and lean back into the chair. Outside the window blows through the freshly fallen snow, twirling it into the air like small tornadoes. 

You could get yourself a book but for now, you just want to look outside and enjoy the feeling of being here. You were anxious it would be a little too different during the winter, but it isn’t. The place has a soul that leaves a permanent imprint, and it whispers Hyunjin’s name. 

Perhaps it isn’t even him. Perhaps it’s this place. You might have ended up projecting the solace it brought you on its owner, as if he is responsible for it. Because what do you know about Hyunjin, apart from a couple of disarrayed fragments? You have no idea who he really is. Perhaps you have been too eager to love. You’ve always so desperately wanted to believe in it. 

You do not love Hyunjin. You love this place and how it makes you feel. And just as you’re about to convince yourself of that, your eyes slide across the room and fall on him. He’s leaning on the counter, facing your way, gnawing on a nail. The sleeves of his sweater are a little too long, and cover most of his hands. He’s looking at you - and when he realizes you’re looking back, smiles nervously and waves. 

You do the same. 

It’s not the first time this has happened. Back during the summer, you’ve surprised his gaze in a similar fashion. But you often just thought he was looking in your general direction - you were sitting next to a large window that opened on a busy street. You never thought much of it. But sometimes it really did feel like he was looking at you. 

Like that hot summer day, when the air conditioning wasn’t working. You had been so desperately hot that day but you didn’t want to leave. Hyunjin had rolled the sleeves of his t-shirt around his shoulders and his arms looked like sculpted marble. You asked for ice cubes, a trick that you had seen your mother do a thousand times, not thinking much of it. But you had caught Hyunjin staring and thought he found you weird, so you stopped, worried you were making a fool of yourself. Luckily, if he did, he didn’t hold it against you. 

You see him now and your heart trembles.

You missed him.

Once you finish your drink and get lost in your thoughts some more, you start to feel tired. You don’t want to spend the rest of your night yawning, and you have to get up early, so you reluctantly slip your coat back on and bring your empty mug to the counter. Hyunjin thanks you with a smile. 

“How was it?” he asks, wide eyes fixed on you.

“Really good,” you nod. “Loved the hint of vanilla.” 

He nods, looking proud. 

“Goodnight,” you tell him, wrapping your scarf around your neck. 

As you turn, Hyunjin’s voice stops you.

“Y/N,” he calls, softly, his voice almost quivering. 

You do your best to keep a steady smile on your lips, but inside of you, your heart feels like it’s just been squeezed tightly. Your name.

He remembers your name. 

“Will I see you on Tuesdays again?” he asks softly. 

You swallow, glancing nervously at your hands. 

“I don’t think so,” you admit. “I have lessons until late that day, starting next week.” 

Is that disappointment you see on his face? You’re not sure. You give him a timid smile, however, accompanied with a shrug. 

“I do have my Wednesdays off, though. So they might become my new Tuesday.” 

He meets your eyes, and you smile perhaps a little too widely. You can’t help it - his eyes are shimmering, his cheeks a soft pink. 

“I’ll see you next Wednesday, then.” 

You allow yourself to drift off in his eyes, just for a second. “See you then.”

It is winter and you come every Wednesday. 

Ever since that night you order the same drink. A strong macchiato with steamed vanilla soy milk. The one he created specifically for you. 

He would probably lie if you asked him, but he did.

You fall in love with his cranberry scones so Hyunjin makes sure they are fresh out of the oven when you pass the door. He discovers your collection of sweaters - his favorite is the color of apricots, the one you pair with golden earrings. He learns that an old friend knitted your scarf back when you were in high school and you wear it every winter since. That your boots are new because the soles of the previous ones were ruined from an evening of intense chewing by your mother’s dog. 

That the reason you disappeared was nothing tragic. You got a provisional contract to play for an orchestra across the country, replacing someone on maternity leave. It was just a few weeks but you stayed for longer, enjoying the time away. 

You needed to clear your mind and see the world, you tell him one Wednesday night. He is sorting books in the aisles when you appear, in search of a new one to read. You start to chat, and he loves the way you lean against the shelves, your arms behind your back, your colored lips telling stories about what you saw. You had a good time there but you missed home, you say. 

Hyunjin could listen to you for hours. 

Your nails are painted the color of cream and your perfume has hints of vanilla. He thought it was bad this summer but this is worse. He can’t stop thinking about you. He wonders what your kitchen looks like, what kind of art you have on your walls. How your hair looks sprayed upon your pillow, if your cheeks are puffed up in the morning. He wants to make you your favorite espresso so it’s the first thing you smell when you wake up, and then perhaps make you come with his tongue. 

He keeps hearing your voice pronouncing his name. He keeps seeing you wrap your scarf around your slender neck. He keeps smelling vanilla everywhere he goes. 

He should probably do something. Ask you out, or at least find a way to discover if you are single. He is, after all. Broke up with his girlfriend after you didn’t come back for a couple of weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her anymore. He didn’t have you, he didn’t want anyone. 

A part of him expects you to show up with someone one day, holding their hand, smiling lovingly at them while waiting for your drinks. He should ask. That’s what anyone would do, after all. He should express his feelings, or find a way to exorcize them out of his body. 

But Hyunjin likes it the way it is. He likes the romance, he thrills on the longing. He likes that time slows down. That he gets a glimpse of you every Wednesday, the colors of winter passing upon your cheeks, and that you remain a mystery. At the same time he feels like he deeply knows you, beyond usual bonds, that you connect on an intangible level. Both a stranger and a soulmate. He’s probably delusional - but he’d rather be a romantic than a realist. 

Today is Saturday and Hyunjin can’t stop thinking about the black turtleneck you wore a few days ago. You had your hair in a ponytail, the tight collar hugging your neck so well. You bought a book saying it was a gift for someone, but you didn’t say who. For family, perhaps? You didn’t say. He didn’t ask. 

The door of the Evermore opens and lets in a gust of wind. He looks up, just curious to see what kind of client is coming in, and his heart stops. It’s you. 

On a Saturday. 

And you are not alone. 

He knew the day would come. He knew it would happen. The day you’d come through the door with someone. Yet he wasn’t prepared for the blow. It’s like someone’s just punched him in the stomach, knocked the air out. 

You look pretty. You’re wearing a little more makeup than usual and your long wool coat hangs open. It’s warm outside today because of the bright sun, so that might be why. You’re smiling broadly, in the middle of laughing, looking back at your friend. He’s telling you something, a mischievous smirk curving his lips, closing the door behind him. He has dark hair and beautiful doe eyes. 

You chuckle to what he says, heading towards the counter, and Hyunjin straightens his back. It’s okay, he tells himself. Of course you have a life outside this place. Of course you have a life outside of him. You are not a fantasy. You are a person. 

“Hey, Hyunjin,” you say, walking up to him. 

Your eyes are full of light and Hyunjin’s breath catches in his throat. “Hey. Fancy seeing you here on a Saturday.” 

“Yeah,” you laugh. “We’re going ice skating in the park and so, in dire need of caffeine. I told Minho he had to taste that macchiato of yours.” 

Minho. The guy behind you gives Hyunjin a kind smile. He nods back, unable to really understand how he’s feeling right now. All he wants to do is ask. Who is he? Your brother? Your friend? Your date? Your boyfriend? 

What makes you think I want him to taste the drink I made for you? 

“She kept insisting it was the most delicious hot drink she ever had, so…” Minho says with a chuckle. 

He looks at you with some kind of affection but Hyunjin is unable to identify which kind. He keeps smiling, he keeps breathing. In a way it’s even more fascinating to see you interact with someone you know. What does this guy know about you, Hyunjin wonders? What parts of yourself do you share with him? 

“Two macchiatos, then,” Hyunjin nods. “I’ll get that ready for you.” 

“Thank you,” you say, searching your bag. 

Minho shakes his head, already handing Hyunjin his card. “Please. It’s my treat.” 

“Oh, thank you.” 

He looks down at you and smiles, and your cheeks get pink. Whoever he is, you’re not used to his presence. Hyunjin watches you interact with him as he prepares the drinks. From the way Minho interacts with you, Hyunjin can safely conclude he’s flirting. It doesn’t look like you know each other well, though, from the information you seem to give him. If this isn’t your first date, it’s either the second or the third. 

Hyunjin will give him that - Minho listens to you. He seems interested, both in what you look like and what you have to say. Hyunjin might have expected jealousy to blossom in his heart, but he can barely feel its claws. He’s curious. He’s happy for you. You deserve to be taken care of. He doesn’t want to hate the guy, especially not if you like him, if he makes you smile. 

Of course he wishes it was him. He would ice skate with you for hours, holding your hand. He would kiss your cold cheeks and make you hot chocolate afterwards. But he’s not in your life like that. 

Still, he doesn’t put vanilla soy milk in the guy’s macchiato. That’s just for you.

“Here you go,” Hyunjin tells you, handing you the drinks when he is done. “Have a good time.” 

“Thanks. I’ll see you Wednesday?” 

“I’ll be here.”  You smile at him one last time, and Minho does the same, politely. Once you’re back outside, Hyunjin watches you walk away until you disappear around a corner. Out of sight. Out of reach.

Minho walked you home that night. After you went ice skating you ate at a delicious Italian restaurant. You had a glass of wine and he paid for the meal. You offered him to come up for a nightcap, and after you talked for a while on your couch, he kissed you. His lips were soft, his hand gentle as he cupped your cheek. He was an excellent kisser, and a part of you really wanted to take him to bed. 

You’re not sure why you hesitated - but Minho sensed it and did not even ask. He just kissed you again and whispered goodnight. The sudden dread of being alone caught you, and you suggested he stayed, but he smiled at you and shook his head. I should get home. You didn’t insist. 

Once you laid on bed and pushed your fingers inside you, relieving your aching folds, it was not him you thought about. It was a boy with tranquil eyes and inviting lips. A boy whose fingers you pictured on your skin, whose smile you imagined against your wetness. You wondered what he would sound like. Would he just breathe in your neck, or maybe whisper sinful words? What would his voice sound like, roughened up, muffled against your lips? You come to the thought of his arms around you, lean muscles holding you close.

It barely feels enough. You feel on edge up all the way to Wednesday. That morning, as you do on Wednesdays, you wake up with a smile on your face. 

A thick layer of heavy, crunchy snow has fallen during the night. It’s perfect for making snowmen, sliding, and crafting snow forts, and so all afternoon you spy people gearing up for skiing and other winter activities. It’s not too cold either, and there is barely any wind - the ideal weather for long walks to admire the snow lounging on tree branches. Your own eyes have wandered on them all day, and you barely got anything done. 

The Café is extremely busy all afternoon, people coming in and out for hot chocolates and coffees to go. Hyunjin and his co-worker, a journalism student called Jeongin, are overwhelmed, barely able to stop for a few breaks. You watch them warily, wishing you could lend a hand, but you are sure Hyunjin will say no. 

Now, it’s nearly five and things have slowed down. People are busy preparing and eating dinner, but they’ll come back - the nearby restaurants are packed and you just know all of them will want a delicious coffee to finish their meal. You should get going. You should get home, get your things in order. Keep living your life. Call your mother, fold the laundry, and plan another date with Minho. But your heart wants none of those things. You just feel like lingering here a little longer. 

You stand up, walking lazily around the book tables near the counter, pretending like you’re reading the back cover of a mystery book. 

Hyunjin and Jeongin are talking in hushed tones, but from this distance you can make out what they are saying. 

“I’m sorry, Hyun,” Jeongin says. “I wish I could stay, but I have a midterm tomorrow, and...”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “School is more important. Go. I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure? It’ll be busy tonight.” 

“I’ll manage. Go study.” 

Jeongin thanks Hyunjin profusely, removing his apron and grabbing his coat. In a matter of seconds he leaves the café, and Hyunjin lets out a deep sigh. His long fingers slide through his tousled hair, his eyes a little puffy from exhaustion. Today he wears a white button-up, the collar a little crooked. Underneath it you spy a delicate silver chain. 

When he meets your gaze you smile kindly at him, putting down the book. 

“Busy day,” you say, hoping he notices the concern in your eyes. 

He chuckles, clacking his tongue against his palate. “You said it. Crazy.” 

“Do you have someone else coming in?” you can’t help but ask. 

Hyunjin gives you a curious look and you shrug, blushing a little bit. 

“Couldn’t help but overhear.” 

“Ah,” he smiles briefly. “Yeah, no. It’ll be just me tonight.” 

He tries to sound optimistic, you can hear it in his voice - but there’s that slight tone of defeat, or maybe just apprehension. You hesitate, biting your lower lip. You have nothing to lose by suggesting it to him. It’s not like you have anything planned. And this place has done so much for you - he has done so much. It’s the least you can do. So you take a few steps towards him, placing your hands on the counter. 

“Hyunjin,” you say softly, tasting his name on your lips. 

You don’t think you’ve ever said it much - but it feels nice. Better than nice, really. You like it. Hyunjin. Like a melody you were born to sing. He looks up at you with wide eyes, his ears a little red. 

“Let me help you, please?” you say. 

He opens his mouth with a frown and you hold a hand up. 

“I don’t have anything else to do,” you quickly add, “and you don’t have to pay me. I’m no good at making coffee, but I can work the register. Just show me the ropes and I can do it.” 

“Y/N, I can’t accept, this is -” 

“You can only say no if you don’t trust me with it,” you interrupt him again with the kindest smile you can muster. “Which would be fine. But that’s the only reason I’ll accept.” 

He closes his mouth and gives you a long look. You raise your eyebrows. A few clients walk into the café, chatting loudly about their plans for skiing later. In no time the place will be packed again, you are sure of it. So is Hyunjin, who knows his business better than anyone. He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, and smiles at you. 

“All right,” he says. “But it’s just because I really need help. And the second you get tired I want you to stop, yeah?” 

“Promise.” 

“Come around the counter, then,” he grins. 

Your heartbeat accelerates, and you tell yourself it’s because of the situation, not because of him or the way he smiles at you with constellations in his eyes. You get your things from your table, securing them in the back, and Hyunjin hands you an apron. He shows you how the register works as the recent clients make their order. It’s odd to stand so close to him, his body warmth mingling with yours. You can smell hints of his shampoo and his hand grazes against yours as he walks you through the steps. The register system is simple so you get a hold of it quickly, which is a good thing, because Hyunjin has to make the drinks, and there are more people coming in. 

You don’t have much time to think in the next hours, serving clients and helping Hyunjin with what you can. You glance at him from time to time, watching his body move with ease. He knows exactly where to stand, how many steps to take. It’s like a dance, a waltz of foamed milk and carefully dusted spices. Soon the almond scones and chocolate cookies get sold out, the dishes pile up in the sink, and the rush slows down. The café closes, and you feel both exhausted and exhilarated. Your legs are wobbly and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you don’t mind. As Hyunjin closes the register, you get behind the sink to do the dishes, making sure the ceramic mugs and metallic cutlery are thoroughly clean. 

You’re so focused on your task you don’t hear the last client leaving. Hyunjin comes to stand next to you, resting against the counter with a smile. 

“All locked up. We did it.” 

You smile broadly at him, feeling a rush of pride. He looks at you attentively in return, a smirk curving his lips. The last few hours have gotten you used to being so close to him, but he still makes your heart jolt. 

“Here,” he says, handing you a macaron - espresso flavored, your favorite. 

You chuckle, showing him your gloved hands, covered in water and foam from the dishes. 

“Just put it there, I’ll…” 

“Don’t move.” 

You freeze as he takes a step closer. He guides the macaron to your lips, looking at them attentively, and you slowly part them. You bite into the macaron, your eyes planted in Hyunjin’s, in awe of the shape and depth of them. He’s beautiful, is all you can think. 

Hyunjin gently pushes the macaron in your mouth, and the tip of his finger brushes your lips. You have to make a conscious effort not to sigh at the touch, and instead focus on the delicious flavors on your tongue. You smile, fully aware, however, that your cheeks must be a bright red. 

Almost as red as the ears poking out from between his hair. 

“It’s delicious,” you say once you finish the macaron.

Hyunjin smiles, although he’s no longer looking you in the eye. He’s staring at your lips. “I know it’s your favorite.” 

“You have a good memory.” 

“I guess it’s a good quality to have for what I do,” he nods. 

Hyunjin grabs a tea towel to dry the dishes and you continue to talk, the tension slowly dissipating. You focus on the conversation, exchanging thoughts about careers and winter, meals and music. Hyunjin makes you laugh, makes you forget the exhaustion, makes you remember what it’s like to be heard. When you finish the dishes, Hyunjin disappears in the back. You remove your apron, fold it and put it on the counter - and you walk towards the nearest window, staring out at the winter night. 

It’s started snowing again. The snowflakes are big, powdery, falling on the ground as if in slow motion. There’s a full moon in the sky. You stare at the tranquil scene, your heart both serene and febrile. You don’t want to go home. 

You got a text from Minho earlier. He asked if you were free that weekend. You get your phone out of your pocket, telling yourself you need to answer him. You like him. He’s a nice guy, attentive and charming. The two dates you had were fun, casual. He didn’t pressure you. You met him through friends, and he’s been nothing but kind. But something is missing. A heartbeat. A flame. A truth, maybe. You’re not sure. 

You stare down at your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen. 

“Want a drink?” 

You spin to see Hyunjin standing a few steps behind you, holding a bottle of red wine. He’s smiling, his head slightly tilted to the right. He removed his apron, and it’s the first time you see him without it. His white button-up is only half tucked into his jeans, which hang around a slim waist, secured by a simple leather belt.  

“You have wine here?” you say with an amused smile.

He chuckles, looking down at the bottle to read the label. 

“My mother gave it to me when I celebrated the five-year opening of the café. I never opened it. Thought this would be a good time. We deserve it after the evening we just had.” He considers you, his smile charming. “No pressure, though.” 

You shake your head. “I’d love to.” 

You get comfortable in a cozy corner of the book café, away from the windows, sitting down on a lush carpet, leaning on fluffy cushions and pillows. You both remove your shoes and when you tell Hyunjin you’re a little cold, he hands you a blanket that you wrap around your shoulders. 

Hyunjin opens the bottle and fills two ceramic mugs, handing you one. You toast to your successful evening, keeping your eyes on each other as you drink. The wine is thick and tastes like cherry and flowers. 

“Thank you for helping me,” he says. “It means a lot.” 

“Of course. It was fun. Reminded me of my college days.” 

Hyunjin pulls his knees to him, leans his head against the wall, studying you. He looks tired, but calm. 

“How’s that?” 

You bite your lip, trying not to smile too widely. “I was a barista for a while to pay my tuition fees.” 

Hyunjin gasps. “Really?” 

“I was…” You chuckle, looking down at your wine. “I was very bad at it.” 

Hyunjin’s laugh echoes through the room. It’s so loud, so undisciplined - thoroughly enchanting. You wish it filled your mug instead of the wine. You laugh with him, hiding your face in your hands. 

“I didn’t want to tell you that earlier so you didn’t panic, but… it’s probably a really good thing I didn’t touch the coffee.” 

You take a sip of wine, still giggling as Hyunjin laughs again. 

“And I trusted you,” he says dramatically, shaking his head at you. 

“Why do you think I come here all the time?” you retort. “I cannot make my own coffee, Hyunjin, that’s why.” 

His smile occupies half of his face, his shirt a little too big for him. You feel a strange longing. How can you, for someone you barely know? But you do. 

He points a finger at you. “Making coffee is a skill. It’s something you learn. I’ll teach you.” 

“What if I’m a lost cause?” 

“That’s all right,” he nods solemnly. “We all need to be bad at something.” 

You laugh, and before you know it your mugs are empty. As the conversation flows, you get tipsy on the wine, emptying the bottle to the last drop. You and Hyunjin talk about everything and nothing. He shows you the trailer for a movie he’s excited to see, and you make him listen to a song. After you forget to press pause and your phone just keeps playing music in the background. 

You talk about your lives, your exes, your dreams. But it’s strange, it’s like the outside world doesn’t truly belong here. The Evermore is its own world and you feel more at home in it than you ever did anywhere else. You had a little too much wine, so when you try to explain the feeling to Hyunjin, you fail miserably. 

“It’s true, Hyunjin,” you tell him with pleading eyes. “This place… it has something special.” 

He watches you, almost - tenderly? 

“It’s only because of people like you,” he says softly. “You make it live.” 

“But it’s not just that,” you whisper, ignoring the sudden acceleration of your heartbeat. “It’s… fuck, I can’t find the words.” 

You sigh exasperatedly, and then hold up a finger. A smile creeps upon your lips. 

“Hold on. I have an idea.” 

You carefully set your mug down, standing up on shaky legs. The world tilts slightly, but you keep your balance and extend your hand towards Hyunjin. He looks at you for a few seconds but eventually slides his palm in yours. You help him up, and you keep your hands interlocked as you lead him towards the bookshelves. 

You know exactly what you are looking for. You go towards the end of the Fiction section, squeezed between two aisles and the wall, and let go of Hyunjin. He stays close to you as you slide your fingers on the book’s bindings, searching for a title. Despite your state, you find it quickly and pull the book off the shelf. 

“Here,” you breathe, opening the book to search for the words you are looking for. 

You are focused and you don’t notice Hyunjin’s eyes fixed upon you. You flip through the pages, and after a minute, you put your index above a few lines of text. 

“This. This is what it is.” 

You lift your eyes and meet his. He is studying you closely, his eyes a profound shade of brown, his mouth parted. You almost entirely forget about the book. Hyunjin’s lips are stained cranberry red by the wine. 

He draws a sharp breath. 

“Read it to me.” 

His voice is hoarse. You lick your lips, taste the wine. You wish they tasted like something else. You swallow, advert your eyes, and start to read. The words drip from your mouth, and you’re not sure you’re reading them correctly because it’s like you can’t hear your own voice. Your heartbeat is too loud, pounding in your chest and resonating against your temples. 

When you’re done, you look up at Hyunjin again, who has not moved. After a second of silence, he shakes his head. You open your mouth, convinced he’s going to say you’re not making any sense. 

Hyunjin stops you with a kiss. 

His lips sweep yours, plucking them like a fruit. You gasp in surprise but Hyunjin only deepens the kiss, pressing his plump lips against yours, eager, ravenous. It’s like the world has stopped spinning, or perhaps it is only spinning faster, so fast you can’t see it. The book slips from between your fingers and falls on the ground with a faint thump, but you barely notice it. Your hands grab Hyunjin’s shirt, pulling him towards your body, kissing him back feverishly. 

His mouth embraces yours, his kisses ardent as he pushes you against the bookshelf, one of his hands on the small of your back, his fingers slightly digging into your skin. His other hand is in your hair, tousling your hair, sending blissful shivers throughout your body. He gasps for air, drinking you in, and you sigh from his absence. When his lips take yours once more, you graze them with your teeth, eliciting a muffled groan from him. He bucks his hips against you, like there aren’t any layers of clothes separating your skin, like he’s already deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

It’s alluring, it’s sinful. You’re dizzy and entranced, and you just want to rip his clothes off, witness his body, and let him ravish you. 

You shouldn’t. This is rushed, this is irresponsible. You should think things through, you should exert self-control. 

But you don’t. 

You bite his lip harder, and he stammers a moan inside your mouth. His fingers grip your waist harder, pushing hard in your skin. You roll your hips against him, panting against his mouth, feeling his hardening cock inside his jeans. 

“Hyunjin…” you whisper. 

“Fuck, this can’t be real,” he breathes, grabbing your face with both of his hands, his fingers desperately holding on to you.

His tongue slithers around yours, febrile. The sensation of his saliva blending with yours sends shockwaves all the way down to between your legs, and you have to squeeze your thighs together. You can feel it, you’re both too drunk to be able to make it last, to do it like you’d like to, to be reasonable about it. You can’t care about that right now. 

With nervous fingers, and between sloppy kisses, you unbutton each other’s jeans. He lowers yours, taking a long look at your panties, as you free his cock, stroking it in your palm. He throbs around your hand, leaking pre-cum. You push your underwear aside, your cunt a soaked mess, and help him align himself with your entrance. 

“Are you sure -” 

“Please,” you sigh. 

He buries himself inside of you, his cock stretching your walls. You let out a loud moan and wrap your arms around his neck for stability. Hyunjin breathes heavily in your neck, his lips feeling hot against your skin. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe I’m fucking you.” 

“Don’t stop, Hyunjin, please…” 

“Never.” 

He nearly removes himself from you, only to thrust his hips deeper. You whimper, holding his body close to yours. He starts to pound into you, almost frantically, but keeping his pelvis in perfect control so that his cock hits the right spots inside of you. Your pleasure builds so quickly you clench around him more tightly with every move, and Hyunjin cries out in your ear. 

As you feel yourself drift into your orgasm, your eyes roll back and you grip Hyunjin’s hair. You whimper his name as your body relinquishes control, and as you come around him, Hyunjin lets out a deep grunt and empties himself inside of you. You feel the thick spurts of his seed, you feel his body twitch, you feel his lips trembling. 

You breathe out, sweaty and shuddering against him. Hyunjin places a soft kiss on your collarbone and you shiver. It’s almost like you could blink and realize none of this has happened, that you have read the passage from the book and looked at him wishing he would kiss you. 

But this is real. This happened. 

You don’t know whether to tense or relax, so you stay frozen in place. You both stay like that, just breathing, giving time for reality to go back on its feet. Hyunjin leans back, his lips now a bright red. 

“Fuck. Sorry,” he mutters. “I made a mess.” 

“It’s all right,” you tell him softly. 

You keep your voices low like someone could hear you. Hyunjin steps back, watching as his cum slides down your inner thigh. He blushes violently, and you open your mouth to reassure him - but suddenly you have no idea what to say. 

“I’ll get you a towel. Hold on.” 

He puts his cock back inside his boxers and walks away, zipping up his jeans. You stay like that, feeling silly and cold. What the fuck just happened? You know what happened. You and Hyunjin just fucked like horny teenagers in a corner of the book café - no conversation, no protection. You’re not that worried about the latter part, you take the pill and you’ll get the necessary precautions, but it’s the fact that you have no idea what it means. Where it came from. It was so sudden, so passionate, so intense. Not that you need to define sex before you have it like it’s a contract with clauses, but it happened so quickly you’re dizzy and feel a little sick. 

You are drunk. That explains things. 

You are drunk and so attracted to Hyunjin he must have felt it. Not that he took advantage of you. But did he like you? Or was it just a spur of the moment thing? What did he say again? This can’t be real. Your mind spins into nothingness, your thoughts a tangled mess. 

Hyunjin reappears with a towel he soaked in warm water, and he hands it to you. You thank him with a smile, and seeing your hesitation, he steps away as you clean yourself up. Once your jeans are buttoned again, you tap his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” 

He looks more beautiful than ever, but you can’t look at him.

He can’t look at you. 

Fuck. 

“I should head home,” you whisper. 

Hyunjin nods, his face hidden behind strands of ruffled hair. Hair the color of carefully made coffee. His eyes, too. Only his lips are the color of the sweetest cherries. 

“Of course, yeah. I should - I should do the same, yeah.” 

You both gather your things in silence, the tension almost unbearable. You feel like crying, and you know you should say something before it is too late, but you can’t gather the words, you can’t put them in the right order, and then you’re standing next to the door and you have to say goodbye. 

“Goodnight,” you say.

You gather the courage to look at him, but he’s not looking at you. He’s staring at his hands, at his shoes, at the floor. Anything but you. 

“Goodnight,” he answers. 

You step outside. The day has grown terribly, terribly cold.

The café will be closed today. Hyunjin made his decision hours ago. If anyone asks, it is for personal reasons. He does not want to see anyone today. 

It’s a boyish reaction but he does not care. 

He barely got any sleep, turning in his bed staring at the snow outside his window. He keeps wondering how you feel. What you think. If you got some sleep, or if you were like him, ripped open at the seams, waiting for a coup de grâce that would not come. When daylight starts to seep through his curtains, Hyunjin texts his employees, takes a long shower, and dresses in a large wool sweater and brown corduroy pants. 

He still goes to the café because there is no other place he can go. But he takes a piece of paper, writes a few words on it and places it on the front door. Closed exceptionally for today. 

Once that is done, Hyunjin lets out a long, shaky sigh and looks at the café. He opened this place more than five years ago and has worked nearly everyday in it since, but today it feels like an unfamiliar place. The walls, the chairs, the books, they all stare back at him. 

His legs take him to the Fiction aisle. It looks as it always does, and yet it’s thoroughly changed. On the ground is a book. Hyunjin picks it up with trembling hands. It’s fallen crooked, and some of the pages are creased. He presses his fingers on them, trying to flatten them out; but they are forever marked. 

As he is. 

Hyunjin breathes out. He wishes he could remember the passage you read to him. He looks through the book for a few minutes but he cannot, for the life of him, recall what the words were. Idiot. 

He closes his eyes. He still hears you breathe, how your voice slightly changed as you got tipsy. He sees the texture of your mint green blouse. Your smile as you took the clients’ orders. He feels your soft skin against his. Your cunt tightening around his cock. Fuck, you came so well. So fiercely. You looked so beautiful doing it, your eyes squinted shut, your lips deliciously parted, begging to be kissed. Hyunjin regrets. And yet he can’t. 

He should’ve been more in control. He should have taken the time to tell you what he wants, what he thinks of you. He nearly did, when he gave you the macaron and couldn’t take his eyes off your lips. But he had hesitated, overwhelmed by the past hours in such sudden close proximity with you. And then, when he didn’t hesitate, you kissed him back so eagerly and your body responded to his like you had been waiting for this too. Did you feel it, as he thrust into you, how much he wanted you? How captivating he thought you were, how you occupied his mind, how you were all he saw in this goddamn place and everywhere? 

Hyunjin slowly sits on the floor, his back to the wall, the book pressed against his chest. 

It was the wine. It was the exhaustion. It made him forget that he wanted, if he ever got the honor to touch you, to make it slow. He wanted to take you somewhere warm and comfortable, to undress you, to worship all the parts of you, to make you come around his mouth, to be both chaste and lewd, to see your smile, to hear you gasp. Instead it had been rushed, messy, and inevitably awkward. 

He felt you come. He is sure of it. But what if you didn’t like it? What if the awkwardness turned sour? What if you started to hate him for what happened? What if you never came back here again? That would be the worst of all. 

He knows what he should have said. Not people like you, but you. You made this place alive. 

Hyunjin breathes out, opens the book in his hands, and starts reading. 

He reads it again the next day.

And again the day after that.

You’re standing in the middle of a snow storm. 

It is not Wednesday and it is well past opening hours. Still, foolishly, you stare at the front door of the Evermore, as if you are expecting it to open. 

You stand there for a few minutes before you shake your head, letting out a shaky, bitter laugh. What are you waiting for? Why are you here? It’s late. It’s cold. The wind whistles in your ears and the snow will bury you if you do not move. You need to go home. 

You turn on your heels and stare up at the night sky. It isn’t dark, but rather a strange sort of milky, off white. A few snowflakes hit your eyes and you blink. You sit down on the pavement, letting your eyes fill with tears. 

It’s Wednesday night and you didn’t go to the café this afternoon. Instead you paced your apartment wondering if you should go. In the end you didn’t, terrified of what you might find in Hyunjin’s eyes. You regret it. At least you would have known. Now you can just sit here with an empty chest, wondering if he waited for you, wondering if he missed you, wondering if you ruined everything. 

Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you try harder?

You shake your head, letting your head fall in your hands. You’re so cold. You forgot to put on a hat and gloves. Your fingers and your ears are bright red. They are slowly freezing. Your heart, too. 

“Y/N?” 

You lift your head at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice. For a second you stare at the dark, wondering if you just imagined him calling your name. But then you turn your head and see him there, in the café, holding the door open. He seems as shocked to see you as you do him. 

“What are you doing here?” you breathe.

You’re sure he won’t hear you above the whistles of the wind, but he does.  

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then Hyunjin frowns and waves towards the inside of the café. 

“Come in. You’re going to freeze to death.” 

You’re not sure it’s a good idea, and half of you is still wondering if he’s really there, but you stand up and follow him. He doesn’t comment on your visible tears, or your messy hair. He just closes the door behind you. It’s suddenly so silent. 

“It’s so late, Y/N, what are…” 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, your voice quivering.

Hyunjin looks up at you with wide eyes. There are barely any lights open in the cafe, but the full moon outside is enough for you to see him well. 

“It’s Wednesday,” you say. “I wanted to come but I thought, maybe, you wouldn’t want to see me.” 

Hyunjin clenches his jaw, shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because…” You hesitate. “Because of what happened.” 

He looks up at you, prudently, and you stare into his eyes, trying to find an answer in them. He makes it difficult, or maybe it’s just your fear blurring the lines for you. Your lips are trembling, and as your fingers slowly warm up, they burn. 

“You’re shivering,” Hyunijn winces. “Let’s warm you up first. Take off your coat.” 

You nod, following him into the café, away from the cold windows. You leave your coat and boots near the entrance, and Hyunjin hands you a blanket to wrap yourself in. He disappears behind the counter, pouring water in a kettle, and you snuggle on an armchair. Hyunjin keeps his back to you as he prepares a cup of tea, only reappearing a few minutes later.

“Careful,” he warns you softly, settling the steaming mug on the table next to you. “Don’t burn your tongue.” 

“Thanks.” 

He turns away from you, and on an impulse, you grab the hem of his shirt. It’s a striped sweater vest, beige and navy, worn above a tight long-sleeve, and it feels soft against your fingers. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. “Can we talk?” 

He looks down at your hand. It takes a few seconds, but he smiles. 

“Of course we can. Just give me a second.” 

You nod, letting him go. He disappears for another minute - when he comes back, he’s holding a mug for himself and a lit candle. He puts it close to you. It smells like pinewood, and makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of a forest. 

“I was reading,” he says, sitting down on a chair in front of you. “That’s what I was doing. I lost track of time, it seems.” 

You nod timidly. “I know what that’s like.” 

A sinking feeling settles in your stomach again. You can’t look at each other. You tell yourself it’s your only chance - you have to know where Hyunjin stands. So you take a deep breath and look up. 

As if he read your mind, he looks up too. 

Your eyes meet. They stay there. 

“I wanted you to,” he says softly. “Of course I wanted you to come.” 

Your heart contracts in your chest. 

“When you didn’t, I… I thought…” He stumbles on his words. “All I mean is, it’s okay if the other night didn’t mean anything for you.”

It’s sudden, and Hyunjin himself seems surprised by the words that just escaped his mouth, as his eyes slightly widen in panic. 

“What I mean is -” 

“It does,” you interrupt him.

He frowns, and you take a deep breath. 

“It does mean something,” you explain, doing your best to hold up his gaze. “I don’t know what exactly, but it does mean something.” 

You stare at him. 

“You just confuse me. Because I feel… all those things, and they’re so strong, and I feel… I don’t even know,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. You notice that his hands are grabbing the handles of the armchair tightly. His next words are measured, careful. 

“Y/N,” he breathes. “Can I please have a second chance?” 

It is so silent around you that you can hear your own heart beating. You can hear Hyunjin breathing. It’s a sweet, gentle sound. 

“Let me make it right,” he breathes, springing up from his seat to kneel next to you. 

He looks at you with wide, shimmering eyes. His beautiful lips are searching for the right words, with no avail. You extend a shivering hand, cupping his cheek nervously. He leans against it. 

“I’ve been craving you all week,” you whisper.

He opens his eyes, and you move from your position to kneel on the carpet next to him, the blanket forgotten behind you. You are not as cold anymore, your body warming in anticipation and desire. 

Your fingers trace Hyunijn’s jaw line, and he gently takes your face in his hands, caressing your skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You nod, closing your eyes as he leans in. 

It’s an entirely different kiss. It’s careful, delicate. You drift against him, falling in his arms - but your movements are slow, deliberate. He deepens the kiss as you tilt your head to the right, exploring the plumpness of his lips. You stay like that for an immeasurable amount of time, kissing and softly embracing each other, until you are out of breath and your lips feel raw. Then Hyunjin, putting a gentle hand against your neck, leans it backwards and starts to leave a trail of kisses down your jaw. His tongue swirls against the skin of your neck, all the way to your collarbones, and you arch against his caresses. 

You undress each other slowly. You take in the sight of his chiseled chest and smooth skin, which almost seems to glow in the light of the candle.  He spends a long time kissing your breasts, brushing his nose against your skin. You let out soft whimpers, your fingers tangling his chocolate hair, teasing his ears, stroking his neck. 

“Your skin is so cold,” he breathes, placing kisses against your arms, your fingers. 

His hands, sprawled on your stomach and hips, feel so incredibly warm. 

“I don’t feel cold,” you tell him with a smile. 

He smiles back, moving back on top of you to kiss you. You take the opportunity to unbutton his jeans and push them down, cupping his already hard cock in your hand. Hyunjin twitches slightly, letting out a nervous laugh against your mouth. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “You’re just… You make me go crazy, Y/N. You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

“So are you, Hyunjin,” you say, placing kisses on his lower lip, on his neck, on his shoulder. “When I’m here I can’t stop looking at you. When I’m not I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Fuck, right back at you,” he laughs, opening his eyes to look at you. 

He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, smiling tenderly.

“You never noticed?” he asks you. “Me staring at you?” 

You shrug, playing with his hair. He looks so handsome, on top of you like that, the silver chain around his neck hanging loosely. 

“I guess I did sometimes. I just thought you found me weird. Like that day with the ice cubes…” 

His cock twitches in your hand and he chuckles embarrassingly. 

“Oh God, don’t talk about that day.” 

You don’t know what to say, but he smiles at you, his eyes a little darker.

“You made me so fucking horny that day I had to jerk off in the bathroom,” he explains, his voice hoarse. “I wanted to lick all that water off your body so bad…” 

It’s your turn to clench, and you bite your lip a little too violently. 

“You’re fucking with me,” you say, shaking your head.

“I’m not,” he answers, leaning in to kiss your neck again. “I think about that day all the time. Imagining how sweet you taste.” 

His mouth goes up to your earlobe, which he takes in his mouth, sucking it in, and you let out an audible moan, pressing your thighs together and squeezing his cock in your hand at the same time. 

He hums, and stands back up to take off his jeans for good; he then removes your pants. Hyunjin immediately descends towards your legs, warming your thighs with his wide hands, and he slowly takes off your panties, discarding them with the rest of your clothes. 

You lay under him, completely naked, feeling safe. Hyunjin removes his boxers, and you see the full beauty of him, the angles of his hips, the curve of his cock. You take in the sight, and he does the same. Certainly your eyes must be as dizzy as his are. He tugs at his cock, biting his lip, and smiles at you. 

“Spread for me, beautiful.” 

You oblige, your pussy twitching as he stares down at you, his face contorted with lust. Hyunjin moves, settling his head between your legs. Your heartbeat accelerates as he kisses the insides of your thighs, slowly leading to your cunt. When he puts his plush lips against you, his tongue pressing against your wet folds, you gasp, your hips thrusting at the touch. 

“Hyunjin…” you cry out. 

He drinks you in, his tongue plunged into you. His caresses are attentive, and you’re never had someone eat you out this way before. It’s so measured and careful and yet so fervent, almost pious despite the sinfulness of the sound he makes against your cunt. It feels like he’s barely breathing, and you feel your entire body tense as he curls his tongue against your clit, teases your entrance, scoops your folds with his full lips. 

You grip the carpet, you shudder, and your orgasm is almost overwhelming. A loud moan escapes your mouth, and your legs shake, almost trapping him between them. When your body relaxes, and your thoughts wander away, you feel Hyunjin leaving kisses on your still trembling thighs. You open your eyes with difficulty, and discern him through the fog. He meets your gaze and smiles, his chin and lips coated in you. 

“Kiss me,” you plead, pulling him closer to you. 

His lips taste of you, of course, but it’s the feeling of his hardness against your still sensitive cunt that sends a shiver across your body. You’re barely recovering from your orgasm, trying to steady your breathing. Hyunjin strokes your hair. 

“I hope that was better,” he whispers. 

“Better?” you ask with a frown. 

“Than last time.” 

“Hyunjin…” you say softly. 

You open your eyes, taking his face in your hands so he looks at you, too. His hair is a mess, his lips swollen. 

“Last time was amazing,” you tell him. “It was quick, but it was good.” 

“It was?” he frowns. “I just thought…”

“I mean, it was for me,” you admit. “It was just another kind of sex, but I loved it. Didn’t you?” 

“Of course I did,” he says, kissing you softly. “I was just worried I ruined it by acting like a horny teenager.” 

“We both acted like horny teenagers,” you chuckle. “It’s okay. I got scared too. I guess it just… made us crave for more.” 

He nods, smiling at you. 

“Like I haven’t wanted to drown in that pussy for months.” 

“Hyunjin!” you cry out with a laugh. 

He chuckles, and you feel recovered enough, so you sit up slightly, pushing his chest forward. 

“Which makes me think,” you smirk. “There’s also something I’ve wanted to do for months. Sit down.” 

You guide him towards the armchair, where he takes a seat, staring at you intently. It’s like he doesn’t want to waste a second looking at something else, and you kneel between his legs, leaning forward to kiss his chest. 

His cock doesn’t really need your hand to stand on its own, but you still hold it, your fingers gently stroking its base. 

“You don’t have to -” 

“I want to,” you tell him. “Don’t you?” 

“Is it too intense to say I’ve dreamt about this before?” 

You blush a little and place a kiss on the tip of his cock. 

“No. I like it.” 

Hyunjin smirks, gathering your hair between his long fingers to hold it back from your face. You place your other hand on his thigh, and take him in your mouth. You go as low as you can, swirling your tongue around the length at the same time. As you go back up, you hollow your cheeks a little.  

Hyunjin lets out a deep groan, his head falling backwards on the armchair. As you keep bobbing your head around his cock, spit and precum making the act a little sloppy, you look up at him. You could draw each vein in his muscled neck from here. It sends a shiver down to your cunt, and you just have to touch yourself, putting pressure against your swollen clit. 

You listen to his breathing, loving how his fingers sometimes pull at your hair a little as he tenses. He bucks his hips sometimes, making you take him deeper in your mouth. You don’t mind - you do your best. He’s making such lewd sounds, moaning your name, and perhaps you’re liking this a little too much. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses as you accelerate your movements. “Stop, stop, please.” 

You remove him from between your lips, and he lets out a chuckle. He looks like he can barely keep his eyes open, his forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

“I just - you’re going to make me come, and I want to make this last.” 

You place a gentle kiss on his cock. “But I like doing this,” you pout. 

Hyunjin lets out a low laugh, placing a finger under your chin to lift your face towards his. He gives you a slow kiss, his tongue toying with yours. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you touching yourself there,” he whispers. “The sight alone could make me blow on the spot.” 

“Then I won’t do it again,” you tease.

“I’ll never forgive you if you don’t,” he retorts with a smirk. 

He plunges his lips against yours, moving back on the carpet next to you. His warm, long fingers cup your ass, and then slide against your wet folds before he applies sweet pressure. You gasp around his lips, rolling your hips to reach for more. Hyunjin smiles but does not say a thing - he just keeps going, and then pushes two of his fingers inside of you. 

“Yes,” you moan, feeling him stretch you. 

“So warm,” he whispers. “So tight for me. Fuck, so beautiful.” 

“Give me more of you, please,” you breathe. 

He starts to fuck you with his fingers, adding another after a few seconds, and you shudder against him. He reaches deep inside of you, and while it’s a delightful sensation, you still want more. 

“No,” you whisper. “I want you inside of me.” 

He nods, removing his fingers, licking them clean around his tongue. He accompanies you as you lay down against the carpet, a hand against your back. You keep your eyes in his, kept there by an invisible pull, as the tip of his cock brushes against your cunt. You sigh, your hands reaching for him, pushing your fingers in his soft hair. 

Hyunjin enters you with a shuddering moan, and he does not stop until he reaches the furthest he can go. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you let out a soft cry. He feels so good inside of you, both lean and hard. 

“My beauty,” he whispers in your ear. “Feels so good around me. I’m gonna go slow, I need to feel every inch of you.” 

His thrusts are so slow at first it feels like torture of the sweetest kind. You keep arching your back, begging for more, but at the same time it feels so good, so intimate, you can only enjoy every second. Hyunjin fucks you like he’s writing lines of poetry, like he’s making coffee one drip at a time, like he traces intricate patterns in foamy cream. 

“I think you were made for me,” he groans. “Or rather, I was made for you.” 

You shudder at his words. “Don’t let me go, please. Not ever.” 

He keeps whispering things in your ear, things that make sense, things that don’t, and you let him know how he makes you feel, how a part of you lives in him, in this place that is him. Your voices belong to the both of you, to none of the rest. 

After a while his thrusts gain in intensity, and you sit up slightly so that you face him, almost sitting on the carpet with him inside of you. The new position allows him to reach new depth, and the feeling of his cock throbbing inside of you, begging to come undone, sends you into a second orgasm. He growls as you clench, shaking his head, sweat pearling on his lips, and you kiss them again and again. You’re lost in pleasure, Hyunjin dancing into you.

He comes not long after, holding you close to him, your forehead against his. You wish you could bottle up every sound he makes, every single breath that escapes his lips, keep it for later. You just listen to them, their memories safely kept in your very heartbeat. 

“I love you,” Hyunjin whispers. 

It comes out of nowhere and it doesn’t - it really doesn’t. 

You smile, grazing your nose against his. 

“I love you, too.”

“Hyunjin.” 

He blinks at the sound of his name, turning towards Jeongin, who is smiling politely at him. 

“Your friend’s here.” 

He nods towards the other end of the counter where Seungmin stands, giving him a wave. Hyunjin smiles back, lifting a finger to tell his friend he’ll be there in a minute. Seungmin nods back and heads towards the tables, taking a seat. 

Hyunjin prepares two cups of coffee, then takes off his apron and meets Seungmin at the table. 

“Thanks for coming, man,” Hyunjin says, taking a seat with a sigh. “I know the café isn’t exactly in your way.” 

“That’s fine,” Seungmin answers. “I get free coffee, don’t I?” 

“That’s true,” Hyunjin smiles. 

“But you work too much, man. You’re here almost every day.” 

Hyunjin nods - everyone says that to him all the time. He’s aware of it. But his whole life is the café. He would be nothing without it, and there’s rarely a day he actually forces himself to come to work. 

“What can I tell you?” he sighs with a shrug. “I like it.” 

Seungmin shakes his head. “I like my job, too, but everyone needs a few days off. Don’t forget there’s a world out there.” 

“You sound like you’re going to tell me I need to broaden my horizons, live a little, get laid.” 

Seungmin scoffs, taking a sip of coffee. “Well, you do.” 

“Next you’ll tell me you know someone I’d like, and you can introduce us?” 

“Well…”

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin chuckles. 

The latter laughs, putting down his cup and crossing a leg over the other. He looks relaxed, almost detached, but Hyunjin knows him well enough. Seungmin always cares. Hyunjin bites his lip, tapping a finger on his leg. Then, he leans forward, his elbows on the table, and smiles at his friend. 

“She’s back.” 

“Who?” 

“Y’know.” 

Understanding flashes in Seungmin’s eyes. “Ice cube girl?” 

“Hm.” 

Hyunjin told Seungmin about you one drunken night. The two friends were inside a pub, hidden away in a booth, exchanging stories. Seungmin, who had just recently started going out with his girlfriend, started talking about sex. So Hyunjin told him about the sexiest thing he had ever seen. You, with the ice cubes. 

“Oh.” Seungmin grins, looking around. “Does she still come every week?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think she has a crush on you, man.” 

Hyunjin smirks. “I think so, too.”

He can’t help it - he glances at you, who is sitting at your usual table. You’re sipping a simple black coffee, half of an espresso macaron still on your plate. You’re wearing Hyunjin’s favorite sweater, the apricot colored one. 

He chose it himself from your closet this morning. Seungmin follows his gaze, and as you feel the two pairs of eyes on you, you lift your head and smile at them. Seungmin waves back, inviting you to join them. You do, Hyunjin holding your hand tightly in his own. 

Outside the snow melts under a clear sun, giving way to a hopeful spring.

“Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home — my only home.”  — charlotte brontë

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @tanyas97 ; @raspbinniecreme ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @oxviolentheartxo (i'm unable to tag you sorry)

[that-sweet-jester]

The BenchTrio pt.1

I've been inspired yet again, background below, enjoy my ramblings

excuse my english, it's been some time since i wrote anything in it

-TOMMY-

Full Name: Tommy Innit (not yet Craft) but in the stage of becoming so. Voluntarliy. But not really. As always, the Syndicate trio looked at this child and said mine now. Tommy had to comply.

Alias: Just as with Siren, I didn't really wanna go with the most popular choice and come up with something myself, but after some searching I settled on Theseus anyway. LOOK. Tommy always wanted to be a hero, the good guy who can really change stuff and help the others. That's why he settled on the name of one of the greek's most popular heroes. He was the BIG GUY, THE BESTEST OF THE BEST, THE ONLY MAN EVER. However, the real reason was, that because of his powers, he was mostly confined to the healing quarters, he couldn't really prove himself on the field. The name was supposed to lift his spirit, pretend that if he could get a chance he could live up to it. THINGS CHANGED, when one day he was exceptionally let on a mission and stumbled upon a hurt Syndicate member (cough cliché cough) Perses(Techno). In the myth, Asclepius was the god of medicine, he was such a good healer, he started bringing people back to life. Now, the gods didn't like that, mostly because people were supposed to die and to not change their nature, but we'll ignore that and implement my story. The Commission wanted the villains gone and suddenly some guy is helping and healing them?? Nope. That's why they wanted the guy who was the cause gone. Just like in the myth Aeslepius was killed for his actions, so The Commission declared Tommy their enemy after they found out it's him. THEY KILLED HIS HERO STATUS. But he was reborn into a vigilante Asclepius, just like Asclepius in the myth was ressurected and became a god. Of course it was the Syndicate that came up with the name. 💥💥💥💥

Powers: I also thought about different powers, but after I came up with the stuff above, it all just fell into place.

So in my incomplete lore, when Tommy somehow meets Siren for the first time, when he's still a hero, they start fighting. Normally Wilbur would just start using his voice, BUT Tommy is quicker and more agile and manages to touch Wilbur.

One of his powers is emotion manipulation, he touches someone, he can alter what they feel. So when he puts his hand on Wil, he's able to do just that. (warning - my half-assed attempt at writing a fanfiction snippet)

Wilbur suddenly falls on his knees, hands shooting up to clutch his face which morphs into a horror filled expression. Trembling, unable to use his own powers, he looks up to Tommy.

"W-what did you do?!"

Tommy, shocked himself, stands still hovering over Siren. Looking at the image of the powerful villain crumbling before him, he slowly comes to his senses and starts to grab his compromised opponent. Yet, as he's about to do just that, in the last effort of self perseverance Siren lashes out at him, knocking him over, then while still trembling, runs away. When Tommy's able to pick himself up from the sudden attack, the villain is gone.

When he's part of the BenchTrio and an unofficial Syndicate member, he helps Wilbur and Techno with their emotions, that come with their powers. Wil, with his emotional stability, because let's be real, if you could command people to do whatever you want you could go a lil crazy with the power, and Techno, with his bloodlust state and sensory overload that the voices cause.

I think healing powers are kinda self explanatory. Touch, wound go brr and disappears. The bigger the damage the more energy it takes.

Additional info: His suit is not as proffesional as the others, because he has not yet been fully involved with The Syndicate. Therefore it's mostly scraps from his old costume and homemade parts. The others have proffesional gear made by The Syndicate.

-TUBBO-

Full Name: Tubbo Underscore

Alias: Atom, due his powers, no real story here. He was deemed by The Commission as too dangerous, his power too unstable and cast away to "retirement". He didn't want to fully join The Syndicate, but decided to work with them and became a vigilante. He was named Hephaestus.

"As a smithing god, Hephaestus made all the weapons of the gods in Olympus. He served as the blacksmith of the gods, and was worshipped in the manufacturing and industrial centres of Greece, particularly Athens."

Tubbo created weapons for The Syndicate.

Powers: He's able to create nuclear brusts that deal grave damage, but he tries to use this power as rarely as possible as not to destroy too much, opting to small blasts from his hands. However, he must be careful because his power is also linked to his emotions and if angered, distraught or scared he can lash out and burst with energy creating big explosion around him. That was the reason why The Commission feared him and wanted to get rid of him. They also didn't provide any useful ways of dealing with said powers, that's why he was unable to fully control them. HERE COMES TOMMAE with his powers, dudes helping bros.

Enhanced intelligence - my boy's a teenager and can build complex weapons - here's why.

FUN FACT: -that i came up with after coloring the drawing. Tubbo's costume is black and yellow, that's why Tommy calls him Beeboy.

Also, his suit was partily supposed to resemble those yellow hazmat suits (at least the hood).

-RANBOO-

Full Name: Ranboo Beloved

Alias: Due to his powers he was named Spectre. The Commission never fully trusted him, because of his memory problems and thought he might spill their beans. He convinced Tubbo to leave The Commission after him. He was named Lethe. "The shades of the dead were required to drink the waters of the Lethe in order to forget their earthly life. [..] Virgil writes that it is only when the dead have had their memories erased by the Lethe that they may be reincarnated." Ranboo was tasked with convincing and recruiting new members of The Syndicate. In a way he was the threshold between their old and new life.

Powers: Standard teleportation. Enhanced reflexes came form the idea that when Endermen are angered they become really fast :p. Also, the mask he's wearing works as a noctovisor. Where did that idea come from? Endermen canonically see the world in inverted colors which kinda looks like as if you used nightvision. Also he should probably see where he is teleporting.

BENCHTRIO LORE: The name BenchTrio, in this case, was made up as a joke, that all three of them were often benched while still working in The Commission. Tommy, because of healing powers, Tubbo because of his instability and Ranboo because of his memory problems.

If you've made it through the whole text ily <3

damn i love using greek mythology as a reference for this stuff it makes my brain go brrr.

As always I'm listing some of the fics that inspired me the most:

The Oath of Hippocrates by Melatonin_High

tommyinnit’s clinic for supervillains by bonesandthebees (bonesandcacti)

Welcome Home Theseus by SoulfirePhoenix

Give them the love they deserve!!

Now I'm onto finishing a little strip of comic for this universe >:333

Also enjoy my bff's reaction to me writing all that shit to her at 4 am:

[mehiwilldoitlater]

"We should break up."

His voice can be as sharp as a bullet; if it wasn't for the water in the kitchen, the glass in your hand would have shattered into at least two pieces.

You turned him. His eyes were dark, but they were looking at the small window in front of you. Simon was a man of stone and iron, but for some reason, your face was something that he couldn't fight.

"....w....what did you-"

"I said that we should break up."

"I heard you the first time!"

You almost shout. It felt like a bullet in your chest, and you needed the extra support to not lose support. You tried to gain some composure, like the fact that the man that you love and cherish is not just breaking your heart in two.

"...Why? Why do you want to break up? Oh, don't feed that it's not you, it's me bullshit, because I'm pretty sure it's not that!"

He sighed silently. It was a cliché, but mostly that was the reason. He tried to find the right world for every possible good reason. But you, you were always so good for him, always so ready to throw out the lines of his thoughts.

You kept looking at him, a man that at the beginning was almost scary, a shadow that appeared from nowhere, and Just Vegano Ro became the rock of your life, the lighthouse in the storm. But now, you were the storm, and he was just lost.

"It's complicated..."

"COMPLICATED?! You think...did you at least...oh God... Did you find someone else? Are you seeing someone else?"

There is some form of emotion in those eyes. He grabbed you by your arm, the same one that you retract with a face of betrayal.

"NO! There's no one! You're the only one!"

"Then why did you want to break up?"   

Your eyes were fuming; it was like you forgot that he wanted to break up with you; now you just wanted to know the reason for this decision. He didn't want to tell you; it was so selfish of him. It was, but it was for the better.

You didn't deserve that; you didn't deserve the pain. But you didn't want any of that.

"At least look me in the eyes!"

"I don't want you to live like this, okay?"

He snapped, his eyes finally meeting yours. Thetre was something—a strange new light that he usually was able to keep in check every time—but now it was wild, furious, and wanted to get free from every self-control that Simon had put it under.

"I can't. I don't want you to live. I have the idea that maybe one day I won't come back. I don't even know what could happen if someone used you against me. God forbid... I just..."

He inhaled, calming that emotion in his chest. Taking a spot on a chair, he passed his hand throw on his golden locks, a strange vision on his scarred face. His icy eyes, so scared, were looking at your expression. You were confused; why say all those staff now?

"In the last mission, one of our men died... They went to his girlfriend for the news, and she was so broken... Her...wrists were...in the bathtub."

He wasn't scared of the image per se; the amount of horror that he had seen and made was enough to make every slasher movie a funny cartoon for him. What really scared him was his mind, which placed the image with another character in that story, the person in front of him.

It felt a little clearer now. You massaged your face, trying to cope with that new information. Simon looked so scared. In pain.

"Okay, let me just ...you want to break up with me because you're scared that, in a hypothetical way, I could...I-it's this what you want to say?"

Maybe the rational part of him wanted to give you another answer, something less sellfish on himself. Something that could be reasonable, something that could hide his weakness.

Deep down, the fear of losing you, a simple civilian without care in the world, was lingering.

He didn't responded because now the rational side of him was strung by the fact he didn't want to give away his life with you.

You sat down, got the message, and..

"Well, forgive me, but I refuse."

"I'm doing it for..."

"NO! No, no, Simon, listen."

8You cleared your throat, fighting the urge to cry. Between the two, you were the one who didn't want to surrender—not now. 

"Let's talk hypothetically, all right? In another world, you are just Simon. Not Ghost, no 141 team, no missions... Just Simon Riley, a simple accountant for an office."

"An office?"

"Shut up."

He chuckled, not for your small talk but for the strange idea of him living a normal life.

"In that world, the other Y/n and Simon live a pretty normal life. They wake you up, go to work, message each other a little during the day, then go back home, eat, and sleep! They don't need to worry about anything in their lives except taxes, and the most dangerous thing that Simon has ever done is, uh, a green tie and red socks!"

"That's scandalous..."

"I know, he's terryfing sometime, and...and Y/N is fine by that! For them, Simon is perfect in that way, and they would never change him for anything else! And...is the same for me."

He was aware of how small your hand was; god, he had even fantasized a little about it sometimes, but seeing it now, holding it on his own, he felt like he was being held by the strongest force in the world.

"I don't want to change anything. I love everything about this life that I have with you. I love that I can have your team for occasional lunches, and we have to buy more beers because John finished the last one. I love that I have to remind you to clean your boots before getting inside the house. I love that you call me in the middle of the night and are wondering why I am so grumpy, and I have to remind you about the time zone. God, I even love when I can hear your voice after days that I barely hear you on a mission, and I almost cry because I fucking believe that you actually died!"

Your hands trembled on their own, and the tears that you tried to hold started to run down your cheekbone, reflecting the small and fragile light in your kitchen. He hated to make you cry. His hands tried to reach your head to caress your hair, afraid that you could have broken it into thousands of pieces.

"I don't want to change anything about that! And... and you can't give up on us because you're afraid of something like that! You can't, okay, is not fucking fair!"

"I know; I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Please don't cry."

It was so funny to believe that he could crumble by just seeing you in such pain—one that he didn't even want to cause you. To believe that he even wanted to leave you to avoid this possibility...

"I'm an idiot..."

"You are! I don't want to lose you!"

"I'm sorry. I'm not leaving... I'm messed up."

Your trembling hands reached his shoulder, holding him like our lives were just a step away from a fatal fall and he was your last chance at survival.

"We both are... But I love you like this in any case."

He promised two things that night: firstly, to never fall again in his own fear just because he was scared of something that he barely could've control, and secondly, to not die. If that was the only way to keep that scenario in his head at bay, and having the one that you were there, in your shared house, waiting for him, then maybe that was enough reason to live and fight.

[casdeans-pie]

Part 4 of Flustered Castiel Accidentally Explodes Lightbulbs And Causes Power Outages Especially When Dean's Fingers Are In His Hair

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3.

Happy birthday to me! This is my birthday gift to myself so it's deliciously self indulgent for the final part. I honestly could have just kept going with this forever, I adore flustered!Cas and his angel powers lmao

This part got so big I couldn't put the whole chapter in the tumblr post sorry!

Taglist: @dreampencil , @mymisfitsbabe , @fivefeetfangirl , @kerryweaverlesbian , @give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back , @mooshroomister , @castielsbloodynose , @the-great-pumpkin-67 , @casavanse , @homoangel - thanks all for your interest, hope you like the conclusion!!

-----Read on AO3-----

---------

If stubbornness was a sin, Dean knew he would be going straight to hell when he died. Again.

There were a million reasons that Dean could think of for why Cas had distanced himself (that buzzed around his brain like insistent bees whenever he lay down to sleep at night) but if they didn’t talk about them then none of them were real. The ache in his chest at Cas’s absence, familiar from when he used to leave them for stretches at a time, felt like it dug in deeper and deeper with every passing day – but he still just couldn’t bring himself to talk to him about it.

The biggest surprise became the slow realisation that the saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ wasn’t just some made up cliché bullshit that people said to each other, because seeing Cas, even briefly before he scurried away, made Dean’s heart sing like a lovesick teenage girl.

Sam only suffered through so much before he started using his Sad-Sam-Eyes whenever he saw them both, hoping they would finally sort out whatever was going on between them, but he didn’t mention it otherwise. Somehow that made it even worse. If Sam told them to talk to each other, at least that could have been a good excuse. But no.

Dean had to do something on his own.

He had to.

He’d started all of this by being a jerk about Cas’s powers, so it was time to dip into that Dean Winchester Courage, have a real conversation about all of this, and face losing his best friend – the Angel that he loved – head on.

------

Then they finally had a hunt together. Alone.

Dean’s bloody machete hung in a loose grip by his side as he kicked the toe of his boot at the decapitated body on the ground beside him. The head lay nearby.

“Think we finally got ‘em all,” Dean said with a grin. His clothes were covered in splashes of blood, and he could feel some drying on his cheek that he was itching to scratch off with his nail. “I love a good vamp nest clear-out, but if I’d have known there were gonna be this many, I would’ve brought Sam as extra back-up.” Dean didn’t want to mention that the reason he’d told Sam to stay behind in the first place was because he’d finally stopped being chickenshit scared about sorting this thing out with Cas. “Not that we didn’t handle it.” He gestured towards the headless bodies scattered around them with his machete.

Cas didn’t reply. He’d been quiet in the ride over and had kept his distance for the whole fight.

Okay. Time’s up. Time to do this. Dean took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes. “Cas, listen-”

“Dean!” Cas yelled, slamming into him just as the sound of a gunshot exploded nearby.

Dean went hurtling down as another gunshot rang out. He landed heavily – the floor winded him and disorientated him enough that he couldn’t get straight back up, and he shook his head rapidly to try to clear it.

There were sounds of Cas wrestling with the vampire nearby. Dean watched dazedly as the vampire snarled and bared his fangs as he threw a punch at Cas’s nose, and his fist connected with a thud. But that gave Cas the opportunity to wrench the gun out of the vampire’s weakened grasp, and he tossed it aside, making it skitter harmlessly across the floor into a dark corner of the warehouse.

Red bloomed through the top of Cas’s trench coat on his left shoulder.

“Cas!” Dean warned, finally scrambling to his feet just as the vampire grabbed Cas and threw him down with a hiss onto the dusty, blood-spattered floor.

The vampire loomed over him with an open mouth full of needle-sharp teeth just as Cas sat up with a grunt and threw up his hand with his palm out. Dean recognised the gesture, and he immediately braced himself for the blinding light of Cas’s angelic smitey powers, but only a faint sputtering glow emerged from his hand.

After a moment, where Cas stared at his hand in confusion, the vampire hissed and lunged.

He never got any further.

Dean’s machete swung in a clean shining arc through the vampire’s neck, and he collapsed in a heap like a puppet with cut strings. The spray of blood caught Cas, smattering his face and hair with even more crimson alongside what currently trickled out of his nose and soaked his shoulder.

Dean groaned in relief and threw the machete to the concrete floor with a clang. “Definitely the last one,” he declared with a deep breath. “Damn that got close for a second there. Come on, up you get.” Dean offered out a hand to help Cas, but he pushed himself up with a groan instead, pointedly not looking at the hand as if he hadn’t noticed it.

Dean tried to shrug it off again, just like he had all the other times that Cas refused to touch him recently, but he could feel the hurt burning in his throat and behind his eyes. He clenched his fist so tightly it almost hurt as he returned it to his side.

“You okay?” Dean asked instead with a frown, thinking of the gunshots, and noticing the blood stain on Cas’s shoulder increasing in size.

“Yes. The first bullet got me, but the second bullet missed. I think it went clean through. Didn’t hit anything vital.” Cas touched his shoulder and winced, then observed Dean – his blue eyes raking him up and down from head to foot. “What about you? Are you hurt?”

Dean shook his head, the mixture of hurt and concern and happiness at the closest attention he’d got from Cas in weeks making his words come out harsher than he intended when he snapped, “Nope. My bullet-proof friend pushed me out of the way, and then revealed that he’s not so bullet-proof today.”

Cas smiled ruefully. “Ah. Yes. Looks that way.” He dusted his trench coat off as best he could and lifted an arm to wipe his sleeve across his nose – though he only succeeded in smearing the dust and blood around. He closed his eyes and rubbed again.

Dean pushed down his confusing cocktail of emotions, like he always did, and forced on a smile. “You’re just making it worse, buddy. Why’s killing vamps always such a bloody job?” He reached over without thinking, while Cas was still rubbing at his nose. “Nose doesn’t look broken at least, but your shoulder’s probably gonna need stitches while you’re low on power like this.”

Dean’s fingers had barely even grazed the fabric on Cas’s shoulder before Cas flinched back violently.

The lights in the warehouse groaned and buzzed as they flickered and dimmed, and then just as quickly returned to normal.

Cas’s eyes were wide as he took another step back.

Dean felt all his confusion sharpen into a frustrated stab of white-hot anger. He gestured violently at the ceiling. “Okay. Y’know what. That’s it. Let’s talk. What the hell is going on with you, Cas? Why have you been avoiding me? What’s the deal with the lights?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Nothing you need to know about.”

“Nothing I- are you even hearing yourself right now? You’re really gonna admit to keeping secrets again after everything we’ve been through? And- hey, what’s up with your face? What are you doing?”

Cas had screwed his eyes together so tight that it pinched his whole expression. “Concentrating.”

“On what? This conversation that you’re trying not to be in?”

“On using my Grace to heal my shoulder and clean all of this off, but it’s not…” Cas gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. They glowed faintly. “It’s not working.”

Dean took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Shit, Cas. You know you’re low on power right now, you really want to use up what little juice you got left before you get chance to recharge? The motel’s only twenty minutes away.” He scowled. “You can even sit in the back. Far away from me, like you want.”

Dean didn’t wait for a response, he turned, reached down for his abandoned machete, and stalked back to Baby.

By the time Cas finally got into the car – in the back – Dean had already texted Sam to tell him that the nest had been cleared out and they would be spending the night at the motel.

They’d be back at the bunker tomorrow, and then Cas could keep avoiding him like before. Or maybe he’d finally just admit that he wanted to leave… and he’d go. The thought made Dean clench the steering wheel with a grip that made his knuckles white.

He couldn’t imagine his life without Cas in it.

The ride to the motel was tense and silent except for Baby’s engine that Dean pushed harder than he should. (The twenty-minute ride only took them ten. Cas didn’t comment on it.)

As soon as they were through the door Dean toed off his shoes, flicked on all the lights, and went to wash his hands in the bathroom. He didn’t look back to see what Cas was doing. It was none of his business. If he didn’t want to talk about it, then what did he care. (He tried to tell himself, even as the ache in his chest pounded and felt cavernous.)

Dean splashed some water on his face and gripped the sides of the grubby sink. Water plinked pink from his chin into the chipped basin, as the vampire blood washed away down the plughole.

After a deep breath Dean grabbed a towel and rubbed it over his face, careful not to inhale at the same time – he’d learned a long time ago that it was best not to know what motel towels smelt like – and reached for the first aid kit he always left in the bathroom when they went on hunts.

Sufficiently calmed down, and feeling less like his heart was caught in the vice grip of a homicidal ghost, Dean turned and emerged back into the main room. He froze mid-step at what he saw: Cas had his head in his hands, perched on the edge of his bed, while the blood stains from his bullet wound were soaking through his coat down his arm. He hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, and there seemed to be a particularly troubled tenseness to the set of his shoulders. Even more than usual. Despite their strained relationship recently, it cut Dean deeply to see him like that – so clearly suffering and so human.

Dean sat heavily onto his own bed opposite Cas. The old springs creaked loudly and protested at the sudden weight. “Alright. Coat off.”

Cas startled and snapped his head up. The lamp beside his bed flickered weakly. “What?”

Dean’s usual enthusiasm for the phenomenon of the flickering lights wasn’t his priority this time, and he pushed his curiosity aside. “Stitches,” Dean said simply, brandishing the first aid kit.

“I don’t need them,” Cas grumbled, looking away. “Once my Grace has recharged enough it will heal on its own.”

“Oh okay, so you’re just going to wait and see if your mojo recharges faster than you bleed? And you’re, what, expecting me to just sit here while we find out? Because I am not okay with that.”

“Yes.”

“Cas. Just let me put some damn stitches in your damn shoulder.”

“No.” The muscles in Cas’s jawline clenched.

Dean scowled as he ran a hand through his hair. It was sticky and matted with drying blood, but that was nothing new. “Let me put it this way. You either take off your coat and shirt willingly, or I will tackle you to that bed and remove them myself” – the lamp flickered again – “so help me God, don’t think that I won’t. Your choice.” Dean had his eyes locked on Cas’s narrowed ones. “I will not let you suffer when I can do something about it. Yeah, you might heal it up yourself in an hour or two, but I’m not going to sit here watching you bleeding and in pain, when I can help. Don’t ask me to.”

“Dean… This is just… It’s a bad idea.”

“A bad idea? To stop you from bleeding out? C’mon man, you’re always healing me up after hunts, let me repay the favor for once. Besides, you took the shot meant for me – it should be me sitting there with the bullet hole.”

Cas went suddenly pale, and his eyebrows drew together in a serious line. “If it were, I would use up whatever Grace I had left to heal you.”

Oh.

Dean blinked in surprise.

Huh. But Cas had been avoiding him so much lately... He’d assumed he didn’t care anymore. “Uh,” Dean faltered, “no, that wouldn’t be okay either. I wouldn’t want that. But maybe I should teach you some basic first aid now that your mojo gets patchy sometimes.” He shook his head. That would require them to be in the same room for more than five minutes. Stupid suggestion. “Look, if you’d want to heal me that badly if we were swapped over here, that’s what I want to do to you right now, get it?”

“I um. I think so.” The line between Cas’s eyebrows grew deeper. “It’s fine now anyway. It barely hurts,” he lied, gripping his shoulder tightly.

“Sure. Okay, Black Knight.”

Cas squinted.

“The Black Knight – ‘‘tis but a flesh wound’? Guess you didn’t get Monty Python in the pop-culture upload. We’ll add it to the list we-” But Dean remembered that they didn’t watch movies together anymore. “Doesn’t matter. Just take your damn coat off, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

That finally cracked a smile onto Cas’s pale face. His lips twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled endearingly.

Dean felt a strong flare of affection at seeing Cas’s smile, after seeing him looking so defeated before, that it immediately softened all of Dean’s concern-masked-as-irritation and he found himself smiling back. He’d missed this. So damn much.

“I’ll patch you up,” Dean said gently, “then you get dibs on the first shower, since you’re the one covered in the most blood. Winchester tradition.”

“I don’t need-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you can just magic your mess away when your power’s back on, but you’re really just gonna sit here like that until then?”

Cas looked down at himself. “You have a point.”

“Always do. Looks like you’ll just have to enjoy shitty motel water pressure like the rest of us.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “And going first means you get the hottest water.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said.

“Then we can both go to sleep so you can recharge your batteries. You can sleep when you’re like this, right? But stitches first. After that there’ll be no touching involved,” Dean added, before he could stop himself. As much as he enjoyed talking to Cas again, it only served as a depressing reminder that they weren’t like this anymore. He gave a sad, weak little laugh, and even he could hear the pain in his voice when he said, “Y’don’t even have to look at me.”

Cas immediately slid off his bed with a rustle, and he was on his knees in front of Dean in the time it took for him to open his mouth to ask what was happening. His eyes shined wetly in the dingy motel room lighting as he gazed up intensely – vulnerable and raw – into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, no. This wasn’t supposed to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you,” Cas said in a voice thick with emotion. “Doing this – distancing myself… It was supposed to make things better, but it… only made everything worse. I hate being apart from you. I hate it. This wasn’t- it’s not- it’s not your fault.” He spoke haltingly, like he was struggling. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I- I don’t know how to explain-”

They were closer than they had been in weeks, and yet Dean could still feel the distance. His heart sunk. “This is starting to feel a whole lot like the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, man.”

Cas scrunched his face up, and Dean knew he was trying to think of a way to say what he meant. He wondered if Angels weren’t very big talkers in their true forms. It was reminiscent of when they first met, and how Cas used to struggle with sarcasm and slang.

Cas already told him once that he’d only started to feel real, strong emotions (Dean called them his Real Boy Feelings) since rescuing him from Hell, so it made sense that he still struggled sometimes. And anyway, Dean had been human his whole life and it wasn’t like he was much better at the whole sharing your feelings crap.

Cas finally looked up through his lashes at him – his expression wary. “Hold out your hand, Dean.”

“What?”

“Hold out your hand, please. I can show you what’s been going on.”

---- Read the rest on AO3 ----

[chloecouture]

COMPARISON

As my first post I decided on the topic comparison.

Why? Well, for a good mindset and to manifest you need to stop comparing yourself.

The only thing other people should do is inspire you to get better. Never be in competition with others, only be in competition with yourself.

Actually you should never be competing, just forget that old self and the old story.

When I was comparing myself to others or even myself I would obviously only feel better if that person was in a bad situation. Now about myself I would only dare to compare myself when my past version was doing worse. However I would always feel bad after for some reason it just didn’t feel right because why was my past version not my ideal version.

What I’m trying to explain is no matter how you compare yourself, it doesn’t add anything useful to your life. Comparing yourself doesn’t get you anywhere, it keeps you stuck and usually makes you go backwards even.

I, of course know that the topic comparison has been talked about numerous times but I felt it was an easy topic to start of this blog journey with. I also decided to talk about this because it’s something that I used to struggle with.

Now, probably what you’ve actually been waiting for, the tips how do you actually stop comparing yourself. These are tips that have worked for me.

1. When you see someone or something that makes you insecure, so you start comparing. Remove it , if it’s someone you follow, unfollow them etc…

2. Identify why you want to compare yourself to that person or that situation. Are you comparing because you think you want that or are you comparing because that’s what you really desire. Once I learned that most of my comparisons came from thinking I wanted to be that because of society, I stopped caring I finally realized that I didn’t even want that in the first place. Basically your desires vs what others think you should desire.

3. Meditation. You need to be calm, you need to be peaceful. When I used to compare myself, I would overthink about everything. Your mind needs to be calm and clear.

4. Genuinely just stop looking at social media for a while if it gets to much. About 3 years ago I deleted most of my social media apps because it became too much for me. You’re not missing anything. Once you know you feel ready you can go back to social media. Now my alternative to implement that in my life is just not going on social media much. Just ignore it the same way you should ignore those thoughts of comparison.

5. Journal. Write down your thoughts, write down your feelings. When you write you’ll have a clear view of why you are comparing or what bad thoughts you’re having.

6. Ranting. This is more a manifesting technique but go into your voice memos and everything you really want that that person has start saying that’s you. For ex. I am so famous, I am so pretty… whatever but I used to do that just for a little while and I’d always feel better. You can also record this in your voice memos and listen to it again.

In the beginning it might be a little hard to completely stop those thoughts, which is totally normal. I have bad days, days where I almost still compare. It’s alright to cry about it for once but you have to pick yourself up and realize you can be who you want to be. At the end of the day as cliché as it sounds but practice makes perfect.

These seem like very surface level tips but for some this is genuinely going to help. Sometimes simple tips are the best ones.

Remember: You are limitless, the world is yours and you are the world. You are the creator of your world you can be anything and make anything happen.

Au revoir

-Xoxo Chloé C.

[jimipoo]

if you were a part of nature, you would be the sea.

word count: 780

genre: fluff

ac: hai it's been awhile :D here's a little something!

"If you were a part of nature, you would be the sea," you break the silence, causing Jimin to turn his head towards you, a strand of his hair falling softly over his lashes as he tilts his head.

Jimin doesn't respond for a minute, letting your statement hang in the air and you feel yourself getting a tiny bit nervous by the way he responded to what you said. Instead, he uses his minute to adjust the laying position he's currently in, propping his elbows underneath as the rough sand digs into his skin but he pays no attention to it. He finally opens his mouth to respond.

"How so?" he asks, eyes flitting back towards your face yet again. You weren't looking at him—just quietly fiddling at the hem of your dress.

"It just seems like it's always been a part of you," you simply state, you choose to set your eyes toward the view in front of both of you. Noticing the way the sun now glows a deep shade of orange, it paints the sky a lighter mix of orange and yellow and even hints of pink that melts within the clouds. You can't deny that it's a beautiful view, taking it all in, your looping thoughts about him fades for a bit, it was only a few seconds until his voice pulls you out of your trance.

You suddenly became aware of the fact that he's next to you, but you don't notice the way his eyes are still fixated on your face, occasionally traveling down to your crossed legs as your fingers lightly tug the threads on the hem of your dress, he fights the urge to grab your hand and intertwine his fingers around yours.

"It's where I grew up," he starts, finally breaking his stare to set his eyes towards the sea.

"This may sound cliché, but it's the first place I would go to whenever the world feels a little too loud for me," he pauses, "Our house lived two streets away from the sea, I would just sit on the tiny cliff and listen to the waves."

"It's also the first place I'd go to in every country I've ever visited," he finishes. There's something about how every beach he's gone to has their own unique look to it, some people may not get it and just say a beach is a beach or a sea is a sea, but he swears that he's felt differently about each and every one of them. Some may look bluer than the other, the sand may feel more soft to the touch or it scratches right into his skin as soon as he sets foot in it, or the water is more salty, has a higher tide, a lower tide, the waves look and sound aggressive or it can only stretch as far as the tip of his toes.

Yet no matter how many beaches Jimin has visited, and how much he can observe and take notes from them, nothing compares to the sea that only lives 20 houses away from his childhood home. The sea that understood him, hugged him, listened to him, spent every silence with him.

That until he meets his eyes with yours, he realizes that his sea is not the only thing his heart soars for.

"The irony of it is, I don't know how to swim nor have I ever tried to go further than knee level." he states, cheeks rising up.

You try your best to hold in your giggle, but the image of you having to carry him in a 5-feet deep pool have made you burst into fit of giggles, you hear him giggle along with you.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Do you wanna know the real reason why the sea makes me think of you? You think to yourself.

You make me feel full. You sigh, taking in his beauty. Jimin, whose cheeks have faded into a noticeable shade of pink as he smiles at you. The long strands of his brown hair falling completely above his eyes, you think to yourself—has he thought about getting a haircut soon? Jimin, who you've known for many summers and still never fails to make your heart beat rapidly each time you let him talk about his first love. Jimin, who you've been sitting peacefully next to as he gently hooks his fingers through your sand-covered hair, taking three strands and lazily braiding them.

Jimin, whom you were sure that he has completely taken over you the way the ocean takes up 71% of the world.

If you were a part of nature, you would be the land.

[moraxussy]

HOPING

synopsis: after a few years of not seeing each other, a unexpected reunion resurfaced the feelings buried long ago only to once again fall apart.

pairings: NAGI SEISHIRO X READER, NAGI SEISHIRO X MIKAGE REO

genre: modern au, pining, unrequited love, angst/hurt no comfort (not really)

wc: 730

notes: finished this like literally at 1:00 am. It was fun racking up my brain to write this. lmk if I missed anything! [|87

NOT PROOF READ!!!

You've always though that maybe you're destined to be alone. Never really receiving any confessions throughout the years of your life gave you the idea that being single is better than having to exert effort in someone. It has always been that way and you're okay with that. Of course until one day you saw him once again.

There was nothing special about the day nor the weather, everything was... plain, and so was your reunion with him, in his eyes. But that specific moment in yours impacted you more than it should've.

You were just sitting on a bench near a popular meet up spot for couples. So relaxed that you didn't care that someone sat next to you. Unbothered actually, it was supposed to stay like that the stranger answered a call and you heard his voice.

"Mmm, I'm here at the place you mentioned..."

With eyes wide opened, you turned to look at the stranger and there you have it, Nagi Seishiro the person that once made your heart beat differently made it beat like it once again.

"Nagi?" You made sure to confirm whether it really was the boy you felt romantics feelings for.

"Oh... [Last Name], right?" Even if he tried forgetting you, he couldn't. Since how could he forget the person that served as the bridge that led him to his first and hopefully last love?

"Ah so you do remember me!" You were happy that he remembered but you were unaware that the reason for it was not what you hoped it was.

"Yeah, well it was nice meeting you. I need to go now, bye." You were about to stop him but since you noticed he was in a hurry you didn't bother hoping your next meeting will be better.

The meeting was short and would barely hold any meaning for other people but for you... I gave you hope that maybe, maybe, your ideals with relationships are wrong.

You never tried to confess to him years ago when you first realized your feelings towards him because of your conflicting ideals regarding romance. Not even one hint was directed at him choosing to keep your feelings to yourself until the two of you drifted apart from each other until the memories spent together lost in the maze of countless thoughts and experiences. Of course certain moments together flash here and there but that was all to it, a flick of a fraction. But since that fateful reunion, the memories came rushing back to you. Regret eating you whole as you wish for time to go back. For you to just say those words. To take the risk even if it hurt in the end. As long as you knew you took your chance to get the proper closure you needed.

So this time you decided to take your chance even if it hurt you.

You tried contacting Nagi but it was useless. It seems like fully changed his contacts and socials. You didn't know any close friend or relative of his so that idea was immediately crossed out. So you chose to hope.

Hope that he will appear at the same spot again. It tested your patience, really. You waited minutes, hours, until it became your routine to visit the same spot at least an hour everyday hoping a miracle like that would happen again.

That miracle did happen, it did. He was there but why was he reaching out an opened engagement box with a ring inside it to someone? Also, why was that someone your cousin? Reo why are you also holding out an engagement ring towards Sei?

It happened so fast yet it felt excruciatingly slow for you. The way they blushed at the realization that they both engaged to each other at the place they first met. Quite the cliché but they loved it. Hugging each other, you hoped(?) that they wouldn't kiss. But they did in fact the kiss was passionate. A feeling you've always wished to feel and express. Yet here it was, you were the spectator of such affection. You always saw but you never did. You always hoped, but it happened for you.

Thus another revelation occurred within your empty heart. "It's not maybe, I am certain that the universe destined me to always be the witness but never the one who is witnessed."

[nicklloydnow]

Like many teenagers, you left your faith behind and became an atheist.

It’s such a cliché. Anybody who doesn’t go through this moment of: Perhaps all this is rubbish seems to me to not have been paying attention.

You’re bound to go through this. And then you grow up and realise that, actually, you hadn’t been quite so clever in your teens as you’d thought.

(…)

It sounds like you were having a strong rebellion against the Christian faith.

No, a ‘strong rebellion’ is where you risk getting your head blown off. I wasn’t taking any material risk. A lot of so-called ‘rebellion’ is just riskless posturing.

So, was abandoning your Christian faith not well thought-out?

It was reasonably well thought-out. It was based on a desire to be entirely commanded by myself. The first and only command of atheism is: ‘do what thou wilt’, which meshes very well with the modern belief in personal autonomy – no one can tell me what to do with my own body. Atheism is very liberating, if that’s what you want to do.

(…)

Was it logic and reason that brought you back?

The choice of belief is driven by desire. When I was a selfish teenager, I desired to believe things which suited me. I later discovered that it was actually impossible to be that person anymore, and it rather revolted me anyway. So I reasoned myself, through my desires, into a belief that the universe is created, designed and purposeful, and that what I do here matters. That suits me now.

It’s an interesting admission, that Christian faith ‘suits’ you. You didn’t say you were intellectually convinced of the arguments for belief.

I just tell the truth about these things. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. I chose it because I prefer it.

But presumably, as a Christian, your faith is also based on truth – such as the objective existence of God?

I can’t objectively prove the existence of God. The default position of the thinking person on these things has to be agnosticism. You will not get beyond agnosticism if you don’t desire to. The atheist desires furiously for there to be no God, and is terrified by the idea that the universe has a purpose. The believer has the opposite reaction.

(…)

So, what are the strongest arguments for Christianity?

It’s the old Immanuel Kant [quote]. It’s the stars burning in the sky and the conscience burning within. Conscience is a very hard thing to explain if there is no God, and the universe is a very hard thing to explain – why is there something rather than nothing?

The atheist finds the idea that this is a designed universe repulsive for various reasons. We can guess what those are. If you’ve been as wicked as I have in my life, that’s not very hard. You don’t want there to be justice in the universe.

(…)

Not everyone finds beauty in the same thing, though.

I disagree. I think there’s an absolute in beauty.

I defy anybody to say the paintings of Vermeer are not beautiful. Or the language of the Authorised Version of the Bible. It means so much more than the flat paraphrases which are nowadays offered in their place. And they’re much more powerful when spoken aloud, which is important in church, and much more memorable. All these things are objective measures of their beauty.

Can there be an objective measure of beauty?

Yes. Because beauty originates in truth, and truth originates in God.

You said earlier you can’t objectively prove the existence of God. And yet you do think there’s an objective measure of beauty?

I think one of the things which suggests the existence of God is the existence of beauty.

(…)

You have famously changed your mind on a whole host of issues; you were formerly a Trotskyite fighting for the socialist revolution, for example. In the world of politics, when people announce they’ve changed their minds, they’re accused of U-turning and it’s seen negatively, isn’t it?

Yes, one of the things you rapidly discover is no one will ever applaud you for changing your mind. Most people regard it as a betrayal. You will lose friends and you’ll be punished for it in various ways.

You’re speaking from experience?

Yes. I don’t regret it, but it’s undoubtedly the case that if you seriously change your mind, it changes your life. And it doesn’t necessarily make it nicer.

(…)

You once described yourself as an Olympic-standard pessimist. Is that something you take pleasure in?

Pessimism is one of the great pleasures of life. I love being a pessimist and I think I’m quite good at it.

My favourite character in English literature is Eeyore [from AA Milne’s Winnie the Pooh].

I’m accused all the time of having no sense of humour. But I tend to think pessimism is a very humorous attitude towards the world. I’m not the kind of person who sits there saying: “How wonderful!” all the time. But who would want to be that person?

I think some people do want to be that person.

Pessimism is the key to happiness. You’re never disappointed. I really don’t see why everybody doesn’t adopt it.”

[newspropaganda]

Despite not being that much into ygo anymore, I was shown your posts and damn, what is wrong with you? Haven't seen a "ygo fan" being that much of a jerk towards other fans in a long time. If you don't even like most ygo anime then why do you still feel the need to talk about them in a negative way and spamming the tags with non-related topics? And stop shittalking Kazuki Takahashi. You don't have to worship him or be his fan but this man is dead because he tried to help people who were in danger. Have some respect towards him at least.

I was going to rant at you at first, but I took the time to read your message properly. I noticed your Pokémon avatar and what you said about not being involved in the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom as much anymore. I didn’t really understand at first, since Tumblr’s ask and share systems have never worked well for me. I’m more of a Facebook guy than a Tumblr or Twitter user. Tumblr is just the place where I vent my anger about Yu-Gi-Oh! since Dark Side of Dimensions (DSOD) came out. That movie ruined me even more when I was already poor and sad.

I know it’s cliché, but I’m more open to talking negatively about Takahashi—not because he means anything to me, but because I hated how his fans disrespected 5D's and didn’t care about the personal crises I was going through. I may disappear someday and never return—I promise you that, friend. I feel like I’m never coming back because I’m still in shock and need time to heal. I haven’t had the chance to relax because I’ve been broke. I don’t see this “off-topic” issue as a problem. My only purpose is to not be on the good side of things.

For me, the whole topic or off-topic discussions in the Yu-Gi-Oh! community are irrelevant. I just spam posts to get attention because I don’t find anything interesting on Tumblr, and I don’t use it much or care about it.

The reason I don’t see most of the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom being nice to me is because life became so hard. I used to think it would be all rainbows and sunshine, but when I entered high school, everything changed. That was just a year after 5D’s ended.

When I heard the Yu-Gi-Oh! community was going insane during Zexal’s run (2011-2014), I wanted to see for myself, but the following year, I was completely turned off. I still can’t understand why people became so toxic in 2015 or why they refuse to read properly. My whole purpose now is to criticize the fandom because they only focus on relevant topics, and I can’t relate since I don’t have a fandom or followers. I don’t understand why, even today, people won’t call out the nonsense in the anime community because they’re too sensitive.

I’m struggling in real life and trying to fix my online presence, but being unemployed since December 2022 has made me hate the fandom even more. A lot of what they say isn’t even true about Yu-Gi-Oh!.

I have several reasons to believe the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom is lying about Zexal’s reception in Japan, Konami going bankrupt because of false rumors, and Takahashi being responsible for why ARC-V failed in its original broadcast version. 4Kids gets blamed too much for adapting the show for American audiences, but they didn’t ruin the original Japanese version like people claim. I don’t believe GX was the peak of Yu-Gi-Oh! anime. It was made by people who weren’t 100% good—Junki Tategami was one of them, and he was responsible for a lot of its problems. I also don’t think 5D’s had production issues in Season 3. When Tomoika left during that season, the production issues started. The fandom sugarcoats Zexal over its ratings and animation, but they forget that Yu-Gi-Oh! was about exposing errors in writing—something GX and 5D’s did better. I have massive hate toward Kamishiro Tsunomi, who ruined ARC-V, and I hate people who refuse to admit that VRAINS’ biggest issue was its writing, not its production quality. I also loathe Dark Side of Dimensions because it focused on nonsense that didn’t give Yu-Gi-Oh! the impact it deserved. It spammed multiverse theories just for clout. I can’t agree with most fans that Battle City was the best arc—it was poorly adapted. 5D’s only had one bad arc: the Fortune Cup. Zexal II was just “meh” because it changed tones. GX Season 3 and 4 weren’t its peak; they were just poorly written arcs. I can’t stand Sevens or Go Rush either. The list is why I am having a hard time finding good people to chat with.

I hate most of the fandom for showing me just how pathetic it really is. I tried to stay calm but I guess i can't even respect that. The fact I haven't joy in my life for once is why I can't respect even myself let alone others.

The biggest complaint I have with the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom on Twitter and Tumblr is how they accuse me of going off-topic just because I can't handle criticism—when in reality, everyone is doing cringe reviews just to push nonsense. I wasn't going to go down this path, but after losing my job and dignity, my patience finally ran out. I can't even respect anyone in real life anymore.

I wasn't born rich and can’t afford to buy tons of Yu-Gi-Oh! card boxes, yet I have to listen to Pokémon fans who spend all their time watching furry content instead of appreciating a real, macho card game anime like Yu-Gi-Oh!.

[hekate1308]

Leaves That Before The Wild Hurricane Fly, A Destiel Advent Calendar, December 5

Masterpost

Read it on AO3

He didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, he had only wanted to go home. On the other, it wasn’t like he really considered his apartment as such, not this new, empty space where he barely spend any time, and so, maybe Dean was right – he had sort of wanting to – to – he couldn’t even begin to explain. “I…”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me” Dean shrugged. “I was curious, that was all.”

And he knew he wouldn’t ask again if he didn’t reply. But Dean had helped him. He deserved to at least learn how he had ended up here.

“I… I was told that I am going to be let go off my job soon. And I – my and my partner ended things two months ago, and I had to move, and I don’t even like my new place, and –“ he found himself babbling on even though he had only meant to concentrate on his work. And even after he became aware of it, he couldn’t bring himself to fall silent. Instead he went on and on and on.

Dean simply… listened. There were no overexaggerated reactions, no false exclamations of sympathy that Castiel had grown used to after Ishim had left. He simply accepted what he had to say. When Castiel was done, he nodded. “Man, I can see how that would get to you. And with work… what is your job in the first place, may I ask?”

He told him. Dean hummed. “Never met a human journalist before.”

“But other ones?”

“Well, of course. We have our own press – can’t leave everything to humans, they tend to be overdramatic… No offense.”

“None taken.” It was far from the worst reaction he had ever gotten for disclosing what he did for a living.

“Anyway, so you need a big story?”

“That would be preferable, yes, but it is probably just a pretext anyway.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, probably.”

His frankness was somewhat refreshing to Castiel, who was used to people being evasive or only dropping hints when he needed them to be truthful.

After a pause, Dean said, “No offense, but you don’t seem like your usual reporter. How did you end up in the business?”

Based on whatever he thought of his profession, that could mean a lot of things, but he took it as a compliment. “I… it wasn’t what I originally pictured.”

“What did you want to when you grew up, then?”

Somehow, telling Dean didn’t seem as stupid as it usually did when he met someone new. “I wanted to be a writer. I know it’s a cliché…”

“I don’t think it is, and even if it were, there’s usually a reason for that” Dean said. “I mean, look at me. There was no getting me away from plants. Sam neither.”

“Sam?”

His entire face lit up, making him look even more handsome, even though Castiel would have claimed that to be impossible just a few short moments ago.

“My little brother. He went to Stanford, became an attorney, but still has a garden, of course. Like I said, there are some things you just can’t run away from.”

“And you have your shop…”

Dean nodded. “I know what it looks like to a human, but flowers are not the only thing I sell. There are many things we need, and procuring them can be tricky. I like to help”.

“Obviously” he said before he could help himself, and Dean chuckled.

“Well, not everyone who needs me to get them something faints on my doorstep, so let’s just say, you caught my attention from the get go.”

And he was blushing again.

“Still, I love what I do. It’s what I’m good at, and where I belong.”

And how many people could say that?

“It was brought to my attention that I could hardly expect to make my living as a writer so I would have to look for options” he told Dean bluntly “Even though I’m not very good at any of this.”

“Why?”

Somehow, the simple question made him want to tell him even more. “I – I’m not good with people. Talking to them, for example.”

“I’d disagree” Dean winked at him. Oh God.

“That’s very kind of you, but I think you’re just easy to talk to.”

“Well, someone is laying it on thick…”

He didn’t know where to look.

Thankfully, Dena grew serious again. “Alright, so you’ll need a big story to keep your job. That’s what it boils down to, right?”

“Yes.”

“I have an idea” he said brightly (of course).

Castiel frowned. He couldn’t imagine where this was going. “I – “

“Look, I know people are always curious about The Quarter and what we get up to. So what about you make that your story? Us, I mean?”

[princejingdontcry]

I just. love cdramas so much?? like. out of sync dubbing. appalling cgi. overused romance clichés. the fakest looking sets you'll ever lay your eyes upon. I love literally everything about them

[godlessandwrecked]

pas de deux | e. munson

a chance encounter sparks up an unexpected friendship, and suddenly, eddie is thrown into your world of shades of pink, tulle and classical music.

PAIRING: eddie munson x fem ballerina!reader

WORD COUNT: 7k

CONTENTS: suggestiveness, friends to lovers, cutesy girly ballerina reader, a bunch of clichés, eddie being a flirt, absolutely no knowledge about ballet, only the first little bit in eddie’s pov the rest is reader’s, no upside down just vibes x

A/N: this is literally 7k words of pure fluff, which is not my forte, but it’s very much needed….for obvious reasons…. you’re welcome <333

He hadn’t meant to pry on you, staring at you from the shadows, unannounced as he was, but…he couldn’t help it. He was stuck to the place the moment he laid eyes on you, unable to move a single digit or rip his gaze away from your dancing form.

He’d been roaming the school hallways during his free period, making his way out towards the woods, when he heard the music coming from the gym–that sad, melancholic weeping of strings. The door was slightly ajar, enough for him to peek in, and he just had to take a look, too curious in nature to go on about his business.

And there you were, floating above the wooden floor like an apparition. For a second, he thought you were a ghost. He could have sworn there was a white mist surrounding you, some kind of shimmering aura covering your body, tangling around your outstretched limbs and twirling form.

Eddie had never seen such a thing. It was painful to watch, really–such a tragic and beautiful thing–the way you glided gracefully to haunting violins, the music emitting through the battered speakers of a cassette player.

Standing on your tiptoes and spinning around seemingly effortlessly, your expression was saying everything that couldn’t be put into words. You were moving with so much passion, he was almost brought to tears, struck with an overwhelming emotion and an incomprehensible heavy chest. He felt like he was in a dream, so sure he was seeing some type of magical creature straight out of a fairy tale; some kind of sorceress, messing with his mind, right there, in front of his eyes.

He didn’t know how long he stood there for. He only became aware of his surroundings again once the music died down, as you came to the end of your routine, stopping in your tracks to hold a perfectly poised pose, your chest heaving up and down. And that’s when, unfortunately for Eddie, you noticed you weren’t alone in the gym.

You caught his reflection in the mirror behind you, letting out a startled gasp and a slight jump when you saw him. Eddie quickly turned away as your eyes locked with his, and was about to turn around to run out of the room when, “Hey!”

Eddie cursed himself under his breath, damning his stupid curiosity. Now he would have to come up with some explanation as to why he was watching you, and assure you he wasn’t a creep–even though he was being a creep–and make sure you understood he didn’t make a habit out of spying on teenage girls.

Great. Another tally on the board of why Eddie The Freak is, indeed, a freak.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to creep on you, that was weird,” he admitted, stepping into the room and approaching you in small, careful steps.

“Didn’t see you there. Were you watching for long?”

He frowned.

You were smiling.

“Not really,” he scratched his head. “I was just passing by and I heard the music, s’all.”

“That’s okay. I’d be curious, too.”

You weren’t mad? Okay, maybe he was dreaming.

He wasn’t used to talking to pretty, popular girls, and even though he always seemed to know what to say, he was at a loss. He knew who you were, your social circle made up of cheerleaders and basketball jocks, and the chances of weirding you out by saying the wrong thing were plenty. You were like a mythical creature, and he guessed it was hard for a mere human like him to know what to say to a unicorn once you were face to face with one.

The appropriate thing to do would be to apologize again and make his exit, but Eddie had never been the appropriate kind, and his tongue worked faster than his brain. “I had never seen anyone dance like that before. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you coyly smiled, looking down slightly embarrassed. You seemed taken aback by his honesty–even he was surprised by his own confession. “That’s very kind.”

“You looked like one of those little figurines in the music box thingys, you know? With the spinning-” he wriggled his finger.

You let out a genuine laugh, one that made Eddie instantly smile. “Like a ballerina, yeah,” you agreed. “I try.”

He felt lighter now. You weren’t angry or disgusted, you hadn’t freaked out and ran away screaming the weirdo of Hawkins High was stalking you. You were smiling, and playing into the conversation, laughing at his stupid joke.

“I’m sorry, again,” he apologized once more, just in case. “Didn’t mean to freak you out. You should continue, I interrupted you.”

“It’s okay, I swear. I was done anyway,” you said, bending down to reposition the legwarmers that were falling down your calves. And only then did Eddie notice what you were wearing.

And fuck him because you looked adorable.

In your tiny powder pink skirt and tights, matching pink leotard, exposing your shoulders and neck and the dainty silver chain resting on your chest, adorned with a little charm of a pair of ballet shoes. He’d never particularly cared for pink, but maybe he loved it now.

He must’ve looked like a fish, staring dumbfounded with his mouth halfway open. He just hoped he’d closed his mouth shut before you even noticed he was gaping at you.

“I should leave, ‘cause I’m sweaty,” you grimaced, looking down at yourself.

“Sure, sure,” he mumbled, moving to the side so he wouldn’t be in your way.

“But, Eddie…” you looked back at him with a shy smile, the sweetest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. “Next time you want to watch, just tell me. I’ll put in a little extra effort.”

And with that, you left the gym, leaving him standing there, completely caught off guard as he tried to process what had just happened. The way you’d turned around to face him as you made your exit, the way you’d smiled at him; the way you’d left him there, with his cheeks heating up and a smirk on his lips. And you knew his name?

What had he just gotten himself into?

•

•

•

“Earth calling!”

Fingers snapped in front of your face, startling you out of your daydream. Chrissy was looking at you from her side of the table, the furrow on her brow almost hidden by her thick fringe.

“Sorry,” you shook your head, turning back your attention to your half-eaten meal—already cold—and trying to avoid her inquisitive eyes. “You were saying?”

“Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern on her face. Chrissy–sweet as cherries. “What’s got you so distracted today?”

You took a deep breath.

Eddie. Fucking. Munson.

That’s what. But of course, you weren’t about to tell that to your best friend, head of the Hawkins High cheer team. Not if you didn’t want her to run off scared, claiming you’d been possessed by the actual devil.

Eddie was sitting not too far away from your table in the cafeteria. Clearly the life and soul of his group of friends, everyone sitting around him was dying laughing every time he opened his mouth, his eyes lighting up when they did. And you just couldn’t stop staring.

A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have looked his way twice, wouldn’t have watched him long enough to notice the things you did now.

Sure, you’d seen him before, many times, through the school hallways, with his chains and leather jacket, and that smile plastered on his face, as if he knew something no one else did. And now you realized just how not scary he was. If you knew what to look for, if you looked past the facade, it wasn’t hard to see him at all.

Eddie in all of his glory. Unapologetically him.

Days after that encounter at the gym, you’d stumbled upon him in the parking lot after school one evening. More like, he’d stumbled upon you, saving the day.

You’d been frantically searching through your bag for your car keys, running late to your ballet class since your tutoring lessons with the juniors had run long. But they were nowhere to be found, and you were already counting your lucky stars that your instructor would be in a strangely good mood that day, because you were most likely not making it in time.

Eddie, who was waiting for his friends to show up for their D&D campaign, had seen your distressed form from his van and walked over to check on you. He offered to take you to the studio, assuring you it was no problem and he had plenty of time to spare.

You’d agreed.

The whole car ride, you couldn’t stop laughing, delightfully surprised by him and his sense of humor and how sweet and nice he was. You’d already gotten a taste of it back at the gym, but he seemed more comfortable now, with a heavy tune playing in the background through the speakers of his van, his big eyes fixed on the road as he listened to you talk.

He seemed interested about what you were telling him, eagerly asking questions and attentively listening to your answers. No one had ever cared so much about what you were passionate about before, not even the people you considered your closest friends, and it felt like a fist wound tight around your heart, squeezing painfully.

You wondered if this was what real friendship felt like. Tender, easy, uplifting, supportive.

Your friends’ influence was heavy on you, and under any other circumstances you wouldn't have given Eddie a second thought. But after he’d dropped you off and you’d bid your goodbyes, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and his smile and his witty quips and how easily he seemed to put you at ease.

Eddie, who so many people claimed was “scary” looking, with his tattoos and long hair and heavy metal. Eddie, who played some weird board game about fantasy creatures you hadn’t even heard of before and listened to all those bands your father deemed inappropriate and horrifying. Eddie, who did not seem to care about fitting in, who wasn’t afraid to stand out–who thought your dancing was beautiful.

“I’m okay,” you said now, trying to get out of Chrissy’s questioning. “Just…tests. And dancing. There’s a lot on my mind.”

“Of course.” She placed her hand on yours on the table. “If you need any help just let me know, okay? We can study together, if you want.”

You smiled at her appreciatively and nodded, relieved when she dropped the topic and moved onto another conversation with the rest of the group sitting around you. Your gaze inevitably diverted back to Eddie’s table, but he was gone, his seat empty even though his friends were still there.

It didn’t come as a surprise. The note you’d found in your locker that morning was very clear. Our spot after lunch. Unsigned, but in that familiar and messy scroll. You’d been looking forward to it all day.

Quickly, you made up some half-ass excuse that went mostly unnoticed, and got up from the table, practically sprinting through the hallways towards the woods behind the running track, to a spot where you knew business was made. A lot of the guys in the basketball team bought from Eddie there, you’d seen them sneaking away plenty of times, they just would never admit it, the bunch of hypocrites.

Eddie had asked you to meet him earlier than usual today. Supposedly, you were there to study, help him out with some of his classes, but it had been a few days since you’d touched a book, too caught up in talking about anything and everything to even bother.

And like every time you met him in that same exact spot, beneath the trees in that clearing that was now yours, your heart started beating faster, hard and loud enough that you could feel it pounding in your ribcage.

“I’m skipping physics for you, I hope you’re happy.”

Eddie was leaning against the wooden table, one leg casually propped up on the bench, all unruly dark curls shining under the March sun, denim vest over his leather jacket. He looked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“Skipping class? For me?” He placed his hand on his chest, his eyes wide. “Oh, I’m a terrible influence. You should drop me before I corrupt you.”

“Shut up, Munson,” you said, a smirk making its way onto your face, albeit your cheeks were heating up.

“No, seriously, are you okay? You sure you don’t have a bug that’s affecting your brain or something? Let me check-”

“Eddie! Stop it!” you laughed, catching his hand directed towards your forehead. “You’re making me seem like a loser.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the coolest person in this whole town.” You batted his hand away from your face when he tried to poke your cheek, but kept your hand in his, his fingers lacing with yours. “I’m serious. You do some weird twirling dance and wear pink tights and listen to fucking… I don’t know, Tchaikovsky? It’s weird. It’s cool as fuck.”

“Weird twirling dance? Jesus,” you scoffed.

He was looking at you fondly, with a smile on his face, the kind that made you jittery. His gaze felt as warm as his hand in yours as he played with your fingers, absentmindedly. And you just stood there, reveling in his touch and his words like a dumb school girl, when you should be in Mrs. Harris’ class, listening to some boring lecture on thermodynamics.

You had the inkling that Eddie always meant every word he ever said to you, and it was so foreign, to have someone be so honest and so…nice. When Eddie looked at you, he saw you, right through, and even though it was daunting to feel so vulnerable, you ate up every bit.

You couldn’t stand the tension between you, but you couldn’t break his gaze nor let go of his hand either. “So,” you exhaled. “What did you want me to meet you here for?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he frowned. “Did I need to have a reason?”

“I can’t just skip class without a good reason.”

“Okay, maybe you are a loser – OUCH!” He rubbed at his arm, where your fist had just collided with his bicep. “That hurt! You pack a punch.”

“Yeah, I know,” you grinned.

Eddie liked to tease you, and if any of his playful provocations came from anyone else but him, maybe they would have bothered you. But you understood his humor now—and his heart—and even if you sometimes couldn’t tell when he was being serious or messing with you, you took it gladly, because it meant he was comfortable enough with you, and you loved that.

That didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a light swat on the back of his neck when he poked fun at you every time you got a little serious. And every time, he got extra dramatic, like a little kid, as if you’d wounded him terribly.

The pout in his face was adorable, and you couldn’t help but lean in closer, and press a hesitant kiss on his right cheek.

Every bone in your body told you to linger there, see what would happen if you pulled away slowly, enough for your eyes to meet, inches away from his lips. But an irrational fear settled into your bones, one that was whispering in your ear that it was too soon, to not be stupid, to not fuck up. So you pulled away with the most confident smile you could muster, as if your closeness and the feeling of his warm skin against your lips hadn’t affected you in a way you hadn’t expected.

The look on Eddie’s face didn’t escape you, though. There was surprise there for a second, but then a triumphant, shit eating grin settled on his face. “Okay, I forgive you.” Then, a beat after, “You have to stop doing that, because it’s fucking adorable.”

“Doing what?” you asked confused. Not like you’d made a habit out of kissing his cheek, but maybe you were about to if he found you fucking adorable.

“That. That little smile, and the tilted head.”

You instantly repositioned your head straight, noticing how you were, in fact, doing exactly that. You hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll stop,” you nodded with a giddy grin.

“Please don’t,” he said, amused at you and giving your intertwined hands a squeeze.

“Okay? We should study,” you suggested, squeezing his hand back. You were done with the conversation. Best if you buried your nose in a book, just so he’d keep his mouth shut for the few minutes you could convince him to spend on school work instead of on riling you up. You could only handle so much at a time.

“Definitely,” he said, catching you distracted and finally managing to poke your cheek with his finger.

You swatted his hand away and let out an annoyed huff, sitting opposite him on the table, at a good arm’s length, with a poorly faked stern look. He opened up his book as you did the same, settling into a comfortable silence as a smile threatened to spill out.

You couldn’t keep letting him get away with the way he made your cheeks heat up. You just couldn’t.

•

•

•

The moment you saw Tyler Watts doing body shots off of his girlfriend’s belly button for everyone to see, you knew you shouldn’t have come to the stupid party. You’d already been doubting your decision before—mostly when half the cheer team gave you dirty looks as you walked in, hand in hand with Chrissy—but she’d been so insistent that you couldn’t say no to her adorable pout.

Any excuse was a good one to throw a party in Hawkins, and everyone had showed up in celebration of the beginning of spring break. The floor was sticky, the air thick with cigarette smoke, and it seemed like the whole of Hawkins High was there, the house crowded to a full, all jam-packed like a tin of sardines.

Chrissy, who’d been holding onto your arm just a while ago, was nowhere to be found, and without her there, you were starting to get that familiar feeling that you no longer belonged there. Not without her there, not after your big fallout with who you thought were your friends.

You hadn’t explicitly told anyone you were hanging out with Eddie, but some people had seen you together, and rumors had spread like fire around the school. When some girls from the cheer team you used to hang out with confronted you about it, as if you were doing something wrong, you mustered all your courage and tried to channel Eddie’s spirit, and told them to fuck off. Eddie was your friend, and if they weren’t okay with that, then they were never your friends at all.

He was sweet, and kind, and considerate, and he always made sure to check up on you. He always took every bad word aimed at him with a smile, and never allowed anything to drown his spirits, or at least, he didn’t let it show, just to not give anyone the satisfaction. Eddie was unapologetically him, and you weren’t aware of just how much you needed him until he came into your life.

After very little consideration–it was honestly embarrassing–you could admit it now. You loved it. The stupid leather jacket, and the rings, and the tattoos, and the long hair, and the guitar. Even the damned cigarette smoke that seemed to linger on his skin and now was so comforting to you. Eddie was so unlike everything you’d ever known, you were polar opposites in many aspects, and yet, you felt like he was meant for you.

Inevitably, you were thinking about him, and how much fun he was probably having doing whatever the fuck he was doing on a friday night. It didn’t matter what, you were sure you’d be having fun with him too. You always did.

The party was in full swing. People were way too drunk, dancing away to the poppy music blaring through the speakers, and whoever’s house this was, was already in shambles, even though it was barely 9pm. The night was going to be long, and all you wanted was to go home, curl up in bed, and listen to the mixtape Eddie had made for you.

Instead, you were stuck being miserable, sipping on stale cola, not comfortable enough to drink alcohol around anyone at the party. But maybe someone had spiked your drink because, was that Jeff? Jeff, as in Eddie’s friend? Since when was Jeff a party kind of guy? And was that Gareth next to him?

You frowned.

They were by the pool outside with a few other people. You could see them through the kitchen window, and you were sure it was them. Gareth was unmistakable, in his signature plaid vest.

You walked through the sea of bodies spread out all across the living room to get to the patio doors, bumping shoulders with various people. The rumble of laughing and yelling over the music got louder in your ears before it quieted down, as you slid the door closed behind you, the cool midnight air welcoming you and soothing your heated skin.

The moon was glowing crescent behind a veil of mist, barely illuminating the yard and making the dew on the grass sparkle like little diamonds. There weren’t many people outside, just a few strays chatting or smoking, and in the corner, Jeff and Gareth, propped up against the stone fence, laughing at whatever joke someone had made.

Just as you were making a beeline to Eddie’s friends, your gaze focused on them, you slammed hard against someone, crashing against a firm form. You let out a little yelp, and hands caught your shoulders, steadying you on your feet before you tripped and fell.

“There you go!”

You looked up to meet big brown eyes, staring you down from behind a curly fringe.

“Eddie?”

Eddie Munson—who very openly resented the party scene—was definitely the last person you expected to ever see at a Hawkins high school party.

You’d been thinking about him just a few minutes ago, and to see him there shocked you so greatly, that for a second you thought you were imagining him. But he was there, his warm hands on your shoulders as proof.  “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He chuckled. “I’m gonna be honest,” he said, dropping his hands from your shoulders to place them in his pockets, and looked down at his shoes, as if debating with himself. Then, he looked back up at you. “I just came because I knew you’d be here.”

Oh.

You tried to hide the surprise on your face. Really, you tried, but there was no masking the smile that was threatening to spill out. Damn him. He was so cute.

“And you dragged your friends here too?” you asked, dumbly. Not like he’d ever think you were dumb, but… you felt dumb. What were you supposed to say to that?

I’m glad you came, then.

“It looks like they’re having fun, so,” he shrugged. He stuck his tongue out–a nervous habit–his gaze moving away from his friends and back to you. “I got it bad, don’t I?”

You let out a small chortle.

Eddie was showing up at parties he didn’t even like just to see you.

Eddie.

Sure, he had it bad, that much was obvious, but in your own honest opinion, you were much worse.

When had you ever felt like this before? Never in your life. Not with any of the crushes you’d had before, which now, compared to Eddie, seemed so silly and trivial. Had you even really liked them? Attraction seemed like nothing compared to what Eddie made you feel with his stupid witty remarks and flirty comments.

You were just waiting for your feelings to overflow, for one of you to go for it and jump in, the clock slowly ticking until one of you made the first move, dancing around each other like Odette and the prince in Swan Lake.

You knew people were watching your exchange, could feel their eyes boring into the nape of your neck, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Eddie was smiling triumphantly, satisfied with himself now that he’d but confessed to you that he liked you, in his own cheeky way.

You were more than ready to lunge at him and kiss him dumb in the middle of some random kid’s backyard. You were. Luckily for you, he kept talking, “Are you having fun?”

“Honestly?” you grimaced. “Not really.” Now that you’re here…maybe.

He hummed, grabbing your half full glass from your hand to place it on top of the stone fence. “Wanna ditch?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

•

•

•

“Wow. A castle, for a princess.”

You twisted the key inside the lock with a roll of your eyes, popping the door open and stepping into your house as Eddie followed suit behind you, instinctively wiping the soles of his shoes on the doormat. It was dark, the street lights illuminating the framed pictures on the walls, but it was familiar enough that you didn’t bother turning the lights on as you guided Eddie through.

Your parents weren’t home for the weekend, trusting you to take care of yourself and be responsible—as you’d always been—but now you were doing exactly what they wouldn’t have guessed in a million years. Bringing a boy home.

And not just any boy. You couldn’t even imagine the look on your father’s face if he ever found out you’d brought the Munson kid home. It was weirdly amusing.

“You have a swimming pool?!” Eddie exclaimed as he climbed up the stairs behind you, his hand in yours.

“What swimming pool, you goof?” you laughed. You didn’t have a pool, and even if you did, he wouldn’t have been able to see it from the stairs, where there were no windows.

“And a pet tiger?! Rich people…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him, to find that silly, playful smirk on his face. He just squeezed your hand and kept walking behind you, uncharacteristically careful to not bump into anything in the dark as you led him through the hallway to your bedroom.

“Aw! Of course your room is all pink.” Eddie stood by the doorway as you walked into your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and looking around with his big curious eyes.

You knew he was probably itching to touch and inspect everything in sight, but he kept back and watched you as you turned the light of your bedside table on and took your jacket off, going about your business almost methodically.

You’d imagined him in your room before, just a late night fantasy you’d never talk about out loud, but this was different. He stuck out so sorely, in his Dio t-shirt and leather jacket amidst all the powder pink and flowery wallpaper, standing by your makeup vanity—but somehow, he didn’t look out of place. In your eyes, he fit in perfectly.

“Hey! Pink is the superior color,” you retorted.

“I like pink,” he shrugged. “Where are the Tchaikovsky tapes?”

He walked further into the room, the first pang of fear of overstepping gone. Eddie was always respectful of your personal space, a master at reading your energy around him, but as soon as you sat back on your bed, popping your shoes off to sit cross-legged, he understood you were welcoming him in. Now he was examining and sniffing every little bottle and container on your dresser, like a detective in some cheesy late night tv police drama.

“For the last time, Eddie,” you said exasperated. “I don’t listen to Tchaikovsky.”

“But you do! You hum it under your breath sometimes.”

You frowned.

You were guilty of going over choreographies in your head often, especially in the past month, Aurora’s variation in act 3 from The Sleeping Beauty replaying in your head over and over again in preparation for your next recital. You didn’t know you actually sang along to the music out loud, but apparently you did, because Eddie had noticed.

He noticed a lot more things about you than you realized.

“I was thinking,” he hummed, a cheeky smile on his face. “The only time I’ve seen you dance was that one time.”

“The one where you were creeping on me?”

“I wasn’t creeping! I was… admiring.”

“Sure, you weren’t,” you laughed. “If you wanna see me dancing, you’re gonna have to come to my recital.”

He groaned, “Can’t I get a private performance? Just to get me through.”

A private performance.

You grinned. It was so easy for him to make you jittery with just a couple of words. He just had that ability, to say exactly the thing that would make you tick at exactly the right time. But two could play that game, and you were starting to catch up.

An idea popped into your head. “Only if you dance with me.”

“Dance with you? I can’t dance for shit, sweets.”

“Come on! You don’t have to do much, just aid me in some steps.”

“I’ll look like a drunk duck, sweetheart,” he shook his head. “Look at me! I have two left feet.”

“Don’t be dramatic, you’ll do just fine. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You got up from your bed, dragging Eddie along with you in front of the full length mirror. You were barefoot, a long stretch from your pointé shoes, and wearing a too short skirt, no tights, but it would have to do.

“You’re gonna have to get a little closer,” you giggled as Eddie awkwardly stood behind you, his frame towering over you.

Reaching back, you grabbed both his hands on yours, and placed them where your waist met your hips. You could tell he was hesitant about touching you by the way he didn’t meet your eyes in the mirror, but he still did as he was told, scooting forward just a little more.

It surprised you, really, that he was always so willing and quick to make you embarrassed with his flirty comments, but was now battling with himself about getting a little too close; exactly when this was the perfect opportunity to drive you insane. And it surprised you even more just how eager you felt about having his hands on you.

“Eddie,” you whispered, your voice low in the dim, warm light of your bedroom, painting the walls a darker shade of pink.

“Yeah?”

“Closer.”

And he did get closer. To where there were no inches between you, his body practically flush to yours, his hands on your waist. You took a deep breath and straightened your stance, inevitably getting into a dancing mind frame even though you were just messing around. You were going to need it if you were to survive this.

You got on your tiptoes and lifted one leg, the carpet soft under your feet, not allowing you much movement or glide, but just enough to give Eddie a little demonstration. ”Just spin me around as I twirl. It’s easy.”

He tried his hand, shifting his hands on your waist and rotating your body as you spun slowly but easily with his help.

“See? Easy.”

Moving onto a different position, you came back to your center and stretched your leg out into an arabesque, as much as your skirt would allow you without making it too awkward, letting Eddie support your stance.

“Hold my hand,” you instructed, wriggling your stretched right arm so he’d know which one.

His hand brushed along the length of your arm, igniting goosebumps on its way, until he found your hand, holding it delicately in his. You lifted your arm up with his even further, letting him twirl you slowly in front of him; like a ballerina in one of those music boxes, just like he’d said that first time you met.

Eddie was silent, weirdly so, considering how he never seemed to shut up, always having something to say or point out. But he was just observing, focused on you, and the timbre of your voice as you guided him through the dance, careful about where he placed his hands, hesitant in his touches and not allowing them to linger for too long.

It was such a tender moment, letting Eddie have a first hand taste into your world, and it made you giddy and weirdly prideful, your stomach filling with butterflies. There was a slight smile on his face as he watched you, biting back a broader one that would show a little too much. You were smiling too, soft laughs emitting from both your mouths as you danced, slowly spinning in his hold.

He was nervous, that much you could tell. But you could also tell the slowly growing tension that was building between you, how it seemed to stretch on tighter the longer his hands remained on your waist. And you were dying for it to just snap.

And then he did something unexpected, something that basically turned you into a puddle, slowly melting onto the floor. He leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on your temple, as if he couldn’t help himself, and then you met his eyes in the mirror. They were soft, but darker than usual, and you couldn’t really tell if it was a trick of the light or something else.

What if… no no no no no. But what if…?

His hand was resting on your stomach, just over your belly button. You grabbed it in yours and guided it lower down your body, slowly inching down towards your hip, and even lower, where the end of your skirt met your upper thigh.

His breath was on your neck, his hair tickling your skin, and you understood what a dangerous game you were playing. How poorly it could go if you had somehow misunderstood the situation, misunderstood your connection; the tension you felt between you. But you just couldn’t stop.

Eddie was like a drug. All of him, absolutely intoxicating and so, so addicting. From the moment he’d spoken the first word to you, you’d been hooked, unable to think about anything else but him and his sunshiney smile that didn’t suit his looks but was somehow so perfectly him.

But right now you couldn’t think about much more than his fingers, slowly moving down your body, and the goosebumps arising all over your skin. They felt a little too good, a little too close to heaven. Thankfully, Eddie didn’t seem to mind, keeping his hand steady, his head buried in your neck.

The coldness of his rings on your inner thigh sent shivers down your spine. Your breath was caught in your throat, a lump that wouldn’t let you fill your lungs with the air your body needed but your mind refused, too busy in other more carnal needs to bother about your mortality. You felt like your legs were about to give up any minute now, the challenging years and years of dancing and endurance reduced to nothing as his fingers brushed the bare skin of your thigh.

Your fingers were tingling, your core vibrating. Your eyes fluttered shut. All of your senses were overwhelmed by his presence and his touch, his chest pressed against your back, his hair tickling your neck. It was all too much for you, who had barely even kissed anyone before, and was now tangled in the wonder that was Eddie Munson.

“Eddie,” you sighed.

Suddenly, he spun you around, making you face him, so quickly and catching you so unprepared it almost made you dizzy. You slammed against his chest, gasping in surprise as you met his eyes, his face much closer than you’d anticipated. Your hands held onto his biceps, the leather of his jacket soft under your fingers.

“Hi,” he grinned.

“Hi.”

The urge to giggle like a maniac was strong, but you reckoned it would ruin the mood, so you bit down on your lip instead. He was so close, your noses were almost brushing, and he was so damn cute.

“Eddie.”

“What?” he said, voice soft, both of you moving in whispers, too afraid any loud noise would break the spell.

You were melting into each other, with his hands planted on your waist, at the band of your skirt, pulling your body flush to his. Whilst they had been hesitant at first, now they were firm and decided, like they’d found a home there, like they fit perfectly. Just as you had thought the first time you held hands, and then it became your thing; to tangle your fingers with his, just because there was no other way to be around each other but to be holding hands, because it was as normal and regular and constant as breathing.

“Eddie,” you said again.

“What is it, princess?” he smiled at your insistence. Not that he minded hearing his name on your lips over and over again. “What do you want, doll?”

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The kiss was tentative, a press of lips on lips, barely lasting a few seconds, scoping it out, treading through undiscovered ground. Shy, and inexperienced. But as soon as you pulled away, all it took was the beat of a heart of looking into those big brown eyes for you to lunge back in, as if his lips were the air you needed to breathe, to keep you alive.

Your hands were holding onto the lapels of his jacket, holding him against you, and you were suddenly drunk on him. Frankly, it was slightly awkward, and frantic, bordering on desperate, but it was perfect, because it was Eddie you were kissing. You’d longed for it, longer than you cared to admit, like a silly high school girl, and you couldn’t quite believe it was finally happening.

It didn’t take long of his mouth moving against yours, his ring clad fingers on your cheek, for you to realize what that feeling burrowed in your chest was.

Love. It was love.

You were in love with Eddie. Madly, to a point where it was embarrassing just how obsessed you were with all that was him. His big brown puppy eyes, and the boyish smile, and his goofy persona, the one that flowed easily when he was comfortable and at ease. Because he was good, so good, and for the few minutes you were in his arms, he was yours.

He’d dived head first into your world, just as he’d showed you his, with no fear and no judgment and all the interest and the intent in the world. How were you supposed to not love him?

A low grumble tumbled out of his throat as your hand tangled in his mane of curls, pulling slightly, if anything, to get him as impossibly close to you as you could. His thumb was digging into the side of your face, just above your jaw, and you just hoped it would leave an imprint, just so it assured you later that all of it had actually happened.

You couldn't help it, you smiled into the kiss, a giggle inevitably escaping your mouth, making Eddie pull away. He studied you, his hands on your face as you laughed.

“What?” he laughed with you. “That bad, huh?”

You smirked, deciding to tease back, “Are we talking about the kiss or the dancing?”

“I hope neither,” he shook his head, a fake aggravated look on his face. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

“I don’t know,” you wondered. “Can we try again, just to make sure?”

“Wow. You're starting to sound like me. Take it back.”

You chuckled and smacked your lips against his, not letting him finish his soon-to-be self-deprecating banter, swallowing his surprised yelp instead. “Yeah, this is terrible,” he hummed into your mouth as you darted your tongue across his bottom lip, his hold getting tighter, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“It’s really bad,” you mumbled back.

“No good.”

You played with the hair at the back of his neck as his lips moved eagerly with yours, making him sigh softly into the kiss as you walked backwards, until the back of your legs hit the edge of your bed.

He hunched over you as you sat back, pulling away from the kiss to smile like two fools.

“You're doing it again!” You looked at him with a frown. “The tilted head thing. You better stop.”

His fingers held your face, squeezing your cheeks into a pout. “That means you want me to do it all the time?”

“That’s exactly what it means, my little dancer.” He placed a kiss on your naked collarbone, then your cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him into you, making him fall onto the bed next to you. You laughed quietly, your nose brushing against his stubbly cheek as you tried to hide your embarrassment at his sweet words. “I’m gonna kiss you if you don’t shut up.”

Not that you minded, but you guessed that feeling was never going to go away as long as you were by Eddie’s side. He would never fail to make you feel that way. It’s just who he was.

“Have I told you that I love it when you threaten me?” he said as you pinned him down to the bed, your mouth already on his, his hand on your lower back, slurring his words between your kisses. “So romantic.”

[fourseasonscomeandgo]

The Jealousy Playlist: That One Twice Song About Jelly.

Pairing: BLACKPINK Jennie x gn!reader.

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre: Fluff.

When you first started dating Jennie you felt a little out of place. She's so elegant, surrounded by her life full of luxury and her high-class friends, dressed in the best brands, going to events where she rubs arms with rich people.

But as time goes by, you start to get to know your partner more in depth, and so you realized that, in the end, she's just a normal girl, who would rather stay at home with her dogs, order food and watch Friends with you than go to a Chanel party. She's much simpler than you imagined.

Naturally, you feel more comfortable after years of dating her. But you do admit that you're different types of people.

You know what I mean, right?

Like nerds and populars, like elite people and middle-class people, those kinds of distinctions. Well, Jennie is refined, delicate, a typical popular girl, but chill and nice. While you're a gamer.

An addicted, smelly gamer, who disappears for days because you're playing Valorant, whose room is a mess, and who wouldn't react if their very famous, very hot girlfriend showed up naked in their room because you don't want to get killed in the middle of your perfect streak.

You're a gamer who fulfills every stereotype.

Is there a cliché of the cool girl who dates a freaky?

That's why when you met the other members of Blackpink, the click with Jisoo was instant. You two are just pixel junkies who prefer their favorite character in Genshin Impact over real humans.

Since you met, you passed your phone numbers to each other and started contacting from time to time to start a game of anything. Eventually you became very close, as you're always playing together on call.

On friday you went to visit Jisoo, brought your computer and both of you started playing League of Legends. Of course, before you went you let your girlfriend know that you were going to visit her member.

But when sunday came and Jennie went to get a pair of shoes from her friend's apartment, and it was you who opened the door, she couldn't help but get a little upset due to the fact that she didn't know you were there.

"What are you doing here?" She questioned entering the place and taking off her sneakers to exchange them for slippers.

"We're playing LoL, I had already told you." You commented simply.

"Yes," she stated, turning to look at you "on friday you told me you were coming to play LoL." She clarified.

"Yes." You nodded your head.

"You've been here since friday!?" She exclaimed, somewhat frustrated.

"Yes." You repeated.

Let's see, you weren't planning on staying at the older's house for three days, okay, but you didn't think your girlfriend was going to mind either. I mean, you and Jisoo got together to play League of Legends. It doesn't get any less sexy.

The worst part is that now Jennie was mad at both of you and was telling you a lot of things, but you and the blackhaired girl were too sleep deprived to be able to pay attention to her.

Is that a red flag?

You can see Varus in her face.

You ended up gathering your things and going back to her apartment. The moment you walked in you went straight to throw yourself on the bed and fell sound asleep.

You woke up the next morning, barely understanding anything, but you put the pieces of the previous day together one by one.

You were playing League of Legends with Jisoo, you were having an amazing winning streak, you are an amazing Varus, but Jisoo as Rengar is out of this world, she should be playing in the world championship. You had just finished another victorious game and there was a knock at the door, to which your gaming partner, vaguely, already very blinded by sleep and the amount of hours of playing, remembered that your girlfriend would go to get a pair of shoes for some reason. You opened the door and after seeing you, she got mad, and then you ended up here.

Oh, and you haven't had a bath in about four days.

You got out of bed and rummaged through your partner's closet to find some of your clothes left there from other times you've stayed. Finally gathering enough, and a towel too, you headed for the bathroom.

As you left the room, you saw your girlfriend sitting eating breakfast at the kitchen counter, she glanced sideways at you for a moment, but then diverted her eyes to her food.

"I'll take a shower." You notify, but no one responded.

Now clean, you went out and sat down next to her, who was now on the couch. You stared at her, but she was too determined not to pay you any attention at all.

"Jennie."

There was no response.

"Jen."

...

"Love?"

Nothing.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked in an innocent tone, almost scared or disappointed in yourself.

Jennie turned her head towards you, with a concerned and tender expression on her face.

"No, my love..." she hastened to say, but cut off her own sentence "yes, yes you did do something wrong." She sentenced, as if she had remembered something just then.

"But," you began "I can't apologize to you if I don't know what I did wrong."

"Y/n!" She exclaimed, incredulous "You really don't know?"

"I really don't know." You assumed.

"You stayed three days in a row at Jisoo's house and didn't even tell me." She explained.

"Yes I did tell you!" You protested.

"The first day! You forgot the part where you stayed 48 more hours." She attacked back.

"We were playing, I didn't realize." You explained, softly "Sorry." You added.

"It's not enough."

"Why?"

"Because..." she sighed, stressed "What if you fall in love with Jisoo because she likes the same things you like?" She expressed nervously "My sexy partner spent three days in a row at my sexy friend's house, alone! Anything could have happened." She added.

"Jennie, no one thinks I'm sexy." You said expressionless.

"What are you talking about?"

"All I talk about all the time is games and gamer gear, I never leave my house, I dress in the first thing I find, which sometimes doesn't match, and if I walk too fast I get very agitated and sweat a lot." You explained, to which she made a face of dislike "The day I met you, I told you about the complexity of the Zelda universe and confessed that I've gone as long as eleven days without a bath because I wanted to complete a game."

She brought her hand to her face, covering her mouth, pretending to get emotional, then wiping away a fake tear.

"Baby, that's so hot" She replied sarcastically.

"I know you love me, God! I'm so damn lucky you love me, I'm thankful everyday because someone like you cares for me so much, I would never dare to lose you." You confessed "And less for someone like Jisoo, babe, I've seen that girl pick up takis with her toes to her mouth just to not let go of the joystick." You made a disgusted expression.

"You're right." Assumed your girlfriend, as if falling into reality again now that she was no longer blinded by jealousy.

She moved over to you and hugged you, kissing your cheek, then snuggling up to you.

"But let's be honest," She spoke again "you're an attractive gamer, okay?" You smiled at her observation "You have the most beautiful face and the brightest smile. Honestly, you could be nastier." You both laughed.

—O—O—

okay, i may have exagerated it a little bit, but this was so fun to write. the idea of jennie dating a weird dirty reader for some reason was so cute to me, this is a representation to the smelly part of the gamer community, okay?

sorry if you don't identify as a bathless, antisocial gamer, i still hope everyone likes it<3

—ica.