#this chapter was everything i could have ever wanted and more

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 5

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“Where’s Az?” Mor asked as Nesta and Cassian entered the dining room at the River House.

“Busy,” Cassian said with a shrug, as he pulled out the chair for his mate, greeting the rest of their family with a smile. 

Mor cocked her head, a small frown appearing on her face. "Busy?" she repeated, a note of curiosity in her voice. "What's he up to?"

Busy. That had been Azriel’s answer to nearly everything after Koshei. Busy.

Even quieter than usual. Keeping away from all of them…and Cassian still heard that one sentence echo in his head. Better me than you. Like somehow Cassians life was worth more than Azriel’s.

Azriel was just being noble and self-sacrificing as usual, right? Cassian knew that his brother didn't really think that way, didn't really believe that his life was worth less than anyone else's. But still, the words haunted him. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere, he had let Azriel down. That he hadn't been there when his brother had needed him the most.

Maybe he should have tried to talk to him...when it all went down… but then he hadn't realised what exactly was even going on, until Nesta had flatly laid it out for him one evening. Azriel had gotten over Mor only to fall in love with Elain...and that hadn't ended in his favour either.

Cassian grimaced just thinking about it. Azriel deserved to be happy. Azriel deserved a mate that loved him, a female that fucking adored him…and instead his brother had fallen not just for one, but two unavailable females. 

And Azriel hadn’t complained. Not once. He had never let it show.

He always kept his emotions hidden under that stoic mask of his, like he was afraid of letting anyone see how much he was hurting. Cassian knew that Azriel would never ask for help, that he would never admit that he needed someone to talk to. But that didn't mean that he didn't need it. 

Cassian just wished that he could find a way to get Azriel to open up, to let him in…that wouldn’t involve beating him to a bloody pulp. 

Azriel acted like everything was fine. Azriel acted like he didn't care. Cassian knew that it was a mask, knew that it wasn't the truth...but Azriel liked to pretend it was...and maybe it was better to let him pretend. 

It wasn't like he was hurting anybody with it, right? He was doing his work just as well as he always did...and if he wanted to spend his free time reading Sellyn Drake books, maybe they should just let him do that…maybe it made him feel better. 

"Maybe he's seeing his secret girlfriend," Cassian drawled.

Mor snorted at that suggestion. "Please," she said with a roll of her eyes. "As if Azriel would ever have time for a girlfriend, let alone a secret one."

"You would be surprised," Cassian muttered under his breath. Apparently Azriel had time for reading Sellyn Drake novels while locked into his room, after all. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mor wondered. "He has been...distant lately," she said with a pout.

Cassian could only stare at her. Mor couldn't be serious right now, could she?

Of course, Azriel was distant to her. Mor had fucking broken his heart and trampled on it to top it off. And Cassian had helped her with through the years. He probably owed Azriel an apology for that as well.

And still, Azriel hadn’t complained. Azriel hadn’t called them out. Azriel had taken it silently. Had even congratulated Mor when her Mating Bond with Emerie had snapped. Had been painfully polite, making painfully sure that he didn’t cross any lines, didn’t make Emerie uncomfortable in any way. 

"Just leave him be," Cassian said with a shrug. "He's reading Sellyn Drake novels, he'll be fine,” he waved her off. 

Rhys nearly spit his wine over the table and instead started coughing violently. "Azriel is reading Sellyn Drake novels?!" he asked Cassian with an incredious stare.

"Apparently he has trust in Nesta's taste of literature," Cassian answered easily.

Mor raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sellyn Drake novels?" she repeated, eyeing Cassian like he had gone mad. "Since when does Azriel read those kinds of books? He's not exactly the...romantic type."

Or maybe there just never had been a single person that had appreciated that side of his brother. Who knew what Azriel actually was into. 

Elain and Mor weren’t similar in the slightest after all. 

Cassian shrugged. "Maybe he's expanding his horizons," he said with a grin. "Or maybe he just wants to see what the fuss is all about. After all, Sellyn Drake is...surprisingly good. Or so I've heard, anyway." He gave a sidelong glance to Nesta, who simply rolled her eyes at him.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhys play absentmindedly with the stem of the wine glass. There was something there...between Rhys and Azriel that Cassian couldn't quite put his finger on. Some kind of tension...some kind of...something.

But lately, it had seemed like that tension had only been getting worse. Like they were both holding something back, like they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cassian couldn't help wondering what would happen when that tension finally snapped.

***

"Winnowing or flying?" Azriel asked Sky as they stepped out into the icy early winter air.

"I...I can't...fly?" Sky answered haltingly, looking at him with these devastating blue eyes. They were beautiful. Not a light blue, not a teal, not bordering on violet…just beautiful near cobalt blue. She probably would match his siphons, he reflected weakly. 

"I'll fly, I'll carry you," he gave back with a chuckle. She stared at him like he was insane, her cheeks reddening.

"I...I...you...can...can't carry me. I am too...heavy," she mumbled. Now it was his turn to stare at her.

Azriel couldn't help but scoff at that. "Too heavy?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm an Illyrian warrior,” he told her drily. “I could carry a full-grown male into battle if I had to,and I have dragged full-grown males off the battlefield…I can carry you.” 

Azriel couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Was she...was she seriously trying to tell him that she was too heavy for him to carry? She just so reached the middle of his chest! She definitely wasn't thin...her body was covered with soft flesh and lush curves, every inch of it soft and inviting...but even if she weighed twice her weight, he would easily be able to carry her. She would probably weigh next to nothing to him.

And yet, he could sense the insecurity in her voice, the way she didn't quite believe that he could carry her.

He stepped closer to her, placing his hand gently under her chin and tilting her head up so that she was looking directly into his eyes. "You are beautiful," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. "And I don't care how much you weigh, I can carry you. I want to carry you. Because you are mine and I will always protect you, no matter what."

Her breath hitched at that, and he could see the warmth spreading through her cheeks as her heart began to race. She looked up at him with those stunning blue eyes of hers, her lips parted slightly in surprise and wonder. "You...you really mean that?" she whispered, her voice soft and shaky. "You...you don't mind how big I am?"

Azriel chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, sweetheart, I don't mind," he said gently. "I think you are absolutely perfect just the way you are. And if I have to carry you to prove it, then that is what I will do." And without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as easily.

She squeaked as they shot up in the sky and then she laughed, the sound bright and beautiful

They soared through the sky together, the wind blowing through their hair and clothes as they flew. The City of Starlight sprawled out beneath them, a beautiful tapestry of color and light. Azriel held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his, the sound of her heartbeat pulsing in rhythm with his own. He knew that he could never tire of this feeling, of having her in his arms like this.

Sky looked up at him with a smile, her eyes shining with happiness and excitement. "I love this," she breathed.

How very fitting it was for the female that called herself Sky to love flying.

"Good," Azriel said softly, his voice full of warmth. "Because we can do this anytime you want, sweetheart."

They soared higher and higher, until the city below them was nothing but a sparkling sea of lights. Azriel was in his element up here, his wings powerful and graceful as they sliced through the air. He could feel the wind whipping through his hair, the cold night air stinging his skin. But he didn't mind, not with her in his arms. In fact, he felt more alive than he had in months. Years, even.

He flew a loping circle over Velaris, towards the Lake House the shadows had purchased and he thanked them mentally for their foresight. He couldn't very well bring Sky home to the House of Wind...but here...he could take her. It was private and safe...and if the expression of her face was anything to go by, she loved it.

He angled his body towards the Lake House, gliding towards it with expert precision. As they approached, Azriel saw the soft glow of the lights in the windows, the gentle sway of the curtains in the breeze. The lake glittered in the moonlight, the surface of the water undisturbed and serene. It was the perfect place to bring her, a place that he felt she would love just as much as he did.

"You live here?" she wondered, wonder in her voice as she took in the sight.

Azriel felt a warm swell of pride in his chest as he landed smoothly on the deck of the house. "Yes," he said simply, his eyes fixed on her face, watching as she marveled at the house. "I wanted a private place," he admitted. "Somewhere quiet and peaceful, where I could escape from the chaos of my life for a little while.I haven't been there long though, it’s still a work in progress…" he warned her. More like 2 hours before he had met her. "But I love it."

He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment before he stepped back. "Come on," he said softly, holding out his hand to her. "Let me show you inside."

The shadows skittered inside as soon as he opened the door, like a bunch of little busybodies, rightening the curtains there, fluffing pillows on the couch...It seemed to amuse Sky though. "You must ne...never have to deal with a mes...messy kitchen," she teased him

Azriel chuckled at that. "No, the shadows don't like when things are out of place,”  he admitted.

It wasn't a lie. But then he didn't like it either. 

Like a moth pulled to the flame, Sky was pulled towards his bookcases, fingertips tripping over the spines as she hungrily read the titles.

Azriel suddenly hoped that the shadows had put something other than Sellyn Drake novels in the bookcase, because otherwise he was going to look like a fucking stalker.

He watched with a mix of amusement and apprehension as she examined the bookshelves, his heart pounding in his chest. *Please,* he silently pleaded to the shadows, *please tell me you didn't leave those Sellyn Drake novels on the shelf.* Because if she saw those, it would be disastrous.

The shadows seemed weirdly frozen in place.

"You read Sel...Sellyn Drake?" Sky asked him, sounding delighted and shocked at the same time.

Azriel groaned inwardly, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. "I...yes, I do," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I...There is...I...I need to tell you something."

"Te...Tell me som...something?" Sky asked, turning towards him, these big beautiful eyes staring at him.

"I...It wasn't a coincidence that I was in that bar tonight," he told her, watching as she stared at him. "The shadows told me to go."

"The...The shad...shadows?" she asked him, looking utterly shocked.

"I...I told them...a few weeks ago...to...find me somebody that....that I could love...somebody that I could make happy. A wife," Azriel admitted. "You were the one they picked."

She stared at him, her mouth falling open slightly. Azriel braced himself for her reaction, not sure what to expect. Would she be angry? Scandalized? Horrified that he had sent his shadows to find him a wife?

She stared at him wide-eyed. "You...You as…asked yo…your sha..shadows to fi…find you a wi…wife?!" she asked him, repeating his words back at him.

He could feel his cheeks reddening but nodded nonetheless. "...are you angry?" he asked her weakly.

Sky stared at him for a moment, but then she shook her head. "No, No...no, I'm not," she repeated again, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm...I'm flat…flattered, actually...Though...though I am cu..curious what it…what it was about me that...made…made them pick me," she admitted.

For the first time in his life, his shadows talked to somebody other than Azriel. *We thought you would treat Master like you treat your cat,* the shadows told her brightly.

She blinked at the bunch of shadows that had gathered in front of her.

"You...You...You want me to...treat Az..Azriel like...like a cat?" she asked them incrediously.

Azriel spluttered, his cheeks burning with mortification. He hadn't expected the shadows to be so blunt, and the idea of her treating him like a cat was...well, it was absurd, to say the least. He wanted her to be his mate, his equal, not to treat him as if he were some kind of pet.

"No, no," he quickly interjected, trying to salvage the situation. "They...they don't mean it like that, Sky. The shadows have their own...unique way of looking at things. Please just...just forget they ever said that."

Sky fixed him with a look. "What do you mean?" she asked the shadows.

*You love your cat,* the shadows said quickly. *You buy him ridiculous overpriced Tuna, and you let him sleep in your bed and you scratch him behind the ears. You even knitted him a sweater!*

Azriel winced, feeling his embarrassment and mortification rising even further. 

"That...thats not important," he mumbled, feeling like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting from embarrassment. "The shadows...they have a habit of exaggerating things. Just...please, don't take them too seriously. I'm not expecting you to treat me like a cat, I swear."

Sky looked at him, then at the Shadows, then at Azriel again. She seemed to be lost in thought, clearly trying to decipher what the shadows meant.

"You..You want your mas…master to be tre…treated...well?" Sky finally asked the shadows, her tone of voice serious. "You pick…picked me because I...be..because I was nice to my cat?" she asked them curiously.

*You are so kind,* the shadows said softly. And so pretty. And we knew you would treat Master well and wouldn't judge him.*

Sky blushed at the compliment.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as the conversation shifted away from the whole "cat" thing. He had to admit, the shadows were right. Sky had been nothing but kind and considerate towards him since they met, and he was grateful for that. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

"Look...I apologize for the shadows' behavior," he said to Sky, his voice soft. "They can be a bit...blunt, sometimes."

"I…I un…understand where they are com…coming from," she said nearly thoughtfully. "They just...want to see you hap…happy?" she said carefully and he nodded.

"Yes."

"Though they…they don't seem to have much of a sense of boun…boundaries," Sky said with a laugh. "You hid in my apartment didn't you?" she asked the shadows.

Azriel cringed as the shadows seemed to twirl in agreement. He had hoped that particular detail would have gone unnoticed, but he should have known better. Sky was too observant for her own good.

"Yes, they did," he admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry about that. They...they have a tendency to go where they please."

Sky still mustered the shadows that were twitching in front of her

"I…I prom…promise to t…treat your ma…master well." Sky said seriously. "He's my mate."

Azriel felt his heart skip a beat at her words. The sound of that word coming from her lips made his knees weak.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and taking her hands in his. "And I promise to treat you well too," he swore fervently. 

"And I'll…I’ll even knit him a swea…sweater," Sky continued, looking at the shadows.. "I…I don't know if he likes Tu…tuna, but I'll…buy him some… sweets."

He couldn’t help but laugh at her words, feeling a surge of affection for her that was almost overwhelming. "Sky," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "You don't have to do any of that for me. Just being with you is more than I could ever ask for.But...if you are willing to knit me a sweater, I surely won't say no to it," he added with a laugh. "And maybe you could try scratching me behind the ears too, just in case the shadows are right."

He meant it as a joke, but there was a part of him that was secretly delighted by the idea of her spoiling and doting on him. Maybe, just maybe, the shadows were onto something after all.

"And...who knows, maybe I'll develop a taste for Tuna," he added, grinning playfully. "As long as it's the fancy kind, that is."

He kissed her forehead gently, holding her close for a moment longer before finally pulling away. "But Sky…you don’t have to do all of that…Just being with you is enough."

She smiled up at him, beautiful and blinding and he couldn't help but kiss her.

As his lips met hers, Azriel felt a wave of warmth and tenderness wash over him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the shadows, not the world outside, nothing but her.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, resting his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. 

"You…You can absolutely sleep in my bed with me," she whispered. "Or I'll sleep in yours," she offered, a grin on her face... and that was all he needed to hear, as he picked her up again.

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT2 | FC43

part one

an: not even gonna leave an an, i always had a part two lol

wc: 5.2k

Franco found out she was dating Angelo via an Instagram story. A fucking Instagram story.

But that was almost three years ago now, and Franco tried to let it go, god did he try. He was getting married now, after all. He had to forget about what could have been.

The engagement ring on his finger felt heavier than it should. Not because he hadn’t once thought it was right—he had. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was right. They’d been together for four years, maybe more, he stopped counting. She was beautiful, poised, easy to love, easy to fit into his world. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, standing in the grand suite of the London hotel they’d rented for the weekend, Franco stared out the window at the city below, watching the lights flicker in the distance. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was missing. Not that he had any right to be questioning it. After all, he was about to get married, wasn’t he?

The last three years had been a blur of wins, podiums, and post-race parties. Formula 1 had been a dream realised, his face plastered across billboards in every country, every magazine with his name next to the headlines. He’d travelled the world, earned millions, lived a life many envied. But somewhere along the way, his heart had wandered.

And the truth was, despite the glamour, despite the fame, the money, he couldn’t shake the thought of her. The way she’d looked when she told him she loved him first. The way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears that night in Monza—before she left for good. The way she’d walked away, no longer the girl he took for granted. It was like he could still see her disappearing down the hallway of the hotel, leaving him behind, a shadow in her past.

What if I had chosen her?

He thought about that too often. But it was too late. She was gone. She’d moved on with Angelo, the guy who was everything Franco wasn’t—steady, grounded, someone who could give her a love that wasn’t tied to racing, fame, or endless, mind-numbing travel. And that fucking Instagram story—her laughing, the two of them in a café in Buenos Aires, arms around each other, looking so effortlessly happy—had been the final blow.

That was the last straw.

And now, three years later, here he was—about to get married, with the wrong person. He should have been thrilled, but something about it gnawed at him, like he was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his own. She was everything he thought he wanted. She’d followed him to every race, always the perfect girlfriend, the perfect partner. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he loved her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

She had been the easy option. She fit into the world he’d built for himself—the shiny, public life, the world of sponsorships and media appearances. She had the right background, the right education, the right looks. She was what was expected of him. What people saw when they looked at a successful F1 driver: the perfect match, the ideal woman.

But the reality was that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw someone else. He saw her. The girl from that small village in Argentina, the one who’d loved him first and probably would, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he hadn’t been able to see it for what it was.

He hadn’t thought about her for a while—not in the sense that would make him ache, not the way he used to. He’d buried that pain under the chaos of the last few years. But it was like a low hum in the back of his mind. Every time he saw Angelo’s name pop up, or when he’d hear a new story about her from people back home, he couldn’t help but wonder how her life had turned out. Was she happy? Was she still with Angelo? Was she finally over him?

He could only imagine the life she’d built without him—the kind of life she deserved.

But now, standing on the edge of a new chapter of his life, Franco wondered if he’d ever be able to move on. Because, no matter how many laps he raced, no matter how many trophies he collected, it always came back to her. And now, with his wedding on the horizon, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What the hell had he been doing this whole time?

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him back to the moment. His fiancée. A text: “Hey, I made reservations for dinner tonight!”

He sighed and stared at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

He knew he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. He had no right to send her an invitation, not after everything. He hadn’t heard from her in so long, hadn’t even thought about reaching out beyond those painful Instagram stories and the passing updates from mutual friends.

But, for some reason, there he was—typing out an invitation to his wedding.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a part of his past. She had been the first person to love him unconditionally. They’d spent too many years growing up together not to extend an olive branch. Besides, she had a life now, a life without him. Maybe it was selfish to think she would even want to come, but maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know. She deserved to hear it from him, the way things had turned out.

He hit “send” before he could overthink it any more. The words felt hollow as they left his phone, but there was no going back now.

It was a quiet afternoon in Buenos Aires. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light through the windows of their apartment. She and Angelo had just finished dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and wine—and now she was curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, one of the many cosy rituals they had settled into over the past couple of years.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it, seeing a notification from her email app. The subject line made her pause.

Wedding Invitation: Franco Colapinto.

She blinked, feeling her chest tighten before she even opened it. It had been so long since she’d thought about him—since Monza, really. It was a chapter of her life that had closed the moment she walked away. But the sight of his name brought it all rushing back. The summers spent racing bikes down dirt roads, his smile so effortless, so wide. The way he’d looked at her before everything changed.

Slowly, she opened the email, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief.

I hope this message finds you well. It’s been a while since we last spoke, but I wanted to reach out and invite you to something important. I’m getting married in three months' time, and I wanted to personally invite you to be a part of the day. It wouldn’t feel right without including you.

I understand if you’re unable to come, but I thought it was important to extend the invitation.

I hope everything is going well in your life.

All the best,

Fran

She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, the words swimming in her mind. There were so many things she could have said, but the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of her heart, beating a little faster than it should. A soft ache settled in her chest.

Three years had passed. She had moved on, found a life she was proud of—one that was stable and calm, filled with love from Angelo, whose steady hand had never wavered, who had been everything Franco couldn’t be. She had built a future, and it was more than she had ever expected for herself.

And yet, the invitation sat there, a reminder of what had been. Of the boy she had loved, the boy who had never truly seen her. Of the boy who she had walked away from.

She set the phone down for a moment, leaning back against the couch. Angelo’s gentle snoring filled the living room from the slightly ajar door, a quiet reminder of the life they had made together—together, with no ghosts of the past lingering between them. But even as she sat there, she could feel the sting of Franco’s message, the painful reminder of how much had been left unsaid.

She thought about the wedding. How strange it felt to be invited to something so intimate, something so final. It was a life she would never be a part of. A life that wasn’t hers to claim, never was. But part of her, deep down, still wondered what had happened. Was he happy? Was this really the life he wanted? Or was this just another easy option for him? Another decision made out of convenience?

Why am I even asking myself this?

She shook her head, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she didn’t want to go. There was no reason to go back to that part of her life, not now. Not when everything she had built with Angelo was exactly where it needed to be.

The following morning, the soft clink of Angelo’s keys echoed through their small kitchen as he got his things ready for work. He was already dressed in his crisp suit, his tie neatly adjusted, preparing for another day at the law firm. She, on the other hand, was in her scrubs, packing her bag for her shift at the hospital.

She was tying her trainers when she saw him glance at her, his eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “You seem a little quiet this morning.”

She shrugged, setting her bag down on the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

It was only a half-lie. She had hardly slept last night after receiving Franco’s invitation. The words had stuck with her, gnawing at her thoughts, replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape.

“What’s up?” Angelo asked, watching her intently, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then sighed and reached for her phone, pulling up the email Franco had sent her. She handed it to him without a word.

Angelo read it in silence, his eyes scanning the screen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, she already knew that he would have an opinion on it.

Finally, he set the phone down and looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “He’s getting married, huh? I didn;’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, as if the words themselves felt like an admission. “I guess he thought I should know.”

“You’re not planning on going, are you?” Angelo asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “He’s my past now. It doesn’t matter. It’s… it’s not something I need to revisit.”

Angelo nodded, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He knew how much Franco had meant to her—how he had once been the centre of her world. But that was years ago. And he had never once doubted that she was now his world.

“I haven’t seen Franco since we were sixteen,” Angelo said, his tone thoughtful. “I know things between you and him ended... well, the way they did. But maybe it might be good to go. For closure. For you, if nothing else.”

She met his eyes, her gaze wavering. “Closure?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “I don’t need closure, Angelo. I moved on a long time ago.”

“I know,” Angelo said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I think sometimes it’s easy to say we’ve moved on, that we’re over things. But there are pieces of our past that stick with us, no matter how much time passes. Maybe seeing him—seeing that life—will help you put the final chapter behind you. Don’t you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her head. It made sense, in a way. The past had never quite been put to rest, even if she had buried it deep. Maybe it wasn’t about Franco anymore. Maybe it was about facing what had happened, about finding peace with it, once and for all.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I don’t want it to mess with what we have, Angelo. I don’t want to go and be reminded of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Angelo smiled softly, taking her hand in his. “It won’t. I promise. You’re the one I want, mi amor You’re the one who matters. Whatever happened back then, whatever Franco was, that’s not us. It’s not our life. But if this is something you think you need to do, then I’ll be there with you. I want you to have the closure you need.”

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Angelo had always been like that—steady, understanding, and so patient with her. He never pushed her to forget, but he also didn’t hold her to the past. He was the one who made her feel safe, who built her the life she was proud of, and the thought of him beside her through whatever this was made her feel like she could take on anything.

With a slow, hesitant breath, she met his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe it would be good to go. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see him, but I think... I think I can handle it now.”

Angelo smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision was made, and it was time to let go of the last remnants of the past. Franco and his life—whatever that was now—could stay in the past, but she wouldn’t be running from it anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “For always being here.”

“Always,” Angelo replied, his voice warm. “Now go. You don’t want to be late for your shift.”

She smiled at him one last time before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. The wedding was still months away, but somehow, her world felt just a little bit more at peace now.

Three months later

The morning of the wedding, the soft rays of the sun filtered through the curtains of their hotel suite, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as Angelo adjusted his cufflinks in the reflection behind her. The air was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. It had been a few months since she agreed to come to the wedding, and now, standing in this luxurious hotel in the heart of the Mediterranean, she could feel the surrealness of it all.

She was here. With him. With Angelo.

He caught her gaze in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tender.

She smiled back, her heart swelling with a quiet joy. Angelo was always so calm, so steady, and he knew exactly how to make her feel loved without needing to say much. The simple moments like this were the ones that made her certain that their life together, their future, was the right one.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He was perfect in every way. “You look handsome, as usual,” she added with a smile.

He chuckled softly. “I try,” he teased, adjusting the hem of his suit jacket before stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you ready for this? I know it’s been a long time coming.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready. It’s just… it’s strange. You know? We’re not the same people we were three years ago. And I feel like I’m finally letting go of that past. I just need to do it, for me. And for us.”

“Whatever you need, you have it,” Angelo said, his voice unwavering, filled with a quiet strength.

She smiled at him, grateful for his support. They had come so far, and no matter what happened today, she knew she was in the right place.

“I’m going to step outside for a second,” she said, pulling away from him gently. “I’m going to grab a photo of the schedule. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Angelo replied, watching her with those warm, reassuring eyes.

She stepped into the corridor of the hotel, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She pulled out her phone, navigating to the event details to snap a photo of the ceremony’s schedule. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant chatter of guests below and the hum of preparations for the wedding in the distance. The excitement was palpable in the air, but in this moment, everything felt calm.

That was until she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned around, feeling her heart give a small, unexpected jolt when she saw him.

Franco.

He was standing there, half-dressed in a black tuxedo with his shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, his tie still loose around his neck. He looked just like he did three years ago—handsome, dishevelled in the way that made him seem effortlessly charming.

Her stomach tightened.

“You came,” he said, his voice soft with surprise. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before forcing a calm smile. “I said I would,” she replied evenly. Her heart beat just a little faster, but she kept her expression neutral.

He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense than she remembered, and she couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. There was something unspoken there, something she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” he added, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She didn’t know what to make of that. She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least be polite.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick with everything that had been left unsaid over the years. Franco’s gaze drifted toward the floor for a moment before he looked back up at her, his jaw tense, and his voice was almost pleading when he spoke.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his words hesitant.

She hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to go back to the past—didn’t want to open that door again.

“I’d rather not,” she said, her tone firm, though her heart was beating harder than she cared to admit.

Franco’s expression softened. “It’s been three years. Three years overdue, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, the weight of everything hanging between them. She didn’t owe him anything, and yet, a part of her—perhaps the part that had loved him—knew there was still something lingering. Something that she hadn’t been able to shake off.

She finally gave a soft sigh, one that carried all the weariness of the years that had passed. “Fine,” she said quietly, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. “But just for a minute. I don’t have time to rehash everything.”

“Thank you,” Franco murmured, stepping forward as he gestured down the hallway. “My room’s just down here. I won’t keep you long.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this conversation, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for either of them. When they reached his room, Franco opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

It was a modest suite, far removed from the lavish ceremony unfolding just downstairs. The quiet of the room seemed to accentuate the tension between them. He closed the door behind them, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice distant as he turned to face her. “Water? A drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

There was a long pause. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain.

“So…” Franco began, taking a breath, “I guess this is awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady, but her insides were churning. “A little.”

Before she even had a chance to settle with what she was doing, he shot her straight to the heart with the words that came out of his mouth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I did, but that wasn’t ever my intention. You were always there for me, and I should’ve done better. I should’ve realised…”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something, but when he spoke, his words were not what she expected.

“I should’ve told you,” he started, voice low, almost regretful. “I should have told you that I loved you.”

She blinked, her chest tightening as she took in the weight of his words. “Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, a defence mechanism against the rawness he was trying to expose. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and say things like that after all this time. It’s... it’s mean.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps? Regret?

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from responding. “Why are you still with her, then?” Her voice trembled slightly, the question feeling more like a challenge than a simple inquiry. She thought of how excited she must be right now getting ready, while he was confessing his love to his childhood best friend. She wondered whether she knew.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his eyes flickered away, as though he was ashamed of the truth he was about to speak. “It’s easier to pretend to love her,” he admitted, his voice flat. “It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“Than what?” she asked, her words cutting through the air, her eyes locking onto his. “Than admitting you love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Franco’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, a hesitation lingering between them. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he exhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. I still don’t.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from breaking. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice cracking with frustration. “You don’t get to walk back into my life now and make me feel like I was some... some second choice. You don’t get to say things that undo everything we went through.”

Franco’s gaze darkened, but his next words were even more dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll leave her,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were testing her. “Say you want me the same way you wanted me three summers ago, and I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from her. I’ll choose you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering in her chest. The temptation was there—familiar, painful, and so very dangerous. She could feel that old longing tug at her, the part of her that had loved him so fiercely, so deeply. But this wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t the girl who would wait around for him to realise what he’d lost.

“I can’t,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy with Angelo.”

The words felt heavy on her tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she had to convince herself of them. But as she looked into Franco’s eyes—still searching, still wanting—she realised that she meant it. She really did.

Franco’s face fell, his expression a mixture of frustration and defeat. “You don’t understand,” he said again, the words sounding more like a plea. “I never stopped loving you.”

She took a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear the emotions that were spiralling inside of her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice resolute. “You don’t get to say that, Franco. Not now. Not when I’ve spent three years getting over all of this. You don’t get to come here and break my heart all over again.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But it was over. It had to be.

“I can’t undo what happened,” she added softly, her gaze not leaving his. “But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The weight of everything they’d been through hung heavy between them, and it was clear now that nothing could fix it. Not words. Not promises.

She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, but before she could step out of the room, she paused, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“I’m happy now, Fran,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “And you need to figure out what makes you happy too. But I can’t be part of that anymore.”

She opened the door and stepped out, not looking back, not giving him the chance to say anything more.

The wedding was beautiful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the guests who had gathered for the wedding. The ceremony was set to take place on the terrace of the luxurious hotel overlooking the sea, the soft sound of waves lapping against the rocks below barely audible amidst the murmur of excited chatter.

She sat there, a few rows back from the front, Angelo by her side. The venue was beautiful—everything that was supposed to be perfect for a wedding. The guests were in their best attire, the flowers were arranged in pristine perfection, and the atmosphere felt like a dream. But something was off. A low hum of anxiety had been building ever since the music started, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Franco was supposed to be standing at the altar now. But he wasn’t.

She stole a glance at Angelo, who was sitting quietly beside her, a reassuring hand on her knee. He could sense her unease.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the gentle clinking of glasses and conversations around them.

She nodded, but her eyes drifted nervously toward the aisle. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something feels wrong.”

The minutes dragged on. The officiant glanced at his watch, confusion spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something to the bridesmaids. There was no sign of Franco, and the guests were beginning to exchange worried glances. The tension in the air became palpable, the excitement of the ceremony suddenly replaced by a growing sense of discomfort.

After a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned to Angelo, her voice barely above a whisper, but her anxiety was thick in her words. “Do you think he’s going to come?”

Angelo squeezed her hand gently, his gaze soft and understanding. “I don’t know, cariño. Maybe something’s happened. He’s probably just... running late.”

But as they exchanged those quiet words, it became clear that it wasn’t just a delay. The guests were shifting in their seats, some starting to murmur under their breath, the ceremony now holding a sense of surreal anticipation.

And then, just as the whispers reached a crescendo, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Everyone turned, their heads swivelling as they saw him—Franco. He was walking down the aisle, his face pale, his expression one of guilt and uncertainty. He wasn’t in a rush, though. It was as if he was taking his time, as though he had already made a decision.

The room fell silent as Franco reached the front. He looked out at the gathering of faces—his family, his friends, all of them waiting for the moment when he would say "I do." But he didn’t speak immediately.

He was struggling with the words, and she could feel the weight of the tension from across the room. Her heart raced, confusion and disbelief washing over her as she watched him take a deep breath, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally locking on the bride’s family sitting in the front row.

“Excuse me,” Franco’s voice broke through the silence, shaky but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry for the disruption,” he continued, his eyes darting nervously between the bride and the guests. “I... I can’t do this. I can’t marry her.”

The air seemed to stop in that moment. His words hung like an echo, the shock rippling through the crowd. She couldn’t look away, her heart pounding in her chest as Freddie stood there, his face flushed with embarrassment, his hands trembling at his sides.

“I’m sorry, I thought I could,” he went on, his voice quiet but steady, “but I can’t marry her when I love someone else.” His gaze shifted to her, and for a split second, their eyes met. The pain, the regret, the history of everything they had been—it was all there in that single glance. But she didn’t feel anything but exhaustion. It was like watching someone else’s dream unravel.

The guests were murmuring, unsure of how to respond. His bride, stood by the doors he’d just walked in from, ready to walk down the aisle frozen and unmoving. Shelooked like she was about to collapse, her face pale as she took in the words that no one had expected.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Franco continued, his voice breaking, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I—I just can’t.”

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, stepping down from the altar, leaving the bride standing alone, abandoned in front of everyone.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

Angelo reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as the reality of what had just unfolded sank in. She didn’t know how to feel—didn’t know what to think. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of relief and guilt, but most of all, there was a numbness that began to set in.

And then, just as quickly as Franco had walked away, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed doors of the venue, leaving a trail of shock in his wake. The ceremony was over before it had even begun.

She couldn’t help herself.

The guilt she felt in her stomach was strong.

It was her fault.

the end.

an: actual an, im sorry guys! i was feeling sad so i wrote this muahhah

tags: @obxstiles @charlosvibesonly @zestytimbit @taygrls

[starmapz]

what you know - ch1: fallen angel || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.1k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter - coming soon

You make a point of not judging a book by its cover. So, when paired with the college’s resident bad boy for the literal most important project of the year, you just nod to yourself. Of course, you’re aware of his very poor attendance record among other things you’ve heard about him. At the end of the day, the rest is all hearsay, so you’ll treat him the same as you would any other group project partner.

Searching around the lecture hall until your gaze lands on him, you shoot him a kind smile. You don’t expect him to return it, he practically always sports a disinterested or aloof expression and now is one of those times, it would seem. He’s wearing his usual oversized but fairly stylish shirt, baggy cargo pants and a leather jacket, even though it’s quite warm inside. One airpod sits in his ear, only half paying attention.

The two of you are practically polar opposites. You, who shows up to class ten minutes early, jots down every note you possibly can, and turns in projects a week early, not to mention your fairly preppy style, makes the two of you about as different as it gets. On top of that, there were moments where Sukuna would dip into a room late and you would wonder why he bothers paying for college at all. Does he even want to be here?

Turning back to your laptop, you decide you’ll set up some documents for your project to get ahead of everything and stop worrying about someone else’s life. You’ll just have to make the most of the project. Besides, Sukuna could be the best project partner you’ll ever work with.

Upon dismissal, you wait a moment for the room to clear before slinging your pale pink bag over your shoulder, holding your books to your chest and making your way up the lecture hall to where Sukuna’s seated.

“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m-”

“I know who you are,” he sighs. “I’m Sukuna.”

Rude. “Right,” you swallow, blinking twice as you attempt to clear your mind of the less than ideal first impression. “So, I was thinking since we need to analyze three paintings, I can choose one, you can choose one and we can do the work separately and then work together on the last one-”

“Sure, whatever.”

You purse your lips. That was easy. Or does he just not care? Brushing off the thought, you nod slowly. “Okay. Great,” you mumble somewhat nervously, unsure if the reason your voice is wavering is out of fear that you’re doomed from the project, or the fact that Sukuna is hardly giving you the time of day and it’s somewhat imposing.

Finding the nerve to meet his gaze, you find that it seems he’s barely paying attention. His deep near-crimson eyes accented by tattoos are trained off to the side, one hand in his pocket and the other is fiddling with an unlit cigarette. You have half a mind to wonder if he’s heard a damn thing you’ve said given the airpod still hanging from his pierced lobe.

“Do you, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth as you mentally reset to stop yourself from stammering. “Do you want to go over anything before we do our parts?”

“Nah.”

Nah? Oh my god, you’re doomed. 

“Okay. No problem. Um, why don’t we just meet after class next Friday?”

Sukuna balances the unlit cigarette between his lips, shuffling to pull out his phone and open his calendar. “Sure,” he agrees, his words muffled by the cigarette.

“Great! I think we’ll want to start working on the third piece next week so I’ll choose the first painting and get started on it and then we can choose the last painting next week,” you say, putting the date in your calendar as well. “Oh! And we should exchange numbers.”

He hums in agreement, not even giving you the time for words now but he does give you his number. Realizing you aren’t about to get anywhere else with him, you shoot him a wry smile and make your way out the door.

Oh Shoko is so gonna hear about this.

–

Before you know it, next Friday comes around and when you turn your gaze to where Sukuna usually sits, you realize he just isn’t there.

Well that’s… lovely.

Leaning forward on your elbows, you groan with your face in your hands. This project was sure to be a nightmare at this rate. You could already see yourself going to talk to the professor about how Sukuna hadn’t done an ounce of work and it was all done by you.

Opening your laptop, you stare at the document you’d put together for Persistence of Memory, which may be an obvious choice but you love the painting too much to choose a different one.

Maybe you should just choose the third one on your own.

Maybe you should just choose the second one on your own…

Fuck.

You sigh, glancing back at Sukuna’s empty seat once more, and to your surprise just as you begin to give up hope upon seeing his seat empty, he ambles through the door in an oversized hoodie and sweats as though the lecture didn’t end fifteen minutes ago.

His gaze meets yours and he tilts his chin upwards at you, a silent message for you to take a seat near him.

Gathering your belongings, you take your laptop over to him, setting it on the table beside him in the mostly-empty lecture hall.

“Hey,” you greet him, receiving a grunt in response. “I was starting to think you were gonna flake out on me,” you joke with a somewhat nervous laugh when you meet his striking gaze. His disinterested eyes bore into you as he examines your nervous expression, and it’s then that you notice that- “are you okay?”

He sighs, heavy with exasperation, running a hand over his sharp features. His hair is still damp, not spiked up as usual as it hangs over his forehead, he has dark circles that make him look like he hasn’t slept in years, and his leg is shaking up and down like he’s got somewhere else to be.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, unimpressed that you’ve noticed how horribly disheveled he looks, but he brushes it off. “You got somethin’ to show me?”

“I, um-” you pause, casting him one last uncertain glance at the fact that oh my god, he looks sick? “Yeah, so I chose a Salvador Dalì piece,” you tell him, nudging your laptop towards him so that he can see your analysis.

He casts a glance at it, and it’s then that you realize that he doesn’t seem to have a laptop on him. Hm.

He seems to have noticed your confusion as he pulls out his phone, fiddling with it for a moment or two before setting it in front of you. “Had to do something before our meeting, so I don’t have my computer right now, but here’s what I’ve got so far.”

You flash him a curious glance before staring at his phone screen, reading through his notes quietly. The Fallen Angel painted by Alexandre Cabanel. You can’t say you’re shocked, but it’s a good choice. His analysis is short and needs more detail, but it’s a good start and fairly insightful. Sukuna lacks elegance with his words, but this is just the research phase anyway. Okay, not a bad start.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

To your surprise, although he’s mostly quiet, he gives you some input on your analysis and hums in agreement when you ask him to write a bit more in certain areas to match your research. He doesn’t even seem that bothered by it, only mildly inconvenienced. You would almost argue that he was agreeable if you couldn’t feel the side-eye you were receiving from him.

When you finally settle on C. Allan Gilbert’s All is Vanity for your final piece, Sukuna excuses himself quite quickly and makes his way out, grunting in agreement when you ask him to meet you at the same time next week. You had hoped to get some research done with him but this would have to do, and hopefully you would have more time next week.

Only… when next week comes, he doesn’t show. You lean over the desk where Sukuna usually sits, figuring maybe he’s just late again, but as the clock rolls past the thirty minute mark, you begin to lose hope. Tapping your fingers rhythmically over the desk as you stare at the clock, you resign to texting him.

3:39 PM || You: hey! just wondering if youre on your way

Another twenty minutes of staring at the sent text does you no good and you can’t really get much done without Sukuna’s portion, so with a sigh, you push yourself up and call Shoko to go out with you. At least now you can make the most of your Friday night, even if it’s a bit earlier than intended.

–

“He just completely no-showed, huh?”

“Not even a text,” you confirm with a groan, keeping your attention on the road as you make your way to the bar by Shoko’s house. The afternoon sun glints on the windshield of your car, warming the interior of the vehicle rather comfortably for the early autumn day.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Shoko hums at the thought.

“I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I mean honestly his research wasn’t too bad,” you sigh, casting a glance at your best friend.

“Could still be salvageable. Maybe try asking him what works for him?” She suggests with a shrug, leaning back in her seat as she stares blankly out the windshield.

“I don’t know. I think if I leave things up to him, he just won’t do it.”

“Oh, because he’s been so good at showing up when you organize things?” She chides with a raised brow.

You suppose you can’t really argue with that, so you groan in response. “At least he has a good taste in art.”

“Yeah?”

“A little edgy, but yeah. He chose The Fallen Angel, you know the one that-” you pause, moving your arm over your face to mimic the famous painting while keeping your eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel.

“Oh yeah, I think I know the one,” she agrees with a chuckle at your description. “I think I’ve seen-” she pauses as your car comes to a slow halt at a stop light. You shoot her a questioning glance when she remains quiet. “Speak of the devil. Isn’t that him?”

“Sukuna?” You question, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of whatever Shoko’s looking at.

Sure enough, the pink-haired man in question is on the sidewalk along with two young kids. He seems frustrated, his hand flying in the air in obvious exasperation and you wonder what his relation to them is. Your first thought is that they could be his, but the older of the two kids is just a bit too old to make that assumption.

Still, you didn’t take Sukuna as someone enthusiastic at the thought of being a babysitter.

“Shit, that is him,” Shoko confirms for herself. When the light turns green, the car jolts forward as you pull through a lane abruptly to turn and grab street parking very suddenly. “Woah, what are you-? You can’t be serious.”

“I-” your words die in your throat. Are you serious? What are you doing? It’s not like you’re friends. Are you here to confront him about not showing up? No, you aren’t really even mad, just frustrated at most. Your mind flashes back to how he’d looked the week before, like he could pass out at any moment, and you wonder if you’re here out of concern. “I don’t know,” you mumble, parking your car and hopping out.

“You are serious,” she mutters more to herself than you as she watches you leave the car with a sigh, following a short distance behind you.

The day is relatively warm for the early fall, the sun shining high overhead and providing a comfortable escape from the brisk breeze. Leaves are losing their vibrant green colors overhead, replaced with beautiful hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, and the sound of them rustling in the breeze is refreshing.

From around the corner, you can just barely make out Sukuna’s words. You were right to assume he was frustrated.

“Give it back to your brother,” he instructs, his voice a near-growl, but as the younger of the two kids whines in complaint, you can tell neither kid seems all that intimidated even by the almost seven-foot-tall man made of pure muscle who towers over them.

“No!”

“C’mon brat, I don’t have time for this,” he hisses out, voice rife with irritation. As you round the corner, lightly jogging up to Sukuna, you watch his gaze slowly turn to land on you and Shoko, his eyes widening for a moment as his expression shifts to surprise. For a moment you even think you see horror flash through his eyes, but he masks it all with his usual disinterested expression before you have time to think much about it.

“Sukuna?”

“That’s me,” he grumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair in exasperation.

“Hi! I’m Yuji!” The younger of the two boys bounds up to you, blatantly ignoring Sukuna as he waves to Shoko behind you.

You grin at him, kneeling down to his height as you greet him with your name. His eyes are filled with delight and as you get back to your feet, you put the pieces together. These must be Sukuna’s little brothers. Although the older of the two doesn’t particularly look like him, the youngest is a near carbon copy of Sukuna, only lacking his tattoos, piercings, and his signature attitude.

“What a cutie,” you coo at the little boy, who can’t be any older than five. The older of the two boys doesn’t resemble Sukuna in the same way Yuji does, with sunken eyes and unkempt long brown hair, he looks to be about eleven… and he also looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“Don’t feed his ego,” Sukuna huffs, watching you interact with Yuji with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Look! Look!” Yuji excitedly holds his hands out to you. You recognize an old GameBoy in his hands, something you’re sure you have hidden away somewhere in your own apartment from your childhood.

“I had one of those when I was young,” you tell him, glancing up at Sukuna whose left brow slowly raises.

“Really? Do you like Pokemon?”

“Yuji, that’s enough. Leave her alone and give it back to your brother,” Sukuna instructs, his frustration laced within his words.

“No! Choso’s playing it wrong,” he argues.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to burst. If he were a balloon, he’d be floating dangerously close to a pin, and it’s in that moment that you finally get a good look at him. If you thought he looked sickly last week, he looks like he’s about to collapse now.

His eyes are sunken, skin pale, and although he’s making an effort to mask it, his focus seems as though it’s drifting while he simply stands there. His hair is disheveled in a way that doesn’t look intentional and there’s a stain on the abdomen of his shirt. Which, to your surprise, is also a uniform for a local food distribution warehouse. He’s wearing cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a blue polo shirt. It’s a strange look for him, but you’re more concerned about the fact that he seems to be swaying, he’s so tired.

“I wasn’t playing it wrong!” Choso argues back, leaping at his brother as they get into a scuffle, and it’s barely a split second before Yuji is in tears alongside Choso.

“Fucking-” Sukuna cuts himself off, taking a step forward.

Instinctively, you step in before Sukuna needs to. “Hey, hey!” You coo softly, leaning back down to them. “Why don’t you both play together?” Yuji’s sobs don’t stop at your suggestion, although Choso backs away from the younger boy, listening to what you have to say with a heartbreakingly sad expression over something so simple. Life was so much easier at their age.

“How?” Yuji asks through sobs.

“Why don’t you take turns? It’s Pokemon, right?” You ask, earning a nod from Yuji as he sniffles and wipes his face, his sleeve absolutely covered in tears and snot already. “Why don’t you pass it over between each battle?”

Yuji stares at you skeptically, as though the little boy cannot possibly fathom sharing. Choso quietly waits for his brother to come to a conclusion as his sniffles subside, all the while Sukuna just watches the entire scene unfold with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Yuji finally agrees in a small voice. “But I go first!”

To your surprise, Choso seems fine with this as they both crowd around the game.

When you stand back up, you’re happy to find that Sukuna looks absolutely relieved.

“Fuck, thought I’d never hear the end of that,” he mumbles, making you wonder if that’s his begrudging way of thanking you.

You chuckle quietly, crossing your arms over your chest with a small shrug. “I’m good with kids,” you tell him. He eyes you for a moment, humming, but doesn’t say anything. After a brief silence, you glance back up at him to find the tall man’s tired gaze still boring into you.

“Ask,” he instructs.

Your brow raises. “Ask?”

“You wanna ask where I was today, right?”

That obvious, huh? “I did wait for an hour.”

A hint of a smirk graces his lips as he snidely comments, “y’know, I’m sure I’ve had other women wait longer.” You aren’t sure how he expects you to react, but the way you raise a brow and don’t entertain his lewd implications clearly doesn’t encourage him to continue. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he clicks his tongue and turns his head away from you. “Had to pick up a shift at work. Was gonna text but the little brat broke my phone yesterday.”

“Sorry, Kuna,” Yuji’s voice is small as you realize he’s been listening the whole time now that Choso is holding the GameBoy. His cheeks are puffy and red still from crying, but god he sure is a mini Sukuna.

“Kunaaaa?” You coo teasingly at the absolutely adorable nickname.

“He can’t say my name,” Sukuna grumbles, suppressing his irritation as best as he can, given that you did save him from further arguments with his brothers and he did already test his limits with you anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles in distaste at the nickname as he stares at the ground with a huff.

“That’s so cute!” You practically squeal, eyes bright as you grin at the hulking mass of anger and maybe even embarrassment as his cheeks heat up before your eyes.

“Shut up,” he hisses, still avoiding your gaze.

“It’s alright, by the way. We can figure out another time to meet.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll text-” he cuts himself off, blinking at the realization that he has no phone. “I’ll email you or some shit.”

“Email. Right,” you sarcastically tease with a tilt of your head. A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw visibly twitches and he huffs.

“Take it or leave it.”

You raise your hands in the air defensively, unable to help your amused smile. As silence falls over the both of you, interrupted only by Choso’s quiet commentary to Yuji about their game, you let your expression morph to one of concern again. Your lips part to ask if Sukuna’s alright, but he beats you to it.

“I’m fine.” His voice is low and strained and you both know you don’t believe him.

“You look it,” you challenge him sarcastically.

Sukuna’s jaw tenses as he stares you down as if daring you to challenge him again. Luckily for him, you’re willing to let it go.

“Do you guys need a ride somewhere?” You ask, glancing back in the direction of your car. Shoko is probably itching to get to the bar, though surely she won’t mind your offer given that the man in front of you looks like he could melt into a puddle if it only meant he could sleep.

“No.”

“Yeah!”

Sukuna and Yuji stare at one another as they both respond at the same time.

“No. We’re fine,” Sukuna growls, narrowing his eyes at the young boy.

“I don’t wanna walk anymooooore,” Yuji complains, shooting Choso a pleading look. Catching on, Choso shoots Sukuna a pair of puppy dog eyes. God the two of them are just adorable.

“No, both of you. Cut it out. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops an octave as he hisses the last word.

“I really don’t mind,” you say quietly, leaning closer to him in an attempt to keep your words between the two of you.

“I don’t need your help,” Sukuna protests, taking a step towards you with massive muscular arms folding over his chest as his polo shirt is pulled taut from the movement.

“So if I give you a little push, you won’t fall over and pass out?”

“No.” He scowls defensively as he stares back at his two brothers, not noticing the way you slowly reach your hand out before shoving him lightly. He sways backwards slightly, catching himself before he actually does fall over as he swats at your hand. “Fucking- What the fuck is wrong with you?” He grouses, voice dripping with irritation and anger, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. He just looks tired.

“Let me drive you where you need to go and I’ll stop,” you taunt, moving your hand forward to shove him again.

Now paying attention, he grabs your wrist before you can push him. “Christ, you’re almost as much of a brat as my brothers,” he huffs, fiery eyes hyper-focused on your cheerful demeanor in spite of the fact that he’s been nothing short of snappy with you since you first showed up. “You’ll stop because I said so, not because I’m agreeing, got that?”

You shrug, shooting him a smile that says you won. “Whatever you say, Sukuna.”

He drops your wrist with a dramatic sigh before ushering his brothers after you as you turn to make your way back to your car.

“Can’t say I know what just happened,” Shoko whispers in your ear as she walks alongside you to your car. “But I’m surprised he agreed.”

“I’m not. He’s barely awake,” you tell her as you both cast a glance back at him. He doesn’t seem to notice as he bickers with his brothers, telling them to keep up if they want a ride from you.

“Yeah, he looks like shit,” she chuckles with a shake of her head. Never one to beat around the bush, but she is right.

Unlocking your car, you open the back door as Sukuna lifts his youngest brother into the backseat, grumbling about the two boys needing to behave before he climbs in himself, completely blocking your view through your rearview mirror.

He huffs and puffs as he gives you his address, choosing not to say a word throughout the ride as he listens to you chat with Shoko, muttering only the occasional “cut it out” or “stop that, brat” to one of his brothers.

Rolling up to what you assume is his apartment, you put the car in park and turn your attention back to the boys, putting on your best radio voice.

“Thank you for riding, please exit to your left and have a greeeeeat day!” You earn a sweet laugh from Yuji and a calm smile from Choso for your antics. You can practically feel Sukuna’s exasperation as it comes off of him in waves, clearly done with the world for the day, but you don’t miss the silent relief gleaming in his eyes.

“What do you say?” Sukuna gruffs, nudging the youngest of his brothers who you’re obviously putting on the show for.

“Thank you, miss!” He grins brightly as Sukuna opens the door and lowers him to the ground. He hands Choso a pair of keys, nudging them along to the door of the run-down building. To your surprise, he shuts the door and comes around to your side, knocking on the window.

You tilt your head as you roll down the window.

“Thanks…” he trails off as though the word is sour on his tongue, shooting a glance at Shoko in a silent gesture of thank you to her as well.

“No problem. Go get some sleep,” you tell him softly. Frustration flashes through his eyes as you tell him what to do but he’s not about to lash out at the person responsible for his grade who also gave him a ride home. Even he’s not that much of an asshole.

He sets a hand on your hood, pausing for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up more than it already was. “Do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone, yeah?”

You tilt your head, exchanging a glance with Shoko as he looks between the two of you. “Yeah. No problem.”

His hand slides off your car as he rounds the vehicle to follow after his brothers. He pauses to cast a glance at you, before pushing into the front lobby of his apartment building and out of sight.

Silence falls over both you and Shoko as you watch the tattooed man disappear into the building when Choso holds the door open for him.

“That was fucking weird,” Shoko comments.

“Hm?” You hum as you pull out of the apartment, unsure of what she means. Of course Sukuna would have a life Shoko had never thought about, it’s not like they were close, you aren’t sure what she was expecting.

“He wasn’t a complete dick.”

Shooting Shoko a confused glance, you purse your lips. “Is he known for that? I thought he was just a bit of a delinquent.”

“Yeah, that too, but he’s pretty well-known for being snappy with people and snarky to profs.”

“Oh,” you blink twice in thought, keeping your eyes on the road. “I don’t know. He’s pretty quiet in Art History, this project is the first time I’ve ever talked to him. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Huh,” Shoko shrugs, “guess you’re on his good side, then.” She sighs, leaning back in her seat once again. “Oh well, you have blackmail on him anyway, so there’s no way he’s bailing on you now,” she grins with a teasing smirk.

Your eyes widen and you move your elbow to nudge her. “Absolutely not, and don’t you think about it either!”

Shoko chuckles, though you know she wouldn’t anyway. Much like you, she’s too kind to spill Sukuna’s secrets to the school, regardless of her opinions or thoughts on him.

–

As you return home from the bar late that night with a comfortable buzz that had left you needing to keep your car at the bar overnight, you pour yourself a glass of water and open your laptop on your bed, letting it boot up while you change into an oversized cozy beige hoodie with little bows adorning the sleeves.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands and throwing on a pair of shorts, you run a hand through your hair and log into your laptop, pulling it onto your lap to browse social media, when something catches your eye.

You don’t pay much attention to your email inbox most of the time. Maybe you should, after all the college sends you a fair amount of emails and you’ve missed some in the past, but what catches your eye is certainly not from the faculty.

It’s a response to the document you sent Sukuna via email last week.

Oh shit, he was serious about sending you an email.

Maybe it’s because you're drunk, or maybe it’s because the idea of the nearly seven foot tall tattooed man who you’d watched leave class once just to smoke sending you an email of all things is a truly funny thought, but you snicker to yourself as you open it.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 1:17 AM hey. you around this weekend

Your snicker turns to a full laugh as you read the message. You can’t decide if the message feels like a sad attempt at a booty call, an old man attempting to text via email, or an embarrassing attempt to save his bruised ego since he can’t text you.

You’d learned from Shoko at the bar earlier that Sukuna has quite the reputation. Supposedly he’s known for bringing a woman home at every party, for being able to smooth talk his way into the bedroom in spite of his usually grumpy and ill-mannered demeanor, and for being able to always get what he wants even though he has a reputation for being an asshole. So it’s hard not to laugh when that same man is the one who just sent you the most awkward email. At one in the morning. On a Saturday.

Oh my god.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:12 AM Hey Sukuna! I’m around tomorrow afternoon and all day Sunday. Did you have time to work on the project?

You hit send and shut your laptop, deciding to brush your teeth and begin getting ready to get some rest. Taking off your makeup and brushing your hair, you finish up your nighttime routine and decide on a whim to see if your project partner has responded to you.

Getting under the covers and leaning against the headboard of your bed, you open your laptop again. To your surprise, your inbox has gone up by one.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:19 AM cool. come by mine tomorrow whenever

You snicker to yourself as you read the message again. He’s certainly not fighting either the sad booty call or old man texting via email allegations.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:23 AM Had to leave my car at the bar, did you wanna come by my place?

To your surprise, it’s only a couple of minutes later when he replies.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:25 AM uhhh i gotta watch over the brats

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:26 AM Bring them!! They’re so cute :)

You can practically feel his irritated grumbles through the screen when not even a minute later he responds.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:26 AM fine. address and time

With a satisfied smile, you let him know to drop by at two in the afternoon and send him your address before shutting your laptop.

As you lay down in bed, you can’t help but wonder what a strange little world you’ve somehow managed to squeeze your way into. Sukuna’s world. Maybe it’s because he’s easy to tease, maybe it’s the undeniable fact that he’s a good looking guy, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s actually surprised you more than once now and you’re somewhat enjoying the project more than you initially thought you would, but you can’t help but find yourself fascinated by him.

Come to think of it, you wonder if maybe Shoko’s comment has something to do with it. You think back to the way that she mentioned that he was oddly agreeable and, well, not a dick, and you wonder if it’s a curiosity to get to know this side of Sukuna that no one seems to know that compels you to be laying in bed at two in the morning thinking about the situation.

Regardless, you fall asleep with a calm little smile.

–

Glancing at the clock, you have half a mind to wonder if Sukuna will actually show up. Sure, he was the one who reached out, but maybe you should have just bussed to your car rather than waiting on Shoko to drive you to it and gone to his place on your own given that you can’t text him to ask where he is and it’s almost two thirty in the afternoon.

You could email him.

No… no. You aren’t about to email him.

You almost laugh to yourself at the thought.

Returning to your coffee, you keep at your work, refining your notes until you have something you think you can confidently write a full thesis about, when finally there’s a buzz at your door.

Speak of the devil. You buzz him up and there's a knock at your apartment door a few moments later.

“Cut that out,” Sukuna hisses practically the moment you open the door. You raise a brow at him and he sighs. “The brat, not you,” he clarifies, nudging Yuji.

You shoot him a sweet smile, suppressing a chuckle. Sukuna is dressed in a leather jacket, a plain white V-Neck and a pair of ripped jeans. In comparison to his usual baggy cargo pants and hoodie, he almost seems like he’s dressed up a bit and you can’t help but smile at the thought. More importantly though, the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a bit faded in comparison to when you had spotted him yesterday and you can tell he was able to get a bit of rest.

Yuji is excitedly looking up at you and attempting to tug on Sukuna’s hand while Choso stands behind his brother silently, his expression neutral.

“Hey guys, c’mon in.” You grin as you open the door for them, watching Yuji bound in ahead of his older brothers. He begins looking around with wide eyes, so full of wonder and excitement that you can’t help but smile.

“Such sweet kids,” you comment as Sukuna stands beside you, sighing as both brothers practically run to the sofa, looking around your little apartment excitedly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You giggle at Sukuna, nudging him playfully. The glare he shoots you as he grunts seems to lack the usual malice his expressions hold and he runs a hand through his well-groomed hair, motioning for you to lead the way.

You show him to your little desk at the back of the apartment, pulling up a kitchen chair for yourself as you give him your office chair. He silently obliges, sitting down with his legs spread.

“One moment,” you mumble, heading into your room briefly before reappearing with none other than your old GameBoy, complete with a copy of Pokemon Ruby. Sukuna’s gaze is tethered to you and although his expression doesn’t change, you see surprise flash across his crimson irises as you walk up to the boys, kneeling in front of them.

“Choso, do you want to use my old GameBoy?” You ask the brown-haired young man, holding it out to him. His eyes are wide with surprise as Yuji’s jaw drops open. Choso nods, not saying a word as he flips the device and eyes the game. If it’s even possible, his eyes widen further and he smiles shyly.

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure. I bet there’s some neat Pokemon on that file,” you tell him.

The two boys exchange a grin and Choso thanks you profusely as he turns on the system.

“No problem. There’s a TV in my room, why don’t you two hang out in there and you don’t need to listen to your brother and I talk about boring art, hm?”

Yuji nods excitedly, bounding to his feet and grabbing your hand. Your heart swells at the action as you lead him and Choso to your room and hand them the remote. It takes all of a moment for both of them to begin bickering about what to watch, though you notice their arguments are fairly one-sided, with Choso being much quieter than his younger brother.

Leaving the two of them to their own devices, you make your way back out to Sukuna, who’s set his laptop on your desk and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. He’s wearing a white band tee with a deep V-neck for a metal band you aren’t familiar with, though the sleeves are torn off. With arms crossed over his chest and tattooed muscular arms on display, it’s undeniable just how attractive he is.

The real surprise is when he turns his head to look at you and his sharp eyes are, strangely, filled with… well you aren’t quite sure. Uncertainty? Confusion?

You subtly tilt your head when you take a seat on the kitchen chair beside him. His chair spins to face you as he examines you.

“Is something wrong?”

Sukuna’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows, before shaking his head. “Nah. Let’s just get this shit over with,” he grumbles, opening his laptop and turning his research document towards you. He’s clearly taken a look at yours, because his notes are in a similar format and he has about as much written as you, not to mention he’s put some work into research on the third painting you two had chosen.

Your brows raise as you read through it. “Wow, this is really good.”

He scoffs. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

You chuckle in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to come off that way, I just-” you pause, leaning back in your chair. Aside from the subtle sounds of Pokemon and the TV in the background, the only sound that breaks the silence as you pause is the squeaking of your chair. “I don’t know. When you were late and then you just didn’t show up, I…” you trail off, not wanting to accuse him of something that clearly isn’t true.

“You assumed the worst.”

Your mouth opens but any words you had in your defense die on your tongue, casting your glance to the side as you search for something, anything, to explain your thought process. No matter what way you try to word it, you’re definitely the bad guy here.

“It’s fine. Everyone does.”

Your brow furrows but before you can ask what he means, Choso is surprising you as he taps on your arm. You turn your attention to the young boy, who’s looking up at you with gleaming eyes.

“You have Rayquaza,” he states, arms outstretched to show you a serpentine creature on the GameBoy.

Your curiosity twists to easy mirth as you smile at him. “I guess I do, huh?”

Choso’s arms fall back down in front of him as he stares down at the Pokemon. His eyes flicker up to you briefly, then back down. “You have Groudon too.”

You can’t help your amused laugh. He’s such a sweet and shy little boy, but he talks just like Sukuna. Straight to the point, blunt, and rather short. He may not look like Sukuna like Yuji does, but his speech is just like his older brother’s.

“Leave her alone,” Sukuna mumbles gruffly from beside you. Choso smiles up at him before bounding back to your room. You can hear the two of them gearing up to play the games together from across the apartment, the game’s music heard in mismatched double as they both turn up the volume.

Turning back to Sukuna, your trail of thought is completely gone. “What was I saying?”

“You got any music? The brat’s game’s been drivin’ me crazy,” Sukuna mutters. “Yuji broke my laptop’s speakers,” he sighs.

“He’s on a hot streak for breaking things, huh?” You giggle.

“Don’t get me started.”

You turn in your seat, pointing towards the wall where a table sits with a fairly nice record player on it, and a shelf of records. They’re organized by artist and their sleeves range from new-looking to clearly well-loved.

Getting to his feet, Sukuna follows to where you point, curiously staring at the spines of the records. He’s not exactly shocked by most of the choices, but a few of them do stand out to him, and you’re thankful when you hear him sliding something off the shelf and putting it on the player.

You recognize the melody in the air instantly, and grin when Sukuna sits down beside you again. “The Eagles?”

Sukuna doesn’t move as his eyes slowly trail to you. He hums after a moment. “It’s a good album. You have… alright taste.”

In truth, he doesn’t mind your taste in music. Sure, he may not be fond of all of your choices, many in fact, but it would seem the two of you are making a habit out of surprising one another as he has his next album choice in mind already.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckle at his dry attempt at being nice. The corner of Sukuna’s lips twitches up into a hint of a smile. It suits him.

As Hotel California blankets the air in warm strings and simple drum beats, the two of you are able to get a good amount of work done, putting your research together into one well-written and coherent thesis, one to be proud of.

Of course, you still need to put together an actual visual presentation to go with the thesis to be presented, but at least the bulk of the work is over with and you can feel confident in your project without concern anymore.

You have half a mind to get started on the visual portion now as well to get it all finished, but one glance at Sukuna tells you he’s tapped out, and either way you’ve gone through three records at this point as the final track on a Pink Floyd album comes to a close.

As silence falls over your project group, Sukuna lets out a sigh. It’s fairly dark in the room too as the sun sets, and when you check the clock to find it’s already six, you realize that’s likely why your stomach’s been making noises for the last twenty minutes.

“Why don’t you guys all stay for dinner?” You suggest, mostly out of politeness, but you can’t help but feel as though you’re drawn to him. You want to get to know him, know why he’s late so often, why he stays in school just to not show up for classes when it’s his money being blown. After all, it can’t just be his brothers or work, he likely only takes care of them while his parents are at work, surely.

Sukuna wearily glances between you and the door where his little brothers are, before shaking his head. “Nah, I can just make us somethin’ when we get back.”

“I insist,” you grin at him, watching the way a muscle twitches in jaw. “There are some great places nearby, we can just grab takeout while they play games, we’ll only be gone for a moment.”

He remains silent, arms crossed disdainfully over his chest before grimacing, giving in to your overly kind grin.

You settle on a curry restaurant just down the block and grab the boys’ orders, letting them know you’ll be right back. You’re sure you can trust Choso to look after his younger brother for twenty minutes.

As the chilly evening air hits your face, you let out a content hum, peering curiously back to see Sukuna falling into step with you. The two of you are a sight to behold, your appearance preppy and sweet decorated with autumnal colors fitting for the season, while he’s clad in leather and punk attire, the tones of his clothing purely grayscale.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his mild gaze locked in front of him.

“How old are they, your brothers?”

“Five and twelve,” Sukuna replies, fighting off a yawn and failing.

Amused, you smile up at him. “I’m glad you got some rest last night. I was worried about you.”

His brow twitches as he meets your kind smile. “Worried? About me?” He shoots you an incredulous look, scoffing. When you pout at him, he’s unable to hold back a smirk. It’s the first time you’ve seen him truly at ease and now that you’re alone with him, you notice that he actually seems to be somewhat relaxed.

“Yeah, maybe I was. Shoot me,” you shrug, playfully rolling your eyes.

He snorts, entertained, growing silent although the air that settles over you is comfortable now. Sukuna’s presence is surprisingly calming now that he isn’t constantly regarding you with disinterested gazes and irritated huffs. His expressions remain mild, but his brooding is more infrequent and the tension in his gruff voice has dulled. You would almost think he likes being around you.

As you come up to the curry restaurant, you lean into Sukuna with a point of your finger, silently telling him to enter the restaurant to your right. He pulls the door open for you, trailing closely behind. The atmosphere of the restaurant is busy, the employees behind the counter moving quickly to fulfill orders. Sukuna can only imagine how good the food must be given the line waiting to order, though you assure him it won’t take long.

He casts a glance up at the menu and frowns as he takes in the prices. He can afford to pay for himself, Yuji, and Choso, but not you. He has half a mind to say something, but his pride causes him to choke on the words. He inconspicuously pulls out his phone to take a look at his bank app to see if he can swing anything, but catches a glimpse of an employee not paying attention as he moves quickly towards you, all the while you’re not paying attention either, idly staring at the menu.

The employee about to barrel into you is holding a massive steel bucket and while Sukuna can’t see what’s inside, he doesn’t love the idea of you covered in water or worse.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, he lowers himself slightly, locking a strong arm around your middle and lifting you off the ground. You yelp in surprise, eyes wide as you latch onto his arm for purchase, head whipping around in confusion until you find the employee now walking past the exact spot you were in with boiling hot oil in a bucket.

Your lips purse, a shiver running from the base of your spine up to your nape just as Sukuna drops you to the ground unceremoniously in front of him. Your heels land with a clack on the ground as you catch your balance, your eyes still trailing after the employee that hadn’t been able to see you over the jug of hot oil they carried.

“Pay attention,” he scolds you with a frown.

“Oh my god,” you mutter mostly to yourself, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally look up at your savior. Your eyes flicker down to his arms. Even covered in leather, the way his muscles ripple beneath the fabric with each movement he makes doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Thank you, S’kuna.”

He shoves his hands in his pocket, nodding. The way you abbreviate his name is painfully close to the nickname he avoids as much as he can, but he can’t bring himself to correct you and in all honesty, he’s not sure why. He lets it slide, clearing his throat as he clears his mind of the way the name seems to shake him.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

His words feel like they should be scolding, but his tone doesn’t hold the same meaning. As he stares back up at the menu with a stitch in his horribly handsome brow, you can’t help but find yourself confused by the meaning of his words.

You don’t have much time to think about it as your turn to order comes and you find yourself at the counter, giving the employee your order before glancing back at Sukuna. His mouth parts and he hesitates.

“I- uh-”

You’ve never seen him dither in such a way and you tilt your head, blinking in confusion.

“I can’t-”

Frustration flashes through his eyes and you can see his jaw clench as he trips over his words. Flustered isn’t the right word, but his pride is certainly hurt as he finally manages to force out the explanation you need.

“I can’t afford to- uh-”

Again he pauses, his expression burning with irritation as his cheeks heat up, the admission coming at the cost of his ego.

Your face softens in understanding and your soft fingers wrap around his tattooed wrist, pulling him up to the counter.

“I’ve got it. I invited you to stay, it’s on me.” You hold your card out with a kind smile, but Sukuna doesn’t share your sentiment, anger flashing across the crimson of his eyes as he grits his teeth at you.

“I don’t need help,” he hisses, eyes narrowed as his walls go back up right before you.

“That’s not-” your eyes widen as you try to salvage the situation when Sukuna recoils suddenly. You hadn’t intended for him to take your words so personally, you’d just felt it was the right thing to do given that you had invited not only him, but both of his brothers over as well, and suggested the place to begin with. “You can get the next one,” you tell him in hopes of mending the bridge between you.

He examines your expression, finding no traces of malice or ill-will in your features. Frowning, he huffs as he turns to give his order to the poor employee who’d had the displeasure of witnessing Sukuna’s outburst. In his silence, you order for his little brothers as well.

With a dour sigh, the tattooed man moves along to the side to wait for the order, the fact that you paid leaving a sour taste in his mouth. You make your way over to him, leaving a small distance between you.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.”

“Really, I- I-” you stumble over your words as he glares at you. You suppose Shoko had warned you that Sukuna was notoriously an ass, but you hadn’t witnessed it first hand until now. Still, you can’t help but feel like what you’re witnessing isn’t that. At the end of the day he isn’t lashing out for no reason, it’s clear you struck a nerve and you can’t blame him for being hurt by it, even if it’s not what you intended and you don’t fully understand where he’s coming from.

“Drop it,” Sukuna growls, though his anger has subsided somewhat, his gaze cast to the wall.

You blink up at him, hating the way the world seems to hold its breath around you.

You can’t deny that the man who towers over you, covered in tattoos and piercings is intimidating. Between his gruff voice, his mild mannerisms and his disinterested demeanor, he’s tough to read and you really can’t afford to let a rift come between you when you still have to work on your project.

Your lips part to say something but one striking glance from those crimson eyes has the words dying in your throat. Your mouth goes dry as you wrack your brain for anything to stay, but draw a blank.

Sukuna’s brow knits together at the sight of your anxious expression and he shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing.

It takes him a moment to fully cool off and collect his thoughts, but he can see in your eyes that you genuinely meant no harm and he supposes it’s the right thing to do to give you a break for that. You’re just naturally kind and he finds that he needs to remind himself of that.

“It’s… fine,” he murmurs in a strained voice, nudging you with his elbow. You crack a smile at him, thankful when his body language seems to relax somewhat again.

You don’t dare say anything as you wait for your food, fiddling with your phone in your hands as you contemplate his reaction. You obviously hurt his pride unintentionally by offering to pay, but between skipping school for work and the fact that this restaurant isn’t by any means expensive, you have a guess as to why he might have been so affected, one that makes Sukuna’s entire demeanor and his exhaustion click into place like a puzzle.

Before you have a chance to ask him, unsure if you even want to, your name is called and Sukuna is grabbing your order. You reach out to grab one of the bags but Sukuna swiftly holds it overhead with a smirk that doesn’t quite meet his eyes as you pout playfully. He continues to hold the food overhead as he leads the way outside. Watching you trail closely behind him, standing up on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach the bags, he raises a brow.

“Walk, brat.”

You shoot him a look, brow furrowed, before giving in and falling into step alongside him. He brings his arms down, holding the bags on his arms opposite you.

With your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Sukuna’s earlier outburst, you bring your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you stare at the sidewalk beneath your feet.

Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals, taking note of the way you’re deep in thought. “Just fucking ask your question.”

Much like yesterday, Sukuna easily notices the way you glance at him uncertainly, the question on the tip of your tongue. It catches you off-guard how easily he reads you and you fall out of step with him, taking longer strides to catch up after you falter.

“I- um- do you-” you hesitate, casting a glance at his aloof expression. He seems at ease again and you don’t want to burn the bridge you’ve only just managed to mend, out of fear that another fire wouldn’t be put out so easily.

“Yeah.”

You stop in your tracks, blinking in surprise with pursed lips. Sukuna raises a brow at you, only a short distance ahead as he stops too, turning to face you. You can’t read his expression as it remains mild, his questioning brow the only sign that gives away any hint of his thoughts. In a few short strides, you’re back at his side.

“You’re… their guardian?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Sukuna chews on his tongue piercing mindlessly as he watches the gears turn in your mind, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that had been laid out for you.

Of course Sukuna’s tired if he’s taking care of two young boys, going to college, working, cooking, cleaning, god the list can only go on. You wonder if the reason he seems so at ease right now, so quick to forgive you, is because he’s thankful for the break. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had time to himself.

“That’s why you missed yesterday.”

He shrugs. “You knew that already.”

“I guess, yeah.” Your turn to shrug. “I just thought it was a temporary thing.”

Sukuna lets out a humorless laugh. “Well it’s not.”

You’re not really sure how to react, in all honesty. You don’t want him to think you pity him, you can’t offer sympathy, you certainly can’t offer help. In your uncertainty, you find yourself continuing to fiddle with your phone, avoiding his gaze.

Sukuna quite simply… turns to leave, deciding to spare you of your discomfort, and him of any more blows to his pride. You jog after him, falling into step again. There are questions left unanswered and sympathies you want to extend, but you can’t bear the thought of hurting him again, even if it’s unintentional, so you bite your tongue.

The sounds of the city surround you, filling the silence. Sirens blare in the distance, trees rustle above you, and casual chatter comes and goes as you pass other groups of people on the way to your apartment. It’s all a welcome distraction as you continue to fiddle with your phone, the air between you two neither tense nor comfortable. It lies somewhere in between and you don’t dare tip the scales out of fear of making your counterpart uncomfortable.

“You play a lot of Pokemon growin’ up?”

Your eyes light up as Sukuna starts a conversation, finally tipping the scales back towards being comfortable.

“My best friend growing up really liked it, we played a lot of Ruby and Sapphire.”

“Same as the brats.” He scoffs playfully.

“Are you gonna pretend that isn’t your old GameBoy?”

He tilts his head in your direction, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “And if it is?”

“Dunno, I might think you’re a bit of a nerd,” you tease, mindlessly chewing on your lip.

Sukuna’s eyes flicker down to your lips. He catches himself immediately, averting his gaze. “Tch.”

You giggle when he doesn’t refute your claim. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, your takeout bags dangling from his forearm.

As you arrive back at your apartment, Sukuna lets you unlock the door before grabbing and holding it open for you. His eyes trace your figure as you tread ahead of him with a skip in your step. When you turn back to him, realizing he hasn’t followed you yet, he blinks in surprise as he realizes exactly what he’s doing, shaking his head to clear it.

Why in the hell was he checking you out anyway? He doesn’t make a habit of hooking up with people who know him beyond face value. He mutters a ‘sorry’, relieved when you don’t seem to notice the way he’d so shamelessly checked you out.

Closing the door behind him, he sets the food on the table, tossing his jacket aside as you call his brothers, setting up a little dinner around your coffee table. Sukuna groans as he slips down onto the floor to eat, remaining quiet as he simply watches the way you cheerfully entertain both of his brothers’ antics.

Shoveling rice into his mouth, Sukuna stares down at his curry, contemplating the strange sense of warmth blooming in his chest. The feeling is so unfamiliar to him that he can’t place it. He has half a mind to drown the emotion in nicotine and the need to smoke grows quickly.

He’s so preoccupied in his thoughts, Sukuna doesn’t realize his little brothers have both run off back to your room, leaving the two of you alone.

“S’kuna?”

Striking pupils suddenly meet yours. He straightens from where he sits across from you on the couch, taking notice of the fact that you’ve already finished your dinner.

“Are you alright?”

Sukuna nods. “‘M fine.” Yet he can’t help but to drink in the sight of you, the way you look at him with so much care and he can’t understand why, the way your lips move so softly when you speak. The way your figure and curves would feel under his hands, the way you keep biting your lip… Sukuna shakes his head suddenly, getting to his feet as he chalks it up to lust. He’ll get over it at the next party he goes to. “Balcony?” He asks suddenly, pointing at the door at the back of your apartment.

You nod, watching in confusion as he rises suddenly and rushes out the door, pulling out a box of cigarettes. You hum to yourself, deciding to give him a moment. You’re not sure exactly what came over him, he seemed flustered even if only for a moment, but there was something else you noticed in his eyes, something darker you couldn’t identify.

Pushing that aside, you put the lid back over his food to keep it warm and check your phone to find Shoko’s been trying to reach you to go pick up your car. You let her know you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow since you’re with Sukuna as you wait for him to finish smoking.

After a few messages back and forth, you glance back outside at Sukuna. The way the muscles along his back ripple just from the act of breathing is eye-catching enough, but when he stubs out his cigarette and leans over the railing of your little balcony, your eyes trail to his shoulder blades protruding from the white material of his shirt.

Catching yourself holding your breath, you take a step forward and decide to check on him, closing the balcony door in your stead as you slip onto the small overlook behind him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you even as you lean beside him, his tired expression fixated on the street below. You rest a hand on his bicep as you tilt your head quizzically. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Ever aloof, you aren’t able to tell what he’s thinking as he turns to look at you. You, completely unaware that your touch has set his skin alight. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes have darkened a shade as his pupils dilate at your touch. Unsure what’s come over him, he simply hums affirmatively as an answer to your question.

Your brow knits together but you accept his response. He wonders if you know that you’re rubbing circles into the skin of his bicep and it’s driving him crazy. What the hell is it about you that’s got him horny like it’s his first year of college again? It frustrates him beyond belief, but maybe it’s just been too long since he’s slept with someone. That has to be it. It’s just lust. He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the action when you finally bring your attention out to the road in front of you both, removing your hand from him.

“Hey, um, what do you do at the supermarket?” You ask in an effort to create conversation with him.

“Stock,” he replies shortly, his tone as stoic as his expression.

“That’s not too bad,” you murmur thoughtfully, giggling to yourself suddenly. Sukuna’s brow raises. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine you as, like, a cashier or something.”

“Why not?” He sneers, standing up straight and facing you, offended.

“Come on,” you giggle, “you’re not very talkative.”

“I can be,” he insists, taking a step towards you.

“Is that your way of proving it?” You provoke him with a grin.

He scoffs. “I just don’t have anythin’ to say,” he grumbles with a tense jaw, staring down at you. “‘Sides, I work with customers at my other job.”

Another job? You frown at his admission. How the hell is he managing this? How hasn’t he flunked out? “What other job?”

“Mechanic,” he states blandly.

“Really? Are you a big car guy?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Sukuna’s somewhat taken aback by the way you lean in, your full attention directed towards him. You seem to take such a genuine interest in him and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

A smirk pays at the corners of his lips as he decides to mess with you, loving the idea of keeping you on your toes and pushing your buttons. “Nah. ‘M just good with my hands,” he drawls as you present him the perfect opportunity to tease you back given how much of a hard time you’ve been giving him.

Your eyes widen at his euphemism, cheeks heating up as you grip the balcony railing harder. You avert your gaze in an attempt to save face, willing your heart to slow down to no avail.

You clear your throat. “I-I um, th-that makes sense,” you stammer, mentally facepalming at just how nervous your words come out. He has no right to be this hot.

“Not so talkative now, are ya?” He chuckles lowly, sliding from his position leaning on the railing beside you to rest his opposite hand on your other side, effectively trapping you.

You flip over to face him, leaning back against the railing with pursed lips. Sukuna grins at your mousey behavior, thrilling in the way you squirm trapped between him and the railing. “Sukuna?”

His heart pounds in his chest at the sound of his name coming from your lips and his smirk falters. Why the hell is his heart beating so fast? He forces his smirk again, moving his face down to your level in an effort to push away the strange feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, woman?”

Focusing on anything other than the man in front of you, you can only manage to mumble out a few ‘um’s and ‘uh’s. Sukuna chuckles at just how flustered you are, freeing you from the cage of his arms as he rests against the railing beside you again.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore your spiraling thoughts. And boy are they ever spiraling as you stare out at the street beneath you, attempting to focus on the passing cars and not your pounding heart. “Why are you in Art History?”

Sukuna’s lit another cigarette in the time that you’ve used to recover your thoughts. He looks calmer once again as smoke spirals from the glowing embers. “Required class.”

“R-Right.” You swallow, moving past your stammer. “What do you want to do?”

He pauses for a moment, taking a languid drag from the cigarette. A puff of smoke leaves his lips before he replies. “Dunno. I’m a history major.”

You wouldn’t have imagined the college’s resident bad boy to be a history major, if you’re being honest with yourself, but you remind yourself not to judge a book by its cover.

He runs a hand through his hair as you contemplate the idea of Sukuna as a history major and what he might do with that major given that you can’t envision him as a historian or a museum curator, and certainly not as a teacher.

“I’m thinking of swapping majors,” he admits. You examine his expression as he taps the edge of the cigarette with a finger. He shrugs, shifting his gaze to stare at the sidewalk beneath the both of you. “Starting to think history doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Sukuna?”

He casts you a glance, examining your attentive face. You’re so wholly invested in his words that it causes a pang in his chest. He subconsciously brings a hand up to his chest, scratching at it as if to cast the strange feeling away.

Setting the feeling aside, he finds himself scowling in thought. When he was considerably younger he’d wanted to pursue graphic design but he hadn’t had the luxury of thinking about his future for a while now. In truth, he’s not even sure why he’s in history right now. It interests him enough to keep him attentive but the career options are… few and far between and he can’t exactly afford to fuck around and swap majors constantly.

His minor in business makes more sense, at least he can do something with it, but… in truth, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s another page filed under ‘uncertainties’ in the book that is Sukuna.

You take his silence as an answer and shoot him a wry smile. “You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry to pry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I just dunno that either.”

Admitting to it feels shameful, almost, and frankly, Sukuna thinks he’s had enough of making a fool of himself in front of you today. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stands up and makes his way back inside. You follow after him, blinking as he begins packing up.

“I should go,” he mumbles, shutting his laptop and tossing it into his bag. He picks up his keys from your desk, shoving them in his pocket as he zips up his backpack. “Oh,” he stops his movements, hesitating for a moment. “I… Appreciate dinner.”

Your expression softens and you smile wholeheartedly. “No problem. You can take your leftovers, too. They’re still on the table,” you point over to the box you’d set the cover over. He nods, shutting it and tucking it in his bag as well.

With a tired sigh, he gathers his brothers, ushering them towards the doorway.

“Got anything to say?” Sukuna utters, staring down at both kids expectantly.

“Thank you!”

“Thank you, miss!”

You grin at both kids, kneeling down. “I hope you two had fun. You know, maybe you can convince your brother to come over again and I’ll pull out my old GameCube.”

With the expressions of jaw-dropping awe you’re getting right now, you would think you’d revealed to them the secret to happiness or something. Yuji leaps into your arms immediately, nearly toppling you over as he shoots a pleading stare at Sukuna.

Sukuna’s expression shifts to one of irritation as Yuji pleads with him, “Kuna! Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” that has you giggling at the way a vein in his forehead seems to pulse.

“Brat. Brat! Shut up, I’ll think about it, alright?”

Yuji nods cheerfully, counting straight to Sukuna’s leg to hug him, and the clear irritation on your classmate’s face immediately falters. Maybe he’s a bit of a softie after all.

Sukuna sighs heavily, reaching a long arm down to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Yeah, alright, kid. If she invites us.”

His voice is tired, albeit strangely soft. It’s almost like he’s a different person, and suddenly you can see why it is that he’s pulling such a terrible schedule. Despite the clear stress being a twenty two year old parent to two young kids is, he clearly loves them.

But this is Sukuna we’re talking about, so he doesn’t always know how to express that.

It’s sweet, really, and your heart melts at the sight.

“Go wait outside, you two.” Both kids run down the hall to the elevator as they excitedly ponder what games you might have, leaving you and Sukuna alone as he leans on the doorframe.

“You free next Saturday?” You ask once his attention returns to you.

“I can let you know. Depends on the auto shop’s schedule.”

“We can always do another day, whatever works best for you, Kuna.” Your voice holds a teasing lilt as you mimic Yuji’s entirely too adorable name for him.

“Don’t start with that,” he snarls, mumbling something about the name being annoying. Before turning to walk away, he decides to pay you back for all of your teasing with a jab of his own. “Don’t make a habit of getting oil dumped on you, yeah?”

What Sukuna isn’t expecting is for you to be able to match his teasing without a second thought. “What, I can’t email you for help?”

He snorts, smirking at the ground as he pushes himself off of the doorframe and begins to turn away. “See you around,” he says, raising a hand in farewell as he follows after his two brothers. Your eyes trail curiously after him until he’s out of sight, shutting and locking the door quietly.

In truth, you don’t expect to hear from him until maybe next Friday if you’re lucky, but to your surprise when you check your email later that night, your inbox has a new email from Sukuna. It’s still funny, to think that you’re communicating via email, but at least you aren’t giggling to yourself as you open this one.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:04 AM brat stole your gameboy. meet at the fountain at noon monday

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:23 AM That’s alright!! He can keep it :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:27 AM no he needs to learn. noon at the fountain

With a sigh, you realize he isn’t about to relent and give in.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:28 AM Okay I’ll see you then Kuna lol

And oh if you could see the way Sukuna is guffawing and huffing at his screen, slamming his laptop shut as you call him the nickname he doesn’t want anyone to know. Yet here you are, barging into his life on all fronts and learning more about him than he wants.

The way his heart stutters, it actually stutters when he sees his inbox go up by a notification because he just knows it’s you and fuck why is it actually cute when you use that nickname?

Sukuna rubs a hand over his face and pulls his comforter up over his shoulder, sinking into the plush of his mattress as he tries to get some rest before his shift the next morning. He’ll deal with his other issues later.

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❦ a/n ; hello!! thank you so much for reading i've been having an absolute blast with this. i've been working on this for a long time and it was initially intended to be about 25k, but after working on it for a month straight it hit that pretty quickly and i'm nowhere near done. aaaanyways, thanks for all the love and support and as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 20

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

a/n: part 2, aka the continuation is now in process. warning for newcomers: this is a yandere story with dark (non-con, violence) themes. read on with caution. this story does not romanticise either concept.

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • < previous chapter • next chapter >

20. Promise

[3 months later]

You have never been one for goodbyes, but life as it had turned out, had already forced you to do so not once, but twice already.

The first time was voluntary; when you had left your sleepy hometown and the long-haunting corrupt influence far behind. It seemed like such a good decision back then, when you at long last, had obtained that prized referral to work at one of the country’s most prestigious Jujutsu institutions. It almost seemed too good to be true, and maybe that’s because it was, because, just like everything else in your life—all of the highs had to come down—inviting the lows to linger, to fester, to… rot.

The second time wasn’t by your own choice, however, but something far, far worse. If you were being honest, you couldn’t have made sense of your situation if you tried. Forced to flee from Tokyo following an obsession that went too far, the ever-lasting consequences of summer had consumed your life to the point where you were once again left a victim of an unrequited influence out of your control.

You’ve had plenty of time to think about just how exactly it all went wrong, too, and just for a while, you were happy to appoint the self-blame. In a twisted sense, you believed that it was your fault for trying to naively infiltrate a jaded world with such fresh hope. Maybe it was wrong of you to have dreamt of a better life; maybe you should never have tried with Jujutsu to begin with. Perhaps you should have taught the ordinary future generations of today because, it wasn’t like they didn’t matter, too. They were more responsible for future cursed energy than they even knew.

…But then again, how were you supposed to know that you were going to be so entangled between… them?

It wasn’t as though you set out to ruin your own life, after all. It was out of your control from the very second you let your guard down—from the moment that you placed your trust in the two people you shouldn’t have. That couldn’t have been on you, though. Surely not.

You did suppose, however, that in some sort of twisted sense, that your return to the city (albeit against your will) could have been considered a reunion of sorts when you were met with those chilling blue eyes once more. What was once a calm blue sea guiding the way now turned out to be a violent storm—its waves dragging you into the murky depths, anchoring you within it—but not quite letting you drown, at least not yet. You instead were trapped. Imprisoned in a floating limbo, forced to endure whatever… this… all was. It was humiliating, perhaps even insulting and you berated yourself mentally every single passing day for not fighting back against Satoru fucking Gojo when he confronted you back in Osaka, but then again, that same pressing question begged your rationality once more; how exactly were you ever supposed to go against someone like him to begin with?

Someone like him, who had the entire world of Jujutsu wrapped right around his finger.

As bleak as it all sounded, as harsh as the reality reigned true; you never had a chance to begin with, did you? Whether you ran away or stayed behind—it would have likely gone this way, because… after a summer of getting to know him, you of all people knew the truth (from learning it the hard way), that Satoru Gojo always got what he wanted.

You sighed as your eyes rolled back to glare at the fluorescent-lit ceiling, the pale flickering glow straining against your eyes. It was almost comedic with how dramatically it all came undone, like it was some sort of sick joke and you were the unsuspecting punchline right at the very end. Tokyo was supposed to be your fresh start away from the monotonous flow of small-town politics and its corrupt influence, so why on earth did it follow you here, too? You did everything right, after all, you studied hard and you persevered, you earned your place in the world, and just as it all finally began to fall into place… it unraveled. It was truly as though the string that you delicately wove through the passage of life was on its last thread, destined to snap from the moment it all connected.

(There was never a chance. There was always something in the way.)

You sat up, trying to avoid the light only to catch a flash of it reflected in the sleek black tiled floors. Closing your eyes in frustration, you tried to think back to the good times. You did suppose that the city was technically everything you had otherwise fantasised it to be; loud, noisy, and bustling with endless life. It was a far cry from the watchful and prying eyes of your quaint town. There was something… special about Tokyo because you were able to simply just… disappear, as one fleeting face of many, a living ghost blurring in and out of the crowd as you had pleased, free at last.

For it to have been taken away just from the introduction of three people, was almost hilarious. It was funny how that all worked. Just three people. Three.

Shoko, bless her heart, was your first real friend who guided you into the person that you desperately yearned to be. Someone both caring yet unrestricted from the confines of a sheltered former adolescence and then, guiding you into the further depths of it all, was… them.

Ah, Suguru Geto. If only you knew, huh? You laid back down with your head now slightly throbbing with a faint aura; the beginning of a migraine. These damned lights. So brooding and mysterious he was—it was a shame that he had to turn out the way that he did—a nightmare disguised as a dream. Was it your fault for admiring him from a distance initially? Did you somehow fall victim to some sort of manipulative act, when you found his calm, almost contemplative personality to be a comfort? His suffocating presence wasn’t something you could quite predict, after all, so possessive and longing, yet somehow subtly so. To have eluded the perceptive gaze of Shoko and even Satoru was almost impressive, but unsurprising because even he managed to fool you at times. Oh, how crazy he made you feel, even for just doubting him at all.

Then there was Satoru Gojo. Ah, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru… Oh, so ever loud and energetic, Satoru… Truth be told, you found him overwhelming at first, but there was a certain quality of his that drew you in. He was good at both carrying the conversation as well as involving you within it, making you feel special when the attention landed on you for just a second and dare you say, even… validated. Just like Suguru however, he couldn’t keep up the act for very long, though, even if he did crumble last. In some ways, he was the most volatile one out of both of them, because beyond that playful facade that he let on, was something else that bubbled and simmered beneath the surface. It was hard to tell at times, but it was certainly there.

Something that wasn’t quite calm, but maybe tender. Something that was… vulnerable and whatever it was, it made him dangerous to be around.

So in the end, if you had to truly reflect, then maybe it was all three of you that were at fault.

All three of you were that were victims of losing yourself in an attempt to look for something meaningful in that endless, unforgiving city. All three of you were subjected to the quickly fleeting addiction that you could never quite hold onto, of being both seen and understood. It was no wonder that you opened up too quickly and too soon, slipping on that pair of rose-tinted glasses longer than you should have. Maybe if you took them off when you had the chance, then you too, could have been yet another passing soul in and out of their lives, but you weren’t.

You got attached and so did they, and now, for a lack of better words, it wasn’t just your life that was ruined, but theirs too. All together, the three of you floated around in an unending, aimless drift, leaving Shoko to pick up the pieces (as usual).

The migraine faded and never thankfully developed, but you still grimaced at the light that flickered all the same. He was home, but not close just yet. All of those riches that lined his pockets and he couldn’t afford to screw in a better bulb for the lights or at least opt for something warmer and less clinical. You wanted to punch that light, to let it shatter and paint the room in a much-needed night, but you couldn’t. So instead, you were illuminated and exposed, plunged into the spotlight, forced to look at the pretty little cell he had confined you to.

Such continuous misery left you wondering if your life could have been… maybe… better if you followed Suguru. In a way, you missed his pretty lies because he at least tried to offer you comfort and see you for who you truly were, but he also hurt you, so you couldn’t forgive him. Twice. He hurt you twice and yet, your mind still drifted to him at times. Why? You couldn’t make sense of it—of him—of the very same man who despite forcing you to bury your past behind and move on—surely had an issue with never letting you go, with never letting anything that ever happened to you… go.

Did this therefore make Satoru better or worse? You didn’t even know anymore. They were both equal runner-ups for the worst human being, that much was for certain. Suguru may have been involved from the start, but he was nothing like Satoru, who was always watching right from the start, more closely than you, or anyone else had ever known. Those burning blue eyes so focused yet serene, locked on you in a way that almost felt invasive. If Suguru was the storm, then Satoru must have been the cataclysm itself.

Devastating. Consequential. Unforgiving.

Indeed, you were never free.

All of the hope, all of the dreams—everything else that fell in between—none of it was ever real.

The only thing that had ever remained consistent throughout this whole experience was the part where Satoru told you that he would never, ever let you go.

The lights above you were now starting to buzz and crackle, fading in and out with every muffled thud. He was approaching. Suddenly, you regretted spending so much time reflecting on the aftermath of your life yet again, knowing that you had spent yet another day moping around, thinking of them, of him… knowing fully well that you were never truly alone.

Satoru would reunite with you every night, on clockwork, never late and always on time.

His voice was calm, always welcoming yet never inviting. You always found yourself flinching as he greeted you, wanting nothing more than to be left alone for the night. Just one night was all you asked him for—it was all you begged for at one point—for him to not talk to you, for him to not… touch you. A single night was all that you asked for, a break from having to play pretend.

“Ah, [name],” Satoru cooed, lowering an unwinding staircase that revealed a mocking glimpse of the room just above. A faint reminder of just how close the surface was, yet so inaccessible. The entrance operated on a motor, using some sort of secret code. There was a dial pad inside of the basement he kept you in as a failsafe just in case it locked him in, but try as you might to crack the code, you never guessed it right and every time you failed, it sent an alert to him. “You haven’t moved an inch from where I left you last! Didn’t I tell you about the importance of needing to stretch, even if it’s just for a minute or two a day?”

“Please just let me go,” you croaked out weakly, knowing that he wasn’t going to oblige, let alone even humour you.

Predictably ignoring your request, he walked over to you, setting down a plain white plastic bag right where you lay, strategically positioning it so that you could spot your favourite snacks and drinks poking out.

“It’s been a hell of a long day, you know,” he continued, adopting a softer tone that almost sounded hopeful, “did you miss me?”

You closed your eyes in an attempt to block him out. “You already know the answer to that one, don’t you?”

Satoru snorted a half-laugh, seeming annoyed but also amused. “You’ll have to admit it one day, [name],” he reminded, “the sooner you learn to… adapt, the sooner it’ll start to look up for you, and maybe, just maybe…” he trailed off, letting the beginning of a promise hang, “I’ll let you see your friends again, maybe I’d even let you see… him,” he paused as he said that last word, his composed demeanour ever so slightly faltering at the indirect mention of Suguru, “so, what do you say?”

You repeated the same answer you always did, “Never, Gojo,” you sighed, already expecting the worst as he took up the free seat next to you on the sofa, settling right where your head lay.

You felt a cold shocking jolt run through your body as his cold hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to meet with his longing yet intense stare. He would do such a thing on occasion, hoping that you would return even a hint of the way you once looked at Suguru before, and yet you didn’t. In your eyes, there was resentment but also, if he looked hard enough, fear.

“What have I told you about being so formal, huh?” he murmured, scoffing a little, “we’ve been over this, you’ll call me Satoru and we’re… we’re going to make this work,” he reminded you, trying to maintain his composure, “I’m not letting you go either way, so you’re going to have to drop that at some point, because like it or not, it’s not up to you how it all goes… it never has been.���

You blinked, unable to reply.

Satoru’s eyes softened for a moment, revealing a hint of internally conflicting vulnerability, maybe even traces of guilt glinting in his stare. “We’ll play pretend for as long as we have to, yeah? We’ll make all of it feel real one day.”

His words cut sharp even if it was just a reminder of something you already knew, that there was some sort of unseen force meddling in the sidelines of your life, forcing you to endure whatever life had in store for you, even if it meant pretending that it was all okay.

One thing did bother you, though.

A question that you looped over and over in the back of your mind and yet you never did dare ask him, as if afraid to hear the answer.

If he was simply fulfilling his promise to never let you go…

…Then why was he punishing you for being here?

[ladykailitha]

The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 11

Welp.

Fuck.

Good news for you guys, bad new for me. I accidentally labeled two chapters as Chapter 12. There AREN'T thirteen chapters. There are FOURTEEN.

So I'll figure out when to post the extra chapter. But in the meantime:

Enjoy Eddie giving the denouement. Like that's it. That's whole chapter.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

~

Eddie called everyone into the club. Billy Hargrove, Heather Holloway, Nancy Wheeler, Jason Carver, Wayne and all his crew. The only one that wasn’t there was his ace in the hole.

“Thank you all for coming,” Eddie said, sitting on the edge of the stage while everyone sat around in the tables.

Hilariously Nancy and Jason sat as far apart from Billy as possible. What was even more hilarious was that Billy, Stella, and Heather formed a weird triangle trying to keep their distance without looking like it was deliberate.

“Just so everyone is aware,” he said with a grin. “Everything is be recorded, audio and visual.” He pointed to the cameras.

Nancy frowned, but merely crossed her arms and said nothing.

“These past couple of months have been the hardest the club has ever faced,” he began, “in all its history of being opened. And everyone just kept telling me it was bad luck. That bad news comes in waves and that we would ride this out same as always. But it all felt so contrived and I could not figure out why.”

“The absolute arrogance!” Jason huffed. “Thinking you know better than God!”

“Oh honey,” Eddie purred. “I’d have to believe in him to think that. Which I don’t, so shut it. “

Jason grumbled, but wisely settled down.

“Everyone also seemed to think this all started with the arrival of Steve,” he said, causing Steve to flush in embarrassment. “But Steve only got hired because I needed a new Envy.”

“Which I still think is bullshit,” Billy huffed. “What I do off the clock is none of your God damned business.”

Eddie shrugged. “And normally I would agree with you, Billy but you add in it was the mayor’s daughter and I wasn’t going to court legal trouble. But somehow I did anyway. So why?”

Everyone looked around at each other, trying to suss out who was to blame.

“You see I was missing a piece of the puzzle,” Eddie said, leaping off the stage to his feet. “And hooboy, did I get it when I talked to Jonathan Byers.”

Nancy’s head shot up, her jaw slack and her eyes wide. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this gibberish.” She got to her feet and grabbed her purse.

“What’s matter, Nancy?” Steve said, sidling up Eddie. “Don’t you want to hear how Eddie figured out your scheme?”

Her head snapped around. “There is no scheme it’s all in the deluded mind of the this deranged individual. I will not be part of this.”

“You’re fianceé will probably get arrested,” Eddie said with a half shrug. “For her part in the scheme.”

Nancy turned around slowly. “I’m dating Jonathan. You just said my fianceé was female. A her.”

Jonathan came out from backstage. “That’s right, I’ve been the other man for years. But it was okay with Heather because she got off on cuckolding with other men, too.”

Everyone gasped as they turned to look at Heather.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she huffed, examining her nails.

“You see,” Eddie said, “it always struck me as odd that she would still have a fiancé after being caught with Billy. But there was never any indication that they had broken up. But when Jonathan had told me about the photography studio I got it. Steve wasn’t supposed have been involved at all. It was an accident and one that sent Nancy scrambling.”

He started walking around the room pointing out all the players. “Billy got played as much as Jonathan did. I’m not sure how Nancy got to Stella, but Stella was supposed to target whoever it was that I hired to replace Billy.”

“For all your talk of equals,” Stella spat, “the men still out numbered us women two to one. All she had to do was ask, though she paid me too. I didn’t realize that she was planned on shutting the place down. I thought she was trying to get you to sell it.”

“Then go to a different strip joint,” Eddie said rolling his eyes. “Oh wait... it’s because I actually pay my strippers. Do you really think that the new owners would be as generous?”

She gave little half shrug with a moue. “It would have been if I bought it.”

Everyone gasped again.

“Go to hell, Stella,” Bakir hissed. Bakir was an immigrant and his English wasn’t very good. “Would be horrible boss.”

“Fucking hell,” Scott agreed. “I’d take Eddie over anyone willing to hurt people for money.”

Danny raised her hand. “Which brings up an interesting point, what does Nancy get out of this?”

Eddie grinned and snapped his fingers at her. “I was thinking the same thing. What does Nancy Wheeler get out of shutting down these businesses? And the answer is a world-wide exclusive to the story. I think she got this high off getting the lab shut down when she was in high school that she had to keep chasing. That same high serial killers get.”

“So what did start all this?” Steve asked from the table he shared with Scott and Robin.

“Jason Carver,” Eddie said smugly. “When Chrissy broke up with him, he became enraged. He had known that Nancy had done exposés before and brought her to one of the Sin nights. She didn’t agree to it until she heard that it was one of the places Jonathan cleaned on occasion.”

Jason’s head whipped around to face her. “This wasn’t enough on its own?” he huffed waving wildly at the poles on the stage.

“No,” Eddie said shaking his head with a huff. “She had to control Jonathan because if he got wind of her schemes he would leave her for good.”

“Damn right,” Jonathan snarled. “And this is me breaking up with you Nancy.”

“You don’t know what you are doing Jonathan,” Nancy purred. “I’m trying to save your soul. Or I could tell Mommy all about how you took pictures of me while I was undressing. A sweet, underaged girl.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

Jonathan began laughing. “That? That’s what you’ve been holding over my head all this time? I told my mom about that when I got into a fight with your then boyfriend and the cops got called. Fuck you.”

She snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. Her hold on him well and truly gone.

“Back to the scheme,” Eddie said landing at Heather’s table. “The first thing she did was find out the weak parts of my operation. She must have overheard me telling Jeff, that a political scandal would be grounds for instant termination.”

Nancy shrugged. “That alleyway is so easy to hide in, you really should get that checked.” She winked at him.

“Then she deployed her fianceé,” Eddie continued clicking his tongue against his teeth, “to find an easy mark to get into bed with. Immediately she zeroed in on Billy. Loud, obnoxious, and egotistical. He was perfect.”

“Fuck you,” Billy huffed. “No one made me do anything!”

Eddie chuckled. “Too easy, honestly. It’s honestly the one fault I find in your plan, you could have chosen someone a little more difficult.” He held up his thumb and forefinger close together.

“But I digress.” He held up his hands. “Billy would get caught with Heather, by Nancy, a part left out the papers because she has friends in high places in those publications.”

Again Nancy looked smug.

“You won’t be so smug when Eddie gets through with you,” Steve said shaking his head. “Where are your denials now?”

“Why deny any of it?” she asked with a laugh. ���He’s painting me to be some evil genius, that’s quite the accomplishment.”

“Don’t worry, I’m just getting started,” Eddie assured her, walking over to where Stella sat with Danny and Levi. “This is where she tripped up. Stella was supposed to keep escalating the attacks on the new dancer until they got seriously hurt or they quit. Only they weren’t counting on Steve. Steve whom, if Nancy let get hurt like that would seriously damage her reputation. So tried everything she could to dislodge him herself. But Steve was already entrenched into the club’s culture. So she had to show her hand early so that Stella would be forced to stop the attacks against him.”

“I knew it was a risk,” Nancy admitted with a shrug. “I thought I could appeal to his better nature and our friendship, but he likes stripping.”

Steve laughed. “Hell yeah, I do. It’s good money and better company.”

Nancy rolled her eyes.

“But then it really unraveled,” Eddie said with a grin, “when Jonathan spotted Steve coming out of the dressing room after his lap dance and asked for help. He wanted to know Steve knew of any place that would be willing to take him on full time.”

“When I found out she was willing to help Steve get a job,” Jonathan spat, “but was constantly undermining my ability to even hold a job, I was willing to take anything Steve could help me get so I could get out from under her thumb.”

“Then I met with him,” he continued. “I found him to be genuine and hardworking. His foreman spoke highly of him and all I needed to know was what position he would take. So everyone I would you like you to meet Jonathan Byers, the new chef’s assistant under Monty.”

All the crew of Hellfire clapped except Stella, Levi and Danny.

“And I would like to introduce you to our three new dancers,” Eddie finished with a wink. “Micaella Dimitriou, Kyle White, and Mason Clark. After all Levi, Danny, and Stella are under arrest now.”

“What?!” Danny squawked, leaping to her feet as cops swarmed the club.

Immediately Heather started crying about how she was tricked into all this and how much of a victim she was. All while Nancy screamed about how much of a bitch she was and how she never loved her.

In the end, Jason, Heather, Nancy, Stella, Levi, and Danny were all carted away for varying offenses.

Eddie dusted his hands off. “Right now that garbage has been cleaned out, I am announcing that we are closing the club for two we–”

A roar of outrage erupted from the rest of the crew.

He held up his hands. “Just for two weeks and you’ll get paid based on the average from last year. We are going to be doing some remodeling and it will allow the new dancers time learn their roles.”

There was some murmuring, but that was fair enough.

“Micaella will be in Megera,” Eddie said, “the Fury of ancient Greece. Mason as Set, the Egyptian god of chaos, and Kyle as Kimaris, marquis of hell.”

That got a lot more cheers and excitement.

“Megera will be taking over as Wrath,” Eddie said. “But this time I did give anyone the chance the audition for it.”

Scott snickered. “I still don’t know how you kept it from those three, it was brilliant seeing their shocked Pikachu faces.”

“Oh!” Eddie said with a shy smile. “That was easy. I didn’t tell anyone it was to replace them except for a couple of close confidants.” He shrugged. “I even had them come in, told them it was for a new routine.”

Gareth raised his hand. “He didn’t tell me. Probably because I would have blabbed it all over the place.”

“He didn’t tell me either,” Chrissy said, “I think he wanted me to have plausible deniability if Stella came after me. Which she had shown in the past she was willing to do.”

“Right in one,” Eddie said snapping his fingers at her with a fond smile. “I only told Wayne, Steve, and Scott.”

Jonathan tilted his head to the side. “Why those three?”

Eddie started counting off on his fingers. “Wayne and Scott because they were going to be helping me hire. And Steve because he figured it out on his own. Didn’t you, beautiful?”

“The dance he was having us learn was very...” Steve said with a blush, “angry?” He snapped his fingers. “Fierce! That’s the word. I also knew that Billy had be conspiring with Stella, so I figured that Eddie was going to replace her.”

“Fair enough,” Chrissy said. “So what are all the changes that are being made?”

Eddie launched into getting new tables and chairs, a new stage, a better sound equipment and eventually a new wing, but that would take longer than the two weeks he was willing to be closed. He explained that they would continue to work at night, while the construction crew worked during the day.

“Then to celebrate the new opening,” he said, “we’ll finally do the fairy tale night!”

Then the cheer really did go up. They had been wanting to do that for ages. They had their costumes and had the dances down, but first Chrissy hurt her ankle and then this shit came up and it was past time for them to do it.

Eddie giggled. “Is this why detectives do this shit? Because holy hell was that a rush!”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @gloomysoup

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @garden-of-gay

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @novelnovella @micheledawn1975

[yongility]

NEO TV # I LIKE ME BETTER WHEN I'M WITH YOU. (jaehyun x reader) 6/?

genre: angst, suggestive, gang au, rich kid au, enemies to lovers (kinda), a lil of fluffy stuff. slowburn, series.

warnings: drug use mentions, gangs, fights, use of weapons, adult language, illegal activities, cheating (not on the main couple), toxic family environment, addictions, manipulation, insecurities, illegal street racing, death mentions. jeno is jaehyun's younger brother, angst, smut and if I slip something my bad haha.

word count: +10k?

a/n: im the worst I KNOW! It's just i kept trying to write this chapter like a million times and it never ended like I wanted to and seeing as I have a language barrier (cuz English isn't my first language if u didn't know haha) I was just being unsatisfied with the chapter, but I force my ass to sit down and write this down so i hope u like it!

Sigh...

Overthinking.

(Y/N) had never been good at not thinking too much. Ever since she was little, she always found herself trapped in her own mind, unraveling every last detail of any situation. Perhaps it came from her mother, who had an almost supernatural ability to turn the smallest into the biggest, the most trivial into something monumental. Her mother sowed doubts where there were none, and every little imperfection became a tragedy in her house. That had marked her way of being, of perceiving the world and, especially, the people around her.

She hated it. But, despite everything, she couldn't help it.

Lying on the bed, her eyes fixed on the white ceiling, she felt how the silence enveloped her, how it pressed on her shoulders, on her chest. A heavy, unbearable silence, like a blanket that drowned her. The thoughts did not cease, on the contrary, they intensified as time progressed, dragging her more and more towards the storm raging inside her.

Five days. Five long and exasperating days.

Since the last time she saw Jaehyun. The last time he'd been at her house at one in the morning, when everything had been so... strange. So full of heavy silences, elusive looks, and something on his face, something she couldn't explain. A look she had never seen before. As if it was charged with something, with a desperation so great that he didn't know how to share it. Something that was far beyond the tension of her argument with Mark Lee. Something dark, hidden in the depths of Jaehyun, that she couldn't quite grasp.

Worst of all, now, five days later, she knew nothing about him. The unanswered calls, the messages delivered but not read. She had tried to contact him so many times, but the frustration was just overflowing her.

What was going on? The uncertainty was worse than any answer she could receive. In her mind, questions swirled like a whirlwind. Was she the cause? Had she done something that had driven him away from her? Why had he left so abruptly after their encounter?

She remembered that night. That last shared moment. It had been so... intense. So close, so intimate. An instant of shared vulnerability that had allowed her to feel that, at last, she was connecting with him in a deeper way. But then he was gone. Without a word. Without a word, without a gesture to indicate that something else might be behind his departure.

Jaehyun's words kept echoing in her mind, over and over again. "You're the one that can keep me on track."

Those words stuck to her skin like an invisible mark. What did they really mean? Was it true what he had said? Was she the one who could keep him focused? She wanted to believe it, wanted to be that person for him. But deep down, a fear was creeping in. Was she just being a distraction for him? Was she simply the release valve, the temporary relief for the anguish he was feeling, only so that later he could lose himself in his own pain again?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She was confused, she didn't know what to do or what not to do. Should she go find him at Neo Zone? Or just wait for him to decide to show up? But, if Jaehyun decided not to... then what would she do?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of knocking on the door brought her out of her whirlwind of thoughts. She looked toward the door without moving a muscle, throat tight, stomach twisting. The last thing she wanted was to confront her mother, but the knock was persistent, as if someone had decided to break the silence of her room and force an interaction she didn't want.

But, despite the heaviness she felt inside, she got up. A slow, weary movement, as if she were walking through thick water. When she opened the door, she did not find what she expected, neither her mother, nor the inevitable argument. Instead, there he was.

"Daeho..." she murmured, her voice muffled, as if somehow his presence gave her back something she had lost in those days of constant overthinking.

It really had been a long time since they had last met face to face and to say it wasn't a surprise to her would be a total lie.

"Hey," he said, with a smile that didn't quite light up his face. "Can we just... hang?" he asked, scratching the back of his head as if it were weighing on him.

She nodded without another word, stepping aside for him to pass. As soon as he was through the door, Daeho plopped down on his bed unceremoniously, and (Y/N) mimicked him, lying down next to him quietly. They both stared at the ceiling, engulfed in the same silence that had filled their room before his arrival, though it felt somewhat less empty now.

It had been so long since they had shared a moment like this, a moment of simple companionship. She remembered the years when he had been her best friend, her inseparable companion, the only person she truly trusted within the family. But now, lying next to him, she felt as if she had a stranger by her side, someone who, despite all the shared memories, had fallen into a darkness from which she could no longer rescue him.

Daeho broke the silence, his voice soft but laden with an almost tangible weight. "How have you been?"

"I could be better," she replied, with a sincerity he understood without the need for details. He nodded, without looking at her, and went back to losing himself in the ceiling.

(Y/N) gaze strayed to him, and for the first time in a long time, she looked at him closely. His face seemed to have aged years in just a few months. His skin, paler than usual, was dotted with small imperfections that he once cared for with care. The dark circles under her eyes were deep, and her expression had an air of resignation that hurt to see. He sighed, swallowing the lump he felt in his throat.

It was ironic. The person she had grown up with, with whom she had shared so much, now felt like a stranger. She couldn't remember the exact moment when their friendship had changed, or how they got to this point. It had all happened so subtly, as if the words and gestures that had once bound them together had now lost their power. Perhaps time had eroded all that. Or maybe they simply didn't understand each other in the same way anymore.

A pang of pain shot through her. It wasn't just sadness she felt at seeing him like this, but also a pent-up rage, a helplessness that made her want to scream, to wonder at what point he had reached this point. How had he fallen so low?

Perhaps that moment had been from two years ago, when things had become a little darker in her family environment. When her aunt and uncle seemed unable to stop hurting his self-esteem again and again and again. Maybe it was since that gala when all eyes were on him, judging him, laughing at him, stalking him, waiting for him to make a simple mistake so they could point at him.

So they could tell him that he was not worthy of everything he had around him.

That he couldn't be as good as his father was.

That he was a mere spoiled child who deserved nothing.

Perhaps that was when it dawned on Daeho that he could never live up to the expectations he had to fill.

"Daeho..." she whispered, unable to keep the thought to herself alone. There was something heartbreaking about seeing how her cousin was losing himself, something that reached straight to her heart.

He closed his eyes, as if he knew what was coming, and remained silent, as if everything was in order.

"Why did we end up like this?" the question left his lips without meaning to. And as she uttered it, she felt a surge of pain run through her, as if that simple phrase was a reminder of how far away they were from each other.

Daeho closed his eyes for a few moments, as if trying to find an answer. Finally, he spoke, his voice muffled and distant.

"It's the only time I forget," he said, staring at the ceiling, not daring to look her in the eye. "When I do it, it's like I can stop thinking about everything."

"You're not forgetting," she asserted, "you're destroying yourself."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I don't think I'm doing it any more than they're destroying me," he said, his words hitting her with the force of a fist.

Silence filled the room again. She wanted to react, to scream at him, to convince him that he couldn't go on like this, but the words stuck in her throat. How to tell him that she could see him falling and could do nothing to stop it? How to make him understand that he was killing a part of himself?

"I can't keep watching you destroy yourself," he said at last, his voice trembling.

Daeho fell silent, and she felt a tide of memories rise up inside her. She remembered the years they had shared, the times when he was her refuge and she his, the days when nothing could separate them. Daeho had been more than a cousin; he had been her confidant, her best friend. To see him like this, consumed by something she could neither understand nor control, broke her heart.

"You don't have to," he replied softly, but the intensity of his words hit her hard.

(Y/N) wanted to laugh, a bitter, hurt laugh, but instead, she felt the lump in her throat grow larger.

"You said you'd quit it," she reminded him, almost in a sob.

Daeho turned his head toward her, and their eyes met for the first time that night. The look on his face was so devastated that she (Y/N) wished he hadn't looked at her.

"I can't," he admitted, his voice tinged with desperate honesty. "I've tried so many times, and each time...each time I realize I don't want to give it up. I know it's not what you want to hear, but...I'm in too deep. I don't know how to get out, even if I wanted to."

(Y/N) felt the pain in her chest become almost tangible. Seeing him like this, hearing those words, hurt in a way she could never have imagined.

"Why do things have to be like this?" she asked, feeling a lone tear fall down her cheek.

Daeho sighed, a long, exhausted sigh, and hid answer was so raw it seemed ripped from deep within him. "It's what I chose," he murmured. "It may not have been the best decision, but at least it was mine. It's the only thing I really decided for myself...without someone else telling me what to do, who to be. Even if it was for the worse."

She wanted to understand, wanted to see in his words something that would give her comfort, but she couldn't. She couldn't accept that someone who had once been so important to her had been lost like that.

"Don't let it drag you down," he said suddenly, his voice becoming firm. "I made my choices, (Y/N). But you...you have a life you can still build. I'm already too deep, but you...you have a lot ahead of you."

(Y/N) felt a mixture of anger and pain. She couldn't believe he was capable of telling her that, after all.

"You shouldn't keep seeing Jung Jaehyun," he added, in such a serious tone that it took her by surprise.

She looked at him, incredulous, the pain transforming into icy fury. "Get out of my room," he said, pointing to the door.

Daeho nodded, though not without a final sigh of resignation. "I just needed to tell you."

"Just go," she murmured, turning away from him.

He walked out quietly, leaving her in that loneliness that now seemed so much deeper, with the echo of his words echoing in the empty room.

Jaehyun knew it had been a chain of bad decisions and circumstances that had pushed him this far, but facing it was like tearing his skin off. He couldn't deny the truth: he hated everything around him, and he hated himself more than anyone else. His life, a maelstrom of regrets, had dragged him to this point, and try as he might, he could not escape that bitter mix of rage and hopelessness. Sometimes, in his darkest nights, he wished that everything would vanish into emptiness, that the weight of existing would finally disappear.

He wanted, with every fiber of his being, to close that circle.

"Ah, Jaehyun, always a pleasure to see you," Sooman said, leaning back in his chair with an icy, calculating smile, interlocking his hands with the false familiarity of one who controls the board.

Jaehyun felt the poison burn inside him. Disgust twisted his stomach, and that sneering smile of Sooman's only made his insides boil even more. He loathed the man with an intensity he could almost taste on his tongue. He faked a strained smile.

"I could say the same."

Fake it till you make it.

The thought passed fleetingly, and he tried to cling to it, but the hatred ate him.

"The last time we saw each other wasn't very pleasant," Sooman commented, dropping even more comfortably into his chair, as if enjoying the memory. Jaehyun's jaw immediately tensed. The memories of the beatings were still etched on his skin, and in his memory. Pain. Anger. Shame. All jumbled into a poisonous tangle. "That's why I want to make it up to you with a job."

Jaehyun could barely process that he was sitting there, across from Lee Sooman, listening to his offer, swallowing his disgust. He had heard everything Mark Lee had confessed, every word about the dark side of his boss that seemed to have no end. Deep down, all Jaehyun wanted was to make him pay, to see him suffer as he had seen his father, his Uncle Dong, Winwin suffer. Each of them had felt Sooman's merciless fist in their lives, and he was the last piece to fall.

Everything in him screamed to break the balance, to let the anger out. He wanted peace, but at the same time, he wanted to destroy everything.

The tension in Jaehyun's body increased. Make it up to him? The word felt like a taunt, but his voice was controlled, cold.

"What's this about?" asked Jaehyun, exhaling a sigh, as if by releasing the air he could release some of the weight in his chest.

Sooman smiled, with twisted satisfaction, and pulled his chair closer to the desk. "You see, in three weeks I have a trade. Trouble is, I don't want to, nor do I plan to, do it alone. I could take Cheol Uk with me, but I'd rather have him stay here, on this side of the pond...in case things get complicated," he explained, crossing his arms with the arrogant assurance of one who knows he controls all the strings. "And I think you'd be perfect company."

"What kind of exchange?" asked Jaehyun, though deep down he already sensed the answer.

"Weapons."

The shock of that word fell on him like a brick, a weight he couldn't shake. Jaehyun felt his body stiffen. He'd been in dangerous situations before, he'd played with fire and survived, he was a dealer in Neo Zone. But he knew that accepting that would mean crossing an invisible and final line. He would be transformed into someone even more embroiled in the chaos of the gang, with his hands stained with something he could never wash off.

It was hard to resist, but it was just as hard to accept.

"It'll be quick," Sooman continued, studying Jaehyun's every gesture like a predator watching its prey. "Just outside the city. If all goes well, it won't take more than an hour." he noticed the tension in Jaehyun's gaze, the hesitation he was struggling to keep hidden, and leaned toward him slightly. "I'm asking you because I trust you."

The words fell like a taunt. Jaehyun felt his blood boil, how his skin almost throbbed from pent up rage. His right hand clenched into a fist on his leg, trying to restrain the urge to get up and smash something, anything that would allow him to release what was burning inside him. How dare Sooman speak of trust, to pretend there was anything sincere between them? After all the damage he had sown around him?

But what choice did he have left? Deep down, Sooman's control was absolute.

"What's the pay?"

"Enough to cover six months of your friend's rehab," Sooman replied, his eyes locking on Jaehyun's, pressing right where he knew it hurt.

The mention of rehab was the final piece that fell, sealing his fate. Above all else, he needed the money. Above all else, there was someone else needing to get out of hell, and he couldn't let it drop. He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing the pain that mingled with anger and despair.

"I'll do it."

"I knew you wouldn't fail me," Sooman replied, satisfied, with a smile that seemed tainted with venom. "You are just like your father. My trust is in you, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun nodded, feeling the knot in his chest tighten, choking him.

Fake it till you make it.

Roll on, light it up, inhale, exhale.

Roll on, inhale, exhale.

Inhale... exhale.

Inhale.

One, two... three.

Exhale.

Jaehyun coughed loudly as he passed the joint to Lucas, who with shrunken, red eyes took it in his hands without hesitation, taking a puff to hold the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds and slowly draw it out.

In front of them was the panoramic view of SM City, the prominent lights of the northern area made the southern area look small, even though from a distance they didn't seem to be so far apart... so different.

If only that were the case.

"You know you don't have to do it," Lucas muttered, exhaling one last puff of smoke before dropping the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with the toe of his shoe. His gaze, fixed on the ground, hid the trace of worry in his eyes.

Jaehyun continued to stare at the lights of the city, each bright spot fading into the distance, like the possibilities he once had and now seemed to be extinguished. His voice came out almost as a whisper, broken and strained. "It's six months of treatment, Lucas. "Winwin... Winwin has started to move his hand. It's a little acomplishment, I know. But it's a step, and I can't... I can't let that stop now." Each word was an effort, a confession that, deep down, that small breakthrough gave him a hope that felt forbidden in his life.

Lucas was silent for a few seconds, watching Jaehyun's profile, his rigid posture and the shadow of weariness in his gaze. "I thought you didn't want to do anything related to Sooman."

Jaehyun swallowed saliva. He thought so too. He had tried to escape Sooman's influence, that world that brought only destruction, but reality always caught up with him. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and sketched a bitter smile, one that barely disguised the lump forming in his throat.

"I thought so too, but you and Mark have said so, haven't you? If I try to do anything about it, not a week goes by before I'm found with a bullet in my head." His voice cracked in bitterness. "Tell me, what other choice do I have?"

Lucas let out a deep sigh, as if searching for the words amidst a cloud of dark thoughts. Then his voice was firm and determined. "I'll do it."

Jaehyun turned his head in surprise and looked directly at him. His eyes, reddened with fatigue and smoke, met his friend's. Then he let out a dry laugh, without a hint of mirth, and patted him on the back.

"Jaehyun." The name left Lucas' lips grimly, stopping him in his tracks. "I know we've said all our lives that the only one who had a chance of getting out of this shit was Winwin...but we know he's not the only one. Maybe I'm not smart enough, but I know you are. You could go to college, get away from all this. You're good at math, you're good at sports... You've got something out there, something worth more than I could ever have." Lucas looked at him with almost desperate seriousness. "Let me make the trade for you. You've got a lot more to lose."

His friend's words hit him like a truth he had tried to ignore. He pondered them silently, letting each one settle in his mind. He appreciated Lucas' attempt, his desperate proposal to sacrifice his own life to protect him, but he knew he could not allow it.

With an effort, he kept his voice steady, even though he felt each word plunging him deeper into his own emptiness. "I appreciate your... nobility, dude. But I will not let you risk your life to save mine. That's not something I can accept."

Lucas exhaled sharply, frustrated. His words came out cutting, in a last-ditch attempt to talk some sense into him. "Do you want to end up like your father, like Uncle Dong?" The mention of both names made Jaehyun tense, his fists clenching tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Jaehyun didn't respond. He turned around and started walking towards his car, trying to stifle the anger and pain boiling inside him. He could hear Luke's footsteps following him, the echoes of his words echoing in his head.

"We know I'll end up like that someday..." he muttered, without turning around. The resignation in his voice was a shock to both him and his friend.

But then, Lucas said something that forced him to stop, "What about (Y/N)?"

The name made his whole body freeze, (Y/N). He could see her in his mind, feel the warmth of her laughter, the twinkle in her eyes. She was the only light in the midst of his darkness, the only memory he dared to cherish in his loneliest moments. Inside him, where no one else could see him, was where he allowed her to exist, a longing he would never dare to confess.

"There is nothing with her." His voice was a harsh whisper, as if in saying it he was tearing out a piece of himself. He didn't even turn, just let it escape into the wind. "There can't be."

"I thought you were having something," Lucas confessed, stepping closer to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at him. "Maybe you can't see it, but anyone would notice. You don't have to say it, Jaehyun. It shows in your eyes every time you talk about her. You want something with her, anything. You're going to risk that by getting more into this shit?" Lucas waved his hand, almost unable to control himself. "We were doing relatively well selling those packages. At least we could pay for Winwin's treatment. But now... Weapons? What will they ask you to do next? Assaults? Robberies?" his voice deepened, and Jaehyun noticed the fear in his eyes. "Kills? Do you think (Y/N) would want to see you in that hell?"

Jaehyun closed his eyes and took a breath. Lucas' words drilled into him, burned inside him, but he couldn't accept them. He couldn't accept a possibility that he knew would end up hurting (Y/N).

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at Lucas directly, with a forced coldness that tried to hide the storm inside him. "And what do you want me to do, Lucas? She doesn't deserve a life like mine. She needs to be away from all this...away from me. I could only drag her into this hole from which there is no way out." The words came out fast, almost angrily, but at the end his voice cracked. "I can't offer her anything, do you understand? Nothing worthwhile."

Lucas lowered his gaze, but his voice still reflected desperation to save him. "But you have something to offer, Jaehyun. Your life. A life that can still go somewhere, that can be something different." She looked at him pleadingly. "Don't make the trade. Don't get yourself into this anymore. You have a way out, even if you don't want to see it."

Jaehyun's decision was like a stone inside him, a sinking certainty, but it was the only thing that gave him stability at the moment. He averted his gaze to the city lights and quietly sealed his fate.

"I have to do it." The determination in his voice was unwavering. "It's already decided."

Lucas watched him silently, with a sadness so deep it was almost palpable. He knew, deep inside him, that he was losing another friend. The night closed in around them and under the stars, as the lights of the city shone in the distance, he knew that, in some sense, he had already lost his friend.

When (Y/N) got out of Jungwoo's car, the roars of the engines echoed in her ears, but despite the noise, her mind was somewhere else, anchored in a memory. The first time she set foot in Neo Zone, it had been a curiosity, an adventure she didn't fully understand. Now, that same place seemed just as intimidating, but different. This time she was not an outsider spectator. This time, she was there for him.

People's gazes were instantly fixed on her. Some with curiosity, others with disdain. The gleam in her eyes was not the same as those of the "normals" around her in her world. No, here the gazes were sharper, like knives, trying to strip her of her essence, her privilege. She felt out of place, and though in some corner of her mind she knew she would never be part of this world, at that moment all she cared about was finding him. Jaehyun.

The lights of the cars reflected the tense and charged atmosphere of the race track, where the local gangs came to show off their cars and gamble more than they should. She knew what she was up against, and if she had learned anything over the past few months, it was that, in that place, the rules were few, but fierce.

So she wasn't surprised when a familiar and unpleasant face emerged from the crowd. Chris, with that sly grin, who always seemed to have a second purpose behind every word.

"Well, look what we have here," he said, his voice laden with derision. "After Johnny's party, I didn't expect you to be one od Jaehyun's toys."

( Y/N) tried to keep her cool, her body rigid and her gaze steady. There was something about that guy that always made her feel small, as if his words were thorns thrown on purpose. But she had no time for games now. She wasn't here to confront Chris, only to find Jaehyun. "Let me through, Chris," she said, her voice cold, firm.

But he didn't let her go so easily. He stepped between her and the pass, and his hand brazenly strayed to her waist. A touch she didn't ask for, a brush she didn't want.

"Oh no, baby," he said, his tone low, like a challenge. "I think you owe me a debt for that punch you gave me, remember?"

( Y/N) she felt irritation bubbling inside her, but she wasn't going to lose her composure. Not here, not now. But she wasn't going to give in either. "Let go of me, or I swear I'll hit you again," she retorted, pushing lightly against his chest, hands firm. It wasn't what she wanted, but it was what she had to do. She wasn't going to let Chris touch her.

Chris laughed, but it wasn't a genuine laugh. It was mocking, calculating, as if he enjoyed the power he thought he had over her. "Can you imagine what Jaehyun will think when he sees me with one of his toys?" The malice in his voice left no room for doubt. He knew what he was doing, and he knew he had something he could use against her.

( Y/N) didn't answer right away. Her gaze wandered, searching through the crowd, and there, like a magnet, she found him. Jaehyun. He was far away, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his presence. And it wasn't just any glimpse, no. She knew she had seen him. His posture was rigid, his face annoyed, his eyes burning with a silent fire.

"Turn around to find out for yourself," Jaehyun said, his deep voice cutting through the air. It was not a suggestion. It was an order, firm, authoritative. At that moment, the threat was clear. "Let her go and get the fuck out of herr if you don't want that fucking smile wiped off your face. Remember, you're in my zone."

Chris hesitated for a second, then let go of (Y/N), as if Jaehyun's presence was a steel wall repelling him. Looking at Jaehyun as if he would challenge him, but knowing that this was not his territory. Jaehyun's area, yes, but not his.

Before walking away, however, he couldn't help but throw one last malice-laden glance towards (Y/N). "Call me when you get tired of him, gorgeous," he said venomously, not caring that his words were only empty provocation.

When Chris finally disappeared into the crowd, (Y/N) didn't hesitate for a second. He walked straight towards Jaehyun, until she was right behind him, the sound of his footsteps drowned out by the bustle of the arena. Feeling his presence so close gave her a strange sense of calm, but also aroused an uneasiness she didn't know how to handle.

Jaehyun turned slowly toward her. His expression was hard to read, but the frustration was evident. As always, he was trying to maintain control, but he couldn't hide the annoyance. In one swift movement, he grabbed her wrist, holding it firmly, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked, anger tinged with palpable discomfort. His tone was low, dangerous. He wasn't saying it out loud for all to hear, but it was as if his words cut through the air between them.

( Y/N) felt a knot in her stomach. The worry, the confusion, the need to explain herself, but also the frustration of knowing that she had no right to be there, that this world was not hers. However, she could not lie. "I was looking for you," she said, without thinking, without fear of what that might mean.

"You weren't answering my calls. I wanted to know how you were..." she confessed, feeling Jaehyun pull her gently through the crowd to get her away from the people.

Finally, after pushing through the sea of people, they found themselves in a quieter corner. Jaehyun let go of her hand and turned to face her.

It was at that moment that he saw the pain reflected in her eyes. The girl, her gaze fixed on him, fiddled nervously with her fingers, as if trying to calm her anxiety.

"(Y/N), I'm fine. You didn't have to come and get into this," he told her in a low voice.

"You could have answered my calls," she demanded, her voice strained. "I didn't know how you were after what happened at my house almost a week ago."

Jaehyun looked her straight in the eye and slowly denied.

"That night I shouldn't have gone to your house."

What...?

"What are you talking about, Jaehyun?" she asked, almost in a whisper, surprised by those words.

Because deep down he knew he was right. That night he shouldn't have crossed that line, shouldn't have sought comfort from her, shouldn't have allowed the girl to sneak into his head and heart like that. He should not have allowed the closeness between them to make him vulnerable.

He shouldn't have thought he deserved something like that.

Because he didn't. He never would.

"Why is it that every time we seem to be moving forward, you decide to pull back?" she asked him, her voice breaking.

"Because there shouldn't be an us, (Y/N)," Jaehyun replied, serious, as if the words hurt him as much as they hurt her. "And you know it."

She tried to process what she had just heard, but her mind was still spinning, entwined with thoughts that wouldn't leave her alone. Coming here, meeting him...it had all been a whirlwind. Her cousin's words that morning still echoed in her mind.

That was not what she had expected to hear from Jaehyun.

"No, Jaehyun. I don't know," she said, frustrated, her eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion and anger. "All I know is that there's something inside me that binds me to you. I always end up looking for something in you, something I don't understand. And the least I understand is that you somehow get close and then walk away like it's nothing."

She moved closer to him and, with a trembling finger, pressed it against his chest, accusingly.

"If I walk away it's because you don't need this life, (Y/N)," he told her, with a painful tenderness in his voice. "I can't give you the life you want."

"I'm not asking you for anything extraordinary, Jaehyun," she replied, almost begging for him to understand. "I'm not asking you for more than what we already are."

Jaehyun looked at her, searching her eyes as if he wanted her to understand something beyond words. With the distance between them so short that their breaths were intertwined, he continued with a sigh.

"But look at me, (Y/N), look at us," he said softly. "I'll never be able to offer you the life you're used to. And I don't want you to get used to mine, because it's not something you deserve." Her voice deepened. "You don't know what it's like to live with necessities, without luxuries. It's not something I can ask you to change or sacrifice for me."

She bit her lower lip, trying to take in what she had just heard.

She was silent for a few seconds, biting her lower lip as her mind tried to process every word Jaehyun had just said. Her chest felt tight, as if his words were a weight on her, an uncomfortable truth that hurt, but one she knew she couldn't ignore.

Jaehyun closed his eyes.

"No, I don't," she finally admitted, looking down at the floor. "I don't know what it's like to live with those hardships..."

Silence fell between them again. The distant murmur of people seemed to grow farther and farther away, as if the world around them was fading away.

"(Y/N), you deserve better than this. Something more... something more stable. I can't be that something for you," Jaehyun said, his voice trembling for an instant.

She realized what he meant. She knew it wasn't just about the material. She knew that what Jaehyun was telling her went beyond external difficulties. He didn't want to be a risk to her, didn't want her life to be dragged down by the uncertainty, by the confusion he himself felt.

"And yet... I can't stop looking for you," she murmured, with a sad, almost defeated smile. "I don't understand what's wrong with me, Jaehyun. I don't understand why everything seems clearer when I'm around you, but then it blurs, it becomes all so confusing."

Jaehyun watched her, unable to find the right words. All he knew was that there was an undeniable connection between them, something even he couldn't explain. But, at the same time, he couldn't deny the fear he felt that this connection would drag them into something neither of them could control.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, his words sounding almost like an apology to himself. "I really am sorry."

She stared at him, as if she expected him to say something else, something that might make sense of everything she felt. But he didn't. Instead, the air between them was filled with a quiet awkwardness.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, voice cracking, but determined not to give up.

Jaehyun took a deep breath, staring ahead as if searching for some answer in the void. "I don't know. But I need you to understand that I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to end up trapped in my world..."

She denied slowly, not looking away. "So is that it, then, we're just going to keep taking a step forward and then step back? Is that what you want?"

"It's not that," Jaehyun replied, somewhat at a loss. "It's just that I can't offer you what you deserve."

"What about what I want?" she said, on an impulse that surprised her. "Because all I want...is to be with you."

Her words hit him hard. Jaehyun couldn't say he felt the same way, not in the same way. But he couldn't help but think that, maybe, if they both allowed themselves to take that leap... maybe things could be different.

"I'm telling you that I can't give you what you want," he repeated, now with a slight desperation in his tone. "And yet, I feel like I can't walk away from you."

She looked at him silently for a few seconds, trying to find some answer that wouldn't leave her more confused. Finally, she took a step back, letting the air between them grow colder.

"So... what do we do, Jaehyun?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Because I don't know if I can keep waiting for something I don't know if it's coming."

Jaehyun looked at her, his heart pounding. He could see the pain in her eyes, and it broke him inside. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't drag her down with him, couldn't ask her to settle for something he couldn't offer.

"The only thing I can do now...is tell you the truth," he said, almost breathlessly. "I'm not going to drag you into my life without you knowing what you're getting into."

She stood still, staring at the floor, as if processing every word. An invisible weight seemed to fall on her shoulders, and though her thoughts were chaotic, a small part of her knew she had to make a decision.

"So, you decide for me?" she asked, raising her head, her eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and sadness.

Jaehyun said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

Finally, Jaehyun, his throat tightening, slowly pulled away, knowing that any further attempts to get closer would only cause more pain. "I'm sorry," he said one last time, almost as a whisper, and took a step back.

And (Y/N) watched him walk away, her heart heavy, knowing there was nothing more to do. She stood alone in that dark corner of Neo Zone, with the noise of the engines rumbling around her, like a distant echo of the emotional storm she had just experienced.

a/n: I hope you liked even though in took me weeeeeeks to post hahaha, love y'all! NOT PROOFREAD! I’ve been sitting down like 4 hours trying to come with the chapter so now I’ll go to sleep 😴.

taglist is open! if you want to be added just lemme know;)

taglist: @spicyryujin @daegalismybiasinnct @peachfulnight @gojoscumslut @bluedbliss @dear-97 @girlwholovespreppyattire @hana-off-icial @cigarettesafterjae @beomgyusonlywife @bts-iris @doejaejung @methneo @kriizztin @mrsuhnshine @pieddpiperr (idk why some of the tags just don’t work out!)

If you want to ask me something, feel free to send them!

[sparklyskies0]

𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙚 c.s + m.s

chapter one : ❛ exes and blunts ❜

⚠️𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚 ⚠️

𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙜 𝙪𝙨𝙚, 𝙨𝙚𝙭 (𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩), 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙗𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙚, 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙩𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙜 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙/𝙪𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙨, angst 𝙚𝙩𝙘..

Your head hurts from all the music and loud chattering. Faint sounds of glass breaking, people cheering. The smell of smoke and alcohol invading your nose and you can’t help but relish in it. You’re used to this, the chaos of a frat party. The ones thrown by the popular douchebags who roofie innocent girls cause they can’t get them on their own. Your head rested back against the wall. Your body slumped on the couch your sitting on.

Two people passed out on each side of you. A trashy tasteless blunt in between your fingers, you took a pull. Inhaling and letting out a sigh. People greeted you as they walked by, you return nothing but a nonchalant head nod. Not capable of proper human interaction at the moment. You’re in your favorite state; dazed, drunk, high, completely not aware of reality. The best out-of-body experience ever.

Why would you want to remember reality? why would you want to be aware of anything?. You laugh to yourself. No specific thought creeping into your mind, but you laugh anyway. Your eyes feel heavy, like you can pass out any second. But this is so normal for you that you know that’s not the case.

“y/n.” a voice snapped you out of whatever trance you were in. You look up to your left, Chris standing there. A red solo cup in one hand and something else in the other. You shoot a confused smile, so out of it you’re not controlling your face. “chris.” you respond

He gently moved the passed out dude next to you over a little and sits down. His eyes glancing down at the blunt in your hand. He shook his head disapprovingly “take this.” he says, his voice hoarse from his recent pull.

He hands you a freshly rolled blunt, replacing it with your old one. He puts it out. “this the good shit.” he says, his dealer side coming out. You bring it to your mouth. He watched as your lips closed slightly around the blunt. You take the pull, removing it from your lip, barely able to exhale before you’re attacked by coughs. Chris laughs softly. You pass the blunt back to him, your eyes lingering on his face longer than they need to.

“y’not lonely over here?” he asks, his arm draped behind you. “i mean this your spot n all, but you could come to the back with me, you’re always welcome” he offers. You glance at him.

As if debating on whether you will accept. Chris is a friend, has always been. You’re not close or anything like that but for some reason when you need him he is always there. He always has been. You don’t know why, especially when you and his brother Matt broke up. Nothing changed between you, not like you thought it would at least. It’s clear he’s careful at mentioning certain things and making sure not to invite you over to his house when matt is home.

But despite that everything feels like nothing happened. Like nothing is different. The only thing though, you catch him staring at you even when you’re on opposite sides of the room, he’s more worried about you than usual, checks in a lot more, and his need to hang out with you has skyrocketed. So maybe, things have changed.

But chris has always been your friend. Your plug. The guy you go to for any problem you may have. Even when you don’t want to. Even when he pissed you off. You just wish his brother wasn’t his brother.

Then hanging out with chris wouldn’t feel like you’re walking on eggshells waiting for matt to appear out of the blue.

“let’s go” you say, you think you’re speaking normally but your words are elongated and slow .

“alright, c’mon” chris spoke standing up. He holds his hand out for you. You take it, coming up to your feet. You stumble slightly. Letting out a soft snicker.

“jesus” chris mumbles under his breath. He caught you, his hand falling to your waist so briefly.

he leads you both to the back of the frat house. Pushing passed a bunch of people making out and doing lines. Some guy’s even arguing but neither of them throwing a single punch. pussies. you thought.

You finally make it to the back room. Chris’s designated office for parties like these. Where his finest customers come to get their goods. You couldn’t even count on one hand how many girls he brought back here. He claims it’s him being dedicated to his profession.

The room is full with smoke, a purple LED light casting the area. A table is in the middle of the room. A variety of drugs splayed out. People were in here. People who work for and with him, a couple of random girls. “make yourself comfortable.” he says sitting down on the black leathery couch.

One of the girls sitting beside him placing her hand on his shoulder and thigh, biting her lip as she looks at him. He shakes his head subtly. She removes her hands immediately and distances herself. You notice, wondering why he’s rejecting her now when she’s clearly been waiting for him. But that’s none of your business. you sit down. Chris passes you the blunt from earlier. You take another pull.

You repeat these actions for the next couple minutes. No conversation or anything. Nothing but the blasting rap music is heard.

“so, how you been?” chris speaks up, returning the blunt to his lips. “good..chillin” you say. You hope that since he knows you’re so high and fucked up that he won’t pry and ask too much questions.

“How’s your mom?” he asks. Your body stills at the mention. of course he’s gonna pry. it’s chris.

“she’s fine.. doing better honestly. We both are.” you say, your eyes follow the blunt in between your fingers to your lips. You pray he shuts up.

“y’sure?”

“so sure” your voice hoarse and breathy.

you look at him. Your eyes doing the pleading for you. “that’s good.” he says, you assume he noticed. “y’know I gotchu tho, right?” his voice sincere despite how hard it is to take anything that comes out of his mouth seriously with how noticeably high he sounds.

You give him a quick nod. Wanting to move on from this heavy topic. The people in the room with you obviously wanting to know why he cares so much and what could possibly be wrong.

“yea, i know…thanks..” you respond. a little hesitantly.

you can’t help but feel a little bad at how cold you’re seeming. He knows what’s home and he cares, he’s worried. You should appreciate that. But you can’t help but want him to shut up and move on.

It goes quiet between you two. You revert your gaze, looking down at the ground before you. your eyes fixating on the empty solo cup trash and beer bottles and food wrappers and empty ziplock bags.

Chris bites the inside of his mouth, knowing how heavy and awkward things are getting. It’s way too serious right now, it shouldn’t be. He’s too high for that. “Yo, tomorrow we shoul-” he speaks, his sentence cut off by the opening of the door.

You both look up. Seeing him standing there. His own cup of beer in hand. The look on his face as if he didn’t expect to see you in here himself.

You should look away. This is weird. You need to look away. But you can’t, you won’t.

Matt can’t seem to look away either.

۶ৎ Authors Note

kinda love this idk

really short i’m sorry fr

xoxo paris

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Ok, now that I’ve mentioned how I think both Vil and Riddle’s overblots could’ve been prevented, I also think Jamil’s could’ve as well.

If someone realized a little earlier in the chapter that Jamil had a problem with Kalim and he was up to something, then there was a real chance to prevent this situation from getting so out of hand.

If you told him, “hey, you know Kalim is dumb. If you don’t tell him you have a problem with him, he’s not gonna know. You got all the brain power out of the two of you. That being said, Kalim is a very empathetic and generous person. He cares about you. He think you’re his best friend. If you just told him how you feel and how you have a problem with some of his behaviors, then he would do everything to make your relationship work. He knows that he’s not the best dorm leader, but you’ve never told him that you felt that it was taken away from you. It might seem really obvious to you, but clearly nobody else has noticed, so there’s a problem. If you just told him, he would give you the seat. It’s not even like a possibility situation, he straight up would. He doesn’t care much about it, so if you do, he would give it to you in a heartbeat. He values your relationship above all else. It’s not that hard. I don’t know why you’re trying to do this in such convoluted way. It’s not efficient and really risky.”

I can’t imagine he wouldn’t take this advice. He’s not my favorite character, so I’m not sure, but he seems to value efficiency. It would make sense cause he’s always babysitting Kalim and having to run around.

He would bring up the whole family expectation problem, but there’s a counter to that too. “While it’s true that nobody in our vicinity knows the answer, somebody does. Kalim has the resources to get you that help and is more than willing. Get a professional. Go to a therapist. They’ll tell you how to navigate this situation. Why aren’t you taking advantage of Kalim’s resources? If you feel that you’re taking an unfair advantage of him, then make your relationship work with him. That’s something that’s going to be a challenge for you, but that’s what he wants. He has all the physical needs he could ever wish for, but the most important thing to him is his relationship with you.”

You would also have to bring up how to solve his feelings and problems with Kalim, because that was what has really been getting in the way and fostering his feelings of condescension. “You need to put boundaries on your relationship. He wouldn’t be offended and would understand. If you don’t want to be stuck in a servant role, you’re gonna have to set boundaries. Kalim is under the impression that you would tell him if something’s wrong even if that’s not how you feel. He doesn’t mind changing if it will help you. That’s enough of a motivation for him to push through hard times and overcome some of his weaknesses. Besides, the reason why he doesn’t know anything is cause you do everything for him. You’re enabling him. If you want to get out of this role, you’ll have to tell him some of the things you’re really worried about if you leave him. He would listen to you. He would do what you ask even if he doesn’t understand everything. That’s how much he trusts you. So, you might have teach him things you would have to watch out for like poisoning and assassination attempts, but he can learn. It would be a good idea to find someone who meets your standards in terms of a replacement to your job. Kalim isn’t that self sufficient, but you’ll be able to find somebody and would’ve already created a fail safe so that if something happens Kalim knows what to do.”

You would also have to address Jamil’s fear that if he becomes his own persona and drifts away from Kalim that he wouldn’t help and support him. Just tell him “Kalim thinks of you as family. You’re gonna always be important to him no matter how close or far apart you are. Kalim cares about you and loves you unconditionally. If you need his help, you’re gonna be his first priority. That’s never going to change. He’ll give you anything you ask for.”

I’ve stated my case and I’m sticking to it. Tell me what you think

[jsbluu]

left on seen | chapter 15: two to one (to two)

➨ chapter 14: she said yes! | left on seen masterlist | next

➨ chapter 15! it’s getting cray.. so many things happening.. what’s going on.. also progress guys..

TAGLIST: @ldh0000 @bococostree @sunghoonsgfreal @dinonuguaegi @ddolbyong @4chensungs @vixensss @jirsungs @luffysprincess @nosungluv @akunoeyebrows @sinsgaybutthatsokay @joyzluvr @n0hyuck @mrsbyun-baek @queenrachelpink @botchedbrat @livingdoll-hara @minkyuncutie @gomdoleemyson @17ericas

you sat across from leehan in a restaurant that was way too fancy for your own comfort, but he was way too nice to pass up the offer. you nervously play with the hem of your top, any much longer and you would’ve ripped the lace. you could tell you weren’t the only nervous one, as leehan fidgeted with the menu, seemingly pretending to read it for the 100th time.

he cleared his throat in an attempt to break the silence between you two. “so, have you ever been here before?” he asked, almost immediately regretting the cliche question.

you shake your head, “no, this is my first time actually. i’ve never even heard of this place before.” you smile, “have you?”

“only twice, i actually came with mark a few months ago after he played a show.” he replies.

you tilt your head in confusion, “that show we went to a few weeks ago wasn’t his first?”

he shakes his head and takes a sip of his water before replying. “no, he’s been doing this since freshmen year actually. he wasn’t really getting anywhere and wanted to quit but jisung was the one who changed his mind, and look at him now.”

you can’t help but smile to yourself when you learn how sweet jisung really is. even though he was so quiet and shy, his friends clearly meant everything to him and you admired that more than you could admit.

just as you two started to ease into a comfortable conversation, the server approached with your food in hand. “here you are!” she said as the placed the plates of food in front of you two.

“let me know if you need anyth-“ before she could finish, her hand hit leehan’s cup of water causing it to spill all over his shirt and pants. your eyes widen and your hands cover your mouth as the server profusely apologizes.

“i’m so sorry!!” she exclaimed, horrified as she hands leehan paper towels from her pockets.

he stands up and laughs a bit before looking at you defeated, his hands on his hips as he looks down at his soaked outfit. “are you okay?” you ask concerned.

he sighs, trying to maintain his composure and hold his embarrassment in the best he could and pretend like the entire restaurant wasn’t staring at you two. “i’m okay, just a little.. wet” he says with a small smile. “i think i need to go change, i only live 5 minutes away. do you mind?”

you shake your head, “of course not! go change, i’ll be here” you reassure, feeling a mixture of sympathy and awkwardness.

he gives you an apologetic nod and he quickly leaves the restaurant and jogs his way towards his dorm. you sit back awkwardly against the booth as you wait for him to return.

you sigh and put your phone down on the table, staring at the 2 full plates of food in front of you. the tension and anxiety only increasing by the moment, now it really looks like you got stood up. you debated asking gaon to come to the restaurant to eat, but you knew he was busy and by the time he would get there, it would already be too late.

“y/n?” a voice calls from the left of you. you look up and see jisung standing beside you, his hands in his pockets concealing them from the cold weather outside.

“jisung? how did you..” you ask, genuinely concerned.

“i didn’t know you were here i swear! i came to eat alone, and i saw you sitting with.. wait where’s leehan?” he says as he points to the empty seat in front of you.

you sigh before turning back to jisung, awkwardly shifting in your seat. “our server accidentally spilled some water on him, so he said he’d was gonna go back to the dorms to change real quick. but then he said he said he got on the wrong train so now i’m.. here alone”

“again?” he asks, holding back a laugh through puffed cheeks.

you look at him confused, what did he mean by that?. had this happened before? or was this just an excuse to leave you alone in the restaurant. it’s not like you cared that much, this was a friendly date after all. at least that’s what you were hoping he would think.

“what do you mean ‘again?’”

he lets out a small awkward laugh when he realizes it wasn’t as funny to you as he thought it was. he knows you’re a shy person as well, so being in this situation was definitely not fun for you.

“he’s gotten on the wrong train i don’t know how many times before.. it gives me second hand embarrassment honestly” he jokes, trying to ease the tension that he created.

your shoulders relax again as jisung’s explains what he meant, leehan was truely just that clumsy.

an awkward silence fills the space between you two, jisung’s hands tucked back into his pockets as he shifts his weight back and forth between his feet.

“are you gonna stay here alone..?” he asks breaking the silence, his brow furrowed and voice raised with concern.

you shrug, fidgeting with your napkin and moving your gaze from him to the table. “i guess so” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

jisung’s eyes linger on you before taking a deep breath, hesitantly speaking. “i could keep you company..”

you pause, looking up at him unsure as you bite your bottom lip. it wouldn’t be wrong, right? i mean leehan did leave you here alone, and it’s not like you were interested in him romantically. besides, it’s not even a date, he’s just sitting with you, that’s all.

“i- are you sure? you really don’t have to.” you reply quietly, shaking your head.

his face falls but he quickly recovers before replying. “i’d feel bad making you sit here alone.” he reassures.

you give him a small smile before nodding, “okay.”

he gives you a small smile before sitting in leehan’s spot, luckily the food was still warm somehow. it took a while but you two eventually got over the awkward tension and were able to have an actual conversation, much different than the ones you’ve had before. this time you didn’t have anybody interrupting you or getting in the way.

the restaurant eventually started to empty out, and only then had you realized how late it had gotten. you glanced down at your phone and read the time, 9:56. jisung noticed the time as well and laughed quietly “it’s already gonna be 10, i didn’t realize we lost track of time”

you nodded, feeling reluctant for the night to end. “yeah, i guess we did.”

you hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking. “thank you for keeping me company, i’m definitely not going to go on another date with him again.” you giggle.

he laughs back and shakes his head, silently grateful that whatever was going on between you and leehan was pretty much over. “don’t worry, i didn’t mind.”

he looked down at the table before looking up at you with an unreadable expression.

“can i have your number?”

© jsbluu | please do not copy, reupload, or translate my work.

[unfortunate17]

Hi! "Are you sure everything is okay?" for the 5 sentence thingy? 💜 ive been thinking about the new fools in a fable chapter all day idk how i will ever recover

Tina!!!!! Thank you for the lovely prompt, here is…..a Wilmon!soulmate/soulmark something 😖 hope you’re somewhat satisfied haha.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Wilhelm looks away, gnawing at the ragged flesh of lip. Despite Erik’s voice echoing faint and tinny over the phone, his tone is far too knowing for his liking. “Yeah,” he repeats, slamming his locker closed. “I’m fine.”

“Wille, you know I can’t help you if you never tell me anything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he insists, “I’m just really fucking tired.”

“Fine,” Erik sighs, sounding exasperated, “if that’s how you’re going to be, then - ”

“Then what?” Wilhelm snarls, “if I’m going to be like what, Erik?”

“If you’re going to be like this,” Erik snaps, sounding frustrated. “I just called to check up on you, Wille, you don’t need to jump down my fucking throat about it.”

“Yeah, well, what part of I’m fine do you not fucking understand?”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, Erik scoffs. “Okay,” he huffs an annoyed laugh, “you can call me back when you’re done being a dick.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Erik says coolly, “fuck you too, little brother.”

The line goes dead then, and Wilhelm has to fight against the urge to throw his phone across the hallway. Instead, he finds himself slamming a palm against the front of his locker, the metal rattling loud and sudden around him. The resulting, sharp pain makes him hiss, even if his body is still thrumming with tightly wound rage.

He blinks down at his hand for a long moment and the cheery, golden heart etched into the back of it stares back at him mockingly. What is supposed to be a promise of love and understanding has quickly turned into Wilhelm’s worst nightmare. There has to be some way to get rid of it. Wilhelm can’t spend the rest of his life looking down at it, imagining and wishing for what could have been.

The soft sound of a throat clearing behind him interrupts his spiraling, and Wilhelm spins around at once.

Sure enough, it’s Simon standing there. Because of course it is. Simon in all his beautiful, curly-haired glory, looking as though he’s been touched by the sun itself.

He’s clutching a set of notebooks to his chest, eyes wide and worried. Wilhelm can’t help the way his own gaze zeros in on the back of Simon’s hand, desperate for even a glimpse of the matching golden heart that resides there.

It’s easy to find today, peeking out from behind Simon’s deep purple sleeve.

“Hey,” Simon says. He sounds awkward, hesitant.

For a second, Wilhelm is seized with the hope that Simon has sought him out, that maybe, Simon actually wants to talk to him. He wipes his palms on the sides of his jeans. “Hi.”

They stare at each other for a moment, caught in a breathless dance of silence.

Then Simon tilts his head towards the lockers behind where Wilhelm is standing, gesturing to the books in his arms. “Sorry, could I - ?”

The hope rushes out of him so fast that Wilhelm feels woozy with the loss of it. “Yeah,” he slumps, moving over, “sorry, go ahead.”

He watches as Simon moves to his own locker, twisting the lock open with long, elegant fingers. As he slides the books in though, he hesitates, eyes flickering over to where Wilhelm is still standing there, staring. “Are you - okay?”

Wilhelm swallows, his voice coming out hoarse. “Fine.” He grits his teeth against the urge to do something pathetic. “You?”

Simon’s arm jerks as he closes his locker door, turning the lock once more. “I’m good.”

“Yeah?”

At that, Simon’s eyes narrow. The first sign of a fight. “Should I not be?”

“I don’t know,” Wilhelm scoffs, “you tell me.”

Simon makes an aborted movement, almost like he’s contemplating making a break for it. At his side, his hands turn to fists. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” Wilhelm asks incredulously. “What the fuck is your problem?” There are distress flares going off at the back of his mind now, but Wille stamps them out as quickly as they light.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I mean - I’m not - ” Wille gestures wildly between them, “I’m not the one who doesn’t want this. Us.”

Simon’s expression crumples. “Wille - ”

“No, like, it’s fine, it’s not that I - care that much. But - ” Wille laughs, the sound ringing hysterical in the empty corridor, “you’re supposed to be mine.”

Simon’s face floods with color. He looks outraged. “Don’t ever say anything like that to me again.” He turns his back to Wille, turns to the door, turns to leave him behind once more, and a panic so vicious claws its way up Wille’s chest that he can barely breathe.

“Wait,” he begs, reaching out to grip Simon’s warm shoulder. “Wait, Simon. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Simon stills, uncertain eyes flickering back to him over his shoulder.

“What I mean to say is,” Wille struggles for air. He has to get this right. It might be his last chance. “I’m yours. We - we’re a match.”

Simon is quiet for a long time. When he finally speaks, it’s only to say, “So?”

“So - we - we’re supposed to be together,” Wilhelm hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s begging but he’s not sure if it’s really working.

“Says who?”

Wille swallows tightly, tracing the soft, delicate curve of Simon’s jaw with his eyes. “I don’t understand. Did I - did I do something wrong, Simon? Is that why you don’t - want me?”

Something jolts across Simon’s face then, a raw emotion that’s gone before Wilhelm can fully catalog. Suddenly, he scrambles towards the door. “I have to go,” he tries to duck out of Wille’s grasp. “The bus is going to - “

Wille catches his wrist, tugging until Simon turns to face him, his eyes wide and wet. “Just tell me why,” Wille begs, “I’ll leave you alone after this, I promise. Simon. I’ve had this mark since I was four. I’ve been looking for you for - for - ”

“And I’ve had this mark since last Wednesday,” Simon breaks, voice loud enough to make him wince.

Wille flinches, his insides going cold. “What do you mean by that?”

“Come on, Wille,” Simon rolls his eyes. He looks angry, brows pulled together unhappily. “Your friends shit on me all the time. Your cousin shits on me all the time. And you just stand there and laugh.”

“I don’t laugh!”

Simon looks at him in deep disbelief. “Uh - yeah you do. And it’s whatever. It’s not like I expect you to stand up for me or something. We barely know each other.”

“But we could get to know each other,” Wille shoots back hotly.

“For what?” Simon lets out a breath of bitter laughter. “It’s not like you would’ve looked twice at me if it weren’t for that fucking mark.”

Wilhelm feels his mouth part in shock. He does a double take of Simon, of the lovely silhouette of his slender shoulders, his soft looking curls, his smooth, unblemished skin, the button nose, the fire that lights his dark eyes, the steel that lines his spine. “That’s not true.”

But Simon only rolls his eyes. “Wake up, Wille, we literally have nothing in common. You’re not my fucking soulmate.”

Wilhelm bites back a sharp flare of hurt. He lets go of Simon’s wrist. “Okay. Fine,” he concedes, vision blurring with tears. “Maybe I’m not your soulmate. But you’re definitely mine.“

From his pocket, his phone buzzes twice. Wilhelm shoots Simon one last smile, drinking in his sweet, wide-eyes gaze before he turns, pulling the offending device out just to give his hands something to do. Perhaps he should call Erik back now, maybe even come clean about everything.

He waits for the telltale sound of receding footsteps, but they never come. Instead, there’s a quiet shuffling, followed by a blissful line of heat pressed along his back.

Simon buries his nose in crook of his neck, and Wilhelm almost jumps out of skin from how good it feels. The heart on his hand feels like it’s singing, warm and alive.

“Alright,” Simon whispers, looping an arm around his middle. The fear in his voice is palpable. “Let’s try then. If you’re so sure.”

Wille reaches down to thread their fingers together, hearts lining up as one. He shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want to, Simon.”

“Of course I do,” Simon’s voice is very quiet, “that’s what makes it so scary.”

Wilhelm squeezes his hand tighter, too afraid to breathe. “You can trust me.”

There’s a long moment of silence, weighted in its intensity. Against him, Simon’s frame shakes. “Okay.”

Wilhelm exhales deeply, nodding. He tries his best to ignore how it sounds like Simon is lying.

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[thefallennightmare]

Oialë-Matt Dierkes x OFC!Faye[JP UNIVERSE]

Oialë: Eternal in Elvish.

Pairings: Matt Dierkes x OFC! Faye[JP UNIVERSE]

Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff.

Summary: Matt meets up with Faye at a familiar place.

Authors Note: I wanted to visit these two love birds before the ending of JP. this takes place between chapter 30 and 31!

Tags: @blueskylinesx @artificialbreezy @loeytuan98 @thatchickwiththecamera @dsireland86 @iknownothingpeople @bngurngheart @heyyoplayer @myownthoughts12 @vinyardmaurado @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @marvelousmal @lma1986 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @itsafullmoon @shilohrosechicken @klutzy-kay24 @shadowseve @exitwoundsx @thisbicc @pathion @sammyjoeee @whenthesummerdies @flowery-mess @madomens @collidewiththesavannah @xserena-13 @cncohshit @rain-down-on-mee @sorrowsofsilence @xmads-omensx @dominuslunae @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

MATTHEW

“Hey you.” 

Faye’s familiar ethereal voice echoed through the phone as I held it between my shoulder and ear, pulling the front door closed behind me. 

“Hey yourself. I’m just calling to check in on you to see how it’s going?” 

She sighed, the exhaustion heavy in her breath. “Long but we’re getting a lot of good shots. I should be home in an hour. Should I bring something for dinner?” 

Carefully opening the door to my truck, I set everything on the backseat and nodded even though Faye couldn’t see. 

“Sure. I’m good with whatever you want. I’m taking the dogs to the park for a little bit but I’ll  be back before you get home.” 

There was some rustling on her end before she spoke. “Alright, my love. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. I’ve missed you all day.” 

My heart lurched in my throat, feeling the same way. “I missed you too, fairy. It’s been a long week of work for both of us but we have the next four days to ourselves.” 

“Can’t wait,” I could hear the smile in her voice. 

After saying goodbye, I pocketed my phone and hopped behind the wheel, my truck roaring to life. Peering back towards the house, I smirked seeing Boo and Zeus in the window wondering where I was headed without them but then my heart hurt at how sad they looked. 

“I can't do this without them,” I muttered under my breath before running back to the house and grabbing my boys. 

Once they were settled in the truck, I looked at Faye’s location on Life360 and pulled out of the driveway. She’d been down by the pier since 10 a.m this morning photographing a local band. Since Hollow Souls did have much going on lately, Faye had been taking a few side jobs here and there. She’d worked every day this last week and I’d be the first to admit that I missed her like a love sick puppy so I decided to pack us a picnic, grabbed a blanket, and her favorite sweater of mine because I knew she forgot to grab one and she would be cold tonight. 

“She always gets cold,” I chuckled to Boo who was perched on my lap while Zeus was in the backseat. 

I pulled my truck up to the local floral shop and left them there after a quick pep talk. The bell above the door jingled when I walked in, announcing my arrival. Joan, the older lady who ran the shop, gave me a smile. 

“You're two days early for your weekly bouquet!” 

I gave her a sheepish smile while stuffing my hands into the pockets of my joggers. “I know but special circumstances. Any chance you’ve got some blue tulips lying around?” 

Her frail hands tapped the counter before she disappeared into the back area of the shop. A variety of scents filled my senses, causing me to rub my nose. I’d been coming here every day ever since Faye and I started dating to buy her a bouquet of blue tulips. It was so often that Joan began having a bouquet ready for me every Saturday night so Faye could wake up to them Sunday morning. 

“Lucky for you,” Joan appeared behind the counter again with an even larger bouquet of blue tulips than usual. “I had a feeling you’d be coming by tonight. Can’t explain it but I had this ready for you.” 

I took it from her with a bright smile. “Thank you, Joan. Go ahead and charge the card on file double. For the last minute bouquet and for Saturdays when I pick it up this week.” 

“Oh she must be special. Two bouquets in one week?” She teased me. 

I gripped the small box in my pocket. “Really special.”

Once I was back in my truck, the blue tulips resting safely in the front seat, I began driving towards the pier; nerves for tonight making my stomach flutter. This was supposed to happen a month ago but Faye had gotten sick the original night I had planned and with what happened with Noah and Angel, I knew I had to push my plans off for a while until the dust settled. 

More time for me to plan this. 

The pier appeared in a matter of minutes and I was able to find where Faye parked her car so I eased my truck next to hers. I knew she was working down a ways on the beach so I grabbed all of my things and walked down the steps towards the sandy area of the beach, Boo and Zeus following close behind. The sun was setting, bathing the ocean in glitters of orange and yellow hues. Gone were the groups of people that filled the beach for a day in the water and now only a few people lingered around, not enough to be a bother. 

By the time I finished setting up the blankets, pillows, and small picnic, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The dogs were clipped with their leashes but I could always trust that they wouldn’t run far off. 

Faye 🧚‍♂️: All packed up! I was thinking of grabbing some Chinese take out. Does that sound good?

All I sent her was my location pin drop which was a less than three minute walk where she currently was. 

Faye 🧚‍♂️: What’s this?

Faye 🧚‍♂️:  Wait, are you here?

Me: See you soon, fairy. 

Setting my phone on silent, I tossed it onto one of the pillows and stood on the blanket in my socks as I patiently waited for her. One hand was in my pocket while the other held onto the bouquet of tulips. 

I tried to tell myself that there wasn’t a need to be nervous since she already technically gave me her answer over a month ago.

Suddenly a spec of teal appeared a few feet down the beach causing my lips to break out in a wide smile. Tonight, I opted out on wearing a hat and had my hair pulled back into a low bun, wanting to look somewhat presentable for her. 

I still wore a hoodie and sweats. You couldn’t beat those off of me with a stick. 

My breath caught in my throat when I took in the sight of Faye dressed in an orange sundress, the ends blowing in the wind. Her perfect breasts were accentuated by the halter style top, tied together in a bow behind her neck. When she left this morning, her hair was tied back in a braid, thanks to me. But now it brushed over her shoulders in waves. In one hand was her white sandals and the other held her camera bag. 

But my eyes were locked on the Evenstar necklace around her throat. Faye wore it all day, every day, ever since I proposed to her with it a month ago. 

“What are all of my boys doing here?” She asked with a soft smile, Boo and Zeus wagging their tails at her feet. 

I shrugged. “We wanted to surprise you with a picnic on the beach.” 

After dropping her things on the blanket, she stepped into my embrace and pressed a kiss to my lips. When she went to pull away, I held onto the back of her head for a moment longer, wanting to savor the way she tasted. The kiss may have been short but it was enough for me to convey how much I loved her without actually saying it. 

“You’re two days early for your weekly tulip bouquets,” Faye giggled after taking the flowers from me to breathe them in. 

My spine stiffened  as she gazed down at the flowers but relaxed a moment when she gently brought them to her chest. With our fingers linked, Faye pulled me down to the blanket as I spread out the sandwiches and fruit I packed for us while she talked about the shoot. I always watched her with a fond smile whenever she talked about her interests. The other night while she was reading a book, she ran into my office with said book in her hand needing to talk to me about a major plot twist. 

The entire conversation lasted thirty minutes as she rambled on while pacing my office, me watching her with love and light in my eyes. 

“Shit, I’m so fucking cold,” Faye shivered while wrapping her arms around herself. 

“I figured you would be,” I chuckled while handing her the extra hoodie I brought. 

She always drowned in my clothes yet I loved the way she looked. 

Once we finished the food and I cleaned up the mess, I brought Faye closer to my chest so I could breathe in her familiar scent of gardenias. 

“Anything special you want to do this weekend?” I questioned. 

She squeezed my side. “Just you.” 

“I can make that happen,” I hummed, brushing a kiss over her forehead. 

As we sat there in silence watching the waves, Zeus next to me and Boo in her lap, something was eerily familiar about this certain pier. Almost as if I’d been here before but couldn’t pinpoint on when. Slowly but surely, more people started to arrive on the beach with chairs or blankets, making me raise a brow in confusion. 

“I think this is the largest bouquet of blue tulips yet.” 

Faye’s voice brought me back to her and I sat with my hands perched in my lap watching her as she filtered through each stem, getting closer and closer to the rose colored box that was hidden between them. 

“I don’t think we have a big enough vase-,” her voice faltered when her finger finally brushed up against the velvet box. 

My entire body shook with nerves as I silently watched her pull out the box before opening it, her gasp so loud over the pick up of voices around us. Inside the box was an emerald green diamond surrounded by a silver band that looked like branches. 

“Uh,” I cleared my throat. “I know we’re already engaged but I want to give you an actual ring. You deserve to have that.” 

Faye made no move, eyes locked in on the ring, so tentatively I removed it from the box so I could show her the engraving on the inside of the band. 

“Oialë. It means eternal in elvish,” I explained. 

She blinked up at me, eyes wet with tears, and cupped my cheek. “Matthew, you didn’t-.” 

I immediately nodded. “Yes, I did. You deserve an actual engagement ring, Faye.” 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed while I slid the ring on her finger. 

“Did you want me to propose again?” I asked, suddenly nervous that I didn’t think about that. 

“No,” she wiped away at a loose tear, Boo still snuggled in her lap. “I absolutely love how you proposed with the Everstar necklace and nothing could change that. But I also love the ring.” 

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Y/N actually helped me out with it. I was so fucking lost on what looked good and what size you were so I had her meet me before she shot the Just Pretend music video.” 

Faye couldn’t take her eyes off her ring, the faintest of smiles on her lips. If there weren’t a group of people around us, I’d lay her back on the blanket to connect our souls together. 

Too bad that’s already been done before. 

“I love it. And you. So fucking much,” Faye kissed my cheek. “I’ll show you my thanks later tonight.” 

Crimson covered my cheeks as I glanced around us, suddenly very angry at myself for deciding to do this in public. 

“Are you alright if I tell the group chat?” I asked while holding up my phone. 

Faye, who had her phone in her hand, gave me a sheepish look which caused me to snort. 

“You already told them.” 

“I couldn’t help it! I had to show them,” she defended while holding out her hand to snap another picture of the ring. 

Bringing her close to me again, the sky above us broke out in loud and bright sparks; fireworks lighting up the sky. Suddenly I remembered why this setting was so familiar. It was because I’d been here with everyone two years ago to the day when Noah and Angel were sitting not too far from here. 

“Small world,” I smiled before making sure Zeus and Boo were alright with the fireworks. 

Thankfully they seemed alright but decided that after another minute we would pack up and leave so they weren’t too stressed out. I just couldn’t stop admiring the way Faye looked while watching the fireworks. 

Breaking away from the trance, I checked my phone to scroll through all the new messages in the group chat. 

Noah Seb: So that’s why Matt and Y/N were so sneaky last month. We’re so happy for you guys. Y/N is sitting next to me crying because she can’t get over how gorgeous the ring is. 

Davis Rider: Maybe she should have bought one for herself. 

Noah responded with the annoyed emoji right before another one from him came through. 

Noah Seb: Don’t forget your flight leaves Tuesday at noon, Matt. Think you guys will make it or will be too busy celebrating? 

That caused me to scoff as I replied. 

Me: Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mochi. 

He replied with the middle finger emoji. 

Zeus started getting restless next to me so I motioned to Faye that we should probably head back home. 

After we were all packed up, I linked fingers with her and brought the ring to my lips, peppering it in kisses. 

“I love you, Faye,” I proclaimed. 

She cupped my cheek. “I love you too, Matthew Dierkes. For Oialë.”

[blue-eyed-beastie]

Oh my goodness! This is it!! Thank you for this!

I was able to find the original novel through Project Gutenberg. It's free to read on any web browser! Helpful hint: If you use Firefox, it gives you the option to translate it automatically (but with varied and sometimes hilarious results).

Anyway, as far as I can tell, the story is told through a series of letters. The excerpt from Belle's book is from a letter written by one Annette Bourdon to her friend Adelaide Fairlie, dated 19 September at Les Frênes (in case you want to look up the exact chapter, since they aren't numbered).

I won't include the entire translation, because it is quite long, but it's worth the read. By the way, I'm not at all disappointed that my earlier guesses about the context were wrong. I'm just thrilled that someone else knew what the excerpt was from so that I could read it in its entirety!

For those who don't have the time to read it right now, the summary of it is that Annette is discussing her engagement to Paul, and what has happened since, and how she feels about it. She also wonders what comes after marriage (and yes, she means the bedroom!):

There must be novels that talk about these situations, novels that I'm forbidden to read. As soon as I'm married, I'll read everything that's been forbidden to me; so I will be informed and I will know what I must do, in case of necessity. I am determined to be very good to my husband, but I would not want to cause anyone unnecessary pain. If someone courts me, I will be happy. I like to be looked at, and to be talked to. All alone, I get bored and sometimes I have done extravagances to attract attention. I told you about the one in the river, but it was my sister who had the idea. No matter, I see that the idea was not bad, because it is since that moment that Paul began to look at me with completely new eyes. As for me, if I saw a naked man swimming on the surface of the water, it would frighten me and I would start running. Men are braver; they are not even afraid at all. They both seemed ecstatic, and I almost laughed, which would have made me drink water and drown. What a pity, but what an opportunity for Paul to fish me out and hold me in his arms, like a languid siren!

Ah, the languid siren that was mentioned at the beginning of the excerpt! One translation suggested "mermaid", which I actually prefer in this context, since sirens tend to want to drown their victims. Mermaids, not so much! (See: The Little Mermaid, as a case in point.)

Now, I won't quote the entire excerpt again, but I did want to know what the very last fragmented sentence turned out to be, so I will include it below in its full context, plus a little more:

Paul is more handsome than I have ever seen him before. He is pale with large eyes full of fever and love. I find him sublime when he kneels down beside me to look at me as if in prayer. I want to pray to him too, sometimes, and to lay my cheek on his knees, but when I have that desire, I get angry with myself and I sulk at Paul. It is very difficult to keep a man within the bounds of respect. He addressed me informally once; I did not like that. No one has ever addressed me as "tu" [you] except women. In the mouth of a man, this familiarity seemed unbearable to me. Nothing vulgar pleases me. A woman must be a queen to be completely a woman. This is the attitude I want to take from now on; even when I play hide-and-seek, people feel that I am a princess and they do not pull me carelessly by my crumpled dress. I turned eighteen the day before yesterday. At that age, one has a scepter or a fairy wand. When I laugh, there are eyes that are worried; and when I smile, people look at me to share in my smile.

The last of Annette's letter sees her looking forward to marriage, but wishing this feeling would last. She ends with this last romantic thought:

I feel that I am embarking on a long pleasure voyage. Everything laughs. Autumn itself is spring-like this year. There are languors of the month of May and freshness of new grass. One would say that it rains love every night…

While there are no sword fights or magic spells in this one, there seems to be plenty of romance, and that's all right with me. ❤️

A Closer Look at Belle's Book: Part II

In Part I, I went into some detail about the illustration inside Belle's book, but now I want to turn the page, so to speak.

Thanks to the magic of 4K, I was able to zoom in on some details in Beauty and the Beast that I had never noticed before, and this time I wanted to see what story Belle was reading. I've seen theories that it was either foreshadowing Aladdin or referencing Sleeping Beauty, and I myself noticed that it bears some artistic resemblance to Snow White... but it turns out that it has nothing to do with Disney, or its fairy tales.

It's something else entirely, and it's in French!

After zooming in and studying each frame, I managed to make out the following text:

une languissante sirene! Enfin, il sera bientôt heureux, si c'est là ce qui doit causer son bonheur. Je sais que je suis agréable à regarder, puisque j'y ai du plaisir moi-même, et de ce plaisir je ne priverai pas mon mari, au contraire. Je ne sais si je l'aimerai, je l'espère; mais je veux qu'il m'aime lui, et je ferai pour lui plaire tout ce qui lui plaira. Ah! chère Adélaïde, je suis pleine de rêves absurdes et de pensées contradictoires! Je songe à des choses qui me semblent à la fois douces et vilaines, et j'ai des imaginations qui me font rougir en même temps que pleurer! Au moins, je ne m'ennuie pas. Je vis plus en une heure de ces journées que l'an passé je ne vécus en toute l'année. Chaque heure me renouvelle, me grandit et m'épanouit. Je me semble un rosier qui fleur rirait à vue d’œil, je suis fraîche et parfumée; je suis légère et forte: j'attends le bonheur. Paul est plus beau que je ne l'avais encore jamais tu. Il est pâle avec de grands yeux pleins de fièvre et d'amour. Je le trouve sublime quand il s'agenouille près de moi pour me regarder comme en prière. J'ai envie de le prière aussi, parfois, et de coucher ma joue sur ses genoux, mais quand j'ai cette envie-la, je me fâché contre moi-meme et je boude Paul.

Which, roughly translated into English, means:

a languid siren! Finally, he will soon be happy, if that is what will make him happy. I know that I am pleasant to look at, since I take pleasure in it myself, and of this pleasure I will not deprive my husband, on the contrary. I do not know if I will love him, I hope so; but I want him to love me, and I will do whatever he pleases to please him. Ah! dear Adelaide, I am full of absurd dreams and contradictory thoughts! I think of things that seem to me both sweet and ugly, and I have fantasies that make me blush and cry at the same time! At least, I am not bored. I live more in one hour of these days than I lived in the whole year last year. Each hour renews me, makes me grow and blossom. I seem to myself a rosebush that blooms laughing before my eyes, I am fresh and fragrant; I am light and strong: I await happiness. Paul is more handsome than I have ever seen him before. He is pale with big eyes full of fever and love. I find him sublime when he kneels down next to me to look at me as if in prayer. I want to pray to him too, sometimes, and to lay my cheek on his knees, but when I have this desire, I get angry with myself and I sulk at Paul.

By the way, there is one more sentence (maybe even two) at the bottom of the page that is partially obscured by Belle's shoulder and right hand. It may or may not be important to the rest of the excerpt, but for completion's sake, I'll share it here:

Il est ... maintenir un homme dans les ...

Which translates to:

He is ... to keep a man in the ...

Intriguing, isn't it? What was she trying to say?

Overall, the author appears to be an unwed woman dreaming of her future marriage to a man named Paul. Her confidante is someone named Adelaide, but I suspect she is actually writing to herself. Regardless, she is either betrothed to Paul or she longs to be, since she calls him her husband. Perhaps it is an arranged marriage? She goes on to dwell upon his handsomeness, and how she longs to be close to him, but then she gets angry at herself for feeling this way. The last line of the passage is incomplete, but my best guess is that the author is saying that Paul is not to blame for her sulking, so it is not right to keep a man in the dark, i.e. ignorant. I could be wrong, though. In any case, she is conflicted about her feelings on the matter. You could even say that her feelings are "new, and a bit alarming".

I can see why the filmmakers chose this passage for Belle's book.

It may not be a fairy tale, but it certainly has elements from the film. There are references to beauty, roses, imagination, and eyes filled with love, and passion.

Belle:

"Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because—you’ll see Here's where she meets Prince Charming But she won't discover that it's him 'til Chapter Three!"

Do the lyrics match the story hinted at on the page itself? No, but I really respect the filmmakers for going out of their way to include this kind of detail in the film. They could have taken the easy way out, by writing out something like "Once upon a time" to echo the opening narration, or used "Lorem ipsem" Latin filler, or even meaningless brush strokes just to fill the page... but they didn't. They chose something in French that Belle herself might have liked to read. And I think that's really cool.

[thehereticdiaries]

A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Three

Chapter Summary: You're beginning to fall into a new routine with the members of Stray Kids. A phone call from the police stops you dead in your tracks.

Warnings: Descriptions of stalking, reader has a ton of anxiety (rightfully so), cops

Series Masterlist

A/N: will my MCs ever find peace? probably not.

When you woke up the next morning, you doubted that Seungmin would actually walk you to work. After all, why would he wake up early just to be your escort? You went through your routine as usual, making sure to double and triple check that your phone was charged and the charger was in your bag before heading out.

“Morning.” You jumped as you exited your apartment building. Holy shit, Seungmin was really waiting for you. He leaned against the back of a bench across from the entrance, eyebrow quirked in amusement. He wore a mask again today, but went without a hat.

“Oh my god, Seungmin, you didn’t have to get up early just to walk me to work.” You held your elbow in your hand, feeling guilty for burdening the idol. 

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” The corners of Seungmin’s eyes crinkled and he stood properly to brush his knuckles across your cheek. You gaped at him, suddenly feeling warm despite the cool autumn breeze. 

“Oh, um, okay. If you’re sure. The bus stop is this way.” You led the way to your usual stop, the bus arriving not long after you. The commute honestly wasn’t bad, yesterday had been a fluke. 

“I haven’t been on a public bus in years,” Seungmin mentioned as you found open seats. You raised your eyebrows.

“Really? I guess that makes sense, though. It’s safer for you to have a driver.” You could only assume that being on public transport had too much risk of being recognized.

“Technically, I’m not allowed to use buses.” 

“Are you going to get in trouble because of this?!” You scolded with a glare. Seungmin shrugged in response, completely unbothered with his little act of rebellion. You shook your head, turning back to your phone to scroll on Instagram for a bit. You angled your phone toward Seungmin when you noticed him looking over your shoulder. Fifteen minutes and four stops later, you stepped off the bus and made the final ten minute walk to the bookstore.

“I’ll be back later to walk you home,” Seungmin said as he held the door open for you.

“But-”

“No ‘buts’, see you later.” He nudged you into the store and went back the way you had come from. You were left baffled once again, but pushed it aside to focus on your shift.

Over the next week, every member of Stray Kids walked with you to and from work. Seungmin showed up the most out of everyone. It felt like overkill, but they wouldn’t accept any arguments from you. Today’s shift dragged on with how little there was to do. Everything was clean and stocked, there were hardly ten customers in the 3 hours since your shift started, and you’ve closed and reopened TikTok at least five times. The soft classical music playing over the store radio threatened to lull you to sleep. You were jolted out of your stupor by your phone buzzing on the counter.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, this is Officer Jeong. May I speak to Ms. Y/N L/N?” A serious-sounding man asked curtly.

“This is she.”

“Ah, hello Ms. L/N. I am calling on behalf of Detective Keng. She has some new information regarding your case and would like to call you today to discuss,” Officer Jeong explained. 

“Oh! Of course, I finish work at 3pm and should be home around 3:30,” you told the officer. He hummed, keys clicking swiftly in the background.

“That should work perfectly. Detective Keng will be finished with a meeting at 4pm, so she will be able to call shortly afterward.” You quickly wrote down the detective’s name and the time she’d be calling on a sticky note.

“Okay, thank you for letting me know, Officer.” You exchanged polite goodbyes and hung up. Cool, now that you were incredibly anxious, the next three hours of your shift should go by much more quickly.

You predicted correctly. After finishing the call with Officer Jeong, the afternoon flew by in a blur and soon enough Seungmin appeared to walk you home. You told him about the upcoming phone call and your subsequent anxiety while you sat on the bus.

“Do you want me to stay for the call?” Seungmin offered, albeit a little hesitantly.

“Honestly, that would be really nice. Are you sure, though? You sounded kinda nervous.”

“I’m sure. I just haven’t been in your apartment yet and I didn’t want to invite myself in, y’know?” He assured with a smile hidden behind his mask. Back at your apartment, Seungmin sat on your loveseat, watching you pace around your kitchen. He tried to get you to sit down and relax while you waited for the detective’s call, but you needed to do something to release your pent-up anxiety. Why didn’t Officer Jeong tell you if it was good news or bad news?! Finally, finally your phone rang. You rushed to sit next to Seungmin as you put the call on speaker.

“Hi, is this Y/N L/N?” A woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, I’m assuming this is Detective Keng?” 

“It is, I see Officer Jeong was able to talk to you earlier. I’ve been looking into Cho Siwoo, the man that harassed you, and I’ve found some information that may be disturbing to you,” Detective Keng stated. A pit of worry gnawed at your stomach.

“Before you continue, I have a friend with me. Is it okay if he listens to our conversation?” You were terrified of having to deal with this alone.

“That’s quite alright.” You sighed quietly in relief. “Now, Mr. Cho has been living with a friend for several months. We interviewed his friend, and searched the apartment. Ms. L/N, it appears that he has been following you far longer than we expected.”

“What?” An icy chill creeped its way into your bloodstream. Seungmin scooted slightly closer to you, resting a hand on your knee. 

“He has photos printed of you in a Ziploc bag amongst his other belongings. Some of these photos date back to April.” 

“Bu-but it’s October now,” you stammered. Seungmin tightened his grip on your knee, but you moved his hand to hold in your own. 

“I’m very sorry to tell you this, Ms. L/N, but he’s been watching for a very long time. There aren’t any photos of the inside of your apartment, nor any of you in compromising positions. But we’ve found that Mr. Cho has a reputation, and with that comes respect from others on the street.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Seungmin interrupted. Detective Keng sighed tiredly, which only made you more nervous.

“It means that he has access to information. Ms. L/N, do you have somewhere you can stay for the time being? I’m afraid your apartment isn’t safe at the moment, not until we’re able to confirm who all of Mr. Cho’s associates are.” Panicked tears fell down your cheeks. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, all you had was this apartment. The closest family member to you was still at least three hours away. You couldn’t just leave.

“Yes, ma’am, she does,” Seungmin answered in your silence. You stared at him, wide-eyed, but he kept his gaze fixed on your phone. 

“Good. I’ll need the address. I would advise against walking anywhere alone for now. I promise you, I will make sure you and your home are safe again,” Detective Keng assured. The sharp edge to her voice confirmed her commitment. She gave you the number for her work phone, should you need anything, then ended the call. A sob wracked your body. Seungmin pulled you so you sat between his legs, both legs over one of his knees, and wrapped you tightly in his arms. You trembled violently in his hold.

“Why did you tell her I have somewhere to stay?! I hardly have friends in this city and my family is hours away, and I can’t afford–”

“Y/N,” Seungmin cut off your rambling, holding your face in his hands and forcing your eyes to meet his. “You’re staying with us.”

“What? No, Seungmin, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Good thing you’re not asking. I’m telling you, you can stay with us,” he insisted. 

“Have you even asked the others about this? Even if you say I can, what if they say no?” Seungmin rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone and starting a call on speaker.

“Hey, is everything alright? You’re normally back by now,” Chan answered after a few rings. 

“No, actually, a detective called Y/N about her case. That guy’s been stalking her for months, Chan. Her apartment isn’t safe.” You bit your lip, tears still streaming silently down your face. Seungmin guided your head to rest on his shoulder and exhaustion washed over you.

“Holy shit, are you serious?” You could hear the others shouting in the background. “Guys, please, I need you to be quiet. This is important.”

“I wish I was joking. The detective said she should stay somewhere else while they continue their investigation. Thing is, she doesn’t have any family close by.” He was baiting Chan and he only felt slightly guilty about it.

“She can stay with us,” the leader offered without hesitation. 

“That’s what I told her. You believe me now?” Seungmin directed the question at you. 

“Wait, am I on speaker? Y/N, I promise no one would have an issue with you staying here,” Chan confirmed. You hated that you were being such a burden to them. They have enough on their plate as-is. But you didn’t have much of a choice.

“Okay,” you whimpered in a voice so tiny, it squeezed at the hearts of both Chan and Seungmin.

“We’re gonna get some stuff packed for her, then head over. I’ll call for a car.” 

“Good, I’ll see you both soon.” Chan hummed in acknowledgement. “And Y/N? I know what you’re thinking. You are not a burden.” You inhaled sharply, digging yourself further into Seungmin’s neck. He ended the call after another hasty goodbye.

For the next few minutes, you sat in silence to stave off your impending panic attack. Seungmin's chest vibrated as he quietly hummed the melody to Stars and Raindrops. You repeated the grounding exercise that Jisung showed you several times in your head. Now, with your panic dampened down to a nagging anxiety, you were suddenly very aware of the position of Seungmin’s hands. With the thumb of his left hand, he rubbed soothing circles on the nape of your neck, and his right sat patiently on your thigh. 

“I’ll grab a suitcase,” you muttered, hoping your hair hid your reddened face as you moved to your room. Unfortunately for you, Seungmin was a very observant man. He smirked, but chose not to say anything. He offered to help you pack and you immediately refused. Your soul would have literally left your body if he accidentally caught a glimpse of your underwear. You rolled your suitcase and duffle bag into the living room once you finished, pausing to sling your bag across your shoulder.

“I called Dohyun, he should be here soon.” Seungmin stood and plucked your duffle bag from your hand. “Let’s get down to the garage.” The car pulled up right as you stepped out of the elevator. Dohyun tossed you a sympathetic smile after you slid into the backseat. Seungmin sat next to you and nodded to Dohyun, who promptly began the drive back to the dorm.

All of the Stray Kids members have seen your apartment, but this was the first time you’ve been to their dorm. Honestly? It was much cleaner than you anticipated, considering eight young men lived here. Actually, the furniture and decor were really stylish. Jisung and Chan were the only ones in the living room. The leader stood to help with your luggage but paused when he noticed your red, puffy eyes. 

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” Chan wrapped you in a firm, comforting hug. You gripped the back of his t-shirt to ground yourself and fight back a fresh onslaught of tears. “Is there anything you need right now?”

“I just really want to take a nap.” You reluctantly pulled back so he could guide you to the couch. You allowed Jisung to bring your head to lay on his lap. He carded his fingers through your hair and the tension slowly melted from your body. You vaguely felt a second pair of hands tuck a fluffy blanket around you before succumbing to sleep.

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[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things ~1984~ This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

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Another day in Hawkins. Another day of high school. Another day stuck in the same small, sleepy town you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It feels like nothing ever changes here, like every day just blurs into the next, predictable and quiet.

Every day, you wake up wishing for some kind of miracle, something that could shake things up, make life a little less ordinary. Something that could turn your world… Upside Down.

“Y/N!” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “Is Steve giving you a ride today?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Mom, seriously…when was the last time Steve drove me to school? He has a girlfriend to pick up now.”

Steve, your best friend since the first grade. To everyone else he was The Reigning King of Hawkins High. To you he was just the boy next door who reigns havoc on your life, makes everything a little more complicated whether you want it or not. 

Your mom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time you found yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice to be taken out on a date once in a while?”

“Mom,” you sigh, “please take your matchmaking somewhere else.”

She’s not wrong, though. You haven’t let yourself even think about dating anyone else since the last “almost” with Steve. Around a year ago, he’d done something reckless enough to mess up things with Nancy, and she seemed to be getting closer to Jonathan Byers. You had just gotten out of a relationship yourself. 

It happens every time: he messes things up with a girl, or you’re fresh out of a breakup, and suddenly, like clockwork, you’re back in each other’s lives, circling each other. It’s as if you’re both bound to this endless cycle of almosts—falling together just to fall apart again. You know the game by heart, and you’re tired of it, tired of the late nights that never lead to anything real, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air between you both. But still, you can’t seem to let go.

Nothing ever actually happens. You just end up crashing at each other’s houses, watching movies till you both fall asleep, or driving out to Lover’s Lake to stargaze and rant about your trainwreck love lives. But you both know what it is—and what it isn’t. The truth is, you’re bound by a history no one else could touch. Growing up together, you made the stupid decision of being a lot of each other’s firsts, and you’ve always been the one person who truly gets him. It’s a bond that runs deeper than most things in your life, yet it never seems to go anywhere beyond these stolen moments. And maybe that’s why it hurts the most—knowing he’s always right there but never fully yours.

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At school, you overhear the girls in the hallway whispering about the new guy in town. Though “guy” isn’t the word they use—they’re calling him a real man, with a muscle car to match and actual muscles to back it up. You’ve never been the type to shy away from guys, and you’ve certainly never had any trouble attracting attention. Still, something about the way they talk about him piques your curiosity, though you’d never admit it.

You notice the once-empty locker beside yours is finally in use, a few things tossed inside. You wonder briefly who claimed it. That curiosity doesn’t last long.

“Excuse me, gorgeous, but I think that’s my locker.”

You turn to find the living, breathing embodiment of the girls’ descriptions. Tall, sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes, and that effortless, cocky grin. You don’t even have to ask if it’s him.

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, his smile unwavering.

Who does he remind you of?

“Y/N…” You try to pinpoint it, that nagging sense of familiarity.

He tosses his keys into the locker, eyes still fixed on yours, something almost playful in his gaze.

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

“Knight Rider?” you say slyly, a smirk playing at your lips. He blushes just a little, caught off guard, and you savor the small victory.

“Well played,” he says, taking your hand into his for a confident but gentle shake.

“That’s just the beginning,” you respond, shutting your locker with a quiet click, eager to keep the mystery between you two alive.

“I hope so. I’m Billy by the way,” he replies, his voice softer now, still slightly in awe of you. There’s something in his eyes—a challenge. And you can tell, he’s baited.

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At lunch, you find yourself walking through the crowded cafeteria, scanning the room for a familiar face. As luck would have it, you bump into Nancy and Steve near the food line.

“Hey,” Steve greets, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “What did you think of the new guy? Total douche, right?”

You catch the look on his face, a mix of hope and something else you can’t quite place. It’s clear he’s fishing for your opinion, eager for you to agree with him.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean…” Your voice comes out just a bit higher than usual, betraying your uncertainty. “He’s like the entire cast of The Outsiders wrapped up in one package.” You leave it at that, the playful jab hanging in the air between you three.

Nancy chuckles, gripping her tray closely as she looks between you and Steve. You take the opportunity to point at her, nodding toward Steve. “Looks like your girl might agree with me too.”

Nancy gasps and bursts into laughter. “I don’t know, I guess. He’s not really my type though.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “That’s so funny, because I’m pretty sure I saw a David Hasselhoff photo in your locker just last week?”

Steve’s face falls slightly, and you catch the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, his tone a bit too defensive, “he is not David Hasselhoff.”

“Knight Rider,” Nancy interjects, her eyes darting between you and Steve. You both freeze, caught off guard.

“What?” You ask, happy she sees the resemblance too.

Nancy looks back and forth between you two, realization dawning on her. “He has the car, the curls, and the mus—muscle car.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing her. “You just said the car twice. Sure you didn’t mean another kind of muscle?”

Nancy giggles at your comment, but Steve pushes you playfully, though there’s a layer of something more in his touch—like he’s trying to keep things light but it doesn’t quite feel like it used to.

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Steve mutters under his breath, though it’s more playful than anything else.

You smile, your tone laced with the usual teasing. “All too often.”

But as you both lock eyes, something shifts. It’s not just a playful exchange anymore. The usual banter feels heavy now, the space between you both thick with unspoken words. Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same distance creeping between you two that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You quickly look away, forcing the feeling down as Nancy continues to laugh, unaware of the sudden tension lingering.

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You’re walking down the hall, a few steps ahead of Steve, the sounds of lockers slamming and voices all around you fading as the tension between you both hangs in the air. Every time you glance over your shoulder, his gaze is already on you—lingering, just a bit too long.

You both fall into an uneasy silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share, but something heavier. Something unspoken.

You stop for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, turning to leave.

But Steve’s voice stops you. “Hey,” he calls softly, his hand brushing yours as he steps into your path. His touch is warm, too warm for something so casual. His fingers linger for a split second before he pulls away, but the moment still sits between you, unresolved.

You look up, meeting his eyes. His usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to break the silence.

“Steve…” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You want to say something that makes it all feel normal again, but the words feel stuck in your throat.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. “Never mind.” The smile he forces doesn’t reach his eyes again. It’s strained, tight. And suddenly, you can’t look at him anymore.

Turning quickly, you walk past him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

From down the hall, Nancy watches the exchange, arms folded, leaning against the locker as she observes. There’s no jealousy in her gaze—she’s been there too. She knows the space between two people who care for each other but don’t know how to bridge it. She’s seen it with Jonathan, with the way they get tangled in unspoken words and moments that feel like too much, but too little at the same time. It’s just the way things go sometimes.

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*Flashback*

1 year ago

It’s a Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Hawkins High are quieter than usual. Most of the students have gone home, leaving the echoes of footsteps and lockers slamming shut. You and Steve are walking side by side, the familiar warmth of his presence at your side like it always has been—comforting, easy.

You laugh as Steve pulls an exaggerated face, trying to get you to laugh at his antics as he mimics one of the teachers. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He bumps you back, almost knocking you into the lockers. “You love me for it,” he smirks, and there’s a hint of something else in his gaze, something unspoken that lingers between you, like a question neither of you has the courage to ask.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no denying the way your heart skips. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, trying to brush it off. But you both know that maybe means something more.

You reach the end of the hallway, your steps slowing as the moment stretches, neither of you wanting to be the first to turn back, to end this rare, quiet time between just the two of you.

He glances over at you, his steps slowing, his voice quieter when he speaks again. “Hey, so… Bryan still around?”

You stop walking, surprised by the question, but it’s Steve, and it’s always been easy with him. “No,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s out of the picture.”

Steve’s expression softens, a slight smile playing on his lips as if the weight of something between you two has been lifted. “Good. He never really seemed like the right guy for you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected warmth in his words, but you don’t let it show. “Yeah, well… sometimes you don’t really see things until it’s too late.”

Steve nods, looking down for a moment as if he’s trying to decide something. He looks back up at you, his usual carefree grin returning. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, you wanna come over to my place? We can grab some takeout, watch movies… you know, normal hangout stuff.”

There’s something in his invitation that feels different this time, but you brush it off. It’s Steve. He always invites you over. You’ve done it a million times before—movies, pizza, talking about everything and nothing. It’s what you do.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression shifting. You feel your stomach flutter, the air between you thickening as the playful banter dies down.

You find yourself leaning in, just a bit, and you see Steve’s breath catch, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours.

But before you can get any closer, a loud bang from down the hall makes both of you snap apart like you’ve been caught.

You both step back, instantly awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at each other. The spell breaks, but the tension still lingers, heavy in the air. You glance at Steve, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to hide something, or maybe it’s you who’s hiding it.

You break the silence first, a half-laugh escaping your lips. “Well… that was close.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed but also relieved. “Yeah, totally. We’re just—uh, messing around, right?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but your heart is racing, and you know he feels it too. “Right. Just messing around.”

But neither of you says anything more. You both head in opposite directions down the hallway, still feeling the echo of what almost happened, both of you wondering if the other is thinking about it too.

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At last, it’s the day of the party. You’ve spent longer than you’d like to admit getting ready, but you’re finally happy with your look. Blue bell-bottom jeans, a tight orange top with a center zip that falls just below the line of modesty—it’s bold, but you feel good in it. Confident, even.

You arrive at the party, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside you. The music pulses through the house, and people are scattered, laughing and talking, their faces blurry in the haze of a dimly lit room. As much as you try to act like you don’t care, the anxiety creeps in. Funny how someone so confident can still feel out of place in a crowd.

You push through, trying to find your core group, but as you weave through the bodies, there’s really only one person you’re looking for. Steve. The one person who has always had a way of making you feel like you belong.

On your way through the crowd, you bump into Jonathan Byers. Another one of your longtime friends. You’ve all grown up together in Hawkins, so you’ve seen each other through the years—some friendships stronger than others, but still, it’s hard to forget those familiar faces.

“Jonathan!” you call out with a smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “Loving the look, very you.” You nod at his usual, low-key style—flannel and jeans. He’s always been the quiet, thoughtful one in the group, and you just want him to feel good about his understated vibe.

“I like… your shirt,” he says, his words trailing off awkwardly.

Well, at least your shirt is doing what you intended it to. Maybe just not with the target audience.

“Looking for Nancy?” you ask, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jonathan responds, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t really associate with anyone else here.”

You put on a mock-offended face, “Ouch.”

He immediately backpedals, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, you were gone for a while. We kinda lost touch.” His gaze drops a little, clearly uncomfortable, referring to the time when your parents separated again, and you spent some months with your mom in California. It had been a rough time for you, especially being away from Steve. You’re still not sure how you survived that.

“Well, I’m back now,” you say, brushing off the past. “Come on, join me. I’m on a mission to find Steve and Nancy.”

Jonathan nods, grateful for the company. “Alright, lead the way.”

And there he is, leaning against the wall by the kitchen, laughing at something someone said, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand. He’s effortlessly cool as usual, but there’s something different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flicker over to Nancy every now and then, or the tightness in his posture that betrays the casual air he’s trying to maintain.

Nancy stands next to him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched in that familiar way when she’s upset—though it’s hard to say if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s fueling her frustration tonight. She’s leaning a little too heavily on the counter, her face flushed, the words she’s muttering barely audible over the noise of the party.

Steve’s smile is gone now, replaced by a more serious expression. He’s trying to keep things light, but it’s clear she’s not having it. 

As you and Jonathan walk toward the kitchen, you spot Steve and Nancy in their little world, tucked away by the counter. You can hear the edge in Nancy’s voice, even from a distance, though you can’t make out the words. Jonathan follows your gaze, his brow furrowing. You can’t blame him for looking the way he does—he’s been around long enough to know the dance between Steve and Nancy.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, though it feels more like an automatic question than one you really expect an answer to. You’ve seen enough of this cycle to know the routine.

Jonathan glances over, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t think so,” he says, a rare seriousness in his tone. “But you know Nancy. She’ll push through.”

You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you watch Steve’s stance shift, his body leaning toward Nancy as if trying to reach her without crowding her, trying to give her space but also not let her slip too far away. There’s something fragile in the air, something more than just the tension between them. It’s like Steve’s holding on by a thread, and maybe Nancy is, too, but neither of them wants to admit it.

“You should probably go talk to them,” Jonathan says, glancing at you. He doesn’t know what to say either, but it’s obvious that Steve’s been trying to manage things on his own. You could step in—or let him handle it.

You glance at Jonathan again, silently debating what to do. Jonathan nudges you gently with his elbow. “You good?” he asks. You nod, taking a step forward, your voice hesitant but warm. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to break through the tension without adding to it.

Nancy shoots you a sharp look before turning away, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got that defeated, yet resigned, look on his face as he exhales deeply. He’s trying to hide it, but the frustration is written all over him.

“Just the usual,” Steve says with a small, forced smile, looking at you.

Nancy, still with her arms crossed, shoots you a look that says more than her words do. It’s not that she’s mad at you; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be the center of attention right now. She’s not ready to have the conversation.

Jonathan stands by you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what the right thing is. The silence in the room is thick now.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Nancy slurs, her words trailing off as she pushes past Steve, who’s still trying to calm her down.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, his voice low and frustrated, but he’s too late. He sighs and chases after her, leaving you standing alone for the moment.

Not long after, a voice you’re starting to recognize from the past few days calls out from behind you.

“So if I’m Knight Rider, then who does that make you?” Billy’s voice is smooth, cocky, and unmistakable. He’s standing just a few feet away now, that grin still plastered on his face.

You turn to meet his gaze, letting a playful smile tug at the corners of your lips. You raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your eyes. “You’ll have to learn more about me to find out.”

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. “When?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, you feel that old rush of excitement—the thrill of the unknown. Remembering your mom’s less-than-subtle hints this morning, you decide to play along.

“How about Wednesday night? We can go see the new Terminator movie. You look like someone who appreciates a little Arnold Schwarzenegger,” you say, testing the waters, letting a hint of flirtation slip into your voice.

Billy doesn’t hesitate, that confident grin of his widening. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up. And…I’ve been to the gym Arnold works out in.” 

You raise your hand to stop him, a slight smirk on your face. “Right…I’m sure you have. Also, I’ve seen how you drive your car. Maybe I’ll meet you there,” you tease, enjoying the playful banter.

He chuckles, stepping back, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “I’ll go nice and slow just for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something you haven’t felt in a while. But as you look past him, your eyes flicker briefly to Steve, catching him trying to pry the solo cup out of Nancy’s hand. Just as the music halts, that red solo cup and the red mystery punch within it spills all over Nancy’s white shirt. 

Her face is in complete disbelief, she sways back and forth her reaction clearly slowed down by her alcohol intake.

“Screw you.” 

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom. 

“You know,” Billy starts again, “Rumor has it that you and Harrington have quite the colorful history? Why is it that you two aren’t prom king and queen this year?” 

Something in Billy’s tone instantly makes you second-guess your plans for Wednesday. His fading smirk tells you he’s noticed the flash of disdain on your face.

“What does it matter if you’re the one taking me on a date Wednesday?” you say, your voice edged with a warning. You’re feeling oddly protective over you and Harrington’s history, a past that’s none of Billy’s business.

Billy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “Fair enough,” he replies, but the cocky glint in his eyes lingers, as if he’s still sizing up the situation.

Shortly after, you spot Steve storming out of the bathroom alone, Nancy nowhere in sight. His expression is tense as he heads straight for the drink station, a familiar frustration in his stride. You catch a glimpse of Jonathan making his way toward Nancy, so you turn to Billy with a polite excuse and make your way over to Steve.

“Hey, you don’t need to be drinking any more right now,” you say, noticing that Steve has downed two cups of punch in the short walk it took to reach him.

“I’ve got a pretty damn good reason to,” he mutters, his jaw tight as he opens a beer.

“Steve, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but at least think about the fact that you still have to drive home,” you warn, trying to keep your tone light.

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “You can drive me.”

“I never volunteered for that,” you reply, crossing your arms.

For a moment, he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can tell he’s realizing that things are different. You’re not just there to pick up his pieces anymore. You have your own life to live tonight—a party to enjoy, and maybe even boys to dance with. The weight of another round of Steve-and-Nancy drama? That’s not something you’re willing to carry this time.

“You’re right,” Steve says, setting the beer down with a sigh. “I’ll just go sit out on the porch and sober up a bit. Then I’ll head out. And I wanna make sure Nancy gets home safe.”

You give his arm a quick squeeze, silently admiring that, even in the middle of an argument, he’s still looking out for her. That is… until his gaze drifts to the front door, where he sees Jonathan helping a barely-standing Nancy out to his car.

Crap.

“Go sit on the porch. I’ll be right there,” you say quickly, hinting you’ll handle it. You rush outside to catch up with Jonathan. “You know how this looks, right?”

Jonathan gives a solemn nod. “She asked me.”

Nancy lifts her head slightly, her words slurred and muddled. “I don’t want… Steve to take me home. Not Steve. I want to see Barb’s parents. Take me to Barb’s house.”

You pause, taken aback. “Barb’s parents? Why do you want to see Barb’s parents right now?”

Jonathan stiffens, worry flickering in his eyes. “Uh, I really think I should get her home now. Maybe check on Steve too.”

Without another word, they’re off, leaving you standing in the night with a sense of unease. You know Barbara Holland was Nancy’s best friend, missing since last year. But why would she bring that up now? And why with such urgency?

You find Steve out back, leaning against the porch railing, eyes glazed with frustration and a hint of sadness.

“Steve…why would Nancy want to see Barb’s parents tonight?”

He shakes his head slowly, the alcohol clearly loosening his grip on restraint. “God, I wish I could tell you everything right now. It would make things so much easier. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. But for the past year, I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”

A pit forms in your stomach. “What do you mean, Steve?”

He looks at you, eyes haunted, and whispers, “If I told you, you’d die.”

You laugh nervously, trying to shake the unease settling over you. “C’mon, it can’t be that serious.”

“There’s stuff going on around here that you have no clue about.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering a second longer than they should. Your heart skips, half hoping this is just the alcohol, half hoping it’s not. He always does this, walks that fine line.

His voice cracks slightly as he murmurs, “I just want to keep you safe.”

In that moment, you realize it’s not just words—it’s a plea, and you can feel the weight of something dark lurking just beyond his gaze, something he desperately wants to shield you from. 

You give Steve a gentle pinch, trying to ground him. “I’m safe, Steve. I’m right here, see?”

But he only shakes his head, eyes dark with something close to dread. “Here is where it’s least safe. Those things… they’re out there.”

A chill runs down your spine. “What things, Steve?” You search his face, recognizing the unmistakable truth behind his words.

He just looks away, jaw clenched. Instinctively, your mind flashes back to last year, the disappearances of Will Byers and Barb. Then Nancy and Jonathan, vanishing for days without a word. Everyone assumed Jonathan had to hold things together while Joyce spiraled, refusing to believe her son was dead. There was even a funeral, and she still wouldn’t admit it. Then, against all logic, Will came back with no real explanation.

You remember Steve acting strangely after everything went down. He kept trying to make peace with Jonathan over the fight they got into outside the movie theater, but he dodged every question you asked about the night he went to Jonathan’s house, laughing nervously or changing the subject so fast it left you spinning. Then there was the night you found a bat in the trunk of his car—nails hammered into it like some kind of makeshift weapon. When you questioned him, he just shrugged it off, calling it a “guy thing,” and you let it go, though every instinct told you there was more to the story.

Whenever you pushed for answers, Steve would wave it off, teasing you about reading too many mysteries and spending too much time theorizing. But seeing the fear in his eyes now, the weight he’s carrying, it hits you like a punch: you were right to question everything. And he knows it, too.

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You drive Steve’s car back to his house, figuring you’ll pick up your mom’s in the morning. One night won’t matter.

Helping him up to his room, you can’t shake the strange coincidences piling up around Hawkins.

“I missed this,” he mumbles, settling onto his bed.

“What?”

“You… in my room,” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “Stay tonight. Don’t leave.”

“You have a girlfriend, Steve. I don’t stay over when you have a girlfriend.”

He sighs, eyes full of something almost desperate. “What kind of girlfriend says she isn’t really in love with you?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She said we’re just… acting like we’re in love,” he says, voice rough with frustration and something else.

You can see it—the hurt he’s tried to bury, the way he’s tried so hard to be enough for someone. To finally feel wanted.

His arms slip around your waist, his head resting against your stomach, and you feel his shoulders shake. Silent tears he doesn’t want you to see.

“Hey, hey… She was drunk, okay? Everyone says stupid things when they’re drunk. Talk to her tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“She meant it,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You gently push him back onto the bed, pulling the covers over him. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Steve. Get some rest, and we’ll figure out the Nancy thing together.”

You hate to leave him like this, but you know it’s the right thing to do. So, once again, you walk away, leaving your best friend alone with his heartbreak and the last traces of alcohol on his breath. Another turn in the endless cycle that is your friendship—always there for him, even as it pulls you back into the same, unbroken loop.

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The next day, Billy and Steve square off on the basketball court, the air thick with tension. Billy’s been taunting him non-stop, poking at Steve’s so-called “King Steve” reputation like it’s a worn-out joke. But Steve keeps his cool, mostly.

Until Billy casually drops your name.

“So tell me, Harrington,” Billy sneers with a smirk, “what made you go for the Wheeler girl over Y/N?”

Steve feels the muscles in his jaw clench, but he doesn’t take the bait. He knows better than to react. But Billy’s not done. He moves closer, a low chuckle escaping as he continues, “I mean, the King and the Princess of Hawkins High—cute match and all. But damn, man, have you seen the hips on her? Perfect for holding onto. Word is you already took her for a test drive, too. So I gotta wonder… why didn’t you ever claim her? Or maybe you just weren’t man enough?”

Steve’s control snaps. He shoves Billy hard, fire in his eyes as he stands inches from him, fists clenched. “Say one more thing about her. I dare you.”

Billy laughs, clearly enjoying himself, but there’s an edge to Steve’s stance, a fierce protectiveness that makes even Billy pause. Steve glares, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N’s worth more than someone like you will ever know. So keep her name out of your mouth, or you’ll regret it.”

Right on cue, Nancy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Steve?” She stands just a few feet away, looking pale and uneasy, clearly having seen the entire thing unfold.

Billy smirks, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. “Good luck, Harrington.” He saunters off, leaving Steve standing there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding.

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“Y/N!” your mom calls from downstairs. “Steve is here!”

Steve coming through the front door? That’s unusual—he’s always climbed the vines up to your window. You quickly spray a bit of perfume, fix your hair, then catch yourself in the mirror. Why are you even putting in effort for him?

When you come down, your mom throws you an excited smile, her back to Steve so he can’t see. She’s still holding onto that hope she’s had since first grade that you and Steve would end up together.

And then there he is, standing in the entryway with a bouquet of sunflowers—your favorite. Your heart stumbles as you take in every inch of him. For a brief second, you let yourself imagine you’re the only girl he brings flowers to. But realistically, he’s probably just coming from Nancy’s or on his way there next.

He hands you the flowers, his gaze lingering. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, trying to steady your voice.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, and your heart sinks. That’s it? 

“But, uh, make sure to open your window. There’s a nice breeze out tonight,” he adds with a wink. You bite back a smile, catching on.

You say your goodbyes and dash up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s questions as Steve leaves. You open your window, sitting on your bed, waiting for him like you have a hundred times before. Somehow, after all these years, the excitement still feels brand new.

“Miss me?” He slips through the window, quietly so your mom doesn’t hear, and makes himself at home. He turns on your record player, the soft hum of music filling the room, then joins you on the bed.

He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night. It wasn’t fair, and you deserve better.”

You try to catch his gaze, but he’s clearly embarrassed. “That’s what best friends are for,” you say, hoping to ease his guilt.

You bite your tongue, unsure whether to bring up what he shared last night—but you’ve never hidden things from each other, and you don’t want to start now. “You told me about Nancy… how she said it felt like you were just acting in love.”

He sighs, defeated. “Yeah. I confronted her about it today. Asked if she could say she loved me, and she couldn’t.”

Your heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she’s just… having a moment. A lot’s happened this year.”

The silence hangs between you for a moment, heavy with unsaid words.

“I’m gonna bring her flowers after this. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but she deserves an apology for everything I put her through,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. You smile, resting your hand on his knee. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He looks down at your hand on his knee, his fingers hovering for a moment before he covers it with his own. His expression softens, a hint of something he quickly tries to hide, but you can see it—a sadness mixed with a reluctant acceptance, like he knows exactly what all of this means.

He lets out a quiet sigh, staring at your intertwined hands. There’s a heaviness in his eyes. Like even if things with Nancy are ending, there’s something between you and him that’s never quite let go.

His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before he releases your hand and gives you a small, bittersweet smile.

“You should go,” you whisper. You don’t want him to. But he needs to. 

He reluctantly resigns himself.

“Can I come pick you up in an hour? Maybe we can go to the movies or something?”

You know you should say no, but you can’t. “If you and Nancy aren’t making out and making up within the next hour then yes, we can go to a movie.” 

He stares at you, and you can’t quite read him. You avert your gaze. 

“It’s so funny,” he speaks almost as if he can’t believe himself, “No matter what…or who…I always need you.” 

And with that he’s out the window and on his way to try and win back another woman.

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[kayharrisons]

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her [BJORN X READER] [18+] [1 OF ??]

The Victor of the 24th Annual Hunger Games.

A/N: AND HERE WE GO!! The first chapter!!!! This is a Bjorn heavy chapter, but don't worry, reader will appear next chapter!! This is p short but it's MOSTLY just to establish Bjorn in this world. Bjorn is ab 17 here!

Chapter warnings: death, gore, starvation, unpleasant vibes between minors and adults, violence

"Ladies and Gentlemen, from District 12, Bjorn Henriksen, the winner of the 24th Annual Hunger Games!"

Bjorn drops the metal pipe with a clatter, staring down at the bashed in face of the District 3 male tribute. He staggers to his feet, spitting out a glob of blood as he distantly hears Lucky Flickerman making his announcements, his cheerful voice fading to nothing but a mere buzzing in his ears as he stares down at the mess of flesh, what used to be a 15 year old's face.

He chokes back his vomit, wiping his bloody hands against his grimy t-shirt.

It's not his first kill.

That boy used to be someone. He had a family, friends, a life.

Bjorn had taken all of that from him.

He hadn't wanted to, had fully intended on waiting the kid out, on keeping to himself.

Both he and 3 had been forced to the Cornocopia by these... spider like creatures. They were strange in appearance, and Bjorn knew he'd be seeing them in his sleep for the foreseeable. If he even got any sleep ever again.

3's face turning to mulch beneath his hands. 7's face going a horrible shade of purple as he sobbed and kept the pipe pressed over her throat. The life leaving 2's eyes as Bjorn shoved the broken pipe end through his throat.

Navarro's lifeless eyes staring at him, accusatory, it was his fault she'd been speared through the heart, why hadn't he been paying more attention? Why had he let her die? Why hadn't he paid more attention to the District 2 tribute? Maybe then it would be Navarro standing here and not HIM?

What would you have to say? Were you watching the Games? Or could you not bear to watch your boyfriend go through such horrors?

He doesn't know which is worse, truth be told. You watching him kill, watching him at his lowest, watching him starve and sob and lose himself. Or you not watching at all and finding things out second hand, him having to explain everything he's done to you.

It's not long before he's picked up by the Capital, before they tut and shake their heads over every bruise, every cut, his hollow cheeks, his longer hair, the stubble growing on his face.

Three weeks he'd been in there.

Three weeks.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"We'll get all of this fixed up in no time, Mr Henriksen!" One of the medical professionals says oh so cheerily to him as he sits on a hospital bed, vacantly staring straight ahead of him. "Such a handsome face," she coos, reaching out and taking his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, turning his face this way and that. "Bet you've got your own little fanclub now, lucky boy. You'll have your pick of the litter!"

"I just wanna go home." he whispers, voice cracking. He wanted out of here. Wanted away from these sickly sweet voices, the fake smiles, the bright obnoxious colours and patterns that were starting to become a staple here in the Capital.

He longed for you. Your sincerity, your warmth. He longed for the biting cold air of 12. Longed for those parties the Covey threw, now that their music had been banned, it had become more of an underground thing lest any Peacekeepers attention be caught. Longed for shitty beer and warm bread fresh from the bakery. Longed for the thick, dense woods that surrounded his district, for the secret gap in the fence that didn't get electricity to it that meant freedom, however brief.

His summers had been spent laughing by the lake with his family, with you curled into his side, ever since you'd both turned fourteen and acknowledged the feelings creeping up on you both, taking root like a stubborn plant that refused to be plucked.

His chest ached, for it was absent its heart. It resided firmly in 12, with you, right where it belonged.

"Eventually, handsome," the woman waves him off, picking up a pair of scissors and getting to work on his hair. "You've gotta give your last interview, first! And get the honour of President Snow crowning you the winner, oh, imagine!"

Honour.

Bile rises, which he struggles to force back down. He focuses on the sound of the scissors snipping at his hair, closes his eyes and breathes.

Soon.

He'll be home soon.