#tried to make Lizzie like a ghost

[ldshadowdoodles]

[240] Was binging UHShe and started having feels over Team Slazzie 🥲

-🌷

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with���you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[anxious-witch]

I apologize for irritable tone of this post, but a portion of this fandom is starting to irritate me, so let's analyze catwin through the lens of how age works for ghosts and how situational irony is used in a scene where Edwin and Niko talk about kissing.

Let's start with age. Right at the beginning, when Emma asks Charles and Edwin to take her case, she tries to play it off as her being just a little girl. This is what Edwin replies:

And before anyone jumps the gun and says: "He said SUPERNATURALLY speaking! He is still physically 16!"

Okay. Let's unpack that. Considering how for people who are immortal, which ghosts essentially are, and as such unchanging, that isn't quite a proper argument, is it? Because the way I see it, there are two ways someone could argue this. Either your gripe is about the Cat King finding Edwin attractive despite him physically being a 16 year old or your gripe is that Edwin is mentally 16 and as such, cannot consent.

If it's the first, I think that argument is quite lacking here, because we know the Cat King is aware Edwin is older than 16. And as someone who is an adult and often gets mistaken for a minor, I think the idea that you can just always tell someone's age by looking at them quite funny. Also, by that logic, I shouldn't be able to consent either, because people generally gauge my age to be between 16-18, when I am in my mid 20s.

If it's the second, your point doesn't work because being frozen at 16 would mean being unable to learn and develop firther than what you did by that age. Which we know is false for ghosts, especially Edwin. He changes and develops constantly throughout the s1, and we have a front row seat to that! Human brains aren't clear cut, and before you jump under the post to say your brain isn't fully develop until age 25, I will kindly tell you that human brains, in fact, never stop changing and developing. And that experiences, traumas, etc hugely impact developments of individuals.

One argument I can sort of is perhaps Edwin and Charles having somewhat stunted emotional growth, but as we also see throughout the season, that has more to do with them stagnanting rather than them being unable to emotionally develop. And frankly, I know bunch of adults with the same issues, so.

Now for the "But Edwin said he doesn't want to kiss the Cat King!" argument. How about we look at what Edwin says before that, huh?

He says he has never been kissed and didnt understand the appeal, until recently. And you cannot tell me it wasn't the Cat King who made him realize it. Yes, he wanted to kiss Charles and I am not saying he didn't like Monty too, but if it wasn't for the Cat King getting physically close to him and playing into his desires, he wouldn't have realized that he too, feel physical attraction!

As for him saying "Absolutely not!" When Niko asks him if he wants to kiss the Cat King, I think that's laughable argument to saying "Well, see, he didn't want him!" Because first of all, characters can lie. Edwin most certain, lies about things he wants, both to himself and others, up until pressed.

Besides, if I am not mistaken, given English isn't my first language and I learned this stuff in a different language, this is also called situational irony, aka, someone say something won't/can't happen and then it happens. This is very often seen in romance plots too. A characters says they hate someone and then they end up dating them.

Think of Lizzy Benett and Darcy

And then she goes ahead and married him later, once her opinion of him changes. It's a classic romance trope!

Similarly, Edwin says he doesn't want to kiss the Cat King and what happens at the end? Oh yeah!

He kisses the Cat King. Shocker.

But yeah just like. Y'all are free to not like the ship for whatever reason, but for the love of god, stop making up stuff that's just blantantly untrue. There is an "anti catwin" tag for a reason, if you truly cannot stop yourself from commenting, but in all honestly, you could just enjoy your own ship without putting other ppl's ships down. Cat King is not perfect by any means, but this isn't a predator type of situation. I and many others have addressed the whole "coercion" bit quite a few times so I won't get into it again, but these two arguments I have seen pop up and I just had to address it. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[hybbart]

Finally finished my codfather deisgn after messign with it for way too long.

I went with a manbun because the ponytail just wouldn't look good 9 times out of 10 and even the good looking one didn't quite look right so I added hair as felt right and then the bun to match lizzie's hair. It makes him look a bit like a surfer bro so its funny.

I also tried a lot of long tails but none of thrm looked right. The tail didnt look good when thin and jimmys hips are way to thin for a thick tail the look right, so for the first time in my life I restrained myself for the tail length.

I couldn't make a middle ground between the old princely look and the swamp monster aesthetic of his mask, I tried but I can't do it, so I went full swamp monster and made his mask the centrepiece of his outdit instead of a disguise. I don't have that special magical power other artists have for making the cod hat look good either so I went with a mask. The water plants that hang from them create a ghillie suit type effect thats actually more of a ghost child about to crawl out of the well effect. He's not an efficient swimmer like lizzie he's more of a riverbed bottom feeder type so I didn't care too much how sleek he was. It gets tangled on everything.

I also added just a little bit of pink as an accent and reference to lizzie. I imagine he didn't wear the pink until after they discovered they were seablings.

Also...

... bonus e1 deep sea creature inspired Tango that will be appearing soon.........

[faeriekit]

Things Long Gone

for a phic phight prompt from @armed-with-knitting-needles

Edward Lancer woke up the same way he did every morning.

He rolled out of bed. Brushed his teeth. Changed into a button-up and a tie, and slacks he wouldn’t hate throughout the course of the day.

He made his coffee like he did every day: he stuck his thermos under the machine, waited with a slice of toast until the coffee maker stopped pouring, and capped it in one smooth motion that shook its contents until everything was relatively mixed inside. No sweetners. No sugar. No milk.

Great. Ed went to grab his keys…

…His keys weren’t on the hook.

He blinked, hand frozen in its attempt so reach what wasn’t there. His. Where were his keys? He’d had them yesterday.

…He was pretty sure he’d had them yesterday. Hadn’t he gone to see Lizzy and the new baby? His sister had been so excited to show Charlotte off to her new uncle. Ed had been excited to go.

…Whatever. Amity Park was relatively walkable; as long as he dashed, he could get there in time.

So, off he jogged, into the hot, early morning, sweating and puffing as he went.

*

Ed made to the school entrance just as the bell rang for first period. He sighed, struggling for air—but at least he’d be able to swap in for Mrs. Keppler’s math course this morning. Man, he felt as if he’d run every class at this point. They might as well make him the—

Something invisible SLAMMED into his face.

His nose crunched. Ed swore in every classic title he knew, stumbling back and grabbing at his nose—ugh, and his fingers were coming away wet. He had to go see the nurse, or, more likely, the hospital. He was later than ever, but he’d have to—

He tried for the door again. Again, something stopped him.

…Ed frowned. He rapped against the invisible boundary with his knuckles. It was probably ghosts, again, but this was unusually…static. Benign?

“Ed, good heavens! What happened to your face?”

Ed turned around, nose slowly beginning to swell up in his hands as Ms. Cathleen Rylant stalked up the walkway to the school. “G’Morning,” he grunted, unable to summon the capacity for proper pronunciation. “I…seem to be blocked from getting into the building.”

Cathleen frowned. Her shoulder bag was pulled higher onto her thin, elderly shoulder: a nervous gesture. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ed! Is there anything…”

“Do you mind testing it for me?” Ed tried, carefully cupping the blood he could feel from dripping down onto his dress shirt. “If it affects you, or is unique to me…”

There were a few ghosts that targeted individuals. Ed had some surety that the genie ghost had gotten him to ‘call out from school’ today—there was a text today, and he would not put it past

“Got it,” the elderly science teacher offered sweetly. Cathleen was a gift, truly. “Was it…?”

Ed smacked a hand against the barrier. There was no visible sign of it—no distortion, no ripple, no change in color.

“Got it.” Cathleen—and her much more fragile bones—carefully put a hand out, expecting to be able to put her weight on it.

She just barely caught her balance before falling onto the concrete step. Ed reached out a hand to help her, and, of course, ended up with bruised fingers for the trouble. He swore.

“Huh,” she said. “…Well, I’m late for first period anyway; want me to tell Yuuko what’s holding you up?”

Ed sighed. He reminded himself that informing their principal would be best, considering the circumstances… “Yes, please. Thank you, Cathleen.”

“No problem, Ed.”

And Edward Lancer sat on the front step of the school, back leaned against nothing, and waited to see what could be done for him.

He took his hand away from his nose to reach for his coffee.

…His blood wasn’t red.

Ed’s blood went cold.

Wait. Why had—

—Screeching tires, metal SLAMMED into its final place, snapping, cracking, the lights cutting out, a choked last breath—

…Ed’d had his car yesterday. Why didn’t he have it this morning?

“I’m imagining things,” Ed muttered to himself. He wiped the green blood onto the back of his clean plants and resolved to wait for Principal Ishiyama.

*

Mr. Lancer was still outside the school by the time lunch rolled around.

“So he’s just…hanging out?” Sam asked around a mouthful of vegan-and-cruelty-free sushi, staring from their place under the tree at their teacher and his crowd of educational professionals.

Danny shrugged. He swallowed a bite of ham-and-baloney. “Looks like,” he observed. They watched as Mr. Lancer proved, again, that no matter how hard his middle-age-professional bulk heaved and pushed, there was no getting past the entryway into the school.

“…Huh.” Sam took a second bite. Across the yard, Mr. Lancer slipped on the invisible barrier, and everyone got closer to help pick him off the ground. “Any idea why this is happening?”

Danny put his sandwich down. He didn’t say anything.

Sam turned to look at him. “Danny?”

“…I saw an accident on the way home with Dad last night,” Danny offered quietly. He picked a little speck of nothing off of his sandwich. “The two cars were bent in half at the bottom of the ravine. There were rescue trucks and police all over the other side of the highway; cars were backed up for like four exits behind it. One of the cars looked like Mr. Lancer’s gray crapbox, but it’s not like I could get a good look…”

Sam went quiet. Danny stayed quiet.

They watched as Mr. Lancer explained, again, for the nineteenth time, that he couldn’t get into the school, and didn’t know why.

“…Oh,” said Sam. She set her chopsticks down.

“Mmhmm.” Danny swallowed. “Uh…looks like Mom’s updates on the ghost shields are working, though.”

“No kidding,” Sam echoed absently.

Eventually, lunch was over. When they went back inside, half-eaten lunches packed back up to take home for later, the distant figure of Mr. Lancer was still outside the school door, hoping to be let back in.

[wandafiction]

Mommy's Girl

Warnings 18+: Top Reader, Mommy reader, Bottom Elizabeth Olsen, Use of Sex Toys, Teasing, Strap on (Lizzie Receiving), Degradation, Cock Warming.

You and Lizzie are getting ready to meet a few of the Marvel people at a restaurant, they have just wrapped on endgame and they wanted to celebrate what they called freedom. You are currently in the en suite putting on some well fitted black dress pants with a burgundy button up and some black oxfords, while Lizzie is in the walk-in closet getting changed. You both had said you wanted to surprise each other with the outfits, not having been out properly due to both your conflicting work schedules. So who knows how the night might end, well you both have a very good idea. 

“Baby you ready?” You shout.

“Give me one second.” Making sure everything looks good with your outfit before heading into the bedroom, you sit on the end of the bed with your hands behind you prompting you up, undoing a few of the top buttons of the shirt, and planting your feet in the floor.

You hear something drop to the floor and a small fuck from Lizzie.

“You okay princess?” 

“Mhmm, all good. Fuck where do you go.” You hear her mumble the last part as well as the opening and closing of a few draws and your curious self can’t resist going to find out what she is doing.

“Baby, what’s going …. Holy fuck.” You freeze in the doorway when you see what Lizzie is wearing, watching as a blush travels up the side of her neck and face as she slowly turns to look at you with her hands behind her back.

“Baby, this outfit was meant to be a surprise.” Lizzie whines with a small pout as you take it all in, mouth ajar, her pink cheeks now burning red. “Stop staring, you're making me blush.”

“I can’t help but look at my sexy girlfriend.” You bite your lip when Lizzie tries to avoid your gaze by turning her head to look at the floor.

“Baby stop.” You chuckle holding your hands up in surrender at Lizzie's bright red face, moving to stand in front of her and using your finger and thumb on her chin to tilt her head to look at you.

“What’s behind your back baby?” Lizzie pushes herself against the chest of draws shaking her head.

“Nothing.” You raise a brow putting your hands on her shoulders and slowly trailing your fingers down to her elbow.

“Baby.” Letting your fingers ghost the skin on her arms, smiling when you see goose bumps as Lizzie bites her lip shaking her head.

“It’s nothing, just dropped something and trying to find its home.” Your eyes meet lizzie’s and she squirms a little under the gaze making you smirk. 

“Babygirl.” Your voice husky as you bring your lips to her ear, hot breath travelling down her neck as Lizzie squirms more.  "I would like to know what’s behind your back. Are you going to show me what you’re hiding back there?” 

"It's noth…" Lizzie’s words are cut off as you wrap your hand gently around her neck giving it a small squeeze.

"My, my Elizabeth." You feel Lizzie swallow harshly under your hand, you only ever use her full name when she is in trouble. "Lying to me. Now that won't do. No, not at all. So I will ask you one more time what is it that is behind your back."

Lizzie turns her head slightly looking towards the ground and your smirk to yourself knowing her submissive side is finally clawing its way out from behind her act. You feel her lose her composure, her knees buckling slightly when you apply more pressure to her neck at the lack of reply.

"Mommy asked you a question." Using a single finger on her jaw you move her head so she is looking back at you but her eyes drop down avoiding your gaze.

"I found something new that was hidden." You hum with a soft nod, your hold on her neck slightly loosening. "But I swear I didn't go looking, it was in the draw with the other underwear and I was going to put it back but I couldn't remember exactly where it went and I knew you would find out. So instead I thought maybe you wouldn't walk in here and you would find it when we get back and you would be too tired to punish me."

"Oh baby." You fake pout at her little story, her eyes flicking up to see yours and she has to stop herself from rolling them at the fake pout. "But what if I wanted you to find them." 

"What?" She shuffles on her feet wetting her lips as your bring your lips against her pulse point your teeth grazing the skin so softly your not sure she can feel it but the way her head moves to the side to give you more room lets you know how much you're working her up a whine leaving her lips. "Mommy."

"Think about it baby. I wouldn't leave them laying in such an obvious place if I didn't want you to find them. Would I?" Lizzie shakes her head, her hands finally moving from behind her back holding the item between the two of you. "You gonna put them on for me?" 

"What about our meal?" You see the small panic that brings Lizzie out if her state a little rolling her shoulders back as she stands up straighter.

"Baby, all you gotta do is put them on. I have full control." You take the small remote that's in her hand waving in front of you with a devilish smirk. "You know the rules."

"I…" She once again bows her head, the room falling into silence for a moment until she looks back up at you with her lip between her teeth.

"Elizabeth." You drag out her name as your hand trails down her arm to the underwear in her hand, pocketing the remote before sliding your hand up her thigh and under her dress. 

"Please not tonight." You smirk, sliding your finger up the inside of her thigh all the way to her soaking underwear and you chuckle, shaking your head a little applying pressure to her clit through the fabric, a sigh passing her lips.

"I think this says different. You're soaking baby. Just the thought of it has made you wet. Isn't that right?" You push her underwear to the side running a finger along her slit and a moan leaves her lips as her head rolls back with her eyes. "Baby girl answer mommy when she is speaking to you."

"Yes mommy. Fuck." You hook your thumb on the band of her underwear pulling them down her legs before letting them drop to the floor, taking a step back.

"Put these on. Be in the car in 5 minutes, not one second late, understand."

"Yes." Lizzie’s chest is heaving as you lean forward placing a soft kiss on her lips that she melts into.

"Yes?"

"Yes mommy." You smile against her lips. 

"Better. I love you." You whisper against her lips pulling away to walk out the room holding in a laugh when you hear Lizzie mumble to herself about letting herself get so riled up.

"Fucking mommy kink."

♤♡◇♧

You’re sitting in the car watching the seconds click down on your watch. Just as the 5 minutes is nearly up the car door quickly opens and closes and a flustered Lizzie settles in the passenger seat, her hands running down her body to try and smooth out her dress. 

“Only just made it sweetheart, what took you so long?” You raise a brow looking in her direction as she avoids your stare looking out the window to the house.

“Just had to take a moment to breathe.” Your eyes search her features as she finally looks at you with a soft smile pulling at the corner of her lips. 

“You didn’t touch yourself did you? You know the rules.” Lizzie immediately shakes her head in denial and your eyes search hers looking for her tells when she is lying, having seen none you nod with a devilish smirk. “Good girl.” 

“So how exactly do these things work?” You lick your lips turning to look out the back window as your hand moves to hold onto the back of Lizzie’s seat as you reverse the car out of the driveway and onto the road; ignoring the way you can feel her staring at the action.

“Well it's quite simple actually.” You keep your attention on the road as you start driving towards the restaurant that's about 10 minutes away. “Want me to show you?”

“S-sure.” You smile to yourself at the nervousness in her voice, placing your hand on her thigh giving it a gentle squeeze to help her relax.

“You know the word if you want it to stop, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable tonight but I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy this.”

“Show me.” You chuckle, taking your hand from her thigh, taking the small remote from your pocket flicking it on, hearing a small gasp from Lizzie. You take a quick glance to the control to see the intensity on high so turn it down and you hear her hum in reaction.

“Y/n.” She says your name under her breath as you take a quick glance to her seeing her hands gripping the edge of her seat, her hips rolling slightly and you quickly turn the intensity all the way down earning a groan and a glare as you look back to the road. “What the fuck?”

“I’m not gonna play nice tonight sweetheart.” You turn the intensity back up slightly, Lizzie’s eyes fluttering at the feeling her legs closing slightly and as she starts to shuffle in her seat you turn it off.

“What the hell!” You raise your brow at her tone, as you come to a red light you turn to her grabbing her jaw harshly to get her to look at you and you smile when she swallows harshly.

“What’s with the attitude?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just new and it feels so good.” 

“I’m sorry….” Lizzie bits her lip looking at you through her eyelashes. 

“I’m sorry mommy, I promise to be good.” You hum, turning them back on and putting it on a low intensity catching Lizzie sliding down in the chair slightly as her hands continue to hold the sides of her chair. "Feels good."

"We are 5 minutes from the restaurant baby, then the real fun begins." You smirk looking back to the road as the light turns green trying your best to ignore the way Lizzie is shuffling in her seat soft sighs the only sound filling the car. 

"I could cum just like this." Her voice husky and as you take a quick glance over you watch as she subtly rolls her hips into the seat, and you immediately turn them back off earning a whine. "Mommy, please."

"You know the rules baby girl." Lizzie grumbles, turning her body away from you slightly, as you concentrate on trying to park the car outside the restaurant. "Tell me the rules baby. I think someone needs a refresher."

"No cumming without permission. No touching myself. Anndd…"

"You made it!" Lizzie's door flings open revealing a very excited Scarlett and you can't help but chuckle at Lizzie's flushed cheeks as she adjusts her position in the seat. 

"Hey Scarlett." You get out of the car making your way around to where Lizzie and Scarlett are standing, wrapping your arm around Lizzie’s waist.

"Hi Y/n. How are things?" Scarlett links her arm with yours starting to lead you and Lizzie, who has gone rather quiet, into the restaurant. 

"Things are good. Work is work." You shrug as you make it to the table where a small gathering of the avengers cast are already sitting, drinking and laughing.

"Look, the two love birds finally made it out of their nest to come see us." Robert exclaims and the table cheers as you do a small bow, chuckling when you see Lizzie hiding her face behind her hands and turning into you more.

"Oh don't go all shy now Lizzie. Introduce us to your woman." Chris Evans stands from his seat engulfing Lizzie in a hug as she grumbles about how her friends are going to embarrass her. 

"I mean I know you said she was a stunner but wow Lizzie where did you find her." Lizzie shoots Tom Hiddleston a look that says back off and his hands immediately raise in fake surrender. 

"Well he is right Lizzie. I mean look at her." Chris H waves his hand up and down signalling to your body, and Lizzie easily takes her lip between her teeth as she eyes you up and down for a second.

"Okay enough ogling. Tell us why we have never met your goddess of a wife before. With all the amazing stories we hear I'm surprised you don't show her off more." Robert takes a sip from his drink raising a brow.

"I can hear y'all you know." You shake your head chuckling as you lead Lizzie to the only 2 free seats between Robert and Chris E, pulling Lizzie’s chair out for her. 

"And she is a gentlewoman. See I don't get this kind of treatment from my wife." Robert complains as you push Lizzie's chair back and take a seat next to her. 

"Well does she get her chair pulled out for her." You ask with a smirk, resting your hand on Lizzie's thigh not missing the way you feel it clench beneath your touch.

"Yes, well sometimes." You hum filling yours and Lizzies glass with wine before taking a sip.

"Sometimes is not good enough for a lady, it should be always." You state causing everyone around the table to giggle as Roberts jaw drops.

“Wow someone has some sass.” Robert jests and you simply shrug with a smirk taking a sip of your wine.

“So can we finally get to the point in conversation where you tell us how you met.” Tom raises a curious eyebrow as you sit back in your chair letting Lizzie take the lead.

“It was a few years ago now. Me, Scarlett, my sisters and some of the girls from civil war went out for some drinks. We got a little drunk and we all decided to just say fuck it a go to a strip club.”

“Wait, she's a stripper?” Mark whisper shouts from the other end of the table.

“She has a name, and no I was the bartender there.” You correct him as he sulks back into his seat slightly with an apologetic smile.

"I was just gonna say that Lizzie knows how to pick 'em. I mean imagine having a stripper as a partner, not in a bad way of course." Mark is quick to defend himself when everyone looks at him raising a brow. "I just mean think of the sex. You'd get lap dances pole dances at home and then the sex. Damn, I should've gone for a stripper."

"Are the strippers really like the ones in grand theft?" You look to the other end of the table where the younger Tom is sitting, laughing softly as you shake your head. 

"Not at all. They are less glitchy and don't spend 5 minutes walking into the wall." Tom gives you a middle finger at your smug smirk and you know for a fact whenever Lizzie brings you to something like this you two are gonna cause chaos.

"Oh right of course, how silly of me to think people would do that." Tom facepalms himself, his voice full of sarcasm.

"You would be surprised what people get up to in their free time." You squeeze Lizzie’s thigh earning a small smack onto the back of your hand as Tom slowly nods.

"Right because we all practice being an NPC for fun." You and Tom chuckle as the rest of the cast share confused looks but shrug it off.

"Back to the story. Stop with the side tracking." Chris H interrupts.

"Where was I? Right strip club. Yes Y/n here was the bartender." Lizzie continues before Scarlett is quick to interrupt raising her wine glass.

“If you want to get drunk fast make sure Y/n here is making your drinks.” Scarlett giggles filling her wine glass back up causing you to raise an eyebrow in question as normally she isn’t much of a drinker. “Colin is looking after two snot monsters tonight. He told me to get drunk and let loose so here's to that.”

“Right then, back to the story.” You smile looking back at Lizzie as Scarlett downs her nearly full glass of wine. “So I was a little drunk, well very drunk, and I was struggling to even stand in one spot without stumbling. Luckily, the nice bartender who was on shift that night came to my rescue giving me a glass of water, not that it would do much at that point, some snacks she had in the back to just try and help a little. Anyway, I was practically sat down the rest of the night, the room spinning dangerously quickly and making me feel completely and utterly sick and sorry for myself.”

“I really want to see drunk lizzie.” Chris H laughs and Lizzie quickly shakes her head.

“You really don’t. Anyway, where was I babe?” Lizzie scrunches her brows looking at you for an answer and you smirk at the opportunity she has given you.

“You see, Lizzie doesn’t remember much after running to the restroom to be sick, so I have to tell the rest of the story.” Lizzie chokes on her wine as you flick the underwear back on putting the intensity on low.

“Thanks.” Lizzie coughs into the napkin you hand her as you turn the intensity up slightly and she readjusts her seating position.

“Hello folks, sorry to interrupt but I just came to ask if you guys were ready to order your food?” The nice young waiter keeps everyone distracted enough that you turn up the intensity more and Lizzie scowls at you as her cheeks flush red and she fights to keep her eyes open at the feeling. 

“And finally for you two fine ladies?” You turn the intensity down so Lizzie can order but the way she crosses her legs squeezing them together makes you move a hand to rest on one of her thighs.

“Just the, uhm, the, uhm. Baby what are you having?” You subtly lick your lips at her inability to talk, the feeling of the vibration and your hands affecting her more than you thought. 

“I’m just going to have the lasagne with an extra side of garlic bread please.” You look back at Lizzie who quickly clears her throat.

“I will have the same …. Please.” You catch Scarlett’s eyes darting between you and Lizzie trying to figure out what's going, rather glad that the men around the table are rather oblivious to Lizzie's obviously flustered state.

"Perfect, any more drinks for anyone?" Scarlett now turns to the men asking what wine they wanted to order and Lizzie takes the opportunity to whisper in your ear.

"Mommy, please." She gasps against your skin as you turn the intensity up her hand grabbing your forearm, her nails digging into your skin for stability. 

"What are you asking for, baby girl?" You turn to look at her flushed face whispering softly as to not alert the others who are now arguing over if they should order 2 bottles of one wine and 2 of another or simply 4 bottles of the same. 

"I, fuck." Lizzie’s eyes flutter shut for a second as you give her thigh a squeeze, her legs moving to clamp your hands between them. "Mommy I need to cum, please."

"No." You pull your hand away from her leg turning the intensity back down, Lizzie slouching in her seat with a groan earning everyone's attention.

"You good lizzie?" Lizzie looks over to Mark, giving him a slightly pained smile and nodding.

"Ye-yeah all good. All good, just hungry." She sits up straighter in her seat downing the last bit of wine in her glass before glaring at you and you simply chuckle in response tapping the remote to remind her who is in control. 

♤♡◇♧

As the meal is coming to an end, everyone finishing off their desserts, you can see the relief on Lizzie's face for a moment. The meal had been just under 2 hours with people eating slowly or not knowing what dessert they wanted so sending the waiter away more than once but ordering more drinks each time. It was chaos and with the way Lizzie was squirming in her seat, face flushed red and her knuckles turning white as she holds the sides of her chair. Your hand had ended up back in her thigh some time ago to add to the teasing and her whole body seemed to have flush red hot. 

"Lizzie, are you feeling okay? You seemed to have been off all evening." Lizzie’s head spins to the right at Robert's question, her eyes darting to you for a second and when you mouth a we can go her tense shoulders relax slightly. 

"I think I might be getting sick, so I think we are going to call it a night and head home." You silently stand offering a hand out to Lizzie who easily takes it and stands up, her legs shaking slightly, and because you are feeling just a little nice tonight you turn the intensity all the way down so she can at least walk normal(ish). 

"It was wonderful to meet some of you, Scarlett, it's always a pleasure to see you. But I better be getting her home and tucked in bed with some tea. We should definitely do this again sometime." You wrap an arm around Lizzie’s torso as she leans into you hiding her face against your side, her arms lazily wrapped around your waist. 

"Yes it was indeed. I do hope you feel better Liz and you should most definitely bring your wife out more when we do these sort of things." Robert stands to shake your hand before hugging Lizzie in an awkward sideways hug as she makes no effort to move away from you. "Poor dear you must be feeling awful."

"I best be getting her home." Robert softly nods as the rest of the men stand to say their goodbyes to the two of you, Scarlett waiting till last with a smirk on her face. 

"I think it's a good thing you both have the weekend off." Scarlett whispers in your ear as she hugs you both, Lizzie grumbles into your shirt and you pinch her side causing her to squeal but ultimately stop her groaning. 

"Don't know what you're talking about." You act coy and Scarlett gives you an 'are you serious' look and you simply shrug.

"Fine, yes go home and look after your sick wife." She pecks yours and Lizzies cheek before going back to her seat waving to you as you lead Lizzie out of the restaurant and to the car.

(Reader PoV)

Once I pull out onto the road I turn the intensity all the way back up. A loud moan echoes around the car as Lizzie throws her head back, eyes scrunched closed and her hand gripping tightly to the headrest. Her thighs clench shut for some form of relief and I quickly and forcefully pull them apart with my right hand, my attention staying on the road as much as possible. My finger ghost up the inside of her thigh all the way to the completely ruined underwear, Lizzie hips bucking at the contact of my finger toying with her clit through the fabric. 

"Mommy, please I'm so close." Lizzie opens her eyes looking at me pleading for any sort of relief. 

"I don't know if you deserve it." I push her underwear to the side running two fingers along her slit gathering some of her wetness before lifting the two of them up to her mouth. "Open."

Easily following my demand lizzie wraps her lips around my fingers, her tongue dancing around them moaning as her eyes shut once more. I love it when I can work her up so much she simply gives in. I push my fingers in more suddenly and lizzie gags slightly but doesn't stop what she is doing as her hips roll against the car seat. 

She had been so consumed by what I was doing she hadn't noticed we had made it home until I am dragging her inside and up to the bedroom harshly pushing her against the wall. I quickly rid her of her underwear and dress, a hand on her chest to push her against the wall, a dirty moan leaving her lips at the dominance. 

"Aww, does my baby girl need me." I pout cupping her centre as I bring your lips to her ear. "Tell mommy what you want."

"I want you to fuck me. Please. Want mommy's cock. Want to feel you inside." I kiss down her neck finding her pulse point gently sucking at the skin before biting it and soothing the hurt with my tongue. Lizzies hands tangle in my hair pulling me closer to her as I start to leave a trail of marks around her neck. 

"You want mommy's cock hmm?" Taking a small step back, creating just enough room so I can remove my own pants and underwear revealing what's been hiding under them all night. 

"Fuck. Mommy please." One of lizzies hands drop to the strap hanging from my waist, it's her favourite. Something about her feeling so full when you use it, makes you want to use it on her all the time.

"What was that baby? What do you want mommy.to do with her cock?" I remove her hand quickly lifting her up, her legs wrapping around my waist as I trap her against the wall.

"Fuck me, use me. Fucking ruin me. Mommy please."

Lizzie whines completely at my mercy at this point, I use the wetness from her own centre to lube up the toy before pushing it all the way in without warning. A wanton moan comes from Lizzie as she throws her head back against the wall, her fingers digging into the back of my neck. 

"Your so big mommy. Feel so full." 

I start to thrust harshly and quickly knowing that with the way I have worked her up all night it is not going to take much to make her cum. My hands massaging her thighs as I pull all the way out before bottoming out in her. Her moans that fill the room are absolutely dirty, her hips rolling trying to add more pleasure as I thrust in and out of her. 

"Mommy I'm gonna cum, please can I cum. Want to be your good girl show you how good you make me feel." Lizzie’s eyes roll to the back of her head as I kiss the base of her neck dragging my tongue up her neck to her mouth, easily pulling her in for a heated kiss as my tongue explores her mouth. "Please."

"Cum for me baby. Come for mommy." I pant against her lips, the pace and harshness of my thrust changing as I start to roll my hips allowing the toy to stay buried deep inside Lizzie as her walls start to clench around it making it difficult to keep the pace.

"Oh fuck." Lizzie crashes head first into her orgasm her nails dragging down my back, even with my shirt on I know she has managed to leave marks. "Mommy I can't."

"Yes you can slut. Take mommy's cock like a good girl." I quickly walk us to the bed, Lizzie’s hips starting to roll against my front. Gasps and sighs filling the room as she works herself back up as I lay her down.  "Aww does my dumb baby need to cum again?"

"Please mommy." I chuckle as I lay her down, never seeing her this worked up before in a complete state of bliss as I start to thrust in rhythm with how she is rolling her hips, taking my shirt off easily and chucking it somewhere in the room.

"You're taking me so well, you love mommy's cock hmm baby. You're just mommy's little toy to play with." I press kisses down her neck all the way to the valley of her breasts before taking her already hard left nipple in my mouth and rolling the other one between my finger and thumb.

Lizzie's head rolls back into the bed as her back arches off of it, a pornographic moan leaving her as her body squirms beneath me as another orgasm washes over her. I keep thrusting into her, helping her through the aftershocks as her body twitches under me. I smirk against her nipple gently biting it, her hand scratching the back of my neck as I continue to thrust slowly into her, pulling most of the way out and bottoming out to work her up to her last orgasm slowly.

“Mommy.” She whines as her legs wrap around my waist pulling me closer and I move my mouth to her other nipple licking over the sensitive bud before taking into my mouth.

“Doing so well for mommy. So so well. Being my good girl letting me fuck you with my cock.” I lick a path from the valley of her breasts to her voice box kissing the skin there as Lizzie’s hands tangle in my hair once more.

“I’m so close. Fuck you feel so good mommy, so so good.” I hum lifting myself up slightly, my face hovering over hers, our lips ghosting each others as she pants into my mouth a pleasurable grimace on her face. 

“Who does this pussy belong to, sweet girl?” I move my hand down to her hot centre, my finger toying with her sensitive clit and her body jolts at the contact causing the strap to push in at a new angle and she throws her head back at the feeling. “Answer mommy sweetheart, you know the rules.”

“Answer when spoken to, sorry mommy.” Lizzie’s eyes flutter open and I can’t help but lean down and kiss the corner of her mouth as sighs and moans fill the room.

“It’s okay pretty girl, my pretty girl. So who does this pussy belong to.” I press my finger against her clit.

“You mommy, belongs to you.” Lizzie’s eyes squeeze shut a silent scream as her body arches off the bed as she crashes head on into her third orgasm.

“Such a good girl for me, so good for mommy.” I repeat softly as her body continues to convulse beneath me.

Her eyes flutter open, a lazy smile on her face as she leans up to pull me into a soft kiss. I instantly reciprocate the kiss, brushing the strands of her from her sweaty forehead before trailing my kisses around her face earning a sweet giggle from the woman below me. I rest my forehead on hers, my heart soaring as she scrunches her nose as she tries to get her breathing back under control. 

"What about you mommy? Want make you feel good." I peck her lips shaking my head.

"Tonight was about you, my love, and I'm pretty sure with all the teasing I've tired you out. You can make mommy feel good later, how about that." Lizzie’s hands move to either side of my neck, her thumbs tracing small circles on my hit skin. 

"Mhmm, okay." I shift slightly forgetting the toy is still inside her as she gasps, biting her lip at the feeling. So I go to remove it but her hands on my hips stop me. "Stay. Inside. Please mommy stay inside."

"Oh my baby wants to be my cockwarmer." I smirk chuckling at the way Lizzie’s face flushed bright red but whispering out a please. "Okay baby. But only for a short time, we still gotta clean you up."

"Thank you mommy." I gently roll over so Lizzie is laying on top of me, as she moves to bury her head in my neck and I feel her teeth graze and nip at the skin. "We should do that again."

"Oh yeah?" Lizzie nods, kissing my neck a final time before I feel her body settle against mine more. "I think we can definitely work something out sweetheart."

"I wuvs you baby." I smile at the tiredness in her voice, deciding to give her 5 more minutes of this relaxing her body wiggling to get a bit more comfortable. 

"I love you too. Now get some rest baby we have all weekend to be together." 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

[rrxnjun]

liebestraum [park jisung]

if anyone asked park jisung if he believed in ghosts, he would say yes– for he saw longing grow legs and follow him.

pairing: park jisung x fem! reader genre: summer break au. coming of age, slice of life, angst, fluff warnings: mentions of parents' divorce, swearing word count: 11k (11.190) playlist: liebestraum - franz liszt / the gold - phoebe bridgers / our summer - txt / could cry just thinking about you - troye sivan / burning love - elvis presley / if not for you - maneskin / we'll never have sex - leith ross / christmas kids - roar / raindrops (an angel cried) - ariana grande / ceilings - lizzy mcalpine / the loneliest - maneskin / about you - the 1975

a/n: this is mainly for you, liebestraum anon <3 thank you so much for being the most supportive friend, i really enjoy talking with you. hope the wait was worth it and hope the fic doesn't disappoint. i think that if it wasn't for you, this fic would never see the light of day HAHA

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the vinyl his aunt popped into the record player just a few minutes prior to leaving the room to get some tea for the guests that are arriving soon, Park Jisung wishes for the ground to swallow him whole and for the ceiling to fall down and bury him in the deepest depths of this house. His head starts to spin as he dives in deeper to the music, the classical tunes almost making him overthink more than he has before. He wonders what would happen if he just left the room, left his aunt’s house and ran away so far no one could ever find him. 

He finds himself fantasizing about stuff like this a lot lately. Listening to classical music– because of course his aunt listens to music from the 19th century, she’s almost as old as the composers themselves– he wonders what came through the mind of the author of the song when he wrote such trivial melodies.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the vinyl his aunt popped into the player just a few minutes prior to leaving the room to get some tea for the guests that are arriving soon, Park Jisung drifts away to a soft slumber, deep enough to make him more tired, but light enough to wake him up when the doorbell rings and the obnoxious laughter of his dear aunt pierces through his ears.

His aunt wakes him up with a screech. Frankly, it hasn’t been that long since he’s fallen asleep and he truly doesn’t really know if it was his position on the floor that made her scream, or the fact that he’s embarrassing her in front of the guests by sleeping on the floor in the living room, but nonetheless, he’s quick to stand up and bow to the guests, trying hard to be respectful. 

His aunt nervously chews on the inside of her cheek. Her smile is a little too forced when she introduces all of them to him, but he tries hard to ignore the fact that she looks like an utter clown, pretending her house is a beautiful, welcoming shrine, because laughing out loud at her antics would surely do him no good. See, Jisung doesn't like to anger his aunt. It’s not that he doesn't enjoy the silent treatment she gives him, finally letting him breathe in the quiet– the feeling of suffocating escaping him for once in a while– but he simply just doesn’t enjoy it when she only glares at him and doesn’t speak more words than a single sentence announcing when the dinner’s ready. It only serves to make him feel more alienated.

“Jisung, these are my friends from university,” his aunt recites, sounding rehearsed, and he bets she acted out the scene in her head a thousand times before falling asleep last night, so it’s all perfect when the actual moment happens in real life, “their names are Jinyoung and Nayeon, they met in university and got married a few years later.”

He hums, scamming the adults from head to toe, noticing the neat way they present themselves. He wonders if this is how his parents looked to strangers when they used to visit their old friends. The truth is, they never looked as neat and as in tune with each other as this couple does in his eyes– but maybe he just wasn’t able to perceive them this way due to the image he made of their marriage when they were at home. 

Eyes traveling to the person behind them, the fringe falling to their forehead, he gets captivated by a mysterious look in their orbs, hands hidden in the pockets of their jacket. Jisung’s not too sure if his aunt caught him staring at the unintroduced guest– now, he will admit that he stared at the person, for they were a stranger to him and for no other reason– but he know for sure that they did, from how they squint their eyes at Jisung and offer him a teasing smile.

“Oh, and this is Y/N,” his aunt says, nudging the person closer to his nephew, as if to present a thing meant to solve all of his problems, “their child. They are staying for the summer, so I expect you two to hang out often, since you’re the same age and all!”

Looking at his aunt, a dead look mirroring his eyes, he hears the person– you– with a voice sweet but a little prickly, just like the smell of a Christmas tree his family used to have in their living room during December, ask a question that is easily able to beat him down to the ground in one second, despite not really knowing you long enough to be this affected by a single strand of words plastered together.

“Does this mean we have to be friends?” you say, eyeing his aunt. Jisung doesn't know if you two have met before, because he himself hasn’t been around his aunt this often, but the familiarity in your eyes tells him that this shouldn’t be your first time being around his aunt. He has no way of proving it, and since he doesn't care enough to ask, he may never actually know.

“That’s- that’s not what I was hinting at, but I’m sure you two would make good friends!” his aunt chirps, making him suddenly wonder if her friends even agreed on letting their child spend time with a boy they just saw for the first time, sleeping on the floor of his aunt’s living room. He doesn’t think his aunt actually cares about their opinion, though. He thinks she just desperately wants him out of the house sometimes. Truth be told, he doesn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault that he had to suddenly waddle into her house, eat her food and sleep in the spare bedroom for the summer– if he was in his aunt’s shoes, he’d want his comfort back as well. She didn’t ask for this. And he doesn’t even know why she agreed in the first place. “You are quite similar and have a lot in common, is what I meant,” his aunt finishes, and Jisung cringes under her gaze, because in reality, how could she even know? 

A sigh escapes your lips, eyes rolling as you look over at your parents and snicker. “Am I at least getting paid for hanging out with this loser?” 

“Y/N, watch your mouth!” your mother snaps, an apologetic look in her eyes. 

Truth is, though, the comment doesn’t affect him. At least not in the way it should– it doesn’t offend him, it doesn’t hurt. Instead, he grins, looking you dead in the eyes, already liking the foreign excitement in his bones that dares to make his life feel much more lively than it has while he was locked up in the spare  bedroom of his aunt’s house.

“I’m Park Jisung.”

Your lips widen into a cheshire grin, Jisung’s surroundings suddenly disappearing into thin air, the adults in their own universe now, not heard of and not seen. Staring you into your eyes for a heartbeat, another few words escape his mouth as a premise, unknowingly setting the tone for the two of you already.

“Let’s hang out. Show me around. If I have fun, you get a tenner. If it sucks, you’re not getting paid for being friends with me. Deal?”

He doesn’t know if it was the money on the line, or if you saw something in him that interested you enough to keep on giving in. And after all this time, he doesn't think he’ll get an answer– it’s too far out of his reach, too far back in history. But somehow, in that moment, you took his hand and shook it, starting off something that made Park Jisung who he is today. The contact of your hand with his felt like electricity to the boy, the sudden courage disappearing right as he feels the softness of your palm, and when your eyes lock, he physically feels his knees buckle under him– that’s the effect you have on the boy.

Your roles are soon reversed when you’re brought back into reality by an adult’s voice, your hands losing contact as you break away, looking at your mother with a glare in your eyes.

“Look, Ms Park has a piano! Go and play something for us, sweetie.”

A pained sigh escapes your lips, seemingly already knowing you won’t get out of this no matter how hard you try or plead, slowly walking over to the instrument settled in the corner of the room, cracking your knuckles and humming to yourself, thinking of what song to play.

“Jisung plays too, actually!” his aunt chimes in, and he sighs, halting in his movements,

because one, he can’t play the piano, and two, the song rolling off your fingers is so beautiful, so melodic he secretly starts to hope that he did.

Park Jisung can’t believe himself in the very moment when he’s standing at the rocky beach with you, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck every few seconds in a poor attempt of calming down his nerves and the erracting beating of his heart. He’s only 18 and has no experience with girls, so he thinks this is the sheer effect of the fact that he can’t swim well and he’s afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you– he bets you’re not strong enough to bring out his drowning body out of the depths of the lake anyways, so it really must be fear that’s holding him down from undressing in front of you and jumping into the refreshing water. 

“Come on, Park Jisung, what are you waiting for?” you jab at him, a sharp finger pointing straight to his ribs. Your top is already off, a peach-colored bikini top catching Jisung’s attention that he instantly averts and focuses on the shiny water instead, worried he’d get caught if his eyes lingered a bit more. Again, Park Jisung is only 18 and he barely leaves the house– the only girl in a bikini he’s ever seen were the actors in the movies he watched on TV or the characters in the anime he once binged watched in the middle of the night, and those curves were drawn-on, on top of that. He doesn’t know what to do around a girl, and holding a conversation is suddenly that harder when his eyes keep drifting towards your body.

“I- I can’t really swim,” he mumbles out, another set of scratching his neck taking place, the slowly burning skin on the sharp sun making him shift in discomfort.

“Fuck’s sake,” a curse escapes your mouth, the word catching the poor boy off-guard even more, since he’s not used to anyone speaking in that tone around him– with the exception of his parents when they argue, of course, but he’d rather not bring up the memory– and his big eyes scan you again, surprised and almost a little worried of your next actions, “well, I’m not getting 10 pounds this way, am I? Didn’t know the uptown boy can’t swim…” you mutter under your breath before you shake your head in disbelief and shrug off your shorts, throwing the clothing towards the beach towel sprawled out on the shore.

Now, Jisung tries really really hard not to look at your bum. That would be really embarrassing– truly humiliating– and he’s a gentleman, of course. And it doesn’t make it better that the whole journey here, you were rambling about your day and about how bored you are in this little village, and he found the scrunch of your nose so adorable, because now he has the crushing reality dawning up on him that he’s 18 and finally having a sexual awakening. No, he won’t stare at your body. He’s simply not allowed.

“What are you waiting for? Are you gonna go into the water in your clothes?” you ask again, looking him up and down when he doesn’t move. 

“Oh, I was just thinking I could… you know, stay here and hang out by myself until you’re done swimming, or something…” he says, and the more words that spill out of his mouth, the more embarrassed he feels, because your gaze suddenly locks with his and you seem so amused by his rambling, you find his words so hilarious, he doesn’t miss a heartbeat before he sighs more-so to himself and takes off his shirt, clearing his throat awkwardly when he finds you staring at his naked skin.

“Glad you got the memo,” you muster up, shaking your head in disbelief and tying your hair up into a neat bun. “I swear it’s not that deep from the corners, you’re not gonna drown. Your aunt would kick my head off if I left you here to fry,” you mumble and Jisung hates how it sounds like you’re truly only here because you have to, because the more seconds he spends staring into your eyes trying to predict your next move, the more he wishes you were here because you were only slightly interested in spending time with the new kid in the village– him.

“Alright,” he mumbles, and when he’s finally only in his swimming suit, taking cautious steps and following you towards the water, he finds his anxiety levels rising, because the truth is, he’s never swam in a lake before. Sure, he’s been in pools– but those aren’t so scary. He can almost always feel the bottom of it under his feet and he knows they don’t get as deep. Surely, there is a little to no possibility of him drowning in a swimming pool. Lakes, however, are a different thing. He can’t reach the bottom, and if he does, the surface is disgusting and slippery and won’t help him to his feet– if he really got too stiff and panicked, he could die. And that’s perhaps what scares him the most as he takes the first step on the slick rock at the very edge of the water, the slight stumble of his feet only making him more aware of the reality that’s in front of him.

“You’re such a scaredy cat,” you tease him when you look at him from behind your shoulder, a grin on your face acting like a sucker punch towards Jisung’s gut. And the truth is, he’d be more relaxed if you just gave him a minute– to collect his thoughts, calm his erracting heartbeat as he’d tell himself that there’s nothing to worry about and that the water here truly isn’t as deep yet and the worst thing that could happen is that he lands on his ass, but you don’t give him a chance to do so as your hand slips into his– trying to steady him, as you walk deeper into the water.

Your soft hand in his, fingers intertwined, he finds himself holding on to you like a lifeline– because in his tragic imagination, you might as well be one– and the beating of his heart only gets faster when he gets painfully aware of the sweat pooling in the palms of his hand and the very apparent hesitance in his step. If you notice it, you don’t mention it– to which Jisung’s equal parts surprised and glad, and suddenly, his figure is waist-level in the water before he even has a chance to register it and your hand lets go of his, the momentarily hypnotization of your hold escaping him when he has to face you as he stands still in the cool liquid.

You’re staring at him with a flashy smile, expecting eyes waiting for him to react to you in any way– and when nothing comes, you must realize that he’s too starstrucked by your appearance to muster up anything coherent enough. 

“You alright there?”

He finds himself nodding, a hum escaping his throat to accompany his response. It’s not enough for you, though, and the truth is, Park Jisung should’ve been prepared for this, since even the two days of knowing you must be enough to get to know the true intentions of your actions– because you tease him again, and even though the boy gets sulky easily, he doesn’t seem to find himself paying it much mind.

“A cat got your tongue?” you snicker, shaking your head at him. 

For a second, Jisung debates on acting dumb– maybe more silence or a shrug of his shoulders would rile you up more, get you more annoyed– but he should’ve learned already that you’re always one step ahead of him, in more cases than one, when a splash of cold water hits his heated skin, making him hiss in shock.

Your laughter fills his ears as he watches you stand still in front of him, presumably not expecting much threat from the boy that’s barely able to move in the lake, but the angelic look on your face acts like a dopamine kick for the boy, vitamin D flowing through his veins as he reacts to your teasing with another splash of water, feet delicately chasing you around the lake, screeches coming out your throat like music to his ears on the sunny summer afternoon. 

The water fight ends with him tripping over a stone as he tries to run away from you, and the shock on your face is evident– Jisung finds himself feeling endearment at the hint of you worrying about him– when you rush towards the boy and lean over his body sitting in the water, Jisung’s worst-case scenario coming to life right in front of your eyes. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, a hand offered to him to get him back up on his feet.

And Jisung takes it, only to tug you down towards him, his body shielding you from the impact, but still hitting the ice-cold water of the lake. With your face only centimeters away from his, your annoyed, yet amused face causing him to grin, he finds himself laughing at your next remark.

“I take it as today’s worthy of a tenner then, Park Jisung. Having too much fun, aren’t you?”

To Park Jisung, summer feels like sleep and the humid air in his little room back home. He’s never really been anywhere on vacations or holidays, because frankly, with his father’s nature and his mother’s low income job, there wasn’t really much space to go somewhere and explore what it’s like to enjoy the summer heat instead of constantly angrily swearing at the weather. For that matter, Park Jisung never really enjoyed summer. He was always locked up in that small room, sometimes listening to his parents’ arguing– which he so desperately tried to ignore every time, but his heart did that weird hammering each time his father broke a glass or his mother raised her voice a bit louder than usual– and when his parents weren’t arguing, the house would be too quiet, making him overthink. 

To Park Jisung, summer feels like overslept afternoons and boredom. He doesn’t know any better, and he would even pity himself, but the truth is, he thinks that’s embarrassing. People have it worse, after all– he’s just a teenager with no life purpose. Just like any other, right?

So when Jisung arrives at his aunt’s place for the summer– no longer having to listen to his parents’ arguing, because after 18 years of his life, they finally decided to call it quits and drag their son to the only relative he vaguely knows for the time being, until they figure everything out– he expects nothing more from the old house than what he experienced his whole growing up. He expects overslept afternoons and sweaty pajamas clinging to his back, humid air everywhere and the weird hollowness in the pit of his stomach. 

To his surprise– and believe me, he didn’t really expect this at all– the summer before university is completely different, and he’s pleased with the change. 

He wakes up late one afternoon, because he doesn’t expect anything exciting to happen in the time he spends asleep anyway, and when he drags his feet to the kitchen, body tense and hurting from the weird positions he found himself sleeping in, his mind is instantly sweeped of all the haziness when he founds your figure in his aunt’s house, laughing at the radio host babbling through the device.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” his aunt greets him from the corner of the room, and he’s suddenly too aware of his bed hair and the fact that his clothing is all wrinkled and his face is puffy, because he feels your eyes on him and he hates to know that you see him in such state. Not that he’s any eye candy any other day, of course– he just thinks you could’ve seen him in a more presentable light, that’s all.

“G’morning,” he mutters as he scratches the back of his neck and looks around the room, trying to grasp the events of 1PM– barely morning anymore.

“If you woke up earlier, you could’ve gone with us,” his aunt chirps in from the stove, swirling something sweet-smelling in a big pot. Her face is fawned over with a glaze of sweat and even the wide-open window does nothing to get the air to clear out– Jisung thinks that’s just the magic of summer. It’s always too hot, and the only thing you can do is complain.

“Where did you go?”

“To the forest,” you smile at him, seeing as he takes a few hesitant steps towards your figure, “we picked berries and now your aunt’s making jam. A classic village-like summer activity, don’t ya think?” you chirp, tugging your hair behind your ear as you pick through the big bowl and put away the berries that don’t look as good, choosing to not include them in the jam. 

Jisung hums in agreement, still a little confused, as he takes another few steps around the room. Looking over his aunt’s shoulder, he sees the blood colored liquid boiling at the stove, the air even sweeter right above the steam, and he suddenly wonders if this is today’s activity. Looking over his shoulder at you, dressed in shorts and a tank top, he shrugs to himself– if it means that you’ll be over at his house the whole time the jam’s being made, he doesn’t mind helping out in the kitchen. 

“Can you wash these?” you ask, pointing towards the bowl full of berries. He nods to your order and takes it over to the sink, carefully splashing water over the fruit and making sure each piece is clean– he doesn’ want to embarrass himself in front of you. Frankly, he doesn’t know what’s going on or how exactly jam is made, but you seem like you’re a regular in those activities– he doesn’t want you to think he’s a city guy with no knowledge of how the world works. Because that’s kind of true, but you don’t have to know that.

Bringing the bowl over to the table again, he watches as you look up at him from the next bowl you’re currently sorting through, raising your brows in question at his stare. The boy almost wants to look away from being caught, but he figures it’s too late anyway, so he challenges you and waits for you to jab at him or roll your eyes. 

Instead, you pick up one berry from the bowl and press it up against his lips, an innocent smile playing with your features as you wait for him to eat it, looking at him with expecting eyes.

“Delicious, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely magical,” Jisung replies, overly-exaggerated, seeing you grin. He steals himself another berry from the bowl, escaping from the playful slap you want to give to the palm of his hand, before he sits on the chair opposite of yours, silently watching you doing your task.

“Now, today’s events might not be as exciting, so you can save your next 10 pounds, but once your aunt’s hands get tired, you can take over and stir the jam while it cooks,” you explain, teasing him with your little inside joke– you’re not actually getting paid for hanging out with him. Not really, although Jisung did buy you ice cream on your way home from the lake the other day. So in a way, you are. Just not with real money.

“So fun!” he says, watching you as you roll your eyes.

The truth is, he doesn’t care much about what he does during the day. As long as you’re present, he’s satisfied.

To Park Jisung, summer feels like overslept afternoons, his little humid room back home and boredom. This afternoon, the smell of berries, the sound of the radio and your bubbly laugh when you tease him joins the mix– and he thinks those overpower the grudge he has against the season with such measures he prays every day feels like summer from now on.

The room is kind of chilly when Jisung rests his back against the tall bookshelf– the side of the furniture, so the shelves aren’t uncomfortable against his back– eyes glued to the pages of the book. He finds himself too immersed in the story to notice anyone coming into his aunt’s living room, too occupied with the sentences to hear the shuffling of your feet as you drag your legs across the house. His aunt always lets you in with no questions– you only knock on the door and smile at her when she opens it, slickly jumping inside and finding who you’re looking for in one of the few rooms of the house– more often than not, you catch Park Jisung off guard, but he is starting to get used to the euphoric surprise.

Jisung is an avid reader. He’s liked books since he was little, and it was the only thing he found himself spending money on growing up. When the amount of books he could read in one month became too big for him to keep buying more and more prints, his mother took him to the town to get him his own library card.

After looking through the bookshelf in his aunt’s house, he was surprised– and a little annoyed– at the fact that there were only romance books in store. He already finished the copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy he brought with himself when his parents sent him off, and he didn’t really think of bringing more. Finding his aunt’s bookshelf was like finding a treasure, only if the contents weren’t so disappointing. Still, a romance book is better than no book, he thinks, as he picks a familiar one up and sits on the floor, immersing himself into the story.

“What are you reading?” he suddenly hears, head snapping up to see you watching him from above, eyes skimming through the words.

“A book,” he responds, voice low, before his eyes are back on the pages.

“I can see that, genius,” you snicker, situating yourself next to him and resting your back against the bookshelf, “what book is it?” you pry more, and even though you are almost always the main object of Park Jisung’s attention and thoughts, this time, you are set to the second place as he continues to read the novel.

You are rewarded with silence, a thing that makes your brows furrow and a sigh escape your lips. You’re not used to this kind of treatment, it seems, and when the interested teenager doesn’t give you his time of the day, you have no other choice but to ask for it yourself, no matter how embarrassing it might feel. You’re okay with biting it down– you know he won’t try to tease you about it anyways.

“Jisung, give me attention,” you simply say, jabbing your finger to his thigh.

“I’m reading.”

“I came to visit you!” you act offended, an over-exaggerated sigh escaping your lips.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Jisung mumbles, still reading through the pages, although his focus is now a little thrown-off.

Giving yourself a few seconds to think, chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. “Okay, then. Read it out loud, so I’m entertained too.”

“It’s the middle of the book, Y/N–”

“Come on, I read The great Gatsby before anyway,” you say as you nestle a little in your place, resting your back flush against the shelf again, “read for me so we don’t sit in silence,” you order.

Jisung spares you a glance, a second of eye contact enough for him to be convinced, huffing before he averts his eyes back to the book and clears his throat, reading aloud. 

He doesn’t like to be the center of attention. He doesn’t like it when everyone’s eyes are on him and he feels them watching, he absolutely despises the fact that he’s the only thing you’re focused on as he reads through the words and his voice shakes a little at each passage. He feels his face heartening and sweat slowly forming on his forehead, each of his fingertips tingling with the fact that he’s the only thing you’re paying attention to right now, your only object of interest.

“He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete,” he reads, and when he feels your head resting on his shoulder, your soft hair tickling the sensitive skin of his neck, he almost jumps out of his own skin and crawls under the ground, because somewhere along the way, he admits in shame, in his imagination, you turned into the main character.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the vinyl you popped into the record player just a few minutes prior to leaving the room to get some tea from his aunt, Park Jisung no longer wishes for the ground to swallow him whole and for the ceiling to fall down and bury him in the deepest depths of this house. He listens deeply to the music– the loud guitars and the ringing of the drums, so dearly reminding him of the beating of his own heart that involuntarily matches the song somewhere between the verse and the chorus– and when you slip back inside, carrying a tray with two mugs in the very middle, Jisung’s eyes unconsciously watch you as you walk through the space. It’s a weird parallel that makes him snicker.

“Why are you just laying here?” you nudge him with your leg, his figure limp on the floor. “We didn’t come here to lay around, little boy.”

“Just give me a few more minutes,” he hums as he nods, looking at you from below, the curves of your face and the glow on the tips of your cheekbones making his heartbeat stummer for just a beat, an excited glint in his stomach making itself known when you grin at him and your eyes bear into his with an uncertain feeling of mischief and playfulness.

“Are you mentally preparing, or something?”

“Something like that,” he admits, sighing to himself when you offer him a hand and beg him to stand up with your eyes, your skin soft under his touch when he hosts himself up and stands aimlessly in the middle of the room.

You stand in front of him, stiff, for only a few seconds. The eye contact you share makes Jisung feel electrified, but he doesn’t find himself averting his gaze– he’s too scared that you’d find him cowardly, or too shy to meet your glances. And even though it might be true and your whole existence is of exciting importance to the boy, he doesn’t want to show it to you so bluntly, so he chooses to bury those hints and stand his ground, waiting for you to look away first. He didn’t expect you to take it as a challenge– but when his still body annoys you a bit too much, he earns himself a bump to his shoulder, the contact of your tightened fist making him break into a victorious grin.

“Move!”

Jisung takes a step to his left, seeing as you roll your eyes at his teasing manner– normally you’re the one taking the lead in playful banter, but he’s feeling bold today, energized with whatever spirit– and you notice, hating the way he has the upper hand over you for once, deciding to once again take the matters to your own hands and lead him through the situation, grabbing him by his hand and strongly pulling him towards either side of the room, rolling your hips in your place and jumping around, laughing when he doesn’t seem to obey your strategy.

“Jisung-ah! You promised,” you pout, the soft demand in your tone making the boy sigh in defeat and roll his eyes at you, because if you’re good at something, it’s using your words and taking advantage of his weakness for you. And so he does what you want him to, finally holding you more firmly when his hands miraculously find your waist and he dances with you to the rock music– jumping around and twirling the two of you in the middle of the room, because there aren’t many dance moves you can do to this kind of music unless you’re really skilled– and there it is, the wide grin settling onto your face, like a sweet, sweet reward to the boy.

Because even though you really wanted to have fun with Jisung– to get the promised tenner, you said– your mum didn’t let you go to the party in town, no matter how hard you pleaded and tried to reason with her that Jisung’s gonna be there with you to protect you. His aunt knew better than to believe the claim– if there’s someone needing protection, it’s her nephew, and being the one that’s supposed to do the job might be too much pressure for the poor boy. 

And when you pouted and mourned about the fact while breaking the news to Jisung yesterday afternoon, he found himself promising you that you can have your own party at his house, dancing around and having even more fun listening to his aunt’s outdated records and drinking chamomile tea that’s surely better than whatever alcohol they are serving in the town.

He’s not a good dancer. The music is not his cup of tea. But hearing your laughter piercing through his eardrums whenever he dips you down or does a silly dance solo just to impress you with his playfulness, he finds himself being content.

He hasn’t laughed this hard in a long while. He says it’s because of your outrageous ideas.

Deep inside, though, he knows it’s because of your sole presence.

“You already finished The Great Gatsby?” you ask, your soft voice cutting through the solemn wind. Jisung glances up at you from his spot next to your figure, the two of you sitting under the tree behind his house, silence enveloping you two like a blanket, only disturbed by the chirping of birds and cicadas in the distance. 

He nods. “I’m a fast reader,” he snickers.

“You must have liked the book,” you mumble, your head falling to his shoulder as you nestle in your place a little, the book in your lap still open as you engage in the conversation with him. You’re wearing a summer dress, your bruised knees on full display, and something about the air smelling like strawberries makes him think and wonder of the fact that this feels a little too much like a date, but he’s too afraid to let the thought ring out loud.

“Not really,” he states, “I don’t like romance novels.”

“You don’t?” you ask, the statement taking you off guard.

“No.”

“Why?”

“They’re not realistic,” he mutters under his nose.

“You don’t believe in love?” you ask, your eyes locking with his in a curious manner. The more he bears his eyes into yours, the more he watches as the glimmers in your orbs swim around and hypnotize him, the more he wishes he could say yes, the more he yearns to tell you that he does, he always has and he always will believe in love, but smiling to himself, more out of despair than out of anything, he shakes his head in disapproval and sees the shadow casting over your face, breaking him.

“Why?” you ask, the tone of your voice almost hurt, as if it was a question of life and death.

“Because… it doesn’t seem real. It’s all an illusion, a chemical reaction, even, it’s- it’s not forever, you know? It messes with your brain and makes you feel dizzy for a while, and then after a while, you realize you don’t feel the same anymore and it was all just a lack of judgment. I don’t think love exists,” he says, “or at least, I don’t think it can last.”

Your eyes watch him with a newly found sense, something in your brain turning fast as you chew on the inside of your cheek, and he can see it in your eyes– you want to disagree with him, you want to tell him that he’s stupid and silly and he doesn’t know anything, he’s just too burdened with what’s going on in his life and that he judges everything by the image of love that was fed to him by his parents; the love that didn’t last, the love that didn’t exist– but you don’t say anything along those lines, maybe in a quiet understanding, knowing it won’t change his mind, knowing it’s not your place to tell him otherwise.

Instead, you only bear your eyes back into the pages of your book and sigh. “I disagree. Because, Jisung, tell me,” you say, sighing before you continue, “how could it not be real, when everyone writes about it? When everyone sings about it, yearns for it and so desperately wants it? How could it not last when this book is older than any of us, yet it’s still considered one of the most trivial parts of romance?”

He watches you from above, the crown of your head now in his point of view when he listens to your voice. “You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how,” you read, “isn’t that beautiful, Jisung? Isn’t that love? Don’t tell me it’s all an illusion.”

Your eyes don’t meet his when you speak those words. Not able to focus back on his own reading, he becomes painfully aware of your head on his shoulder again, the soft tickling of your hair against his neck– and he finds himself thinking that if love is an illusion, a chemical reaction, a lack of judgment, even– if love doesn’t last, if it’s all just a drunkenness that makes him dizzy, he doesn’t mind. 

At the end of the day, what matters might just be the present moment. And if this doesn’t last, he’s content with how he’s feeling for you now– even though it might fizzle out, he’s grateful for the things you’ve taught him.

Park Jisung’s summer is filled with him staring at you in your summer dress, with him watching you when you ramble on and on about something that makes barely any sense in his brain, with you dancing around the room and playing the piano in his aunt’s living room, the melodies sometimes lullying him to dreams filled with your scent and your voice calling from him when he wakes from his slumber.

Your face is the image that fills his brain when he thinks of sunny days, and somewhere along the way, he stopped trying to conceal the subtle infatuation he has over you, for you no longer tease him for his gentle stares and allow him to admire you in silence.

Today, much like all other days, he finds himself in your company. Sitting in the meadow, side by side– you convinced him he’d like the sight, but he finds himself watching you smile instead– the smell of strawberries fills his nose when you take out your lip balm and put it on, your soft lips suddenly glistening with the moisture, a pinkish tint like a subtle overlay over your smile. Indulged into the motion, Jisung can’t seem to look away, and he could play it off as him so desperately wanting to know if the lip balm tastes as delicious as it smells, but suddenly, all he can think about it how he wants to kiss you and how if he doesn’t look away soon, he won’t be able to control the urge.

But Jisung’s always been too weak when it comes to you. Eyes glued to your lips, still talking about philosophical themes the boy could never wrap his mind around, never in a million years, the stream of words is suddenly cut off your lips when he presses his against them, tasting the sweetness off your skin. And his suspicions were correct– the lip balm is as tasty as it smells, yet, even better than he could expect, tasting more of strawberries dipped in honey– but in his mind, the sweetness you and not the lip balm, and when your palm meets his cheek and holds him in place, he feels close to falling apart right in your hold, a fragile pot full of love and affection for you only, eyes pressed shut from nerves.

He doesn’t think he’s a good kisser. It’s his first time and he never really thought about the action before– never had the opportunity or the right person to prompt the thought into his head. He tries hard to ignore the thought of him being bad at the action, because he doesn’t want to ruin this memory for himself, and as you pull away for a heartbeat and then press yourself into him once more, he finds himself forgetting the time, space and the whole universe– there’s only you, you, you.

And he could lie to himself and convince himself that he kissed you just to taste the strawberries on his tongue, but it’s far from the simple reality– he kissed you just to kiss you.

Not thinking of the future this holds to him, not thinking of the fact that one day, you’ll have to say goodbye. Not thinking of much more, not expecting any difference in your dynamic. Deep down, he doesn’t even really want things to change– he likes the stillness, the security it holds. He kissed you just to kiss you– it was that simple. The desire was too strong to hold back. It was gentle, it was sweetness, and he found himself wondering how come it took him such a while.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room with you, listening to the silence ringing in his ears and making his brain wander, Park Jisung wishes for the ground to swallow him whole and for the ceiling to fall down and bury him in the deepest depths of this house. He hasn’t felt like this in a while, too enchanted with your presence to realize the weight of the situation, too immersed in the blissful unknowingness than paying attention to the stresses that even brought him to his aunt’s house in the first place, but his head starts to spin as he dives in deeper to his thoughts, letting the fear swallow him. He once again wonders what would happen if he just left the room, left his aunt’s house and ran away so far no one could ever find him– it’s a familiar tale now, but he’s never really quite reached the end.

“What are you thinking about?” your voice breaks him out of the tense slumber, his eyes growing wide as he snaps his head to watch you next to him, your orbs filled with tender care and worry. The outside world is slowly turning into a little less vibrant one, the summer nights growing colder with the undeniable fact of the season ending soon, autumn taking its place and Park Jisung’s own departure slowly burning at the tips of his toes. 

He doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s inevitable. Maybe he should pay it more mind. 

“Home,” he mumbles, squinting his eyes as he turns his head back straight and watches the spiderwebs in the corner, the weight of his words making the atmosphere thicker. “It’s not gonna be the same,” he adds, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

The silence doesn’t go away as your hand envelopes his, your fingers playing with his in a calming manner, yet still having a playful aura to it as you tug on the joints of his fingers and wave them around in the air, eyes focused on the way his palm fits into yours. “Isn’t that a good thing?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers. 

And it’s true. He doesn’t know– fights and anger and bad temper is all he’s ever known, all he’s ever been used to. The silent treatment and the petty arguments are what raised him, and now that it’s gone, he wonders if it’s gonna make him feel better. The truth is, sometimes, feeling like this can feel essential. It feels safe to be so miserable, for when the bright times of him and his parents being okay and getting along happened, he’s always felt unsure, like the storm was about to happen each time; like he couldn’t be happy for long, because it felt uncomfortably unsafe, having the hunch that it’s gonna get bad again any time. Feeling numb was safe. It couldn’t get worse than that– it’s what made him comfortable with his sadness. 

And if it’s true that it’s gonna be better now, just because his parents are gonna be separated and they’re not gonna be in contact, is it really okay for him to feel happy about that? Is it really the end? The calm after the storm of his childhood and growing up? And is it okay to feel secure in loneliness? To feel okay with seeing his mother wither away and his dad turning to alcohol every time he visits him in his new house? Because he can picture it now– he sees it clear as day, that this is how the situation’s gonna end up, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you mumble, a poor attempt at soothing the boy.

He finds it hard to believe you. Sometimes he thinks you know everything– you’ve seen so much and taught him so much and told him so much about the world. But can you really know anything about a situation you’ve never encountered? 

Still, his hopeless heart swells at your words, the comfort of your hand in his guarding him to reality. He thinks he made you up sometimes– he longed for something to comfort him so hard and for so long that the longing grew legs and followed him around, brightened up his withering days. 

“I’m scared to come home,” he whispers, the tone barely audible in the so still room. He’s scared of what he’ll find. Sometimes he thinks he’s scared of the silence, for he was brought up in violent screams and doors always left a bit open– just in case. Is it going to be fine for him to find peace after the violence?

You lean up and watch the boy with eyes bigger than the whole universe, a soft smile playing with your features when your fingers trail the curve of his cheek. Jisung watches your lips and dreams of them on his, but there’s no use when you only trace the arch of his cupid's bone with the pad of your thumb, voice barely louder than a whisper, as if confiding him in a secret. “You’re gonna be okay.”

And with that, you’re gone. Like a dream. Your touch fades and your scent is forcefully dragged away from his nose.

After a few seconds, you play the piano for him again. He recognizes the song to be the same one you played on the first day you two met– and he wonders if it’s your favorite, or if you just don’t know how to play anything as well. The melody is often slow, romantic and idyllic, but builds into an intense complexity. Towards the end, the initial melody returns, bringing a sense of resolution and tranquility. He doesn’t know the name of the song– he’s never heard of it before meeting you– but in his soul, the feelings of love, longing and enchantment remain as he listens to the harmonies and passionate melody. 

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the song you play for him on the piano, so many words unsaid but hanging in the air, Park Jisung closes his eyes and feels a stray tear rolling down his cheek. The air smells of autumn when the breeze flows into the room through the open window, making the hairs on his arm stand up in attention, and his head starts to spin as he dives in deeper to the music, the classical tunes almost making him overthink more than he has before. He wonders what will happen if you left the room right now. If he’ll ever find you, wherever you are.

Laying on the floor of his aunt’s living room, listening to the song you play for him on the piano, so many words unsaid but hanging in the air, Park Jisung closes his eyes and lets himself fall into a soft slumber, the same way he did the first time you walked through the door to his life. During the sleep, he dreams of love.

Park Jisung opens his eyes on the last day of summer and feels coldness seeping into his bones. It’s not cold yet, the season hasn’t even ended, but there’s something about the aura of the morning that makes him crawl in his own skin and dread the day in front of him. After today, he’s supposed to come back home– he’s going to leave everything the summer taught him behind, in this little village, with his aunt he’s grown to adore more than he initially thought he could. It’s kind of depressing, if you really think about it, but Jisung would rather not think at all.

He sits up on the bed, burrowing his head into his palms and huffs heavily at the thoughts running through his brain. He’s not a morning person, sure, but he thinks perhaps his sudden mood change is the result of something completely else– something he doesn’t yet know and can’t quite put his finger on, can’t quite name.

Standing up and walking out of his room, naked feet in contact with the hardwood floor, the clique of the door feels unusually cold against his hand when he reaches for it, opening it and getting ready to face the day. He hasn’t said goodbye to you yet, but he knows he’ll have to today. It’s the last opportunity before he walks out of summer break for real, the last opportunity to see your smile and to hold you in his arms like he always yearned for whenever you were in his close proximity.

Yet, as he gets ready to take the first step out of the room, his feet come to contact with something sharp, a block-like object waiting for him outside of the door. Squinting below his toes, he finds a book on the hard tiles, picking it up and moving it closer up towards his nose. Reading over the title and the author’s name, his heart drops to his stomach, an unreasonable feeling of fear settling in his fingertips as he turns the page and reads through the contents, something scribbled on the first, worn-out page of the book catching his attention.

To my Jisung. Think of me when you read through the pages. You said you didn’t like romance novels, but I know you’re secretly a sucker for them. Always in your heart, Y/N.

A kiss mark in bright red is settled below the inscription, the lipstick stain he rarely ever seen you wear does nothing else than makes his heartbeat quicken and his fear intensify. He doesn’t have it confirmed yet, but in the depths of his mind and soul, he already knows– he knows it’s too late and you didn’t say goodbye before you left.

Still, his feet act before his brain does, his blurry vision ignored when he runs out of his aunt’s house and makes a jog towards the one you were staying at through the summer break. He puts on the first pair of shoes he finds at the doorstep and takes off, his aunt’s concerned yells ignored as he clutches the book to his chest, something about the beaten edges reminding him of the fact that it’s the one you always read in the shade under the single tree in the whole meadow, and it’s confirmed when he gets to your house– your parents’ car nowhere in sight, the windows shut and everything so intensely lonely.

And that’s when he allows himself to break– to fold at the grass in front of your house, to open the book and randomly find the sentence you quoted to him once, breaking his heart into a million different shatters. “You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how,” he reads, and when his eyes trail over the next pages, he sees each one annotated, words scribbled on the sides of the pages, pretty quotes underlined. You left a piece of you with him, for him to keep, and he should feel lucky, for he has something to remember you by even though you’re long gone, but he just can’t get past the melody you played on the piano replaying over and over in his brain, reminding him that 

you left without a goodbye and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do once he moves back home and you’re not going to be there, and oh how badly he wishes you kissed him for the last time yesterday, for he can’t remember how your lips felt against his anymore and he fears he may never feel the way he did when he was kissed by you ever again. 

Rustling through the book, there’s a lone sheet of paper tucked behind the last page. Slowly walking home, head hung low, his eyes scanning the music sheet, the title of the song sits unfamiliar on his tongue when he repeats it under his breath like a broken mantra made to bring you back. 

He promises himself to learn how to play it on the piano one day, just so he could hear it again. There’s an inkling feeling in him that the song might be important.

Wobbling through the classroom, happy that the bell finally rang and he can go home, Park Jisung hears his name called from the mouth of his Creative writing professor, much to his dismay, making him stop in his tracks and follow his voice with a low sigh. It’s Friday and it’s raining outside, meaning that if he won’t catch the last tram home, he’ll have to run through the rain without an umbrella, and that really wasn’t on his checklist for the week.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he hates this class or his Creative writing professor in the slightest. It’s quite the opposite, really– this class serves good to his vivid imagination and the daydreaming he practices every night before sleeping and sometimes even when he takes a long shower. His professor is nice as well– young enough to understand the minds that are filling the classroom, only getting his master’s degree recently– but still mature enough to lead the class in a way that makes everyone respect him in a healthy way. But today, on a rainy, gray Friday, after the last class of the week, Jisung really doesn’t feel like talking to Mr Kim in the slightest.

“Did you want to talk to me about something?” Jisung asks as soon as the classroom empties itself out and he is standing face to face with his professor. The man nods, taking his glasses off and putting them onto his desk, quickly turning around to his student again and only starting to talk once he makes sure the classroom is completely empty, just to stay confidential.

“Yes, I did,” he says. Humming under his breath as he turns around again, he searches through the papers sitting on the desk, seemingly looking for the ones that belong to Jisung, and clears his breath as he faces the boy again and furrows his brows at the writing on the paper.

“Is something wrong?” Jisung asks, full of concern. The truth is that the Creative writing class is one of the only classes that maintain his grades below the lowest level– the one that gets you kicked out of the university– and the face his professor’s currently making is surely not a one that seeps of satisfaction. It’s only natural for Jisung to feel worried, because with how badly he’s doing in Physics, he surely can’t afford to get a bad grade even in a class that’s supposed to come easily to him.

“No, no,” Mr Kim shakes his head in a hurry to quickly calm his student down, “it’s just…” trailing off, his eyes swiftly moving across the letters Jisung finished writing a few weeks ago, just a day before handing the first part of his assignment in, reading the first few lines over one more time. Jisung finds himself feeling irritated and frustrated, for his professor should be the one that’s good with words, but in this situation, he feels like he’s not telling him anything. 

“What is it, then?” he asks, diving straight in. If he gets it out of him now, he might even catch the last tram, as long as he runs to the tram stop… 

“Look, Jisung. What I’m going to tell you now might not make you happy, but I think it’s crucial for you,” he says, looking kindly, yet still firmly at the boy, “your writing… I like it. Quite honestly, I find it phenomenal. You have a way with words that just… when you explain feelings, you go into depths and details, and I find that really interesting from a boy like you.” 

Jisung doesn’t know what the premise of his words are, and the sudden praise catches him off-guard, since he thought he’s going to get scolded. Furrowing his brows and muttering low words of appreciation, his professor continues with his little ment, finally clarifying his intentions. “But I have an issue with this,” he says, pointing to the papers in his hands, meeting eyes with Jisung again, “it’s not that it’s bad. Not at all, I said what I said, I really find your writing the best in this class. However, I think it lacks something.”

Stepping from one foot to the other, Jisung chews on the inside of his cheek, confused. “And what does it lack, sir?”

“Emotion,” he deadpans, looking straight into his eyes. The words surprise him, making him furrow his brows at the explanation, mumbling in confusion.

“But… but you just said I describe emotions well?” 

“That’s true, Jisung, however… Your works are full of emotion, but I don’t think those emotions are yours. You’re describing something you don’t feel, something you don’t understand, and that makes me feel like you’re trying to sell me something you’re constantly having to make yourself believe is real,” Mr Kim answers, switching his tone into a more considerate one, “I like your imagination, I like the plot, however, this all means that your writing lacks any real depth.”

Jisung gasps at the harsh words, the reality of them making him sink a little in his place. “I thought a lot about the plot and the intentions of the characters, I really don’t know what I did wrong–”

“If this was any other student in this classroom that handed in this work, I’d praise them for outdoing themselves. It’s good. It’s almost perfect, I’d say, and I mean that. But when it comes to you, Jisung…” he trails off again, trying to find the right words, “I think you can do better. I know you can do better, only if you actually cared a bit about the things you write. Did you enjoy writing this? Did you like this work?” 

“I… I did- I think I do?” he stammers, answer sounding almost like a question, 

Mr Kim stares at him for a while, almost as if he’s trying to make the boy realize the lies he’s telling from his own mouth right now, but when it doesn’t come, he just sighs and offers him the papers, watching the boy take them into his hold and stare at him, completely oblivious.

“Jisung, you’re writing like you have to do it. It doesn’t mean anything to you. At least this story doesn’t. And you know, I can see it in your words, it’s- you’re describing everything so deeply and so beautifully, but at the end of the day, you don’t like or care for anything you write, and that’s why it feels extraordinarily empty,” he says, watching the boys eyes widen and his lips form into a pout, nodding softly at his professor’s words.

“Does that mean… I’m gonna get a bad grade on my final assignment?” Jisung asks, lost.

Sighing, Mr Kim shakes his head and gazes at his student with eyes like an endless pool of honesty. “I want you to hand in something else. Don’t worry about getting in the deadlines, I’ll wait for you and grade this at the end of the semester. All I want is for you to write a story that means something to you. Don’t worry about the prompt, even, if that’s what’s making you feel limited. Just make me believe what you’re writing, Jisung.”

Nodding, Jisung finally understands the whole point of what his professor is telling him. Truth be told, Mr Kim is right– he does not care a bit about the story he wrote. While he can admit that he did a good job on it, he did well at writing about ghosts– the prompt for this semester’s final work (they focused on horror and mystery in literature this year)– he is ready to throw the papers into his drawer and never think of them again, for he just wrote what he was supposed to without giving it any minor significance. He might have described the emotions of the characters well, he might have used pretty words and astonishing abbreviations, but at the end of the day, if someone asked him how much the story he wrote means to him, he’d tell them that it mattered to him no more than a homework he had to complete.

“I understand, Mr Kim. I’ll… I’ll try again,” he says, nodding.

He’s rewarded by a gentle smile coming from his mentor, an expression full of understatement and honest care for his student. Taking a step back from him and leaning on the desk, the professor hints that he can go now, offering him one last sentence of condolence before he sets him out of the classroom.

“I’d hate for your talent to go to waste, Jisung.”

Smiling, although a little tight-lipped, the boy slowly walks to the door, nodding one last time before he leaves. “I’ll try not to disappoint, sir.”

The halls of the university are dark due to the stormy clouds shielding the sun from offering the light to the world. Sighing and checking the time on his phone, Jisung notices that he missed his last tram and the only way he can get home now is to jog through the pouring rain. Opening the glass door of the university building, grunting as he puts the hood of his jacket over his head, he runs through the falling raindrops, still thinking of the words his professor told him in the classroom just a few minutes ago. 

Not looking in front of him as he runs, his body bumps into someone, making him utter honest, yet quick apologies as he jogs off after making sure the person is okay and didn’t drop anything, hating the way wet clothing sticks to his skin, making him feel almost a little claustrophobic. In the frantic hurry to get home as soon as possible, the boy doesn’t notice he dropped something on the floor–

the papers containing the latest story he wrote for the final assignment of his Creative writing class. Sitting in a puddle, somewhere in the middle of the street, the letters wash away with the afternoon rain, metaphorically erasing everything he wrote and didn’t care about in the past, moving him forward into a new direction.

Still, he looks behind his shoulder, ready to collect them from the ground just in case he might need them for something in the future, only to find the back of the person he just bumped into running away, a stack of white, water-stained A4 papers in their hands. Their walk is all too familiar to Jisung, the back of their head reminding him of something he’s experienced in the past, the sway of their hips and the jolt in their step making warmth erupt in his stomach at the fond memory that makes itself creep back into the boy’s head.

“It can’t be…” he mumbles.

The thought still fresh in his brain, the speculations making thoughts run around his mind faster than the speed of light, he opens up another Word document on his laptop as soon as he takes off his shoes in his mother’s new apartment, fingertips on fire. To write about something he cares for? Putting his everything into words that would mean something to him? It doesn’t seem as difficult right now.

Ghosts. The topic he found difficult to write about, for he’s never experienced anything paranormal before. He only tried to mimic everything he’s read about. 

If anyone asked Park Jisung if he believed in ghosts, he’d tell them yes, however– for he has seen longing grow legs and follow him. 

To write something he cares about, he decides– he’ll write about you.

He’ll write about the summer that even now, after so many months, feels like a dream.

[websterss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 𝟑/𝟒 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘  

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Ethan keeps trying to keep you under his watch in fear of you outing him as your killer to the group, but you’re determined to make his life a living hell.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): A bit graphic, mentions of blood and dying, angst, flashback

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,250

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Ghost!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! I based this off the song by Lizzy McAlpine - Doomsday

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Your plan wasn’t working. Your plan wasn’t working and Ethan dared to give you a new identity. You were furious and in need of wanting to punch him, but most of all you remained unseen. Unnoticed by your friends, Chad of them all.  

“Wyen? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove past him causing him to stumble back and chase after you.

“I panicked.” Ethan tries catching your hands under the sheet but you are too quick on your feet. You push and shove past intoxicated bodies, wanting and doing everything to put some distance between you and Ethan. It’s when you turn and ascend the stairs that you hear thumping footsteps grow closer. “I don’t know what you want from me, Y/n,” Ethan calls behind you. Oh, now he wanted to use your name. “You’ve been bitching all week about wanting to leave the dorm, but when I do take you out, you just complain and–” Ethan's words are cut off when you shove him into a vacant room. He grunts when you shove him in and close the door behind you. Completely overlooking the fact you had touched and closed a physical door. Though Ethan seemed to catch on instantly. He gaped, looking at you and at the door. “Did you just-”

“Get this fucking thing off me!” You shoved him with your covered hands again. “Get this sheet off me, now! Get it off!” You shoved him, then frantically pulled at the fabric. “Ethan get it off– just get it off!” Your breathing picks up as you start to panic underneath. “Ethan get it off please–” Ethan immediately reached forward and pushed it past your face. Your teary eyes coming into his view now. “I hate you, I hate you so much!”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.” He shook his head at you.

“Fuck you! How can you just stand there and watch me break down every day?” You began shoving him back. “Huh? I’d have expected some sort of guilt from you but all you’ve done is show me just how fucked up and horny you really are. I have no excuse for it either, I’m lonely, but you’re sick. You fucking killed me!” You scream in his face. “I’ve already endured the worst pain of my life, but for some reason the universe has me enduring this! You!” You shake your head not seeing any signs of remorse from him. What would you know? He had no trouble killing you. So he’d have no trouble showing no empathy. “Why are you still hurting me?” Ethan looks away at the slightest crack in your voice. “Have I not been through enough?” Your shoulders slumped as a tear slipped down your cheek. That had been enough for Ethan to act on how he felt rather than using his words. He had cupped your face gently and caught the tear on your lips with his own. Sealing your pain with yet another kiss. He had a habit of kissing you when things got too vulnerable. He pulled back resting his head against yours. “Stop hurting me. Just let me rest already. What good am I to you now, being here like this?” You furrow your brows. “Why can’t you let me go, why can’t you see me for what I really look like? You and I both know this isn’t really me?” You placed your hands over his wrist. 

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“You do. You know what I look like. Yet you prefer to glamorize me, paint me as the pretty picture that I’m not. I’m not a vision anymore, you made sure of that Ethan.”

“I don’t want to picture you that way.” Ethan kept his eyes closed tight. The night of your death is still vividly clear and horrid in his mind. There was so much blood that night. So much guilt that ate at him. Showering did nothing to make the memory of you wash away. 

“Why not? Is it the guilt? Does the state you left me keep you up at night?” Your voice dropped into a darker tone. Sinister-like.

“N-No…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “This is the you that I want. This is the way I want to see you, remember you. What’s so goddamn wrong with that?” He gripped your face tighter. He went in for another kiss but you held his wrist firmer.

“This isn’t who I am anymore Eth. I’m not this pretty version you think that I am. Can you open your eyes for me?” You tilted your head at him. “Please…I wanna see those pretty brown eyes I loved so much. Open your eyes!”

Ethan only shook his head.

“Ethan…Look at me!” You growled, causing him to jump back. He let out a surprised gasp as your now milky white and glazed-over eyes stared back at him. His eyes grew as your stab wound became visible. Your lips were stained red with blood and your whole shirt was coated in it. Your smile turned wicked as you tilted your head. “See that wasn’t so hard now…” 

“No!” He growled as he rushed forward and pushed you back into the closet doors there. You half expected him to strangle you but when his lips met yours in a rough swift motion, you were not prepared for it. When he pulled back after a second to catch his breath. His eyes roamed over your face and stomach. Any traces of blood and the wound he gave you were long gone by now. He sighed in relief as your beautiful irises stared back at him with curiosity. “Don’t ever do that shit again.” He warned darkly. His eyes narrowed with hate. 

“I didn’t do anything...” You smirked up at his towering frame. “That was only a preview of what lies in there.” You reach up and tap the side of his temple. “There is some guilt inside of you, that’s why you wake up during the night in a startled state. You’re only hurting yourself further by picturing me this way. It proves that you don't want to admit it to yourself yet. You don’t think I'm aware of the way you kiss me to avoid confronting the real truth when I’m close to getting you to repent for your actions. I'm dead Ethan, not alive, dead. And you can’t bring yourself to believe that I am. A coward's move really.” You scoff as you look him up and down. 

“I’m not a coward.” His jaw clenched. 

“No? Then go get Chad, maybe Tara, or Anika, and then Mindy. Hell, let’s make it a party. Call Sam, and tell her that you killed me. Tell her what you did to me. Tell her how I begged and pleaded for you not to, and in return, you stabbed me. Drove your knife into my stomach, pulled it out, and watched me bleed out. That you saw the light leave my eyes, and that you heard me take my last breath. You’re not a coward you say? Go and tell our friends the psychopath you really are. How the girl who you confessed to having the biggest crush on is now dead because of you. Chad trusted you, brought you into our lives, he stood by you, trying to be your wingman and what did you fucking do? You killed me because your dad had a slight problem with me. You won’t do it though, you know why? Because you’re a coward Ethan. You’re nothing but a scared fool who can’t take responsibility for his own actions. You didn’t need to kill me, but you did. I’m never gonna let you live this down as long as I’m still here, and god quit kissing me. I’m dead for fucks sake, you’d think you’d show a bit more restraint.” You scoff and shove past him, forgetting the sheet as you open the door and head downstairs. The loud slam caused him to flinch. 

-

You pushed and pushed yourself to crawl faster but you had been in so much pain. Your flight response grew as you heard him sigh behind you. 

“Y/n…” He closed his eyes. Having just exited your room to watch you a few feet into the hallway that was facing the front door.

“Noo…” You pleaded. Your cries increased as you pushed against the floor. Your hands kept slipping. The blood that coated them gave you no friction. 

The door is right there…it’s right there. You kept repeating.

“You’re not gonna get to the door. You’re not, I’m sorry.” He sighed.

“I will, I will.” You cried. A groan slipped past your lips with every strain against your wound. You could hear just how fast your heart was beating against your eardrums. Your breathing comes out strained and in heaves.

“Not with where I stabbed you. That wound is fatal.” He stalked closer to form on the floor. “Y/n, this isn’t going to turn out the way you hope it will.”

“No!” You choke back a sob.

Ethan looked away as your cries became more rasped and cracking. Your vision was blurred from the tears falling down your face. The door was becoming difficult to see now. The light inside slowly dimmed the more you struggled to crawl forward. “I-I can. I just need to push myself a bit more.” You groaned, then screeched when you felt him turn you onto your back. “Please. Please don’t do this!” You pushed against his chest. You were no match for the strength he possessed. He overpowered your injured state.

“It’s just gonna hurt for a second then it’ll all be over.” He held your wrist together with one hand, his thighs squeezing your legs together so you wouldn’t squirm and push against him any longer.

“Please, please. P-Please.” You cough as blood starts to fill your lungs. Your teeth were stained red. “Please, I don’t wanna die. I-I don’t wanna die.” You shake your head, weakly pushing against his chest. “I haven’t done anything yet…I wanna live. I wanna live, please.” You tilt your head back as tears spill down your face. “I want my mom…I want my mom!” You slump against his tight grip. “Please…please.” You stare at him, numb and broken. You didn’t have much of a fight left in you. “Please, please, please.” Your voice becomes soft as a whisper in the wind. 

“I won’t let you suffer anymore.” He leans down to press a kiss against your temple, then you feel the harsh insert of his knife entering your wound once more. Your gasp falls heavily against his ears. You begin to choke on your blood in an attempt to get another word out. He pulls the knife out and watches as your chest starts to rise and fall slower 

“W-Why?” You mustered before your breathing grew shallow, and your eyes dilated. Ethan's eyes scattered all over your frame, watching you take your last breath, watching the light leave you. The thing that ached the most was your hands going slack in his grip, slipping down his palm as your head lulled to the side. You were gone. He probably sat there for half an hour before the ringing from his phone brought him out of the daze he was in. He snapped out of it, averting his eyes from your body, down to his gloves, and the knife covered in your blood. 

“Shit!” He cursed, catching on to the massive pool beginning to form around you. He got up quickly, removing his gloves and shoes before walking over to where yours and his books remained from your session a while ago. He cursed once more struggling to find his phone. Once he grabbed a hold of it, the contact displayed made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked back to where you lay, running a hand through his hand to compose himself before answering. “Dad?”

“Where the hell have you been? Quinn and I have been trying to get a hold of you.” 

“What why? I’m at Y/n’s remember? The plan you went over with me before meeting up at her house.”

“Oh, you’re still there.”

“Yeah, we were studying before I went into the bathroom to get ready. What do I do now? I know you dealt with a mom when I ki-”

“You’re still in the bathroom? Oh, thank god. Go ahead and take the Ghostface rob off. There’s been a change of plans, I changed my mind.” Ethan felt his heart sink to his feet at his father’s words. “I don’t want you to kill her anymore, alright? Your little girlfriend can live another day!” Ethan’s face fell hearing him laugh. “I thought about it some more and if we kill her now it’ll just end up drawing more attention than what we need, so I’m calling it off. Go back to studying or whatever it was you two were doing. Don’t kill her, we’ll save it for later when we go after the rest of her friends alright…” Ethan slowly turned. His gaze fell on your face that was turned towards where he stood. His heart started picking up. “Ethan? Ethan, you there? You don’t have to kill her anymore. You hear me, boy. The plan is off okay. Look I gotta go. Those two wannabe fucks Jason and what’s the other one's name…Greg? Yeah, Greg. I’m planning their deaths for sometime next month. I’ve been following them and it looks like they’re gonna be a problem. Those two do need to go, but uh…yeah that girlfriend of yours, she’s safe for now. Don’t do anything stupid okay? I gotta go.”

“D-Dad…” Ethan’s voice cracked.

“Yeah?”

“She’s dead! I did what you told me to. W-Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Ethan gasped, running a hand through his air. “W-What do I do now?”

“Goddamit boy…H-How long has she been dead?”

“What?” He didn’t know why the time mattered. 

“How much time has passed boy?”

Ethan pulled back the sleeve of the robe and checked the time on his wristwatch. It hadn’t been that long, had it?

“T-Three minutes. It’s been three minutes.” He breathed out.

“Yeah, you need to give her CPR right now!” 

“Are you fucking serious?” He started panicking looking back at your very dead body. 

“Put your goddamn phone down and start fucking giving her chest compression!”

Ethan raced back over to you at lightning speed, he dropped his phone down next to you, hitting the speaker option. He kneeled next to you and placed the heel of his left hand on your breastbone at the center of your chest. He places the palm of his other hand on top of his hand already on your chest and interlocks his fingers. He winces when he positions his shoulders over his hands and starts pressing straight down into your chest and starts counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” He breathes out as he presses fast down on your chest. He counted up to twenty in his head before he alternated between chest compression and rescue breaths. He tilted your head back, pinched your nose, and blew into your mouth. He gave two breaths. Then he repeated the cycle. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” Two breathes again. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” Another two breathes. “One, two, three, four, five, six…Come back to me, please come back to me.” He pinches your nose again and gives you another two breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Come back to me.” He chokes back a sob as he keeps trying. “Come back to me…One, two, three, four-“ He cries out as he hears a gasp spill past your lips. Your chest rises as you inhale a deep breath and then release it. “Oh!” He sobs, reaching forward to kiss your cheek. He presses his head against yours. 

You whimper as you try to get your vision to settle. Your senses slowly come back to you. “Eth…”

“Oh, thank god! Dad, it worked! It fucking worked!” He cried out. He moved behind you letting you rest your head on his thighs. “You’re okay, you’re okay! Dad, we need to get her to the hospital okay-“ Ethan looked down at his phone, his heart sinking as he stared at the black screen. His brows pinched together in confusion. He was just on the phone with him.  

“Ethan?” He turned his head, at the sound of his own name being called. “Ethan, are you still there? How much time has passed?” 

“What?” He shook his head. He was still standing where he had been. He looked back to see that you remained motionless. Dead. You were still dead. “The time?” 

“How much fucking time has passed boy?” 

He looked down at his wrist again, he was so confused. He had just saved you. You took a breath of air. You were okay. “Ethan for fucks sake.” 

He gripped his watch and realized just how much time had passed. It had been exactly half an hour now…not the three minutes he hoped had only passed. 

“H-Half an hour…” He muttered. He had just saved you. He had saved you. You were okay just a second okay? “It’s been half an hour.”

“Oh, Ethan.” His das sighed heavily through the phone. If he could, he could see his dad run a hand down his face. 

“S-She’s gone. She’s gone.” He turned to look at you again. “I killed her dad. I-I killed her!” He choked back on a sob. 

“I’m on my way. Just hang in there.”

-

You didn’t expect Ethan to put the sheet around you again as you ran out the front of the door. The party grows distant as you track it back to Ethan’s dorm. You complained when you felt the fabric fall past your face once more. “H-Hey! What the hell?” 

“Had to.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Can’t have people thinking I’m talking to myself.” 

“Why not? It’ll add to your crazy persona.” You grumbled under the sheet before being taken off guard by Ethan’s sudden closeness. You couldn’t help the frown he couldn’t see.

“I’ll have you know, not everyone takes lightly to someone talking to themselves… You’re a terrible ghost, by the way.” He kisses your head covered by the sheet.

The kiss sent a wave of redness up your neck and face as you let out a very lady-like sound. “W-Well! That’s just me being a terrible actor. I’m a great ghost! Boo!” You say defiantly. Before adding on, you whisper. “I got some haunting up my sleeves too if you wanna see…” Ethan could already feel the smirk hidden underneath. He rolled his eyes, though he felt a shiver up his spine knowing what your real form looks like. 

“No thanks. I think I prefer you this way ya know, outta sight…me out of a psych ward.” He shrugged. 

“What? You don’t wanna see the face of the woman who’s been tormenting you these past couple of months? How rude.” You say with mock offense before continuing. “Besides, I’m a ghost, not the boogeyman, I can’t hurt you as much as you’ve hurt me already...” You breathe out a laugh.

“Yeah…just a ghost.” He hums, keeping his arm around your shoulder as you both walk back to his dorm.

[themoonchildwhofell]

all my ghosts

pairing: Farleigh Start x reader

content/warnings: fluff (im so sorry guys), pretty fast paced lol

summary: HC of a healthy farleigh x reader relationship (thank fucking god)

note: really wanted to write farleigh finding a nice partner that helps him with his trauma lol. possibly post saltburn. I'm so sorry my dudes. I really am a sucker for fluff! still based off of a Lizzy Mcalpine song.

"'Cause I hate all of my habits but I happen to love you."

Farleigh met you at a 7/11 near the place he works at. He's pretty bummed about not having to go to Oxford as well as fully disconnecting from the old life he had.

It was exactly July 11th. He remembered because you got a free slurpie at the convenient store.

You looked good for someone who was staying up due to an exam. You finally decided to claim that free slurpie they had since sugar wakes you up.

Farleigh, on the other hand, was just exploring the place. He didn't really want to stay at his mum's place. So he decided to get his own place.

He didn't really want to go out that night. It was a not-so-impulsive decision due to the fact that his case of cigarettes were all out.

The fluorescent lights weren't really giving you justice. As well as the bags under your eyes but who cares? You really need to pass this math exam tomorrow.

He approached you being the extrovert that he is and asked for your name and number. His excuse was to tour him around since it was his first time back at the States. (he was already living there for 3 weeks)

You agreed to tour him around. Praying that he wasn't a murderer of some sort.

You two went out the very next day to "tour" him around. At the end of the day, he did ask if this was a date.

"No. But maybe we can set a proper one?" you suggested.

He liked that. It means he gets to see you again.

Months pass and you both seem to connect really well.

The relationship progresses to you both being a couple.

Everything felt great. There was the usual fights, of course. I mean Farleigh is kind of a diva. You expected him to be annoying at times.

But most of the time, he's the loveliest.

It's the same with Farleigh as well. He loves your company. You make him feel good and sane. Especially after all the loss he experienced.

There are times that he feels like you're too good for him especially with all the baggage he has. All the trauma from Saltburn and his cousins passing.

These trauma did manifest some bad habits that he's actively fighting. But it helps him when he thinks that he might have a lot of ghosts with him haunting every piece of him left in Saltburn; He still has you.

Dates with him are always unpredictable. You both tried to do cocktails once at his apartment but failed. You both decided to just drink the wine and eat all the fruit.

You also tried cooking. Which was fun and messy. But the mac and cheese was good. He was really convinced that he could make a better mac and cheese than Gordon Ramsey. You giggled at how adorable he was and agreed. That night ended in a sink full of dirty dishes, slow dancing to Master & A Hound by Gregory Alan Isakov and tiny sweet kisses.

Sometimes, you both try clubbing. But end up going home early to just drink at home and watch some movie or have sex.

You both tried to finish two bottles of brandy one time.

"You really think you can beat me at drinking?" Farleigh smirked.

"Fuck! I'm 3 shots deep, my boy. And I feel sober." You we're not. You both didn't finish the bottles of brandy. And he had to carry you to bed.

"You know... I'm pretty drunk right now. But I really love you, Farleigh. You and all your ghosts." You passed out right after. He did say he loved you too. But he'll probably just repeat it once you both are sober. That was the first time you both said I love you.

You had the realization that you'd want to spend the rest of your life with him one Saturday morning. You both we're on the couch watching Bluey. You made him watch Bluey because at first he didn't want to since it's a kids show. But he saw the one episode with Chili and it really stuck with him.

He was laughing at a particular scene when he said. "I think we're like them. Chili and Bandit."

You stared at him. "Yeah. I guess so." It kinda dawned on you how compatible you both are. How you can live like this for the rest of your life.

He had the realization that he wanted to marry you the time you we're at his mom's home celebrating Christmas. You were helping with decorating the tree. He decided to quickly grab the star at the top of the cupboard in the hallway. While going back to the living room, he saw you sweaty, with your tongue out and concentrating on placing the lights on the tree. He realized he has never felt happier than that exact moment. He would love to spend every christmas decorating trees with you.

[wren-kitchens]

hey guys i’m being soo normal about dredge rn (lie) and i’m totally not making an au about it (lie)

anyway there may or may not be a drabble of this au under the cut

lizzie glances out the window, another wave of nausea flooding her as she sees the tendrils of fog reaching blindly for the boat. she blinks the tiredness from her eyes and turns the brightness of the floodlights up; she’ll get through this yet.

“how are you holding up?” she says over her shoulder. scar hasn’t said anything other than a couple warnings about red mist in half an hour, and lizzie is starting to worry.

“it- i’m okay.” scar says, quieter than he ought to be. lizzie glances at him briefly, noting the purple hue of the centres of his eyes.

“stay focused on the light inside here.” lizzie says, gentler. “don’t look outside, okay? it gets better.”

“hey I- I knew what I was signing up for.” scar says, a grin evident in his shaky voice. “I didn’t get on your boat to not see some spooky happenings!”

lizzie smiles a little. “well, regardless of the spooky stuff you wanna see, keep your eyes in the boat.” she doesn’t mention the vast number of.. creatures drawn to a panicking sailor, who would smell scar’s fear a mile away and make a beeline to the easiest meal.

“yes ma’am.” scar says, and lizzie can’t see him but she just knows he’s saluting her right now. 

in all honesty, lizzie had tried to talk scar out of this impromptu midnight trip, but he was entirely insistent on joining her. he’d said he wanted to experience the things she’d been talking about, which made lizzie think he didn’t entirely believe her when she mentioned the dangers of the night—not that she blames him. if she was told about the ghosts and leviathans of the deeps, she doesn’t think she’d believe those stories unless she’d seen them for herself.

of course, lizzie hasn’t told anyone about the leviathan just yet. it- she will, she totally will, just.. a little later. 

she didn’t want to scare them, okay. joel is entirely freaked by the ghost boats and the phantom crows that have attacked lizzie numerous times over—she’s always been fine after those attacks. the last thing she wants is to terrify him with the mindsuckers in twisted strand or those infuriating little fish at devil’s spine, and especially not the creature that resides in the pit of stellar’s basin. now, lizzie isn’t saying that it’s definitely the kraken, but.. well, what else could it be?

so yeah, lizzie certainly isn’t about to go telling everyone that she might be being stalked by a giant leviathan that she’s had nightmares about eating her if she strays to far from the mainland multiple times. not that she’s scared that, if she admits it out loud, she’ll have to face the reality of the situation. of course she isn’t. lizzie just doesn’t want to freak everyone else out, okay?

jarring her from her thoughts, lizzie jolts as she hears the distinct sound of a phantom foghorn—far too close for comfort. swearing under her breath, lizzie speeds up as the red of her irises begins to glow. she’s fine, they’ll be fine, so long as-

“scar,” she barks; no time to be soothing. “don’t look out of the window, don’t speculate on what that noise could be. focus on- I don’t know, focus on- on mumbo.”

“lizzie-“

“focus on mumbo!” lizzie shouts, voice pitching higher than she’d like it to as she does. “this is gonna get a little bumpy.”

the fog seems to bore into lizzie’s eyes as she searches desperately for any sign of light in front of her, flooding her mind with that awful red haze. the floodlights flicker and dim in front of them, and she slams her hand on the dashboard until they turn back on. she is not about to go driving in pitch black today.

there’s a kind of desperation clawing its way through lizzie’s chest as she catches the barest glimpses of the light from the moon dancing on the surface of the water, gone as soon as it appeared. the lighthouse is obscured by- something or other, whether that be gale cliffs or the research station or.. something else entirely. there’s no way for lizzie to know where they are, no landmark to gage their position, meaning her map is entirely useless. if she could just-

and there it is, a beacon of hope against the dismal gloom: an island. a dockable island—a lantern hanging off the edge of the planks. lizzie almost laughs in breathless relief—they’re fine, they’re safe, they’re gonna be okay. she doesn’t dare slow down, even as she’s mere metres away, in case the anglerfish is still on her tail. docks, as she’s learnt, are built to be strong and sturdy; it’d take more than her little fishing boat to break one.

in the end, it’s lucky she didn’t slow. 

to her horror, her lights begin to sweep over the island, and where they should illuminate the foliage of the side, the entire landmass begins to disappear before her eyes. in a matter of seconds, the illusion of hope is revealed to be nothing but that: false. which means they remain lost, in the middle of an unforgiving ocean.

“scar,” lizzie tries her best to keep her terror out of her voice, but even to her own ears, she sounds almost hysterical. “can you look out the window and tell me if you can see any light.”

scar doesn’t respond, but there’s a quiet shuffling that tells her he’s doing as she asks. “there’s- the lighthouse is behind us. I think there’s another boat too.”

“lesson one of sailing, scar,” lizzie grits, turning the boat in a circle until she can see the lighthouse. “never go after a boat at night.”

“what if it’s a person in distress?” scar asks, and lizzie tries to hide her look of horror. she knew he was inexperienced, but that kind of naivety is what gets you killed.

“if they’re out here at night, that’s their problem.” lizzie says, narrowly dodging a mass of that stupid red mist—not that it’d change much. she’s already pretty insane. “but nine times out of ten, that’s an anglerfish that wants you as its supper.” she pauses. “no one expects you to save them out here. if you even start to rely on anyone but yourself when you’re in the open waters, you’re already dead.”

“I rely on you.” scar says, quiet.

lizzie allows herself a smile. “well, you’re on my boat. I just mean. the fog isn’t just this big spooky thing that makes you see things. it gets in your head, it brings stuff- real stuff out to get you, and half of it is disguised as hope.”

“so that- the foghorn earlier,” scar says slowly, sounding slightly more certain of himself. “that wasn’t a person?”

“oh. no- that was definitely not a person.” lizzie says. “i’m- i’m sorry, I thought I must have mentioned the anglerfish at-“

“that was the anglerfish?” scar interrupts. “you- I just thought it looked similar to a boat- it can dothat?”

“it didn’t used to be able to, that’s for sure.” lizzie scoffs. “the fog is more powerful than you expect it to be—and that includes when you expect it to be extremely powerful.”

there’s a stretch of silence, before- “you know, I think I might just travel in the daytime.” 

lizzie cackles, some of the anxiety draining away. “I reckon that’s a pretty good idea, scar.”

[polaritiesoop]

Gem and Lizzie would make for fun enemies as I think they would make great for a duo. Is it just me? Like better if it's one sided rivalry like with Joel and Scott. Lizzie is confused, Gem is bloodthirsty. Must be just me and my pirate concept with pirate captain Gem and her beef with the ocean and Lizzie as the Ocean Queen.

lemme rant about my concept

Gem is cursed by some ancient entity to shift into an ocean siren hit with the urge to eat people and longing to breathe underwater, she hates it because her siren features are slowly becoming permanent almost replacing her hybrid features of being a deer. Which she is devastated of as she is the sole survivor of her village kind. At some point she and her crew rescued Joel from captivity as he was a prince of a kingdom in the middle of a war. And Joel has the attention of Ocean Queen Lizzie, straight up being courted by her and he has an embarrassing crush on her yet is oblivious. When Gem realizes Joel is connected with her, she keeps Joel captive and demands Lizzie to cure her curse. Lizzie, who was not the one to cast the curse nor is she powerful enough to undo a curse, is confused on why Gem is being so hostile and keeping her from seeing Joel. They would have squabbles in the ocean and Lizzie is just half confused and half annoyed that Gem keeps fighting her. Plus she's embarrassed because Gem wins nearly all the time. Of course it eventually develops into friendship through the different misadventures of Gem and her crew.... And Lizzie is there on the ocean cuz she can't really stay much on land and Gem would aim for her head if she ever tries to take a step on their ship. she really wants to join the crew but Gem keeps refusing. Joel feels like Gem is acting like a parent keeping him away from Lizzie, Taylor Swift's Romeo and Juliet style of goofy lovestory.

Gem's crew consist most of the magical mt. cast that might be also cursed like Gem in diff. ways and so each of them have their own stories. Scar is a wanted criminal and vex hybrid and might/might've not stolen an important artifact from the last cannibal cult he was a part of (triple whammy) and might/might not be threatened every time with death because he got the attention of an ancient entity, I wonder why? Grian is a runaway prince that teenaged Gem had the unfortunate time with when he sneaked into the pirate ship of another crew Gem was once a cabin girl for. Now he is in Gem's crew disguised as a middle aged fisherman that contributes jack shit on the crew, but can't be kicked out cause he's a great fighter and the Snail Colony both cursed Gem and Grian as their servants and they are inseparable by contract. Skizz was supposed to assassinate Joel, but had grown fond of the man while taking on the role as his personal knight, and so was protecting him all the time when Prince Joel was kidnapped and the two of them formed a deeper friendship when they were kept captive . Skizz is definitely an ancient entity that is not aware he is one, has an awful amnesia of his divinity, and will start to remember while having a second go at puberty in the form of wings. Many Many sprouting wings. Impulse has a touch with death, he does not know why but he is happy to see his bestfriend Skizz again! He is plagued by the ghosts that start to randomly haunt their ship but he knows it's because of Scar...because they keep telling him to kill Scar. Oh, and Impulse encounters ghostly Joel clones pretending to be Joel of a variety of killing moods, for whatever reason they are targeting Skizz. Something is not right with Joel.

What about Mumbo? uhhhhh Normal Guy™. Genuinely loves to tend to the ship be it redstone and building. Experiences all the horrors of his friends' curses first hand. Does help them and somehow always at the scene of the crime but also at the resolution of said crime. It's almost suspicious how he keeps surviving....

Yeah, so pirates, lotsa ancient entities and curses and cults and crazy island colonies with more curses. but most importantly. snails. and the moon might start cash landing on earth because for some reason the moon goddess (Pearl duh) is now on earth and her powers are gone and Gem needs to help her. Somehow.

[wompcod]

I've never posted here before so TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: I found this post by the lovely @call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes and got the urge to expand on it a little. THANK YOU LIZZY YOUR POSTS ARE SO GOOD!!! 🙏🏻 ❤️ I also hardly ever write angst and I have never posted before so if you see any typos, naur. Ficlet starts here ⬇️⬇️ Mind the tags!!

Price, for the first time in a long time, didn't know what to make of this situation.

It started three weeks ago, Ghost was acting differently. At first Ghost was less talkative and it was clear he was becoming more and more exhausted—to Price at least, Gaz too. They chalked it up to the constant work of trying to put Makarov down once and for all. They all were, none of them had been this tired in a long time, Ghost especially.

But then it got worse. Ghost would refuse to speak unless spoken too, his eye bags were visible through the black eye paint if he even bothered to put it on, and he became violent. Ripping people to shreds when on missions. It was understandable but it wasn't necessary, and he knew it. He was being sloppy. Uncalculated. They had only been on a few missions since the incident in the train tunnels but it was clear a pattern was forming.

Two nights ago, Price decided to go to Ghost's room to talk. It was late at night and it was one of those few recent days where they had the opportunity to get a full night's rest, but when he made it to the stairs with Ghosts quarters it was barricaded with the couch and the table from the 141 rec room. When he pushed past, his door was blocked by the nightstand and desk.

It was Simon who let him in and broke down. Price had never seen him like this in a long time, it was almost uncanny. The lieutenant was doing his best to hold back tears but was failing. He struggled to get his words out but eventually told he he was seeing things.

Seeing Soap. "He won't stop trying to crawl into my bed at night. I've tried everything," he cried. "Locking the door, barricading the stairs—" he waved his arms in the air, not knowing what to do with his hands—"I don't know how he does it."

Price wasn't upset about the fraternization, he knew the moment Simon and Soap met they would be something. Kyle caught on soon after he was introduced to them. What he was upset about was the fact that Soap was dead. He died three weeks ago in the train tunnels. The day Makarov blew the bullet into his head and got away.

Simon spread his ashes himself.

Price had no choice but to take him to get a psych eval. He never wanted to think that Simon would one day go crazy but he didn't know what else to do.

The on-base doctor said that, aside from saying he was crazy, he wasn't exhibiting any other behaviors that would support these claims. He had been seeing a therapist for a while before this whole mess, he didn't have any history of mental illnesses or any disabilities that developed or ran in the family that would give him these problems. At the most, depression all those years ago after his father and Roba. The doctor said it was because he was grieving and sent him back saying he was clear to keep working after a few days of on-site leave. Price didn't see it. Simon would never act this way simply out of grief. He didn't when his family died. Why now?

Price was sitting in his office yesterday when he got a visit from Kyle. It was clear he was crying but made the effort to stop himself before entering the office.

Before he could speak Price guided him to the spare chair and asked him, "Kyle, what happened?"

"I saw Soap."

Both Simon and Kyle are saying they saw Soap. In the flesh.

They talked. Kyle said he was leaving the firing range when he saw him. Soap was apparently just standing there, looking at him. Kyle said he was wearing the gear and clothes when he died. There was blood on his left temple and his nose was bleeding.

A soldier asked him what was wrong, when Kyle blinked Soap was gone. Kyle didn't respond, he made a bee-line to Price's office.

It was too coincidental, both Kyle and Simon are saying they're seeing Soap within two days. It can't be psychological.

Price told Kyle he would do his best to keep him and Simon from going off the deep end. That he was there when they needed to talk. Don't go to the doctor, they can't do anything.

Now, the next day, the sun had set and he was filing the last of his paperwork and the reports regarding the most recent mission in his quarters. A weapon shipment in London was being escorted by Makarov's men—since the incident, he hasn't shown his face, the coward. Things were fine in the first half, the cargo was small and minimum security, but given their luck recently something just had to go wrong. Kyle had gotten shot in the leg, Simon went ballistic, it's why they aren't on the field now. By the time it was over they were dirty, covered in blood, surrounded by dead bodies, and beaten tired, but they were able to keep Makarov from building his arsenal bigger than it already was. It was just disappointing it was such a small dent, if it even made a dent.

A knock interrupted Price's thoughts—ramblings, really.

The sun was setting, everyone knew to not bother him so late into the day unless it was an emergency. Only his boys had that privilege of visiting him when they wanted. "Come in," he rasped. He turned away from his paperwork, finally finished, and moved to grab his cup of water from the nightstand. He'd hardly spoken to anyone all day aside from Laswell. She said she would comb through the boys family medical history to see if there was any possible undiagnosed problem, but that was all she could do.

The door handle jiggled and the door creaked open. A moment of silence entered the space. Price turned around. The door was ajar, but no one came inside. "You can talk to me," he said, maybe Simon or Kyle got cold feet and didn't want to be a bother. No one answered. Price abandoned his water on the nightstand.

He opened the door, but no one was there, odd. He stood there for a brief moment, waiting to see if either of him men would turn up but it didn't happen.

He shut the door. The draft made the room cold. He opened the closet and pulled out a pair of pj's and tossed them on the bed.

Something flicked his hat, tilting it forward and down his forehead. He whipped his head around, no one was there. The room was dead silent. A thought weaseled its way into the forefront of his mind. Soap was the only one who would do that. 'The only one on base brave enough to flick the captain's hat,' other soldiers would say. Simon and Kyle wouldn't get in any trouble, but they knew it was Soap's thing. He'd do it whenever he needed to get John's attention, or when he felt like it. It was endearing.

John's heart ached. Soap was always like a son to him, just as much as Kyle and Simon. He wanted to stop himself from thinking about it, but he couldn't. John is not crazy. Neither is Simon. Neither is Kyle.

A creaking sound from the floorboards cut through the silence, but John hadn't moved. The creaking turned into squeaky footsteps. He stood as still as a statue and listened to them.

They circled around the room, the supposed draft from just a moment ago seemed to come back, it circled him along with the steps. It wasn't a draft. It was just cold. What is happening?

"Captain?"

John whipped his head around, he's sure he gave himself whiplash this time but gave the sudden, sharp pain in his neck no mind.

Soap. Soap is standing there. He looks pale. Confused. Hurt. Hugging himself tightly. His mohawk was a mess. He looked the same way Kyle described him. Except, a closer look tells him it wasn't just blood on his temple. It was the bullet hole. John adjusted his hat back in place, as of it covering his eyes slightly was the reason this was happening.

"Why is everyone acting so weird," Soap asked. His voice was hoarse and his eyes were red and puffy. He stepped forward

"Soap..." John stepped back.

"Ky's been ignoring me for weeks, and Si...Simon," Soap started crying and hugged himself tighter. John wanted to cry too. Soap, his sergeant, his boy, has been suffering even after he died.

"Simon keeps shutting me out," he sobbed, "I don't know what I did! He won't tell me! Kyle won't even look at me!"

John's body moved on its own. He wrapped Soap in a tight hug, Christ he was freezing.

Soap latched on and sobbed into his shoulder, but the tears didn't stay for long.

After a few minutes Soap pulled away and wiped his face, the blood that spattered on his eye smeared. John looked closely at him, he was partially transparent. He could see the light from the lamp behind him shine through his skin just barely.

"Captain," Soap asked, "my head hurts...what happened?" He rubbed the palm of his hand on his right temple.

John didn't answer, he couldn't. What was he supposed to say, 'you died three weeks ago'? Is this even real? It's a nightmare, it has to be, but it feels too real.

When John didn't answer, Soap held back a whimper in his throat and walked around. When John turned around, Soap was gone. The door didn't move.

John didn't sleep that night. He's sure Simon and Kyle didn't either. Laswell gave him an update, neither Simon nor Kyle have any plausible mental disabilities or illnesses that could cause any severe stress or hallucinations but John didn't care about that anymore.

Simon watched the sunset. Johnny loved watching it with him. Watching the vibrant hues of the sky, orange and gold, turn to deep purple and blues kissing the green grass until only the stars shined in the sky. Simon loved it. The stars shined in Johnny's eyes so brightly.

It's why he's here, on the outskirts of the property maskless. He could still hear the firing range but the base was far away enough that no one would think to sneak out this way and get away with it, no one as skilled as them. Simon twiddled a dandelion between his fingers. He never blew wishes, didn't think it was real. Johnny did though.

He closed his eyes, blew on the small weed, and watched the tufts of white drift off in the cool breeze. He hopes his wish will come true.

The air in front of him got colder. Before he could open his eyes he felt a pair of familiar lips on his, no longer warm. The kiss was slow and tender, and despite it being so cold Simon had missed this desperately. He lifted his hand and touched Johnny's cheek, tilting their heads and deepening the kiss.

Johnny pulled away first, "Thought I'd find you here," he whispered. He adjusted himself and sat at Simon's side, looping his arm around his and locking their hands together. Johnny rested his head on Simon's shoulder. Simon felt the tell-tale lump building in his throat and did his best to swallow it down. He couldn't speak.

When he didn't respond, Johnny continued. "We confessed to each other here, shared our first kiss and our first time together here, too. Do you remember?"

"How could I forget," Simon breathed. He didn't dare look to open his eyes. He doesn't know if he could handle seeing Johnny in the state he's in. But when Johnny asked him to he couldn't help it.

Simon could feel the tears roll down his cheeks while his nose became stuffy and warm. Johnny lifted his free hand and wiped the tears off. He was so pale. Simon missed his sun kissed skin. The stars weren't shining in his eyes anymore. He still had the hollow wound in his left temple. It wasn't bleeding but the blood on his face and under his nose was still fresh and bright red. The gear, unmoving.

"Whatever happened between us, we can fix it," Johnny quaked. "We always do."

Simon feared this. Kyle learned from his parents all things paranormal. They always loved the investigations and scary stories, saying that sometimes certain ghosts get stuck in a loop. They don't know they died. It's why Simon was here. A 'trigger' for the ghost in question. Kyle said it would trigger Johnny's memory and help him possibly move on.

Johnny, poor Johnny, sitting here with tears matching Simon's as he tries his best to understand what's happening, doesn't have a clue of what's really going on. Hell, he doesn't seem to even remember Makarov.

Simon had to say it. Tell him he was dead, help him move on, it has to be him. He would've done the same. "We can't, Johnny—"

"Why? Why won't anyone tell me what I did—"

"Johnny," Simon interrupted, "don't freak out when I say this but," he could feel the words mingle with the lump in his throat, he forced them out with a sniffle, "you're dead."

Johnny's eyes widened. "I.." he stumbled over his words thinking of what to say next. When he couldn't, he asked, "Si, what are you saying?"

Simon twisted in his spot and cupped Johnny's chilled face in his hands. "I need you to remember. Vladimir Makarov? The train tunnels three weeks ago? What Makarov did to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Johnny held his hands over Simon's.

"We all split up, you and Price were alone, Makarov got the jump on you and—"

"Stop it." Johnny demanded firmly pulled away from Simon and turned around. "Stop saying that." He sniffled.

Simon stopped. Saying what in particular he couldn't tell, but he had to push. He recalled his words just before. There was one word that persiste, he tested it slowly, "...Makarov?"

"Stop it!" Johnny stood and backed away, "It...hurts. Makes my head hurt. Stop it, Simon please." His presence flickered faintly as he held his head in his hands.

Simon wanted too, he hated to see it damage his Johnny so badly but he couldn't live with himself if it meant Johnny would stay trapped. A never ending loop of visiting the firing range, the training grounds, the demolitions area, their spot, then Simon's bed that inevitably one day wouldn't be his anymore. The thought of Johnny wandering aimlessly years down the line, confused on where they all went, what happened, and why things were changing. Alone. The thought felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

"I know, love, I know" he reassured the Scot. He reached out and gently held Johnny's hand in his, giving him space but still showing him he was there for this. "But I need you to breathe, I need you to remember.

Johnny sniffled and wiped his nose with his free one. He froze when he saw the blood smeared on his hand. His gloved hand. "Why am I..." He looked down and looked at himself. He hadn't noticed he was dressed like he was being shipped out. Johnny assessed himself quietly. Going over the empty pockets on his tacvest. Johnny's eyes widened more than they already were, "The tunnels..." he trembled, "Makarov..."

"Love," Simon asked. He stroked Johnny's hand with his thumb but it didn't calm him down. The flickering was worse now, non-stop and he was becoming more and more transparent.

"No..no, no, no no," Johnny fell to his knees with his head in his hands. Simon tried to catch him but he just phased through with a sharp chill running up his spine.

Simon knelt down to his level and did his best to comfort him, but how could he? Is this it, he thinks, maybe Johnny is finally passing. Hopefully. It hurt that this was the last they would see each other. This was how they left each other. At least until it was Simon's time, he thinks. He isn't entirely sure how it works. He never took the thought of an afterlife into consideration until three weeks ago.

Johnny lifted himself off of his knees and shoved his way past Simon, and when Simon turned around he was gone. The night became silent aside from the crickets and the faint sounds of the base nearby. Simon crouched down and sobbed. He felt some relief but the deviation settled in his heart and attached itself to his lungs. He upset Johnny—no, well yes, but he didn't have a choice. He had to help Johnny move on. This was how it had to be.

He doesn't know how much time had passed when he started his trek back to the base. He cried until he couldn't cry anymore. He hadn't even cried that hard when his family died. He already felt less human back then but Johnny was the one who revived the Ghost. Now Johnny is gone.

The last of their leave flew by and none of the group had seen Soap since.

Ok that's all, bye 👋🏻 *runs away*

[the-record]

MARCH.

SUMMARY: even after all that time, she still sees him in everything that she does.

PAIRING: ellie williams x gn!reader

WARNINGS: angsty :((

A/N: new lizzy mcalpine came out and this is what yall get! havent wrote angst in a minute so dont tell me if it sucks!

TRYNA FIND THE LESSON IN IT ALL, BUT I HAVEN’T LEARNED ANYTHING

it’s eerily silent as you walk in at the end of the day.

normally you both head to joels for dinner, a vinyl plays while he cooks, ellie bothering him the whole time. or tommy and joel talking about anything and everything on the couch. ellie learning a new song.

but it’s different now.

the kitchen is empty, a lone bowl on the counter near the sink. the couch ellie begged him dor is empty, but the ghost of him is in the dip on the far side, a pillow propped up neatly. ellie doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound. she’s a lot quieter.

she’s in bed still, staring at the ceiling, mouthing something you can’t decipher. when you sit beside her and run a hand through her hair she tries a smile. it falls flat, not the same.

ellie finds a kind of comfort in the quiet, your fingers gently untangling the knots in her hair. she can’t stand the idea of his music without him, but a tune he hummed constantly is stuck in her head.

you whisper about your day when she asks. tell her the chores you did, about what you’ll have to eat tonight. she hums when need be, content to just listen to your voice fill the room.

ellie goes to joel’s the next day.

the new place is good, though not really new now you’ve been here so long.

ellie likes the sheep, a sweet reminder. she takes good care of them and you. she puts on a vinyl every morning while you eat breakfast. she perfects the songs joel taught her.

she tries her best to understand why, take a lesson out of it. makes the best of a bad situation. she doesn’t tell you whats in her head.

she doesn’t tell you that she sees him out the window talking to the sheep, gone with a blink. she doesn’t say that she can hear his voice mix with yours when you sing while cleaning. she doesn’t say that she feels like time has gone backwards, making her younger instead of older.

ellie watches in silence as you harmonize while doing the dishes, a small dance as you go. its dorky, her staring and you, but she loves it.

her mind is more peaceful than it used to be, he doesn’t haunt her daydreams the same way. ellie finds herself behind you, hands winding around your waist and falling flat against your stomach. she hums as she presses sweet kisses in your neck when you go quiet.

“keep singing,” she says. “i love listening.” and so you do. she grabs a tea-towel and finds her way next to you and dries the clean dishes.

she’s paused, admiring you, when his hum fills her mind. she can almost see him pouring a drink while you chat, the song just background noise.

“els,” she snaps back to reality. you question her, ask if she’s okay.

its too quiet when you wake. ellie’s usual heavy breathing not there to lull you back to sleep. ellie not there at all beside you in bed. it knocks the wind out of you as you move out of bed and down the stairs.

a bag is on the counter in front of her, packed. the jacket around her shoulders is his. the floorboards creaking stops her in her spot. hearing your shaky sigh turns her around, her face sullen and eyes tired.

your hands shake as you move to her, a watery smile and shaking hands grabbing her face. you move into her space, pulling her tightly into a hug. she’s slow to reciprocate, but her hold is tighter than yours when she does. hands rub small circles on your lower back.

she knows what you wanna ask before you do. “i need to go alone.” you’re still, breath stopping for a moment, but you nod.

you breathe her in before pulling back, your hand finds her face again. her eyes slip close as you press your lips to the corner of her mouth.

ellie can’t look back when she leaves.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 28: Unnoticed

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Enough with socializing. Enough with fighting. Thomas can have his kill but I’m through with watching grown men fight like children. Can we ever go to a single event without someone being shot? As I pass by the groups of men the trait that relates them all is their unbelievable arrogance- Wait. 

I stop walking and stare straight ahead. Those men in that truck- Those are Irish men. A volunteer force. What could they possibly-?

I gasp and push through the rest of the crowd. “Thomas-!”

A large man in a flat cap blocks my way. “Sorry, lass. Private business.”

An Irish accent if I ever heard one. “I know who you are. You should know who my uncle is! Ever heard of Edmond Colon?”

His eyes slightly widen at the mention of the name. “Aye.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Then you would know that if he hears that you’ve killed his niece’s boss you could run into some trouble in the future.”

The man begins to stutter an answer but another giant man turns me away. “Walk along, Ms. Steenstra.” He leans in and his voice changes to an English one. “No harm will come to Mr. Shelby, orders of Churchill. He will not die today.”

I protest further but it’s too late. I’m pushed back into the stadium and lose sight of the truck. What does he mean? Where’s Thomas now?!

“Fucking kings of the world!” I hear John’s voice over the noise and see him beckoning me over. “C’mon, Verena! There’s a celebration in order!”

“Lizzie’s alright?” I ask immediately.

John puts an arm around me and walks me to a table. “I talked with her. She’s better.”

So goes another wild game. It’s what I get for tagging along with the Peaky Blinders.

Back at the office Arthur shouts for everyone to quiet down. Thomas is still missing. It’s rather odd that his absence is labeled off as normal now. I can’t stop the worry pooling in my stomach no matter how many drinks John offers. One drink is all I take.

“Right! Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to make a toast!” Arthur announces. “To the Small Heath Rifles! To the Lee boys! And to the Peaky fucking Blinders!” Glasses are raised and cheers are shouted. “Who’s gonna stop us, eh?”

This is all fine and dandy but I have no part here. My ambition is for a partnership contract, not expansion. If only Thomas were here then a contract could be accomplished as he promised. 

“You’re turning in?” Finn asks before I reach the door.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t argue. Only nods his head. “I understand. I’m not a fan of our big parties either. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen.”

“Alright. I’m going to Thomas’ office to file a few papers.”

Glad to know I’m not the only skeptic of wild parties. Even back home they never appealed to me. All those drunken souls flailing about-

“Oh!”

When I open the door the sight of red is too alarming to go unnoticed. In the shadows I make out Thomas’ blood-splattered face. 

“You’re back,” I gasp.

“You look relieved,” he replies from his desk chair.

I walk to him slowly, almost like approaching a ghost. “I recognized those men. Before they drove off. I tried to…” I trail off, still staring at his unreadable face. “The red right hand never kids around, Thomas. It’s a miracle the Crown stepped in. I’m guessing that’s not your blood?”

“No.” Thomas shifts in the chair and looks up again, this time with devoted eyes. “Are you still up for another therapy session?”

Faith. Sympathy. Loyalty. Shards of emotions running through me all at once. Am I still staring? I need to answer. Thomas needs this. And he’s asking me. Not May, not Lizzie. Me. I need to help.

I take a seat on his desk and open my arms, surrendering to his words. “You know I’m always here to listen.” 

Those eyes. Eyes that seem to melt when he hears me. Thomas takes a quick breath and looks to be thinking over what to say.

“There’s change coming, love. I’ve got ideas I’m gonna pitch to Michael, since he’s staying. For you too. I’ve drawn up a contract for your family. Shelby Company Limited would love to partner with you.” He reaches over to take my hand. “Your loyalty to my family deserves proper benefits, Verena.”

My breath hitches. “Thomas, this isn’t all about money. The contract is to help us, yes. But it’s also proof.”

Thomas frowns. “Proof?”

“Yes. To show that I’m making a proper living for myself. Why do you think I’ve gone this long without my family disapproving? I’m here to help with the bigger picture instead of having my mother train me to be a meaningless housekeeper.” I squeeze his hand. “And I am here to help you face whatever demons haunt you.”

Thomas just stares at me. Then leans in closer. His smell of cologne and cigarettes makes my heart race even faster. 

“You are one of the most peculiar people I know. Even when you have your own ambitions they hold a deeper meaning for someone else.”

“I know I play a small part-”

“No,” he cuts me off. “Not small. Not to us. You help us remember to stay a family, Verena. And I promise these changes will make good profits for your own family. And…” He pauses and licks his lips, looking down to the floor. “We’ll need help with business overseas while I’m taking time off. I’m getting married.”

Crack.

Another piece of my heart is ripped away. You knew this was coming, Steenstra. He knocked her up, I’m sure of it. Now he will have his blushing bride and forget all about us. About me. Instead of looking to me to listen he will rely on her. Did I not just say I’m dedicated to helping him?

“That’s wonderful,” I whisper with a forced smile. “Matrimony in the eyes of God is always something to marvel at. Congratulations, Thomas.”

I pull my shaking hand away before he can ask what’s wrong and excuse myself for the evening. I shouldn’t be upset. He’ll be happy to have her as his wife. She should be happy as his bride. And little old me will keep to the side, unsatisfied. Is this what they call irony? I reach out and give my heart to him, only for him to discard it unnoticed. 

Let it go. Grace is… nice. Even after she lied. And hinted at threatening to expose my family ties. Could she still have hidden means for Thomas?

You’re concerned for him? Well, yes. He’s my boss. But you think of him as more than that? More than platonic? No! I wouldn’t… Oh God. Am I in love with Thomas Shelby? Ding ding! We have a winner!

@meadows5

[nekodere07]

Tanuki/Raccoon Joel and Kitsune/Fox Etho hide their true identities and pretend to be normal humans HC AU

Folklore AU inspired fr @mellozheist's (thanks for having stunning artwoks dude now I have brainrot and made this when I can't even turn this into a proper fic /pos) character designs of HC s10 Joel and Etho, where the former is a tanuki and the latter is already a fox hybrid but wears Japanese clothing this season. But in this idea, Etho hides the fact that he's a fox, so he looks like any other human until he isn't.

I almost forgot! Any relationship in this story idea is platonic.

Also posted on AO3 if you prefer to read it there :D

Joel reminisces about the time when he was an ogre a few years back, but shuddered since he thought it was cringe for past him to adore that movie so much that he changed into his favorite cartoon character. He looks at Lizzie's direction, and thinks he was relieved when she didn’t criticize him for who he was when she discovered the truth after Joel messed it up before.

While chatting with friends who are gathering in the living room, Joel notices his cup is empty and excuses himself to go to the kitchen, noticing how Grian is also following him. The noise from the living room fades once they arrive, having a quiet moment for themselves. Joel asks if Grian also comes to refill his drink.

Grian nods in agreement and heads to the counter to grab the tea box. Joel stands next to the blonde man as he waits for the other to finish, while Grian talks about how he's relieved to see everyone is doing okay even after months not meeting since the crossover.

Joel raises a brow and points out that obviously they're fine, and adds that why wouldn't they be. Grian explains that even though it was a bit, he was genuinely concerned what might happen to them after the Hermits left Grumbot for the Emperors to deal with.

Joel reassures his friend that as he can see, they're still alive and kicking before adding that Jimmy might not be since Joel's the one doing the kicking, mentioning how he built a giant portrait of them in his empire. Grian laughs as he pours water from the kettle, wishing that he could've seen the look on Timmy's face before offering to pour the water to Joel's own cup.

The brunette hands his as affirmation while saying that he looked exactly like a dumb idiot when he first saw that ghost when they tried that ghost investigator gig a few months back. The comments make both of them laugh and not long after, Grian casually asks if Joel wants to become a Hermit and join Hermitcraft. Joel abruptly stops and has to double back in his thoughts, asking himself if he misheards it but Grian answers his question when he repeats what he said.

There's a long pause of silence between them for a couple of seconds before Joel notices the casual look on the blonde's face morphs into wide eyes with a slacked jaw, tracing his gaze towards his back and twists his stomach into a knot once he notices the prominent brown tail on his back, now exposed for the world to see.

He's fucked.

---

Joel takes a look at the statues of Etho in front of his gate and glances at the real deal beside him, hesitating whether or not he should ask. It might be a touchy subject and he doesn't want to ruin the lighthearted moment they just had earlier. He jumps when someone clears their throat and turns to the source to see it was Etho. Etho says it might not be his business to ask, but questions whether Joel's okay.

Joel furrows his brows as he replies that of course he's okay, why wouldn't he be. Etho rubs the back of his neck as he explains that Joel's tail is slowly wagging while his ears are folded flat against his head, realizing it that Joel does that whenever he's upset about something. Joel smirks that Etho already notices his new body language in such a short period of time, pointing out that he really is obsessed with him.

Shortly, Joel sighs in defeat and says he's not gonna beat around the bush, so Etho should brace himself. Etho raises a brow in confusion and says okay. Joel asks if Etho is a yokai, making Etho flinch.

Etho averts his gaze while saying "I don't know what you're talking about." Etho thinks to himself that he sounded like Mrs. Tango when she tried to lie to them back then.

Joel adds that ever since he's showing off his yokai traits after that embarrassing blunder with Grian, he realizes that he can sense various energy flowing in the air and it's especially stronger on Hermitcraft. He then distinguishes something similar to himself and traces it to Etho, before reassuring that he never told anyone since Etho might be keeping it a secret like he did until recently and he wasn't sure if his assumptions are true or not.

Etho sighs and confirms that he's keeping his identity a secret. He asks Joel why he's hiding his. Joel says that it's been so long since he left Japan for good, long enough that he doesn't remember the language anymore, and was afraid that people might treat him differently if they know that he's a foreign entity. Nobody likes the unknown, so he's been pretending to be a human on different planets most of his life.

Joel then asks why Etho is hiding it, adding that based on the variations of species amongst the Hermits, he assumes that they'll be accepting despite of who Etho really is. Etho shakes his head and says that his kind already has a negative reputation in their home planet, more so outside of it. He doesn't want his species to influence his relationship with everyone. Joel nods in understanding and promises that his secret is safe with him.

Etho's eyes narrow and form crow's feet as he expresses his gratitude, a small indicator that he's smiling under the mask.

---

5 Hermits have been going outside the HC world for various reasons, but they promise to go back with souvenirs. When Gem, Grian, xB, and Zedaph have been falling ill and bedridden since they went back from the Hub, others have been trying to find a way on how to cure this unknown ailment that won't subside no matter what.

Etho, who's been one of the 5 but is miraculously fine, is never to be found publicly ever since the news about 4 Hermits being ill has spread. They see him going to the shopping district but never interact for that long whenever he meets someone.

The nerds of the community have been holing themselves in the archives of the stronghold to hopefully find a clue for the cure, only for them to find a book about yokai. They discover about tanuki, comparing it to what they know about Joel and laugh about how accurate the book is, especially about the part of Joel who traps/pranks someone but ends up embarrassing himself. Tango suddenly asks if his friends hear something, but they said no.

They continue to read until they reach the kitsune segment. They're horrified to say the least about the info, and realize there are similarities between the early signs of fox possession and the symptoms of their friends' unknown illness. They're trying not to be superstitious about the current situation since it might be a coincidence, until X receives a message from Cleo.

---

< Smallishbeans > hello Etho

< Smallishbeans > i tried to visit your place a couple of times but it always seemed like no one's home

< Smallishbeans > hopefully you're okay

< Smallishbeans > i just want you to know that it isn't your fault

---

They run to the infirmary, only to spot the 4 Hermits breathing heavily and convulsing as their hair roots start to turn white. Stress checks their eyes with a tiny flashlight one by one, and only then Cub sees that all their eyes are red and points it out. Tango says that he's aware that they shouldn't be superstitious, but he mentions that Etho's appearance oddly matches the descriptions in the book.

Doc agrees since he just remembered it now, but Etho's hair and both his eyes used to be brown until he apparently got caught up in an accident that changed his appearance permanently. Doc groans in frustration that he should've pressed about it more, but he didn't want to stress Etho since he wanted to keep that event a secret so badly.

Bdubs suddenly interrupts them with his greeting, making the nerds jump. Bdubs questions "Why the long face? It's not yet the end of the world, guys. There has to be something to cure them, we just haven't found it yet." Doc asks if Etho has spoken a different language other than English.

Bdubs perks and grins to compliment how Etho was really good with Japanese. During the early days of Mindcrack, he used to speak it a lot whenever they're alone and tease Bdubs just because he couldn't understand it. He then yells that no one can mess with him since he's a grown man and points that he only allowed Etho to tease him since he was pretty tense during that time, and switches to somber as he adds that it's prob bec of the tension before the war broke out. But since they left and moved to Hermitcraft, he refused to speak in Japanese even if no one was around.

When every healthy Hermit is kicked out by Stress, Cleo, and Hypno, they go outside to see others hanging out with various forms of worry in their faces.

X spots Beef amongst the crowd and asks the other nerds if they should ask Beef if he knows something else about Etho. Doc agrees and approaches Beef and receives a sorry fr the Canadian about not being in the mood to talk about their rivalry. Doc reassures that that's not why he's here, adding that it's about Etho.

Beef's reaction immediately switches to something dark as he asks "What happened to Etho?" Doc quickly says that Etho's okay, making the other Canadian relax, and he just wanna ask what's under his mask. He knows what he looks like underneath, but he's curious if it's different from many years ago.

Beef thinks aloud that there's nothing really different. Doc insists if he's sure, adding if there's anything subtle like unshaven chin or a tooth missing. Beef perks up "Now that you mention it, Etho used to have all of his canines intact but after we left Mindcrack, they may have grown longer, I think. It was so long ago, I don't remember the exact details. Oh, I almost forgot! He also lost one of them ever since then."

Doc agrees "Oh, yeah! I remember helping him make a substitute tooth, so he won't complain anymore about having a hard time biting meat" before thanking Beef as the nerds leave the scene, not noticing how a gaze has been following them the entire time.

Cub asks what they should do now, and if they search for other leads or rely on the superstition. Doc says that it's time for a confrontation. X points out that it's probably not a good idea to jump into conclusions when they're still unsure if it's a coincidence or not.

Doc replies that it'll probably be too late when that time comes, grimacing that he doesn't want to lose the people he cares about even though they're within reach. X sighs and agrees, but suggests that they should at least prepare in case something happens.

---

Etho brings in more shulkers into his soon to be storage area, dropping the one on his hands and wipe the sweat off his forehead with a sleeve. He's not sure how long he's been working in his base but based on how greasy his hair is, he must've been here for a long time. He turned off his comms ever since that accident, so he doesn't have any indicator of time other than what he can see beyond his windows. Electricity runs through his skin all of a sudden, making him jump as the magic in the air buzzes with tremendous energy.

Before he realizes, Etho jumps back the instant he hears something above him and just in time, he barely dodges the collapsed ceiling with a backward jump as everything is engulfed with smoke and something lands on the spot where he used to be.

He plants his hand towards the hilt of his sword in an instant, waiting for the cloud of smoke to clear. A spot in the middle of the mist forms a hole as something blurry comes out and pounces towards his direction, materializing the shield on his left hand in reflex and grunts once the unknown intruder lands on the wooden surface.

Etho gasps at the person in front of him, staring at their features with mouth agape. Their skin is now pale and hair gray, glaring eyes are fully white while red vein-like marks spread out to each corner. Their clawed hand raise above their head and swipes forward with tremendous speed, making Etho throw and abandon his protection but doesn't come out unscathed as their long nails grab his mask and graze small jagged lines on the lower half of his now exposed face.

His hand immediately covers his face while Scar yells to give his friends back. Etho can only furrow his brows in confusion. What does that mean? The other Hermit scoffs and complains to stop playing dumb, gradually emitting his magic stronger in every second as he adds "You have some nerve pretending to be one of us for so long," making Etho wince.

Why did he think for a second that it's going to be different this time? Just because he's been having the time of his life for the past ten years in this world, doesn't mean it won't end up like all the other places he perceived as his home.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, opening them back while he exhales and stifles his reaction towards the painful sensation in his chest, finally feeling like an empty room as he pulls out his sword.

The two jump forward as they begin their fierce interaction. It extends for who knows how long and unfortunately for Etho, his breath is becoming shorter and more hasty the longer the fight unfolds but due to his opponent's enormous magic reserve, Scar can still continue despite having run out of air like he did.

Suddenly, the former brunette disappears from his vision and quickly looks around but spots nothing. His ears pick up the noise of a pebble dropping and swiftly turns back, only to see Scar emerging from the ground like a ghost as he leaps to his direction but barely side steps with wobbly legs to dodge. It probably would've given him a huge advantage if he uses his animal ears, but he can't afford to expose himself now.

Gradually, his movements become sloppier and clumsier, even stumbling at a debris at one point that costs him his right arm.

Scar swipes his hand towards Etho's weapon, causing it to slip from the weak grip of his left hand before it flies and lands on the other side of their current position. Scar demands for the creature pretending to be Etho to let go of his friends if it wants to live, but Etho's reply is only his harsh breaths as he quietly stares at the other Hermit's direction.

Scar grits his sharp teeth and mumbles "then so be it" before stepping forward to swipe his claws. Etho shuts his eyes in anticipation of his demise but nothing seems to happen as he waits too long. He slowly opens them and spots something in front off him, gasping to see Joel standing between them. He looks down on the new member's feet to see the blood gradually forming into a pool before looking back up to make eye contact with the man himself.

"Joel, why are you--" Etho's breath is caught in his throat as he tries to ask.

"I--" Joel tries to smile but coughs blood instead. "--wanted to... visit my favorite fan..." He winces before breathing heavily. "...to see how he's going."

Joel drops to the floor but Etho manages to catch him on time, carefully laying his friend's head towards the green surface. He takes in Joel's pale features but every detail morphs into a blur, realizing shortly that he's crying. The only thing he can hear is the drumming of his heart against his aching chest as he can barely see Joel's lips moving, assuming that he's attempting to say something.

Wiping the ongoing tears vigorously wih his sleeve, Etho focuses on lip reading to understand what the brunette is trying to convey.

"I'm... glad... that... you're... safe..."

Etho interprets before seeing Joel's lips finally stop moving, intensifying the thumping in his ears as he registers that Joel's chest has also ceased to rise and fall. As if a rope has been cut in half, all of the decade's worth of suppressed energy in his body has unleashed like a tsunami, engulfing his entire being and immediately blacks out.

Scar, who's watching the whole ordeal unfolding before him, loses all his pent up rage while he can only gape in silence as Etho's forehead sprouts a pair of long fluffy ears, pristine white fur covering every part of his pale skin, nose and mouth lengthen into a snout with razor sharp teeth, tears multiple holes on his gloves as his nails extend into deadly claws, torso and limbs enlarge 5 times its original size while his back grow one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine tails, morphing his body into an entirely different entity.

The unknown creature roars, its voice reverberating and pushes him down like amplified gravity but barely holds his ground with wobbly legs as he can only cover his currently enhanced ears in hopes of preventing himself from going deaf.

What did he just awaken?

Not so fun fact:

[There are actually fox users who are hired by Hermitcraft haters to inflict harm on the Hermits, who had to go to the Hub before going to the specified planets they wanted to go. Those fox users use the foxes they tamed to possess the Hermits but Etho is different since he's a nine tailed fox shapeshifting as a human, so he's unaffected by it.]

[The reason why Etho's insistent on keeping his identity a secret was mainly bec of his experience in Mindcrack, when the people discovered who he actually was, they reacted negatively to say the least. He also kept that event a secret bec he was ambushed by a few members when Mindcrack was on the brink of destruction, and tortured him for info (and may or may not have treated him more terribly bec they knew he was a fox) but he refused to give any since he didn't want to sell out his friends (soon to be NHO), which caused him the scar on his left eye and lost control of his power and shapeshifting ability in the process, which prevented him from properly changing his human appearance.

He also can no longer change into anything else, so he's stuck as his human self. Luckily, he could still somehow hide his ears, tails, and eye, but the left one refused to change, so he just made an excuse that he had to make a redstone powered eye to replace his injured eye to explain that despite being wounded there, he managed to not damage his vision there.]

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

Fic about Scar after Secret Life? I noticed that he got the same task again after winning and it got me thinking. Apparently Martyn had the same idea but I swear I didn’t get it from him it was just me

I did get the idea of going insane from him but the rest is me

***

Scar normally detested routine, but now he was craving it and there was nothing to be done.

It had been five days. Five days since he’d pressed that succeed button, five days since the last ghost had left the game.

He’d tried to leave, just after pressing.

He couldn’t. It was as if there was some virtual barrier that was stopping him from disconnecting every time he tried.

Then, he’d tried dying.

Just as he’d thought of it, the fail button was no longer there.

He’d grabbed at the thin air where it used to be, then pounded his fist onto the hard stone beneath it and screamed until his hand bled and his throat was sore.

He jumped into the ravine. He stood in lava. He plunged underwater and didn’t hold his breath.

What had happened was that there was all the pain that came with dying but none of the final relief, of seeing that death screen and the pressure lift up. He’d looted some golden apples, devoured them just to stop the pain.

His hearts just wouldn’t go down.

Normally he couldn’t stop them from going, but now, just when what he wanted to do most was to die, the Secret Keeper wouldn’t let him. It was a cruel joke.

“I’ve already won!” He yelled at it. “I’ve already won, let me leave!”

He’d pressed the reroll for hard, but he just got the same “Win Secret Life.” book over and over again. The succeed button merely gave him more hearts and flashed “You have succeeded.” at him, as if taunting him.

Now, on the fifth day, he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t eaten at all, and his hunger bar stayed empty, but his hearts wouldn’t go down.

He leaned against the side of the Keeper, his stomach hollow and his head aching.

The sun was particularly piercing today, but he stared at it stubbornly, not caring if it would make him go blind. It hung in the air, resolutely staying but not helping at all.

He wondered what it would be like if everyone else was here.

Surely, they would all love him and congratulate him on his win. He’d wake up with a smile on his face, pop around to the Mounders and have a chaotic breakfast, then maybe go off to practice archery at Grian’s base, probably have some joking banter with Scott. Then…

It hurt to think about it.

He’d already buried them all.

Jimmy and Mumbo had long been buried, and Lizzie’s final resting place was the void, of course, but he’d gathered up everyone else.

He’d cleared the leaves at the Heart and laid Skizz, Tango, and Bigb to rest. The Scotts and Tots were likewise given a simple grave at their base, and Etho and Cleo at theirs. Mum and Dad.

He’d killed them, laughing, all towards the goal of winning, and in the end he was left alone in an empty world filled with dead bodies. All his previous grudges seemed unimportant now.

He’d buried Grian at Sunflower Valley, near the mess of blocks that used to be Trader Scar’s.

It seemed selfish but there was no one around to judge, and he still recalled the whisper of his ghost that day.

She’s dead, Scar. You won.

It was just words. He hadn’t won.

Winners were supposed to be happy.

He’d found Mumbo’s grave by the patch of fresh grass by the man’s own mound, and put Bdubs and Joel next to him. He couldn’t bring himself to bury Pearl at first, but leaving her in the ravine seemed like letting the Keeper win, so he’d done it as well.

Letting the Keeper win. As if there was still a game to play.

It had felt weird at first, burying his friends. But after a while he didn’t feel any sorrow when burying them. They were all dead anyway.

He was going to be dead anyway, if not by the Keeper’s hand then by his own. He anticipated the day the Secret Keeper would get bored and just kill him off.

But there was nothing to do now.

And sitting by the Keeper, on the brink of death yet forbidden to tip over, Scar laughed.

He laughed and laughed, unsure if it was the heat of the sun, or the unrelenting silence of the Secret Keeper, or maybe the despair of his own mind that was making him do it.

Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life.

He hadn’t won. He never would, and he would never finish this last task, left to rot, alone, in the world that he had created for himself by killing and killing until there was no one left to kill but himself and he couldn’t even give himself that mercy—

It occurred to him that he might go insane. Or maybe he already was.

What did it matter? He was alone anyway.