#truthfully I think something is being Hidden from me

[lokahjarta]

SHUT UP THE GNOME IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA!! that is so cute I'm obsessed! I've actually been looking for ways to incorporate an honoring of the spirit of the plant into my practice since I use weed so regularly as does the rest of my household.

To add, I will often give rosaries to Loki. I'm not sure why sometimes. I think We just think they're neat. Maybe sometime in the future he'll show me why :)

My mother got me a St. Michael (the archangel) medallion. But little does she know that I'm going to make it protective with Norse magick. Checkmate bc witchcraft is creative, no matter the image you are intending to be a vessel.

[gothgoblinbabe]

The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: You can’t stand each other, so it’s a mystery to you and Logan why you’re sent out together on an assignment. To make it worse, you’d have to act much closer than you really were.

Warnings:  mutant!reader (no specific power mentioned, though), fem!reader, enemies to lovers, swearing,  fake dating (technically fake marriage), mentions of violence, a little bit of suggestive stuff, a little bit of fluff i guess, and mild alcohol consumption. I think that's all but if i missed any, please let me know! also this is def loosely inspired by the movies 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' and '10 Things I Hate About You'

Word Count: 5K

part 2

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ .

You hate the way he dresses.

You hate his stupid hair.

You hate the pet names he calls you.

You hate his voice.

You hate his hazel eyes.

You hate his smile.

You hate Logan Howlett.

It was no secret and neither was the fact that he couldn’t stand you either. You bickered like a married couple, constantly fought till you bled when you were training and couldn’t go a day without one of you insulting the other. Truthfully, it was probably because you were too alike - fire versus fire - and knew exactly how to press each other's buttons.

That’s why you were both confused when you stood in Charles’ office - dumbfounded expression on your faces - as he told you that he assigned you to a mission together.

“Oh, no way,” you nearly laughed, thinking it was a joke.

“Yeah, not happening,” Logan agreed. It may have been the only thing you’ve ever agreed on.

“That’s unfortunate for both of you, as I am sending you anyway. You are the only capable people that aren’t already out on an assignment or teaching a class full time.”

“How do you expect us to do it without killing each other?” you raised your eyebrows.

“You are adults. I trust you will navigate that on your own.”

Logan scoffed beside you, his arms crossed over his chest.

You sighed, closing your eyes in frustration and biting the bullet, “what do we have to do?”

“There is a safe hidden in the home of a very wealthy socialite who’s been involved in orchestrating attacks on mutants - injecting them with a serum that replaces their mutation gene with that of a normal human,” Charles began to explain.

Your chest felt heavy. It always made you anxious and a little ill when you’d hear the stories of people who hated you so much that they’d go as far as to harm or violate you in some way, all in the name of trying to rid the earth of you completely or turn you into one of them.

“The only known sample of the serum is locked in that safe,” he continued, “and I will need you to retrieve it. You are to infiltrate a gathering being held in her home, obtain the contents of the safe and return promptly.”

“So, we’re…going to a party?” Logan asked with one eyebrow raised.

“A dinner party,” Charles replied, “and another thing - you must not attend as yourselves. You’ve been invited on the good word of another guest - someone we trust - but you’ve been invited as a married couple to avoid arousing suspicion.”

He must’ve been getting some sick enjoyment from this.

“Married couple,” you repeated, your eyes narrowed, “Us. You want us to pretend to be a couple.”

“What, do I have to like - touch her? I’m not doing that,” Logan piped up.

“Oh, i’m so disappointed,” you rolled your eyes, sarcasm clear in your voice, “Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off.”

“No, you.”

“I said it first!”

“Enough,” Charles interrupted, “you will be attending as Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“Huh,” Logan hummed, “that’s creative.”

“Its inconspicuous,” he replied.

“What are our first names, then?”

“You have creative liberty. I trust you will come up with something just as unremarkable.”

“How about Sid and Nancy?” you scoffed, chuckling a little in disbelief. 

“Does that mean I get to stab you?”

“You’d miss.”

Charles had his head in his hands.

“How about Jack and Jill?”

You both turned your heads to him when he spoke, pausing the back and forth between you that you were sure to continue later. You glanced at Logan and shrugged, indifferent to the names.

“That’ll work,” Logan mirrored your actions.

“Lovely. Tomorrow evening at five. I will have the address ready. In the meantime, here,” he opened his palm and placed two rings on the table, “these are your wedding bands.”

You huffed and took the smaller of the two, Logan picking up the plain silver band. Yours was simple - a false diamond in the middle and two smaller ones on each side.

“What, you couldn’t get me anything bigger?” you joked to Logan, holding up the ring. 

“Oh, you want somethin’ big?”

Your eyes went wide and you elbowed him in the arm, groaning in disgust, “Gross.”

—----------------

Five o’clock came fast, your nerves seemingly increasing the speed of time. You’d made a mess of your wardrobe looking for something to wear that was comfortable, but not too ‘you’. What would a rich person wear to a dinner party? How the hell were you supposed to know?

Some nice pants, a blouse and complimenting shoes would have to do - it was the only thing you had that looked relatively formal. Adding some jewelry made it just a little more convincing. 

You went down the stairs to meet Logan at the front door, dreading the coming hours. You turned the corner and finally saw him, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He wore a white t-shirt tucked into his jeans, his boots, and he’d traded his usual leather jacket for a suit jacket. He actually cleaned up pretty nice, but you weren’t gonna tell him that.

He heard your footsteps and turned towards the sound. He could feel the sweat starting to form at the back of his neck. 

He’d never seen you in anything nice like that - you never really had any occasions to dress up for - and he hated how much he liked it. Your pants hugged you perfectly, your blouse was buttoned low and you even had on a little bit of makeup. 

“You don’t look too bad,” he managed to comment, opening the door for you.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you realized aloud, the both of you heading towards Logan’s truck, “You look alright.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Smith.”

He opened the car door for you, uncharacteristically gentlemen-like.

You shot him an odd look and got in anyway.

“I’m practicing,” He explained, shutting your door and walking around to slide into his seat, “can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m a shit husband.”

“Good luck.”

“Uh-oh,” Logan had an amused expression, his eyes glued to the road as you began moving, “that’s not wife behavior, sunshine.”

“Bite Me.”

He clicked his tongue, “Feisty. Oh - I can use that when people ask about us! I’ll say it's one of your absolute worst qualities that any man would be repulsed by, but that our love is blind.”

You scoffed, “Great, and I’ll get to tell them you spend sixteen hours brushing your hair into cat ears and shed all over the bathroom like an animal.”

“See - now, that one seems a little personal.”

“It is.”

“Just pretend for a night that I’m the man of your dreams, okay?” he asked, “pretend I’m, uh - I don’t know, some celebrity guy you have a crush on.”

You were silent for a second, engrossed in thought, “you look nothing like Hugh Jackman.”

“Who? You know what - sure, pretend I'm him, alright? Just squint.”

Truthfully - and you’d rather be stabbed than admit it - Logan wasn’t far off from who you could picture yourself with. Strong, kind of handsome, good with kids. He was humble, most of the time. He was just terribly annoying and way too cocky.

It wasn’t long before he was shifting the truck into park and yanking the keys from the ignition. You let him open your door and walked beside him up the front steps.

“You ready, Jack?” you teased.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Jill.”

He rang the doorbell and you stood awkwardly, eyes scanning your surroundings. The house was huge - probably only a bit smaller than the mansion - and modern, something probably built in the last ten years. The front lawn was impeccable, as were the marble statues strategically placed between foliage and flora. 

The door opened and you inhaled sharply, trying to prepare yourself to lie your ass off.

“Hello! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Smith! So lovely to meet you, please - come in,” a woman ushered you in, her neck and ears decorated in pearls. You recognized her immediately, Charles having shown you both a picture of the hostess beforehand. You politely greeted her and introduced yourselves, already scanning the room for an emergency exit in case things went sour.

“So,” she continued talking, leading you to sit in the living room with the other mingling guests,”tell me a little about yourselves! John wasn’t very descriptive when he mentioned you. What do you do for work?”

Whoever John was, you silently thanked him.

“Uh, well,” you began, nervously glancing at Logan, “I’m a bank teller.”

Plain, boring, inconspicuous, 

She then looked to Logan expectantly, awaiting his answer. 

“Cage fighter.”

Jesus Christ. You were glaring daggers into the side of his smiling face and he pretended not to notice.

“Really?” the woman in front of you inquired, a hand on her chest. You watched her eyes scan him up and down, landing on the pecs prominent through his shirt. You scoffed out of instinct, faking a cough to cover it up.

‘Oh, yeah. Undefeated MMA champ.”

You looked away to hide the scowl on your face when your eyes locked on the vodka bottle sitting on the table a few feet away with a collection of other booze. Bingo.

“Will you excuse me for just a moment?” you smiled politely and walked away before Logan could protest, leaving him to his own devices.

You twisted the top off the bottle and picked up a glass, filling it with Vodka and some soda that was left on the table.You almost walked away with it, planning to keep it in your hands until you felt your nerves subside, until you remembered you were supposed to be a wife. Wives brought their husbands drinks, right? Not doing so would look rude and rude might blow your cover. So, you reluctantly picked up another glass and filled it partially with whiskey, knowing it was something he’d drink. You happened to glance across to the kitchen and notice a neat little rack of spices and condiments on the counter. A bottle of soy sauce was front and center, like a message from the universe, and you giggled to yourself as you snatched the bottle and hid it up your sleeve - this could be a good night if you made it entertaining.

You returned to Logan with both glasses, handing him the one filled with significantly darker liquid. He looked a little surprised but accepted it anyway.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said with narrowed eyes, a look that asked ‘what are you up to now?’

You simply nodded in acknowledgement, smiling at the hostess still standing in front of you.

“She’s a keeper,” he continued, holding the glass up to his mouth, “ always knows exactly what I like.”

You bit back a snicker as you watched him tilt the glass and finally take a sip.

His eyes went to yours immediately.  He pulled the glass from his lips, mouth still obviously full of whiskey and soy sauce. If looks could kill, you’d be long dead.

“Good, honey?” you smiled wide then, taking a sip of your own drink. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, clearly fighting a grimace. He swallowed and nearly gagged, coughing into his fist, “mhm, just a little strong.”

“Oh,” the hostess began, “Jack was just about to tell us how you met!”

A couple of guests had gathered in the same spot, all lingering in a semicircle. Logan was quite the charmer and it wasn’t a surprise that he already had a couple of women gawking at him, hanging on his every word as if any of it was true. 

“Was he?” your tone was shrill but you attempted to appear playful, lightly smacking him on the arm, “Oh, honey, you should really let me tell it.”

Whatever he was about to come up with, you hoped it was not in the same outlandish category as cage fighting. Before you could begin, though, he dismissively waved his hand in your direction.

“No, no - you’re a little forgetful, sweetheart,” his grin was mischievous as he turned to speak to the surrounding guests, “so, it all started with a tshirt competition at a bar where the girls had to - “

“Nope! Nope,” you interjected, doing your best to keep your tone light and shaking your head, “haha - that must have been another girl, honey!”

That earned a few chuckles from the guests around you and you took the opportunity while everyone's attention was on you to try and spin a tale of your own.

“So, we actually met a couple years ago,” you started, mulling over what true details to sprinkle in or if you should make it up entirely, “uh - in a library.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. You’d been at the mansion for a couple days before you bumped into him in the library while gathering books to try and put together your first lesson plan. You had a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other - admittedly stupid - but you’d always been careful. Except for that once. 

You had a book open in your arms, resting atop the stack you already gathered. You were walking and reading - again, admittedly not very smart - when you bumped into someone, spilling coffee on both of you and sending the stack of books to the floor with an audible thump. 

“Fuck, sorry -” you began to apologize, finally looking up to the strangers face. It was Logan, of course, though you didn’t know that at the time. You remember thinking he was handsome with his scruffy mutton chops and well groomed hair - until he opened his mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?”

You knew it was partially your fault but were irked by his attitude.

“Dude, you weren’t paying attention either, obviously!” you snapped back, looking down at the beige stain now adorning your white button up.

“I’m not the one who carries coffee and a shit ton of books at the same time.”

“Whatever.”

That was your grand introduction, neither of you even exchanging names.

Logan remembered it about the same way you did, though the version he tells is a little different. He loved to tell people that when you bumped into him, it was because you were so lovestruck that you just walked right into him. The part he always left out, though, was the first thing he thought when he saw you. He’d scolded you before even looking up to see who you were and when he had, he wished he’d reacted a little differently. 

You were beautiful, even with coffee spilt all over yourself. You looked like a girl he’d only ever dreamed of, all the way down to the color of your hair and eyes. Unfortunately, he’d already been an asshole. So, from then on, that was basically your shtick - bickering over little things, calling each other names - all to the amusement of everyone around you. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but it was obvious to everyone else that the kind of teasing you did was only because you had feelings for one another - like two elementary school kids - and neither one of you seemed to know how to approach it. The mask would slip sometimes for either one of you - when he’d place a hand on your lower back, the times he’d managed to pin you to the mat during training - and you’d always find yourself staring at the ceiling that night, overthinking every interaction you’d had until the sun came up. He was never any better off, pacing in his room to try and decipher what the hell it was he actually felt for you.

Anyway, you decided to stick to the real story, minus the part where you insulted each other.

“We bumped into each other, literally, and I had coffee and a bunch of books in my arms. So, I drop the books, coffee spills everywhere - of course. Then I looked up at him, and..” you paused, the truth caught in a lump in your throat.

“And it was love at first sight,” Logan added, grinning down at you, “for both of us.”

His eyes were trained on yours and he continued to contribute to the story.

“The second I saw her, I fell in love.”

He was still looking at you. Why was he still looking at you like that? You were supposed to be husband and wife, right, but he was leaning into it far heavier than you expected. It felt like you were the only ones in the room.

A couple ‘aw’s were shared between guests and you smiled politely at the reminder that you were in fact not the only people in the room. As the conversation switched to another topic and someone else began to speak, you felt Logan’s hand at the back of your head, gently playing with your hair. Your face was pink - he was being too nice.

A short while later, you were sitting on the couch beside him, listening to someone’s drawn out story that you stopped paying attention to after six minutes.

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Logan uttered unceremoniously and stood from the couch. He disappeared into the house and not even a minute later, another guy came to sit in his spot.

“Hey,” he put his arm around the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You looked at the fingers grazing your shoulder and sat forward to shrug them off, “nope.”

He told you his name and you couldn’t have cared any less, deciding to actually tune back into the story being told rather than converse with him. He was alright looking, but his approach was far too off putting. 

“So, did you come alone?”

You rolled your eyes at his question, opening your mouth to answer before he cut you off.

“Cause It looks like it, and I can’t stand to see a pretty girl alone.”

You groaned in disgust, hoping if you were dry enough in your answers, he’d leave you be.

“mhm.”

It wasn’t really an answer to anything, just a noise of affirmation. You hoped he’d get the hint then, but of course, he didn’t. In what would probably be the stupidest thing he’d done that night, the guy moved his arm from the back of the couch so he could squeeze your thigh. Right as you were about to tell him to fuck off, you saw a hand grip his shoulder from behind. Logan was leaning over the sofa, bringing his face a little lower so he wouldn’t cause a scene, his dog tags hanging when he leaned forward. He had a death grip on the guy's shoulder while he used his other hand to steady himself against the sofa. 

“Hey, bub.”

The guy looked a little terrified, to say the least, but Logan didn’t let up there.

“Do you always go around hittin’ on people’s wives? Or is it just mine?”

His eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to run but that wasn’t going to happen as long as he was in his grip. 

“I-I didn’t, uh, I didn’t know she - “ the guy sputtered, trying to nervously laugh it off.

“Mhm. Hey, tell you what - why don’t you leave my girl alone and maybe I’ll give you a five minute head start to get the fuck out of here.”

He let go of his shoulder and that was enough to drive him away, the guy scurrying to his feet and finding somewhere else to mingle.

You didn’t know why you found yourself smiling the moment he’d said ‘my girl’. You rid yourself of it with a shake of your head, reminding yourself you were there to do a job.

“Hey,” Logan leaned himself down even further so he could whisper, “I gotta show you something, c’mere.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him but got up to follow. He stopped in the hallway in front of the bathroom, looked around to see if anyone would notice you, and promptly dragged you in with him before closing and locking the door. He hit the light switch and you looked around.

“Do you always take girls to the bathroom on first dates?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“You’d have to go out with me to find out,” he remarked, “besides, it’s not like that. Look.”

You watched him get low to the ground to open the cupboard under the sink and you crouched with him, following his pointing finger to the wood paneling in the back. It looked like a fake back - a board that appeared to be the back of the cabinet but definitely had something behind it. There was a sliver of metal visible behind it when you shined your phone’s flashlight.

“I figured we should look everywhere, so while I was in here I was checking it out - saw that. You think that’s it?”

“Could be,” you answered honestly, “that, or it’s some sort of electrical box we’re about to rip out of the wall. It’s an odd hiding spot for a safe.”

“Not really. Think about it - where's the first place you’d look for a safe?”

“Bedroom or office, maybe.”

“Right, and where's one of the last places you’d check?” he gestured to the open cabinet.

“Under…the sink,” you realized aloud, looking between him and the wooden board. 

“Exactly,” he nodded, swiping the contents of the cabinet onto the floor to gain access, “here’s the thing, though - I’m too big to get in there.”

He could maybe stick his head in, but in order to duck under the pipes from the sink, he’d need to have shoulders that were much less broad.

You sighed, knowing what that meant.

“Alright, alright - move. This better be it.”

You reluctantly crawled under the sink and into the cabinet on your hands and knees. You yanked the wooden board with all your strength and it came free, revealing a metal safe.

“Got it! You were right, it’s the safe.”

Logan simply hummed in response, clearing his throat. You figured he’d be a little more enthusiastic. 

Truthfully, he was too busy staring at your ass in the nice pants you were wearing to pay attention. When he heard your voice, he shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thoughts he was having about you so he could think of a response. He’d always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you all dressed up drove him a little crazy.

“Yeah? Is it locked?”

You inspected the metal box, holding the absurdly large padlock hooked around the latch that opened the door.

“Uh-huh. Padlock - we’re gonna need the numbers.”

“No, we don’t. Bring it out.”

You did as you were told, crawling back out with the safe under your arm and placing it on the bathroom rug. It was a pretty small one - probably a little bigger than a basketball.

Logan picked it up and set it on the counter beside the sink. He unsheathed a claw and sliced through the metal latch that held the door closed in one swift motion.

“Well, yeah - that's one way to do it,” you shrugged.

“Easiest way to do it.”

He reached in and took out the small glass vial. He put it inside the pocket of his suit jacket.

“What if it falls out?” you asked.

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Alright, kid,” he sighed, “what do you want me to do with it? ‘Cause i’m sure as hell not lettin’ you carry it.”

You rolled your eyes and looked him over.

“How about you wrap it in your jacket, like cushioning?”

“Fine.”

He reluctantly shrugged off his jacket, keeping the vial in the pocket but folding the jacket into a ball. You hastily replaced everything in the cabinet, safe included, and you followed Logan as he opened the door to step out - only to be met with another guest, her fist raised to knock.

“Oh! Dear,” she chuckled, clearly a little startled. She looked to the both of you, a grin appearing on her face, “Young love, what a gift. Don’t worry, I didn't see a thing!”

You shot her a confused look, chuckling nervously before you happened to catch a glance of your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Your hair was mussed and your blouse was untucked on one side from having to bend up and down. Logan had taken off his suit jacket and you realized what it was she was implying.

“Oh, oh - we weren’t -”

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded as you stepped out, “like I said - my lips are sealed.”

She shot you both a wink, went into the bathroom and shut the door.

“She thought we were fucking in there,” you mumbled, eyes wide in embarrassment.

“Is that so bad?”

You snapped your head towards him, a confused look on your face, “what?”

Logan shrugged, “we're supposed to be husband and wife, aren't we?”

You shook your head in disbelief and decided to ignore him, both of you joining the other guests back in the living room. Dinner was finally ready and everyone took their seats in the dining room. There were a couple of things on the table you couldn’t even pronounce.

“Is that…meat? A vegetable?” you leaned over to logan, whispering behind your hand and nodding towards one of the dishes.

“Hell if I know,” he muttered, “I don’t think I wanna find out.”

You both piled on the few things onto your plates, poking at it with your forks.

“Do you wanna get a pizza after this?” you whispered.

“Definitely,” he replied, pushing around an unrecognizable sludge with his utensil.

“So, how long did you two say you’ve been together?” You both looked up, only to be met with the hostess’ stare. You had never mentioned how long you’d been ‘together’. Her smile was polite but her stare was piercing, as if she knew something she was not supposed to.

“About three years,” you replied, looking to him for back up.

“We got married a couple months in,” he added, grinning at you. Again, he had that look - like he wasn’t just pretending to be in love with you. 

“We were in this restaurant - this little place we go to all the time,” he kept talking, “and I just told her I thought she was beautiful, that I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“Really? I have to say,” she began, sipping from her glass,” for a young couple who got together so quickly, you two don’t seem very affectionate towards each other.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You shot Logan a panicked look, but he appeared unbothered.

“Ah,” he clicked his tongue,” it’s this rule she’s got about PDA. I’d be all over her if I could.”

You hated the way your face became hot. You couldn’t tell if he was leaning into it to be convincing or flirting just to make you flustered. You heard a muffled snicker from somewhere across the table and your eyes shifted to the source - it was the woman from earlier, the one who’d thought you and Logan were getting busy in the bathroom. 

“Can I at least get a kiss, babe?” Logan cooed, a smug look on his face.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“Being a husband,” he replied in a hush voice. 

It all happened within seconds. His hands cupped your face, warm and soft, and he leaned in to plant a kiss right on your lips. It was gentle and you melted into his touch, kissing him back. When he pulled away, you were still stunned, your lips parted in surprise. 

Logan kissed you.

His lips tasted like the remnants of cigar smoke. His touch was nearly intoxicating, like you were drunk off just the way he held you. You inhaled sharply and finally turned your face out of his grip, eyes glued to the table cloth. You had almost forgotten where you were - feeling like the room was spinning - and you let out a nervous laugh.

The topic of discussion moved on quickly and it seemed like any suspicion the hostess had about either of you had dissipated. You and Logan decided to say your goodbyes immediately after dinner, making some excuse about having to wake up early the next morning. When you stepped out and he shut the door behind him, you couldn’t hold your tongue any longer.

“What the hell was that?” you spat, eyebrows knitted. 

“What was what?”

He was completely nonchalant as he continued to walk next to you towards his truck. 

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He stopped with you at the passenger side of the truck, standing in front of the door so you couldn’t get in.

“What if I wanted to?”

You swallowed hard. It was dead silent outside, save for the chirping of crickets.

“What?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, chewing his bottom lip, “I wanted to kiss you.”

You didn't know what to say. He hated you, didn’t he?

“Logan, I - “

“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in there, pretending to be together.”

His voice almost sounded strained, like he was pleading.

“You don’t even like me, you hate me,” you deflected, but he shook his head.

“That’s not true. I never hated you. I figured you’d hate me after I acted like an asshole when we met, so I went with it. I don’t hate you. I think you’re funny, I think you’re pretty - I just never really knew how to tell you that.”

When you only stared in response, he moved aside and opened your door with a defeated sigh. You were still speechless but you hesitantly slid into the seat anyway, letting him close the door. When he got into the driver's side and started the ignition, you couldn’t stop looking over at him.

“So, you like me,” you finally said aloud.

He kept his eyes glued to the road when he responded in a low voice, “why do you think I bother you so much?”

“You pick on me because you like me? Like a little kid?” you couldn’t help the amusement in your voice as your confused expression turned to a smile.

You saw him bite back a smile that mirrored yours, shaking his head.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, you’re not too bad, you know, and I guess you’re kind of handsome.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Mhm, but don’t make me take it back.”

The rest of the short ride home was spent in comfortable silence, both of you seemingly trying to figure out where you’d go from there. When Logan parked his truck and got out, he came around your side to open your door. You hopped out and he shut the door for you, but grabbed your hand before you started to walk away.

“Hey, c’mere for a second.”

You let him pull you a little closer, intertwining both your hands. The evening air was chilly and you could see his breath in the air when he spoke.

“Can I kiss you, for real this time?”

You could feel your heart beating fast and you nodded eagerly. The second you did, his lips were already on yours. His hands let go of yours to settle in your hair, threading the strands between his fingers. His touch felt warm in comparison to the cold air and you leaned further into him with your hands gripping his jacket to pull him close. When he pulled away, he rested his hands on your waist and planted another kiss on your forehead. 

“Maybe we could, uh, try again,” he cleared his throat, running his hands up and down your sides, “be nice to each other this time.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t hate Logan, even though you tried. 

You couldn’t hate his perfect hair.

You couldn’t hate his sweet voice.

You couldn’t hate his kind smile.

You couldn’t hate the way he dressed.

You just couldn’t hate Logan Howlett. 

So, you kissed him again, smiling against his lips and letting him hold you as close as possible, almost lifting you off the ground with his arms around you.

“We should probably go inside, huh?” you mumbled when you leaned back, lightly scratching the mutton chops on the side of his face in an affectionate manner. Those were another thing you’d pretended to hate - probably because you were embarrassed to admit you thought he pulled them off well.

“As you wish, Mrs. Smith.”

He held his hand out for you to take and you did, eyeing the ring on your finger.

“You know,” you held up your hand to show him the jewelry, “I think i’ll keep this.”

He grinned, bringing your knuckles to his lips and leaving a chaste kiss, “I think i'll keep mine, too.”

You were both still holding hands when you went inside, blushing like two little kids. You were so engrossed in one another that you didn’t notice Jean and Ororo in the hallway ahead of you as he leaned down to kiss you again. Now that he knew he could actually do it, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll take it your night went well,” Ororo giggled, Jean doing the same. You jumped a little in surprise, covering your pink face in mild embarrassment. 

“What changed? I thought you hated each other,” the latter of the two asked.

“Eh, he’s not so bad,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders.

‘’Turns out, we make a pretty good fake husband and wife,” he explained, “I guess we got a little too carried away with it.”

As the two of you walked hand in hand further down the hall, Ororo elbowed Jean lightly, leaning over to whisper behind her hand.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

A/N: If you've made it this far, thank you sm for reading!! I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep this as is or add smut so I'll leave it how it is and if enough people ask for it, I can make a part two <3 pls reblog and like if you enjoyed/want more and my inbox is always open :)

Edit: here is the link to part 2!

[heartyluv]

Note: Literally after I thought about this and after Ivy said that I need to do it, I had to deliver. So everyone, kindly thank @asiatic-apple because she is a phenomenal motivator. The day I take a break from Tumblr fr will be a day for the booksss LOLL. Also, forgive me if this is not the best. Ideas were rushing and I did this under an hour. 🙏🏽

Creds to @/dollywons for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut (Not too detailed), Caleb is toxic and a baby trapper…

ToxicBabyFather!Caleb/Reader

✦ Okay, so you and Caleb have been together since like high school. He was in several of your classes and the first time you two had a conversation, he knew that he would forever be wrapped around your finger.

✦ The behavior he portrayed that caused you two to break up in the first place was not something he’s ever kept hidden from you. Truthfully, because you loved him so much and loved how he loved you, you believed that you could tolerate it enough until he fixed it. He never did.

✦ Possessive, obsessive, overly protective, crowding, overwhelming—just the definition of too much. But unfortunately, you were with him for almost a decade and in that time, you two had a baby girl that he and you love to death, but it wasn’t enough to keep you together.

✦ He’s definitely tried proposing to you several times, before and after you got pregnant, but you always said no. And you believed your pregnancy was an accident, a broken condom. But you thought it could be a good thing—that a baby would fix him.

✦ You never knew the man had gotten you pregnant on purpose the night you two had one of your more serious fights. He got on his knees and apologized over and over until you caved in and let him fuck you stupid. So drunk on dick, you never noticed when he sneakily took the condom off after he pulled out to swiftly change positions.

✦ “You can’t leave me, please don’t leave me. I’m everything you are…you’ll always be where I am.” His strokes would’ve been deep and forceful, oh my gosh…He had you bent over, back arched, and you had those sheets balled up in your fists while you’re fucking DROOLING!!!

✦ Despite the nasty words exchanged and his intense gaslighting in that fight, you stayed long enough for your daughter to be four years old before you actually called it quits, “for good”. But Caleb never relented. Because of that little girl, it was the only reason he had access to you. Just like he wanted, exactly how he planned.

✦ He was always on time to pick her up and to drop her off, but you’ve always known that it was just so that he could get under your skin, to make your body hot and your cunt hungry for him. You were weak with him.

✦ He makes sure to slide in his little threats, too. Even does it with a smile.

✦ “I hope you haven’t been bringing anyone in here. You wouldn’t want to make your future husband angry, would you baby?”

✦ You’re not allowed to date. He made that clear. I know what you’re thinking. How the hell could he control that? Simple. He has you obsessed with that COCK!! It has become physically impossible for you to even think about fucking or being with anyone else because of him. And you refused to say it out loud, but the fact that you let him fuck you RAW EVERY SINGLE TIME, tells him that you’re just as addicted.

✦ Never did you think you’d be a woman hung up on a man’s dick the way you are with Caleb’s, but if you’ve never had it, you’d never understand.

✦ Caleb’s dick is thick and it’s long, but not to where it’s scary. In fact, he fills you up so perfectly. Y’all are like a majorly fucked up puzzle. The way the tip of his cock always kisses your cervix like a threatening promise, making you feel how he’ll always be this deep in you is INTOXICATING OMG….

✦ And Caleb will literally come back to see you the same day he picks your daughter up. He’ll drop her off with his mother or something, and you hate that because it’s supposed to be his time with her. But when he has you spread wide for him in your bed, your pussy sucking him in so desperately, it becomes quite difficult to focus on anything else.

✦ “For someone to hate me so bad, you love begging me to fill you with my cock, don’t you pretty?” he mockingly coos, your legs over hooked around his arms. “Maybe I should get you pregnant again, hm? I already own you. Why don’t I just do it again so I can make sure everyone sees how much?”

✦ Your bodies mix and work like perfect fucking chemistry. YOU KNOW BED CHEM BY SABRINA CARPENTER?!?!? YEAH, YEAH THAT’S YOU TWO!!!!

✦ He’s always whispering the filthiest things, too. And you hate love that you clench around him tighter when he threatens imaginary men you’ve never even met.

✦ “Gonna take a picture of my cum dripping out of you before I leave. Maybe I’ll come back to stuff you again so you won’t forget that I was here, hm?”

✦ “If I ever find out you let anyone else touch my pussy, step foot under the roof I put over your head, I’ll blow his fucking brains out.”

✦ “I’ll wait till you come back to your senses and you’re begging me to come home. I’ll keep having you like this until then, yeah? And my cock hungry princess is gonna let me.”

✦ “You’re so pretty for me, baby. So, so fucking pretty. You feel me in your stomach? Wait until I put another baby in you. You’ll be feeling me for a loonngg time.”

✦ Should you stop fucking the man you were supposed to have left? Yes. Should you stop letting him come over and fuck you whenever he wants to? Absolutely. But could you give up that euphoric buzz he grants you every time his dick pulses inside your walls? Fuck no.

Tags 🏷️: @obeythebutler @honeymoonfleur

[skywalkerslvt]

Truth Serum—Logan Howlett

❥Pairing: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns other than 'you' mentioned)

❥Summary: You and Logan, drugged with truth serum, get trapped in separate cells during a mission. Things ensue...

❥CW: 18+, smut, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, minor use of pet names (Logan says 'baby' once or twice), 1.8k words

❥a/n: Need his big mutant cock rearranging my insides right now. Wrote this really fast to satiate the new hyperfixation lmao. Not proofread, might edit later if I have time! hope u enjoy!!

The mission was a mess from the start. What was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance turned into a disaster when you and Logan got ambushed by a group of well-armed mercenaries. Despite your best efforts, you were overpowered, captured, and dragged into a hidden underground facility.

Now, after being relentlessly questioned with truth serum, you found yourself in a cold, dimly lit cell, the metal bars mocking your current predicament. By the time they threw you back into your cells, your head was spinning. The serum had forced out every truth, every hidden thought, and you were left feeling raw and exposed. Worse, the lingering effects made it hard to think straight, amplifying every emotion. The worst part wasn't the isolation or the confinement—it was knowing Logan was just a few feet away, locked up in a cell next to yours. You couldn't see him, but you could hear his frustrated growls and the occasional clang as he tested the strength of his restraints.

"Logan?" you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the narrow space.

"I'm here," he replied, his voice a low, rough rumble. "You okay?"

“I'm cold,” you answered truthfully, the effects of the truth serum lingering in your veins, rendering you incapable of telling even a white lie. “Are you okay?” 

Logan huffed a laugh at your response. “I'm fine,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly sending shivers down your spine. 

"We need to figure out how to get out of here," you said, trying to focus on the mission. "Any ideas?"

"I’m working on it," Logan grunted, and you could hear the strain in his voice as he tested his restraints again. "These bars are tough, but they won't hold me forever."

Silence fell between you, broken only by the sounds of Logan's efforts to free himself. Each grunt, each frustrated growl sent your mind wandering to places it shouldn't, especially given your current situation. You tried to shake off the thoughts, but the truth serum was making it hard to keep control. 

You had always been drawn to Logan—his rugged exterior and intense demeanor had always sparked something deep inside you, but you'd managed to keep those feelings under wraps, focusing instead on the mission. Now, confined and vulnerable under the effects of the truth serum, those suppressed desires came roaring to the forefront. Every grunt, every restrained growl from his cell fueled your imagination, making it impossible to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. The harsh reality of your situation only seemed to intensify the electric charge between you two, turning the once manageable attraction into an uncontrollable blaze. A shuddering sigh passed your lips as you closed your eyes, trying to think of something, anything other than Logan fucking you, those low grunts a hot breath in your ear as he pounds his thick cock into your aching cunt. 

"What's on your mind?" Logan's voice cut through the silence, startling you. Your sigh didn’t pass Logan’s ears, his enhanced hearing picking up every little sound you made. You were lucky the wall between you was blocking the scent of your arousal from him. 

You hesitated, biting your lip, knowing the serum would force out whatever you were thinking. "N-nothing" you grunted, voice straining from the effort it took to tell that small lie, but your voice betrayed you.

"Come on," he pressed, his tone softer now. "Talk to me. What are you thinking right now?"

The words slipped out before you could stop them. "You," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m thinking about you."

Logan went quiet for a moment, and you could almost feel the intensity of his gaze even through the walls between you. "What about me?" he asked, his voice rough with curiosity.

You took a shaky breath, unable to lie. "The sounds you're making... they’re making me think of... things. Things we shouldn't be thinking about right now." You cursed yourself for admitting this so easily, for getting caught in the first place. 

A low growl rumbled from Logan's cell. "Tell me," he urged, his voice darkening with desire. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Your face flushed deeper, the truth serum forcing out your most private thoughts. “I was thinking about how you might sound if we were in the same cell,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “What noises you’d make if you were inside me, taking me on the floor.”

The cell fell into an expectant silence, Logan’s breathing becoming more laboured. After a moment, he let out a low, appreciative growl. “Oh yeah? That’s quite the thought,” he rumbled, voice thick with a mixture of satisfaction and dark amusement. “You’d be surprised how much I can imagine what it’d be like, too. The way you’d moan, how you’d squirm and gasp on my cock. Bet you’d be so fucking responsive.”

You shivered at his words, the combination of the truth serum and his filthy words making your thoughts spin wildly. “You think so?” you asked, voice breathy and eager.

Logan’s response was rough, laden with desire. “Hell yeah. I’d make sure you felt every inch of me. And you’d be begging for more before long, that’s for damn sure. Just imagine it—bet you’d take me so well.”

The vivid imagery of his words sent a shudder down your spine, your mind swirling with the possibilities. Despite the dire situation, the raw honesty between you both was creating a new kind of tension, one that was both thrilling and unnervingly intimate.

You couldn’t help it–your arousal was too much. You slowly trailed your hand up your thigh, fingers circling over your clit through your pants. “I–I’d be…so good for you, Logan,” you panted out between moans. “Need you so bad.”

Logan's breathing hitched at your admission, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Yeah? You’d be good for me, huh? Tell me what you’d want me to do if I was in there with you.”

You could hear the raw need in his voice, and it only spurred your own desire. You let out a shaky breath as you slipped your fingers under your waistband, teasing your already sensitive clit. “I–I’d want you to kiss me, touch me.”

The muffled sound of his zipper being yanked down could be heard through the wall, the thought of him fisting his cock to your voice now spurring you on, quickening your strokes. “Yeah? Touch you where, baby? How do you want me to touch you?” he responded, the smirk evident in his voice. 

The rough edge in Logan's voice sent a jolt through you, mixing with your own mounting arousal. You could hear the slight rustling from his side, the thought of him responding to you in such a primal way adding to the intensity of your desire. You whimpered, fingers working in slow, deliberate circles around your clit as you imagined his touch.

“I’d want you to start with my neck,” you gasped, voice strained. “Kiss and bite me there, tease me until I’m begging for more. Then move down, touch me everywhere. I want to feel your hands on me, everywhere.”

Logan's breath quickened, his voice rougher with need as he now stroked his cock. “Fuck, keep going.”

You could almost feel his touch, the way he’d explore your body with that intense focus. Your breaths grew quicker, each one a mix of gasps and moans as you continued to pleasure yourself. “And then I’d want you to put your cock inside me,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need. “Feel every inch of you inside me, make me come with you buried deep in me.”

Logan's voice was thick with desire, mixed with a hint of smugness. “I love the way you sound when you touch yourself thinking about me. Fuck, it drives me crazy.”

You could feel the heat building inside you, each stroke of your fingers sending waves of pleasure through your body. The images of Logan’s rough hands and his powerful presence were fueling your arousal, driving you closer to the edge.

“Logan…” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with anticipation. “I’m so close. I need you… so bad.”

Logan’s voice came through, rough and filled with raw desire. “I’m right here, baby. Just thinking about you coming while you touch yourself, it’s driving me wild.”

The pressure inside you intensified, each moan and gasp escaping your lips growing more desperate. You quickened your movements, your fingers pressing harder against your clit, teasing and stroking with the intensity you craved. The thought of Logan’s deep voice, his body pressed against yours, only heightened the pleasure.

“Logan, I’m gonna…” you whimpered, your orgasm building like a tidal wave, ready to crash over you.

With a final, shuddering moan, you came. Your body convulsed with the intense release, your fingers still moving in frantic circles as you rode the waves of pleasure. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as the last echoes of your climax slowly faded.

On the other side of the wall, Logan was experiencing his own tormenting pleasure. The sounds of your moans and gasps mixed with his own grunts as he fisted his cock, imagining the way you’d feel around him. The fantasy of your touch and the way you’d sound as you came was too much for him to bear.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan growled, his voice thick with need. “I’m right there with you.”

His hand moved quickly, driven by the intense images and sounds filling his mind. With a deep, guttural groan, he came, his release spilling out with a force that matched the intensity of his arousal. The sensation of climax wracked his body, his grip on his cock tightening as he rode the wave of pleasure. His breaths were heavy and uneven, each one coming in harsh, satisfied gasps.

Both of you lay there, spent and breathless, the aftermath of your climaxes leaving you in a state of both physical and emotional exhaustion. 

As the echoes of your climaxes settled into the heavy silence of the cells, you and Logan were left breathless and spent. The raw, electric tension between you had transformed into a shared, unspoken promise, even amidst your grim circumstances.

Logan’s voice cut through the quiet, rough and filled with a heated intensity that made your pulse quicken all over again. “When we get out of here,” he growled, each word dripping with desire, “I’m gonna show you just how good it can be. I’m gonna make sure you feel every bit of me.”

The thought of his words sent a shiver through you, the anticipation mingling with the lingering effects of the truth serum. Even as you lay there, exhausted and vulnerable, the promise of what was to come fueled a deep, burning desire that only added to the intensity of your situation.

[theemporium]

[4.9k] things start to feel real as luke’s rookie season in the nhl officially begins. but maybe it’s not as bad as he thought. and maybe those good vibes will follow him off the ice too. (smut)

series masterlist

.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

Your smile widened as you pulled the door open further, letting the boy shuffle inside with a small wince at the bright sun shining through your windows. The hood of his jumper was thrown over his head, his curls a mess and his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses he stole from Jack’s room after he woke up. 

It wasn’t the best state for you to see him but, truthfully, that was not his biggest concern at the moment. 

A few months away from college and he almost forgot what a bad influence his friends could be when it came to drinking. There was a vague memory somewhere around the fifth round of shots where Luke was pretty sure Nico tried to get them to drink some water, but it was pointless when Ethan found another bottle of tequila and insisted they had to drink it before it went to waste.

And, to Luke’s drunken mind, that sounded like the most logical solution. 

He was honestly surprised the three of them had managed to wake up early enough to catch the plane back to Michigan. They had woken him up to say goodbye, muttering something about afternoon practice and other things that Luke vaguely remembered before he fell back asleep for a few hours. 

Luke was pretty sure he was still drunk when he woke up a second time to the sound of Jack blasting music in the kitchen. 

Somewhere between his annoying brother and the lingering anxiety that followed with the hangover as result of the night before, Luke found himself at a local bakery to grab some goods before he stopped over at your place, not even thinking to message you beforehand (if he even knew where his phone was). 

“But you don’t smell shit so that’s a plus,” you noted as you shut the door behind him before taking pity on his state, dragging the curtains shut again whilst Luke muttered his thanks under his breath.

“I think I bought half the bakery,” Luke admitted with a sheepish expression as he extended the bag towards you. “I asked for every cherry based thing they owned, which surprisingly isn’t much.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe I should have tried another bakery.”

You laughed, brows raised in question. “I’m surprised you can stomach anything right now.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Luke said, his nose scrunching up in disgust like the idea made him feel nauseous. It did, if he was being honest. It was bad enough he almost threw up after Jack made him chug some water. “These were…well, they were the start of an apology.”

You tilted your head to the side.

“For…abandoning you in my room after everything,” he continued, his cheeks heating up. Because apparently no matter how much he drank the night before, he remembered well enough that he was a bit of a dick with how he ran off with his friends. “It was a shitty move. And it was shitty for me to make you hide under the bed.”

“That did throw me off,” you admitted, though there was a slight teasing tilt to your voice. “Although, your bed was surprisingly clean under there. No plates growing mould or other questionable diseases.”

Luke scoffed a little. “I’m not a slob.”

You shot him a look.

“I’m not that much of a slob,” Luke corrected, grumbling under his breath before he let out a sigh. “You know, you are making this apology a lot harder than I imagined it being.”

“Probably doesn’t help that you’re hungover as fuck,” you teased, but you took the baked good from him. You peaked inside, noting just how much he had actually bought and something warm twisted in your stomach. “You really didn’t have to. It wasn’t that big of a deal, Luke.”

“But it was to me,” he murmured, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I…I shouldn’t have done that. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love my friends. And I know they wouldn’t judge me but…”

“Hey,” you stepped forward, reaching out to gently touch him. “It’s fine, I promise. This was a part you hid from them for so long and it freaked you out. I get it.”

“I’m not embarrassed by you,” he blurted out, because apparently he has no filter or control over the words leaving his mouth. “Just in case you thought that. Because I’m not. The boys would probably love you but like—”

“You just don’t want them asking questions,” you finished for him, watching as the boy shyly nodded his head. “You don’t have to explain yourself but thank you, anyways. And thank you for the pastries.” 

“Right,” he cleared his throat, nodding a little. “Well, I–”

“Go lay down,” you said, a smile growing on your face when his shoulders slumped in relief. “I wasn’t lying when I said you looked like shit. The fact you are even awake before noon is shocking, to be honest.”

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief as he made his way towards your couch, his feet shuffling against the floor. “If I had to go back and listen to Jack blast his obnoxious playlists, I would have died.”

You snorted. “Aw, baby is facing his first, proper hangover outside of cheap college vodka.”

He pulled his sunglasses off to glare at you. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” 

“Lie down,” you prompted as you gently pushed him a step forward. “We can nap on the couch. I’ll even show you the trick to hangovers.”

He raised his brows. “It’s not gonna be some weird shit like drinking raw egg yolks, is it?” 

“I was going to offer head scratches but if you want raw eggs—”

“No!”

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.” 

…

The thing about playing with the team during playoffs was that, as amazing as it was, they did get knocked out and the whole thing felt fairly short-lived.

Don’t get him wrong, it was still a surreal experience. Hockey had been a constant in his life, something that always felt familiar and welcoming no matter where he was. It had felt as recognisable and comforting to him as his family was. 

But to know he had made it? To know he was skating and playing and wearing the jersey of an NHL team? 

It brought a new thrill to hockey he had never expected, but basked in, nonetheless. It added an extra layer, an extra kick that college hockey could never compete with. It made him feel like everything was worth it, that everything worked out and his dreams aligned with the stars and—fuck, he was making his debut in the National Hockey League. 

But as fast as it came, it went. 

And then summer happened. 

And he was distracted by long nights in Michigan summer heat and cool beers and boat rides that made him feel like nothing else existed beyond the lakehouse. It felt like he was just a normal guy, spending the summer break with his brothers and his friends and pretending like life was always this easy. 

It was his last thread to normalcy before his life fully changed. 

And then he was moving to Jersey, his belongings packed into boxes and cases as he moved in with Jack for the first time since his brother was drafted. He spent days being paraded around his new city, trying to feel familiar in the unfamiliar apartment, trying to bond with a team that had been together long before his arrival. 

It was confusing and exciting and baffling and scary. Every emotion a person could experience, Luke had felt tenfold since he had started preseason training. He felt like he was stumbling through a life that wasn’t his, trying to catch up and get a hold of himself. 

Then, in a blink of an eye, he was about to step out for his first official game of his rookie year in the NHL. 

And, for some stupid reason, he was far more nervous than he had been for the playoff games. 

There wasn’t a pressure on him during the playoffs, not really. People were letting mistakes slide, willing to look over things because it was his first time stepping foot onto the ice for an NHL team. He knew he technically had that luxury now too, that he was a rookie and he was allowed to use this year to find his footing.

But it was hard to remember he was a rookie when everyone and everything kept reminding him he was the third Hughes brother. He wasn’t just a normal rookie or young kid starting out their career in the big leagues. He was the third brother to try and live up to an insane standard his brothers have set, he had to prove he wasn’t a bust who only got here because of his name. 

Luke felt more than ever that he had to prove he belonged, that he deserved to have his spot and his place in the team. That he was more than just his surname and the connotations it brought.

He had to prove—

cherry🍒: break a leg or whatever they say in hockey

cherry🍒: actually wait

cherry🍒: don’t break a leg, that would be pretty shit for you

cherry🍒: feel like it would be pretty useful to skate with two unbroken legs

cherry🍒: what i am trying to say is good luck! 

And, in a silly way, he knew it was stupid. He shouldn’t need to hear someone else say something, to try and reassure him. Jack had tried a few times to prompt the conversation as game day approached. A few of the other guys had tried too. Hell, even Quinn had called him to try and give him a pep talk.

But, in the nicest way he could put it, it felt meaningless when it came from people he felt like needed to say it. 

They needed to believe in him. 

You didn’t. 

Fuck, you didn’t even know a single thing about the sport. You didn’t understand the significance of his last name in the sport. You didn’t understand just how intense the next year of his life was about to be. You didn’t understand a single thing that the other people in his life had been trying to reassure him over. 

And, for some reason that was beyond Luke’s own understanding, that was what he needed.

He needed that unwavering, unbreakable faith from someone who didn’t have to support him. You weren’t his family. You weren’t his teammate. You weren’t a fan. You had no reason to lie to him, to sugarcoat your words and fluff away his worries. You had no reason to believe in him other than the fact you just did. 

And it was what he needed.

It was what he needed minutes before the game was due to start, the clock ticking to puck drop and his eyes lingering on your messages before he had to get up and head out to the ice.

He needed you. 

…

They won the first game of the season. 

And then, because the person in the league who was organising the game schedule decided they wanted to try and test them this early on, they played their second game the next night. 

And they won that one too.

It was surreal, to be fucking frank. It was a kind of buzz that Luke had never experienced before, not in hockey at least. 

Winning was always great, regardless of what age or what league you were playing in. Truthfully, he didn’t think anything would beat the thrill college hockey gave him. His attachment to the boys on his team, the adrenaline of the win pumping through him as he basked in the cheering crowd. 

He thought that was his peak. He thought that was the best it would ever get. 

And then he joined the NHL. 

There was something about wearing the jersey, about knowing that they had thousands of fans watching the game. There was something about skating straight towards his big brother and feeling Jack scream in his ear as they were crowded by the other boys. There was something about knowing this had been his dream since he was a kid, to know he was now living it out. 

It was the perfect way to kick off their season—to kick off his rookie season—and Luke genuinely didn’t think he could sit down for longer than two seconds if someone asked him to. His body was bone-tired, he needed decent rest because professional hockey was no joke and his body was still not used to the jump from college hockey.

But he was buzzing. He was practically vibrating with how excited he was. He felt like he could do anything at that moment.

The locker room was buzzing with talks about how to celebrate. Most of them were tired—happy but fucking tired. The younger group wanted to head out to a bar, the older ones wanted to try to be responsible for the sake of practice in the morning. Nico was somewhere in the middle, trying to be diplomatic and find a solution that worked for everyone.

But honestly, Luke didn’t want to stand in a bar where he would either have to sneak drinks or stay sober. And he didn’t particularly want to get drunk in the first place. And he didn’t want to just head home with Jack when his body felt like it could start bouncing off the walls. 

He had this ever present, insistent buzz itching beneath his skin and he had a million and one ideas on how to scratch it. 

Truthfully, everything was a blur. He didn’t remember the post-game interviews or whatever chirps were being thrown his way in the locker room. He didn’t remember what fuck-ass excuse he gave Jack as he clambered into the backseat of an Uber. He didn’t even remember ordering the Uber in the first place. 

He just knew it led him to your doorstep, knocking on your door somewhere past eleven when he hadn’t even stopped to think if you’d be awake or not. He just knew he wanted to see you. 

It was almost a shock when the door swung open a couple of seconds after he knocked. 

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your team, winner?” You teased, leaning against the door as you spoke. Though, you didn’t look all that bothered with Luke showing up this late to your place unannounced. 

But his brain was still moving a million miles an hour and he knew—somewhere amongst the chaos of his thoughts—that he should have said hello, or apologised for randomly showing up, or for banging on your door when you could have been asleep.

But the only thing he managed to blurt out was, “I want to make you come.” 

You blinked. And again. And then one more time. 

And he thought his racing heart was going to explode in his chest before you pulled the door open wider, an invitation for him to step inside as you muttered something about your nosy neighbours overhearing the whole conversation and eavesdropping. 

Luke stood aimlessly in your entrance hallway, watching as you spun to quickly close the door behind him before turning on your heel to face him. You leaned back against the door, making his chest tighten in some kind of way at the way you smiled at him.

“Feeling confident after your big win, huh?” You grinned, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands, and he couldn’t help but find the act oddly endearing. “Does this mean you’re, like, first place or something?”

Luke didn’t bother fighting the smile growing on his face. “Yeah, we basically won the whole thing. Everyone has just forfeited from the championship.” 

“You know, you joke but if it wasn’t for the fact I can see you trying not to laugh at me, I would have believed you,” you said to him before pushing off the door, taking a few steps closer to him. “You never answered my question though. Did the win make you feel more confident?” 

“Maybe,” he swallowed, his fingers itching to just reach out for you the second you were at arm’s length from him. “It’s just…you always do stuff for me. I wanna do stuff for you too. But like, it’s okay if you don’t want—”

“Don’t do that,” you interrupted.

He frowned a little.

“Don’t second guess your own confidence,” you corrected yourself as you stopped just a step or two away from him. “Be sure of yourself. It’s hot.”

“Mhm,” Luke nodded, though it didn’t sound all that self-assured. 

“Remember, just like hockey. You practice and then you play. We’ve been doing the exact same.” And weirdly enough, your words were comforting. “Have some faith in yourself, Luke.” 

“Right. Just like hockey,” he murmured, glancing at the small distance between the two of you.

“Just like hockey,” you repeated with a small nod.

And, just like hockey, Luke let himself act before he over thought his actions too much. Hockey was about acting fast and thinking later. It was about acting on your instincts and trusting your teammate would be on the other side of the puck. It was about letting every move, every hit, every shot to be nothing but one hundred percent. It was about taking the chance before it was gone.

Luke took a step forward, closing the distance between you two as his hands reached to cup your face before he kissed you. You let out a noise of surprise that sounded from the back of your throat before you sunk into it, letting your hands rest against his stomach as he took control.

It was intoxicating, in a way you had never experienced with Luke before. Most of the time, he was happy to let you take control. He got this cute but hopeless look on his face when he didn’t know where to put his hands. He was happy to just sit back and let you tell him exactly just how you wanted to be touched, kissed, held. 

But this was different. It was overwhelming. It was suffocating in the best way possible. Feeling his body tower over you, feeling his large palms holding you just where he wanted you as his tongue slid into your mouth. Feeling the way Luke acted when he didn’t think, when he didn’t get in his own head, when he just let his body act the way it wanted to. 

You barely had a chance to catch your breath before his hands dropped from your face, fingers wrapping around your thighs with a stuttered ‘jump’ whispered against your lips before he lifted you with the ease only a professional athlete could achieve.

He barely pulled away as he walked deeper into your apartment, the layout practically memorised in his head considering the fact he spent just as much time here as he did in his own apartment. His arms were locked on you, not letting you slip a bit as he wandered into your bedroom, laying you down on the bed with a gentleness that made your stomach dip. 

“Show off,” you murmured as you glanced up at him, lip tucked between your teeth as your fingers brushed against the hem of his shirt.

He lazily grinned down at you. “I can be impressive sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” Your lips twitched upwards as you shuffled back until you were sat further up the bed. You reached for the hem of your hoodie, pulling it over your head and tossing the clothing off to the side. “Come show me how impressive you can be, Hughes.” 

He swallowed, eyes darting over your figure before he slowly began making his way onto the bed. “You’re sure?” 

“You were the one who came knocking on my door, saying you wanted to make me come,” you teased. 

“Yeah but,” Luke paused for a second as his gaze caught yours. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it because I want to.” He flashed you an awkward but sweet smile. “Consent is sexy, you know?” 

You snorted, but you grinned back at him. “You have my consent to make me come, Luke.”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. “I just…I want you to enjoy it but I don’t…”

“Breathe,” you murmured in a softer voice, reaching up to gently squeeze his cheeks to catch his attention. “I’m still here, you’re not doing this alone. Just like hockey, remember? Think of me as your teammate.”

His face instantly scrunched up. “I really don’t want to be thinking about any of my teammates right now.”

You snorted, despite yourself. 

“Yeah, okay, maybe not my finest choice of words. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not doing this alone. Sex is a ‘two way street’, ‘it takes two to tango’ kinda thing, Luke,” you spoke as you reached down to guide his hands to the waistband of your leggings. “We’re doing this together.” 

“Together,” he murmured with a nod.

“Just like hockey,” you said to him again, seeing a hint of his earlier confidence shine in his eyes as his fingers hooked the waistband of your leggings before pulling them down your legs. 

He tugged them over your feet before throwing them off to the side, where your hoodie still laid. He didn’t even hesitate before he ripped his own shirt off over his head, in some weird mixed statement so you weren’t the only one who was half-naked—and because he felt his whole body running far warmer than he thought was normal. 

“Foreplay is important. It’s like warm-ups, it’s necessary and preferred and makes the game easier, as well as more enjoyable,” you said, your voice a little lower than before as you gently guided one of his hands from your waist downwards. “It makes her feel good. It makes you feel good. It’s sexy.” 

“Sexy,” he noted with a nod, though his eyes were transfixed on you. 

Luke gulped a little as his fingers rested along the elastic waistband of your panties. His heart was racing in his chest and blood was roaring in his ears and it was a little hard to focus on the words you were saying when his dick was twitching in his sweatpants.

“Just gotta know where to touch her,” you whispered, lip tucked between your teeth as your fingers lightly skimmed over your clothed cunt. You choked out a gasp as you pressed a slow, deliberate circle over your clit. 

He didn’t think even a meteor crashing into your bedroom could make him tear his eyes away from you right now.

“Try.”

Luke’s brows raised a little as you stared at him expectantly. 

“C’mon, winner,” your lips twitched upwards. “Just like hockey.”

Just like hockey.

Luke slowly ran his hand over your waist, feeling the cotton fabric of your panties under his touch. He kept his eyes locked on your cunt, trying to ignore the way his hand was shaking as he ran his fingers along the fabric. 

A soft sigh left your lips and his eyes snapped up to look at your face, to watch your expressions closely to see what you reacted to. His thumb pressed down experimentally and your nose twitched a little.

“A little higher.”

He listened. 

“Firm but gentle.”

He listened.

“Fuck, just like that, Luke.” 

He listened.

“A little faster.” 

Luke listened. 

He listened as you guided him. He listened until there was a small wet spot on the front of your panties. He listened until you were panting and telling him to pull them down your legs. He listened as he gently glided his fingers between your folds, watching with dark eyes as his fingers glinted with your release. 

“I get it,” he muttered out at some point, his thumb pressing down on your swollen clit as your hips bucked up against his touch. “The noises. Why you like them.” He gulped a little as his eyes glanced up at you. “You sound pretty when you’re moaning, Cherry.”

“Shit,” your eyes fluttered shut as you reached down to grip his wrist. “Just…fuck, I need to feel you inside me.”

His cheeks burned hot. 

“Just,” you panted, chewing down on your bottom lip until it was red and a little swollen. “Slow, okay?”

He gulped. “You sure?” 

You huffed out a laugh. “You wanna make me come?”

He nodded.

“Then yeah, I’m sure,” you murmured, brows furrowed together as you felt him glide his fingers through your folds until they were completely covered. 

And, if Luke was being so completely honest, he could have come in his pants from the sight alone. It was like at the last possible moment, his brain remembered to look up as he slowly slide one finger inside you and, fuck, he was glad he did.

He felt entranced. He felt mesmerised. He felt like he was stuck in some sort of hypnosis and he couldn’t look away. 

He wanted to burn this moment in his memory so he could never, never forget it. He wanted to memorise the way your eyes fluttered shut. He wanted to memorise the way you felt squeezing around him, like you didn’t want him to ever leave. He wanted to memorise the way your lips parted with a silent scream as he slid another finger inside you, as he curled his fingers, as you bucked your hips. 

He wanted to remember every single fucking moment until the day he died.

“A little faster,” you breathed out, your head thrown back on your pillow as he followed your instructions. “Shit, yes. Like that. Fuck.”

“Good?” Luke murmured, his whole body feeling like it was on fire and his dick straining against his boxers but, fuck, he couldn’t care less when his attention was on you.

“Good,” you confirmed with a nod as one hand gripped the sheets, the other reaching down to give your clit some attention. “So good, Luke.” 

Something in his stomach flipped at your words. 

If someone asked Luke Hughes how the last forty-eight hours of his life had been, he would tell them it had been fucking amazing. 

And if they asked him what the best moment was, he should probably answer that he has too many to choose from. That maybe it was the fact he officially started his rookie year in the National Hockey League. That maybe it was the fact he won not one, but two NHL games. That maybe it was the fact they won them one after the other. That maybe it was the fact he did all of the above whilst sharing the ice with his big brother.

But, in all fucking honesty, Luke would have chosen this moment. 

He would have chosen the sight of you writhing and squirming beneath him. He would have chosen the sight of you panting and moaning and begging. He would have chosen the sight of you coming on his fingers, your back arching off the bed and his name a whimper on your lips. He would have chosen the sleepy smile you gave him as your body twitched as he pulled his fingers out, already missing the feeling of you clenched around him. He would have chosen the look of pure lust and desire in your eyes as you watched him slide his fingers in his mouth, his body moving before his brain caught up as he sucked the taste of you off his fingers. 

He would have chosen this moment. And maybe that realisation would be a lot more alarming and head-spinning in a couple of hours, but right now it was a passing thought before he slumped down on the bed next to you.

“Luke?” 

“Hm?” 

“You’re a good student,” you murmured, feeling a smile on your lips as he let out a small huff of laughter. “A little more practice and I think you could have a good business going for you if the hockey thing doesn’t work out.”

He shook his head. “I think my skating skills are still better than my sex skills, but the confidence you have in me is appreciated.”

“Hm, true,” you said as you nudged his arm, lifting it up before you curled into his side. Luke didn’t say anything but wrap his arm around you to pull you closer. “You do skate very fast.” 

“Those two videos really told you everything you needed to know, huh?” He teased, his words light-hearted and joking and warm. 

“No, the games you just played told me that,” you corrected.

Luke froze, his mind replaying the words in his head like he wasn’t sure he heard you right the first time. “You watched my games?”

“Yeah,” you answered like it was obvious. “You said they were the start of the important ones, the ones that counted. I mean, I didn’t understand half of it and I spent a significant amount confused but,” you paused to shrug. “I wanted to support you.”

His chest tightened and it was a little harder to breathe, but he didn’t really want to let you go just yet.

“You didn’t have to,” he eventually choked out.

“I wanted to,” you answered before continuing. “Who knows, maybe I’m your good luck charm.” 

He knew you were joking. He could hear as much in your voice. But it still made his heart clench a little at the thought.

“Guess you gotta watch every game then.” 

“Guess you gotta teach me the game so I understand it then.” 

His arm tightened around you, his face burned red and his heart skipped a beat or two. But he still managed to mutter out, “Deal, Cherry.”

.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Thinking about; getting choked by H.JS

[look at the size of his fucking hand. nobody cares about the pastry shua]

🖐Who; Hong Jisoo (Seventeen) x reader 🖐What; Not exactly smut but definitely 18+ 🖐WC; 1.2k 🖐Warnings; Profanity, choking, Shua is a bit condescending/teasing, I guess dom Shua if you wanna label it that way, I feel like I was gonna tag something else but i can't remember, it's actually a pretty fucking tame lil thot despite being about choking in my opinion tbh

Summary; Jisoo accidentally chokes you and discovers you're into it.

Minors do NOT interact, which means liking/reblogging/commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

You're just about to walk away from Jisoo to go get a drink, or get a snack, or something else that doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. And for some reason, Jisoo reaches out and grabs the back of your t-shirt to try and pull you back to him. Yet all it does is almost make you stumble and let out a choked sound thanks to the collar pulling tight against your throat.

Of course, the sound worries him, it hadn't been his intention to hurt you, but there's a dark little part of his brain that lights the fuck up at hearing you choke because of him. Still, he pushes it down and moves you out of the party crowd to an almost hidden corner to fuss over you.

"Okay, chill the fuck out," You slap his hands away from where they're fluttering around your throat in worry that he's hurt you.

"I choked you."

"In the boring way." You mutter without thought then look at him with wide eyes as you register that those words came out of your mouth and didn't remain in your head.

"The boring way?" He repeats, eyes sparkling with mirth as he straightens to his full height and tilts his head at you with a sweet smile that you know hides a sharpness that you've always wanted to taste on your tongue.

"Shut up." You try, even if you know it's fruitless. Hong Jisoo is not a man who easily backs down when he's caught something or someone in his trap.

He takes a step closer, and you instinctively move back and thunk against the wall which you truly hadn't noticed was so close. He takes another step, and then one more until his feet are blocking yours, his body so close you can feel the heat rolling off of him.

"Are you telling me there's a method of choking you enjoy, sweetheart?" He taunts softly as he lifts his left arm to lay his forearm against the wall diagonally, his elbow to the side of your head and his curled fist a little above your head. He's truly trapping you and honestly, you don't want to escape, wouldn't even try if there wasn't a wall blocking on the other side.

"Jisoo," You murmur.

"Mm?" He tilts his head and smiles a little brighter, though his eyes are darkening with a promise. You're not quite sure what that promise is yet, but you really want to find out.

You don't respond, there's truthfully nothing you have to say, well other than the urge to tell him to hurry up and put his hand on your throat, but you're certain if you even tried to suggest as much, he'd draw it out even longer and get off on your frustration.

"What's the matter? Lost your voice?" He smirks, dancing the fingers of his right hand over your left forearm, drawing goosebumps to the surface from his delicate touch. "Is that right, sweetheart? Did you lose your voice from just a tiny bit of pressure on this pretty throat?"

Suddenly, his fingers are against the side of your neck, palm not even brushing the very front of your throat and his thumb on the other side of your neck. Your brain immediately blanks but for one thought; how fucking big his hands are.

"Mm? Not going to answer me, baby?" He coos, leaning down towards you until his nose almost brushes yours. His eyes dart down when he catches your lips moving in his periphery, though no sound comes from your mouth and he chuckles, tone low and condescending. "Oh, honey," He straightens up just enough to meet your gaze, with that sparkle even brighter despite the darkness swirling in his eyes. "Is that pretty head of yours struggling already? I haven't even done anything. I'm not sure I should either." With a theatric put-upon pout, Jisoo starts to remove his light touch from your throat and push away from the wall.

You react without even thinking, both arms darting up to grab his right forearm and pull it back to you with big, pleading eyes locked on Jisoo. He can't help but lean back in, utterly mesmerised by how desperate you look to have his hand pressed to your throat.

Someone suddenly passes behind Jisoo much too close for his liking. They don't even glance your way yet Jisoo still angles his body to hide you as much as possible from them in a protective, possessive manner while his head lowers until the tip of his nose passes over your cheek when he turns his head towards you. "What do you want, baby, come on, tell me." He encourages you, a dark edge suddenly to his words. He suddenly sounds a little desperate himself, frantic even.

"Shua,"

"Yes, yes, that's my name, we know that." He huffs out, almost meanly and rolls his eyes. "Tell me something new. Tell me what you want me to do."

You turn your head as much as you can with his own so close to your right that your lips brush the side of his chin when you talk. Jisoo naturally tilts as soon as he feels your lips, as if you've done this a thousand times and it's nothing more than instinct to seek your lips with his own. But you haven't done this before, and even now, he doesn't kiss you, just lets your lips flutter over the edge of his mouth with your words. "Choke me," You whisper against his skin.

"You want me to choke you, sweetheart?" He repeats, both to tease and to make certain that you truly want this.

He wants it, wants it with everything in him but if you say no, he'll back up and do whatever he needs to make sure that you're comfortable, even if it means he leaves the party without you in his passenger seat to drive safely home like he always does.

You nod a little and urge his hand closer to your throat, hoping he'll get the message. The short chuckle he lets out in response puffs against your lips and vibrates from his chest, he's so close to you that you can practically feel it against your own.

"Mm," He hums and traces a gentle path over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose as his fingers and thumb press down in the exact right places, with a sudden pressure that makes your eyes roll back as your hands grip his forearm to support your suddenly weak body as best as you can. Jisoo notices your loss of strength by the way you slide down the wall a little and adjusts his stance so intuitively, nudging his right foot between your feet so that he can shove his thick thigh between your own.

And then he tightens his grip a little more on your throat, the perfect amount of pressure to make your mind empty and your body slump harder against his thigh. His breath blows over your ear as he laughs a condescendingly. When he talks, you can hear the taunting grin in his voice. "Like this?" Just like that, you know that this man is going to ruin you, and you're going to love every fucking second.

Tagging; @okiedokrie

[writingoddess1125]

hello!! ⭐, I saw that your order section was open and yesterday I read your story of buggy with the Roger effect and Jessica Rabit and I loved it, and I would like to know if you could do a one shot or something shorter if you prefer showing how they met and they decided to get married I love your stories and I think that, like your buggy, he is my favorite character. If you don't like this request or you think it's not good to do it, you can just ignore it, it won't be a bad thing 😸 thank you and have a good day!! 💗✨ (pd. English is not my first language so sorry if something is not written well😔)

Deal! I love this little idea

Buggy x FemReader

Small angst + Fluff

Heart on my Sleeve

Prequel Of Roger and Jessica Rabbit Effect

Wanna Buy me a Ko-Fi ☕️

• Your village was one of the poorest villages in the East Blue, the taxes from the World Goverment crippling your home to be a starving wasteland.

• Mainly to the wealthy Governor who lived above your town.

• You owned a fabric shop but the fabrics you owned were old and starting to rot from the lack of buissness. The moths having more use put of your fabrics then you did-

• The newest pirate on the scene Buggy the Clown shows up to your village ready to pillage it, in his early 20s with a fresh faced crew. However they did not expect the village to look worse then before they arrived.

• "I thought you said this place had money?" Buggy asked as he looked at the place. Lowering his blades as it looked like this place- it was in shambles. Like it had been pillaged to time then a pirate

• You had walked out of your shop, seeing if maybe the baker had just enough flour so you could feed yourself. Turning to see the group of pirates that seemed better off then you and your people.

• Buggy stared hard at you and matched forward, seeing that you were quite pretty in his eyes as he stood before you.

• "You! Tell me what the hell is wrong with this place! We heard it was rich here!" He said angrily, clearly upset at not getting to a small village that at least had a few Berries.

• You looked up at the pirate, noting the far too big of clothes for his frame and his painted face- Not liking he was putting such an unflattering green around his watercolor eyes. His face twisting up in anger as he caught you staring at his face.

• "What are you staring at!? You looking at my nose!" He yelled angrily, his fingers going to the inner part of your coat where you assumed some weapon would be.

• "No your shirts too big for your frame and that shade of green doesn't compliment your eyes well" You said truthfully, At this point a knife or bullet being a kinder death then starving anyway-

•"U-Uh- What?" He said confused, Unsure how to answer. You reaching forward and putting your arms around his frame to pull back the shirt. Taking a pin from your pocket and pinning the shirt back so it fit properly.

• "See- Your shirt is too big. It looks better fitted like that" You pointed out, His faze looking down at the pinned back shirt. His face red at how close you got to him, or that you'd touched him at all.

• "As for money we have non. The governor has the taxes so hide no one here can even feed themselves" You said truthfully, The young clown blinking at you in surprise.

• "Er- Y-Youre making fun of me somehow right? Like my Nose" He tried to yell again grabbing the front of your dirty shirt- clearly not used to someone trying to give him kind useful advice without some sort of motive.

• "I would never make fun of your nose, it looks fine to me anyways" You snap back and slap his hand away calmly. He blinked at you surprised and released your hand- His eyes going up the hill of the village and seeing the grand governors house hidden in some trees.

• He huffed and shoved you hard, you falling into the mud as him and his crew marched past up to the Governors home.

• However what did surprise you was the next Morning the Captian and his Crew stood in the village square and announced he now owned the village. Saying he was Buggy the Clown- and that he was now in charge.

• Before starting to hand out some stolen treasure??? Giving some supplies he had 'liberated' from the Governors house.

• You also noticed how his eyes lingered on you as he did this.

• It had been a few months like this, he would stop by randomly pay for the village. He wasn't taking taxes but instead paying things- it was improving greatly, the cracks of the pavements on the streets getting repaired, new paint on the building and new businesses flourishing-

• But you noticed how he would pay extra attention to your shop- Getting all his things from you. How you got extra rolls of fabric delivered to your door or how he would pay for all these extra accessories to his costumes.

• "You seamstress I want another coat!" He yelled as he invaded your shop.

• Buggy was there again, asking for another ridiculous costume. You couldn't help but notice how often he was coming by- claiming he wanted new costumes by you and wanting to be measured everytime he came in.

• How he would blush when you measured around his chest. "You know, I noticed you always come through here and stop specifically at my shop for new outfits when you wear the same coat" You tease, watching him blush at you pointing this out.

• "So what!" He yelled out, his face as red as a cherry. You look at him and raise a brow at him, Not even having to say a word as Buggy deflated.

• "...I uh wanted to take you on a date" He grumbled, finally admitting what his plans were. You smiled at this, Setting the tape aside.

• "Now please do tell me, Why should I accept your offer for someone who not only yelled in my face but pushed me in mud-" You point out, even though you knew he most likely made up for it by him saving your village.

• "..I am sorry about that.." He forced out, you could tell he wasn't used to apologizing and was trying his hardest.

• "I forgive you, But that doesn't mean I'll forget" You say calmly. Smiling softly as you saw him looking ready to flip put at the rejection but you held a hand to him-

• "I know- So why don't we make a deal. Since I can tell you're really sorry why don't we agree to dinner and go from there? Its not a date per say but its a start" You said with a smile, his eyes lit up at hearing this at the prospect of getting to win you over.

• "Really!?" He says excitedly, Jumping up and down like a school boy as he blushed and giggled into his gloved hands like a kid. You couldn't help but find it adorable-

• For the next year Buggy would send gifts, love letters, help rebuild the village. Do everything to get in your good graces and ask for a official date every time he visited.

• Buggy would essentially own the Village at the point, 30% of his money went to the village to get it on its feet and keep it a small strip of paradise the very limited taxes he implimented later affer the village was florishing acted as a small form of secondary income. Mainly making sure people knew the place was protected by him as his reputation grew through time.

• Him even showing his unique Devil fruit abilties- Which you often abused for him to float up and grab the more expensive rolls of fabric or hang up finished cloths.

• The village also being a popular tourist destination for the friendly locals and nice scenery. So for Buggy it was worth the investment since originally put in.

• After that 'probation' year you would finally agree to officially date him and he was over the damn moon.

• While he would be secretive about you, his love language was strong. He is both physically and verbally affectionate- While he still throws his fits you know how to handle him well. Loving him both for his strengths and flaws.

• It would be 1 years of dating before Buggy would start planning how to pop the question.

- You were closing up shop for the day, humming along to a made up tune when you heard the back door of your shop being unlocked. You didn't have to look to know who it was, only one other person had the key to it.

"Hey Buggy Boo" You call out, smiling as you heard Buggy grumble and peel off his boots to leave them by the front door.

"That is still such a bad nickname" He grumbled before walking behind you and kissing your cheek and wrapping his arms around you. He smelled like the sea, clearly having just gotten off his shop to visit you. He had been taking more time out to see, wanting to get his bounty higher. Currently proud of his 5,000,000 berry bounty which for a early 20s pirate was fairly good he claimed.

"Ah you love it" You giggle which earned a adorable chuckle from the man.

"You know (Y/N)- I uh really like you and Want to spend my.."

"So I wanted us to have dinner tonight- I know you like that place down the street and want us to go there" He said, his voice very soft- Much softer then normal.

Smiling you turn around and kiss him on the lips.

"I'd love to" You say cheerfully, earning a crooked smile from him as he held you close.

As promised, that night Buggy took you to your favorite restaurant. Having gotten a private table in the back, you two spending hours just talking and sharing a meal together.

Buggy even pulling out a box of your favorite candies he had gotten out from his last adventure.

After dinner he lead you away to the more scenic parts of your Village a small meadow pass that had the most beautiful blue and white flowers, under the moonlight it looked so magical. You saw Buggy reach in his pockets and turn to face you, nervousness painted on his face as he shuffled his feet. Clearly prepared to get on one knee-

"You stole my Thunder!!" He cried in faux anger, you laughing hard as he ranted about how you knew so quickly, happy tears running down your cheeks as you smiled and his face turned deep red.

"Yes I will!" You said with a wide smile, your excitement getting the best of you as you slapped your hands over your own mouth. His jaw dropping in shock.

"I've been planning this for 4 months!!" He whined, face so red his nose was glowing as he stared at you.

"Im so sorry Baby, You just- You talk in your sleep my Love." You reveal with a smile, His face twisting up as he realized you'd known the whole time and let him try to have his moment anyway. You had just got too excited and answering too quickly-

As this sunk in he smiled widely and started to laugh, he couldn't help it! You were just too perfect for him! Despite everything you still let him have the spotlight. He kissed your lips eagerly and held you close, rocking the two of you side to side in pure joy.

"I.. I love you (Y/N)..So much- I cant wait for you to be my wife.." He said as he pressed his face into your neck- You could feel the warmth of tears hitting your skin exposed. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as you hug him close and cried against him in joy.

Pulling the both of you to the ground with a loud laugh as you two laid in the flowers- Laughs leaving you both as tears stilled from both of your eyes.

"I love you too Buggy Boo"

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act II : Chapter three

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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

Warnings: None

When you come home. Your aunt isn’t there. No note, no food in the kitchen, but your met with peace and fucking quiet. So you decide, you’re taking a break from school. And when your aunt still doesn’t come home, it becomes a two-day break from school. The curtains are drawn tight.

A bowl of cereal sits half-eaten on the desk. The TV is on low, reruns of The X-Files flickering across the screen. You lie in bed, facing the wall. Your eyes are puffy. Not even thinking about how you haven’t seen your aunt since Monday.

Then-click.

You bolted upright. The window creaks open.

“WHAT THE FUCK—?”

Jackie climbs through like it’s something she does every day. Winded from the climb, strands of blonde hair falling in her face, cheeks flushed.

“You skipped,” Jackie says, breath catching. “For two days.”

You scowl, pulling your blanket tighter. “So you break into my room?”

Jackie brushes herself off and crosses the floor. “You wouldn’t return my calls. Or answer the door. What was I supposed to do?”

“Leave me alone?”

“Yeah,” Jackie says, voice rising, “well, you disappeared, Smalls. I thought something happened.”

You stare at her, eyes narrowing. “You mean like when you called me Lottie’s project at that party?”

Jackie goes still.

Your voice cracks, not angry - just tired. “Did you mean it?”

Jackie opens her mouth. Closes it.

“No,” she says, too quickly.

You scoff and look away, not believing her. Jackie crosses the room, kneels by the bed. “Look, I was… I was jealous, okay? I saw you with her and I panicked. You and I-we’ve been through more than anyone else in that entire school combined, and I felt like you were just… gone.”

You feel your eyes glisten, but you refuse to let the tears fall. “So you made me a joke?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You never do,” You murmur.

Silence blooms between them. Jackie sits down on the edge of the bed, her voice small. “I came here because I miss you. I miss how we are when it’s just us. And I know I messed up. But I’m still your person, Smalls. You’re still mine.”

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes steady on the wall again. Truthfully, you don't even know what to say to her.

You’re still mine.

If this is what being anyone’s person meant. You didn’t know if you liked it. You were exhausted and confused, for some stupid reason you felt hurt. But despite all that those words made your heart was racing. Because your Jackie said them.

The concept that you were her person. The possible hidden meaning made your palms sweat, but instead of giving you fluttery excited butterflies, you just felt it fall flat into nausea.

Jackie leans in closer. “Say something. Please.”

You finally whisper, “I don’t know if I want to be anyone’s person right now.”

And Jackie, heartbroken, doesn’t push. She just stays. Sitting beside you. Silent. Her frown makes the ache in your chest worse.

You don’t make her leave. And when she makes it clear she’s staying, you make room for her on your bed. Like you were still 11.

The overhead light is off. A lava lamp on the dresser casts warm blobs of red and gold across the walls. Jackie is curled next to you, using the blanket she brought in from the couch downstairs.

Your back is to her, lying in bed with the covers tucked up to your chin. Silence hangs between you, but not the kind that hurts, more like a truce.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Jackie says gently, staring up at the ceiling. “But I’m not leaving until you go back to school.”

Your voice is flat. “That’s blackmail.”

Jackie grins into the dark. “Yeah. Emotional extortion. You should be flattered. Not everyone gets this level of my attention.”

You almost smiled. Almost. Sighing, you finally turn to face her. And Jackie’s eyes light up in a hopeful way.

“I’ll go,” you mumble. “But I’m not promising to be fun.”

Jackie exhales, relieved. “I’ll settle for the crumbs.”

When you make it inside of school, you move through the crowd like a ghost. You don’t talk much during homeroom, you don’t make your usual jokes in English when Mr. Rosen mispronounces “Kafka,” and you skip lunch altogether, opting to sit outside by the loading dock.

Jackie watches you from a distance, anxiety bubbling under her skin. Unable to keep her eyes off you all day. Shauna watches too, from the other side of the quad

You're in the corner, delivering a sealed envelope from the front office to Coach Martinez. Something about permission slips for some tournament. You linger after handing it over, as the team begins filtering in from the field.

Van’s the first to spot her.

“You surviving or just doing a great impression of a corpse?” Van jokes, tugging off her gloves.

You blink, surprised. Then “Little of both.”

Van nods like she understands more than she lets on. “That’s fair.”

You hover, unsure. Looking around you see not everyone is out yet. A sudden relief washes over you. Not needing to see Jackie or Lottie right now.

“You can sit,” Van offers, patting the bench beside her. “It’s not radioactive.”

You consider the spot, like it’s a bad idea. But you still sit. Quietly. You don’t say much, but it’s not uncomfortable. Van pulls out a granola bar from her bag and offers you half. You exhale and then take it.

Jackie walks in moments later, still flushed from practice, she catches sight of you across the room. You and Van, heads bent, sharing a quiet nothing of a conversation.

Jackie doesn’t say anything. But the jealousy is unmistakable in her eyes. Shauna clocks it immediately. Most of the team has already filed out back out from water break, sweat-slick and exhausted. The sky is starting to dim, casting golden lines across the concrete walkway.

Lottie leans against the brick wall near the gym exit, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She spots you exiting behind Van, eyes tired, lips pressed into a line that says I’m fine, but doesn’t mean it.

Van gives you a soft nudge and peels off toward the field.

You slow down when you see Lottie. Lottie offers a small smile, careful, soft around the edges.

“You okay?” she asks gently, searching your face.

You hesitate. Your body still, except for the way your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag. You weren’t great that’s for fucking sure.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Lottie steps closer, her voice lower now. “You don’t have to pretend around me, you know?”

You stare at her for a long second. Then something in you gives way, like a clean break. The tension in your shoulders, the stiffness in your posture. You step forward suddenly, wordlessly, and wrap your arms around Lottie.

It’s tight. Desperate in a way that catches Lottie off guard. Lottie’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t hesitate to hold you back, warm, steady, grounding. The hallway’s mostly empty, and everything around them quiets. The hug lingers. Longer than either of you expect it to.

You finally pull back, eyes a little glassy, but your lips are set again, like armor snapping back into place. “I have to go,” you say softly. “Yearbook stuff.”

Lottie nods, but her eyes follow you as you turn and walk away, disappearing into the next hallway. She stands there alone for a moment, her arms crossed like she’s still trying to hold on to the shape you left behind.

After practice, you're halfway across the lot, bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie tucked tightly around you. The sky is overcast, threatening drizzle, and your breath fogs faintly in the cool air.

“Y/N!”

You turn at the sound of your name. Lottie is jogging toward you, still in her practice gear, hair damp and clinging to her neck. You slow down but don’t stop completely. “Hey, what’s up?”

Lottie skids to a stop next to you, just a little breathless. “Do you want to come over? Like-tonight? We could… work on the project. Or just hang out. My parents are out again. It’d be chill.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to do more homework?”

Lottie laughs, but it sounds nervous. “Not really. I just… I don’t know. I don’t feel like being alone tonight. And I don’t think you do either.”

You look at her, really look, and see that thing in Lottie’s eyes again. That barely-hidden worry. The gentle, desperate hope. There’s a beat of hesitation, then you give her a small nod. “Okay.”

Lottie’s face lights up in a way that’s too quick, too big, like she was scared you might say no. “Okay. Cool. My car’s over there.”

She starts walking, and as you follow, Lottie reaches back, hand brushing the small of your back, just enough to guide you without saying anything. The touch is light, but you notice. The way Lottie’s fingers linger just a second too long before dropping away.

In the car, Lottie taps her fingers against the steering wheel like she’s trying to keep herself grounded. Music plays low from the radio, something mellow and warbled on cassette. As they drive, she keeps glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, like she’s still making sure you're real.

By the time they pull into the long, winding driveway of Lottie’s house, the air between them feels full of unspoken things. You step out, and Lottie is at your side again, hand resting at your back as they walk up the path. It isn’t possessive, just steady. Like an anchor.

Inside, Lottie tosses her keys in the bowl by the door and turns to you with a small smile. “I’ll grab you some socks. My house is freezing after practice.”

You watch her disappear down the hallway, the weight of her touch still lingering. You have no idea what will happen. But Lottie wants you here. That, for some reason, was all you needed to want to stay.

[sugardollcurse]

Hi diva!!! This is my first time requesting like EVER, so I'm very nervous! Could you please write a Ringo Starr x reader where they go out at a cafe and reader is really self-conscious about eating in front of people? Thank you, and your writing is marvelous!! - ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ㅤ♡

𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ ringo starr x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ self conscious reader (about eating in public)

꒰ summary ꒱ you’re at a quiet café, trying not to panic over the menu... ringo notices, like he always does.

꒰ note ꒱ hii sweet angel!!! thank you for trusting me with your request (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ i’m hugging this message so tight!!

It wasn’t a fancy place. In fact, it was the kind of tucked-away London café you’d only find if you already knew where to look. Half-hidden behind a bookstore, with a chalkboard sign always a little smudged by the rain. That was part of why you liked it. Cozy. Unassuming. Not the sort of place you’d expect to see a Beatle.

But there Ringo was, sat across from you at a two-top table by the window, hands around a warm teacup, eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at something you’d just said.

It was all so easy with him. Easy when he was talking, laughing, telling stories with his full body like he always did. It made your stomach settle a bit.

Until the waitress came over with menus, and your shoulders tensed without meaning to.

Ringo noticed.

He always noticed.

“Anything you fancy?” he asked, looking down at the laminated menu, then back up at you.

You shrugged. “Still thinking.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t even read it. The sight of a menu always flipped a little switch in your brain, one that hummed with tension, with worry, with a sick sort of dread. You could feel your jaw tightening already, your shoulders crawling upward.

He didn’t push. Just nodded and turned his eyes back to his own menu.

That helped.

Sort of.

The table beside you clinked with the sound of plates and cutlery, someone loudly scraping a fork against ceramic. You swallowed.

You hated this.

You didn’t mind food... not really. You liked it, actually, when you were home. Alone. Or maybe with someone you trusted. But out here? In public? Every bite felt like a performance. Like someone was always watching. Like you were being quietly graded. Did you eat too fast? Too slow? Did your hands look weird when you cut something? What if something got stuck in your teeth?

You reached for your water and tried not to fidget.

Ringo, meanwhile, was tapping his fingers along the table edge, looking out the window. Not in a bored way, just comfortable. He always seemed so settled in his own skin. It made you ache, just a little.

He looked back at you and caught the way your hand twitched over the menu again.

“You alright, love?” he asked gently, lowering his voice a bit. “Don’t look very sure.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’m just… not that hungry, I guess.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Don’t have to eat if you don’t want,” he said, easy. “We can just sit here and nick the tea.”

You chuckled, grateful for the way he made it sound like no big deal.

But still, you wanted to say something. Just a little. Something honest. Not the whole truth, but maybe the edges of it.

“I get weird about eating around people sometimes,” you admitted, voice low, eyes on your glass.

You expected him to brush it off. Maybe a “Don’t be daft!” or “Who’s lookin’?” But he didn’t. He just blinked and leaned forward, the movement slow and patient.

“Yeah?” he said, like you’d just told him something interesting. Not something shameful.

You nodded, twisting the ring on your thumb. “I know it’s silly.”

“S’not silly if it’s real for you,” Ringo replied easily, and you felt something in your chest loosen at the words.

You met his eyes then, those kind, impossibly open eyes.

You gave him a tiny smile. “Thanks.”

He grinned, tipping his head. “Course. And hey, if you just wanna have a cuppa and take the piss outta the people walkin’ by, that’s a perfect lunch in my book.”

You laughed for real this time. “You do that often?”

“Every chance I get,” he said. “Though I’ve got better company today than usual.”

⸻

You ended up ordering a scone. Small, safe. Something you could pick at.

Ringo ordered two. “Just in case yours is no good,” he joked.

He didn’t watch you eat. Not once. Not like other people did. He kept talking instead, telling stories about a terrible pub gig the lads once had, or how he nearly tripped on the studio steps because of a loose shoelace. Every now and then he’d glance at your plate, not at your hands, not at your mouth, but the plate. Just casually. Like he was keeping an eye on it in case you needed rescuing.

When you finally took a small bite and didn’t flinch, he smiled softly.

You didn’t miss it.

“You’re good at this,” you murmured.

He paused mid-sip. “Good at what?”

“Being gentle.”

Ringo looked like he wasn’t used to hearing that. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a small shrug. “I just try to be… you know. What I’d want. If I were in your shoes.”

“You ever been in mine?”

He smiled faintly, tapping his knuckles against his teacup. “Not with food. But… I know how it feels to be looked at too much. Like yer under a bloody microscope. Makes you wanna curl up like a snail in its shell, eh?”

You nodded. “Exactly that.”

“Then you’ve got me, love,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I’ll be your shell.”

It was such a silly, lovely sentence that it made your throat tighten a little.

You reached across the table, hesitated, and then let your hand rest against his for a moment. His fingers turned slightly, brushing against yours.

You didn’t need to say anything else.

⸻

You finished the scone.

Bit by bit. No rush. And he didn’t draw attention to it, not once.

When you stood to leave, he offered his coat even though it wasn’t that cold, just so you’d feel covered, tucked in.

And when you stepped back into the noise of the world, Ringo kept walking slow beside you.

As if to say: Take your time. I’ll be right here.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[concretejunglefm]

So human error had me accidentally posting this instead of drafting; however, I hope this fits even remotely what you were hoping for, anon 💕 I hope you don't mind that I added a little angst at the end for something extra 🫣

CW: mentions of grinding, nipple play, light choking.

WC: 2.5k.

NSFW below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Truthfully, Noah doesn't want to be here.

The moment he stepped through the door and realized this place was a strip club, he should’ve turned and walked back out immediately. But unfortunately, he didn’t.

Now, he’s stuck entertaining his friend, one he mentally chooses to exclude from his list of people to hang out with the next time he’s feeling stressed out and needs to unwind.

“Just a club soda for me, thanks,” he tells the waitress who happens to pass by them, which prompts his friend to roll his eyes and reach across, slapping him playfully on the chest.

“Come on, you’re here to have fun tonight.”

Noah grimaces at the thought. Watching girls dance half-naked and having a private lap dance isn’t exactly what he calls ‘fun.’ Even though the place is considered a high-end establishment, it’s simply not his scene, something obvious in the way his eyes constantly avoid looking at any of the dancers, offering only a brief nod and a forced smile of acknowledgement when they glance down at him when walking past.

“I think maybe I'm going to—”

“Ah, there she is!” Noah’s friend interrupts him as you approach, and all his plans about leaving vanish instantly when he locks eyes with you.

Like most of the dancers, you’re wearing something lacy, though it covers you enough to leave some areas to the imagination. Half of your face is obscured by a mask, like some of the others, presumably to conceal your identity and enhance the club’s allure. However, his eyes momentarily flicker to your lips and the shade of lipstick. Suddenly, he’s consumed by an intense desire to smudge it, to witness how your lips would appear plump and kiss-swollen.

He shakes his head, pushing those thoughts aside. After spending too much time in the studio, neglecting most of his needs, sexualizing the first woman he sees isn’t how he intends to resolve that issue. However, he can’t help but allow his eyes to wander back to you, this time more shyly, when he catches you actually moving towards him, your hand extending and resting upon his shoulder.

“Who’s your friend?”

Noah hadn’t caught the conversation between you and his friend, but his eyes widen almost comically when he raises his gaze to meet yours through the eye holes of your mask. “Noah…” he swallows, managing to utter the syllables of his name through a tightening throat.

“He’s been quite overworked lately. It seems he’s forgotten all about how to have some fun, if you know what I mean.” Noah shoots his friend a disapproving look, but your quick reach for his hand silences any protest.

“Well, I know a thing or two about helping with that,” you giggle, and it sounds smooth like honey, making his chest burst a little. He hesitates to follow you as you tug on his hand, a gentle indication for him to stand. He doesn’t want to slip away into some private room, which would make this encounter feel more seedy than it should be. Yet, he finds himself already completely enamored by you. Whether it’s the mystery of you hidden beneath the mask or the allure you generally radiate, he’s drawn to you as if there’s a magnetic pull keeping him from straying away.

“Have fun,” his friend calls out after him. Noah briefly glances back, finding himself almost on autopilot as he obediently follows you towards a private area near the club’s back.

When you’re alone in one of the private rooms, he falls into the seat you push him down into and slightly shifts, his nerves settling as he realizes you’re the only person he can now focus on.

“You don't have to do this.” Noah attempts to dismiss the offer, the dance, the opportunity to relax, or whatever is being presented to him at this moment, but your response is simply a scoff.

“Is this where you tell me that my dad loved me?” You roll your eyes, bracing yourself for the usual charade from a guy who expects to swoop in and ‘save’ you from this life. “Surprisingly, I have a great relationship with my family.” You move towards him, intending to settle down on his lap by straddling him, but pause before doing so.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant… I’ve never done this before,” Noah confesses, feeling the tip of his ears turn red. He lifts a hand to his neck, rubbing his palm against it, and shifts in his seat.

“Wait, really?” You don’t mean for the surprise to escape in your voice as it does, and you step back a little, placing your hands on your hips as you observe his awkward shifts and continued avoidance of your gaze.

“Yes, does that really surprise you?” He chuckles, but it’s slightly forced, and his eyes finally meet yours once more. He’s once again captivated by the allure that seems to draw him in. There’s an odd sense of familiarity that sends a warmth through his chest, though he can’t quite place it. The way you’re looking at him now certainly makes his stomach flip. He can’t tell if you’re pitying him or ready to make him prey, but he doesn’t care either way.

“No, it’s just… I’ve noticed your friend here quite frequently.” You chuckle and shake your head. “I suppose I anticipated the same from anyone he brings here.”

“So, this is your first time? I suppose that implies I should be gentle with you.” You purr, leaning forward, your hands returning to his shoulders as you squeeze them for stability before moving closer and twisting yourself to position your back to him.

Reaching behind you, you place your hands on his thighs, spreading them as you use them to maintain your balance. Slowly, you lower your ass down to meet his lap. “Let me know if you need me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” Noah says, his voice strained.

As you lower yourself and rub your covered ass against his crotch, he feels his cock instantly harden within his pants. He’s already worked up, but the proximity of you to him, the intoxicating scent, and the magnetic pull all combine to send his head spinning with arousal. Instinctively, his hands reach out and grasp you at your waist, stopping you.

“It happens to every guy you know,” you say with a laugh, making him realize that you felt it. In your line of work, it’s more of a compliment than a form of harassment.

“I know it’s just... it’s been a while.” he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment. You imagine that if you turned to look at him now, he might have a beetroot-colored face. Instead, you take his hands and begin to gently guide them up your sides.

“Well, we do offer other services here.” While your clientele has always been those who come for either a show or a personal release, you rarely cater to the latter. However, you can’t help but feel compelled when you have a man as handsome as Noah beneath you, as you do right now.

“No that’s... wait really?”

“Mhm,” you nod, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you feel his fingers gently caress your skin in circular motions.

Suddenly, he pulls you down onto his lap.

“You mentioned it’s been a while. Could I ask why?” you ask, allowing him to take the initiative slightly as his fingers delicately traced the contours of your bare stomach.

“Work.” He responds with a single word, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You deliberately press your hips down and grind your ass against his crotch.

“What do you do?”

“Music.” Another one-word answer, but you hear the groan he’s trying to suppress and choose to interpret it as a triumph. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in the studio and…” he gasps as you roll your hips, brushing against his bulge and feeling the outline of his cock against you. Suddenly, you feel the heat rising in your own stomach, especially when his hands shift to your thighs, gripping you almost possessively to hold you against him. It makes you tremble and as you try to move, you hear him growl, “Don’t.”

He can’t release you yet, not when he’s already been feeling worked up and touch-starved. You’ve barely touched him, yet he’s experiencing an entirely new surge of desire.

Instead of moving, you gently rock your hips, circling them as your ass drags and grinds against his crotch. You listen to the change in his breath and feel how his cock twitches beneath you, confined within his pants. “Please?” you almost plead, and it results in a strained whimper from him, his fingers only pressing harder against your thighs.

“Noah, tell me what you need.” Your voice lowers, becoming soft and alluring as you lean back against his chest, turning your head and gently brushing your cherry red painted lips against the apple tattoo that covers his Adam’s apple.

Your breath, warm against his skin, sends a wave of goosebumps across him, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He can’t possibly be contemplating asking and accepting your offer, can he? It feels selfish to request anything from you, especially since you’re just a stranger. Nevertheless, he can’t deny that you’ve somehow worked your way beneath his skin, a mysterious stranger who calls themselves honey, or perhaps cherry, or pixie? He can’t quite recall the exchange between you and his friend during introductions, but he’s certain he feels an overwhelming desire to have you.

“You…” he whispers, his fingers finally releasing their grip on your thighs before they begin to slide, gliding along your inner thighs before ascending, stroking across your stomach and further up the exposed area of your torso, before slipping beneath the lace that covers your chest.

Your back arches against him as his hand palms at your breast, his fingers playfully teasing your nipples and producing a faint sound from you. Normally, you’d swiftly slap away a client who dared to behave this boldly, yet you find yourself leaning into his touch, yearning for more of it, more of him. His name slips from your lips as a soft whisper as you begin to grind against him once more, and your head rests on his shoulder, savoring the sensation of his fingers twisting your nipple.

Noah’s other hand raises higher, fingers light against your skin as they close around your neck and gently press, causing you to gasp; “Harder.” Your eyes roll back at the faint pressure he adds, his fingers pinching harder at your nipples as your hips rock and grind, almost desperately trying to soothe the ache between your thighs instead of focusing solely on relieving him. However, Noah doesn’t seem to mind; you hear the encouraging whispers from him against the side of your head.

“Show me how needy you are.”, “Do you like being touched like this?”, “Do you like your nipples being toyed with?”

The only sounds you make are soft moans, accompanied by faint “yeses” that gradually fade into breathless gasps as you intensify your grinding and whines steadily increase the closer you feel yourself approaching the edge.

Beneath you, Noah can feel his cock straining against the restrictive fabric of his pants, yearning for freedom and an even greater desire to be inside you. However, he knows that he can’t bring himself to request that of you, instead choosing to accept this arrangement, allowing you to satisfy him in exchange for your own pleasure.

As your soft pleas continue to fall from your lips, you feel the intense heat of your climax building up in your stomach, causing you to buck your hips desperately on Noah. In response, he lifts himself to meet you, and your bodies collide, sending a wave of pleasure over you, leaving your body trembling against him as he presses you firmly onto his lap. Grinding himself right against your ass, he emits a guttural sound, holding you tightly against him as his own body trembles, and his cock twitches in his pants beneath you.

“Did you just...?”

“Yes,” he says with a voice devoid of shame, which makes you laugh. It’s not a mocking laugh, and Noah feels the wave of embarrassment that had threatened to overwhelm him dissipate.

“I can’t deny that you’re not the first, but I must admit, I’m flattered.” You whisper, tilting your head and brushing your nose against the column of his neck. You’re almost reluctant to move, savoring the warmth of his presence against you and the delicate scent of his cologne that tickles your senses.

Unbeknownst to you, Noah shares your sentiments. He’s completely intoxicated and makes no effort to move you from his lap or even release his possessive grip on your throat and chest. When one of them sinks away, it’s the one on your chest, slowly descending to rest on your stomach, his thumb moving in gentle circles against your skin.

If any post-nut clarity should prompt him to leave, it hasn’t manifested yet.

You’re the first one to shift, reluctantly pulling yourself away from his chest and bending forward to adjust the strap of your heel. As you do, the lace from the lingerie you’re wearing rises up, which hangs further down your back than your front. Noah’s eyes briefly flicker down to the newly exposed skin, and a breath catches in his throat at the sight of a familiar tattoo.

You hear him say your name, your real name—not the stage name you use in this club—and it makes your head turn and your brow perk up.

Standing, you look down at him, taking him in properly as you begin to scan his familiar facial features. Granted, he was much younger when you knew him—a lot younger, with much longer hair—but a closer look reveals that his features still look the same—that same familiar Virginia boy you once knew.

“Noah?” You utter his name as if it’s your first realization, as if you hadn’t mentioned it just moments ago while grinding against him.

As he stands, you notice his height—he appears even taller and more imposing now, having grown out of his skinny boyhood.

Reaching out a hand towards your face, he hesitantly grasps the corner of the mask that obscures half of your face and lifts it, revealing the rest of it to him and recognition flashes across his eyes. “It’s you…” his voice softens, and the corner of his mouth twitches, threatening to break out into a smile as he feels the familiar thumping in his chest.

“Yes, it’s me,” you softly laugh, feeling the gentle touch of his knuckles against your cheek.

To Noah, everything becomes clear; the irresistible attraction, the magnetic pull, the way his mind constantly revolved around thoughts centered around you—a once mysterious stranger, when no one else here had caught his attention in that manner, it was because there was something profound, something that had always been there; you were the one who got away.

“Perhaps we should consider taking this reunion somewhere else.” You suggest, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Oh, Absolutely.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Chapter 33: Humans

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

More Info.

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They hadn't even been engaged for a week, and Sukuna was already convinced he lost you. The night before, you'd refused to sleep in his arms, and at dawn, he woke up alone in the huge, empty bed. He had to do something, fast.

He dressed quickly and went straight to the courtyard, sure to find you training. But you weren't there. The surprise was so great that began to grow in his chest. Although his stomach craved food, he decided to search for you throughout the castle. Every corner. Every hallway. Nothing. This was bad. Very bad.

You must have been avoiding him, hiding in some hidden corner, like he had before, when that vulnerability got the best of him. And then he wondered: Was that how you felt at that moment? So alone, so disoriented, lost within the cold walls of that old castle? Maybe... maybe he should give you space. With that thought in mind, he returned to the dining room, resigned to having breakfast without you. But there you were.

Sitting there, already dressed for the day, reviewing a document as if nothing had happened. Seeing him enter, you looked up and gave him a smile. Not just any smile, but one that, far from calming him, completely disconcerted him. Weren't you annoyed with him? Sukuna crossed the room silently, ignoring the bows of his subjects for having their full attention on you.

"Good morning, Sukuna," you greeted him with a smile.

"Where were you this morning?" He ignored your greeting, eager to know the truth.

"Writing the report you asked me." You arranged the papers and handed them to him with a bow.

"You weren't in the library, where were you?" Sukuna inquired.

"In the backyard, I wrote it while Choso was playing with the chickens," you explained.

Just then, Choso appeared from under the tablecloth with a mischievous smile, as if he were playing in the shadow of the table. You picked him up to signal him to sit properly in the presence of the king, a command he immediately obeyed.

"Chickens go buk, buk, buk," Choso clucked.

"Okay, Choso, and what sound piggies make?" you asked excitedly.

"Oink, oink!" Choso replied excitedly.

"At this age, they're like sponges; they memorize everything they hear, so watch your language," you asked Sukuna.

Sukuna didn't know what to say. An unexpected warmth welled up in his chest, spreading like a slow fire. He didn't understand what it was exactly, but he knew it wasn't something trivial. It was similar, perhaps, to the shudder he felt that time he saw you with that first dress, so beautiful it hurt to look at you. But this… this was different. Much more intense. Deeper. As if something inside him had been ripped out and, at the same time, healed. Without taking his eyes off you, Sukuna slowly sank back into his chair, as if he feared your words were a cruel joke.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I'm still upset that you indirectly called me disgusting," you answered directly. Some servants looked at each other as if to say, "Did you hear what she said?"

"So you don't love me anymore?" Sukuna asked pessimistically.

"What? Why do you think that?" you asked, confused.

"Well... You seemed very disappointed yesterday." He raised an eyebrow.

"And it won't be the last time," you answered truthfully. "But it's normal. Couples argue all the time; it's part of being human. It's something you'll have to accept if you want this to work long-term. If you don’t want to deal with it, just kill me." You shrugged.

You knew perfectly well he would never apologize for what he'd said. Pride pierced his bones like a second skin. So this was the closest thing to an apology you could hope for.

You trusted he loved you. You knew it not from what he said, but from what he did when no one else was looking. He loved you so much that, even when he discovered you weren't perfect, that you weren't invulnerable, he still chose you. He was learning to truly love you, with every imperfection, every crack.

And if you were wrong... if that love didn't exist or faded into the shadows of his silence... well, you also had a plan. One you'd crafted carefully, painfully. A plan you prayed you wouldn't have to use.

"Do you trust me that much?" Sukuna asked, surprised by your unexpected request, but didn't show it.

"Since the first day."

"I trust your decision, my king." "Why?" “Because you always have the last word.”  Sukuna remembered the day your paths crossed, during the harvest more than a year ago. Who would have imagined they would end like this, wrapped in such intimate stillness. Now he looked into your eyes as if everything he had ever unknowingly sought was hidden within them. As if you carried, with unconscious calm, the weight of his world. Warm and serene, your hand rested between his. With a delicacy unusual for him, he slowly raised it and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

"You will never regret your decision," Sukuna promised you as he kissed the engagement ring.

You smiled at him. You clasped the knife you had hidden under the table with your other hand and put it back in the pocket of the dress. Luckily, today was not the day.

➽──────────────❥

You hadn't trained much with Mahito lately. Wedding preparations consumed your days, and you could barely catch a break. Besides, each session with him left your body in tatters; it was hard to justify so much pain amidst flower arrangements and menu tests. Yet, there you were, drenched in sweat, facing him once again.

This time they were training in close-range combat, and you'd chosen a wooden bow from the armory, sturdy enough to defend yourself, but not so lethal as to seriously injure Mahito. When he launched long-range attacks, you responded with swift and accurate arrows. But when he closed the distance, you turned the bow into a barrier, a makeshift shield to deflect the blows. Mahito never held back. Never. He fought with the same brutal intensity from the first second until your body decided to give up on you.

In the middle of the exchange, you saw him flinch slightly... and suddenly, he split in two. You didn't have time to think. One attacked from the front. The other appeared on your flank. You tried to take cover, but an unexpected kick caught you in the side. The air was knocked out of your lungs, and you tumbled to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as you fell.

"You need to be faster to catch up to me," the real Mahito told you as his clone offered a hand to help you up.

"That's what I'm trying to do," you grunted, taking his hand.

You and the Mahitos felt the presence before you saw it. A new, different energy had just burst into the parade ground. It was Esou and Kechizu. You were still struggling to process it. You had children. And not just any kind of children: curses. It shattered everything you thought you knew, not just about yourself, but about the world itself. It was a strange, unnatural dynamic, considering how little you knew about curses. As far as you understood, they didn't have families. They didn't feel bonds like humans. They weren't born with ties; They were born of hatred, fear, pain.

And yet, there they were. You watched Esou and Kechizu closely, scanning them from head to toe. There was something about the way they stood together, the way they looked at you, that challenged the idea Kenjaku had taught you long ago. "Are they really as human as Sukuna?" you thought.

"Mommy!" Kechizu exclaimed as he ran up to you.

He extended his deformed arms, wrapping you in a huge hug. He took the wind out of you, unable to contain his emotion. He curled up to your small body like a giant dog that doesn't measure its own size and just wants to play.

"I can barely breathe," you told him, your voice breaking.

You shoved him hard in the chest, trying to push him away enough to catch your breath. Your lungs burned, compressed by the closeness, by the weight of the moment. But there was no time for more. Suddenly, without warning, Kechizu opened his mouth wide with the clear intention of swallowing you whole. A grotesque, brutal, instinctive act. Your body reacted before your mind: you delivered a precise blow to his lower jaw, forcing it to snap shut.

"That was a good punch, miss!" The Mahito brothers applauded proudly.

The impact knocked him back. He fell to the ground with a dull thud, like a disarmed beast. But he didn't stay down for long. Within seconds, Kechizu was back on his feet, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and bewilderment. As if he didn't fully understand why you had fought back.

"Little brother!" Esou ran to him to help him.

"That’s rough," the Mahito clone sneered.

"Why are you hitting him?! He just wanted to eat you!" Esou scolded you.

"I wasn't going to let him eat me!" You complained.

"But you're our mother, it's your obligation to feed us!" the curse argued.

You froze at that statement. Sukuna had brought these curses who had the desire to eat you, and surely he knew it. And yet, he gave them to you to care for as your children. Your hand tightened around the wooden bow. Frustration burned inside you, held back only by a shred of reason. You couldn't kill them. Not yet.

Sukuna needed information, and those creatures possessed it. If you killed them now, you could unleash consequences you weren't willing to face. You'd attract the attention of those best kept out of the loop, at least for now.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to think. If you couldn't kill them... you'd have to find another way to protect yourself. Something more cunning. More subtle. You couldn't afford to hesitate. In this game, the smallest mistake could cost you more than a wound.

"Are you hungry?" you asked them with a confident smile, holding the bow in front of you. "Fine, come to Mommy."

Esou and Kechizu grinned widely, like naughty children who thought you'd finally come to your senses. Without wasting a second, they launched themselves at you with open jaws, eager for a good bite. You decided to apply what Mahito had taught you.

You drew two arrows from your quiver in a single fluid motion. You aimed, not with absolute precision; it was impossible to focus on two targets at the same time, but you didn't need to. Not this time. You released the string. The arrows whistled through the air before plunging into their skulls with brutal force.

If Sukuna had taught you anything, it was to put your enemies in their place. To humiliate them so thoroughly that no one would dare cross that line again. You'd done it with Yorozu and Naoya. It wasn't your preferred method, but it was the most effective. The clearest.

Some of the cursed blood splashed over Mahito and his clone. Instantly, their skin began to blacken, slowly rotting where the liquid had touched it. "Do not come into contact with their blood," you engraved it in your mind.

Esou and Kechizu began to regenerate. Their skulls were reconstructing with grotesque slowness, a dance of flesh and bone that would have made anyone with lesser mettle vomit. You didn't wait for them to finish. You approached quickly and stealthily, the bow still in your hands. And when his eyes opened again, you lifted him up and hit him with all your weight, again and again, until the wood gave way with a sharp crack and broke between your fingers. It wasn't a defense. It wasn't a warning. It was a declaration.

"Mommy!" Kechizu whined between the blows. Esou was still collapsed on the floor.

"You can’t eat mommy. It's forbidden, did you hear me?" You demanded an answer.

"Yes, Mommy," Kechizu stammered, covering his head with his arms, clearly scared.

Conscience instantly consumed you at the sight of your poor son in a fetal position. Even though he had tried to eat you, you couldn't bring yourself to hurt him anymore. You threw the broken bow away and approached him slowly, careful not to let him bite you.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" you asked. Kechizu nodded fearfully as Esou regained his feet. “I’m sure Uraume can prepare something delicious for you.”

“It must be later. I’m already very busy preparing the test banquet, miss.” Uraume interrupted the conversation. “How come I never see when he arrives?” you wondered, surprised by their stealth. “I’m just here to let you know that the king has ordered Esou and Kechizu to come to his office.”

➽──────────────❥

Sukuna finished reading the report you had handed him that morning. Although the content didn't reveal information of high strategic value, it did offer something more valuable in the long run: understanding. You had explained in detail how the commune worked, its social structure, and its internal dynamics.

The central figure was the Judge. He not only mediated conflicts but also distributed tasks equitably for the commune's survival. In essence, he was the one who decided who did what. If someone refused to do their part, they weren't directly forced to do so… but the family received fewer resources. A subtle punishment, disguised as a natural consequence, kept everyone aligned under the idea of ​​the common good.

The commune functioned like a large family. Everyone knew everyone else, and each person knew their respective roles. Within their barriers, they were a closed community, united by necessity and distrust of the outside world. They preferred to trust other humans, even if they didn't like each other, rather than a curse. That natural distrust made them secretive, reluctant to open up to strangers, and even less so to newcomers.

The report was full of useful details, but what really caught Sukuna's attention were the personal bits you'd included, almost unintentionally, as if you were still speaking from the place of someone who had once belonged to that world.

There was an anecdote about the time you mistook sugar for salt and ruined a stew, but your father ate it, pretending to like it, just to spare your feelings. Another recounted how you and Higuruma took care of a family of stray cats for several months. And, of course, the infamous story where you nearly broke Nagi's back defending your sister. That brought a short, dry, but genuine laugh to his lips.

There was an unexpected warmth to those stories. A humanity that Sukuna didn't believe inhabited you. Or rather, that he hadn't wanted to see. He carefully closed the report and put it away in his filing cabinet, as if it held more than just information. It was then that Esou and Kechizu entered the room, heads down, shuffling, and with an aura of shame that filled the air like a bad perfume.

"King, mommy is very mean!" Kechizu exclaimed, annoyed.

"She exploded our heads because we just wanted to eat her!" Esou complained.

"That's because they don't have the right to eat her." Sukuna growled. "She's exclusive to my taste."

This made it clear to them that you weren't someone they could easily take advantage of, so they only had to agree to obey the rules of their new mother and, now, their new boss.

"If you don't like the mother I'm offering, then our deal is off. Which is a shame, since I was very excited to work with you," Sukuna said sarcastically. "Now I have no choice but to get rid of you."

Sukuna was about to throw his hand when both curses knelt, surrendering immediately. They had finally understood that they couldn't complain now that they had entered the castle. This had been a trap to accept a deal where they only end up losing.

"Yes, yes, we want this mommy, my king," Esou said quickly, while Kechizu nodded quickly.

"That's better." Sukuna smiled widely at the satisfaction of putting someone in their place, beneath him. "Now, all that's left is your end of the deal. Tell me, what humans have you seen cross the Impossible Belt?"

"Not many, usually, they're Kamo. They're setting up huge camps to try to enter the Kingdom, but we've delayed them as best we can," Esou replied, while Kechizu nodded along with every word.

Sukuna had expected it. Given his long-standing rivalry with the Kamo, he wasn't surprised that they wanted to reclaim their precious lands and their descendants. He should send more curses into this mini-war they secretly started.

"Sometimes sorcerers we don't recognize try to enter, but we kill them too," Esou explained.

"And the girls?" Kechizu reminded him. At that, Esou shook his head to stop him from saying anything else, his eyes pleading with him to keep it quiet.

"Girls?" Sukuna inquired, sitting upright in his seat to focus his attention.

"Ah, two little girls we wanted to eat. They were carrying a huge backpack full of things. Apparently, they had recently escaped from the commune," Esou explained between stutters, trying to downplay it.

"You ate them?" Sukuna asked.

"No, they smelled horrible. We didn't even want them," Esou explained, still downplaying it. Little girls didn't pose a danger to anyone.

"So that's just why you let them escape?" Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"It's not like we could do much, my king. The Kamo quickly found them. I don't understand how they managed to withstand the horrible smell."

Sukuna pondered this strange situation. How was it possible that two little girls could cross the...? “I left the kingdom. My mother used to take us to the Gojo Kingdom twice a year. My mother, Yorozu, and I used to travel through the lower reaches. It was a rather arduous two-day journey.” He remembered what you had told him before embarking on your first trip together. You weren't the only one to cross the belt with ease. Unless…

“I have two more sisters. Nanako and Mimiko. They're barely 11 years old and completely alone because Yorozu killed our mother.” Could it be? There was no other way. “It's pointless. If they left on the day of the reaping, they must already be in some other kingdom. It may sound selfish, but I'd rather think they're fine than search for them only to be told some curse had caught up with them.” Your words came back to him like a whiplash, a sign from the universe that he was right.

Sukuna didn't know what to do with that information. He held it in front of him like a volatile weapon that could either work for him or against him. On the one hand, his instinct was immediate. He wanted to find you, to tell you to go inspect the Kamo Kingdom before it was too late. But something was holding him back. Now that he knew King Toji was planning to invade his lands after the birth of his firstborn, any false move could accelerate the conflict.

And then there were his plans… He had already delayed them more than he would have liked. Postponing everything again, just now when everything seemed to be moving forward, meant more than a change of date. It meant sowing doubts, opening flanks, revealing that something was troubling him. Rumors would spread like wildfire, and his carefully cultivated position of power could falter.

Sukuna leaned back in his throne, his jaw tense, his fingers drumming on the armrest. He was caught between what he had to do and what he couldn't afford to do. Between the looming war and the promise to serve you for life.

He had to make a decision. And I knew that, whatever it was, no one would come out unscathed.

➽──────────────❥

It had been a while since you'd seen the servants so happy. You'd ordered Uraume to prepare all the dishes that would be served at the wedding as a "trial," though in reality it was nothing more than a carefully disguised excuse to feed the castle with something other than oatmeal and stale bread, as usually.

The dining room was a living feast. It overflowed with exquisite aromas and vibrant colors: juicy cuts of meat, steaming stews seasoned to perfection, platters decorated with exotic fruits that rarely crossed those stone doors. The bustle of conversation mingled with hearty laughter, clinking cutlery, and full glasses.

You were sitting at the head of the table, the place where Sukuna normally sat, watching the scene with a calm smile. Choso rested on your lap, eating slowly from a plate that Mrs. Inoue had set out for him.

Uraume, for their part, didn't know what to feel. They had strict orders from the king: to obey you without question. But unlike Sukuna, blinded by affection, they didn't share his enthusiasm. Something wasn't right with you. You smiled too much, you were too considerate, your gestures were calculatedly tender. Your requests to the king—seemingly innocent—bordered on the absurd, yet they were always accepted without resistance. And most disturbing: your aim. It wasn't normal for someone with so little training.

Uraume didn't trust you. And what worried them most… was that they couldn't prove why. If they went to the king without proof, he wouldn't believe them, or worse, he'd punish them for wasting their time and going against his precious wife. Sukuna was too comfortable in the palm of your hand to listen to reason.

Choso took the last strawberry from the plate, bringing it clumsily to his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyelids drooping like heavy velvet curtains. Within seconds, his small head tilted to the side, overcome by sleep. It was time for a nap. You wrapped your arms around him and gently picked him up, as if he were the most precious treasure in the castle.

"I'm going to take Choso to his bed for a nap," you told Mrs. Inoue before heading for the exit.

"Let me escort you, miss." Uraume followed you.

The two of you walked in silence through the castle's long corridors. The only sounds were the soft echoes of your footsteps and the muffled sound of your breathing. The dining room was behind you, filled with laughter and clinking dishes; and Sukuna, still preoccupied with his reunion with your new children, seemed to be in another world.

You reached the room with the three single beds, a makeshift space that Uraume had to hastily prepare. You gently placed Choso on one of the beds. He barely moved, deep in sleep, his brow furrowed slightly. You tucked him in carefully, tucking the covers around his sides, as if that small gesture was enough to shield him from the world.

"I know you're up to something," Uraume blurted out.

You froze at the statement, as if time had stopped just to hear that accusation. Yet every fiber in your body responded with discipline. You didn't allow a single muscle to tense, didn't give the slightest hint that the facade was cracking. It was too soon for that.

"Up to something? Like what?" you asked, confused.

"I don't know, but I'm willing to find out," Uraume said.

You knew this moment would come. Sooner or later, someone would begin to suspect your actions. And it made perfect sense that it would be Uraume. They observed with the precision of a scalpel, with the kind of attention born not of hatred, but of pure distrust, cultivated through instinct and experience.

You didn't dislike them. In fact, there was something in his methodical coldness that you respected. But you also knew he didn't like you in the least. And now, listening to them, you understood that it was no longer a suspicion. It was a warning they'd been putting off for a long time.

And yet, you just smiled. With that carefully rehearsed calm.

"What do you think I'm doing?" you asked seriously.

"So you're up to something?" Uraume raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe..." you said, turning your attention back to Choso, dismissing their words.

"I'll find out and tell the king."

Uraume wasn't good at threatening people. Despite having Sukuna as an example for over half a millennium, they couldn't get past that monotonous voice that characterized them so much.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Uraume. That's why you're his favorite servant," you told them with a knowing wink.

"I'm not just his servant, I'm his right-hand!" Uraume exclaimed, defending their position in the castle.

"Lower your voice. Can't you see that your king's son is asleep?" you ordered.

"That child is only your son," they corrected you.

"If he's my son, then he's the king's too. That's how marriage works," you clarified.

You looked one last time at Choso. Luckily, the scream hadn't disturbed him at all. You brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. A brief reminder of why you were doing all this.

"I don't know what you think I'm doing, but I can assure you that you and I are doing exactly the same thing. We both serve the king with everything we have and are loyal to his word to the end." You got out of bed and stood shoulder to shoulder with them. "The only difference is that I'll have a crown on my head, and you'll always have an apron around your waist."

You gave her one last smile before leaving the room, serene and measured. You walked past Uraume without a glance, as if their presence were nothing more than a shadow in your path. It was that gesture that ignited the rage in their chest. They clenched their fists tightly, their knuckles pale with tension. They couldn't bear it. That smile of yours wasn't courtesy... it was mockery. A cruel reminder of how far you'd risen in such a short time.

Just a few months ago, you'd been nothing more than a footnote in the castle's history. This was an injustice. Uraume had served Sukuna with unwavering devotion for ages past. They knew every nuance of his temperament, every preference, every latent threat. They knew what was best for him. And you... you arrived with your soft manner, your poisoned smiles, and your skills that didn't match your story. No. It wasn't envy. It was a sense of duty.

They were going to find out what you were hiding. And if it turned out to be an attempt, if there was even the slightest possibility that you posed a threat to the king, you wouldn't just fall. You would pay for every one of your deceptions with the most expensive coin.

Next →

Masterlist.

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[hauntedestheart]

Security Footage - Artifacts (Pt. 3)

A continuation of Trevor & Andy's encounter with the magic ring. CW: This story contains mild violence, some of which is sexual in nature. For those who might be sensitive to this, I've put a specific descriptor in the replies to the post.

"This is nice, right?" Andy asked, snuggling a bit closer to Trevor and nuzzling his nose into his boyfriend's feathery hair as he spooned him from behind. "Just you and me, sharing a bed…"

Trevor hummed in agreement and allowed himself to be snuggled like a human teddy bear, burrowing in a bit closer to the massive furnace of heat that was his red blooded boyfriend. When the curves of Andy's sculpted muscles pressed through the thin fabric of Trevor's sleep shirt, a firm and strong presence behind him, it was hard to feel anything other than safe and content. (And a little horny.)

The young man was staying over at his boyfriend's while he looked for a new place and Andy, being the kind host that he was, had offered up his own bed to his guest. The fact that he was also sleeping in it was a bonus.

Especially since Andy was the type of guy who slept in just his boxers, and looked damn good doing it.

Truthfully, Trevor was nervous about it. While sleeping together and staying the night was nothing new for them, cohabitating was, and the last thing Trevor wanted to do was kill the relationship by getting too close too quickly. Years of disappointment had trained him to always be on his guard, and to never get too used to a good thing. But he'd quickly realized he was alone in this concern after he'd suggested he sleep on the couch and Andy had literally picked him up and carried him into the bedroom- if anything, Andy couldn't have him close enough.

"If only there was some way we could do this every night…" the big lug purred into Trevor's ear, nuzzling his nose into Trevor's feathery hair while he was there. "I'm just saying, do you really need to find a new place?"

"I told you, it's way too soon for us to be moving in together!" Trevor protested, stubbornly trying to keep a bit of his spine even as Andy's relentless affection eroded his resistance. Speaking of his spine, he felt something thick and heavy twitch against his lower back, and it wasn't a hot water bottle. Trevor chuckled as Andy grinned sheepishly and adjusted his hips. "Besides, I don't know if my ass could handle having access to you 24/7."

"I think you'd manage," Andy took his hand and tilted Trevor's chin to face him, and Trevor's heart started pounding. Andy looked down at his little guy like he was the most precious thing in the world and he couldn't believe his luck, and then he couldn't resist closing the distance between their lips.

The two exchanged a lazy kiss that lingered until Trevor surged forwards and slipped his hand around the back of Andy's head, shoving them together and intensifying the embrace. He shoved at his much larger boyfriend with one of his knees, forcing Andy onto his back and flipping on top to mount him and straddle his waist. Andy drew back and stared up at Trevor, his huge chest heaving as he panted, and Trevor smiled down foxlike. Tightening his thighs around his boyfriend's body like a vice, Trevor dove back in and crashed their lips together once more.

Andy could easily bench press his twink of a boyfriend but he allowed himself to be pinned to the bed- truth was, he liked it when Trevor took control. The young man's god-tier competence and hidden ferocity were massive turn-ons for Andy, so he was very content to sit back and follow his lead.

Plus when Trevor was on top he would grab onto Andy's shelflike pecs for balance, and he was a big fan of that too.

The two were a few minutes into a hot and heavy make-out session when a discordant sound in the distance caught Trevor's sensitive ears. Instantly alert, he pulled his tongue out of his boyfriend's mouth and drew back, pressing his finger up to Andy's lips when the other man let out a needy little whine. The look in Trevor's eyes caused the smile to drop from Andy's face and the two were silent for a moment, listening. Another faint clattering sounds echoed into the room, followed by muffled footsteps. Andy didn't have a roommate.

"I think someone's in the house," Trevor whispered. Andy's arms tightened around him protectively and Trevor shrank closer to him, clinging to his big muscles like a damsel in distress. When he realized what he'd done he (with some embarrassment) wiggled out of Andy's grasp and landed on the bed beside him, keeping his eyes on the bedroom door. "Should we call the police?"

"To the black guy's house?" Andy grimaced and shook his head. "No way. I'll take care of this."

Now in full on "man mode," Andy drew himself out of bed and then pulled out an aluminum baseball bat that had been hidden in the small space between his mattress and the side of his bedframe- Trevor thought this was strange because Andy had played basketball, not baseball, until he realized that the bat wasn't there for regulation use.

"Andy, I don't think this is safe," Trevor protested, but Andy ignored him, swinging the bat through the air a few times to test its heft.

"I'll be fine. Besides," Andy glanced sidelong at Trevor then flexed one of his impressive biceps, throwing in a wink for good measure. "I've got security. Remember?"

Trevor fought down a smile and rolled his eyes. "I'm coming with you."

Andy frowned, all of his protective instincts protesting, but he knew from experience that there was no way he was going to win this kind of argument with Trevor- besides which, it would ease his mind to keep Trevor in his sight so he knew his precious boyfriend was safe.

"Just stay behind me," he commanded, then he eased the bedroom door open.

The two padded their way down the dark hallway of the three room apartment with Andy leading the charge, exactly as requested. Trevor did have to admit that his hulking boyfriend, shirtless and wielding a baseball bat, was a rather intimidating sight- perhaps the burglar would take one look and get scared off. They encountered no one in the hallway and the kitchen was clear, which meant there was only one place left to check.

The living room was a mess when they got there, drawers flung open and cabinet doors hanging akimbo as a man the couple had never seen before rifled through them. He was the image of a stereotypical robber, a skinny black man with sunken cheeks, greasy hair, and a haunted look in his eyes as he pawed through a bookshelf on a hunt for valuables he was shoving into a duffle bag that hung loosely at his side.

When he heard Andy and Trevor enter the room he froze, still holding some random item he'd been inspecting. They stared at him for a moment, then he snapped into action, clutching whatever it was he had to his chest and scrambling away from them towards the wall.

"God-fucking damnit!" the man cried out, following it up with a few even more blue expletives. He glanced around with wild eyes, discarded DVDs and books crunching on the floor beneath his feet, and Trevor winced.

"Hey, buddy, we don't want any trouble," Andy said, keeping his voice calm like he was talking to a wounded animal. He brandished the bat in front of himself and slowly crept forwards towards the robber, who watched him with wild eyes. "We don't even have to get the police involved, all you gotta do is leave everything here and no one has to get hurt."

Trevor finally made out what it was that the man had in his hands, and he couldn't help himself. "Is that my laptop?"

This turned out to be the wrong thing to say because it sent the man into a panic, and he made a break for it. He tried to bolt around them but Andy intercepted him, swinging the bat at the man's legs and managing to clip one of his feet; the intruder crashed to the floor, and by some miracle the laptop landed safely in the stuffed recycling bin. The robber spat curses but continued to scramble away on his hands and knees so Andy dove towards him, landing on his back, and the two began to wrestle as the muscular young man tried to force the him to submit.

Trevor took a step back, unsure of what to do as the two grappled, and something clanged against his foot. He glanced down and noticed the lockbox he'd been keeping the magic ring in, now mangled, open, and empty.

Which meant the ring was…

"Wait! Andy, don't-" Trevor rushed forwards, desperately trying to shove himself between his boyfriend and the robber, but then he took a stray elbow that sent him stumbling back towards the wall. He hit his head, and the last thing he heard were cries of confusion and distant sirens before everything went dark.

---

Trevor woke up in bed with a ringing in his ears, and a bad feeling in chest. Confusion reigned for a moment before it all came flooding back to him- the robber, the ring, Andy! Where were they? And how had he wound up in the bedroom? It was still nighttime so it was dark in the bedroom, but light spilled in from the attached bathroom- the only sign of life in the otherwise still apartment. Cautiously, Trevor slipped out of bed and padded over towards the halfway open door.

In the bathroom, Andy was standing in front of the mirror, butt naked, and he seemed fascinated by what he saw in his reflection. Sheer, unadulterated glee radiated from his eyes as they followed his hands on their path over his muscles, scrubbing up and down his own shredded torso as he acted out his own private porn shoot. He twisted for a moment, tensing his muscles to observe the sculpture of his back, before turning back and winking at his reflection with a cocky grin.

His imposing cock towered in front of him, completely hard, and he grabbed it by the base to swing its length from side to side like a dog shaking a new toy.

"God damn…" he muttered to himself, sounding pleased as punch. He released his shaft and sent his hands down further, cupping one of of his heavy balls in each palm, and then he hefted them up and down experimentally, tilting his head down so he could get a better view as he toyed with his sack.

The door frame creaked as Trevor pushed it open further, and the self-absorbed hunk whipped his head around to face him. For a moment, he seemed startled, but then his expression melted into a crude parody of Andy's usual smile.

"Hey baby, glad you're awake!" the imposter said, casually, as if he wasn't naked with a massive erection, and his lips gave an exaggerated pout. "I was worried about you- come here, lemme give you a kiss."

'Andy' stepped forwards with outstretched arms, but Trevor stepped back at the same time, shrinking away warily into the unlit bedroom. There was an unmistakable glint of gold light coming from Andy's right hand- the impostor caught him looking, and a shadow came into his eyes.

"So you know?" Dropping the act, the thief shrugged his outstretched arms and then sneered at Trevor. With a snort, he turned his attention back to the mirror and leaned in closer to the glass, tilting his stolen face side to side to examine it from every handsome angle. A finger traced over his strong jawline. "Shoulda figured. Too bad, you're cute and I was hoping to get my new dick wet."

"Who are you?" Trevor clenched his fists at his sides and tried to inject some authority into his voice, hoping that the poor lighting would disguise the way his knees shook. He didn't like being caught on the back foot like this. "What are you doing here? Where's the real Andy?"

"What do you mean? I am the real Andy! I live here!" The thief laughed and winked at Trevor, like they were in on a secret, and the young man's stomach turned. Turning back to the mirror, the thief continued his preening, devouring his new reflection with hungry eyes. "If you're asking about that burglar that broke in, one of the neighbors called the cops and they took him. Poor loser- would hate to be that guy, huh?"

Shit, was all Trevor could think, filled with dread at the notion of Andy in police custody. Best case scenario, his poor boyfriend was locked in a jail cell, which would be torture for a free spirit like him. Worst case scenario… Trevor didn't want to think about the worst case scenario. He didn't have time to think about the worst case scenario because he was the only one who could stop it and that meant he had to act fast.

"Okay," Trevor took a deep breath, returning his attention to the thief. Luckily the man wasn't paying him much mind (his focus occupied by Andy's pecs, which he was jiggling up and down with his hands), so Trevor took advantage of the distraction to risk creeping a bit closer. "Okay. Well, obviously you hold all the cards here, so I'm just going to be direct. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" The body thief turned his head to look at Trevor and a shit eating grin cracked his face, then he laughed. Throwing his arms wide, he gestured down at his impressive new form. "This morning I was a broke loser squatting on his homie's couch and breaking windows for petty cash, and now I'm a young stud with his whole life ahead of him. What the hell could I possibly want right now? And on top of all this, a magic ring!" The thief looked down at the ring, twisting it around on Andy's finger with a funny look in his eyes. "With this thing, I could be anyone… a lot of opportunities just opened up for me."

A chill ran down Trevor's spine at the thought of this man having access to that kind of power- he needed to get that ring back ASAP. But how? For a moment he considered just bum rushing the man and trying to take it, but he just as quickly discarded the idea- even if he had the element of surprise, the guy had Andy's body. Andy's hulking, muscular body that could smash Trevor to a pulp.

(Either he had to start working out, or Andy had to stop, because this happened way too often)

"But I think I'll hang around as this guy for a while," the thief continued after a tense beat, and he looked down at his stolen flesh with a dreamy smile. He lifted one of his huge arms and flexed, giving the muscle a few satisfying smacks, before sticking his hands behind his head and angling side to side to show himself off like a bodybuilder. His cock was still throbbing dark brown between his legs, an all-too-visible reminder of exactly how much the thief liked his ill-gotten goods. "The fucking body on this kid man! There's all kinda shit that I could get up to with a rig like this, I'm not leaving without taking it out for a spin."

Taking a chance, Trevor tried appealing to the man's sense of humanity. "But what about my Andy? You don't know him but he's a good person, and he doesn't deserve to be locked up. Maybe you don't have to give back the ring but-"

The thief cut Trevor off mid-sentence by slamming his arms down on the bathroom counter, and it took everything Trevor had not to flinch. He schooled his expression to be carefully neutral, meeting the body snatcher's eyes as he twisted Andy's face into an ugly scowl.

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't give a shit! He can take my body and rot in jail for all I care!" Not satisfied just by yelling, twisted on his heels and stomped towards Trevor. The young man backed away in panic, scrambling out of the brightly lit bathroom and into the dim bedroom, but he wasn't quick enough to escape being grabbed by the shoulders. Andy's strong fingers dug into his skin, and out of the corner of his eye, Trevor could see the glimmer of the ring. Tantalizingly close, but out of reach. "In fact, you should probably make yourself scarce. I'm starting a new era and I don't need my ex hanging around cramping my style, you know what I'm saying?

Then the thief gave Trevor a shove and sent him stumbling to the wooden floor, where Trevor curled up into a ball and cowered. The dark silhouette of the angry robber loomed over him, but after a moment's consideration, the man just scoffed and stomped away. Trevor held this position for a minute and from the outside, he looked pathetic. Defeated. But beneath the surface his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what options he had left.

Whatever he was going to do, he had to do it now. He was sure if he could just get the ring into his possession he'd be able to fix everything, but the question of how to get it was a tricky one. This snatcher couldn't be reasoned with, brute force was clearly a no-go, there was no one he could reach out to for help, he didn't have time to go research… what tricks did he have left?

Out of the corner of his eye, he peeked at the thief, and he found that the man was still admiring his stolen body in the mirror. Currently he was enchanted by Andy's ass, craning his neck to stare back at it while he squeezed the plump globes with one hand, the other tugging lazily up and down the tower of his cock, Like most snatchers after landing Andy's primo body, the guy was feeling incredibly narcissistic- not that Trevor couldn't blame him, he himself spent plenty of blissful time enjoying his boyfriend's body. No one else knew Andy's body quite like he did.

And that was where he found his angle. It would suck, but, well… Andy was counting on him, so he didn't have any other choice.

"Okay, I get it now," Trevor pulled himself to his feet and lifted his hands. "I'm not going to convince you to switch back with Andy. But before I go, can I just- can I ask for one thing?"

The body thief shot Trevor a withering sidelong stare and rolled his eyes. "What?"

"Can I suck your dick?"

Whatever the robber had been expecting Trevor to say, it wasn't that, and he actually froze in place (mouth hanging open, one big hand halfway down his shaft) and let Trevor approach him. He snapped out of it after a second and lifted his hands in an uncertain gesture, as if he wasn't really sure what he was going to do with them, and Trevor smiled- he hadn't been punched in the face yet, which meant he was right, and the thief didn't really consider the little twink a threat. Good.

Still, Trevor was very careful to not look at the hand with the ring. Instead, he let his eyes take in every other part of Andy's body, allowing a hint of lust to leach into his eyes- which was hardly difficult to conjure up given what he was in front of him. He licked his lips.

"It's selfish but- come on, you can see it, he's a stud! That body… his giant arms… those pecs…" Trevor reached out slowly and let one of his hands drift towards one of Andy's pecs, and when the robber didn't protest, he let his fingers brush against it and tease the soft muscle. Instinctively, Andy's chest jumped, and both Trevor and the robber made appreciative noises. "And that dick… it's so big. I think it's ruined me for other men."

He was laying it on a bit thick (almost as thick as… well…) but it seemed to be working, because the snatcher was starting to pant. His face still looked apprehensive, but Andy's body told another story- Trevor had noticed the trademark smell of semen was absent from the bathroom, which meant that the robber hadn't yet gone all the way with his new equipment. A lot of guys wanted their first time with their new dick to be "special," so Trevor guessed the guy must be dying to get off.

"If this is the last time I get to see it, I can't let go without just one more taste. Please?" Trevor's finger ghosted across Andy's abs, moving slowly downwards towards his member. Rising up on his toes, he leaned in close to whisper into the thief's ear. "I know just how he likes it."

Without warning, Trevor found himself seized by the shoulders and shoved roughly backwards. He managed to keep his footing, just barely, but he was still mid-stumble when the thief crossed the room and grabbed him again. Trevor froze, his heart pounding in his chest, and he stared up at the man with wide, nervous eyes- it always sickened him to see such darkness on Andy's face. Then the thief placed a hand on Trevor's head and thrust him down onto his knees.

"Suck away, slut," he said, tucking both hands behind his head and shoving his cock into the twink's face.

Pain shot through Trevor as his kneecaps banged into the floor, but he swallowed it down and prepared to… well, to swallow it down. Andy's dick hung in front of him, its thick mushroom head staring at him like an old friend, and Trevor set to work.

His boyfriend always complimented him on the dexterity of his tongue ("that silver tongue" Andy called it) so he liked to start off with that, kissing the tip of the cock before letting his tongue slip out and explore, tracing circles around the flared rim of the head before drifting under to do its best to wrap around the tip, teasing his partner with a taste of what was coming up. When he reached the base of his tongue and his lips were flush against Andy's tip, he pulled his tongue back in and let his mouth fall down at the same time, engulfing the head of the cock in one fluid motion.

A deep moan rumbled out above Trevor's head, and the thick flesh in his mouth pulsed with excitement. Trevor was the methodical type so he liked to take things slow, taking his time as he sucked on the head like a lollipop before gently pressing his neck forwards and drifting his lips further down the length. Andy was big, so Trevor relaxed throat and hollowed his cheeks to make room for as much as he could- but he was also a tease, so he made sure to pull back and forth to keep his partner guessing.

He got about two thirds of the way down the length of Andy's shaft when he felt it skin pressing against the roof of his mouth and he winced- he didn't usually deep throat, but in order for the plan to work, he was going to have to. His gag reflex was long since deceased, but he stomped on its grave and eased himself down until his nose was buried in Andy's curly black pubes.

Usually, Andy would sit there for a moment and allow him to adjust, but the person piloting Andy's body was not so generous. With a scream of "holy fucking shit balls," the man began pounding away, his powerful hips thrusting as he slammed into Trevor's mouth again and again, chasing the pleasure hidden in the boy's golden throat. Tears came to Trevor's eyes as he felt the hard cock battering the space where his tonsils used to be, but he thought about how scared Andy must be and gritted his teeth (metaphorically, of course) through the pain.

The grunts and groans from his partner intensified and Trevor felt a pulsing at the base of Andy's dick, a surefire sign that orgasm was imminent. Then, he pulled back and made to remove his mouth, leaving the horny monster in front of him high and dry.

Just as Trevor planned, the impostor got greedy. Desperate to return to the warm embrace of Trevor's throat, he reached down and stuck his right hand on the back of the twink's head and shoved him back towards the base of his cock. Threading his hands through Trevor's hair, the large man yanked him up and down, using his mouth as his own personal sex toy with little regard for whether or not his partner got hurt.

This meant he also didn't notice when Trevor, despite violently gagging on many inches of dick, managed to reach up and slip the ring off of the robber's finger and onto his own.

Andy's deep voice bellowed out as Trevor felt hot seed flooding his throat, and then in the blink of an eye, the roles were reversed- Trevor was in Andy's body, and robber was in Trevor's.

The thief choked, caught completely off guard by the sudden appearance of a giant dick in his mouth, began to sputter and cough as he choked on the massive load of sperm he'd been unprepared for. Trevor (catching the tail end of Andy's orgasm) wasted no time, yanking his own head back and shoving his real body to the floor immediately. The surge of strength Trevor got from being in Andy's ripped body was intoxicating, and he rolled his shoulders back to let his borrowed muscles stretch. Andy's body was so much sturdier than his own, even warmer, and it was almost like Andy was still there to keep him safe even when he was far away.

The thief, now down dozens of pounds of muscle, stared up at the hulking form looming over him with wide, watery eyes, and it sunk in for him how badly he'd fucked up. Scrambling to his feet, he opened his mouth to scream but could barely make a sound from his battered throat- not that he would have been able to get more than a peep out before Trevor socked him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He let out a groan of pain and doubled over, keeping his silence as Trevor made use of Andy's muscles to effortlessly toss the skinny body over his shoulder and carry him to the bed.

Trevor threw the body snatcher down a bit rougher than was necessary- but hey, it was his body. He could do what he wanted with it. Thanks to their new size difference, it was simple for him to wrestle the thief down and bind his hands and feet together with the zip ties Trevor kept in Andy's bedside drawer for this purpose, followed by a strip of duct tape over his mouth and a blindfold around his eyes. This guy was going nowhere trussed up like that.

The thief whimpered from behind the gag on his mouth and craned his head around, searching aimlessly for something he couldn't see through the blindfold, and Trevor felt disgusted. The sight of his own body, bound and gagged with twiglike arms and chicken legs struggling fruitlessly, was utterly pathetic. Was this how the world saw him? Small, weak, powerless? He looked like an absolute loser.

Trevor glanced down at himself- at Andy's body -and he clenched his fists, feeling the power surge inside of his borrowed arms as the muscles flexed. It thrilled him, that strength, and it was something that he always envied from other men. He didn't want to be the small guy that got pushed around. The one who had to be scared. The one who everybody looked down on. He should be somebody with presence, that everyone respected. Why shouldn't he? After all, he had a magic ring. And with the ring, he could be anybody that he wanted. True Andy's body was nice, but he could-

Andy.

The thought of his boyfriend hit Trevor like a bucket of cold water and he shook off whatever strange fantasies had overtaken him. Andy needed him. Andy needed him, Trevor, to get him out of this mess. Why the hell would Trevor want anything more if he was already loved just as he was?

And after Trevor switched bodies with a police chief and freed Andy from prison, put himself and Andy back in their original bodies, and sent the robber on his way with his tail between his legs (because even after all that, Andy still refused to call the cops), Trevor decided it was time to do something about the ring.

Part Four

[h5eavenly]

blank canvas — park sunghoon. ➢ one - run your hands over me. ➢ mlist.

— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first. wc: 17k

'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'

You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.

“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.

Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.

"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.

4:35 pm

31st December

"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.

Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.

'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'

You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?

Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.

With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.

You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.

Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.

Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.

You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.

“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.

The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.

“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.

“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.

“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.

“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”

“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.

“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.

“Why do you think so?”

“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”

An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.

“That’s interesting.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.

“Your words? Not at all.”

“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”

There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.

“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”

You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.

It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.

“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.

You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.

Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.

Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.

They looked so empty.

"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.

 A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.

"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.

Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.

Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.

You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.

"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.

"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.

"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.

Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.

"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.

Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.

How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.

"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.

"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.

Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.

Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.

And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?

Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.

It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.

On

Off

On

Off

On.

A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.

You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.

Beep Beep Beep!

Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.

 'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.

The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.

The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.

in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.

Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.

You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.

Oh my god they’re waving at you.

Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.

Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.

You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.

What the fuck

With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.

You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.

A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.

The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.

It was blood.

You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.

"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.

 "Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"

you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.

"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.

You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.

“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.

“Okay.”

As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.

The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.

You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.

But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.

You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.

Blue

Violet

Red

It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.

You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.

Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.

You cannot escape.

"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.

You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.

You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.

You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.

With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.

"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.

Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.

When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.

"What happened?” he asks.

"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.

Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.

He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.

It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.

You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.

The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.

"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.

"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.

His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.

"Yes."

You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.

“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.

"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.

"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.

Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.

"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.

"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.

"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.

"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.

"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.

12:45am                                                                                                               7th of January

your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.

There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.

Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.

Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.

"yn, 'm hotter yea?"

You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.

"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;

"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"

All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.

"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.

She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.

"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing. 

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.

"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.

You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.

“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.

You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.

It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.

“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.

“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.

The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such. 

Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.

You ignore him, too used to such situations.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.

“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.

“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.

Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.

“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.

The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.

White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.

It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.

Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.

The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.

“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.

“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.

“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.

You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.

A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.

“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.

Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?

“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.

“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.

Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.

“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.

"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.

"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.

There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.

The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.

“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.

Extending it to you.

“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.

“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously

“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.

A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.

You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.

"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.

Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.

Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.

“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.

At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.

“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.

“Are you interested in me?”

“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.

“I’m only teasing, darling.”

“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.

“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.

“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.

His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force

“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.

“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.

“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.

“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.

“I can, see?”

“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.

Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.

“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.

As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.

I

Can

See

Your

Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.

As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.

Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.

“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”

In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.

Heady and sweet.

“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.

Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.

It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.

With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.

You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.

With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.

"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.

"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.

"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.

“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.

“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.

“Was it?”

“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.

“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.

“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.

“Just some guy.” You shrug.

“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”

“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”

He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.

“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.

“So?”

“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”

"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.

"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.

"Stop telling me about it then."

"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.

His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.

“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”

You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.

You are walking home from work.

The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;

 on

off

on

off

you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.

You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.

The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.

I need to go home.

Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.

I need to go home

I need to go home

I need to go home

You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.

You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.

With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.

Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.

Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.

The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.

He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.

There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.

You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.

You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.

A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.

You’re okay, everything is okay.

Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.

Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.

You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.

Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.

You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.

The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.

The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.

"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.

It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.

“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.

“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.

On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.

"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.

You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.

"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.

"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.

"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.

The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.

"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.

Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.

A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.

Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.

Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.

As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.

You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features

"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.

"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.

But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.

"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.

You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.

Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.

"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.

You stand still for three full seconds.

On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.

On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.

On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.

You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?

The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.

"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.

You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.

He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.

"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.

If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.

"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.

He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.

“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.

“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.

“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.

“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”

“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.

“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.

“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.

“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.

Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.

Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.

"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.

"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.

“It’s hard not to.” You admit.

“How come?”

You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.

“they’re fascinating to say the least.”  You settle with the truth.

“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”

“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.

“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”

“No.” you answer, airily.

He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.

“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,

You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.

“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.

All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.

When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.

You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.

You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.

His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.

"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.

Just how big is this room?

“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.

“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.

As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.

“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.

His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.

“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.

“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”

“Well y-yeah.”

“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”

“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.

“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.

“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”

“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.

"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.

There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.

"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.

You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.

At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.

“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,

With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.

You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.

Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.

It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.

"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.

Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.

He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.

"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.

You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.

“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.

"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.

Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.

You should head home soon before it starts raining again.

"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.

Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.

"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.

“What were you doing then?"

“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”

"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.

“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.

“It made me happy.”

“What?”

“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”

“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.

“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.

Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.

“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.

“I did!”

“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”

“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.

Your chest warms at the sight.

“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.

“I got it wrong?”

“It’s a T, not an F.”

“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.

“Yeah.” he answers softly.

“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.

You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.

"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.

“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.

“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.

“yn,” you answer.

“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.

He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.

"W-what?" You stutter out.

His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.

“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.

“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.

“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.

You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.

You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.

"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.

You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.

Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.

But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.

"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.

"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.

"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.

It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.

"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.

"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.

“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.

You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.

You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.

He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.

As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.

"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.

“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.

There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.

You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?

Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.

"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.

"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.

It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.

"There's no need. You have done more than enough."

"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.

“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”

“No need for apologizes, darling.”

You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.

“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.

The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.

“They look better on you anyways.”

You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.

colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.

The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.

Although your living conditions were much better than now.

Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.

You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.

"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.

Like a fucking creep.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.

"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.

"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."

He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.

He gave you, his number.

Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.

"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.

“What happened today?”

You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.

Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you

"I'm confused?"

"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.

"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.

"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.

"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.

"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.

"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.

“Just say it.”

"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"

“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.

"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.

"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"

"I'm not."

"You're into him-"

"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.

"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.

"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.

"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.

"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"

"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.

"You're grieving your dad, yn."

You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.

Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.

Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.

“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."

"It's okay."

"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.

"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."

As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;

"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,

"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.

“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.

“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.

As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.

"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.

"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.  

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

[jude457]

so the main reason why i’ve been sitting on a bunch of fics lately—stuff i haven’t posted, even though it’s finished—because i keep getting stuck on this one question:

how much medical detail is too much in a fic?

like, is it too much to show what a body goes through after prolonged sexual trauma? concerning the fics where i explore a darker side of inho’s relationship with the vips. i don’t write this stuff to be shocking. it’s not about being graphic or edgy—it just feels unrealistic and unfinished to me to leave it out. examples of what i’ve included are underneath the readmore:

if i’m writing inho truthfully he’d have chronic, complicated UTIs—pain when he urinates, burning, pressure that never fully goes away, constant urgency without relief. because when you’re used repeatedly for years, when you’re used by multiple men with no care or protection, your body breaks down. infections become constant. systems stop working the way they should. the tearing wouldn’t have healed properly. there’d be scar tissue, nerve pain that burns down his spine and into his hips, days when his whole pelvis feels locked up with the trauma of what has been done to him. a deep, raw ache that flares when he moves wrong, when he sits too long, when he’s cold or stressed or simply remembering. (what i believe most people would find too realistic for a fic) is how going to the bathroom after the body is traumatised like this would be painful in some way. not sometimes—always. the unhealthy relationship with food that would stem from that. it would change how he eats. he’d learn quickly which foods pass more easily, which ones leave him shaking in agony so badly he bites the inside of his cheek to stay silent. how over time, eating becomes something he fears. not because he isn’t hungry, but because he knows what comes next. he builds a mental list of what’s “safe” and sticks to it obsessively.

including these symptoms adds a deeper layer of in-ho’s self-hatred and destruction too. because it’s not just that he’s in constant pain—it’s that he won’t let anyone see it. he carries the infections, the nerve damage, the tearing, the nights spent hunched in silence with his pelvis on fire. sometimes he bleeds. so he hides his laundry—washes it alone, scrubbing stains out by hand before anyone notices. it’s become a ritual. a quiet way of keeping the worst of it hidden. because even the blood feels like evidence. and he can’t let that exist in anyone else’s hands. not when it all leads back to the same thing. not just because it hurts, but because it’s tied to his greatest shame. what the vips did to him. what he endured to stay alive

he’d never let gihun or junho know. he thinks if they find out, they’ll see what he sees: someone broken. someone used. someone dirty. so he hides it. he always hides it. until one day his body gives out and there’s no more room to pretend.

to be honest i also find it important to explore the way inho struggles to even see himself as a rape victim. he spent close to two decades as a detective before being dismissed, dealing with these kinds of cases—he knows the language, the legal classifications, the evidence kits, the expected responses. and somewhere along the way, whether he meant to or not, he built a picture in his head of what a victim looks like: vulnerable, broken, not him because inho still views himself as a monster. and now he’s on the other side of it, but the image won’t shift. he can’t reconcile the man he’s become with the reality of what was done to him. it doesn’t match. it doesn’t fit. and that disconnect—the inability to grant himself the same compassion he offered others—is almost more painful than the trauma itself. because naming it would mean accepting it. and accepting it would mean facing the full weight of what was taken from him.

[belit0]

Hello! I'am a fan of your work and I would like to make a request.

Can you write about a scenario of Tobirama having a lover female Uchiha in secret, like he likes her personality and her body, but feel ashame of thinking of someone find out.

The real juicy drama starts when Tobirama find other lover and ditsh his Uchiha babe, she end up marrying some clanman of her clan and after some time, Tobirama have a hard time find out and decides to pay her a visit... (powerplay, breedding kink, posessive behavior, jealosy and preasing kink).

Hi! Thank you for being here!!!

Tobirama had always kept her in the dark.

Not out of cruelty, but because that’s where he believed she belonged—hidden.

She was an Uchiha.

A sharp-tongued, self-possessed woman with too much fire in her eyes and not nearly enough restraint in her laugh.

Everything about her was wrong for him.

But gods, her presence fit perfectly in the hollow parts of his nights.

He liked her wit.

Her voice when she whispered things only he heard.

He liked her mind—and, truthfully, he liked her body even more.

The way it moved, the way it waited for him, the way it challenged him in every damn way.

But no one could ever know.

He never walked beside her in public.

Never touched her hand when others might see.

Even when he stayed the night, he left before sunrise, silent and composed.

When she asked him once—softly, not accusing—“Will I ever not be your secret?”

He hadn’t answered.

And then… he found someone else.

Quiet. Respectable. A distant cousin from an allied clan. No risk, no fire, and no shame attached.

Tobirama ended things with (Y/N) in a letter.

Precise. Cold. Unapologetic.

“This can no longer continue.”

So she moved on.

Months passed.

Maybe a year.

He didn’t keep count.

Until one afternoon, Izuna's voice broke into a council session, low and amused:

–Did you hear? (Y/N)’s wedding was beautiful.

Tobirama didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

But his hand clenched around his pen so tightly it cracked.

He dismissed himself early.

Returned to the silence of his study.

Sat still for a long time.

And then, one evening, long after dusk, he went to see her.

She lived in a quiet part of the Uchiha district now. Lanterns glowed dim behind the screens.

He knocked once, twice.

When the door opened, she stood there in a deep crimson robe, her hair long, loose, her eyes—those same eyes—blinking at him in stunned silence.

–What are you doing here?

He didn’t answer.

Just stepped past her, uninvited.

The house was warm. Lived in.

There was a cup still steaming on the table. Another pair of shoes by the door.

He didn’t ask.

–You love him?— he said, turning to face her.

She stared.

–What does it matter? You made your choice.

He stepped closer.

–Did you sleep with him yet?

Her lips parted in shock.

–You don’t get to ask me that.

–Answer me.— His voice was cold. Controlled. Too controlled.

She didn’t.

He moved closer again, his presence dark and quiet and consuming.

–You were mine. You let him touch what belonged to me?

She slapped him.

Hard.

–I was never yours. Not if you were too ashamed to be seen with me.

His jaw clenched.

His eyes flickered with something old, violent, and deeply buried.

–You married him just to spite me.

–No. I married him because he looks at me in daylight. Because I don’t have to wonder if I’m a sin in his bed.

Tobirama said nothing.

His breathing shallow now.

His eyes sharp, venomous.

–You gave me up.- She was calm. Unshaking. –And you don’t get to haunt me now that someone else didn’t.—

He stepped back once, jaw tight.

–You’re still mine, whether you admit it or not.

She should have told him to leave.

Should have screamed, thrown something, summoned her husband, anything—

But she didn’t.

And Tobirama saw it in her silence.

In the clenching of her fists.

In the firestorm behind her eyes.

Her hands trembled slightly, not in fear—but in memory.

He stepped forward.

–Come.— His voice was low.

Commanding.

She shook her head once, defiant.

But her feet moved anyway.

He took her wrist—roughly, with strength that made it clear he wasn’t asking—and led her out into the night.

The forest swallowed them whole.

The lanterns of the Uchiha compound vanished behind branches and shadows.

Somewhere far behind, her husband slept, unaware.

And she was pressed against a tree the next breath, the bark cold against her back.

Tobirama's hand braced beside her head, his body a wall of heat and discipline breaking at the seams.

–You let him touch you like I did?— he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

She glared. –You don’t get to ask.—

–You think he knows how your body folds when you’re aching? Think he knows how to make you beg without a sound?- His mouth brushed her ear, breath scalding.

She gasped.

–I hate you,— she whispered.

–I know.— His hand slid up her waist, then down in between her legs, uninvited but familiar. –And yet, you’re soaked just from hearing me talk.—

Her knees buckled at the blatant truth of it.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

Only the beat of her heart thundered in her ears as his fingers dug into her, touching her like a possession long lost, sliding in and out.

–You’re not his. You’ll never be his.

–You... chose someone else.

–And now I’ve changed my mind.

His hand disappeared from her pussy while he turned her and pressed her chest to the tree, her robes already half undone from their struggle in the dark.

The air was cold. His mouth was hot.

And where his hands went, heat followed.

–Still mine (Y/N). Look at you… legs shaking like they used to. Can’t even speak.

She bit back a sound, but he caught it.

–Don’t pretend you didn’t miss this.— His voice dropped to something darker. –The way I mark you. The way you limp after. The way my hand fits around your throat when I tell you who you belong to.—

His fingers found her center again, embarrassingly slick.

–Pathetic,— he murmured. –Still so easy for me.—

Her eyes fluttered shut.

The shame of it, the truth of it, pooled low in her belly.

He didn’t tease for long.

Tobirama was never one to waste time.

When he pushed into her, it wasn’t gentle—it was claiming.

The forest floor became a mess of torn leaves and muffled gasps.

His pace was brutal, precise, like he needed to brand her from the inside out.

She gritted her teeth, clutching at the tree, and he leaned in, lips brushing her ear.

–No one else gets to hear you like this.— A thrust. Deep. Measured. –No one else gets you folded open like this. You understand me?—

She sobbed something like a yes.

–Say it.—

–Yours,— she choked out, furious at herself.

He slowed, then—cruelly tender.

His hand curved around her throat, pressing her flush against him, his voice almost gentle now, a blade sheathed in velvet.

–That’s right. You’re perfect when you’re broken like this. My good girl. My ruin. My home.

He whispered her name like worship.

Like prayer.

The kind only said when no one else was listening.

And when she fell apart in his arms, clinging to that tree like a lifeline and a curse, he held her through it.

Not kind. Not cruel.

Just his.

By the time they returned, leaves still tangled in her hair, marks blooming down her throat and collar, she didn’t bother hiding them.

Let her husband ask.

She belonged to a ghost in the forest.

One who would never let her go.

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Solace 🤎

You've ordered: a black coffee with milk and honey on the side! enjoy!

"I never know what to think about"

Prescott Churchill x Phantomhive servant! reader | word count: 992 words

Summary: the newest servant in the Phantomhive manor is having trouble finding solace in sleep, so you offer some assistance 🤎 (short little drabble)

Warnings: not rlly a warning but, i refer to him as Scott rather than Prescott in the fic. other than that, none!

Note: Prescott is NOT my oc!! he belongs to this wonderful artist, @oya-oya-okay. (go check out her blog, she's the sweetest <3) also, oya, i'm so sorry if i've mischaracterized him 😭 i tried my best to write with the info you've given. Hope you like it!! 🤍

Mr. Churchill was a rather...peculiar man in your eyes.

No, he wasn't eccentric in a bad way or bubbling with life. Actually...it seemed he was almost devoid of all emotion entirely. Or at least, that's what you thought.

He'd mainly keep to himself, not really saying much when you'd tried to strike up conversation with him a few times. He wouldn't even look you in the eyes, just awkwardly glancing elsewhere as he gave you an answer in a way that made it seem like he'd wish you'd just leave him alone.

You knew little to nothing about what Scott's life was like before entering the Phantomhive manor and you didn't want to know. You'd rather not pry into his personal life, afraid of bringing up something that should stay hidden.

But all in all, you rather liked Scott. He was kind and hardworking and honest. He never complained or was difficult to deal with. Just...emotionally reserved you assumed.

It was currently midnight, Sebastian having put Ciel to sleep a few hours ago. All of the other servants were asleep in their rooms, including you.

The sudden sensation of thirst woke you up from your otherwise peaceful slumber. You carefully shuffled out of bed and made your way out of your room, carefully and quietly making your way to the kitchen.

As you poured yourself a glass of water and drank it, you felt sleep taking over once again. Making your way back down the hallway, you noticed a figure standing near one of the windows. The moonlight illuminated the side of their face, that worn and exhausted expression very familiar.

"Scott?" you murmured softly as to not scare him. The brown haired man glanced away from the window, his eyes widening just a tad.

"Y/N?" His voice was low and tired, the exhaustion he'd tried to hide during the busy day finally evident.

"Why are you up so late?" you asked, hoping you didn't come off as rude for asking.

"...Had trouble sleeping..." he answered truthfully, returning his gaze to the window. You quietly stood beside him, frowning to yourself upon hearing that.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. Would you like to maybe chat a bit? Get your mind off of things?" you offered. Scott was silent before mumbling a soft "Yes."

A few moments later, you two found yourselves laying in your bed, a reasonable distance between the two of you. Your chat wasn't very fruitful, its contents just about work and how he liked it at the manor.

"Everyone's rather...eccentric in their own way, I guess..." Scott explained, his fingers smoothing over the blanket.

"Mmm, I guess you could say that. But we all mean well and we're glad to have you here as a part of the manor." you hummed, tracing an invisible pattern onto the bedsheets with your finger.

"Have you always had trouble sleeping?" you asked, looking at him as you laid opposite each other.

"Yeah. I just can't seem to silence my thoughts..." he muttered, his eyes looking away from yours.

"If you don't mind me asking...what are the thoughts that keep you awake?"

Ha, if only you knew. If only you knew the truth, the horrors of his past and what they did to him. Being left with half a soul was not an easy thing to deal with.

Scott shook his head, his fingers absentmindedly clutching the fabric of the blanket.

"Not very...pleasant ones..."

You didn't want to pry, not wanting to remind him of whatever he was trying to avoid.

You wanted to help him, even if it was just a little. After a few seconds, you spoke up again.

"...Could I...touch your hair?" When you asked that, Scott finally looked at you, his expression a bit different before his eyes glanced away from you again.

There was a bit of silence between you two, an awkward sigh leaving your lips. "Whenever I couldn't sleep as a child, my mother would play with my hair until I'd fall asleep. It worked every time, so I was just suggesting it..." you explained.

In the darkness, you could see Scott nod his head a little, his eyes trained on some random spot on the wall.

You nodded in return, reaching your hand over and carefully placing it on his head. You were surprised at how soft his hair was, your fingers gently caressing the warm brown strands.

Scott didn't say anything, but you swore you could see his eyes meet yours for a split second before he looked away again.

Another blanket of awkward silence covered the two of you, the sounds of your breathing and the faint rustling of your fingers in his hair the only sounds that could be heard.

After what seemed like forever, Scott finally spoke up. "...Thank you." he murmured, his eyes finally closing.

"You're welcome..." you hummed, a soft smile forming on your lips.

"You know...I haven't been very close with many people in my life. Having you all welcome me with open arms and no questions asked is a bit...strange. But also very comforting."

Your heart swelled at Scott's words, a sense of relief filling your mind. Your fingertips carefully brushing some of his hair out of his closed eyes before settling back into his soft brown locks.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Scott...I'm very glad."

Before long, you started to doze off yourself, your hand soon stilling in his hair as you fell asleep. Scott's eyes opened as he glanced over at your sleeping form, some strange feeling flooding his senses. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it felt...nice. Like something he hadn't felt in years.

Scott reached up and gently rested his hand on top of yours that was in his hair. His fingers gently brushed against yours, that strange tingle in his heart coming back.

Maybe you could make him feel again. Maybe, just maybe...you could make him whole again. 🤎

© m00nkissedlover, 2025