#this is such an easy fix in my mind though like at the end its stated that theyre going to study at nru. straight up just swap that out w | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

subskz · 1 year

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ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 02

note: this is part 2 of a series (part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, themes of soulmates, slight angst, slight hurt/comfort, themes of death/grief over a friend, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, unprotected sex (no condom, but reader is on contraceptives), praise, body worship, riding, light choking, under-discussed kinks (both parties are consenting), light possessiveness, biting, teasing, lots of begging, aftercare

word count: 15.8k

You didn’t want to go home.

Final exams were just a week away, and summer break would follow soon after. For anyone else, it would bring about a much-needed relief, a moment to breathe after the grueling interim leading up to the end of the semester. For you, however, all that awaited was a looming, unshakeable sense of dread.

You hadn’t returned to your hometown for nearly six months now, choosing instead to spend all of your vacation time on campus, pouring yourself into assignments and studies far sooner and far more vigorously than required. But summer break would be an exception to this new, comfortably avoidant routine of yours. The excuse that you were busy became significantly less convincing when you had no classes to attend to, and you were certain that your parents wouldn’t let you get away with not visiting home for at least a week or two, especially when the trip was less than an hour by train.

It would be the one year anniversary soon, of the loss of your closest friend. The memory was still too fresh in your mind, the wound was still wide open and festering. You hadn’t given it proper time to heal—or, any time to heal, for that matter—instead having grown accustomed to slapping on a temporary fix and replacing it only when deemed absolutely necessary. Just enough to get by, to keep yourself together.

It wouldn’t be that easy to ignore once you returned home, though. Not even close. Every flickering streetlight, every newly blossomed tree, every crack in the sidewalk that had once been so reassuring in its familiarity, was laced with memories of her. They were memories that used to make your life brighter, warmer; like a glowing ball of light you carried around in your chest wherever you went. Now, they only stung.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the nightstand snapped you out of your brooding. You reached out aimlessly for it through the darkness of your bedroom, squinting as the harsh screen light nearly blinded you in the process.

A familiar flash of gray was all you needed to see to open the notification with embarrassing haste.

chan 🐺 (3:08 a.m.) let’s go here!

For a brief moment, you were at a loss, then, the link to a nearby bungeoppang shop followed.

chan 🐺 (3:09 a.m.) their custard is so sooo sooooooo good

chan 🐺 (3:10 a.m.) akskdnsnsksjsjsk

You were grinning before you even finished reading his messages, fondness flooding your chest in place of the heavy, melancholic fog that had been occupying it all night.

you (3:11 a.m.) yummy~ we can go during finals week as a pick me up!

chan 🐺 (3:11 a.m.) yuo’re awake,??

you (3:11 a.m.) that’s my line!

Just as you were typing out another response, your screen changed to signal Chan’s incoming call, making you scramble upright in bed. You should’ve come to expect it by now, but even so, it still felt just as new and exhilarating as the first time that wolf emoji had popped up out of the blue. Predictably unpredictable.

His greeting came the instant you picked up, oddly cheerful considering how late into the night it was.

“Hey!”

“Hi, Channie,” you said softly. “Y’know, I think I’ve got you all figured out.”

“Oh?” Chan sounded taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“You’re only a phone guy when you should be asleep.”

Confusion melted into amusement, and you could hear the grin in his voice when he replied. “Hm…maybe you’re right,” he agreed. “But what’s your excuse, then?”

You paused. “I guess I’m only a good texter when it comes to you.”

The shy giggles that filled your ears didn’t disappoint. They made you feel light, carefree; like everything that had been responsible for keeping you wide awake for the past three hours was suddenly so trivial in the face of his laughter.

“So, what are you up to?” you asked.

“Trying to trick myself to fall asleep,” he said it like a joke, but you could feel the weariness behind his words. It tugged at your emotions in a way that you knew all too well. The urge to help him, to take care of him.

Your heart welcomed it, but your mind rejected it, and you were more keen on letting the latter call the shots these days. So, as naturally as it came, you pushed it away.

“By thinking about bungeoppang?”

Another giggle. “Well, more like thinking about things I wanna do with you.”

You held your breath to avoid letting a reaction slip out, but there was no way to repress the butterflies that fluttered to life in your stomach. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice. It was the one thing about you he could never quite catch, like his obliviousness to his own charm stood in the way of an otherwise razor-sharp intuition.

“How about you? What’s got you awake?”

You could clearly envision the attentive eyes and curious head tilt accompanying his question. It almost made you want to answer without restraint, to share all the thoughts that you’d been needlessly torturing yourself with for days now, rotating over and over in your head until they snowballed into something out of your control.

You stopped yourself just in time. He didn’t need to hear something like that at this hour—or, ever, really.

“Just thinking about the summer.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, and you hoped it’d be enough to get past his scrutiny.

“Oh!” he chirped. “Are you excited?”

Absolutely not. “Kinda,” you were grateful he couldn’t see your expression. “More excited about it than finals, anyway.”

“It’ll be fine!” he said confidently. “Just two more weeks, and we’re free, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I’m gonna miss our study sessions.”

Chan had switched from the astrophysics track after his spring semester of senior year—cutting it close was an understatement—so any classes you’d be taking for your final term in the fall would be completely new territory for him. You didn’t doubt for a second that he might try to continue tutoring you and Changbin regardless, but after finding out how hard he’d been pushing himself to help you with subjects that he already had experience with, you couldn’t in good conscience allow him to do that to himself again.

Not that you needed the study sessions as an excuse to see him anymore, but still, you felt strangely wistful about it.

“Me too,” he hummed, as if his mind had drifted to the same place. “That reminds me, you left your sweater here the other day.”

“Oh! I didn’t even notice.”

“You must’ve been distracted by something,” he sang.

You let your chuckle slip out this time, more than ready to indulge him. “Well, there was this really cute boy there. Do you think he’d be willing to give it back to me?”

“Ah…” his attempt at teasing you backfired so spectacularly that he went silent for a moment. “He was cute? I don’t believe you.”

“Cute enough to kiss,” you confirmed.

You registered a sudden rustling sound on the other line, followed by the faintest squeak, as if he were physically unable to contain his giddiness. The thought of it nearly had you burying your face in your pillow yourself. You wished you could see him.

“Then,” he swallowed. “He might give it back to you, for a kiss.”

The memory of his lips on yours washed over you all at once, so vividly that you could even recall how his soft cheeks had felt cupped in your palms and how his shaky breath had fanned over your skin.

“Is that a promise?” You held out your pinky in the darkness. It buzzed with warmth, and you wondered briefly if he was mirroring your action on his end, or if it was just the lingering heat that he’d left on you.

“Promise,” he breathed.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The final lecture of PHYS 408: Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics, more or less went exactly as you had predicted. No review for the final exam, no rundown of what to expect, and certainly no heartfelt announcement from Dr. Choi, letting you all know what a joy of a section you’d been to teach. If it weren't for the date and time of the exam scribbled on the whiteboard behind him, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten about it altogether.

He’d droned on for the first hour of class, delivering your last lesson of the semester with the same perpetual stiffness as day one, then had so generously granted the remaining 15 minutes as free time for studying amongst yourselves. Changbin appeared ready to bolt the moment the words left your professor’s mouth, but you’d stubbornly convinced him to stay just a bit longer and study with you. It was more for his sake than anything else, considering he’d only attended one of the two final exam reviews with Chan.

Changbin, it seemed, had other plans, as he hadn’t let a minute pass by without getting distracted from the task at hand and trying to start a conversation with you.

“By the way, you'll be at the get-together won’t you? Before the summer ends.”

You looked up from your notes, already sensing some kind of trap being set up.

“And by get-together you mean…?”

Changbin’s lips curved into a sheepish half-smile; caught, even with his careful phrasing.

“Well, I guess it’s more of a party.”

You made a face. You’d been to a handful of parties the past three years of your university experience, each one having been more unpleasant and suffocating than the last.

“I’m not sure, Bin. Not really my scene, y’know?”

“It’ll be your scene if I'm there, trust me.” Changbin lifted his head with a grin, and you might have rolled your eyes if his overblown confidence wasn’t so endearing.

“Uh-huh,” you played along. “Now I'm just itching to go.”

“Doesn’t the bond we’ve built these past months mean anything to you?” he whined. “It could be our last chance to really hang out!”

“It’s not like we’re dying, Seo Changbin,” you said, unimpressed. “I know for a fact that you’re taking the same Experimental Physics section as me next semester because we both put it off.”

Changbin clicked his tongue, shutting his book dramatically—which made no difference, really, considering he hadn’t read a single line of text from it. “Alright, fine. You’ve made it clear how little you value our friendship today.”

Just when you thought he’d accepted defeat, he continued.

“And of course,” a devious glint crossed his eyes. “It wouldn’t change your mind if I told you a certain friend of mine was coming?”

Ah. Despite your vigilance, it appeared you’d fallen right into his trap anyway.

“A certain friend?” you echoed. It came casual, but inside, your mind was swarming with countless possibilities. You hadn’t yet told Changbin about everything that had transpired between you and Chan, and you weren’t sure if Chan had mentioned anything to him either. The issue wasn’t so much that you were afraid of how Changbin would react, it was more about preparing yourself to deal with the theatrics of it all, the internal battle between horror and smugness that was sure to ensue inside him; because, on one hand, he’d been right, but on the other hand, he’d been right.

You could already picture it: scolding and teasing all at once, “I leave you alone with my best friend for one night and you kiss him!?”

You would never hear the end of it.

“A certain Bang Chan,” he elaborated, looking a bit disappointed when you didn’t give him the reaction he’d hoped for.

Knowing that Chan would be there admittedly piqued your interest, but not in the way Changbin seemed to think. You were more so curious as to what would draw him into such an environment—if he would be in his element, or awkwardly out of place. He was a social butterfly, sure, with a friends list that could probably fill up your entire Theoretical Methods notebook, but even so, a college party just wasn’t the kind of pastime you’d imagined him to indulge in all that much.

Still, you could be wrong. You simultaneously felt like you knew so much about Chan, yet so little. It was like you could envision the completed puzzle of him in your mind, but still didn’t quite have all the pieces in your hand.

With a start, you realized that Changbin might mistake your silence for something else, and you forced out a response before he could get too suspicious.

“Chan’s going?” you asked. “Is that his kind of thing?”

“Hm…not usually,” he tapped your pencil against the tabletop, as if it required deep thought. “At least, he’s not big on drinking and all that.”

The surge of satisfaction you felt in being correct came so strong that you were almost taken aback. It went hand in hand with that ever-present desire to know him, every part of him, better than anyone else.

“So, what’s the occasion, then? Because I know you’re not exactly a party animal yourself, Mr. Principles.”

“I’m the life of any party I go to.” He said it so seriously that you couldn’t help but snort, earning you a defensive swat to the shoulder.

“But, you do have a point,” he admitted once your giggles had died down. “It is sort of a special occasion.”

You leaned in, fully immersed now. He was being uncharacteristically roundabout today, and when that signature, shy smirk crept up on his face, you knew there was definitely something else brewing under the surface.

“It’s an event for the student music organization here on campus, so we get to do a little showcase.”

Your eyes widened. “We? As in 3RACHA?”

He simply beamed, the look of pride on his face speaking for itself.

“Bin! Are you serious!?”

For once, you were the one turning heads in you and Changbin’s direction, but you couldn’t find it in you to feel self-conscious about your outburst. “Like, a live performance?”

He wiggled in his spot, clearly basking in your excitement. “Just one song, but, yeah.”

“Still, that’s amazing!” you piped. “You should’ve just said that from the beginning, you know I’ll go if it means seeing you perform.”

“I know,” he scrunched up his nose, the embarrassment finally starting to get to him. “But I didn’t wanna flaunt. Modesty is key, after all.”

You shot him an amused look. “Is that one of your principles?”

“The most important one,” he said proudly.

Though you were less than enthused about attending a party of that magnitude, in that moment you felt nothing but delight bubbling up in your chest; for Changbin, for yourself, for Chan. You wondered what his reaction to the news had been like, if he’d broken out into that thousand-watt smile of barely-contained glee, or if the prospect of sharing his music in front of so many people had reduced him to a panicked mess, scrambling to get everything in order to put on the best performance possible.

The clock struck 9:15 a.m. to signal the end of your final lecture period. Naturally, you and Changbin hadn’t gotten any studying done, with his little announcement serving as the nail in the coffin for your motivation to work. As you gathered up your belongings and rose from your chair, an unexpected wave of nostalgia overtook you. It was likely the last time you’d be sitting in it, given that even the most absent of students would be showing up on the day of the final and taking any spot they could find. In a weird way, you were going to miss it. Some of your most miserable recollections from the semester were associated with it—stress, exhaustion, confusion, pressure—but it had brought about some of your most cherished moments as well; some of your most cherished people.

Changbin seemed to notice the sentimental expression on your face, and he gave you a gentle nudge as you strolled together out of the classroom.

“A lot has changed since that first day, huh?”

“Yeah,” you let your shoulder bump against his. “It has.”

You hoped, desperately, that it was the start of something better.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

In the end, you and Chan hadn’t been able to line your schedules up even once throughout finals week to make room for your bungeoppang date. Amidst the storm of projects, presentations, exams, and papers, the two of you barely found time in the day to fulfill basic necessities, let alone to hang out with one another. You were particularly worried about the self-care situation on his end, already well-acquainted with his tendency to neglect his health whenever he was swamped. All you could do was send short, uplifting messages every few days, encouraging him to get some rest before the sun came up.

The dangling promise of fish-shaped bread (and, of course, the boy that came with it) had carried you through the week more than you’d like to admit, and by the time your last exam of the semester came around, your patience was on its last legs. You turned in your Astronomical Techniques test with plenty of time to spare, scurrying out of the lecture hall and making your way to the campus gym as quickly as your feet would allow.

Pushing open the doors to the natatorium where you and Chan had agreed to meet, you were immediately hit with the stinging scent of chlorine and thunderous sound of overlapping splashes. You scanned over the area in search of his familiar face, overwhelmed by the sea of identical swim caps. When you spotted him at last, he wasn’t emerging from the locker room like you’d expected him to be—freshly showered and, most importantly, clothed. No, instead, your eyes landed on him just in time to witness him rising from the pool, muscular arms hoisting his body up the ledge and sending streams of water cascading down his broad shoulders and back.

You froze, too mesmerized by the sight to even think about looking away before he could notice you. He pulled his swim cap off along with his goggles, shaking his wet curls free and confirming that it was, in fact, Bang Christopher Chan standing shirtless before you.

It was almost laughable, how your heartbeat picked up to an alarming speed, hammering faster in your chest the more you studied his figure. The full curve of his pecs, the toned ridges of his abdomen, the lean dip in his waist, disappearing into his swim trunks. His skin was glistening and almost annoyingly untouched. You wanted to sully it, to leave it marked up and littered with traces of you.

A sudden squeak of your name snapped you back to your senses. With how intensely you’d been staring, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you that Chan’s head would whip around in your direction, as if he could physically feel the holes your gaze had been burning into his skin.

“Y-you’re here!” he stammered. A part of you wondered if he might’ve done this on purpose, secretly hoping for you to find him like this when he’d suggested that you meet up with him after practice. But, judging by the way he shrank into himself, arms flying up to cross over his chest at the speed of light, he was just as mortified as you were.

You took a breath, forcing yourself to get it together. “I guess I finished my exam earlier than I thought,” your voice sounded steady, at least. “Sorry for sneaking up on you.”

Chan shifted his weight from side to side, eyes darting between you and the floor. “No worries,” he chuckled awkwardly. You made a point to avoid looking anywhere but his face for the sake of his comfort, but the way his ears had flushed a very obvious shade of red was just as distracting, if not more.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, we’re done for the day, anyway. I just gotta shower, then I’m all yours!”

You wished he hadn’t phrased it like that. “Sure, take your time.”

You managed a quick smile, turning towards the bench on the far end of the pool so he could walk to the locker rooms without worrying about covering himself up.

As if that whole altercation hadn’t been embarrassing enough already, it took the entirety of the ten minutes he spent in the shower for the adrenaline rushing through your veins to finally ebb.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

It was the first time you’d ever really heard Chan whine—childish and pouty in a way that could give even Changbin a run for his money.

You giggled triumphantly, waving the bungeoppang in his face to really rub it in.

Chan had made the grave mistake of offhandedly telling you what he planned to order as the two of you chatted on the way to the shop, and when he’d whispered to you that he was going to run to the bathroom as you were studying the menu, the opportunity that presented itself was just too perfect for you to pass up.

Instead of waiting, you’d lined up on your own, praying that you would make it before he returned. In the end, you’d succeeded, ordering for him and yourself and paying for both portions just in the nick of time, much to his horror.

“This upset over my first win?” you taunted. “I didn’t know you were so competitive, Channie.”

He huffed, pressing his lips together in a way that made his cheeks swell. The good-natured twinkle in his eyes remained, however, and he eventually accepted the pastry in defeat. “Still, thank you.”

You softened. “Of course. It’s the least I could do.”

The two of you slipped into the nearest booth, settling in across from each other. Chan looked ready to devour his order within seconds of sitting down, but before he could, you reached out, bungeoppang in hand, as if proposing a toast.

“Here’s to getting through finals alive,” you declared.

He grinned, tapping his bread against yours. “Cheers!”

You bit into your share, the light crispness of the crust blending perfectly with its filling. Chan had been right about this place’s custard; the way its flavor flooded your tongue was nothing short of heavenly.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled. “This is so good.”

He let out a blissful hum of agreement. You glanced up to find him already halfway done with his share, cheeks stuffed and lips puckered as he chewed happily away. A stray drop of custard had stuck to the corner of his mouth, right next to the curve of his dimple, and it took everything in you not to lean in and kiss him right then and there.

Chan’s eyes fluttered open as he swallowed his massive mouthful, and you straightened up in your spot, trying to pretend like you hadn’t just been daydreaming about eating custard off of his face.

“By the way,” you began. “Changbin told me you guys are performing at the end of the summer?”

“Ah…” he brought his bungeoppang up to his nose, like he hoped to disappear behind it. “Yeah, seems like it. It’s not a big deal, though, really.”

“It is! I wish you’d told me, I definitely don’t wanna miss it.”

His gaze peeked up above the half-eaten bread, and you might’ve thought he was just playing coy if the look in his eyes wasn’t so adorably hopeful, searching your expression for a sincere show of interest.

“Really?”

“Of course,” you said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus, Bin would never let me live it down if I did.”

“True,” he grinned. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to tell you?”

“Oh?”

“I was just kinda embarrassed about it,” he chuckled. “Dunno if I’d be able to face you after.”

Something about the way he said it nearly made you melt. How very like him, to feel self-conscious about performing in front of you before it’d even happened. Unable to help yourself any longer, you reached forward and brushed your thumb along the edge of his lips, scooping up the drop of custard—though, really, it was just an excuse to touch him.

Chan looked caught off guard for a moment, fingers flexing around the pastry in his hand. Then, the smile was back on his face, even wider this time.

“You’re so cute,” you murmured. “If you say that, it just makes me wanna see you more, y’know.”

He reached up to fiddle with his piercing, both dimples now on full display. “Will you be back in town by then?”

“I’m gonna be here for most of the break, actually,” you confessed.

His eyes lit up. “You serious?”

You nodded, praying he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate.

“So am I!” he beamed. “I’m doing an independent study, so I won’t have the chance to go home.”

It dawned on you for the first time that Chan’s family was, in fact, still living in Australia while he attended university. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might not be visiting them over the summer. That same, familiar ache touched your heart again—it must get lonely for him. Here you were, purposely avoiding your hometown at all costs, when he was likely longing for his.

“Oh no,” you frowned. “Not even for a short trip?”

“Nah.” He waved his hand, seemingly unaffected. “But it’s alright. I’ve got you, and my buddy Felix will be here for a while, too.”

Felix. Another name you’d heard thrown around by Chan and Changbin on more than one occasion. He was yet another junior that Chan had managed to befriend somehow, and, just like him, he’d grown up in Australia. It eased your mind a bit, knowing that he and Chan at least had each other when everyone else was home for the holidays.

“But what about you?” He cocked his head. “Any reason you’re staying?”

The dreaded question. This time, you couldn’t depend on the safety of a phone call to keep him from gauging your reaction.

“I just prefer it here, I guess.” You picked at the paper wrapping of your bread, hoping to sound nonchalant. “There’s some stuff I don’t wanna deal with back home. But, knowing my parents, I’ll probably still go for a week or so.”

Suddenly, the look on his face wasn’t quite so bright. It was subtle, just a fleeting crack in his typically bubbly demeanor, but not lost on you. Whether it was the mention of your parents or your vaguely cynical response that had brought about such a strange reaction, you weren’t sure, but you berated yourself for being responsible for dampening his mood, even if it was short-lived.

“I get that,” he said softly. “Let’s have a good time here together, yeah?”

Chan didn’t speak any further on the topic, but somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he resonated with what you’d said more than he was letting on.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Three days into your visit back home, you came to fully accept the fact that you were in way over your head.

From the moment you’d stepped off the train, hit with that warm, familiar air, tinged with the scent of pine, you could already feel it picking away at you. The trip from the station to your house, which you’d stubbornly chosen to make by foot, was full of bittersweet sights, sounds, and smells that had shaped you growing up, with each one tugging your seams loose just a little bit more. It felt akin to whiplash, a harsh dive into the deep end of reality after the past month you’d spent with Chan, stuck in a giddy haze.

Thanks to him, the harsh sting of summer had become more of a dull ache, not quite fading altogether, but soothed into something more manageable, at least. With Iseul, Changbin, and all your other friends returning home for vacation, you’d breezed through the entirety of June almost exclusively in Chan’s company. More often than not, Felix would join in as well, making for an unexpectedly pleasant dynamic among the three of you. You’d taken a liking to the boy in no time—it was impossible not to, when he had a smile like the sun and an infectious sort of vitality that brought joy to even the simplest of activities. He was a bit more reserved than Chan, at least around you, but he had a similar kind of warmth, the kind that was sure to enamor anyone he crossed paths with.

Between movie nights (more superhero movies than you’d ever thought existed), day trips to the beach (with Chan, thankfully, taking your sanity into account and wearing a tank top at all times), and far too many baking sessions (some successful, most failed), what you’d initially feared to be a month of nothing but heat and misery had turned out to be some of the best weeks of your life.

It was only natural, of course, that the universe would follow them up with a week that was carefully crafted to send all that happiness you’d built toppling unceremoniously to the ground.

The pit of guilt you’d felt in your stomach about avoiding home for so long increased tenfold with every comment from your parents and relatives, joking about how you were too busy, too good for your family to waste time on them anymore. You almost wanted to be upset, because you knew they knew. But you also knew that they meant well. In their minds, they were doing you a favor by not addressing it, not daring to so much as utter your friend’s name around you. It was much easier to pretend like everything was okay. That was what you’d been doing for the past year, after all.

Still, no matter how hard you wished you could ignore it, the pesky, human desire for seeking solace in others persisted. You needed to release, to lift the top off the pressure cooker you’d kept so tightly sealed for so long.

You needed to talk to someone. But the only person in the world who you could’ve opened up to about losing her, was her.

Your thumb lingered over Chan’s contact, now on your fourth minute of debating whether or not you should throw caution to the wind and call him. You wanted to hear his voice rambling on, his absent-minded humming of whichever song was stuck in his head that day, his laughter.

With a deep inhale, you swiped out of your phone app, opening up your messages instead.

you (8:13 a.m.) hey it’s been a minute! how are u?

A response, almost immediately.

iseul 🪷 (8:13 a.m.) awful horrible miserable

you (8:14 a.m.) hello??? what’s going on?

iseul 🪷 (8:14 a.m.) family is driving me crazy and i hate men i also might be fired???? idk yet

You frowned, trying to process the unfortunate string of messages unfolding on your screen. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be having a worse time than you right now. It brought you back to your senses, reminded you of your place. Self-pity never suited you, anyway. Your sympathy was much better off reserved for others.

you (8:15 a.m.) oh my god? do you want to talk?

iseul 🪷 (8:15 a.m.) ugh yes i’ll ft you later at a family gathering rn 🤢 hate it here

you (8:16 a.m.) we’re in the same boat remember the right answer to every question is that ur focusing on ur studies

iseul 🪷 (8:16 a.m.) literally gonna be using that one all day ugh literally kill me

you (8:17 a.m.) being nosey is just how they show their love~

iseul 🪷 (8:17 a.m.) they should show their love a little less

you (8:18 a.m.) lmaoo

you (8:19 a.m.) btw do you still want me to look over that paper for your grad school app?

iseul 🪷 (8:19 a.m.) omg….. omfg yes i totally forgot omfg i’ll send it to u when i’m free pls read it fix it make me sound smarter

With the way Iseul was typing a mile a minute, you were certain you’d be in for an earful when you talked to her later. Strangely enough, it lifted a bit of weight off your shoulders. Maybe you could focus on reviewing her essay and offering her advice on the many, many issues she seemed to be facing as a way to take your mind off the growing itch in your skin.

That was all you had to do, really. Make yourself useful, keep yourself preoccupied with something at all times until you could return to campus and restart the process of tucking away every memory associated with the previous summer from scratch.

It was just a matter of holding yourself together. Just one more week.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but think that a day like this one shouldn’t be quite so sunny.

The sky was bright and spotless, an endless expanse of soft blue without so much as a single cloud daring to interfere. Some might say it was a good omen, a sign that you were being watched over with a smile, but to you, it almost felt like a taunt.

Still, the nice weather at least meant that your walk to the cemetery wouldn’t be met with any unexpected rain. Your mother had offered—or demanded, rather—to drive you if you weren’t going to drive yourself, so as not to keep your friends waiting; but much to her exasperation, you’d refused. You had an important stop to make along the way, anyway, one that both fueled your apprehension, and eased it.

It had officially been a year now. A year since you’d lost your best friend, a year since you’d ended your relationship, a year since your sense of self had become muddled. Nothing in the city felt like home, anymore. It had belonged to the both of you, and with her gone, there was nothing left for you.

A sudden call of your name nearly made you jump out of your skin. You looked up from the concrete, shocked to find that you’d zoned out long enough to have reached your destination without even processing it. Your eyes raked over the worn-down stand, once a pure, striking white, now chipped and rusted with age. Still, it brought a smile to your face, the first real one since you’d arrived home.

“Is that really you, kid?”

Steeling yourself, you lifted your head fully to face the man before you. He looked the same as ever, albeit with a bit less hair on his head, but his kind eyes and jovial smile hadn’t changed one bit, they never did.

“Hello, Uncle Geun,” you greeted. “How have you been?”

Gruff, booming laughter met your ears, and you were pulled into a bone-crushing hug before you knew it. The smell of his colorful apron, musky from the heat, but not unpleasant, sent a wave of sentimentality crashing over you. It took everything in you not to tear up the moment it touched your senses.

He was a man that had watched you grow up, in the truest sense of the words. Over a decade ago, on this very street, you’d rounded the corner with a bit too much energy on your way to school, slamming into another little girl and sending you both toppling onto the unforgiving sidewalk. You’d managed to come out of it with just a skidded palm, but she, on the other hand, was bawling the instant she’d recovered from the initial impact.

Even as a child, you’d gotten the feeling that she was being a bit too dramatic about it all, sobbing about how her knees hurt and how her new jumper was ruined. Regardless, your stomach twisted with guilt, and when you saw that your apologies weren’t getting through to her, you’d done the first thing your little mind could think of, scurrying over to the nearby flower vendor and asking if he could spare you a gift for her. His smile had been just as grand back then as it was now, his laughter just as boisterous as he picked a chrysanthemum from his stock and handed it to you.

The second you’d shoved the round, yellow flower in her face, her crying came to an immediate halt, tears drying up and sniffles dying down, as if on cue. She accepted it with a smile as bright as the flower itself, pulling off a few petals for you when she noticed the scrapes on your hand.

You’d continued the walk to school side by side, and by the end of the day, the two of you had come to a mutual agreement that you were now, officially, best friends.

You blinked rapidly, hoping your expression wouldn't betray you when Uncle Geun finally pulled away from the hug.

“It’s good to see you,” he beamed. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“That’s all you, Uncle. Even the flowers are jealous.”

Another raspy burst of laughter. “Clever as always.”

“Maybe that college education is worth something,” you joked.

His grin grew impossibly wider, silver tooth gleaming in the sunlight. “We’ve all missed you,” he said. “Doesn’t really feel like the summertime without the sight of you walking around the city with—”

He cut himself off at just the right instant. You felt a light pang in your chest, but you forced yourself to keep smiling.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “You girls were always a joy.”

“We had a lot of great memories because of you,” you replied quietly.

An uncharacteristically somber look crossed his face, and your eyes fell back to the ground.

“So, what’ll it be, today?” he began, trying to put the pep back in his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re just here to give the old man a visit.”

“Chrysanthemums, please,” you requested. “They’re for her.”

You unzipped your bag, reaching in to pull out your wallet. Before you could even prepare your payment, however, his calloused hand rested over yours, shooing it away.

“This one’s on the house.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

You never made it to the cemetery.

However necessary it had felt for you to visit the flower stand and see Uncle Geun, the toll it took on your state of mind was far heavier than you’d ever anticipated—and you’d anticipated. Your conversation with him had left you disoriented, a strange ache pulsing through your body. Whether grief or nostalgia was at its core, you weren’t sure.

With blurry vision, you’d texted your friends that you wouldn’t be able to make it and returned home, clutching the bouquet of flowers close to your chest. In a matter of twenty minutes, you gathered up all your belongings, tossed them into your hardly unpacked suitcase, and arranged to take the first train back home. Your new home, the one that felt right for all the wrong reasons.

Despite your parents’ adamant protests, you stood by your decision to leave. You promised to make it up to them with another visit, and after almost an hour of arguing, the hollowness of your voice finally seemed to get through to them. Disapproving but ultimately understanding, they’d quietly allowed you to go.

The train ride was a blur. You didn’t remember much of it, and only when you approached the front door of your apartment at last did you feel the fog in your head begin to clear just a bit. As you dug around for your keys, you realized for the first time how stiff your hand had become. You’d kept it wrapped tightly around the chrysanthemums for the entire trip home, not loosening your death grip even once.

The heavy sigh of relief you let out as you stepped into your apartment was cut short when you registered an unexpected figure standing near the window. Even in all your shock, you didn’t have the energy to call out louder than your usual volume.

“Chan?”

His reaction was priceless, yelping in fear and spinning around at a breakneck speed. You were lucky that he at least managed to avoid dropping the watering can in his hand and send it crashing to the floor.

“Y-you’re here!?”

The fact that it sounded like a genuine question when you were standing right in front of him shouldn’t have endeared you so much. You placed down your bags, praying that your exhaustion wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

“Surprise,” you nearly cringed at how weak it came out.

In all your turmoil, you’d completely forgotten that Chan had offered to water your plants for you while you were gone. Though, to be fair, even if you had remembered, you wouldn’t have expected to stumble in on him doing so at near midnight.

“Welcome back!” His face broke out into a radiant smile. It felt more like home than anything you’d experienced the past week. “Are those new flowers for me to water?”

Despite everything, you smiled back at him, placing the bouquet on your countertop and padding over to him. He opened his arms in an instant, and you fell into them, squeezing him tighter than was probably necessary and earning a cute, tiny grunt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you simply said. His warmth enveloped you and his scent wafted over you, freshly-washed laundry and the fading, sweet citrus of his cologne. “It’s good to see you.”

“I missed you,” he sucked in hesitantly through his teeth before continuing. “But, is everything alright? I thought you still had another few days.”

“Yeah. Just a little change of plans,” hoping to lighten the mood, you added, “Guess I can’t be kept away from you for too long.”

You knew he wouldn’t buy the excuse, but he giggled anyway, shoulders vibrating against you as the melodic sound graced your ears. A part of you had initially been horrified by the prospect of Chan catching you like this, but now, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of calm.

Reluctantly, you pulled back to face him. His eyes were drowsy—nothing new there—but there was a healthy complexion to his skin. He looked just a bit tanner than the last time you’d seen him; he must’ve spent a lot of his free time at the beach.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he didn’t let go of you, even after the hug had ended. “Felix will be, too. Pretty sure he secretly thinks you’re a better baking assistant than me.”

You let out a hum of amusement. “Can’t say I blame him when you steal all the chocolate chips.”

He puckered his lips into a pout. Not truly upset, but enough for you to lean in and press an apologetic kiss to them. You would’ve taken any opportunity to do so, anyway.

His breath caught in his throat—you’d quickly learned that it was inevitable, no matter how many times you kissed him—but he returned it instantly, melting into you like he’d been itching to do from the second you’d arrived. It was something you hadn’t fully adjusted to yet, how impossibly soft his lips were. They demanded all of your attention in their fullness, moving against yours with a timid sort of vigor.

You hadn’t expected it to be more than just a light peck, but once you’d gotten a taste of him, of his warmth, you couldn’t help yourself. It was his fault, you decided, for diving into you with such unabashed eagerness. Your teeth grazed delicately along his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to let out a sweet, airy sigh.

The feeling that you’d so narrowly escaped on the night you’d first kissed him took hold of you yet again, so strong in its grip that you worried you may not be able to ignore it this time. Your hands roamed down to his abdomen, brushing over it just enough to feel the outline of his muscles beneath his clothes. You remembered the sight of him in the natatorium that day—toned stomach and soft hips, smooth, irresistible skin that looked like it hadn’t been marked a day in his life. You wanted all of it, all of him.

Chan angled his head to further deepen the kiss, nose bumping against yours in the process. You felt his lips curve into a shy smile, and another sound escaped him, almost like a squeak.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you finally found it in you to break the kiss. When his eyes blinked open, he looked adorably lost, gaze falling right back down to your lips as if to ask why you’d stopped. He swayed just barely under your hands, and you strengthened your hold on his waist to steady him.

“You look like you’re about to fall over, Channie,” you teased.

“Sorry,” he chuckled breathlessly. “My heart’s kinda racing.”

It was such a sincere admission, so simple and honest. Even if you couldn’t already tell what he was thinking on your own, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Or rather, he held it out in his hands, offering it up to you.

You let go of his waist to lock your fingers with his. You’d grown used to the heat by now, but everything else you were feeling in that moment made it burn just as much as the first time you’d touched him. With just a light tug at his arm, he was following you to your bedroom, clutching your hand a little tighter.

“Is this better?” you asked, settling down on the bed with him.

He ducked his head, too flustered to respond. Playfully, you lifted two fingers and placed them on his neck, as if to check his pulse. You pressed down into his skin, and he nearly gasped. If it hadn’t been racing before, it certainly was now.

“I-it’s been a while,” he meekly tried to explain.

Given how his body reacted to your every little touch, you had no trouble believing it. You couldn’t deny how much it excited you, too. He was such a sweet boy; you felt a need, a hunger, to see the most intimate parts of him, to see what pleasure and vulnerability and desperation might look like on such an angelic face. You wanted to make him a part of you, to engulf him and protect him, to take on his emotions and forget about yours.

Driven by a newfound urgency, you all but crashed back into him. He met your fire with equal enthusiasm, parting his lips to let your tongue slide against his—hot and wet in a way that made the both of you shiver. Your hands began roaming again, feeling up the broad expanse of his shoulders, his chest, his arms. You palmed and squeezed at them to your heart’s content, as if to make sure the moment was real, to make sure he was real. It was still hard to fathom, that the man you’d been dreaming about for almost three months now was here in your bed.

You trailed further down in your touch, fingers sliding under his loose shirt and palms flattening against his skin. Suddenly, Chan tensed, retreating from the kiss just enough to speak, but still close enough that his lips brushed against yours with every word.

“W-wait,” he stuttered out. “I don’t…I didn’t…”

You paused, fearing for a moment that you’d misread the situation. He had said it’d been a while, after all. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he wasn’t used to moving this fast; you certainly weren’t.

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t have protection,” he warned quietly. “I-I didn’t think…”

Despite every cell in your body crying out in protest, you pulled back to get a proper look at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide and putting his longing on full display for you to see.

He seemed to be struggling with getting his sentence out, so you guessed for him. “You didn’t think this would happen?”

He averted his eyes. “Just…didn’t wanna assume anything.”

Cute, cute, cute. He was so painfully cute.

“I’m protected,” you reassured him. “You don’t have to worry.”

Even if he had brought contraceptives, against your better judgment, you weren’t quite sure if you’d be content with using them. You wanted all of him, skin on skin, every inch. Nothing else would satisfy the burn, the ache that had been burgeoning inside you since the day you’d first met him.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” you pressed your forehead against his. “Let me take care of you, Channie.”

The sound he made in response, low and needy in his throat, set something off in you. Miraculously, you managed to prevent yourself from digging your nails into his stomach, just to relieve some of the tension that was consuming your body at an alarming rate.

Instead, you took his chin between your fingers, tilting it up. “Is that okay with you?”

Chan swallowed, so hard that you could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I c-can pull out. Just tell me when, please, and I’ll listen.”

He said it so earnestly that you pressed your thighs together. You had no plans to tell him, and you got the feeling he understood that from the look in your eyes alone.

“You’re good at listening, aren’t you?” you cooed.

He nodded, eyes squeezing shut when your hand came to cradle his head. “I’ll be good for you,” he mustered up the courage to say it, grateful for the lack of eye contact. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Good for you. The words made your heart sing. He was already so good for you just existing. He was perfect for you.

“Whatever I want?” you brushed your thumb up and down his cheek. “Everything I want is already right in front of me.”

A blush crept up on his face, dusting it that unmistakable rosy shade that was so Chan. You felt his skin heating up as he nuzzled into your palm with a flustered laugh, and you took the opportunity to gently guide him down, resting his back against the bed. With bated breath, he watched you come to hover above him, his hands bunching nervously at the bedsheets. You slipped your fingers back under his shirt and began tugging it up his torso. He stiffened, but still raised himself slightly off the mattress to allow you to pull off the garment.

The moment your eyes landed on his bare upper body, he was looking away again, chest rising and falling rapidly in anticipation. You rested a hand over his left pec, feeling up the defined muscle and his heartbeat along with it.

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

Chan stammered out something that sounded vaguely like a protest, but he didn’t have the chance to finish before you were leaning down and pressing a kiss to his neck. His response was immediate, tilting his head and baring his skin to you. Your mouth traveled along his jawline and down the column of his throat, sucking and nibbling at every spot you touched. By the time you reached his collarbones, he was already squirming in barely-concealed want beneath you, and you stole a glance at him to find him biting down hard on his lip in restraint.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you dragged your teeth along the curve of his chest, and his hips shot up into you. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

“Please,” he buried his face in his hands. It was adorable, but not as adorable as the sight of embarrassment and pleasure twisting his features. So, you rested your hands over his and pulled them away, pinning his muscular arms above his head and rendering them powerless.

“You said you’d do whatever I want, right?” you began. “So, no hiding.”

His eyes glazed over with lust, so taken by how exposed he felt below you that he almost forgot to nod.

“And,” you continued, lowering yourself to speak right into his ear. “No holding back, okay? I know you have a pretty voice, let me hear it.”

“I…” for a second, he appeared at a loss for words. “O-okay.”

“Good boy,” you let go of his hands, dragging your fingers lightly down his biceps and watching him shudder. You readjusted your position to resume your earlier ministrations, kissing down the valley of his chest and fighting the temptation to sink your teeth into it—hard. You wanted nothing more than to leave his skin red and bruised and blossoming with love bites, but you knew you probably shouldn’t when any marks you made would be clear as day to his teammates during swim practice. Instead, you settled for pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his body, grazing his skin with your teeth just enough to appease yourself without leaving a lasting trace. The softness of your lips pressed against the lean ridges of his abs, making for a contrast that neither of you could get enough of.

“Such a pretty baby,” you mumbled, licking a stripe down his stomach and feeling his muscles contract under your tongue. “My pretty baby boy.”

It slipped out like an instinct, and before you could stop to wonder if it may be too much for Chan, a long, shaky moan met your ears.

Oh. He was loud.

Suddenly, his frantic attempts to suppress himself made perfect sense. You had a feeling that he hadn’t let completely loose yet, either. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought of what kind of noises you could draw out of him. You couldn’t wait much longer.

“Do you like that? Baby boy?” you asked sweetly. Chan raised his hips off the mattress as your fingers danced delicately along his sides, soothing and exciting him all at once.

“M-mhm.” It was all he could get out without making another mortifying sound.

“Tell me what you like,” you swirled your tongue around his belly button, slowly approaching his v-line. “Tell me what feels good.”

“All of it,” he gasped. “All of you.”

You smiled against his skin, and your lips found the waistband of his shorts, allowing you to see for the first time just how much he meant it. You’d been so focused on attending to his upper half that you hadn’t even thought about the state of him down there. He was hard, fully hard. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaking in his underwear by now. It almost made you feel a tinge of guilt, leaving him neglected for so long; but his building desire was palpable, and it fed into your arousal like nothing else.

Mischievously, you gave his bulge a kittenish lick. Chan all but jolted, hand flying over his mouth a moment too late to mask his hiccup.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, angel,” you promised, fingers dipping under the elastic of his waistband. “So good, you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

“Oh, God,” he whimpered. “Need you.”

“I’m right here, Channie,” you pulled his shorts down in one go, removing his underwear along with them. He hissed through his teeth as the air hit his exposed length, cooling the drops of precum that had dribbled from his tip. Carefully, you took him into your hand, licking your lips when you felt him throb at the contact.

“Poor thing,” you feigned sympathy. “You’re so worked up.”

You knew it took everything in Chan not to bury his face in the sheets. Instead, he bucked up into your grasp as a wordless plea, struggling to gain some kind of friction. His body was just as honest as he was with his words. Every subtle shift in his expression, every sensitive twitch of his body, every poorly concealed sound—they made it so easy to understand what he was feeling. He made himself so easy for you to take apart.

Gently, you gestured for him to sit up. It took him a moment to process the command, and you couldn’t help but think he looked akin to a lost puppy, blinking his foggy eyes in confusion before clumsily willing himself upright. You ushered him back until he was resting against the headboard, slipping off your own shorts and underwear and settling into his lap in one fell swoop.

“You’re not the only one, though,” you drawled, taking his cock back into your hand. You pressed his tip just barely against your heat, allowing your wetness to mix with his precum. “Do you feel it?”

A desperate groan rumbled in his chest, going straight to your core. “Y-yes. Please, let me feel you. Wanna make you feel good, too.”

You hummed playfully, circling the head of his dick around your entrance and gathering up more of your essence. His thighs jerked up against yours, a weak apology immediately following it. Just to tease him further, you stopped what you were doing and turned your attention to your own shirt, taking your sweet time in slipping it off your torso and discarding it.

The ache between your legs was almost unbearable at this point, but the way Chan’s breathing picked up when he realized what you were doing made it all worth it. You unclasped your bra from behind, letting it slip off your shoulders and exposing your bare body to him.

His stare dropped, locking on the sight of your chest with a shaky inhale. A mere few inches separated you, but he gazed at you like you were untouchable, like he could only admire you from afar. It made you giggle—even now, he was still so shy.

“Are you ready, Channie?”

He looked back up at you with a nod, and you almost wished he hadn’t, because the pure adoration swimming in his eyes effectively sent the last of your self-control crumbling.

You lined him up with your entrance and sank down on his cock all at once. The gasp you let out was only rivaled by the sound of his own cry, loud and shameless, like he himself didn’t even realize it was coming from him.

Heat rippled throughout your entire body, stronger than you’d ever felt it before. It held the exhilaration of something new, yet the intimacy of something familiar, and it set every one of your nerve endings ablaze. You clenched around Chan the moment you connected with his base, taking in his size and shape, wrapping yourself around him; all of him, just like you’d wanted.

He surged forward with another strained noise, head falling into your chest and nestling into its softness. You rested a hand on the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his curls and placing your other hand on his shoulder.

“Mine,” you whispered.

Vaguely, you heard it, timid and breathless, mumbled into your skin. “Yours. ‘M yours.”

There was no way to hide how the words affected you, not when your walls tightened around his cock in a way that made him tremble. It almost made you wonder if he knew about the burn, about the inexplicable need to make him a part of you—or, rather, to take him back as a missing part of you. Did he feel it too?

You took a few moments to calm yourself and adjust to the feeling of him buried inside you. It felt right, like he was made for you. Like you were made for each other.

Every twitch of his length tested your patience more and more, and you knew that he himself must be hanging on by a thread by now. His hands hovered awkwardly above your hips, fingers flexing as he tried to decide what to do with them.

“You wanna touch, Channie?” you urged. “Go ahead.”

He peeked up at you from where his face was burrowed, as if to ask for the permission you’d already granted. You gave him an encouraging smile, and he took hold of your waist at last, squeezing tentatively.

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

He was thanking you. You didn’t think you could conjure up a more endearing, a more devastating detail if you tried. It made your heart melt and your arousal skyrocket. You needed to ruin him.

“You’re so cute,” you purred. “Hold on tight, okay?”

He pressed the pads of his fingers a bit deeper into your flesh. Using your grip on his shoulders for leverage, you lifted yourself off his cock bit by bit, relishing in the feeling of it dragging slowly along your walls. Without missing a beat, you snapped your hips back down, both to elicit a response in Chan, and to satisfy the immediate need to be full of him again. You succeeded in both, engulfing every inch of him even tighter than before, as if your body didn’t want to let him go a second time.

“A-ah, fuck!”

It sounded so strange coming from him, sweet voice cracking with a whimper, but so, so delicious.

“Is it good, Channie?”

You repeated the action, gliding up and down with ease thanks to the arousal that was all but dripping down your thighs at this point. Each bounce coated his length with slickness, creating messy, wet sounds that were sure to make his ears burn.

“Feels like I’m on fire,” he threw his head back, mouth falling open to give you a breathtaking view. “So—ah—good. You feel so good, so warm.”

You puffed out a giggle, unable to get a word in amidst his babbling. Instead, you picked up your pace, fueled on by his reactions as the pleasure steadily overwhelmed him.

“So beautiful, I—” he gasped. “Need you.”

Your heart swelled with affection; he was already so far gone. “I’ve got you,” you ran your fingers through his hair and he practically keened. “You’re doing so well for me, Channie. You’re perfect for me.”

Half-lidded eyes blinked up at you, and he subconsciously tugged at your hips, trying to pull you closer.

“I’ll be good,” he repeated his earlier vow. “You can even be m-mean to me, I’ll be good.”

The words caught you by surprise. Still, you kept your expression calm, something to ease his mind amidst the slew of sensations clouding it. You slowed down to trace your thumb along his cheek, so delicately that if he didn’t focus hard enough, your touch would be lost on him.

“Do you want me to?”

Remembering how he’d reacted earlier, you let your hands slide down to his neck, resting them there experimentally without pressing down just yet. Chan let out a whine, the vibrations of it making your palms tingle.

“There, please,” he tilted his head even further back, bumping it against the headboard. “Wanna feel you everywhere.”

Your stomach flipped, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you wrapped your fingers completely around his throat. It was thick, pumping with life. You had to use both hands. Chan bit his lower lip in anticipation, another low whine spilling out of him.

Taking great care in your movements, you began riding him again, lifting yourself on his cock, then sliding back down just as you squeezed at the sides of his throat. You didn’t want to hurt him—not really. You just wanted to toy with him a bit, watch him squirm under your fingertips. You wanted to push him to his limit, then guide him safely right back to you.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

“Y-yes,” he managed. “I will. Promise.”

The response was so immediate, so desperate, like he was afraid you might change your mind and stop. He throbbed inside you when you applied more force to your grip, almost sounding relieved in the airy moan that escaped him. You watched, fascinated, as his face flushed a shade deeper, whether from arousal or shortness of breath, you weren’t quite sure.

To better control your grip on his neck, you halted your bouncing to switch to a slower, deliberate grinding of your hips instead. Chan jerked up beneath you, the newfound rhythm pressing your walls against his cock and making him dizzy.

You contracted your fingers around his throat repeatedly, adding and removing the slightest bit of pressure to match the rocking of your hips. His tip brushed against your sweet spot, and you let out a soft moan that only seemed to bring him closer to his breaking point.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “W-wait…slow down, please. ‘M getting close.”

“Slow down?” you tilted your head. “Why? Don’t you wanna cum, baby boy?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and you loosened your hold on his neck so he could speak properly.

“Wanna finish with you,” he slurred. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course he would have such an earnest, such an adorable reason to ask something of you—it was Chan. Even at the height of his pleasure, he was still thinking of yours, making sure you were enjoying yourself as much as he was. It spread an unbelievable warmth in your chest, different from the intense, sultry heat brewing between your bodies.

It also made you want to mess with him.

“Don’t worry, Channie,” you dragged your nails along his neck, not enough to draw blood, but enough to scratch, to make him shudder beneath you. “I feel good just watching you fall apart like this.”

His hands stayed latched to your hips, following them with every tortuous rock, but making no attempt to try and stop your movements. Despite that, his pleas didn’t let up, demanding in the sweetest, most polite of ways.

“Please,” his voice grew more frantic. “I’m really not gonna last, please, please.”

His whines chipped away at your resolve more than you let show; each one buzzing his vocal chords beneath your hands. He sounded so helpless, like he might burst into tears if he didn’t bring you to a climax with him.

“You sound so cute when you beg,” you marveled, sinking the pads of your fingers into his skin to feel his hammering heartbeat. “Maybe if you keep it up, I’ll change my mind.”

Much to Chan’s dismay, you continued your grinding, and you could see the concentration written all over his face as he fought to hold himself together. His hair had grown damp with sweat, face flushed and glistening from all his efforts. He looked so wrecked already; you could only imagine what it’d be like to see him cum.

You leaned in and kissed him. His lips were puffy and glossy and right there. It earned a cute mewl of surprise from the man, and it turned up in pitch when you took his lower lip between your teeth and nibbled. He let go of your hips to wrap his arms fully around your waist, trapping you as close as your bodies would allow.

“So—mmph—close.” His tongue slid against yours, jumbling his speech even further. “Please, please, please!”

You tugged at his plush lips one last time before breaking the kiss. “Gonna cum, angel?” You clenched around him, encouraging him to let go. “Don’t hold back. Empty inside me like a good boy.”

“Oh my God.” Chan’s whole body tensed beneath you, head dropping right back into your chest with a choked sob. You felt his cock pulse wildly inside you, and soon after, the flood of his release. Coupled with the moan that spilled out of him, drawn-out and broken and still so loud despite being muffled by your flesh, you were almost sent over the edge yourself.

“That’s it, Channie,” you played with his hair as his climax rippled through him. “Look at you, filling me up so well. Good boy, good boy.”

It was almost devious, the way you stopped moving like he’d so hopelessly been begging for, only once he’d come down from his high. He slumped against you, his pants gradually dying down into cute, content sighs. When he finally found a strong enough grip on his consciousness to speak, it came whiny, sulky.

“Not fair,” he mumbled into you. “Wanted to finish together.”

He lifted his head, and you broke out into gentle giggles. The expression on his face would’ve been one of pure bliss if it weren’t for his very prominent, very effective pout.

“Can I count this as my second win?” You tapped his nose.

He huffed, but the beginnings of a smile tugged at his features, betraying him. “Please, let me do something for you.” He glanced down at the spot you were connected, wetting his lips. It made your core clench in a way that you knew he couldn’t miss. “Let me make you feel good.”

“I do feel good, Channie,” you insisted, and you meant it. “Better than ever, actually.”

Though the guilt didn’t fade from his pleading stare and furrowed brows, he at least seemed to believe you. He studied your face for a split second longer before leaning in, nudging his nose against yours to ask for another kiss.

You could’ve easily stayed that way for the rest of the night, savoring his warmth, the fullness, the wholeness that you felt when nestled into each other in every possible way. But judging by how sensitive Chan was, you knew there was a very real chance of him getting hard again, and regardless of how much you wanted it, neither of you had the energy to go again. Reluctantly, you hoisted yourself off of his length, sharing a flustered exhale with him when some of his seed trickled out of you and dripped on to his thigh.

Ten minutes later, the two of you were laid side by side in your bed, staring at the ceiling with your hands brushing delicately against each other.

“This…” Chan spoke up suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “This isn’t a usual thing for me.”

You couldn’t deny the relief you felt upon hearing it. The answer to a question that had been floating in the back of your mind without you even realizing. It was selfish—meaningless, too—but you felt it all the same.

You were well past the point of pretending like your relationship with Chan was something ordinary, anyway. Whatever existed between you, it was magnetic and burning and inevitable, almost like you had no choice in the matter. In fact, that had to be the case, because if you’d had a choice, you certainly wouldn’t have let yourself fall into him so hard, or so fast.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

You heard the sheets rustle next to you. “Really?”

“Really.”

There was the faintest smile in his voice as he continued, and it made you wonder if he was indulging in the same, selfish satisfaction as you. It wouldn’t be a surprise, considering the way he seemed to mirror even the most intimate parts of you— parts that you barely even knew of until you saw them reflected in him.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I…I’m never so…quick?” You could tell he was trying to choose his words carefully, but there was only so much he could do when his emotions were still running high and his head was still in a haze. “It can take months, e-even longer sometimes, for me to—”

“I don't think you’re easy, Channie,” you teased. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You turned your head, just in time to see that rosy tint spread across his cheeks, still visible even in the dim light. It was a sight you might get addicted to.

“I just want you to know that this means something to me,” he said softly.

Something gripped you, dropped a pebble in the calm surface of your lake. You didn’t have much time to think about it though, to worry about finding a window to break out of before you were past the point of no return. For tonight, you let yourself lean fully into that persistent flame.

“It means something to me too,” you murmured. “I wouldn’t have done this with anyone but you.”

Chan let out a shy hum, going quiet for a bit before stroking your pinky finger with his.

“So,” he began. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

You tensed slightly in your spot. You’d hoped he would’ve forgotten about it by now, or, at least, been too busy basking in the afterglow to bring it up again so soon. The endorphins that had been flooding through your system ebbed just a bit. This moment was too precious to sully by thinking about it—about him.

Suddenly, it felt all too reminiscent of what had transpired exactly one year ago; the first and last time you’d ever tried talking to anyone about the loss of your friend. It had been with someone you’d thought you loved, someone you’d thought loved you. And maybe, he really had believed that he loved you, too. You’d never know, now.

Imbalanced didn’t even begin to describe it. Imbalance was the balance of your relationship; you’d provide everything, and he’d take it all. The roles had come so naturally to the both of you that you’d never once questioned them, or where they might lead you.

He needed comfort, you liked comforting him. He needed support, you liked supporting him. He needed someone to depend on, you liked being depended on. Equal exchange, the perfect dynamic on paper, and—for the most part—it had worked. You didn’t really have the chance to notice how thin you were stretching yourself, because he was happy, and that made you happy.

One simple question was enough to shake that foundation, however, enough to expose how fragile it all really was and send it toppling to the ground in the ugliest of ways. A question that, in all its simplicity, hadn’t crossed your mind until you were all but forced to confront it last summer.

If your relationship was built solely on your ability to accommodate him, what happened when you couldn’t accommodate him anymore?

You were always encouraged with the most deceptively sweet words to open up to him, to share your thoughts and feelings and troubles the same way he did with you. But every single time without fail, his reaction made you want to seal your mouth shut, never to have the audacity to utter a single word about yourself again.

“I regret asking” or, “Well, now I’m just depressed” or, “Let’s talk about something else” or, sometimes, even nothing at all. You soon came to find that the role you had taken on wasn’t just to his benefit, it was to your detriment. You were a mere footnote in his happiness, and nothing could ever break that mold.

“My best friend died.”

“Oh,” he’d said. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s horrible.”

You’d nodded, sensing instantly that you would’ve felt better if you’d kept quiet.

“I don’t really know what to say.”

You shut your eyes, unsure of what you’d expected from him in the first place. It was pathetic, anyway, to hope for words of comfort that you knew would be hollow. Nothing could’ve made it okay, especially not anything he could offer you.

“That’s okay,” you replied. “You don’t have to say anything.”

A deep breath, and then, a glimpse of weakness.

“Just…stay with me, please.”

The request had sounded so unnatural coming out of your mouth, like it was a phrase you were learning to say in a foreign tongue for the first time. You winced at yourself, but it was already too late to take back.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

The two of you had sat in silence for some time. It could’ve been seconds or hours, and you wouldn’t have known the difference. His hand rested on your back for part of it, running up and down in a motion that you used to calm him down when he was upset. Eventually, though, he seemed to have decided it was a lost cause and awkwardly removed it.

You still weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to hold back your tears that day. But your sniffling and sobbing being the only sound echoing throughout the deathly silent room had been the last thing you’d wanted; you already felt vulnerable enough just letting him see you like that. You didn’t want to break in front of him, and you were certain he didn’t want you to either. A crack in you meant the absolute shattering of him.

After shifting around uncomfortably in his spot for a few moments, he finally spoke up.

“Maybe this isn’t the best time, but does that mean tomorrow’s off?”

It took several seconds for you to process the question. You wondered, briefly, if you’d imagined it at first, or if he really was just that horribly out of touch with reality—with you as a human being.

You wanted to glare at him, to ask him why that would even be something to consider right now, let alone ask about, but miraculously, you’d restrained yourself.

“Yeah. I might need a few days.”

More silence, and then you felt his weight lift from the cushions next to you. He avoided eye contact as you raised your head to look at him.

“I should probably go.”

A pang in your chest. “Why?”

Please don’t. You’d desperately wanted to add.

“I feel bad. Like, I shouldn't be here,” he mumbled. “Just…let me know when you’re feeling better, alright? Love you.”

And then he left.

A few days later, he’d texted you like he always did. No question of how you were, no condolences, and most definitely no apology. He’d said he missed you—which, you’d come to learn long ago, was never just an honest expression of attachment when it came to him. It was a signal, a sort of code to let you know there was something he needed from you. He didn’t just miss you, he missed what you could do for him.

Another week passed, and you’d broken up with him. It was unusually cold of you, doing something so drastic through text, but you couldn’t find it in you to even leave your apartment, let alone face the maelstrom of emotions that were sure to unleash if you’d met him in person. You’d experienced it once before, the first time you’d tried to end things. Crying, begging, apologizing, all so profuse yet so hollow.

The second time, his guilting and false assurances hadn’t worked, or rather, they might have if it weren’t for the distance between you. If you’d tested your conviction in front of his distraught, teary face, swearing that he wouldn’t be able to live without you, you weren’t so sure you could’ve gone through with it. He looked so innocent, so harmless, you’d never guess that he’d be the one to suck the life out of you without a care in the world.

When the usual tactics didn’t work, he’d resorted to anger. In a way, you understood—he was hurt, and no matter how hard you tried to spell it out for him, he simply couldn’t comprehend all the ways he’d hurt you first. He hadn’t done anything, but that was exactly the problem.

As much as you wished you could’ve brushed it off, it had stuck with you. The accusations that you were a liar, a manipulator who promised him boundless love and care only to rip it away with cruel indifference once he’d come to rely on it. Even now, you weren’t entirely sure if he’d been wrong, and that in itself was enough to make you want to lock away your heart and toss out the key for good.

But here, you had Chan. The boy who could be carrying the entire world on his shoulders, and still offer to take some of the weight off of yours. The boy who could be struggling to keep his own head afloat, and still pass you his life preserver without a second thought. The more time you’d spent around him, the more you’d come to witness firsthand just how much he did for everyone, even people he wasn’t particularly close with—from small, thoughtful acts that might go unnoticed, to favors so arduous that they left him physically and mentally drained. All with the sweetest of smiles on his face.

You wanted to be the reason for his smile, not for his weariness.

“I told you,” you said lightly. “I just wanted to see you.”

“C’mon,” Chan giggled. “I know it’s more than that.”

You wondered just how much he knew. You wondered if he knew better than anyone else. Despite the complicated thoughts unfolding within you, you grinned, turning on your side to look at him. “I promise I’ll tell you later, okay?” You held out your pinky for good measure. “Right now, I don’t wanna focus on anything but this.”

Chan curled his finger around yours, the glow in his eyes rivaling the moonlight peeking through your blinds. You must’ve thought about how beautiful he looked a million times throughout the night, but now, faced with his tousled curls and his puffy lips—still reddened from all your kissing and biting—and his gaze that was watching you like you’d put the stars in the sky, it was all you could think about. He made it so easy, you mused, to focus on nothing on him.

You tried to snap yourself out of it. He was sweaty, he was sticky, most importantly, he was exhausted. He must be uncomfortable, laying in all the heat and perspiration that had accumulated in those sheets—thirsty, too. You unhooked your pinky from his and rolled off the bed with a bit too much haste, catching his attention.

His expression changed as he watched you rise to full standing, taking some time to stretch your spent muscles before searching around for your discarded top.

“Oh. Should I get going?”

It came quiet, demure, and it made you whip your head around.

“What?”

Chan paused, uncertain. “I-I mean…do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” you said instantly, just short of sharp. You were almost afraid to, but regardless, you asked, “Unless…you want to?”

“No,” his reply came just as fast. “Not at all.”

You had half a mind to ask him why he would even think you’d want him gone, especially given the conversation you’d just had, but you were too distracted by the look of pure bewilderment on his face. You didn’t understand it, nor did you like it.

“I’m just getting a washcloth and some water,” your voice softened, and it seemed to get through to him, at least.

“Oh,” he repeated. “Okay.”

It was followed by a small, bashful nod that eased your concerns just a bit. You padded to your bathroom and shut the door behind you, trying not to keep him waiting for too long as you cleaned yourself up and prepared a towel for him. His eyes followed you curiously when you stepped out and passed him on your way to the kitchen, retrieving two water bottles before finally joining him on your bed once more.

There was a short delay when you offered the water bottle to Chan. He blinked at it, as if it were some kind of unknown object, before thanking you quietly and accepting it from your hands. You told yourself he was probably still just a bit dazed, but it was hard to ignore the tinge of worry that pricked your mind.

As he tilted his head back to drink, your eyes fell down to his neck, admiring the way his throat bobbed with every gulp of water. The skin around it was blooming with noticeable, red marks along the lines you’d dragged your fingernails. It made you cringe slightly at yourself. You must've been more lost in the heat of the moment than you’d thought.

“How do you feel?” you checked once he’d downed half the bottle. “Does it hurt?”

You gestured to his neck, and he raised a hand to brush his fingers over the tender skin. “It doesn’t hurt,” he gave you a reassuring half-smile before adding, “I like it.”

You tried not to let the words affect you, to make you pounce at him and take him all over again. Instead, you took hold of the washcloth you’d prepared and pressed it to his neck. The water you’d soaked it in was warm, but it still felt cool to the touch when pressed against his burning flesh. He sighed contently, eyes drooping as you rubbed the reddened areas, taking great care not to irritate them further.

“Wanna lie down for me, Channie?”

“Ah…” He looked away, already leaning back despite the hesitance in his voice. “I-it’s okay, you really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you said simply.

Chan seemed to sense the sincerity behind it, as he laid himself out the mattress without any further objections. Sheepish, but willing. Carefully, you began dabbing the towel at his face, wiping away the sweat from his forehead and making his eyes flutter shut. His muscles visibly relaxed as you moved further down his body, rubbing his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his hips—you left no inch unaccounted for. The warm water you’d soaked the washcloth in calmed his every nerve-ending, so soothing, it almost distracted from how hyperaware he was of your every touch.

His breath caught in his throat when you brushed over his thigh to clean up the mix of fluids that had begun to dry up on his skin, legs threatening to squeeze shut.

“You’re so sensitive,” you remarked.

He shifted slightly, an awkward chuckle escaping him. “Sorry.”

“It’s cute,” you gave him one last once-over before removing your hand, satisfied. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Really good.” he blinked up at you lazily, a silent invitation for you to stop fussing over him and settle down next to him in the sheets at last.

You placed the washcloth on your nightstand, collapsing into the plush pillows with a sigh of your own. Chan scooted closer to you within seconds and, chest swelling with fondness, you opened your arms for him to nestle into. Even in all your intimacy, the two of you still couldn’t get enough of each other, filling every curve and gap between your bodies and interlocking your legs. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head before wrapping your arms around him, leaving no room for doubt that you wanted him there.

“Good night, Channie.”

“G’night,” it was barely audible, but even so, you could still hear the faint tremor in his voice. “I…thank you.”

Your eyes flickered down to him one last time before sleep overtook you. For a fleeting moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a wet gleam brimming in the corners of his eyes.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

In retrospect, going out to buy groceries on a Sunday afternoon probably wasn’t your smartest move.

After you and Chan had awoken the morning prior—or, just you, you weren’t sure how much sleep he had really gotten—groggy and ravenous only to find an alarming lack of food in your apartment, you wanted to restock as soon as possible. In your defense, you hadn’t been home for over a week, and even before that, you’d been spending a considerable amount of your time out and about with Chan or at his apartment. Still, it was embarrassing enough for you to not want a repeat of the situation, especially given how often you’d make a point to scold him and Changbin for not eating substantial meals.

You’d trudged to the nearest convenience store with a list of basic necessities typed out in the notes of your phone, only to soon discover that you’d be lucky to find anything you were looking for judging by how packed the place was. The state of most shelves was enough to make you think people must be preparing for some kind of apocalypse unbeknownst to you. Frowning, you made your way over to the prepared meals section, hoping to at least find something to get you through the next few days. As you maneuvered past the suffocating amounts of people, the sight of a familiar face across one of the aisles stopped you in your tracks.

A sharp, sculpted nose bridge, eyelashes swooping out like a ski slope, and a slight lean in his posture. Lee Minho. You hadn't expected him to even be back in town yet, let alone to be running the same foolish errand as you at this hour (all for the sake of cola, apparently, if the ridiculously large stash in his basket was any indication).

He seemed to have noticed you just a split second before you did him, fixing you with a stare so sharp that you had to blink a few times to make sure you weren’t imagining it.

You weren’t.

His eyes were dark and unwavering, boring into you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were the only two people in the store—and not in the romantic, heart-fluttering kind of way. It was more like everyone else had scattered the instant they’d sensed the tension, leaving you to fend for yourself under a glare that singled you out with an almost predatory accuracy. You waited for the reveal, the cheeky smirk that always followed, but it never came.

Oh.

Minho didn’t like you.

He really, really didn’t like you.

You felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. At the same time, however, he’d never really given you a reason to, and you liked to think you weren’t dense enough to completely miss it if he had. Suddenly, you found yourself re-evaluating every interaction you’d ever had with the guy, scanning and analyzing your conversations down to the most minute of details to try and recall if that same coldness he was emitting now had ever been present before. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken to him, just a week into summer break before he’d gone home. The two of you had started up a short, innocuous chat about the current anime he was watching, and outside of his very serious claims that it was undoubtedly the best of the season, nothing else about it really stood out to you.

You’d even taken his suggestion and watched it in your free time—one of the many, many distractions implemented in your visit home—and you’d planned on sharing your thoughts with him when you saw each other again. With the look he was giving you now, though, like he hoped you might spontaneously combust if he focused hard enough, you got the feeling he wasn’t exactly interested in hearing what you had to say.

Minho turned his head, preparing to leave the aisle without acknowledging you any further. Despite every one of your instincts telling you not to, you followed him, too consumed by curiosity to ignore whatever kind of message he’d been trying to send with just his eyes. You needed to test things out, to be absolutely sure. You needed to know what had changed since the last time you’d spoken to him.

Well, realistically, you knew what had changed. One very major, very undeniable thing had changed. But that couldn’t be it—could it?

“Hey, Minho!”

He might not have bothered stopping if it weren’t for an older woman passing in front of him with an overloaded cart. You squeezed past the rows of people as quickly and respectfully as you could, managing to catch up with him just in time.

It was a bit harder, you noted right away, to mitigate the effects of his stone-faced expression up close. He gave you a terse nod.

“Hey.”

“You’re back in town?”

His face changed just barely, trading out stoicism for something a bit more amused. “Very observant.”

You forced out a light laugh for the sake of extending the conversation, just long enough to get a proper read on him. “How was your vacation?”

“Fine,” he shrugged, adjusting his grip on his basket. “Not long enough.”

“I feel that,” you made a noise of sympathy, as if you hadn’t spent the past two months counting down the days until the fall semester began.

“How about you?” he was at least polite enough to return your question, but for some reason, it didn't really sound like he was asking. “Had fun?”

You barely caught it—a sneer. He definitely knew. It made your stomach flip a bit, if you were being honest, but you managed to keep a straight face.

“Yeah,” you replied evenly. “Me, Chan, and Felix made the most of it.”

“I’m sure.”

In your efforts to talk to him, you seemed to have accidentally stumbled into some kind of one-sided staring contest with this guy, because he hadn’t broken eye contact even once from the moment you’d strided up to him.

“It’s a shame,” he continued casually. “That you won’t be coming over anymore.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on using Chan as a tutor this semester, too?”

Something about the way he said it, the way he phrased it, made it difficult for you to keep up your composed front.

“Of course not. He’s done enough for me already.”

“Good,” Minho hummed, and though it appeared to be in agreement, it only put you further on edge. “He’s graduating after this term—you know that, right? So, playing hero for you is the last thing he needs.”

You narrowed your eyes. For a brief moment, you wondered if he might actually be jealous of you, if he somehow saw you as some kind of threat. But you dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came—the look Minho was giving you wasn’t of someone who was threatened, it was the look of someone who was threatening you.

“Why are you talking to me like that?”

“Like what?” he cocked his head innocently.

“Like I’ve done something wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he dismissed. “Maybe it’s just your guilty conscience?”

You wanted to be annoyed, to call him out for how he was behaving in a way that he couldn’t twist. The problem was, he was being so fucking weird. You couldn’t even fully understand what he was trying to get at, or what his angle was. You weren’t even sure if he had an angle outside of just trying to get a rise out of you.

The corner of his lips curved up into a smirk. Just like the day you’d first met him, it was pure trouble, only now, it was missing the playfulness you’d come to know.

“What’s with that face?” he chuckled. “I’m only joking.”

Whatever this situation was, you decided you’d had enough of it.

“You’re usually funnier than that,” you said curtly.

At that, you dipped your head, stepped to the side, and walked past him, determined not to let the strange feeling bubbling up inside you reach the surface.

Minho’s stare followed you as you stalked off, piercing into your back. Even after you’d rounded the corner into another aisle, the chill of it lingered on your skin.

#bang chan x reader #skz x reader #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!bang chan #sub!skz #dom!reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #sub!chan #stray kids x reader #bang chan x you

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axelsagewrites · 5 months

Text

Jamie Tartt*Famous

Pairing: Jamie x reader

Word count: 1841

Warnings: mentions of football related hate but nothing graphic, angst/breakup but everything’s happy by the end

Masterlist Here

Dating a famous footballer was not exactly something you’d ever planned on. You were never into football especially when you saw what it could cause. You remember being five years old crawled up crying as your relatives gathered round the television shouting and swearing because their team missed the penalty. Then you got older and found out the even worse things some men did because of a missed kick.

But somehow you ended up dating ‘the’ Jamie Tartt. Though you didn’t even know who he was when you met him. He was just a boy, and you were just a girl both sitting alone in a bar. Jamie had been nursing a pint for an hour when you came in and his jaw about dropped. However, he’d sworn to himself when ted told him last night, he could come back to Richmond he’d fix his act so he didn’t pounce like he usually would.

“Can I get a vodka lemonade please?” He heard you from across the bar and he could practically hear the sweetness in your voice.

The bar however gradually got busier and when Jamie returned from the bathroom, he realised there was only one seat left and it was next to you. “d’you mind if I sit? Just someone stole my seat,” he asked, suddenly realising how nervous he was for no reason.

You turned around and smiled at him before nodding to the seat, “Yeah sure. It’s pretty busy,”

“Tell me about it. Hate crowds sometimes. Make my head feel all fuzzy,” he smiled at the way you giggled not even caring if you were laughing at him. “Watcha want?” He asked after ordering his own drink and you hesitated for a moment, “Cmon, no strings or nothing. Just a drink. Vodka lemonade maybe?”

You laughed lightly and nodded, turning to the lady, “Yeah one of them please,” you turned back to Jamie as she worked on your drinks. “Its nice to meet you…” you said, words trailing off till Jamie finally realised you were asking his name.

“Jamie,” he said, sticking his hand out for what turned into a half awkward half laughy handshake that then turned into you both chatting till last call and Jamie walking you home.

Somehow his job hadn’t came up. It was partially because you had made a joke about hating football on your second date but also because Jamie was enjoying the normalcy of it all. Even if it meant when he spotted a paparazzi, he would very suddenly drag you away to a random shop or restaurant, putting up his hoodie to ruin their shot.

However eventually he had to tell you. He hadn’t put his hood up quick enough and their plastered on a magazine was Jamie holding your hand walking through London. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, staring at yourself on the magazine in shock.

“You never asked?” He offered with a sorry smile, “I wanted to love but I just,” he sighed, “I didn’t want you to judge me or that. Cause I really like you,” he reached out to take your hand as you both sat on your couch.

You gave him a small smile, stroking your thumb over his hand, “So is this something that happens all the time? Pap’s following us around? Do people come up to you in the street and stuff?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged since to Jamie this was just life, but he didn’t know at this point what was normal, “I mean like they’re pretty easy to ignore most the time,”

“Its just weird. I mean I’m on a magazine,” you said, eyes wide as you gestured to the glossy paper, “I never thought I’d end up being just some WAG,”

Jamie scoffed, “Babe you’re way more than a WAG,” he said as he put an arm around your shoulder, “You’re my girl. That is if you’ll still have me?”

“Of course, I will Jamie. It’ll just take me some time to get used to,”

However now the press knew you existed the paparazzi weren’t exactly easy to ignore. It was one thing being followed around with Jamie but one of them was waiting outside your work last week asking if you were another fling or if the pregnancy rumours were true. His comments sent you into a complete spiral with Jamie coming over to try comfort you.

“He was just rude Jamie,” you sniffled into his chest.

“I know baby,” he tried to comfort you as he stroked your back, “It’ll be okay. You get used to it really and they’re not all that bad. Promise,” he said as he kissed the top of your head.

“I just wish,” you sighed, “that you’d told me in the first place,”

“What difference would it have made?” Jamie asked however your lack of response made him worry as he pulled back to look at your face, “Would you have said no? When I asked you to be my girlfriend. Would you have said no if you knew?”

You opened your mouth to speak but you struggled to get the words out. “I don’t know,” you managed to choke out, “I just don’t know if I can deal with this. I’m not good with attention let alone paparazzi following me. I never asked for any of this Jamie,” you began to ramble. “I like you I really do. But it’s a lot, okay?”

Jamie sighed however he almost cried when you pulled yourself out of his arms, “I like you too, but football is my job. It’s my life,”

“And I would never want you to give that up,” you said instantly, reaching for his hand, “Maybe we should just take a break? That way I can I don’t ease into it? Or like I don’t know just wrap my head around it,”

Jamie felt himself freeze in his seat. He nodded slowly before standing up, “Okay if that’s what you need,”

“I’m sorry Jamie. I really am,” you said, standing to follow him as he headed for the doors.

Jamie nodded once more as he reached for the handle, “Its not your fault. I should’ve told ya,”

“Jamie,” you said but he’d already opened the door. “We aren’t over its just…”

“Just a break,” he said, nodding his confirmation before walking out the door but you felt your heart shatter as the door shut.

Even though the paparazzi had stopped, and two weeks had gone by you still felt absolutely awful. You hadn’t seen Jamie in real life but suddenly you were seeing him on the news and his name on the back of kid’s jerseys. You began to wonder if it was for the best but every reminder of him stung.

Neither one of you had texted the other. You’d not heard from him at all since you left. Until yesterday when you got an email confirmation from Richmond fc with a ticket reserve confirmation in the buyer’s box under the name Tartt. The game was tomorrow, and you spent the whole day and yesterday debating if you would go. Eventually you decided not to.

However today when you woke up the first thing you saw was an article about the match going on today. Richmond was playing some team you’d never heard of but then again you only knew who Richmond were because you lived a 15-minute walk away from the stadium. The game was supposed to start at twelve. As your eyes fell to the clock that read 10:48 you finally made up your mind.

You’ve never gotten ready so quick in your life and you were practically running out your flat at 11:35 and half sprinting to Richmond. However, you had no idea how to collect the tickets and the ticket man at the counter looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, so you just bought a seat instead.

You were ushered inside alongside hundreds of rowdy football fans decked out in Richmond gear. You did your best to find your seat and thanked the gods when you saw it was at the end of the aisle. It was three rows up from the front and you quickly realised right next to the thing the footballers came out of.

You felt your smile almost split your face when you watched Jamie walk out of the tunnel in his uniform, but he didn’t see you. As they turned to wave to the crowds the whole crowd jumped up so there was no chance, he heard you screaming his name alongside everyone else.

As the game started you actually found yourself enjoying it as you screamed and cheered alongside the football fans as Jamie scored another goal. It was 2-2 thanks to Jamie and you’d never felt prouder. “Cmon Jamie!” You screamed but you weren’t even the loudest as he ran down the pitch with the ball.

He passed to another player. Him to another. Back to Jamie. Now to someone up the field and then, “GOAL!” The crowd began to cheer and a few seconds later the final whistle rung. Everyone began to jump up and down and you quickly joined them as you jumped up clapping as you did so. The team were all smiles, well apart from a really big hairy guy, as they headed for the tunnel. Jamie however wasn’t smiling as he wore a look of concern.

Your eyes however were locked on Jamie. He however was looking up at the buyer’s box waiting to see you. However, it wasn’t until his eyes fell, thinking you were officially over when he saw you. His smile suddenly appeared, beaming brightly as he stopped in his tracks.

“Woo!” You cheered, clapping even harder. You could never quite predict Jamie. No one could. Not even Jamie thought he was going to do what he was about to do.

He ran for the stands, throwing himself up and climbing over the wall. The crowd was going mental, but your cheers stopped but the smile on your face didn’t as he ran up the stairs, ignoring the fans trying to pat him on the back.

“Hey,” he breathed out with a wide grin.

“Hi,” you giggled right back at him as you stepped forward. You could hear his team yelling at him and a ref coming but neither of you cared as his arm wrapped around your back and his head began to dip.

God you’d missed these lips. Your hand went to the back of his neck as the crowd whooped and hollered. Jamie pulled back as a ref rang a sharp whistle in his ear. “Call me yeah?” He said just before the hairy guy from his team pulled him halfway down the stairs.

“Yeah sure,” You laughed as he was forced back down the stairs and out the tunnel, somehow only receiving a yellow card. It may not be how you planned it, but you were certainly never gonna let Jamie go again. Youd already made that mistake once.

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gkutfdvnn · 8 months

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It had been quite the summer, some friends of mine had rented some new apartment and we all decided to chip in to wallpaper and paint all the different rooms. Though some of us complained that it was too hard a job and exhausting, I found that it was quite easy. The four rooms were shared between the six of us, first we would do the three bedrooms in groups of two and then the kitchen all together. Luckily I had been paired with Frank, he had already started his own painting business and walked me through every step, taking off the wallpaper before putting the new one with glue. Eventually Dylan, Bryan and Chris whom the apartment belonged to, and Jeff, to had asked for his help, after making sure I could finish alone. Eventually after three days we were all finished wallpapering and painting the bedrooms and decided to take a one day break. Mark complimented me on my work, stating that I had put the wallpaper perfectly on and that the paint looked great, jokingly asking if I would join his business. That's when Bryan and Chris chimed in, suggesting that we could finish the kitchen, against pay of course.

That's how Mark and I ended up doing the kitchen together, I didn't mind the extra money, and he seemed to be used to the job. Since he had already walked me through the different steps we were quick to work, we had plenty of time to hang out and chill. When it came time to pay, Chris suggested he could transfer all the money to Mark, who then could issue me a check. Just wanting to go home I promptly agreed and we left it at that.

That's when to my surprise I received a letter, with my check, through Marks business, stating me as an employee and worker. I sent him a short message explaining the mistake before heading out towards the bus station, leaving for my afternoon classes.

Mark's response came in the middle of the ride, apologizing for the mistake and joking that it wouldn't be so bad to have me as a worker, he then assured me that he would fix the mistake immediately. I laughed through my nose and thanked him, bending myself forward to grab what would have been my bag, except that in its place instead stood a big black gym bag. I looked to my left and to my right, maybe it had slipped to one side or the other while the bus was turning. There were few people sitting around me and my bag was nowhere to be seen. None of them looked like the gym bag could belong to them. That's when I noticed it had my name written on it.

Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the bag. Inside layed some well folded change clothes that seemed a bit too big for me. Some lunch and an axe spray. The smell of fresh paint hit me strong and I had to lift my head up to sneeze. At the same time my feet felt cramped inside my shoes. At first I stretched my legs thinking it would help with the pain. But then it seemed to travel up my calves and into my thighs. My brown shoes bulged and turned softer, lighting up before taking the appearance of beaten and used white sneakers. The shoes appeared slightly bigger yet both my feet seemed to fit perfectly. Next my calves and thighs cramped again. I spread them further apart helping with the pain as I noticed my legs taking a bit more space on my seat. My beige pants became looser and thicker, the texture changing from cotton to synthetic fabric. New thicker seams appeared above my knee and around the growing pockets giving them the same look as those pants Mark wore most of the time. The clean pants were rapidly becoming dirty and used, white splotches and streams of dried paint appeared on the cloth.

I looked around me worrying about what was happening to me, but none of the other passengers seemed to notice or even bother as my whole body changed. I caught my reflection on the windows, my black hair was lighting and gaining a brown hue as it shortened and thinned. More changes happened to my face, my jaw got thicker and my noise pointer and thinner. The blue of my eyes vanished behind a beautiful rich brown as memories of my life were altered. Knowledge about economics, politics and sociology faded while I could remember working for Mark. Tattoos grew on my right arm as both my upper body and biceps grew firm. My hands and finger were wriggling as they grew thick and calloused making it look like I did a lot of manual labor. That's when it hit me. Mark was actually making me one of his employees ! I scrambled for my phone as fast as I could, finding in its place a smaller and older IPhone with earpods, I swiped across the screen and opened my messages as most of my known friends had simply vanished from my contact lists, I couldn't even find the last conversation with Mark. That's when it hit me. He must be the one labelled as "Boss".

I wanted to press on the writing symbol, yet I froze. It didn't make sense for me to write my boss out of the blue, except for emergencies. I closed my phone again and spread my legs apart as I lifted my arms to put them behind my head. A tan complexion washed over my skin as I closed my eyes to listen to the music. All I had to worry about was doing a good job.

#male transformation #muscle tf #male tf

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edensown · 4 months

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BE KIND TO ME. ; perfect landing —

note ★ a little something to get me out there while i continue designing my account . an introduction to what my blog will mainly focus on : human readers ;)

cw ★ reader grew up religious, mostly second person point of view.

in which a human falls so low that their lord can no longer hear them; so they have to make do with what they have.

if there was any sound familiar to you , it was the kyrie.

"kyrie eleison," a cantor sang at every mass; lord have mercy. sang to remind people the steadfast love of God, to remind them of His mercy. it is also, indirectly or not, a plead. you've always thought of it as one; a plead to ensure that when push comes to shove, and death comes above to collect you— it is peaceful. you're not angry, or sad, you're just... at peace. that's what you've always wished for yourself, atleast. that's what you've always wished for during the kyrie.

"kyrie eleison," they sang, you closed your eyes.

"christé eleison," they sang, you swayed to the tone.

"kyrie eleison." they sang, and you wished.

lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me.

all you remember is falling.

falling down, and down, and down— past the soils of the earth and each their layers, past the searing innercore, likely, because you felt yourself burning. whether the fire was burning inside of you, or just burning you, you don't know. you brace yourself. your breath is ragged. you're laced with sweat, rubble, and you reek of fear.

lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me.

you wish again, but you don't know if the lord can hear you from so low.

you land.

it is not on rough terrain, thankfully, but it's not on soft terrain either. you're confident you're supposed to be dead right now, that was a painfully hard landing. you recoil, taking a fetal position as you groan in absolute agony because what in the world did you just land on?! your vision is blurry, and black splots take up half your vision—lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me, lord, please; you beg incessantly.

you look at what you landed on.

recently waxed tiles...?

this is outrageous.

the demon prince stolas sat across you. the height difference was astronomical— you had been taught not to lie, under any circumstances, not even this one. the height difference was astronomical and astronomically attractive. you glance around, surveying your surroundings (his legitimate palace) and trying not to lose your mind because out of all the places you could've landed on, why did you, a human, have to land in hell?

he found you in a fetal position, comatose & dirtying his immaculate floors with your humanity. from afar, he thought you were an abandoned nestling, a little owlet discarded by its mother. he pitied you, mercy filling him (not really his favorite thing to be filled with, however anyone who saw you and had atleast a bit of heart left would be able to empathize) in a rush as he took ahold of your small body in his hands.

he dropped you as soon as he held you, feathers puffing up as he stiffened. your body fell with a thump. in stolas's mind, there was but one thing:

what the fuck did blitzø do?

"blitzø ! you're going to get me in deep, deep shit because of this — who are you to think that sending a human to my palace would be a good idea ? do you know how many employees I have?! they—"

"woah, woah, woah ! calm the fuck down , stolas , I didn't fuckin' do nothing alright ? I don't know why the fuck a human somehow landed on your balcony — but hey ! atleast your tiles aren't broken from the impact of their fall ! seriously though . I don't know what the hell you're talking about ."

"then who?!—" stolas groaned. "you know what ? nevermind. fine. just send the book over and I'll send them back home." he resolved, planning to end your time here as soon as possible, so that when you do arrive in hell next time, you arrive the way you're meant to. it would be an easy fix, after all. an outlandish situation, but nonetheless easy.

"i cannot send you back to earth." were the first words stolas told you. you didn't know whether or not you were hallucinating, considering there is no way a tall, skinny owl would be able to talk. nor were you supposed to be any where but earth; that is, until you arrived to heaven. like you were meant to. right. right?

no.

he can't even send you back to earth. a demon prince with a grimoire capable of sending demons to earth, where they don't belong, can't seem to send a human back to their home. that is so messed up, that is so crazy, you are about to cry. you don't even know his name , but you know his features. you know his capabilities, not through your own knowledge however— because he was kind enough to tell you himself. would he be kind enough to shelter you? or would that be below him?

"prince stolas..." you start, he cocks his head to your direction. "you say your grimoire can send hellspawn to earth, why can it not bring humans back to it?" you think aloud, raspy voice still hoarse from screaming the first few minutes you were falling down. he tilts his head, you don't know how else to describe his body expression but ... owl-like. "you are curious, I suppose all humans are. the answer is simple: you're resisting the spell." he told you. your eyes bulged.

no way would you reject a spell to get you outta here.

"it's not you that's rejecting it, really," he hears your thoughts now! can he hear thoughts? is that what demon princes can do? "it's you, but its more something in you. as if you're meant to do something here." his tone is still even. "I will admit, what I will offer is uncharacteristically risky of me— but i cant help but pity you. so, I will offer you my hospitality." he sipped tea as your jaw dropped—tears threatening to pour as you felt your lips quiver at even the mere thought of your situation.

"I know it's scary, infact i do not favor this situation myself, but you will be taken care of, and under the protection of a goetia— you're secure." he assured, trying to appear less Intimidating as you shivered in absolute horror. there was never a scripture in the Bible about this, not that you know of— you don't know anything.

you didn't know how popular you'd be here.

you didn't know what they had in store for you, either.

you didn't know anything.

lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me.

— @edensown

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toshidou · 1 year

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woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . .

pairing // könig x f!reader

word count // 7.2k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, vampire!könig, predator/prey kink, mentions of blood and injury, minor elements of horror (very minor), slightly misunderstood lonely vampire könig, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, creampie, biting, blood sucking, blood play

an // after battling with writers block for over a month, who would have thought it'd take a blood sucking giant to free me from the shackles of having no inspiration? anyway this is the most i've ever written in one day, which is only slightly concerning. bone apple teeth!

thank you to @erosology for beta reading this, and forever being my number one hype man ;-;

Pale moonlight peaks through a frame of eerily still clouds, reflecting off the polished black steel planted in the ground at your feet. You can hear the whispers of your friends behind you, a little too old to be snickering and giggling behind the palms of their hands, although you’re entirely too old to have taken their bet in the first place.

It started off as a simple reunion between old friends, a short trek into once familiar woods to the spot you used to set up base for the night, roasting marshmallows over a concerningly large campfire, sharing cliche horror stories whilst swaddled in blankets. This very night had gone about the same, until someone brought up the old manor. An imposing house that watches over the village that surrounds it, well kept and suspiciously pristine, withstanding the tests of time despite the fact that not a single soul has ever been seen to enter or leave the premises.

It had been a longstanding dare, an easy way to get someone to down their drink, ‘I dare you to jump the fence and knock on the door’. No one has ever been stupid enough to go through with it, a couple tried, but got as far as the black iron that surrounds the perimeter before they gave up. And yet, here you stand, too many years later, an individual who should be both older and wiser than to commit several crimes for the sake of a stupid bet and childish curiosity, staring at that very same railing.

You can hardly hear the whispered words of your friends from where they cower behind you, your eyes transfixed on the looming building that seemingly stares back at you from where you remain fixed at the bottom of the hill. Mahogany brick unblemished, barely touched by weather, towers three stories high, trimmed ivy crawling up the walls as though attempting to reach out to the moon that watches over it. Each window is blocked by scarlet wooden shutters, an old-fashioned touch for a house surrounded by new builds; looking at it now feels like taking several steps back in time.

Not a single spec of light leaks through any crack in the shutters, each room bathed in darkness, the same way it always has. Surely, you think to yourself, surely no one can possibly be in there. Your theory has always been that the house is long since abandoned, its previous owner having died, looked after by a previously employed caretaker who hated to watch a building they loved go into disrepair. And although that doesn’t explain the suspicious lack of activity, it’s the only sane thought that you repeat to yourself as your fingers curl around sturdy black bars, and you begin to haul yourself over the iron fence.

A moment later, and the dull thud of your feet hitting neatly trimmed grass breaks tense silence, your eyes meeting with several widened pairs through steel bars. It’s the furthest anyone’s gotten, and even now, you feel like you’ve gone far enough. It’s certainly not too late to change your mind, to do the sensible thing and throw yourself back into safety, and just as you’re contemplating backing out of the bet, you feel the hairs on your nape stand on end, a chill down your spine so sharp it causes a physical flinch. When you turn around, you’re met with the very same house, not a shutter or brick out of place, yet something, somehow, feels different.

It’s like a siren call, luring you from the safety of your friends that remain frozen on the other side, hardly breathing as though they daren’t make a sound, apprehensive eyes focused on your shadowed form as you slowly make your way up the hill. It’s more daunting up close, no longer a silhouette against a twilight sky, now you can see details the distance has never gifted you, the way the wood shutters that plaster the windows are carved with swirls and intricate patterns, how the ivy hides bloomed flowers amongst pointed leaves, speckles of pink and purple that ease the tension that coils your muscles, only bolstering timid curiosity. And now you’re standing within feet of the house, you’re left in awe by the sheer size of it. It never seemed particularly small, not even from the gate, but the front door alone has you gulping down nothing but frigid air. You take a few tentative steps, eyes raking over the magnificent details carved into thick black oak, the centrepiece that catches your gaze being the solid gold knocker that sits just above your head, halfway up the door.

Two hollow eyes stare back at you, a skull with two rams horns that curl from golden bone, and between its bared teeth lies a ring that rests against ebony wood. It stands out from every other detail of the house, a spine-tingling reminder of where you stand, echoes of the myths that surround this house whispered by your trembling conscience, and yet shaking fingers reach for the ring, curling around cooled metal before lifting it, preparing to knock.

But you never get the chance, because in true horror movie fashion, you’re met with the slow creak of old hinges as the very door you stand before begins to open, and in the void of black it reveals, you swear you see two pinpricks of red that greet you in the darkness. Your entire body goes stiff, still clinging on to the gold loop of the knocker as though it’ll somehow ground you, yet it does nothing to chase away the overwhelming sense of impending doom that screams at you to turn, to run, to get as far away from this wretched place as your legs can take you.

You turn just in time to hear the worried calls of your friends before the door is yanked wide open, dragging you over the edge of the premises with it and sending you careening onto the floor, sliding against wood and scrambling up only to watch that very same door slam in your face.

Frozen. Every single part of you remains stock still as you try to adjust to the darkness. Not even the moonlight dares follow you inside, leaving you alone to dart your eyes in the pitch black, searching for some semblance of light you can latch onto. Yet the house offers you nothing, and you can’t help but see red dots every time you dare close your eyes. In the moment of still you’ve been given, your brain reels as it tries to think of a logical explanation for the door seemingly dragging you into the house with no human in sight to operate it, and in your panic, you can’t help but pray that you’ve fallen asleep by the campfire, and this is all an elaborate nightmare you’ll be able to laugh about when you awake.

A creak from behind you sends you hurtling back into reality, a sure reminder that this is no nightmare, not one you can wake up from, at least. Your head whips to the side, terror freezing your muscles solid as you lock onto crimson orbs once again, so bright they can be seen even with the absence of light to reflect off them, your blood curdling in your veins as they remain fixed on you, unblinking. You scurry backwards, the sound of your back slamming against the solid wall behind you echoing through the dark, fingers curling against peeling wallpaper in a last-ditch attempt to find the door handle.

Your pathetic scrabbling is interrupted by the harsh sound of a match striking against rough material, your eyes drawn to the responding flame it produces, but moreso, the large fingers that dwarf the stick they clutch.

“What a curious thing you are.”

Each syllable rumbles through very walls, practically shakes the structure of the house, a low timber steeped with an accent you can’t quite place, but certainly isn’t local. You daren’t breathe, let alone move, not even when the ground creaks and shakes with every purposeful, creeping step the stranger takes towards you. The flame grows as the match is brought to a wick, the flame whittling away the wood until all that remains is twisted charcoal, before transferring to the candle, the dying fire roaring back to life, casting a flickering golden glow onto the one holding it.

You’re met once again with red, but now you can see bleached tear tracks running from shoddy holes cut into black cloth, a mask fit for the monster that wears it, and as they stalk ever closer, you belatedly wonder how they’re going to navigate the stairs that must separate the two of you, certain that even someone familiar with a house must need more light in order to not fall. But they never begin their descent, and it’s only when the flame lies mere feet from you, yet so far out of your reach, you realise there are no steps. You’re face to face with a giant.

Adrenaline douses you like a torrent of water, your widened eyes alert and stricken with obvious fear, yet you didn’t expect the gentle touch that encircles your wrist, lungs sucking in a stuttered breath as you stare into the hollow red of its eyes. Large fingers draw your arm upwards, moving your frozen limb with ease, until it’s stretched far above your head, your fingers bumping against the smooth wax of the candle the giant passes off to you. Your brain scrambles for words, screams against the shackles of your fear-addled mind, waiting to release a slew of incoherent pleas for your freedom, yet your lips remain firmly sealed.

You feel a weight in your trouser pocket, eyes darting down to see his fingers pushing a box of matches into the gap of the material, only for your gaze to snap back to him as he hunches down, the material of his mask flowing down as his torso towers over you. You’re left caged against the wall, nowhere to run as his face levels next to your ear. It’s silent for a few horrific seconds, until that same spine-chilling voice purrs one single word.

“Run.”

It’s as though all your body needed was the instruction, responding immediately as you tear away from him, feet slapping against hardwood flooring as you careen towards what vaguely resembles an entrance way. The flame flickers dangerously, threatening to leave you in the dark once again, your fingers curling around the candle, whispering prayers that it doesn’t snuff out, that it doesn't leave you alone with whatever stalks you in the pitch black.

You don’t stop running until you reach a hallway, sprinting down the claustrophobic corridor until you finally reach an open door, rushing inside and pushing hefty wood until it clicks in place, sealing you within, safe for now. You hold up the candle to illuminate more of the room, watching as the soft glow bounces off a glinting gold frame and painstaking strokes of oil paint. An obscenely large portrait hangs on the wall in front of you, the image of a handsome man draped in fine purple robes, shoulder length brown hair pushed back with a crown of golden leaves. He sits in a chair, grand and crimson, lined with bronze, legs spread over the expensive velvet, one large hand curled over his thigh, the other propping his head up, his elbow resting against the arm of the chair in a way that can only be described as unbothered, and unamused. But the thing that has you utterly transfixed are the two red irises that stare right back at you, playful and taunting, and hauntingly familiar.

Surely this isn’t the man under the hood, the one who dragged you into his house and watched you scramble out of his grip the second he told you to flee. Because why would a man so handsome hide his face? Why would someone who looks so young own a house that has stood at the centre of your small village for far longer than you’ve been alive? Nothing seems to make sense, not a single aspect of the past 10 minutes feels real, and you can only hope your friends saw what happened and ran to get help, because you’re not sure there’s a way for you to conquer this man alone. It’s as you’re floundering for answers that you hear a noise from outside the room, instincts taking over as you quickly hide under a small dining table and blow out the candle, praying you haven’t given yourself away.

You’re not entirely stupid, you know the meaning of red eyes, and although you could attempt to soothe your psyche with whispered lies about contact lenses and make believe, you know better. The thing that chases you is no man, and certainly isn’t human, at least not anymore. And as terrified as you are, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re about to let yourself become this monster’s dinner.

You sit in the darkness, clutching the smouldering candle to your chest, and wait. Ears alert as you listen for the slightest sound that might give away your hunter, a breath, a sigh, a scratch, you do little more than hope that your hiding spot remains occupied by you, and you alone.

After a tense few minutes, picking up on no other sounds than the thrumming of your own heart, your fingers slowly make their way to your pocket, gingerly plucking the box out and pushing the case off. Despite the lack of light, and the trembling that consumes your body, you manage to fish out a match, and strike it, holding the newly lit flame to the wick of the candle.

Bleached tears. Red eyes. Large fingers. Looming body.

“Boo.”

The scream rips from your throat before your brain can catch up, the candle abandoned as it’s flung towards him in a last ditch attempt to throw him off, knees and hands protesting as they’re dragged along grooved wood, leaving grazes in their wake. The momentary pain isn’t enough to stop you, however, lungs heaving as you tear out of the room, clumsily bumping into walls and ornaments, impeded by the dark, motivated by sheer determination to live.

Your decision to toss away the candle comes to bite you firmly in the ass the second you find yourself tumbling down a set of stairs, and in a move of sheer instinct your hands attempt to slow your fall, only for the skin of your palm to get caught on a loose nail, slicing the flesh and leaving you wailing as your body finally slows to a stop against the cold stone floor you now find yourself lying on. Every bone in your body hurts, aches, but is overshadowed by the sharp sear of white hot pain as you cradle your torn skin to your chest, warm rivulets of blood oozing down your wrist, tracking rivers of red down your forearm until you hear the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting stone.

A light appears above you, a halo of pastel yellow emanating around black cloth, and within a second, the fight leaves you, slumping further into the floor as you accept your death, hoping none of your friends were stupid enough to follow you only to meet the same pitiful fate.

“Please,” You mumble, voice finally found, entirely too late, “Just make it quick.” You hear little other than a hushed chuckle in response, a cat toying with its food.

“I imagine it looks worse than it is, kleine maus.”

You pause at that, curiosity ebbing through once more. You may not have paid enough attention to languages at school, but even in your state, you know enough to recognise those words.

“You’re German?” You mumble, fear forgotten in your shock-ridden state. The man shakes his head as he crouches next to you, extending his free hand towards the injured one you have secured to your torso, tittering again as you flinch. But you have little other choice than to let him pry your hand away, watching with wary eyes as he examines your sliced skin. He holds the candle closer to the wound, a soft tut passing his lips before he holds the candle towards you, urging you to take it with a gentle nod.

“Austrian. But close.”

It all feels strange, foreign, as though you’re being lulled into a false sense of security just so he can tell you to run once again, laughing maniacally as he watches you bleed over his floor. The fear returns once you have the candle securely in your grip, eyes locked on the way his fingers curl around the material that hides his face, and begin to remove it. Inches of once cloaked skin is revealed, a defined chin melts away to pursed lips, a smattering of dark facial hair that frames his mouth and curls up his jaw, the material pulled further only to reveal a hooked nose, and two narrowed eyes that reflect the candlelight in a way not dissimilar to precious gems, rich and vibrant. Maybe it’s the shock, or limited blood loss, but you can’t help but marvel at just how pretty he is.

Of course, it doesn’t last much longer, not when survival instincts kick in, the realisation that your bloodied hand is now near the mouth of a creature that lives entirely off the thing that keeps you alive. But the grip on your wrist is ironclad, strong yet not uncomfortably so, a strange juxtaposition between monster and man as he cocks his head at your wound. With a nod, seemingly more to himself than you, you can do little more than cry out as you’re hauled over his shoulder, his arm secured tightly around your waist, the hood forgotten in a small puddle of your blood on the stone flags.

It’s mere minutes later that he places you down on soft sheets, your body sinking into a plush mattress, left to watch him as he ambles around the egregiously large room, muttering foreign words under his breath as he roots through an ornate chest of draws. You must be in a fever dream, unsure how you went from running for your life, to being patched up by the very thing you were certain would kill you. And yet, here you are, watching as he almost awkwardly sidles to your seated figure, and kneels in front of you, once predatory eyes unable to hold your gaze as he sets out various medical items by your feet.

“Your hand, may I see it?”

You present your palm to him, watching as his eyebrows knit together, giant hands placing tentative touches against your skin as though he’s concerned about hurting you, the thought of which does nothing to aid your spiralling confusion. But you say nothing, you simply watch as he takes a damp cloth and begins cleaning your cut, fixated on the way his eyes snap to you with every pained hiss and suppressed whine, picking up on the way he ensures each subsequent touch is a tad gentler than the last. It’s not too much longer until he’s wrapping your hand with bandages, making sure the gauze is tight enough to keep your blood in, but not enough to cut off circulation, the type of gentle care you never would have suspected from the giant at your feet. Your curiosity has increased tenfold, not a trace of fear left to lick at your nerves and render you speechless, replaced only by the overwhelming need to know more, to learn everything.

“What’s your name?”

It’s his turn to freeze, ruby irises briefly flitting to yours, rounded with surprise, before they snap back down, making himself busy as he gathers up a scattered array of bloodied cloth.

“I… I have had many. The one most people knew me by was König.” It’s strange, the croon of his voice sounds almost nothing like the one whispered to you in the dark, from low and horrifying, to gentle, almost timid. You’re nothing short of fascinated, leaning forward as you scan over the contours of his face.

“Why’d you drag me into your house and tell me to run?”

“Why were you trying to knock on my door?”

Touché.

Heat licks at the skin of your cheeks at his brazen reminder of your attempted trespassing, your uninjured hand coming to rub at your neck in lieu of a response. After a moment of silence, he sighs, deflating into the plush carpet below.

“It has been a while since I last had any visitors. Your arrival was… Unexpected. You caught me off guard,” He pauses for a moment, pupils dilating as his fingers curl around the rags he holds in his hand, covered in your blood, “It has been even longer since I have been around fresh blood.” It feels surreal to have it confirmed, that the creature that sits before you is one you’ve seen only in movies and read in far-fetched romance novels. Yet, you feel no fear, that emotion all but vanished the second he halted everything just to care for an intruder's wound.

“My friends dared me to knock.” He cocks his head at that, a single eyebrow arching, bemused at your admission. “It’s been a dare for years, no one ever actually had the guts to do it.”

“Until you.”

A pause, your head dipping forward in an unsure nod.

“Until me.”

He’s staring at you unabashedly now, your eyes wandering over the rich details of the bedroom you reside in as an excuse to save yourself from his piercing gaze, an unreadable expression swimming in carmine eyes.

“I am glad it was you.”

You hate the embers of arousal that spark at his words, perturbed by your body’s reaction to seemingly innocent words spoken from a man you were sprinting away from less than an hour ago, and yet his eyes do nothing to put out the fire, intense and smouldering. You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor to quash the way your heart flutters as his torso leans closer to your thighs that subconsciously part to make room for him. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, nostrils flaring as sharp eyes zero in on the way your legs spread against silk sheets.

“And why is that, König?”

It’s as though you uttering his name opens the floodgates, black engulfing vermillion until only a sliver remains, thick fingers circling your shins as he leers further into the gap your parted thighs created, that same ravening stare that once sent fear trickling down your spine now leaves you gasping for breath for an entirely different reason.

“Because I haven’t seen something as pretty as you for a very long time, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stop myself again, maus.”

You couldn’t prevent the whispered whine of his name if you had tried, eyelashes fluttering as you move to curl your fingers in his shirt, giving pathetic little tugs to the soft material of his silk shirt, eyes dipping down to where loose material tucks into black pants. Your back arches, a shameless display of desire as you slide your body closer towards the edge of the bed, and further into his touch.

“Who said anything about stopping?”

Your words remain suspended in the air around you, two sets eyes locked onto each other, blown black with barely-suppressed lust, and yet you don’t dare to make the first move, waiting, wanting for him to shed his timid skin and swallow you whole, become the beast that stalked you through rooms just to feel the thrill of the chase. His hands leave your legs, instead balling up into tight fists against his own thighs, the skin around his knuckles taut as though restraining himself. For a mere moment, you fear he may have changed his mind, that is until he utters the word you craved to hear.

“Run.”

You ignore the lingering ache in your joints, your thighs burning as you dash from the bedroom with renewed purpose, fuelled by the all-consuming thoughts of what’s to come, excited to finally be caught, a far cry from the unbridled terror that sent you scrambling before. This time, he makes no effort to prowl in the shadows, your heart beat soaring as the loud thuds of footsteps echo from behind, the floorboards quaking under your feet from the force of his steps.

You know there isn’t a chance he’s running at full speed, but even then he catches you almost embarrassingly quickly, built arms encircling your waist and crushing you against his torso, bringing you to the floor in an instant, leaving you to writhe helplessly between his body and the floorboards. You don’t give in, however, limbs thrashing, nails clawing against whatever they can reach, whether it be the arms that pin you down, or the wood underneath you, feigning an attempt to escape.

That is until you feel two sharp points dig into your nape, not enough to break skin, but the threat of it leaves you frozen under him, a doe caught in the wolf’s jaws. But you don’t fear the bite like wild prey would, somehow, you crave it, to feel his teeth sink into you, to let him lap at your blood and drain you near dry, anything just to feel like you’re his.

The pressure of sharpened canines begins to lessen, his teeth slowly peeling back from your skin, although anticipating your body to begin thrashing once again. But you remain subdued, the embers now engulfed by crackling flames that lick at your nerves and set your skin alight. It’s only when his hips shift do you feel the tent in his pants pushing against the top of your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as you push your ass down to grind shamelessly against his cock.

“Temptress,” The word is almost incomprehensible through the growl that reverberates through his throat, a sound that gives away entirely how affected he is, rough and wanting. “You should be trembling beneath me from fear and yet…”

His words trail off, a stuttered gasp replaces your heavy breathing when you feel sizeable fingers trailing down your sides before sliding under your body, cupping your inner thigh. Your heart hammers against your ribcage from the chase, now bolstered by the scandalous touch as his fingers skim past your clothed core, only catching onto the way his fingers curl into the material until it’s too late, hardly leaving you enough time to yelp before he’s tearing you bare below him. The tattered remains of your pants are haphazardly discarded, joined soon by the threadbare silk of your ripped panties, one of your favourite pairs torn in half with hardly an ounce of effort.

“Yet here you are, schätzchen, quivering with need, dripping for the cock of the one that hunts you.”

The rough pad of calloused fingers swipes against your exposed cunt, unable to suppress the heady whine that leaks past your agape lips, your forehead meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thump. That single touch renders you limp, muscles going lax as you melt into the glide of his fingers as they tease your folds, slowing on every up-stroke to rub slow circles against your clit. It’s maddening, the pace in which he picks you apart, leaving you to grind on his fingers like a wanton whore just to feel the surmounting pleasure that builds in response to his touch. A tut sounds from above, heavy breath cascading over your nape as his head dips down, lips dragging from neck to the shell of your ear.

“What a desperate little thing you are, maus, you know what we call things like you in my native tongue?” Your head shakes, a breathy ‘no’ muffled into the floor, “Schwanzschlampe, cock slut.” Embarrassment mixes in equal measure with arousal, curling one of your arms under your head to hide your face, the action short lived as strong arms flip you onto your back, one large hand gathering both your wrists together and pinning them above your head, exposed before him in every way. It’s undeniably more intimate in this position, your eyes given little other option than to lock onto his as his other hand continues to tease your dripping cunt, carmine swimming with unrestrained desire pinning you to the floor as effectively as his near crushing grip on your wrists.

“You can’t hide your pretty face from me, liebling, I want to see how much you crave my touch.” He presses his forehead to yours, low candlelight from lamps that line the corridor walls glint off the two long fangs that peak past reddened lips with every word spoken. And it’s seemingly your turn to catch him off guard, your head tilting upwards to push your lips to his, swallowing his surprised gasp down greedily, arching your chest to push against his. The kiss is desperate, messy, a combination of saliva drips down your chin, moans and rumbled grunts creating a symphony that drifts down the winding halls of his home. With a nudge, you ensure his eyes are locked to yours as you part your lips, your tongue curling over his teeth before brushing over the point of his elongated canine.

With a push, you feel the sting as his fang just barely dips into soft flesh, a drop of blood beading at the surface before you push the muscle to his, locked onto the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, the growl momentarily starting up again before his lips lock around your tongue, sucking at every morsel of blood that springs from the pinprick cut like a man starved. A man that has most likely been starved of blood directly from the source for more years that you’ve been alive.

If you thought that you’d unlocked the beast within him before, the taste of your blood brings out an entirely new side. His lips part from yours, the crimson in his frenzied eyes transforming before you, as though enriched from just a taste of warm iron. You watch as his pupils dilate and constrict, each push and pull between black and red prove hypnotic as his eyes slowly begin to refocus, the colour to his irises seem dull in comparison to the bright vermillion flecked with gold that peers down at you, still wild with hunger, driven by need.

The moment is broken mere seconds later when his head drops to your neck, sharpened teeth dragging along the throbbing pulse at the base of your throat, and just when you expect the bite, you’re left gasping for an entirely unrelated reason as your shirt comes apart against sharp enamel, shredded where it surrounds your naked torso, leaving you entirely bare. Yet all it takes is a singular glance to realise he remains fully dressed, not a single article shed.

“König,” Your voice comes out strained, practically whining as though prepared to beg, “Let me undress you?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to you from under his lashes before the grip on your arms lessens, his legs folding under him as he rights himself into a kneeling position over your body. He suddenly seems unsure, maybe a little self-conscious as you lean up brushing your fingers over flowing pristine white silk, taking your time as you unfasten each button, never once letting your eyes stray from his. And despite the hint of bashfulness, he keeps his gaze pinned to you, a wary lion caught off guard by brave prey.

After the last button falls undone, you let the tips of your fingers trace up revealed skin, before pushing the shirt from his shoulders, and watching as it billows onto the floor, exposing a defined chest highlighted by a smattering of scars that tell stories you could only dream of hearing. He’s nothing short of ethereal, otherworldly in every sense of the word, a behemoth of a beast, with the face of an angel.

“You cover up a lot for a man as handsome as you are.” Your disguised question prompts a flinch, solid fingers clutching into fists at his side, but before you can rush to amend your words, he slumps, resigned to your curiosity.

“I have garnered a reputation I do not wish to catch up to me. It is safer to keep myself hidden, maus.” You make a mental note if you somehow find yourself in his company after this night to ask him more, a carnal need to know everything that makes up the being knelt above you. But you tuck them away for now, refocusing your attention to the waistband of his trousers, deft fingers wasting little time undoing the silver clasp and dragging down the zip until the front peels open.

“Good thing you don’t have to keep hidden in front of me, huh?” Your lips tug upwards into a playful smirk, your hands planting on the solid muscle of his chest before you’re pushing him backwards, letting his legs splay out either side of your now free body before easing both his pants and underwear down the corded muscle of his thigh, marvelling at each inch of skin revealed to ravenous eyes. His trousers join the crumpled mess of clothes that lay scattered across the floor, giving him no time to adjust to his new found nudity before your head is ducking down, tongue flitting out to lick a long strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Your enthusiasm is immediately rewarded with a faltered whine, watching from under your lashes as his head lolls backwards, trembling fingers coming to cup either side of your face. He’s big, his cock twitching against the defined muscle of his abdomen, thick and long, and nothing short of daunting. Yet you choose to focus on the way your pussy clenches around air at the mere sight of it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you’ll understand what it is to be split open by him, to be fucked by him. Your tongue darts out once more to press against the tip, the small cut on the surface only just healed over, your spine shuddering at the dulled sting that follows as you begin to take the head of his cock between your lips, mouth stretched almost painfully around the girth.

It does nothing to dissuade you, however, tears clouding your vision of his blissed out expression as you swallow him down deeper, hardly taking more than two inches before your throat spasms around him in protest, coaxing a throaty whimper from spit-shined lips that has your hand darting down to your clit, fingers rubbing desperate circles into soaked flesh.

The following whine that reverberates around his cock swiftly gives you away, crimson eyes focusing in on the way your hand disappears between your thighs, before flitting back to the way your watering eyes remain locked to his, hissing out several curses in German at the sight of your lips wrapped around his straining cock.

“Your mouth… Gott, your fucking mouth,” strong fingers guide your head off his cock, your lips separating from the tip with a lewd pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lolled out tongue to his cock. “Need to fuck you, schätzchen, I can’t wait any longer, verdammte hölle—”

You’re not given any warning before he’s pinning your back to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and bending you in half, a feat you didn’t know you were capable of before his strong fingers moulded you into the perfect position to take his cock. Folded like this, you can’t help but feel like a doll in his hands, your height and weight rendered meaningless under the sheer size of the monster above you. Trepidation begins to simmer under the surface of your skin, trying to imagine just how your body could ever make room for him.

But he doesn’t leave you much time to fret before his head falls to your thighs, thick fingers twitching from where they hold up your legs as his nose buries into your pubic bone. Long strands of brunette block your vision, startling as you register the feeling of something thick and wet pressing against your folds.

“K-König!” Your cry prompts a responding groan from the man below you as his tongue licks firm stripes up the length of your cunt, glassy eyes drifting up to you as though intoxicated, drunk of the heady taste of your arousal. With a jolt, you’re left helpless to watch as one of his hands slides down your thigh, stuttering through another gasped moan of his name as you feel a single thick digit slide into the wet heat of your pussy, eyes watering at the stretch that merely one of his fingers provides.

He doesn’t hold up, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking the second he feels your walls clamp around him, slowly easing your muscles into accepting a second finger, distracting you from the momentary pain by lapping his tongue against your engorged clit. But even so, taking two of his fingers feels like more of a challenge than any cock you’ve taken in the past, eyes rolling backwards as he begins to crook them within you, calloused fingers rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has you convulsing around him, warbled sobs hiccuping past your lips as you feel your first climax rip through your body.

“One more, maus, I need you to take one more so I know I won’t hurt you.”

Tears track down your face, still processing the intensity that just wracked your body, but you nod down at him anyway, rewarded with a gentle smile and whispered praise as he cautiously eases a third finger into you, pausing the second he hears a pained hiss after the first knuckle. He hums, placing tender kitten licks against your still throbbing clit, letting you push past tender overstimulation to help pull your mind off the burning stretch, refocusing your attention to the pleasure his mouth provides.

“Doing so well, liebling, almost there…” His words are whispered against your glistening pussy, eyes firmly fixed on yours as he guides you through, until finally all three of his fingers are pushed to the hilt, cooed praise following immediately after.

“König, need you, I need you inside of me, please.” Your sniffled plea evokes nothing more than a playful smile from him as he cocks his head to the side.

“Am I not inside of you right now, maus?” His tone is teasing, words accompanied by a wiggle of the fingers that remain buried in your cunt, coaxing a depraved moan from your already raw throat.

“Your cock, wan’ your cock so bad,” It takes a second to search for the word that sits on the tip of your tongue, your eyes sparking when it finally comes to you, “Bitte, König.”

It’s immediate, the way his fingers pull from your cunt and secure themselves back around your thigh, darkened rubies glinting with that same predatory stare you’re all too familiar with now. He wastes no time as the tip of his cock bumps against soaked folds, your fingers wrapping around his veined shaft as you guide him inside, mouth parting in a silent cry as the tip pushes past the first ring of muscle and leaves you breathless.

There is no mistaking that three of his fingers gave you a mere taste of the stretch, belatedly wondering how on Earth he’ll fit amongst the tight walls of your cunt, and the other organs that surround it. But by some grace of God, he continues to move, inch after thick inch swallowed by your cunt as though it were made for him, a perfect match, the monster and his plaything, the predator and its ever willing prey.

A rush of air finally fills your lungs once the dull slap of his hips meets your ass, unfocused eyes widening as you take in the protrusion of his cock, the bulge obscenely large where it stretches out your skin.

“S’big, you’re so fuckin’ big, what the fuck—”

Slurred rambles are cut off with a searing kiss, passionate and fiery as his hips begin to draw back, swallowing down frenzied curses as he slams back into you, setting a cruel pace right from the start. You never had a chance, you should have known, and yet you regret nothing as he pounds into your abused cunt, your cervix meeting the tip of his weeping cock with each forceful thrust, thick veins rubbing against the walls of your pussy and leaving you glassy eyed and cock-drunk.

Mindless babbles flow from drooling lips, your neck drooping to the side as you hope your eyes convey your needs without resorting to incoherent words. But it takes little more than exposing your throat to him before his lips latch onto the flesh, sucking a line of bruises into your skin before finally settling over your jugular, the only pre-warning of the oncoming bite being the scrape of fangs before they’re puncturing skin, flooding your veins with a venom that has your toes curling, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back and dragging thick red lines against shuddering flesh.

His pace never falters, hips still careening against yours as his lips suck around the two minute incisions, drinking down your blood with a thirst you’ve never witnessed. Whether it’s the subduing poison that flows through your bloodstream, or the shift of hips as his cockhead nudges the walls of your cunt in a way that has stars blooming behind your eyelids, you find yourself hurtling into another climax, whimpered cries and bloodied nails evidence of your earth-shattering orgasm.

His lips finally part from your skin with a slick sigh, lips painted the most beautiful shade of crimson that drips down his chin, a line that marks your possession, evidence he’s consumed by you, drunk on you. And it’s as you lean down, your tongue dragging against the bloodied stubble of his chin, lapping up what remains of your scarlet ichor, that he finally succumbs to the pleasure, his cock jolting within you as he releases seemingly endless spurts of cum against your cervix, buried as deep within your body as biology will allow.

Panted breaths intermingle as his forehead presses flush to yours, lidded eyes, now nearly entirely consumed by gold peers at you, an interesting mix of fascination and something that looks almost fond discernible in his gaze. You still have so many questions, intrigued and just a little bit obsessed with the man above you, yet it’s apparent that your feelings are far from unrequited, and one day, every question that burns at your tongue and begs for answers will be satiated. For now, you’ll bask in his looming presence and tender care, grateful to have found him in the first place, however unfortunate the initial meeting was.

Just as his lips ghost against yours, the distant sound of creaking has you both freezing in place.

“H-Hello? You still in here?”

“... Scheiße.”

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riinkun-art-stuff · 6 months

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Howdy ho! I'm very excited to finally be able to share this illustration I worked on as part of this year's @bumblebybigbang for @tahnex's lovely and super fun fic (with no pain attached whatsoever), "Of Dragons and Panthers," which you can read here! As soon as I read the original notes on it this scene captured me so much I had to do something dramatic for it. It's been such a pleasure watching the whole collab come together, tysm for having me!

First time joining an event like this, and I'd love to again if the opportunity comes around hehe. Still a few postings to go on this one, the pieces before us this year have knocked it out of the park and I'm super excited to see the rest once they come around!

Made a few process cuts just for fun, which I left under the cut!

I did do a few sketches roughly before I started out, especially based on other parts of the chapter, but this particular composition was so fixed in my mind that I ended up just sticking with it. In retrospect, I would've loved to go back and do some more thorough exploration for it. Here are a few of the sketches I managed to fish back up:

I also was thinking of trying a few other doodles/another big piece, but ended up not really having the time between other obligations :')

And the sketch I finally settled on:

Inking was SUCH a fun process on this piece in particular. I'm a huge fan of how dragon!Yang's mane turned out, especially, and all the detailing on the head and around Blake's fur and such. Feel like I'm really satisfied w the particular way the line weight variations came out, and it's where the piece shines the most imo.

Panther!Blake, too. Oh gosh. I feel like it took me a lot of reworking to get her structure to a point where she felt very leopard-like, rather than any other type of big cat- especially around the head.

Colours were such a challenging part. There was a big feeling I had for that glow coming off dragon!Yang in the middle of the heavy rain- I love seeing that sort of effect in real life so that's something I'm really hoping to work to capture better as I practice. Trying to get dragon!Yang's slight iridescence in there and to balance out the lighting on panther!Blake's fur each took a long time, too- I'm only a pinch sad that a good chunk of it is covered by other lighting effects XD

Blake's rosettes were SO fun. Augguhugg.

In terms of backgrounds. HOO boy I was going through a strange patch in life while working on the background and final polish for this piece, which is why (at least I feel like) it looks kinda rushed. I have been practicing natural landscapes and doing some observational studies but still struggling to get those rock shapes quite right, which I think is a big make or break point of something like this. I did really enjoy toying around with inking on the foliage and foreground layers of the ground, though! And in the end, lighting and effects ended up masking a lot of the big weak spots :D

I think natural effects like smoke/steam, and rain, are big things that I got to practice more of in this piece, but also really would like to get better at in future. Esp since I feel like it's been a great opportunity to mess around with different colours and brushes that I use way less, which I'm always grateful for w painting. I think just layering the rain on its own ended up being about 10 odd layers?

I think the only other thing I would have loved to improve is to just help the piece feel more Bumbleby™ in the final look. I think I like the cool colours of the lighting for this particular outcome, but I also would have probably tried to have made things much clearer (ahem at the very least switch to yellow/purple) in the long run in terms of representation and resemblance. Ik that at least for me it is fairly easy to associate the two characters with dragons and panthers since I'm more familiar w the fandom lingo around these two, but esp for outsiders I feel like it's probably not great at conveying who they are, and why they are potentially in this situation.

I'd also love to try and find a shading style that still has a painterly quality but compliments the inking a bit better, rather than overpowering it.

I think that, on the whole, I am pretty satisfied with the piece and had a great time working with Tahnex on the whole collab! And I've also has a fun time reading his work and notes in return, and thank you so much for being so so patient with me even as my updates were slow n rocky at points :'D

That's about all I got, have a great day y'all! Still a few big bang postings to go, so very excited for those once they come around!

#riinkun art stuff #my art #digital art #bumbleby big bang #bbb2023 #rwby #YIPPEEEE #very very happy to finally be able to show this off aaaaahugghh!!!!#it's been v cool working on this collab- tysm for having me again! :'D

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sc0tters · 5 months

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Forgotten Feelings | Will Smith

summary: confessions are made when you get trapped in an elevator with your ex

trope: right person wrong time

warnings: swearing

word count: 2.65k

author note: I have been dying to get this one out! We are back on the celly writing train and I have to say I really liked to one. To the four people who asked for this to be released tonight here we are and I home we all see it as a little think for the boys making it into the final tmrw or in my case today, it’s 4am! this apart of the 500 celly, if you want to see more from this you can do so here!

Being Cutter’s sister came with a whole load of benefits.

You had a great older brother, a sports-active family. But most of all you met the guy that held all of your firsts that mattered to you, he was the first guy you slept with, the first you said I love you to. In truth though you weren’t meant to fall for Will, it happened years ago but when you started dating at the end of your junior year after he kissed you at your families lake house.

What felt like cloud nine where you’d constantly see him with you driving to his during most breaks. His family adored you much like yours did him. But that was what made him breaking up with you hurt so much more.

When Will called you it seemed like nothing was wrong “hey babe!” You smiled shutting your door as the call connected “hey.” Will had something that plagued his mind and unfortunately for him you noticed it “you okay?” You frowned fixing the strings of your hoodie.

He hated that he couldn’t lie to you “you know you’re a great person right?” The words rolled off of his tongue as it made you freeze “what are you getting at?” Your eyebrows raised as you grew skeptical “I think we should break up.” The hockey player blurted out as he had thought about this for the last week.

You were left silent as your mind went through all of the different reasons why he would want that “we could end up on different sides of the-” as Will tried to explain it to you it made you lose it “don’t try to act like distance would now be a problem you dick!” You spat letting the tears roll down your cheeks “I’m just doing what’s best for you.” In all honesty Will wanted to end things before he ended up on a regular team with Cutter.

But as you shook your head staring at the pictures of the two of you that hung on your wall “what’s best for me is deleting your number.” Before Will could say anymore the call was cut short as you threw your phone across the room as you pulled your body to your pillow “you okay dimple?” Cutter called out as he knocked on your door. The nickname came from the bulging dimple you got in your left cheek whenever you smiled “do I look okay?” You sniffled not noticing as your older brother pulled you into a hug.

Ending up at Boston University honestly wasn’t intentional, but when Cutter heard had been accepted there you knew you couldn’t say no to your brother. That’s how you ended up in the same class as Will. The shock that laced your face when you saw him was enough to have everyone picking up that you two had history.

Maybe it was stupid of Will to believe that you two could have gone back to what you once had but instead of getting to watch you fall back in love with him, he got to watch you flirt with a new guy at every party. What he didn’t know was that you were doing that only to piss him off. All of the hurt you felt had turned into rage and you needed him to feel what you had to go through during the summer.

You were barely keeping yourself afloat as your heart never found its way to heal from the pain the breakup had you feeling. It was easy avoiding him in college as you two only had a handful of conversations during your first semester. Will wanted to see more of you but everytime he got close you were practically running the other way. Resulting in only a handful of conversations actually happening between you both.

When Cutter got called up to go to Sweden it was a no brainer for you to go watch him. Even with your family there you still couldn’t face Will. It made you feel like you were going crazy when his sister would frown each time someone brought up Will around you. There were a group of Swedish girls that showed up at each of the games and they couldn’t help but giggle each time Will got close to the board in front of you guys “can’t believe he’s single!” The girl cheered as you felt envy coarse through your veins.

Grace smiled as she leaned over to talk to you “those girls don’t mean anything.” What she wanted to say was that Will was still in love with you but of course she couldn’t do that to him, not when he thought you moved on “even if they did it would be fine.” You lied through your teeth as you watched them scroll through Will’s Instagram. You hadn’t noticed that there were still so many pictures that once belonged to you on there.

You laughed as Will pulled his hat over his head "baby no!" He groaned as you pouted "but you look so cute." You mumbled running your fingers up his arm "give me a kiss first." Will pulled you onto his lap as he smirked.

His hands pinched at your waist as it made you squeal "want you doll." His fingers forced your jaw to look at him "you're so pretty." You blurted out making him smile "don't know what I'd do without you." Will sighed as he raked his fingers through your hair "still want that kiss?" You clicked your tongue making him laugh.

He nodded he licked his lips "think I should be taking pictures of you." Will mumbled as he kissed you, his eyes shut as he savored the taste of your vanilla lip oil on his tongue "now I'm getting that picture." The hockey player laughed at your determination "don't want this moment to end." You sighed seeing the date on your phone as you two only had a few more days left together before you were going home.

Will matched your look "then let's have it not end." He mumbled taking your phone as he flipped the camera taking a picture of the two of you as his lips pressed against your temple.

The memory replayed in your mind as the pictures from your time together at the lake house showed up on his feed. You weren't proud but when you got back to the hotel you were back on your phone and scrolling through his instagram account as you saw that not a single picture that you took had been deleted. Everyone in the comments gushed about how smiley Will was as nobody knew that it was you behind the camera and it was you that he was staring at. A picture in particular that you found yourself growing sick at was the first one he posted after the breakup. It was at the devs camp with San Jose and he just looked so unbelievably happy.

You wanted to curse him for that, you wanted to absolutely hate him for the way he pulled your heart from your chest and didn't look like he cared that he was no longer yours. Maybe it was the comments that those girls said earlier as it was finally getting to you, or maybe it was the fact that you noticed the thick silver chain that was on his neck. As you swore that it was the one that you had given him you began zooming into the picture, you changed the angles, you changed how zoomed in you were, and then you made the rookie mistake of actually liking the picture. As the red heart appeared you felt your own drop "fuck!" You whined kicking your legs as you shook your head.

It wasn't as though you could unlike it because the notification was still going to be sent to Will's phone and he was going to know that you had liked it. You hadn't even been given a chance to dig yourself a hole to let yourself crawl into it, Cutter had to call.

Because that's what brothers are for, right?

Your face hit your pillows as you answered "yes?" You groaned pressing it to your ear "dimple where are you?" Cutter frowned as he looked through the crowd trying to find you. Even as their family was there Cutter wanted his sister downstairs with him as he felt bad that Will and you still hadn't spoken "I will come down now." You pushed your hair out of your face as you began to rub your temple staring at the outfit that you were still in from earlier "good and if you see any of the other boys bring them with you!" Cutter's words made you laugh as you knew that it meant that the guys also weren't down yet either.

You mumbled something inchoerent as it made him laugh "just get down here in one piece okay?" He was amused as he shook his head hanging up the call "don't date another one of your brothers friends okay?" You spoke to yourself as you stared at the mirror.

It took you record time to get ready and now you were running to the elevator as you hit the ground floor button. Lousy elevator music clouded your ears all the way until you dropped two floors and were now left with the doors opening to one person you really didn't want to see "fuck." You mumbled to yourself as Will's face dropped "I'll wait for the next one." He offered going to press the close door button in your elevator but you shook your head.

Cutter was in the back of your head reminding you that you were strong enough to be civil with him "we can survive together in an elevator." You pointed out as you crossed your arms stepping to the side to give him space to stand in there with you "you played well today." You chewed at your lower lip as you stared at the ground.

Will sighed to himself as he hit the red stop button on the lift causing it to come to a halt "what the hell are you doing?" You yelled trying to pull his arm away but you were just too late "we need to talk about us." Will pointed to the gap between you both "what us are you exactly talking about?" You scoffed as you rolled your eyes.

You sucked at your teeth as you shook your head "because the last time I checked you broke up with me." Your finger pushed into his chest as you felt your throat begin to tighten "just hit the dang button so I can get out of here.” You pleaded as you motioned to the buttons of the wall “fine.” Will nodded as he pressed the button “what?” His eyes went wide as the elevator didn’t start moving again.

When panic set in for him you did the same “why are we moving?” You groaned as nothing happened “I think this is broken.” He announced placing his head in his hand “yeah no shit Will.” The hockey player rolled his eyes as he saw you sit on the ground.

You grumbled something yourself as you plotted all of the ways you could have killed him whilst he notified maintenance that you were in there “look I’m sorry that I got you stuck in here but it wouldn’t have happened if you just spoke to me.” Will’s words had you ready to lean over and punch him now because maybe that could have gotten him to shut up.

It was clear he wanted a reaction “you want to talk?” You snapped “then let’s talk about how you decided to dump me when you knew I applied to BC too!” He wanted to blame the distance before “I did it so you didn’t feel like I was the reason you picked it!” Will felt his voice break as tears welled in your eyes “you had no right!” You furrowed your eyebrows as you picked at your fingers.

He watched your face contort “yet you still treat me like I don’t exist.” It seriously did fuck with Will as he had to watch you talk to everyone but him “because it makes it easier.” You blurted out as you slapped your hand over your mouth realising that you were dangerously close to a can of worms “easier to do what?” Will’s voice came out louder than he would have hoped as he sighed.

You groaned as you rubbed your hand over your face "I can't pretend anymore." You shook your head as he waited for an answer “all I’m asking for this the truth.” In all honesty he didn’t know when he’d get you like this next so for now Will wanted to air all of the dirty laundry.

So desperately you wanted the elevator to start working again in that moment so you wouldn’t have to tell him “I’m maybe still slightly sort of somewhat in love with you.” You mumbled looking everywhere that he wasn’t “you are?” Will felt a smile form on his face as the words settled in the air.

It made you nod “I don’t know why I am because you’ve moved on so you won’t even care that I’m telling you.” You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you watched him smirk “this isn’t funny!” You scoffed as you leaned forward to shove his shoulder.

But Will was too fast for you as he wrapped his hand around your wrist pulling you closer to him “you think I’ve moved on?” He asked brushing your hair out of your face “like I want to be anywhere else in the world?” Will added as he watched you lick your lips “sort of why you want to dump someone usually.” Your voice was barely a whisper as you stared at him.

He sighed as he watched you remain quiet “I broke up with you because I thought you deserved someone better.” Will’s confession has you sitting up straight as your pupils blew “someone b-better?” You stammered as you moved away from him “you need someone who can be with you when you need them.” Will nodded as he brought his knees to his chest.

You now wanted to hit him because you were sad “you were all I needed.” Your voice was just a whisper as you sent him a frown “god I’m so sorry.” Will apologised as he shook his head “how did we fall so far?” You sighed as he reached out to cup your hand “because I wanted you to have more than I could give.” It made you smile as you shuffled so that you could sit next to him.

His words made you melt “next time you tell me if you think I want more okay?” You let out a soft laugh as the boy tensed “next time?” Will repeated your words as you nodded “I want to try again.” You mumbled staring down at his lips as though they were calling for you.

Will was quick to agree “I’d like that.” He brought his hand to your cheek as he pulled you into a kiss “fuck I’ve missed you.” The hockey player groaned as his voice had you smiling.

What felt like hours had passed by the time that the electricians came and fixed the elevator “thank god you’re okay!” Both of their families stood together as they saw their kids walk out “Will why are you wearing lipstick?” Grace smirked as Cutter stared at you “and why is yours all smudged?” Cutter added as he crossed his arms “funny story.” You trailed off as you awkwardly smiled.

You ended up telling Cutter most of it, but the big detail you left out was that you now had a boyfriend.

#amber writes fics #will smith imagines #bc college #bc imagines #hockey imagines

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mimisplayground · 5 months

Text

Captain Price, Brat Tamer Extraordinaire

tags: brat taming, spanking, thorough prep, ALL ACTIVELY CONSENTED TO, however.., power imbalance, hinted at poly!141, KINDA a free use kink BUT NOT EXPLICITLY, aftercare at its finest, dumbifcation (dick got you stupid), open to ghost sequel :3, power difference but the hot way, he calls you love and sweetie, you call him sir and his rank while hes fucking you so…

uuuhhhh i just REALLY want that old british man…

—————-

Price was an authortive man. He was firm when he spoke and he didn’t take arguments to his orders.

So when the cute little mouthy cadet glares at him and tells him to fuck off, he almost wants to be mad. He acts mad, his voice booming in your face and blood flowing to his dick when he watches you continue to glare even as tears well in your eyes, your bottom lip quivering as you do what your told. Grumbling under your breath.

This becomes a pattern. You listen well for a few days, longest he’s clocked you behaving was a week. Finally you start to get a bit mouthy and him or one of the others end up having to get loud with you to get you acting right. Though he would never forget the time he watched you roll your eyes at Ghost when he had just yelled at you. And he doesn’t think he could get the look of your face crying while Ghost has a hand wrapped around it with your cheeks smushed together out of his mind either.

Certainly not when it’s the main thing he thinks of recently when he’s got his hand wrapped tight around his own dick.

You were a crybaby. An awfully pretty one. But you were a fucking brat, and it left Price stuck with being incredibly turned on and pissed everytime he had a feeling it was gonna be another day where you wanted to run your mouth.

So he was surprised when one day, walking past the room where the men changed, he heard Soap snickering about how he wished he could fuck you, see how long you kept mouthing back. Not surprised at the statement, Price knew the others wanted to get their hands on you. But surprised at how much he himself seemed to contemplate the idea.

Which was what led to you being led into his office when you had next mouthed off. Months of your attitude had worn on him, and when you had told him to “fuck off and shove it up his own ass”, he had quickly and quietly made it clear that he expected you to follow him to his office. You stood there in front of his desk with your arms crossed, tapping your foot and huffing often.

Price stared you down for a moment. “I’m sick of your attitude.” He had practically snarled out. Watching you shift awkwardly, as if the annoyance was fading into worry. “And I think it’s time we take care of it.” Price finished off calmly. It left you nervous, he could tell. He sat down, and he waved his hand for you to come closer.

“I’m not gonna force you. If you say no it’s fine, and you’ll run 20 laps.” He saw you shudder at that. It was by no means a small track. And he knew you had only ever done 10 at the most. But it was the alternative and equal punishment he had picked for if you declined him now. “If you don’t want to do that, you’ll lay across my lap.” He finished, watching to gauge your reaction.

He saw you contemplate. “I want you to know that neither is the easy way out. Your attitude problem will be fixed when Im done with you, one way or another.” You huffed.

“Gonna spank me like you’re my dad or some shit?” You sassed at him, nodding in consent and yelping when he tugs you down and across his lap. “Yea love, that’s the plan.” He laughs slightly as he yanks your uniform pants down, happy he caught you in a moment where you didn’t have the full uniform on and he didn’t have to worry about the padding and belt. Yanking your underwear down with the pants and staring at your ass for a moment.

“Perv.” You mumbled out, yelping when a harsh, sharp smack landed on your behind. You squirmed, and Price kept a hand firm on your back. His hand raised and dropped down again quickly, 5 more smacks coming in succession.

He had never been known for being light with his hands, and it was showing in the discoloration of your behind. You were squirming around, complaining loudly. “You’re a fucking dick! I hate you, you’re awful!” You had been screaming it out practically, and his anger spiked at the idea that someone could be outside thinking he was allowing you to speak to him like that.

“Enough!” He boomed out, the harshest smack he had delivered so far landing right where your thigh and ass met. You yelped harshly and quieted down quickly. You both sat in silence for a moment, Price trying desperately to will away the blood rushing to his cock.

With another blow he had hit the other side in the exact same spot, eliciting a choked noise. He knew he had hit a sensitive spot. You remained quiet, hoping it would grant you mercy.

“Apologize now, and I’ll consider stopping. Want to hear you beg, sweet thing.” He had demanded, watching you profusely shake your head no at his order. “That’s too bad,” he sighs, rubbing your behind softly before pinching a bruise and hearing your whimper “I would’ve even been nice to you after if you listened the first time.”

His assault quickly picked back up, now focusing on the sensitive back of your thighs. He listens to you ramble out pleas of mercy and sobbing out apologies. After a good ten hits he had stopped again, not before pinching the soft spot he had just spanked raw and bruised and listen to your whimper.

You whine and cry, mumbling out apologies that has him sighing and moving you up so you’re sat gently on his lap as he hugs you and soothes your back as you cry and squirm away from where your ass meets his rough pants. He had hugged you to show comfort, but also to hide how flushed his face had gotten listening to your cries and whines.

He really couldn’t hide the bulge in his pants much though, and he full blown jolted when he heard your cries quiet down and felt your hand brush against the bulge. He leans back in his chair, quirking a brow up at your attempt at puppy eyes with him. “Lemme make it up to you…” you mumble out, fiddling with the waistband of his pants and tugging at his shirt to untuck it.

Price stares at you for a moment, sighing before he picks you up and sets you on his desk, grinning slightly at the groan you let out from the soreness of your bottom. He grins harder when you hears your grumble at the fact that he grinned. He unbuckles his belt quickly and yanks it down, and he can’t help but feel pride swell at the squeak you let out before shuffling away.

“It won’t fit,” you said, with so much resolve that Price was almost inclined to believe you. Instead he let out a loud laugh and grabbed your calf, lifting it up gently and watching you hesitantly lean back to lay on his desk. He massages your leg gently, all the way to your upper thigh before quickly giving the other leg the same gentle treatment. “Promise I’ll be gentle preparing you, we’re through most of the punishment part anyways, love.” He has your leg grasped in his hand, pulling it over and leaving a kiss on your ankle. “If you’re ok with it?”

And god grant you mercy, why did a grown man, your Captain no less, have to be so weirdly cute with the way he tilted his head as he asked the question. You stare at him for a moment, and he grins softly when you nod yes to him. He leans over, arms caging you down and leaving kisses all over your face. One of his hands runs down your body, reaching between your legs and toying with your most sensitive spots.

He plays with you until you’re putty underneath him. Gentle and just firm enough to leave you twitching and teetering the edge of release with your brain reduced practically to goo. He’s so composed as he does it too, an arm keeping you pinned so you can’t buck your hips up and his body blocking you from being able to squirm away. Stuck at his mercy and babbling incoherent nonsense and begs.

The hand finally goes further down and the tears coming from your eyes at this point are from ecstasy. A single finger prods at your entrance, and he wishes he could he felt bad about spitting into his own hand to lube it up to push the first digit inside of you with the mix of your arousal to help. But from the way your shuddering and pushing down on his finger, he would argue that you probably didn’t mind much. He was gentle with adding another finger as well, scissoring you open and listening to your loud groans.

He had gotten to three fingers quickly, stretching and thrusting them before you finally managed to cut through your own incoherency. “Please, Captain, Sir, anything, whatever you wan’ me to call you just please,” he was almost impressed with how you drew out the please into a whine, “put it in. Wan’ you in me, now Sir, please.”

That was really the only coherent thought and sentence you seemed able to string together right now. At least thats what Price would guess from the way you went back to your mumbles and moans. So he sighed and kissed at your tears as he pulled his fingers out and lined himself up, pushing in slow and firmly.

By the time he was all the way in he had to stop and give himself a moment to catch his breath. “So tight love, grippin’ me tight.” He was groaning, lifting your legs over his shoulders and into a mating press. He listened to your begs for him to move, to mess up your insides real nice. After a few moments he listened to those pleas.

He thrusts hard, snapping his hips up and stopping after he hears you squeal “It hurts!” He leans down, kissing your tears again. “Need me to stop? Don’ wan’ to hurt you love,” he kisses your lips as you pout.

It takes everything in you to pull a full thought together and even more to get it out. “Hurts where you spanked me…” you groan out, whining when he laughs and pinches a bit at the spot. “Want me to-“ hes cut off at your quick shaking of your head and a small “don’ stop.”

“Whatever you want love, call it part of the punishment.” He leaves another kiss on your lips and goes back to harsh thrusts that leave you screaming and gasping for air under him. He’s firm and rough, but the absolute perfect pace that leaves you downright shaking.

And when his hand comes down to play with your sensitive spots again as he thrusts, you feel the knot inside of you tighten and snap as your eyes roll back and your body arches up off the table and into Price. He holds onto you tight, continuing his thrusts harshly as you twitch under him, your hands reaching up and petting his hair as if to let him know to continue.

“Wan’ cum inside sweetie, can I? Please love…” he groans as you nod yes into his neck and with a final harsh thrust he feels the knot in his own stomach burst as he cums deep inside of you.

You both lay there for a moment, panting harshly with sweat all of the both of you. You look a mess, tear streaks down your face and drool from your mouth. And Price looks up at you questioningly after you giggling when he leaves a kiss on his shoulder.

“Your mustache tickles.” You say with a small smile, and he smiles back before leaning down to kiss you. He picks you up, opening a door to his private room -and straight to the bathroom- setting you down on the toilet.

You sigh in relief when he picks you up and sinks you both into the bathtub. You squirm a bit at the sting of warm bath water on your sore ass, and he kisses the back of your neck as he gets to work washing the both of you.

Price has you sleep in his room, and finds himself snickering for the next week when he catches you opting to stand when able. And holding back almost full laughter when you’re forced to sit at meetings or in vehicles as you squirm around.

And when he hears that your attitude is getting bad with the others again when you’re so sweet and almost obedient in front of him, Price shrugs and tells them to figure it out.

When he walks past the training room to see you in a headlock by Ghost while he’s clearly whispering something mean in your ear (if your tears are anything to go by), hes got a feeling your attitude will be getting a lot better for all of them soon.

————

left it open for a sequel for da cod hoes

PLS HYPE THIS UP MY OLD MAN DESERVES IT. and guys this was like, almost entirely self indulgent so… sowwy :p (pls ignore any typos guys… i literally have no beta reader its just me, my whims, and my prozac getting us through these fanfics)

again, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! SEND IN ASKS!! I WILL GET TO THEM!! im running out of ideas guys pls send asks and requests…

#cod smut #cod x reader #john price #price x reader #captain price #price smut #cod fanfic #requests open #send asks #self indulgence at its finest

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bloodstainedsaint · 6 months

Note

Hey, I'm not sure if you take requests, but if you do, I have an idea:) Could you write something about a young woman who was in the Air Force disguised as a man and her plane was hit by the Germans while under attack, forcing her to jump out, leaving her stranded with her plane down and easy company witnessed the whole thing and tries to look for the pilot?

maybe with some romance or whatever with my mans lieb or doc roe if that’s possible hihi

when worlds collide (joseph liebgott x air force! reader)

word count: 1000+

warnings: blood & injury, but nothing really graphic

notes: sorry for the wait on this one 😭 i've been busy BUT i promise to be posting more during my break

You didn't remember much after your plane was hit by German flak while passing over some Dutch forest you couldn't recall the name of. What you could remember was everything rapidly blinking and on fire around you, dials going this way and that, your hands flying around the control board and trying desperately to pull up with the yoke as you cursed violently beneath your breath.

Following your fruitless struggle against gravity, you remembered preparing to parachute out of your plane and into the woods beneath you.

You were pretty sure you blacked out for a while after that.

The sight of a fighter plane nosediving into the ground and its booming resulting crash interrupted an otherwise uneventful five-man patrol through the woods.

“Jesus Christ! Did you see that?” Babe exclaimed, gawking up at where the plane had been in the sky mere seconds ago.

“Looks like it landed near us,” Pat observed.

Don looked wide-eyed. “It was one of ours. The pilot might need our help if he ejected in time!”

Lip shushed them. “There's AA guns nearby. Someone ought to go back and tell Battalion they’re positioned somewhere to our left near that dike we passed. Christenson, you go.”

As Pat nodded and left the way they came, Lip said, “We can't take too long looking for a pilot we don't know is alive or not." He checked his watch and sighed. "Alright, meet back here at 1700. Stay alert. Don't go too far on your own.”

The squad spread out in search of the hopefully-alive pilot. Joe walked with his rifle at the ready for about 20 minutes before stumbling upon large chunks of debris from the plane. Not far from that was a severed parachute, and then a blood trail.

He followed it until he noticed a pilot sitting on the ground next to some brush with his back turned to him, his clothes torn up enough to where large parts of skin littered with cuts were visible. Joe slowly approached, mindful not to scare him and wind up with a bullet in his head.

“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, buddy.”

The pilot turned around, and Joe noticed that “he” was not a he at all.

Your hand shot to the pistol on your belt, leveling it at him while vainly covering up your top half. You’d been trying to treat your wounds with the first-aid kit strapped to your waist; you'd gotten several steadily bleeding scratches from falling through trees and one or two broken ribs from your hasty landing. You ended up taking off your corset to relieve pressure on your ribcage, leaving you with your ripped up uniform and coveralls.

Regardless of your relief that an American soldier had found you rather than a German one, you kept your hand fixed on your sidearm.

“Woah, lady, put down the gun. I'm not a Kraut.” Lowering his own gun, his narrowed eyes flashed to your chest and widened at the sight of the reddish purple bruises that blemished it. "Goddamn..."

“It’s not what it looks like,” you managed out, though talking (or breathing, for that matter) was difficult.

“I don’t care what it looks like,” he said, the edge to his tone softening as he carefully walked toward you. “You need help.”

You painfully exhaled and set the gun down next to you. You turned around again to focus on treating your injuries, wincing with the movement. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look it.” He crouched down next to you. You flinched away slightly — you'd been disguised as a man for a while now, and this was the first time anyone was seeing you so vulnerable since your enlistment — before letting him inspect your wounds, albeit with you concealing your chest with your arms and what remained of your jacket.

“What’s your name?” he asked, gingerly applying sulfa powder to the gashes on your body.

You slightly hissed at the stinging sensation. “(Y/N), Senior Airman, 4th Fighter Group.”

“Joseph D. Liebgott, Technician 5th Grade, 101st Airborne.”

There was a temporary silence, punctuated only by you sucking in air through your teeth. As he bandaged one of the cuts, he said, “We need to get you some help. I was out here on patrol with my squad; we have a medic back at—”

“What?” You looked at him with a bewildered expression. “No, I don't need any medic. I just need help informing my superiors I got lost going through dense fog and got shot down here.”

“Why not? ‘Cause he'll see you're a girl?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Why else? If you haven't noticed, there aren't very many women serving on the front lines.” You paused and took a deep breath in through your nose. “If you bring your squad over here, someone's gonna report me and get me kicked out of the Air Force…Hell, I don't even know if I trust you to not report me. I just met you, for Chrissakes.”

In truth, you didn’t even know why you were letting him tend to you anyways — you were capable of doing it yourself, your biggest secret was currently exposed, and he was a stranger. But there was something about his change in demeanor and a sudden tenderness in his voice once he saw your injuries that made you want to trust him.

“Your secret’s safe, (Y/N),” he said firmly, a set expression on his face. “I got no reason to rat you out; I just met you too.”

You scanned his face for any signs of deceit, sighed when you found none, and nodded. “I’m still not letting your medic take a look at me.”

“Fine, but that’s not gonna stop me from helping you. I’ll be quick; the guys are gonna be expecting me back soon. We’ll go talk to them together.”

He resumed his aid, and after a few minutes, you could tell that he had started getting curious; he didn't seem like a man who knew how to shut up.

“How’d you disguise yourself as a man this long?”

With a shaky inhale, you closed your eyes as his hands brushed over your rib cage. Involuntarily, a small smile made its way onto your face as the countless predicaments you’d found yourself in flooded your memory. “It’s a long story.”

Liebgott cracked a crooked smile. “I can make some time.”

Laughing despite the pain that flared in your rib cage from the action, you couldn't help but feel that this chanced occasion wouldn't be the last time you would speak to Liebgott. And for some reason foreign to you at that moment, you hoped that your intuition was correct.

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott #hbo war #easy company #101st airborne #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #hbo war fanfic #band of brothers imagines #joseph d liebgott #joseph liebgott x reader #joseph liebgott

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bunchesofoats · 2 years

Text

Proximity.

Feat — Tyler Galpin x Nevermore!Reader

Contains — Slow Build, Playful Flirting, No Established Relationship, etc ALSO SOME VERY LIGHT WEDNESDAY SPOILERS!! (Set before show in canon)

Length — ~1.8k Words

Notes — Reader’s powers/species not specified (just considered an Outcast). This isn’t proofread, moves a little fast, and was written at like 2 am so proceed with caution I guess. ALSO, I ACTUALLY WORK IN A CAFE SO I WILL INFO DUMP GRRRRBARK BARK WOOF WOOF Also, if you have any input just drop it to my inbox !

“Welcome to the Weathervane staff.”

Your new manager welcomed you with a smile, to which you replied with a nod as she left you to do paperwork. You made your way out of her office, remembering her instructions to be training with Tyler. Your feet shuffling up the stairs slowly, paying no mind to the creaks that came with it. You knew Tyler Galpin, not well, but you knew of him enough to know he was the son of the sheriff. The sheriff who didn’t seem keen on Nevermore students. Though you were pretty sure they only hired you for Outcast Diversity, you were at least happy to had gotten a job that wasn’t Pilgrim’s World.

“Medium Iced Chai Latte with a Chocolate Croissant.” A voice pulled you from your thoughts.

Trailing the voice to the source was easy considering he was the only person behind the counter before you came along. There he was, Tyler Galpin, with the usual mop of brown curls that stopped just above his eyes and the crease of concentration upon his forehead as he moved to fiddle with the espresso machine. You’d been dragged here enough by Enid to know the details, especially considering she kept tabs on everyone.

“You’re looking at the wrong end of the machine, Galpin.” You called out, causing him to jump. A smile crawled its way onto your face at his expression. It didn’t take long for him to register who you were outside of the Nevermore uniform, he had seen you enough and he knew there was a new applicant coming in.

“Do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?” He gave you a pointed look.

“More of a hobby,” You shrugged before making your way behind the counter. Taking a closer look at the machine, you had been right. The source of the never ending steam was a valve issue. “I’m gonna need a tri-wing screwdriver and 4 millimeter Allen wrench.”

Tyler handed you the screwdriver with no hesitation, he couldn’t understand the Italian instructions anyway and he wasn’t about to resort to Google Translate.

“You have a valve issue,” You began screwing the bits back into place, careful not to direct any steam towards you or your new coworker.

“You have one of these temperamental beasts with a mind of its own?” He quirked a brow at you, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Not exactly.” Thankfully, Nevermore had quite the class in engineering and you had fairly decent grades. The steam stopped spewing, and the machine was fixed to the best of your ability. Tyler began gathering the pieces of the pipes, filters, and other parts back into place resounding in a satisfying click.

“Thanks…” He stopped for a moment.

“Y/N.”

“No, yes! No, I mean, yes I know! You come in here a lot, and I recognize your name from your application.” He mumbled on and on.

“You’re supposed to be training me and yet you can’t remember my name?” It was your turn to point questions now. It wasn’t like you couldn’t work a register or understand the difference between a cortado or a cafe au lait, but you needed to know your way around Weathervane at least. Plus, it was fun to tease him.

“I just mean, you’re unforgettable.”

What.

“What?”

“You know what, why don’t we start off with a tour? You know the main area, but let me show you the back room.” Tyler abruptly turned away, leaving with tinted cheeks. He lead you to the small storage room on the opposite adjacent end of the bar counter. The length of it was long, but the width of it could just barely fit one person with the shelves so close on either end. He allowed you in first before following in after, showing everything from the closest to the farthest at the back wall.

With Tyler explaining everything in broad detail, it was easy enough to understand considering everything was ordered neatly from the coffee beans and food products being separated from cleaning chemicals. What was hard, on the other hand, was trying not to pay attention to the way the dim lighting reflected in his eyes. Something about it seemed familiar, almost supernaturally captivating. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was a Vampire or Siren or even something else entirely luring you in.

“…And if you have any questions then just ask me.” Tyler finally turned back to you, catching your gaze. He hadn’t realize how close in proximity you were, you awkwardly pressed against the wall as he had just been reaching over to point out which coffee beans were which. You hadn’t been paying attention, not with him so close. You weren’t usually the nervous type, not with Vampires and Telekinetics and Werewolves etc constantly being around you. But this newfound flip of your heart was concerning considering he was 1) a normie you hadn’t actually fully conversed with before and 2) you were still unsure of his standing with you as an Outcast.

“Yeah, I’ll call for your help when I need to fix the espresso machine.” You snort. He huffed with a lingering smile you managed to catch. Maybe his stance wasn’t as bad as his fathers.

“I’m definitely sure you don’t need to call me just for help with that, you can call me for other stuff.” Tyler shrugged.

“So you want me to call you?” Your gaze met his again, forgetting the close distance between you both. This was a different start to your new job than you were expecting. Flirting with your coworker in the back of the cafe was probably against all types of normal work ethic and morals. But when was Jericho ever normal?

“Tyler?” A voice called out from the front, breaking the tension between you two. You both recognized that voice, Tyler knowing it more than you did. You both tried to scramble out of the storage closet in an orderly manner. Tyler emerging first, Sheriff Galpin perking up to see his son from the other side of the counter. You followed suit not a second after, barely halfway out of the closet before you could see Sheriff Gallon’s face drop. Suddenly realizing how incriminating the situation seemed, you quickly grabbed a random can from the shelf within arms reach before fully exiting.

“Hey, uh, dad.” Tyler coughed out, clearing his throat from the situation you two were in. “Just showing the new hire around and restocking.” To which you maneuvered the can to one hand to give the man a small wave.

“Condensed milk? I swear you stocked and dated that one when I came by yesterday.” His dad raised a brow. Shit.

“This one’s long expired, found it on the back shelf with a manufacturing issue puncture in it.” You laughed dryly, moving the can to your side hiding it away. Tyler glanced wide eyed as his father’s expression creased.

“You want your usual?” Tyler moved towards the bar, moving his father’s attention with it. You managed to slip the can back on the shelf before closing the door and following the boy.

“Large Americano. Two shots. Hot.” The sheriff’s gaze never left, studying you closely as you followed Tyler to input the order on the register. You knew how to work a register, but you didn’t want to stay within his dad’s eye sight for long. The setup was as easy as the storage closet, everything labeled from Hot Drinks, Iced Drinks, Specials, and more. Clicking onto the hot drinks, you found everything quickly.

“Did you want to add anything in there like milk or cream?” You asked, knowing already what his answer would be.

“Black.” Like your soul, you thought. The order went through and Tyler thankfully already had it done. Reaching past you on the register to hand it to him, the sheriff gave his son a nod and you an unreadable look before leaving.

“Don’t worry about him,” You heard Tyler assure. “He’s too ‘wrapped up in work’ to care about me being in some closet with someone. Nice save, though.”

You turned to make eye contact with him, his arm resting upon the register counter by your waist and yours almost hitting his chest at the movement. Again finding yourself in close proximity.

“Does that mean you’re often caught doing who knows what in closets with people?” You raised a brow. His face flushed at the question, glancing aside and for once probably happy the cafe was emptier than usual.

“Calm down, lover boy. We’ve skipped a few steps, I still don’t even have your number to call you when I need help.” You flicked his forehead away with a smirk. He let out a small lopsided smile as he fell away from you. You were sure his number would be lying around somewhere on file or you could contact him through the employee app, but where was the fun (and consent) in that? You had no time to think about that as customers had come in.

“Ms. Thornhill, what a surprise to see you!” You couldn’t say you were shocked, Jericho’s a small town and being the only cafe around this would’ve happened eventually. You were surprised you hadn’t seen Enid out and about “blogging” despite it being a weekend.

“Y/N, lovely to see you. Why didn’t you tell me you got a job at the best cafe in town?” She gasped.

“It’s the only cafe in town, Ms. Thornhill.”

“I kid, I kid. Now what should I get? I usually get a double-cap, no foam, with two pumps of sugar free vanilla. But now that you’re my new favorite employee, I’d like your recommendation!” Favorite? Had Tyler been her favorite before? You weren’t sure what she had meant by that.

“You know me, miss, I love a good London Fog.” She knew full well of that too, you bring one into her class every other day.

“Alright, get me one of those!” You rung her up For Here and handed the item receipt to Tyler who was already steaming the milk. The next customer just wanted a warmed up Pain au Chocolat which you got out of the way quick enough.

“Here,” You heard Tyler call to you. Facing him, you noticed him holding a to go cup for you and Ms. Thornhill’s mug on the counter. Had he made two whilst you were busy?

“London Fog with an extra pump of vanilla syrup, that’s how you usually order yours.” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

“Now what’s this then?” You grabbed the cup.

“Just think of it as a welcome to Weathervane.” Tyler left with Ms. Thornhill’s order before you could question any further. You note a black smear on your hand, confusion riddled— you turn the cup.

— “(xxx) xxx - xxx

Call me outside of work?

- Tyler”

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #wednesday (2022)#wednesday #wednesday addams #nevermore #tyler galpin one shot #tyler galpin imagine #x reader #hunter doohan #wednesday netflix

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shantechni · 10 months

Text

Leo the Leader vs Leo the Learner

I know almost every iteration of TMNT emphasizes that the boys cannot properly function as a team without everyone there, especially without their fearless leader.

In terms of cartoons and movies though (as much as I've had time to watch/rewatch), the '03 and '12 series are my personal favorites, with Rise and MM tying for a very close second, because they both acknowledge issues in the team that the characters work to fix. '03 Leo and '12 Leo both struggle to lead the team at significant points in their respective stories, but the manner in which they struggle and what they struggle with differentiate, in a good way mind you.

In the 2003 series, the very first episode opens with Leo already being in the leading position as he tries to keep his brothers from going off script or doing something irreparable while they work to find Splinter. And when they do eventually find themselves in trouble, he's the one to lead them through it and make it back to Splinter in one piece. We see this formula more or less repeat for almost three seasons with a few different variables to spice things up; the brothers look to Leo for guidance, think of a plan of action with their combined efforts, and go from there.

Until the S3 finale.

The boys had times where they wondered if they'd make it out alive, but this was the first where it genuinely seemed like the end for their little family, and Leo could do nothing but watch as they execute their plan to blow up with the starship.

Of course they survive, otherwise we wouldn't have another four seasons💀but that short amount of time was more than enough to scar Leo, physically and emotionally. When he begins closing himself off from everyone, April's the only one to get him to open up and he lays it all out: He feels like a failure of a leader. He wasn't strong enough to protect his family or stop the Shredder, their last resort was going out with a bang, and they had to be saved by the Utroms. It doesn't feel like they won and he doesn't feel like he accomplished anything.

His fears and frustrations manifest into an ever present anger, slowly going from cold to hot, that chooses its target at random. His brothers don't know what to do since they don't seem to know why Leo's behaving this way, nor have they ever seen him like this. And dear Mikey says something that so accurately sums up their team: "...it can’t be fun always being the responsible one, and we’re the ones who really benefit. Raph’s free to not think ‘cause Leo does all the thinking for him. Don’s free to dream, and I’m free to take it easy, all ‘cause Leonardo is busy being responsible enough for all of us."

Mikey knows Leo is cracking under the pressure of his role partly because they've become so comfortable in their own roles, and no one refutes him. They didn't intend for Leo to translate this dynamic into, "everything is on you," but that's how it inevitably turned out over time. One could even argue that them not knowing how to handle this new Leonardo is yet another downside to them getting too comfortable, and it doesn't help that Splinter is the only one (aside from Usagi on one instance) who attempts to help Leo, even when the young turtle is pushing him away.

Things finally boil over when Leo pushes a little too hard though and harms Splinter during training, a regrettable action that clears away the steely air he had around himself for so long.

It's not until Splinter sends him off to see the Ancient One that Leo finally pulls himself out of that bubble of negativity and he accepts that there was nothing more he could've done in their final fight against the Shredder.

He did all that he could, and he can continue doing all that he can for his family.

In a weird way, Karai's violent eviction notice was exactly what everyone needed.

Leo was told his family likely hadn't survived the attack, something he'd spent countless days trying to prevent through relentless training, but he believed they were okay and ultimately found them alive. He wasn't there to protect them, but he sees for himself that they made it out without his help, and this was also a learning experience for the others if you think about it. They've already been shown to be capable of handling situations on their own or in pairs, but this was the first time they had to deal with a huge confrontation as a team without the comfort of their leader behind their shells.

Raph is the one who takes the helm for a brief few seconds and dishes out instructions amid the chaos, telling everyone to split up, find their way out and meet back up on the surface, with one last demand for them to be careful. And when Leo finds him, his distress is palpable; he couldn't find the others and therefore had no idea if they were okay, let alone alive, while he kept himself hidden from Karai's forces. Before this, we see that Raph is willing to make his own plan of action in this series' version of City at War when he doesn't go with Leo's word. But this time, in Leo's absence, we see he's willing to fill in as leader when the situation calls for it, and he realizes he isn't quite cut out for leadership like Leo.

We don't see any significant shift in team dynamics after this, mainly because Leo's inner turmoil from their fight with the Shredder is what caused problems with the team in the first place, but that goes to show that outside influences are what gave birth to the team conflict. Despite me pointing out earlier how Leo shoulders quite a bit not just because of his role but because of his brothers' roles as well, we can see throughout the series that Leo doesn't buckle from the pressure until they're in a situation where he can't effectively perform his role to his satisfaction.

As I mentioned in the beginning, Leo had been a leader in essence and in name for many years before their first home was raided by the Mousers. It makes perfect sense for him and his brothers to be accustomed to it by now.

2012 Leonardo is not used to being a leader. He may undeniably be a leader in essence, and had the drive and desire to be one, but he definitely wasn't a leader in name. The very first episode doesn't even open up with Leo being a leader, let alone with the turtles being a team. Their first time fighting together is a train wreck, and rather than Leo's strong sense of ethics and honor being the catalyst for his recruitment (not at first at least), it's the beginning of their long battle against the Kraang that convinces Splinter to officially deem him the leader of a newly formed team.

Being leader doesn't automatically mean the team will follow or respect you, which is something Leo learns right away thanks to his brothers, with Raph in particular challenging him when they butt heads over their opposing plans and ideals. It's touched upon in Rise of the Turtles Part 2, but Raph's desire to lead isn't a major plot device until New Girl in Town where he gets a taste of how Leo feels everytime he's responsible for his brothers and their wellbeing. However, Raph makes it known that even though he's resigned himself to not being the leader, he still doesn't like being told what or how to do something. Even Donnie challenges Leo when they can't agree on the best course of action in preparation for the Kraang, but Donnie realizes arguing was pointless as the invasion begins without warning and makes the idea of a second base the more favorable option.

His brothers aren't his only test of will though, as there are a handful of times where Leo questions his ability to lead and wonders if Splinter chose the right turtle for the job. Throughout all of that though, the boys ultimately rely on Leo and follow his lead when all is said and done.

Where this Leo truly differs from '03 Leo is that he not only struggles with leading a team that isn't so keen on being led, but he also struggles to grasp that he leads a team.

There are many times in the series where Leo runs off on his own or makes the decision to tackle something himself rather than with help, and that's not out of the norm, especially in comparison to his own brothers and '03 Leo. The problem is that '12 Leo's solo decision making more often than not leads to trouble (we all know the tale of him trying to turn Karai to the good side without informing the team about her). One of the first major examples of this though was in the S1 finale when he takes Splinter's words a little too close to heart and gives his brothers the scare of their life. Granted, him holding back Kraang Prime kept it on the sinking Technodrome, but you get what I'm saying.

His family actively calls him out on this behavior on two separate occasions during S4.

After they'd spent six months with the Fugatoid fighting the Triceratons and racing to collect every piece of the black hole generator before them, Fugatoid reveals that he was the one who made the world ending device, a reveal that lights a flame of betrayal in everyone, especially Raph and Leo. Believing that they're being used by Fugatoid, Leo rides off in a stealth ship on his own and nearly gets himself killed, a move that has his brothers scolding him, with Raph being the most vocal about Leo's idiotic decision: "Leaders are called leaders because they're supposed to lead a TEAM!"

The moment isn't lingered upon for long, but they all make it clear that they're tired of Leo's one man missions. They're a team, so they should plan and function like one.

Then, in Broken Foot, Leo starts doing missions with Karai and Shinigami in secret to aid them in taking revenge against the Shredder, but, in an attempt to find out what Leo was hiding from them, the other turtles get caught up in their plans and Donnie gets hurt. Leo immediately abandons Karai (who later apologizes for what happened) and Shinigami to check on them and come clean.

He explains to Splinter later on that he didn't fill anyone in on the situation at first because he knew no one would've agreed to help Karai get revenge, and he acknowledges that it was stupid of him to think he could control the situation. Splinter expresses his disappointment, and April reprimands him for once again not trusting his own team enough for them to help him.

Leo apologizes to Raph and Mikey afterwards, even going so far to say he probably doesn't deserve to lead the team after this, something Raph just harumphs at while Mikey remains silent. He pleads for their help in stopping and eventually aiding Karai and Shinigami, and they go along with him to fix things as a team.

We no longer get any one man missions from Leo in S5 (there surprisingly weren't any in S3 lol), likely for a whole list of reasons ranging from leading in Splinter's absence to learning from his mistakes over time. But he makes sure that whatever they have to do gets done together, and he does his best to keep his brothers in line.

I suppose one could say that '03 Leo remembered what it meant to be a leader, while '12 Leo discovered what it meant to lead.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #2003 leo #2012 leo #analysis

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

Text

oh my destiny, how far you have sprung now ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru gojo goes north.

word count; 5.3k

contents; satoru gojo, canon divergence, HEAVY jjk spoilers (for chapter 236!! but also kinda 237), fix-it fic, me coping w/ the manga for 5k words straight, canon-typical violence and death, implied stsg, probably non-canon compliant use of binding vows (but do i care? no), gojo satoru lives.

a/n; yeaaa this is literally just me coping <3 needed to write this for my mental health. he’s fine guys trust me

the experience is not altogether unfamiliar, on its own.

he’s felt it before. even now, he can still vividly recall it; a girl he failed to protect, a boy he failed to save. a man with a scar on his bottom lip.

that sickening numbness, as he lied in a pool of his own blood. sticking to his hair and tattered clothes, the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation — a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death.

emptiness. sinking deeper into the abyss, that all-enveloping darkness. that awful feeling of pure helplessness.

(he could never forget it.)

back then, though, gojo is certain he didn’t feel this way. all he could think about twelve years ago was survival — clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies. anything to escape that harrowing sensation, a kind of desperation all humans feel in the face of certain death, spurring him on. but now —

he almost welcomes it. nearly content in its approach. it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.

through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred by sweat and blood and dust, gojo watches the sky.

it's beautiful, he thinks. as beautiful as ever. peaceful, unchanging, soothing in an eerie kind of way. that clear blue, fading a little at the corners as his muddled mind grows just a little darker, a little more fatigued. he can barely gather the strength to keep his eyelids open.

yet he keeps his gaze on that endless sky, as if it’s all he’s ever known.

with every passing second, the world grows just a little more blurry. pale dots spread around the corners of his vision, like grains of stardust in an ever-expanding cosmos, clouding his senses. there’s a buzzing in his head that won’t go away. everything looks as if it's spinning, and he can barely tell left from right, north from south. everything is growing darker, so fast that it’s alarming, and gojo can’t seem to even think clearly.

but he can still see that blue, blue sky. bluer than he ever remembers it being. even as snow begins to fall, descending upon shinjuku as if bidding him farewell. the sky takes on a gray hue, but that shade of blue is still all gojo can see, as he takes shallow breaths and half-heartedly attempts to remain conscious. willing himself not to give in just yet, choking on his own blood.

and it's an odd feeling, really. one he never thought he'd meet again, but here it is, it's back — and it's all-consuming. beckoning him into a place he’s never been before. the unknown.

it's not scary. gojo doesn’t think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore. but it's a strange sensation, as death kisses its way up his neck, sending shivers down his spine; as the numbness spreads, devouring him whole.

it’s unknown. thoroughly and wholly. and that unknown is overwhelming, all-encompassing, it’s all he can see before him, it's —

ah.

gojo takes a deep breath. the air burns his lungs.

everything's ending, isn't it?

it would be so easy. to simply close his eyes, let them flutter shut as that all-encompassing sensation takes him down to earth. to allow himself to simply rest, for a moment. wouldn’t that be nice?

it would be so easy.

gojo watches the sky. it's all he can do.

the numbness keeps spreading throughout every cell of his body. he can barely feel the blood trickling down his chin, or the harsh bite of the winter cold, his skin buzzing with ache. he can't feel his arms or his legs, and he knows exactly why. everything in the world is closing in on him and god, he just feels so fucking tired.

ah. ah. more darkness. more numbness.

everything and nothing, all at once. slipping away into oblivion. the snow keeps falling but he can't see anything, can't hear anything, can't feel anything, anything at all.

nothing. nothing. less than nothing.

— and then, suddenly, an airport.

"yo."

gojo blinks.

a boy. a boy with black hair, tied into a small bun. a dead boy. his best friend.

suguru stands before him, and he looks exactly the same as gojo remembers. young, bright, with those awkward bangs still hanging over his face. grinning boyishly, and greeting him with youthful cheer.

gojo feels young, too, he realizes — the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision. but he can still see the flicker of suguru’s cursed energy clear as day. as if it never left him.

feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out what’s going on.

but he doesn’t succeed. because it’s impossible to understand. and, really, that’s answer enough.

huh.

so this is what the afterlife is like?

he inhales through his nose, basking in the clear air, and it doesn’t burn his lungs. his chest feels lighter than it’s been in years.

that seems a little too good to be true.

"you’re kidding me. this sucks.”

suguru makes a kind of face like he’s pouting, plopping down in the seat right next to gojo’s. the white haired boy stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru continues to speak and gojo continues to listen, all while observing the scenery in front of him.

the airport looks familiar. through the glass windows he can see a glimmer of the blue sky, and a plane waiting to take flight into the clouds. the air smells of summer and jet fuel and new beginnings. it’s pleasantly cool, a light breeze caressing his skin and coaxing a hum from the confines of his throat.

(he remembers this airport. remembers having his arms full of vending machine snacks, trailing after suguru as he dealt with all the annoying technicalities. amanai was there, too, watching a plane soar up into the sky with childlike wonder. a little anxious, as she boarded the plane to okinawa, and then back to tokyo.

her first and last flight.)

suguru is there, right next to him, and he’s speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.

he breathes in, and then out.

suguru is there. and not just him – nanami and haibara are, too. all young, all dead. all somehow breathing; he sees them inhale and he sees them exhale. he hears them speak and it’s like nothing ever changed.

they speak of regrets, of south and of north. nanami doesn’t seem to regret a single thing, and gojo is glad. even yaga is there, he notices belatedly. even amanai, and her maid, and a certain man with a scar on his bottom lip. everyone all together again.

the airport buzzes with warmth. nostalgia, as suguru’s laughter rings in his ears. and gojo grins, in tandem, bright and childlike. wallowing in the tender atmosphere.

the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought he’d lost forever.

his one and only blue spring of youth, right in front of his all-seeing eyes.

a little too good to be true.

with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints don’t ache, his head isn’t buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory.

“now i’m hoping this isn’t a dream,” he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguru’s cursed energy, and everyone else’s. he isn’t alone. what a nice thought.

and it’s strange, gojo thinks. it really is. he’s dead. sukuna killed him. he’s dead, his remains are lying somewhere in the streets of shinjuku, and that should bother him. he should be punching the floor and screaming, cursing sukuna’s name with every fiber of his being — it should frighten him, the realization that everything has ended.

but it doesn’t.

gojo isn’t afraid. and he isn’t upset, either. he bears no grudge against anyone, just like that day twelve years ago.

he’s with suguru, now, and his juniors. his old teacher. the people he cares for are with him, and the airport smells so nice. everyone is young, and happy, and none of them will ever have to kill or be killed again.

calling it anything less than heaven would be doing it a disservice.

gojo smiles, exhaling a relieved breath. one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding til now, stuck in the back of his throat for the past decade. a tiny thought makes it to the forefront of his brain, like a spring breeze flitting in through an open window.

like this, he thinks, i could die with no regrets.

“— except that’s not true.” a voice proclaims. “is it?”

gojo opens his eyes.

suguru looks at him. everything goes silent. everyone else has already gone blurry, a little faded, as if they aren’t what’s really important. as if the entire world has narrowed down to just this; him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven.

suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread.

they look into each other’s eyes, and both know what’s coming.

“the students are outclassed.” suguru rests his chin on the heel of his palm. ”you said it yourself — sukuna wasn’t giving it his all when he fought you. he still has more than a couple cards up his sleeve, doesn’t he? like his incarnation.”

gojo listens to suguru speak, not saying a word.

“they’re no match for him,” he continues, unperturbed. “all of them are going to die. every single one.”

suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojo’s eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but there’s a kindness there, too. as if he’s simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible.

he clicks his tongue.

“and you still haven’t buried my body, either.”

a moment passes. then two.

gojo smiles to himself, rueful. a little saddened.

“.. damn,” he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. “couldn’t you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?”

suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. “sorry,” he chimes. “but the plane is leaving soon.”

as if on cue, the pa system sounds.

flight to okinawa; departing in nineteen minutes.

“it hasn’t left, yet,” suguru hums, and it sounds like an inevitability. ringing in gojo’s ears. “you know what that means, don’t you?”

he does. he does, but it still hurts. gojo looks into suguru’s eyes, and sees himself reflected in them — young, transparent. blue. fading, but not quite faded. not quite dead.

and maybe it’s to be expected. maybe he was just trying to delude himself into believing the alternative, into believing that an afterlife as sweet as this could really be waiting for him. maybe it was naive, a childish fantasy.

but still —

”haah.” a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. ”oh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.”

a chuckle flows from suguru’s lips, amused. ”you aren’t the type to go down like that,” he murmurs. ”c’mon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.”

”how?” gojo scoffs. ”i’m split in half. and i’m too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.”

”eh,” suguru shrugs. ”you’ll manage.”

gojo shoots him a dubious look. ”you’re acting like it’s a papercut,” he huffs, crossing his arms. ”my guts are on the fuckin’ pavement.”

”oh, quit your complaining already," suguru rolls his eyes, and shoots him an accusatory glance. "i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.”

”i wanted to make it painless for you!”

”well, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.”

gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and it’s juvenile, a little twisted — but then again, weren’t they always?

suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. ”you’ve still got some fight left in you,” he says, and there’s a fondness to it. ”you always do.”

”get up, satoru.”

silence. unbroken, unperturbed. if he focuses enough, he thinks he can hear the distant buzzing of cicadas, the crinkling of soda cans. the whistling of the wind. placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious.

it’s quiet, for a while. gojo stares into space, blinking slowly. then he parts his lips.

”suguru.”

the boy in question turns towards him. but gojo looks up, instead — eyes set on the roof, like he’s trying to see beyond it. into the comfort of the blue sky.

suguru hums, a cue for him to follow. and gojo closes his eyes.

”i think… i might be tired.”

silence. no one says a thing.

”i think i’d prefer to stay here,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. tapping his fingers on his knee. ”in the past, like this.”

the scent of jet fuel and summer lies heavy in the air. gojo inhales it, greedy. as if savouring it. trying to make it a part of his being, filling his lungs with sweet nostalgia so it never goes away.

”we could just stay here. together,” he muses, barely above a whisper. there’s a kind of longing to the tilt of his voice, something soft. ”couldn’t we? never moving forward, or back.”

the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper; ”we could just stay like this.”

suguru’s gaze trails from satoru, down to his lap. his bangs follow the slow movement, silky strands falling over his eye. the chuckle that drifts from his lips doesn’t have much humour to it.

”haha… you’ve never been the type to stay in one place for too long, satoru.”

gojo clenches his fist.

a moment passes.

”you want me to go back,” he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. ”you want me to go back, and then what? there’s nothing i can do. i’m not the strongest, anymore.”

”you are.” suguru’s voice is firm, decisive. ”you can still win. you know exactly what you need to do. there’s only one way to get out of this.”

gojo sighs. one hand in his hair, tousling it. mildly frustrated. ”… it’s risky.”

”you’re bleeding out.”

”if i do this — i won’t ever be the same.” gojo turns to look at suguru. ”i sure as hell won’t be the strongest, anymore.”

”and would that be such a bad thing?”

silence. the two boys look at each other — one dead, one half-alive, both connected to the other. for eternity. suguru’s eyes are full of understanding, as they look into the blue of satoru’s.

”there’s always been a gap between you and everyone else. that’s what you said, before. aren’t you tired of it?”

a brief intake of breath. gojo closes his eyes.

that’s right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength — a weight he’s borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.

the title of the strongest. a cross he alone had to bear.

(did he ever really want it? or was he just resigned to it, conditioned from the very beginning?)

the feeling of isolation that’s been haunting him for decades seeps into his skin. the cruel knowledge that no one will ever truly know him; even worse, the knowledge that it’s all for the best. you can admire a flower, and help it bloom, but you can’t ask it to understand you.

such a cruel curse to be born with.

suguru’s voice fills his mind, his senses. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. ”you said it yourself, satoru.” gojo can hear the smile in his voice. ”you love everyone.”

love. it always comes down to that, doesn't it? the greatest curse of them all.

(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)

”there are still people waiting for you, out there,” suguru reminds him. and gojo knows that he’s right.

he still hasn’t buried suguru’s body. that thing is still inside his head, doing god knows what. and his students — they must be fighting sukuna, right now. if he’s lucky, no one’s dead yet. if he’s lucky. then there’s shoko, of course. and ijichi, everyone else from the school.

not just that — the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together.

dying isn’t a luxury satoru gojo can afford. he knows that, he does, but —

(dammit.)

”suguru,” he starts, hesitant. voice more feeble than he ever remembers it sounding. almost childlike, in its uncertainty. “what… should i do, from here on out?” a beat. ”where should i go?”

suguru raises a single eyebrow, and then tilts his head. ”do you really need me to tell you that?” he asks, a little teasing. gojo’s reply is instantaneous.

”i do.”

the airport falls silent, again.

”i’ll listen to you,” he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentminded. eyes shining with a glimmer of something awfully tender. ”so… it has to be you.”

suguru inhales, softly — fresh air wafting through his transparent lungs. breathing out in a meek chuckle, with a soft shake of his head. almost in disbelief. ”well, in that case…”

a smile. he meets gojo’s gaze. ”then i think you should go north.”

gojo looks into his eyes. a moment passes, slow, detached from space and time. a moment that matters more than anything. their eyes meet, and in suguru’s eyes, gojo sees a reflection of their youth.

what a shame.

”alrighty, then.”

placing his palms on his knees, the white haired man gets up from his seat. stretching his arms with a soft groan. a sigh flows from his lips, drifting out into the clear air.

”so much for finally getting a vacation,” he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. ”you dead people have it easy, you know that?”

suguru’s still smiling, but he’s not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.

flight to okinawa; departing in six minutes.

a deep breath. air flows into his lungs, and then back out; soaking up the summer air he knows he’ll never quite get a taste of again. no summer will ever feel as warm as this one did.

suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling. the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset that’s beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.

it’s breathtaking.

”will i see you?” gojo asks, before he can stop himself. eyes still stuck to the setting sun. ”when everything ends.”

…

suguru chuckles, once more. rueful. gojo thinks it sounds just a bit meek, a little like he’s holding back tears. ”maybe,” he breathes, shrugging halfheartedly. not meeting his eyes. ”who knows?”

it’s not the answer gojo wants to hear. but he’ll take what he can get.

and finally, suguru gets up. slowly, methodically. elegant, in the way he moves, the way he brushes non-existent dust off his baggy pants. smiling, hair swaying softly with the breeze. gojo finds his gaze, and that smile shifts into a lazy grin. one so distinctly suguru that it can’t possibly be just a figment of his imagination.

”don’t find out too soon,” he quips, teasingly. ”alright?”

a slap. gojo doesn’t see it coming, and it knocks him forward — he stumbles slightly, lanky legs moving clumsily, sunglasses falling off at the impact. his back stings, a little.

over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except he’s no longer a boy — now he’s wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.

”go get ’em, satoru.”

gojo blinks.

the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened — but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.

he turns his back on suguru, and puffs out his chest. trying to hide the sappy smile still lingering on his lips, the glassiness of his eyes. his voice comes out loud, cheery, echoing throughout the airport — but still somehow so tender.

”roger that!”

gojo looks ahead. the airport is blurred, a little hazy, but a bright light shines farther up ahead. a beacon for him to follow, one that blinds him if he looks at it for too long. blue, white, golden — the colours of the sky. beckoning him forward, to a familiar place.

he takes one step north.

”ah, satoru. one more thing.”

the sound of suguru’s voice stops him in his tracks. ”hm?” gojo turns on his heel, white hair tousled by the soft breeze. a little confused. ”what is it now?”

suguru grins. the whole airport smells like spring.

”—, — —.”

…

one long, tender moment passes by. gojo doesn’t even breathe, mouth falling open slightly, in a way that must look comical to the man in front of him.

the airport glimmers like a marble in the sun. transparent, blurred, but still somehow so real. suguru’s words echo in his mind.

then gojo laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat like seafoam on a scorching summer day. hearty and deep, coaxed out from the very bottom of his gut — genuine. a little breathless. he can’t wipe away the grin on his face, wouldn’t do it even if he could. his blue eyes crinkle, as he looks at suguru, showing off his dimples and teeth.

”so corny,” he teases. suguru rolls his eyes.

”hey, don’t blame me. this is your imagination.”

a huff slips from his lips. ”yeah, yeah…” gojo waves him off. then he meets his eyes, again, still grinning boyishly. ”i’ll hold you to that, okay?”

”got it,” suguru chirps. ”good luck out there, satoru.”

”pssh. who do you think you’re talking to?”

the men exchange smiles, one final time. funny, how that’s always how their story ends; with a heartfelt smile. even if it’s coated in blood, or nothing more than a figment of their imagination.

then gojo turns around, again, and takes a step forward. not looking back this time. trusting suguru to still be there, watching over him. like always.

the bright light at the end of the airport glimmers, tantalizing, mesmerizing. suguru is right — there’s only one way to get out of this. only one way to make it back alive.

and it’s risky. very much so. it’s a gamble, the greatest one gojo’s ever made, even worse than that time twelve years ago with the reverse cursed technique.

it’s a gamble, all or nothing.

binding vows are dangerous, fickle things. built on equivalent exchange. give something and get something, of equal value. sacrifice and gain.

gojo’s thought about it, before. a morbid curiosity.

what could he possibly gain by offering the greatest treasure of the jujutsu world?

he lifts one hand up, to caress his face. lingering over the skin of his eyelids, now closed. but he can still see the cursed energy around him. burned into his retinas.

the six eyes. the blessing of sight.

a blessing. a blessing he never once asked for, one he was simply born with. born with all this power, doomed to live above the rest. all for a pair of eyes that never seem to see the things that really matter.

and, really, it’s a gamble.

gojo takes a deep breath, and then one large step forward.

(buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)

the light comes closer, and closer. lotus flowers bless his path. he takes seven steps forward, and his path blooms out before him; one flower blooming by his feet for every step he takes. seven steps north.

i’ll give you everything, he speaks to the someone watching the world. a god, a natural order, himself — it doesn’t really matter. i’ll give you all six.

in exchange —

the light is close, now. so close he can almost touch it. it burns his skin, but he doesn’t falter. he doesn’t look away, eyes seeing through the blindness and reaching out for something. something alive.

don’t let me die, he bargains. give me enough of it to kill him.

i still have things i need to do.

one more step, out of the airport —

(and satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.)

a binding vow is made.

the six eyes dissipate, like vapour drifting off into the darkness of a never-ending cosmos.

when gojo opens his eyes, he’s met with a cold, gray sky.

the world shifts on its axis before him.

everything looks different. he can’t see, but he can, it’s just not the same as before. it’s naked, and raw, and surface-level. not enough to sink his teeth into.

he can still see cursed energy, feel the flicker of it all around him, but it’s hazy. it’s not clear enough, not enough for him to get a good grasp on — like the world lost its saturation. like everything got tilted slightly to the left. an eerie feeling that something isn’t as it should be.

and wow, okay. this is new.

but gojo parts his lips, weakly, and breathes in — and the air tastes the same as ever. cold, crispy. it fills his lungs and he exhales it through his nose. a human act. a breath of life.

i’m still alive.

it’s an odd feeling, like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. like someone stripped him of everything that makes him him. an strange sensation, heavy, entirely impossible to ignore. however —

the gain after the loss hits him almost immediately, embracing him with a burst of cursed energy so violently overwhelming that his sight becomes entirely irrelevant. it devours his very being.

everything becomes a blur.

— i’ll give you everything.

so, in exchange…

give me enough cursed energy to go on a good rampage.

the cursed energy within him spikes, so sudden and violent that gojo fears his skin might break open. buzzing like flies inside his veins, a vibrant burst of life, every colour in the universe. all the power one can expect from willingly casting away the greatest jewel of the jujutsu world.

gojo moves his fingers. he can feel them, finally — all limbs intact. positive cursed energy flows from his brain, no longer exhausted beyond comprehension. enough, more than enough to give him access to every possibility within his soul.

belatedly, he realizes that his sight isn’t the only thing that’s been weakened. the control he’s grown so used to having over his cursed energy is dwindling, and fast; that firm grip seems to have left with the six eyes, replaced by a set of shaky hands. gojo has experience, and for now, it’s enough. but he still has to concentrate to contain the nearly overwhelming flicker of his cursed energy, stinging his skin as if it can’t fully be contained by his body anymore. prickling his veins. it feels a little like trying to keep water from running through the gaps between your fingers.

and he feels naked, in a way, suddenly living without something that defines his very being. a little hollowed out. a little wrong, like someone reached a hand through his ribs and pulled out his heart.

but damn, does it feel good.

his cursed energy output is all-encompassing. his mind feels more clear than he ever remembers it being, and it’s like the world is at his fingertips. something similar to what he felt twelve years ago, but still so different.

it isn’t ascension, not even close. quite the opposite. but that feeling of freedom is still so abundant. it’s all he can see before him; endless possibilities.

twelve years ago, satoru gojo faced a certain man, and rose to the skies. he will never, ever forget it. that flicker of eternal solitude, the burst of overwhelming euphoria. that sense of everything being just right.

twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.

everything feels different. everything looks different. things won’t be the same, ever again — but maybe, suguru was right. maybe that’s not such an awful thing.

to be reborn. to be given a choice.

gojo opens his eyes, and finally takes in all the sights before him. everything happens in a blur, so fast he can barely catch up — his body acts before his mind, and suddenly he’s face to face with sukuna.

not megumi, but sukuna. fully incarnated.

and he looks displeased. almost frustrated.

”how?”

the look of pure shock on his face is more satisfying than gojo could ever put into words; the satisfaction of seeing a king fall to his knees.

somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears a cacophony of voices, awfully familiar in a way that has warmth blooming in his chest. the students, he assumes — voices of shock, and something he tentatively recognizes as relief. but he doesn’t have the time to let his guard down, just yet.

(no matter how much he’d like to look back at them and give them a self-assured peace sign, bask in their smiling faces.)

instead, he answers sukuna. ”a binding vow,” he grins, and he thinks he must look a little manic, gesturing towards his eyes with his thumb. ”gave these puppies away. didn’t expect that, did’ya?”

sukuna looks at him, for a second.

then he laughs, loud and ugly, grotesque. taunting. he looks at gojo with something that almost resembles pity, something bordering on disappointment.

”pathetic,” he spits, all teeth. ”what good is living if it’s not at the top?”

gojo simply smiles.

he recalls that one question. eleven years ago, somewhere close to the ruins of the very street he’s standing in now. the question that flipped his entire world upside down.

(are you the strongest because you’re satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you’re the strongest?)

a grin breaks out across his lips. his cursed energy pulsates inside his veins, eager to be let loose, and he takes on a fighting stance. parting his lips to speak, unsure of whose question he’s answering.

”well, we’re about to find out.”

the sky is gray, grayer than ever. even so, all he can see is that familiar shade of blue. as clear as it’s always been, even without the six eyes.

gojo smiles.

just keep watching, suguru.

this time, i definitely won’t lose.

#if gojo comes back at the cost of his six eyes i expect a personal letter from akutami #dont lose hope gojo nation has our man ever failed us before???#im in so deep in my delusions that i dont even see them as delusional anymore im like yea he'll be fineee #its just a lil scratch!!!!#title taken from king oedipus... btw..... pls appreciate my commitment to the symbolism #cuz yknow. gouging your own eyes out as a symbol of your weakness and blindness to your destiny <333 yea. im normal abt this concept #i just think gojo is soooo protagonist of an ancient greek tragedy coded.............#gojo satoru #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen 236 #jjk 236 #satosugu #jjk 237 #jujutsu kaisen 237 #that should b all the tags....#im not used to writing non-x reader stuff i feel so vulnerable and lost without that tag

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midnigtartist · 2 months

Text

Writing scenes I’m to lazy to draw. Enjoy

“And what is kith'rak?”

Dotty bounds along at Lae’zel heel not unlike a pup chasing an offered treat, clinging to their githyanki friends every word as shes barraged with questions. Quite honestly her pursuit of knowledge is not only commendable but shared. A rare opportunity, to interview a denizen of the Astral Sea, Gale is itching to ask her a thousand questions of his own.

For her, decidedly, prickly nature Lae’zel seems to take the teifings hounding in stride. “Dragons knights in service of our Queen. You saw them as my kin pursed the ghaik ship. To wield a kith'rak’s silver sword is my life’s purpose.”

Dotty nods along eagerly with her explanation, swaying up into Lae’zel space to slip her arm around the other’s. Its hardly been a few hours in each other’s company and both Shadowheartand himself have already been on the receiving end of that particular motion. With Gale’s arm lock firmly in her grasp, deceptively firm grip. He’s not yet sure if she’s just the tactile type or merely unsteady on her feet, though he’d wager its the former. Regardless, the hand on her bicep causes Lae’zel to jerk swiftly away.

Her head cocks sharply to one side. “Do you intend to grapple me, istik?” She snaps.

Dotty cocks her head back in confusion. “Have you never walked arm in arm with someone before?”

“Why would you wish impede your target in such an inefficient way? Twisting the arm behind the back would be a much sounder tactic”

“Oh no its not fighting thing.” Dotty explains. “Its a polite thing. For when you’re walking with a lady. You link arms so you can walk and chat. You know like, with friends. Or a sweetheart.”

Lae’zel fixes her with a look as steely as the blade at her back. Dotty sighs.

“I think I might be explaining this poorly,, maybe it would just be easier to show you” she casts her gaze around for a moment before it settles on him at the rear. “Gale dear, you’re gentlemanly enough. Come help me show Lae’zel what I mean”

Her smile drips with a laugh the seems constantly at risk of spilling over, despite their bleak circumstances. His own lips quirk up at the absurdity of the, well, demand more then request.

“Had you told me, as I was plummeting from a mind flayers ship at terminal velocity, almost certain to face me premature doom dashed across a cliffside, that I would later be giving etiquette lessons to a githyanki, I cannot fathom my response.” But strange needs in strange times. He takes a step forward, inclining his head slightly as he does. “Consider me at your disposal.”

“Really?” Shadowheart cuts in, tone both bewildered and annoyed. “We’re going to waste precious time on this?”

Dotty dismisses the question with a sharp flick of the wrist. “Hush. It’s important for Lae’zel to learn this um, “custom”. That was the word, yes? Custom?”

She talks with her hands, he’s noticed All graceful rolling of her wrists and delicately poised fingers. Gale wonders if she’s undertaken any arcane training. Certainly her sharp and guilefully motions would lend themselves to weave manipulation.

“Now Lae’zel-“ Dotty turns her attention back to the stone faced warrior. “When you’re walking with a lady, it’s expected that the gentleman offer his arm like so-“

His cue. Gale straightens his back and offers the crook of his elbow with, perhaps a bit more flourish then conceivably needed, but then, what’s a demonstration with out a bit of flare? Its seems to delight Dotty, if nothing else, for him to play the part so readily.

She clasps her hands over her chest. “Perfect! Yes exactly like that. And then the lady would position herself like this-“

She steps lightly up to his side, resting well manicured talons in the crook of his elbow. “And then you walk like this.”

He follows her lead as she guilds them a handful steps towards Lae’zel, her other hand coming to rest on his bicep as the walk in measured, almost swaying steps.

“You see? It’s easy. In this case you would be the gentleman and I would be the lady but we can switch if you want. I don’t mind.” She adds.

“Enough.” Lae’zel rolls her eyes “If I allow you to cling to me will you cease with this with pointless explanation?”

“Yes.”

“Very well then.” Despite her sharp tone, she looks a tad embarrassed as she offers up a limp elbow.

Dotty bounces on the balls of her feet, giving Gale’s arm one quick squeeze before skipping over and linking her arm with Lae’zel instead, hand curling up to hold her at the shoulder.

“Thank you.”

#tav shit #bg3 #dotty mcclain #tav

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supernovafics · 1 year

Text

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k words

summary: in which during the summer of ‘84 steve visits family in chicago and meets you at a record store. the two of you immediately have a sort of pull towards one another and decide to start something that’s only meant to be a summer fling. as the end of summer nears, you realize that you may be in way too deep, and you take a step back from it all. however, maybe things can actually work out in the end for you two? or maybe not

warnings: explicit language, implied smut, some fluff, a lot of angst

author’s note: very much inspired by the song “end of beginning” by djo (the entire decide album fully makes me wanna sell my soul lmao) this started out as such a small idea and then somehow expanded to being over 5k words…. hope you enjoy! lol ((already working on a part two so don’t hate me for how this ends :0))

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was pretty obvious that you were avoiding Steve like the plague. Phone calls to your home were left unanswered, messages from him that were relayed to you by your parents were left unresponded to, and when he showed up at your house looking for you, you told your parents to tell him that you weren’t home.

However, if anyone were to call you out on your current behavior, you would deny it.

Because technically, everything was completely fine between you and Steve.

There was no defining moment that made you start avoiding him. In fact, the day before you stopped talking to him, the two of you had spent the night watching a movie at the tiny old theater in the next town over. Well, actually, “watching” was an overstatement because you two mainly did other things that did not involve really paying attention to the two-hour movie.

And although that entire night had been good, great even, you still spent the next three days avoiding Steve. It was an impulsive decision, but it was also one that you knew, or at least felt like, was the right one.

You were starting to like him too much, and that concerned you because he was leaving Chicago in less than a week to go back to Indiana, which meant that what you and he had going on was going to be over.

It was a fact that both of you were well aware of and had agreed upon at the start of the summer.

However, as it got closer to that date, the thought of actually having to let him go and end things felt painful. Therefore, you decided that the “going cold turkey” idea was the best way to protect yourself. And although a part of you missed Steve, you forced yourself not to think about him.

However, it turned out that not thinking about someone was much easier to do when they weren’t standing right in front of you, which Steve currently was.

Now that you truly thought about it, you could see that it was only a matter of time before he showed up at your job. The record store was where you met him in the first place, and he practically knew your schedule as if it were his own since he had picked you up at the end of almost all of your shifts for the past month and a half.

Your mind and heart felt conflicting things at this specific moment. As much as your heart wanted to see him, your mind knew that he was only making things harder. A tearful, heartbreaking goodbye was what you truly wanted to avoid.

It was then that you wished that the store was much more crowded than it actually was because since there was barely anyone browsing around, it made it easy for Steve to walk up to the front counter, which you stood behind.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and instead of meeting his gaze, you busied yourself with grabbing the Hall and Oates vinyl that someone was going to buy, but ultimately decided not to, and moving to place it back on its rightful shelf.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” You ultimately told him, still evading his eyes and beginning to pick through the shelf even though there wasn’t anything to organize or fix on it.

“I think there’s a lot to talk about, actually.”

You finally looked at him, and when you saw the look on his face that was a mix of confusion and sadness, for a moment, you finally felt bad for not talking to him and giving him no explanation as to why.

“I have to do some stocking in the back,” You told Steve, knowing that he would be able to easily read between the lines of what you said.

He knew exactly what that “code” meant, but with what had happened the last few days he wasn’t sure if he should follow you to the back room. The last time the two of you had been there was a week ago, and in Steve’s mind, things were much clearer then, than what they were like now.

You placed a bell and sign on the counter that said, “Ring if you need help,” and then began heading to the back. When Steve didn’t start following you, you looked at him. “You coming?”

He gave you a small nod and finally moved, following you the few feet to the room that said Employees Only. He softly shut the door behind you both, and you flicked on the light switch that turned on the one light bulb hanging in the middle of the room that did almost nothing to provide the space with any light.

Maybe coming back here wasn’t the best idea because being in the place that surprisingly held pretty fond memories of you and Steve made it feel way too easy to fall back into the dynamic you’d become so used to with him. It almost felt like second nature to slot your lips against his in the barely lit room, and you really wished you could allow yourself to do it.

“Where have you been these past couple of days?” Steve asked, pulling you out of your conflicting thoughts.

A silence lingered for a brief moment as you thought of what to say in response to that. Ultimately, you settled with, “I’ve been… busy.”

“I leave in four days,” He said, reminding you of a fact you truly wanted to forget about. His face softened, and you had to pull your eyes away from his. “Is there any way you can be not busy?”

“The fact that you’re leaving in four days is exactly why I’ve been making myself busy,” You muttered, but Steve heard you clearly.

A confused look crossed his face.“What do you mean?”

A small sigh fell from your lips, and it was funny because, at that moment, you wanted to tell him nothing but also everything circling your mind. “I– I know what we agreed on at the beginning of the summer, but it’s just… I don’t know. It just feels so hard now? In the beginning, it was so easy, and I honestly liked that we had an “expiration date” set for this, but it all just feels so different now. Because I can feel myself liking you way too much, and I simultaneously love and hate that because you’re the first person I’ve ever truly liked. But you’re leaving, so obviously, I can’t allow myself to like you too much because I would be an idiot if I did, and I would just end up hurting more than I already do right now. And the thought of having to say goodbye to you makes me actually wanna throw up.”

You knew that you were rambling at that point and that you should stop because what you were saying probably wasn’t making a lot of sense. But Steve had always been insanely easy to talk to, so it was pretty understandable why you were word-vomiting all over him. “So yeah, that’s why I’ve been avoiding you like the plague for the past few days, and I would’ve continued if you hadn't shown up here.”

During the entirety of your ramble, your eyes were looking everywhere except for Steve, and when you finally let your gaze land on him, you noticed a certain look on his face. “Why the hell are you smiling right now?”

Your incredulous tone only somehow made Steve smile wider. “Because for the past three days, I thought you hated me for some reason. But now I know it’s the exact opposite.”

“Honestly, I wish I hated you,” You told him. The statement was mostly a lie. “It would make things so much easier for me.”

“Well, I’m really glad you don’t,” He said softly and moved a bit closer to you, placing his hands on either side of your waist.

You almost leaned into his touch, as you’d done what felt like a million times before, but you refrained from doing so and instead backed up a bit. “Steve…”

You could feel yourself slowly falling back down that hole of wanting him, and although it was a path that could only lead to heartbreak, your motivation to push him away and never talk to him again was declining.

Still, you managed to find your voice at that moment. “You should go.”

Steve disregarded your words because he could hear how much you didn’t mean them and instead asked a question of his own. “Am I really the first person you ever really liked?”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, and you suddenly felt annoyed by all of your previous honesty. But you also wanted to roll your eyes at the question because Steve knew the answer; he knew pretty much everything about you. “You know how I was before we started this.”

For most of your life, you had always been completely content with being alone romantically and having only a handful of friends you loved and would die for. There was never anyone that made you want to step out of the bubble you created for yourself. Somehow Steve was the exception.

However, the immediate pull you felt toward him wasn’t enough to change you. Instead, it was your best friend Vanessa, who also worked at the record store, that noticed how you were around Steve and gave you the much-needed nudge to actually attempt to pursue something with him. Because just the idea of you having feelings for him had felt utterly foreign to you.

“You randomly came into the picture and changed everything for me. And I think I’ll probably always be grateful for that,” You said after a brief stretch of silence. “But, I can’t allow myself to see you again after we leave this room. It’s too fucking hard for me.”

In the beginning, you convinced yourself that a situation like this couldn’t lead to heartbreak because of the fact that the ending was set. However, now you thought that maybe that made things worse because everything you felt for Steve was still right there, and it also wasn’t gonna go away any time soon.

“I don’t wanna end things.”

“Me neither, but you leave in four—”

“I don’t want this to be over,” He interrupted you. “I want to make it work with us when I go back.”

You were rendered speechless for a brief moment at his words. Too many things started running through your mind, and although your immediate thought was to let yourself smile at his statement, there was a question that you knew you needed to ask. “What about Nancy?”

Her name felt foreign on your lips because, for the entire summer, you kept her pushed to the back of your mind.

Steve told you about her, and the fact that they were on a break for the summer, once you and he grew closer, which was something that happened insanely fast. And that was where the arrangement between you two started.

Nancy was a big reason why you now saw the “summer fling” you agreed on with Steve as doomed from the start.

The life Steve was living with you while he was in Chicago for the summer wasn’t his real life. He was always, always going to go back to Indiana and pick things up right where he and his girlfriend had left them off.

That is what you kept telling yourself, and that upsetting thought only aided in your need to avoid him for his last week in Chicago. Maybe that assumption was wrong, though.

“I’ve barely thought about her the entire summer,” Steve said, and you could hear the honesty dripping from his words. “And when I have, it’s only been about how to end things for good with her because I only want to be with you.”

His words contradicted everything you convinced yourself of, and you didn’t know how to respond to that. Your mind was running in a million different directions, allowing no coherent sentences to form. The only thing you could say at that moment was, “Oh?”

“Yes, and I know that we’ll be able to make this work,” Steve began explaining, and you forced your mind to shut off for a moment and solely listen to him. “We’ll both be seniors, so our schedules with school won’t be too bad, and we probably won’t have a shit ton of classes. Also, the drive is only three hours, which will be like five for you to do since you’re a bad driver, but that’s still not too crazy. I’ll happily drive up here most weekends. And then there are the holidays too.”

For the first time since the conversation with Steve started, you smiled. Not at the bad driving comment; in fact, you gave him a light shove for saying that. But, it was endearing hearing how certain he was of the fact that the two of you could actually make things work, even though you’d be in two different states.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, huh?” You asked, a smile still planted on your face as you shifted closer to him and let your arms circle loosely around his neck.

His hands found their rightful place on your waist and squeezed lightly. “Yes, and I wanted to say it that night at the movies, but you just wanted to make out with me the entire time, so it was hard to get a serious word out.”

You could hear the jokiness in his tone, but you still rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up. You were the one that initiated it right when the lights went low, and the previews started.”

“And then you just couldn’t get enough of me, baby,” He said before fully closing the space between you two and slotting his lips against yours.

You had wanted to laugh at his previous words or give your own sarcastic comment back, but you let all of that melt away, and instead, you simply kissed him back; something that had been done many times in that back room.

One of Steve’s hands was cupping your cheek while the other slipped under the t-shirt you were wearing, and feeling his cool hand against your warm skin sent a slight shiver down your spine. Your hands found a home in his hair, and you loved hearing the low groan erupt from his throat when you gave it a light tug.

The two of you were so lost in the kiss and making up for the time lost since you hadn’t seen each other in days, that neither of you heard the door open or saw Vanessa open it.

“Y/N, what do–” The rest of her question stopped short when she saw the two of you. She had known that you had been avoiding Steve for the past few days but refrained from calling you out. However, at that moment, she gave you a look that said, “You better explain everything when we’re alone,” and you gave her a small nod before shutting your eyes in embarrassment. Surprisingly, in the many times you’d brought Steve back there, something like this had never happened before. “Oh, um, sorry to interrupt… this. As you were.”

The door softly clicked shut, and when Steve leaned in to kiss you again, you immediately pulled back, detaching yourself from him and letting your hands fall limp at your sides. Your body was on fire at that moment, but you refrained from doing anything about it.

“Nope. No more of this right now,” You told him. The embarrassment from the situation had yet to wear off and allow you to continue kissing him, even though you had been thoroughly enjoying it. “I’ll see you tonight, though?”

“You’re not gonna start avoiding me again?” Steve asked, and you knew he was mostly kidding, but you could also hear a tad bit of seriousness behind his words, which made sense to you. However, things were completely different now. You actually surprisingly felt hopeful about what was to come instead of dreading the next four days before he left.

You looked up at him and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Never.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t surprising that you were the first one to wake up. For some reason, your body would never allow you to sleep too far past nine o’clock, no matter what you’d done the night before.

You carefully detangled yourself from Steve’s warm body, not wanting him to wake up just yet, and headed to your bathroom. Once you finished brushing your teeth and showering, you slipped the grey t-shirt that Steve had shown up in last night back on your body because you loved how it looked and felt on you.

When you walked back into your room, you mentally saved the image of Steve in your bed. It wasn’t the first time you’d snuck him into your room, but it would be the last for a while. And you were glad that your parents were gone for the weekend at some business conference so that you didn’t even have to sneak him in this last time.

Steve looked peaceful, and you didn’t want to have to wake him, but it was his last day in Chicago, and you wanted to make every hour count before he left that night.

You slipped back into the bed and faced him on his side. You ran a hand through his hair and pressed soft kisses on both of his cheeks, his nose, and then his forehead before finally landing on his lips.

He was surprisingly quick to kiss you back, and you smiled, which allowed Steve to deepen the kiss further before he abruptly pulled back. “Mm, minty.”

“I wish I could say the same for you,” You joked, and he immediately poked your side, which made you laugh. You leaned in to kiss him again to show him that you really didn’t care about his morning breath.

Steve’s hand trailed under your, his, t-shirt and began rubbing your bare side in small circles. You sighed contently into the kiss at the feeling of his warm touch, and you wanted to move even closer to him, but you had to force yourself to pull away before things moved further, as they had last night.

You pushed some of his hair away from his eyes, and then your hand lingered on his cheek. “You leave tonight.”

He gave you a small nod. “Yeah.”

“So, we need to get up now,” You told him. “I have a lot of things I wanna do with you today.”

Steve let out a soft groan before turning his head a bit so that he could kiss the inside of your palm. “Why can’t we just do more of this?”

“Because I want to be disgustingly cheesy and sentimental with you today and just drive around and go to a bunch of the places we’d always go to this summer.”

He smiled at your words. “You’re never cheesy and sentimental.”

“You bring out this cute side of me, Harrington,” You told him and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. “Also, I’m gonna force you to finally try deep dish from my favorite place.”

“You’re evil,” He said before finally sitting up in the bed. His gaze suddenly shifted away from you and instead focused downward as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “But, um, last night… Last night was good, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness. “Yes, very good.”

During that summer, you’d done everything else with him, so last night was kind of the final piece of the puzzle. It was honestly a bit surprising that it'd taken this long. And although you never necessarily cared too much about your virginity and losing it, you were glad that your first time had at least been with someone that you truly cared a lot about, and you knew he felt the same way toward you.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” Steve said with a nod as he continued to expertly avoid eye contact with you. “Because I know we’ve done a lot of stuff, but I just wanted to make sure that last night was good and everything, y’know? And that it was great for you and how you wanted it to be for your first time and–”

You stopped his rambling by pressing your lips against his. “I know. Everything was great, don’t stress. And I’d happily do it again with you right now if you weren’t leaving tonight and there wasn’t a bunch of other stuff I wanted to do with you today.”

He smiled at that and muttered out a soft “Okay,” before giving you a kiss on the cheek and getting out of bed to head to your bathroom.

You slipped on a pair of dark denim jeans and your old pair of black Converses. When Steve exited the bathroom, you silently admired him and the fact that he was only currently in his boxers, and you resisted the urge to go up and wrap your arms around him and kiss him for what felt like the thousandth time that morning.

“As great as you look in my t-shirt, I need it back,” He told you as he pulled on his jeans.

You were quick to shake your head. “Nope, it’s mine now. But…” You walked over to your dresser and started rummaging through the second drawer until you found the band tee you were looking for. The shirt was pretty oversized on you, so you knew that it would more than likely fit Steve just fine. “You can borrow this.”

Steve slipped the shirt over his head. “This is also mine now. Although I do feel like a fraud since I’ve never listened to the band before.”

“If anyone asks your favorite song from them, just say, ‘Anything from their first album. I can’t decide which one,’” You said as you moved toward him, now allowing yourself to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Got it,” He nodded and smiled as his arms circled around your waist.

You pressed your lips against his, giving him a quick peck, before finally forcing the two of you to leave your house.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Although it was one of those days that you knew you’d remember forever, it saddened you how quickly it all flew by.

From going back to the park where you and Steve played basketball during one of your first few hangouts with each other (and you surprisingly beat him, but you knew that he let you win) to laughing at how much he hated the deep dish pizza you finally convinced him to try. And then next thing you both knew, it was night, and you were sitting in the driveway of the house he and his family had been staying at for the summer.

A comfortable silence that felt sad, at least on your end, lingered in the car as music softly played, and Steve held your hand in his lap and traced mindless circles on your palm.

When he looked over at you, he intertwined your hand with his and pulled it up to his lips to kiss it. “Don’t have that look. Remember, this is only the end of the beginning. I know I’m leaving now, but we’ll have so much more time together. Once I’m back in Indiana, we’ll figure out the best time for us to see each other again, okay? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You smiled and laughed at his last statement before leaning over the center console and pressing your lips against his. The position was entirely uncomfortable, but at that moment, you didn’t care.

“I have something for you,” You told him when you pulled away and then reached into the backseat and grabbed the brown paper bag that you had been looking for, which was folded at the top to hide the contents inside. It was upsettingly the only thing in your house that could double as a last minute gift bag.

Steve eyed the paper bag for a moment before his eyes lifted to yours. “You packed me lunch?”

“Shut up, no,” You said with a small laugh. “Just open it.”

He unfolded the top of the bag and looked inside. His gaze met yours again for a brief moment before he pulled out the five cassette tapes that were inside the bag. “No, these are all your favorites.”

You could only smile at him. “Yes, I know and I’m not giving them to you, just letting you borrow them for the time being until I see you again. Mainly because you told me you never listened to these albums before, and I have a feeling you’ll like most of them. And when you do listen to them, you’ll think about me, which is a small plus.”

He placed the tapes back in the bag and then leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I’ll always be thinking about you. Also, I now feel like an idiot because I didn’t get you anything.”

“I don’t care. This was a last minute thing I thought of anyway,” You said with a small shrug. “But, I’m now expecting a really big gift when you come back.” You kissed his lips. “And I’m only slightly kidding.”

He laughed, and you smiled, wishing that you had a camera to take a picture of him and the two of you at that moment. It was that right time when the sun was starting to set and made everything look just perfect. You desperately wanted to have so many more perfect moments like that one with Steve, and the only thing that could curb your sadness at that moment was remembering the fact that, eventually, you would.

You glanced at the time it said on the dashboard. “You should go before I get sad again, and I want this goodbye to end as happily as it can.”

Steve nodded and then leaned in to slot his lips against yours one more time. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” You nodded back and watched as he opened the car door, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out. “Wait.”

You quickly got out on your side and rushed over to where he was now standing by the shut passenger side door, staring at you curiously. You wrapped your arms around him almost immediately, and Steve didn’t hesitate to hug you back and hold you tight against him.

No words were said, mainly because no words needed to be said as you simply held each other and let the tender action speak for itself. Your eyes screwed shut, and you forced yourself not to cry because even though it felt like it, you knew that it wasn’t goodbye forever.

You pushed up on your toes and kissed him for what you knew would be the final time for a while. It was a slow kiss that was long and drawn out, and you would’ve kept it going forever if it wasn’t for you needing to catch your breath after about a minute.

“Okay, I just needed to do that real quick,” You told him, still pretty breathless.

“I’m really glad you did,” Steve said softly before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You returned to your car and watched as he gave you a wave and smile and then walked inside the house. You sat idly for a moment, simply looking at the red door he just stepped into and closed behind him, before forcing yourself to drive away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Hours later, you were sat on the couch in your living room, mindlessly scrolling through television channels, unable to settle on anything, when you heard the phone ring. You almost didn’t answer because you weren’t necessarily in the mood to, but you decided against it when you realized it was probably your parents.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Steve said, and you could hear the smile in his tone. “We’re stopped at a gas station right now, and I just wanted to hear your voice real quick.”

“That’s very disgustingly cheesy and sentimental of you,” You told him, letting a smile take over your features.

“You bring out this cute side of me, Y/L/N,” He said, and you laughed a bit. “Okay, I gotta go, my mom’s giving me a look. I’ll call you when I’m home.”

And when the phone rang a few hours later, around two in the morning, you were smiling as you answered it on only the second ring. You talked for over an hour about nothing but also everything, and the only thing that made either of you want to hang up was the fact that you both were insanely tired and could barely keep your eyes open.

You both said your goodbyes, which lingered longer than expected because neither of you truly wanted to hang up. And finally, things ended with Steve saying, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

That “tomorrow” call never came, and you let a week pass before you allowed yourself to get worried and nervous. It didn’t take long for you to want to start overthinking things, but you tried your hardest to refrain from doing so. However, you failed miserably.

You called his house on the ninth day, and when the call connected, you immediately breathed out a sigh of relief. However, when a male voice that wasn’t Steve’s, and instead it was his dad’s, said, “Hello?” your immediate relief was wiped away.

“Hi, is Steve home?” You asked. You were sat cross-legged on your bed and nervously playing with the phone cord. After a week of radio silence, you were essentially questioning everything that you had just felt so certain and sure of. Even though, when it came to Steve, you had almost never been nervous, right then, you truly couldn’t help it.

“No, he’s out right now,” His dad answered, and you were about to simply say “Thanks” and then hang up, but you could hear the phone being pulled away a bit as if he was talking to someone else but still wanting to keep you on the line. “He’s out with Nancy, right? Was it this? Their third date this week?”

You assumed he was talking to his wife, Steve’s mom, and you couldn’t hear her response to his questions, but you knew it didn’t matter; you had heard everything you needed to, which was actually more than enough. You hung up without saying anything else, mainly because words couldn’t form in your throat right then.

Although you’d never gotten in a fight with anyone, what you were feeling in that moment felt equivalent to a punch in the gut. You truly wanted to pretend that none of this was happening while simultaneously screaming and crying.

However, you didn’t do any of that because the only thing circling your mind right then was one of Steve’s final words to you. “Remember, this is only the end of the beginning.”

Turned out he was wrong and a liar; more so the second one. It wasn’t the end of the beginning for the two of you. Apparently, it was only just the end.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

(((part two here!)))

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